The Princess Affair

by Nell Stark

  “How bad is it?”

  “It’s not great.” Kerry’s voice was steady, but her free hand drummed a beat on the countertop. She was clearly agitated on Sasha’s behalf and trying to hide the extent of her dismay.

  “I need to see what they’re saying.”

  She returned to pouring the coffee. “Okay.”

  As Kerry began to fiddle with the toaster, Sasha took a deep breath and focused her attention on the screen. At first, the words swam wildly before her eyes and she had to look away. Her stomach churned. But then two warm hands came to rest on her shoulders, and Kerry’s breath tickled her neck.

  “Can I help?”

  The question was simple, direct, devoid of all condescension. Miraculously, when Sasha raised her eyes back to the screen, most of the text was standing still. “Actually, you can. Stay right there, please.”

  “Your wish is my command.” Kerry lightly massaged Sasha’s shoulders as she read. While a few of the words still shivered or jumped, the majority of the lines remained anchored in place. The responses weren’t flattering in the slightest—most commenters had decided that her IQ was barely higher than that of a chimpanzee—but none of the vitriol stung quite so badly today as it had last night.

  When the toast popped up, Kerry’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “Let me grab that.”

  Having seen quite enough, Sasha gently closed the laptop. “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “On your couch.”

  “My couch? You’re about a foot too long for it!”

  Kerry shrugged in the act of buttering the bread. “It worked out just fine.”

  Her tone brooked no argument, so Sasha let the subject drop. A moment later, Kerry set the plate in front of her and slid into the adjacent seat.

  “Thank you.” Sasha rested her free hand on Kerry’s knee as she bit into her toast. “You didn’t have to do this. Any of it.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “I hope you didn’t miss anything important?”

  Kerry shook her head. “My last class of the week finishes on Thursday afternoons. But please let me know when I should leave. Aren’t you traveling somewhere today?”

  “To Wales, with my father. We’ll be there through the middle of the week, mostly visiting schools and charities.”

  “Do you enjoy that kind of thing? Or no?”

  “The sycophantic bureaucrats can be rather annoying. But the children make me laugh.” Sasha felt herself smile. “Once, a cheeky little girl had the nerve to tell me that I couldn’t possibly be a ‘real princess’ because I wasn’t wearing a crown and a pink dress.”

  “She didn’t!”

  “Oh, but she did. Her teacher was mortified.” She traced the contours of Kerry’s powerful leg muscles, enjoying this casual intimacy. Here they were, chatting over the remains of breakfast like a normal couple. It felt uncommonly good. “We don’t leave until late this afternoon. Will you stay? At least for a little while?”

  “I’d like that.” But instead of looking pleased, she seemed pensive. “Your father—did you speak with him yesterday?”

  “Oh, yes. I didn’t do much speaking. He, on the other hand, did quite a bit of shouting.”

  Kerry covered her hand, lacing their fingers together. They fit so well. “I’m sorry.”

  Sasha didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. Her father was a force of nature. He couldn’t be controlled. The most she could hope for was to weather his storm. She knew his opinion of her would never change. But what about Kerry? Was she only being kind and solicitous because she was a good person? Or because of their incredible chemistry? She was a Rhodes scholar—brilliant and driven. How could she not feel derision for a grown woman who could barely read? Sliding her hand out from under Kerry’s, she fiddled with the hem of her sweater.

  “Does it bother you?”

  “What, exactly?”

  “My dyslexia.”

  When Kerry leaned forward, Sasha read only earnestness in her face.

  “The only thing that bothers me is how people mistreat you because of it.”

  “But you’re so bloody smart. Doesn’t it disturb you that I don’t share your passion for books? You obviously love to read.” She looked away. “I hear it’s great fun when the words aren’t writhing around on the page.”

  This time, Kerry reached for both her hands, compelling her attention.

  “First of all, being dyslexic doesn’t mean you’re unintelligent. You read people so well, and I have yet to meet a better storyteller. You’re utterly captivating. You can charm a crowd like the Pied Piper. What are all those qualities, if not intelligence?”

  Unable to speak or swallow for the sudden lump in her throat, Sasha squeezed Kerry’s hands. No one had ever spoken of her own gifts so eloquently before—not even her siblings, when they were trying to make her feel better.

  “And as to your other point,” Kerry continued, “why can’t you share my passion for books? There’s no reason why we can’t read things together. Do you enjoy listening when someone reads aloud?”

  “That’s so patronizing.”

  She frowned. “Oh, no. It’s really not. Most stories are meant to be heard, not read silently. Poetry too, of course.”

  Sasha was having a difficult time believing her. At university, she had received special accommodations that included having some of her course texts and all of her exams read out loud. At the time, it had seemed like a massive inconvenience. She’d never considered that it might be enjoyable.

  “You would want to read out loud to me?”

  Kerry squeezed again. “Very much.”

  Despite her avid reassurance, Sasha still felt skeptical. Her thoughts must have been transparent, because Kerry let go of her hands and flipped her laptop open.

  “What if we tried it right now? I’ll read you one of my favorite poems. You can see what you think.”

  She had to admit, the thought of Kerry reading poetry to her had a certain appeal. Was there any harm in trying? Just once?

  “All right.”

  “Have you ever heard of T.S. Eliot?”

  Sasha tapped the side of her head. “I dimly remember hearing his name in the mandatory literature class I nearly failed at university.”

  “Well, he was an American, but also a complete Anglophile. He actually became a naturalized British citizen. The poem I’m going to read to you is called ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.’”

  “So it’s a romantic poem?”

  Kerry grinned as if she knew a secret. “Not exactly. You’ll see.” After clearing her throat, she began. “Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky…”

  She was an excellent reader, enunciating each line clearly while also maintaining the poem’s internal rhythm. Slow but not ponderous, the words fell from her lips like some sort of magical charm, enfolding Sasha in suspended animation. Despite the pleasure she took in Kerry’s physical appearance, Sasha soon closed her eyes to allow the cadence of the words to wash over her.

  “…Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”

  Sasha was so caught up that she didn’t immediately realize the poem had come to an end. Only when she felt Kerry caressing her face did she emerge from her reverie.

  “You have frown lines here.” Kerry smoothed her thumb along the narrow strip of skin between Sasha’s eyes. “What did you think?”

  She couldn’t help leaning into the gentle touch. “It wasn’t at all what I was expecting from something called a love song. It was—not sad, exactly. Melancholy?”

  “I think that’s the perfect word.”

  “What do you love about it? Why is it one of your favorite poems?”

  Kerry leaned back in her chair and cocked her head, considering. “I suppose I love it because it’s a warning against mediocrity. A reminder not to get so caught up in daily life you don’t ever try for more.”

  “More. What does that mean to you?”

  “Well,
I think it comes down to the question he asks in the middle. ‘Do I dare disturb the universe?’ I love that. Do you have the courage to take action, even when it might create chaos?” She flashed a bittersweet smile. “I used to think about those lines a lot, when I was getting ready to come out to my family. I had a Post-it note on my computer: ‘Dare to disturb the universe.’”

  Sasha could easily imagine a younger Kerry—more naïve but just as ambitious—struggling with that decision. Especially if she came from a fully Irish Catholic background.

  “How did they react?”

  A knock at the door interrupted whatever Kerry had been about to say. With a rueful glance, Sasha rose to answer it. When she saw Ian through the peephole, she let him in.

  “Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” His face was pinched with fatigue.

  “Good morning. Is something the matter?”

  “Your father has moved up your departure time. He wishes to leave within the hour.”

  Sasha wanted to stomp her foot like a child. “Did he give a reason?”

  Ian scowled. “The paparazzi are out in force. By changing your schedule, he hopes to dodge the worst of them.”

  Sasha cursed beneath her breath. Always a bother at the best of times, they swarmed like bees whenever the barest hint of notoriety surfaced. Her blunder yesterday must have sent them into a frenzy. At the sound of footsteps behind her, she turned to the sight of Kerry looking unsure of herself.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  Sasha went to her quickly, rising onto her toes for a too-brief kiss. She didn’t want to say good-bye like this—especially when she would be across the country for the next several days. And then epiphany struck. Her schedule was clear next weekend. The week would be bearable if she gave herself something to look forward to. What’s more, she could show Kerry her appreciation by making one of her lifelong dreams come true.

  “Yes. There is.” She cupped Kerry’s face in her palms. “Come with me to Ireland. Just us. Next weekend. We’ll leave on Thursday evening and I’ll have you back in Oxford by Sunday night.” She brushed one thumb across Kerry’s mouth. “Say yes.”

  Kerry blinked down at her, looking dazed. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Galvanized, she faced Ian. “You’ll find her an escort to King’s Cross?”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  Sasha squared her shoulders, thinking of the mob scene awaiting her outside the gates. Did she dare disturb the universe? Today, the answer was yes.

  “I want to face the fucking paparazzi myself. Let’s give them a few shots of me looking unconcerned about anything.”

  “But, Your—”

  Sasha raised a hand to counter his protest. “I know you don’t like it. But today, I refuse to slink around in the shadows. Not for them—not for anyone.”

  She stalked back toward her bedroom, forcing herself not to sneak one last look over her shoulder at Kerry. She had to focus. It was time to choose the perfect outfit for a hostile crowd.

  Chapter Eleven

  At three o’clock, Kerry descended the stone staircase outside her professor’s office feeling like she was stepping into someone else’s life. On the street below, a black car idled at the curb. Waiting for her. The driver must have been watching, because as she approached he got out, relieved her of her bag, and opened the door. She murmured her thanks as she slid inside.

  During the brief drive to Oxford’s regional airport, she checked her phone. No word from Sasha, other than the brief text she’d received this morning: See you soon. Not only had they not been able to communicate very much throughout the week, but Sasha was also being deliberately obtuse about the specifics of their trip. She had told Kerry only that they would be traveling by private plane and that she should “pack casually.” Consumed by curiosity and excited to finally see her ancestral homeland, Kerry had had difficulty concentrating all week.

  The car pulled into the airfield, and after an ID and bag check from security officials, the driver continued on toward where a small silver plane was being fueled.

  “Here you are, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  He handed off her bag to a member of the ground crew who directed her up the gleaming staircase. It was a struggle not to take the steps two at a time. When she poked her head inside the plane, she was greeted by the sight of Sasha leaning back in a black leather seat, phone held up to her ear. Her black skinny jeans and deep red cashmere sweater clung to every tantalizing curve, but she seemed thinner than she had last week, and Kerry struggled not to betray her concern as she approached.

  Sasha smiled brightly and gestured toward the chair next to her. As Kerry settled into its roomy embrace, she realized she’d be forever spoiled for all future commercial flights.

  “I’ve got to go, Liz. Yes, I’ll let you know. Love you, too.”

  One minute, Sasha was disconnecting the call with her sister. The next, her hand was braced against Kerry’s chest and she had joined their lips together. When Kerry groaned, Sasha took advantage of the moment by sliding her tongue deep inside Kerry’s mouth.

  Kerry very nearly forgot herself. Twisting in the chair, she clutched at Sasha’s hip and answered the kiss in kind. More. It was the only word she could think. She wanted to feel the weight of Sasha’s breast in her palm and taste the heat of her skin and hear her cry out in pleasure as—

  Shuddering, she pulled away, gasping for air. Sasha’s hand slid down to her stomach, the warmth of her palm soaking through Kerry’s sweater. Her eyes were wide and dark and hungry, and Kerry wanted to fall into them. Forever.

  “What was that?” she finally managed to ask.

  “That was my way of telling you how much I’ve missed you.” Lightly, she began to trace the ridges of Kerry’s abs through the fabric. Kerry felt her eyelids flutter at the sensation. “And also a preview of tonight.”

  Her eyes flew open. Sasha was regarding her with an expression half-determined, half-beseeching. More than anything, Kerry wanted to surrender. What if that was exactly why she shouldn’t?

  Her anxiety must have been obvious, because Sasha’s gaze softened. “What’s the matter?”

  At that moment, Ian and Darryl boarded the plane. Thankfully, they sat in the very back row, out of easy earshot. When the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker announcing their imminent departure, Kerry buckled her seatbelt and returned her attention to Sasha, who seemed genuinely concerned. She owed her an honest answer.

  “I guess I’m just feeling…uncertain.”

  Sasha’s smile was rueful. “I am, of course, aware of my reputation. If I was too forward, I apologize. The last thing I want is to make you feel pressured.”

  “It’s not that I feel pressured.” Kerry jumped on the phrase, wanting to deny it firmly. “It’s just that…I want you so much. Maybe too much. This intensity is new to me and I—I’m a little afraid of what will happen if I give in.”

  The plane began to taxi down the runway. Sasha linked their fingers together and rested her head on Kerry’s shoulder. “The very first time I saw you, in the club, it was so simple. Attraction. Chemistry. Whatever you prefer to call it.” She slid her hand back up to rest over Kerry’s heart. “But it’s become much more than that. For me, at least.”

  “For me, too.” Kerry’s throat felt as dry as the Sahara. What exactly was Sasha saying?

  “I don’t have a word for…this…yet.” Sasha gestured between them. “Except maybe connection. I feel connected to you. But it’s not enough. I want more.”

  “More.” The echo of her earlier thought was comforting. “So do I.”

  “Then stop fighting it.” As she spoke, the nose of the plane rose into the sky. “Trust me.”

  “I do.”

  But even as she spoke the words, Kerry knew they weren’t completely true. She trusted Sasha in the moment, and even in the immediate future. But whenever she tried to see past the next few weeks, a wall slammed down in her brain. Sasha was a British p
rincess. Even in the twenty-first century, she was expected to marry a man and produce an heir lest anything happen to her brother. What future could they have? She suddenly found herself thinking back to that early conversation with Harris in which he’d cited the rumor of Sasha’s bisexuality. Would Sasha even want to be with a woman, long-term? Great Britain allowed civil unions now, but no royal had ever taken advantage of that fact. Would whatever connection Sasha felt to her ultimately be able to trump the imperatives of her culture’s millennium-old traditions?

  Feeling her anxiety rise, Kerry took a deep breath and tried to keep things in perspective. Outside, the fields and farmhouses of the Oxford countryside grew steadily smaller as the aircraft climbed higher. She was embarking on a romantic long weekend to a place she’d always wanted to visit, with a woman who made her heart race. Why ask complicated questions that neither of them could answer? Why not simply enjoy the moment?

  Sasha had also been watching the landscape, but as the plane ascended above a thin layer of cloud cover, her grip on Kerry’s hand tightened.

  “Tell me. Who taught you to fear your own desire?”

  The question surprised her. “That’s what you think?”

  “Isn’t that more or less what you just said? About being afraid to give in?”

  Kerry blew out a sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Organized religion, I suppose. Our parish priest was always full of stories about the horrors of hell a woman would have to endure if she did anything other than save herself for the man she married.”

  Sasha threw up her hands. “No wonder the monarchy used to have a rule about becoming involved with Roman Catholics. You lot are hopeless.”

  Kerry laughed, but as the question lingered in her mind, she grew quiet. Had Sasha’s keen insight picked up on an aspect of herself she had never recognized?

  “Now that I think about it, my family reinforced the priest quite effectively.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  Kerry felt herself blush. “I remember one incident in particular. I was a teenager, and my mother caught me…taking matters into my own hands, so to speak.” She risked a glance at Sasha’s face but found only curiosity and concern. “She gave me quite the scolding—made it sound like I had committed some sort of terrible crime—and forced me to promise never to do ‘that’ again.”