The Princess Affair

by Nell Stark

  “What happened?”

  “Show her, Ian.”

  Ian held out the paper. Kerry stepped forward to take it from him, and Sasha watched her eyes flicker back and forth across the page. A moment later, she dropped into a crouch at Sasha’s feet.

  “Are you all right? I am so, so sorry. This is all my fault. I should never have suggested you take off your wig.” Jaw clenched, she shook her head fiercely. “What a fucking fool I was.”

  Sasha was struck dumb by Kerry’s reaction. Had she given even a moment’s thought to the implications for herself? When she reached out to touch Kerry’s face, her fingertips came away moist with sweat. Dimly, she registered the sound of the door closing behind Ian as he gave them privacy.

  “Stop. I’m fine. Just a little surprised. But I’ll be damned if I allow you to take the blame for this. Don’t you dare.” Hooking her fingers behind Kerry’s jaw, she tugged lightly. “Do you hear me?”

  Kerry squared her shoulders and swallowed hard. “What do you want to do? Do you want to put…this…on ice for a while? Or, ah, longer? Would that be best?”

  Sasha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Kerry was offering to—to what? Break up? Was that the right word, when they’d never really agreed on any terms to begin with? When they’d never admitted to anything other than insane chemistry and a fledgling connection?

  “Is that what you want?”

  Kerry shook her head emphatically. “What? Of course not! How could you possibly believe that after what we’ve shared for these past few days?” She reached for Sasha’s hands. “I may be more book smart than world smart, but by now I’ve seen the kind of pressure you’re under. I don’t want to add to that. So tell me what you want from me, and if it’s in my power to give you, I will.”

  Sasha dug her thumbs into Kerry’s palms, anchoring herself against the surge of emotion. How could she help Kerry comprehend something she didn’t fully understand herself?

  “I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

  Kerry exhaled softly. “Okay. Good. Me, neither.” She even managed a tight smile. “In that case, what should we do?”

  Sasha stood and went to the window, pulling back the curtain to look out on their view of the verdant rolling hills. This country was still so wild—fundamentally untamed. As the imaginary walls of her position and obligations pressed in around her, she envied the land its freedom.

  “We’ll just have to be careful,” she said without turning around. “Much, much more careful.”

  *

  Kerry met Harris outside the gates of Holywell Manor just as the last rays of the sun fled the sky, abandoning the clouds to the darkness. Despite having a mountain of work to do before the morning, she hadn’t been able to concentrate at all since being dropped off by one of Sasha’s staff members in the early afternoon. They had flown into a small airport on the outskirts of London, and after one last, too-brief kiss inside the belly of the plane, Sasha had been whisked back to her royal obligations. Kerry hadn’t heard a peep out of her since then—not even a text to say she’d returned home safely.

  Kerry didn’t know whether she had the right to feel horribly alone and adrift, but she did just the same. Hopefully, talking things out with Harris would help her to process everything that had happened—the good and the bad. A stiff wind blew up as she approached him, and he shivered dramatically.

  “I’m absolutely dying to know all about your trip,” he said, slinging one arm around her shoulders, “but do we really have to go for a walk? Can’t we get a drink someplace nice and warm?”

  “No. We can’t.” One look at his face told her he had picked up on the somber note in her voice.

  “Oh, no. What happened?” His arm tightened around her. “What did she do?”

  “She was born.” For the first time since her morning conversation with Sasha, Kerry released her hold on the bitterness she felt about the whole situation. From beneath her free arm, she produced the copy of the gossip rag she’d purchased at a magazine stand.

  Harris took a few steps until he was standing beneath a street lamp, then whistled under his breath. When he looked back to Kerry, all trace of his prior teasing was gone.

  “Close one.”

  “Too close,” she agreed. “Let’s keep walking.”

  He handed the paper back to her. “I think I understand why we’re not sitting someplace warm having a drink.”

  “Exactly.” Her stomach twisted at the memory of the anxiety and dismay she’d seen in Sasha’s face upon returning to their room this morning. She wanted to do everything in her power never to contribute to that expression again, and she still felt awful about the role she had played in Sasha’s discovery by the tabloids. But a niggling voice in the back of her head refused to stop wondering how they could possibly have a meaningful relationship someday if Sasha remained so fearful of them being seen in public together. Or was a meaningful relationship not something she was interested in at all?

  Harris linked his arm with hers. “Start at the beginning.”

  Kerry took a deep breath and launched into a summary of the trip. As she recounted the highlights—Sasha’s thoughtfulness at arranging architecture-themed excursions, the beauty of the Irish landscape, the growing strength of their connection—Harris remained quiet. Finally, she arrived at the events that had transpired that morning, including Sasha’s decision to make their future meetings even more clandestine.

  “Insofar as I’m able to, I understand where she’s coming from. And she’s right. This relationship, or whatever I should be calling it, is so new. I get the feeling this isn’t her usual modus operandi.”

  “Believe me, it’s not,” Harris said. “Until quite recently—in other words, until you—not a week would go by without some sort of speculation about her latest fling with some high-profile actor or athlete or trust fund baby.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Kerry admitted. “I don’t want to put her in jeopardy of any kind. And in a way, I can empathize with her situation. I lived in the closet for almost two years in college.” She thought back to Virginia, then, and to how frightened she had been that anyone would discover their relationship. At first, she had hidden it even from her teammates. But even after her peers had accepted them, she hadn’t been able to confess to her family until it was far too late.

  “I thought I had to live that way. And maybe at first I really did, while I was coming to terms with myself. But after a while it just became habit. Looking over my shoulder all the time, always worrying what others thought. In hindsight, I realize that wasn’t really living. Being in the closet cost me my first relationship. I hated every second of it. I don’t want to go back there.”

  She lapsed into a silence only broken by the crunch of their shoes on the gravel path leading toward the park. After a few moments, Harris squeezed her arm in reassurance.

  “The good news is that you’re self-aware. You’re walking into this with open eyes, and even with some experience on the other side of the tracks, so to speak. If it makes sense to jump back into the closet with her while you figure out whatever potentiality exists between you, then at least you know what you’re doing.”

  He stopped and took her by both shoulders. “Just promise me that when the time comes, you’ll stand up for yourself. You deserve a princess, Kerry, but a princess who will hold your hand in public. Not one who insists on keeping you hidden in her royal boudoir.”

  For the first time since she had watched Sasha disappear into her Bentley at the airfield, Kerry felt a smile tug at her lips. She stepped forward and pulled Harris into a long hug. With a friend like him supporting her, she could keep the tendrils of anxiety at bay.

  “I promise.”

  *

  “And then he walked out—just walked right out the door, leaving her standing there in the midst of their own party. He’s not been back since, either.” Miranda rolled her eyes, added a dash more olive juice, and proceeded to shake the cocktail in a rather more
melodramatic fashion than was strictly necessary.

  “That certainly doesn’t sound pretty.” Sasha hoped her response was adequate. She had only half paid attention to Miranda’s long and sordid tale about two of their recently married acquaintances. The other half of her mind was wondering about Kerry. Was she already asleep? Or more likely, studying? Was Kerry missing her? Had she thought any more about the photograph?

  “It’s a disgrace, really.”

  A moment later, Sasha accepted her brimming martini from Miranda and took a quick sip. As the cold vodka slid down her throat and into her empty stomach, she hoped it would settle her nerves. She perched on the loveseat while Miri gracefully settled into an armchair.

  “It’s been so frustrating not having you in town,” Miranda said, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  “It does feel like forever since we’ve been able to catch up.”

  Miranda leaned forward conspiratorially. “So. You simply must tell me. Who were you with in Ireland? I couldn’t recognize him from that atrocious photograph.”

  Sasha closed her eyes. This was it—the reason she was here instead of in her own bed. She needed Miranda’s help. So why did she feel as though she was about to commit some sort of betrayal?

  “I was with Kerry.”

  Miranda’s face was blank. “Who is Kerry?”

  “Kerry Donovan. The Rhodes scholar I met a few weeks ago. She was at that club in Oxford. Remember?”

  “Oh, yes.” Miranda set her drink on the table and frowned. “You’ve kept in touch with her?”

  “I’ve seen her a few times. Once in Scotland for that event my father made me do. And then last week I went up to Oxford to watch her play football.”

  Miranda’s frown had grown deeper. “And you just whisked her off on a trip to Ireland?”

  “Yes.” Sasha felt herself smile. “She’s Irish-American, but she had never been to Ireland before, and so—”

  “Sasha.” Miri cut her off, her tone grave.

  “What?”

  “This…thing. With the American. Is it serious?”

  Sasha gripped the edge of the sofa as her temperature rose. “She has a name, Miri.”

  “At the moment, I don’t particularly care what her name is. I want to know whether this is just a flirtation that’s lasted longer than usual, or whether you actually have feelings for this woman.”

  “I don’t know!” Sasha set down her glass before she accidentally snapped the stem. “All right? I don’t know.”

  Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I believe you.”

  “I might.” Unable to sit still, Sasha began to pace. “I feel…something. I want to see what this connection—or whatever it is—turns into. But how can I do that, when there’s a camera phone on every corner and a telephoto lens in every bloody window?”

  “Let me get this straight,” Miranda said. “So to speak. You want to continue seeing this Kerry, but in absolute secrecy? First of all, there’s no such thing. And secondly, you do realize what you’re risking if you pursue this, do you not?”

  “What I’m risking?” Sasha braced on arm on the mantle and turned back toward Miranda. “You mean risking that my country might actually come to know me for who I really am? What a travesty!”

  “Oh, hush.” Miranda waved her comment away. “Your subjects don’t want you to transform into a precious, rainbow-winged butterfly. They want you to remain exactly as you are.” She jabbed one finger into her leather armrest for emphasis. “Sassy Sasha.”

  Sasha thought she might be ill. Miranda was supposed to be her best friend. To support her. To have her best interests at heart. What kind of advice was this?

  “So the best thing you can do to hoodwink the public,” Miranda continued, “is to get the rumor mill churning again. For weeks, there hasn’t been so much as a whisper about you with someone. Someone acceptable. That has to change. You need to be seen.”

  Sasha opened her mouth to disagree, then shut it. Maybe Miri had a point. She should at least hear out her logic. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  “I’m suggesting that you behave the way you always have.” Miranda rose and went to her, reaching out to lightly stroke her back. The musk of her perfume was cloying. It made her miss Kerry’s pure, earthy scent all the more. “Go to clubs and parties. Dance. Flirt. Be photographed. If you give the paparazzi enough of what they want to see, they won’t go looking for more. And when they’re not looking, you can do whatever you want, with whomever you want.”

  Sasha nodded slowly. The vodka was beginning to kick in, dulling her mind and her senses, and the mental fog promised relief from her anxiety. She could do what Miranda was suggesting—play her part on the public stage and later retreat to Kerry’s arms. She could live two lives.

  For a little while, at least.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Ms. Donovan?”

  Kerry jerked awake at the sound of the driver’s voice. The car was beginning to slow, and when she leaned forward, she saw the illuminated façade of Clarence House just up ahead.

  “We’ve nearly arrived,” the driver continued. “You’d best conceal yourself.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” Blinking away her fatigue, Kerry struggled to focus. It was highly unlike her to doze off under any circumstances, and yet she had somehow fallen asleep in the car that was bringing her to London to be reunited with Sasha. Mindful of the driver’s instructions, she reached for the blanket on the seat next to her. Sasha’s text this morning had advised her to hide under it as the car entered the front gate. Feeling rather silly, she unbuckled her seatbelt, lay on the bench, and pulled the scratchy wool over her head and body.

  Her eyes felt as gritty as the fabric. The week had been long and grueling as she worked to catch up on her assignments after a weekend abroad, and sleep hadn’t come easily without Sasha beside her. What’s more, she was discouraged by her performance on the soccer field this morning. Having studied until late into her Friday night, she had woken up early for a match against Merton College. It had resulted in Balliol’s first loss, and she could blame no one but herself. Her touches on the ball had been off and her passes inaccurate. Eventually, she’d asked Claudia to sub her out.

  The car stopped at the guard booth, and as one of the security personnel conversed with the driver, the unmistakable flare of a flashbulb made her twitch. Forcing herself to be still, she held her breath until the car carried on. Pressing the heel of her hand to her suddenly galloping heart, Kerry tried to be reasonable. There was no way the paparazzi could have caught a shot of her. At most, they had captured the car and the guard’s backside. She wanted to laugh at the thought, but the sound stuck in her throat. The stakes were just too high.

  The car drove around to the back of the house and pulled into a parking space. “Here we are, Ms. Donovan,” said the driver.

  Relieved, Kerry threw off the blanket. After thanking him, she opened the door and took a deep breath of the fresh night air before noticing Darryl, who stood a few feet away with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Hello, Darryl,” she said, feeling a bit like a wayward adolescent as she clambered out of the car.

  “Good evening, Ms. Donovan. This way.”

  He led her inside and up a small narrow staircase. The chipped, uneven steps were a far cry from the ornately carpeted flights she’d ascended last time she was here. Apparently, clandestine lovers used the servants’ stairway.

  “Princess Alexandra has not yet returned to the residence,” Darryl said over his shoulder. “But you are welcome to wait in her rooms.”

  Kerry glanced at her watch. Sasha had asked to meet at Clarence House at ten o’clock. The car had run into some unexpected traffic, and it was quarter past now. Shrugging to herself, she followed Darryl through a nondescript door that opened onto the landing outside Sasha’s apartments. Whatever engagement she’d had tonight must have run longer than expected. Still, as Kerry entered th
e empty suite, she couldn’t help but feel like an interloper.

  “I’ll be just outside,” Darryl said, swinging the doors shut behind her.

  “Thank you.”

  Kerry walked slowly down the hall and into Sasha’s bedroom. For a moment, she contemplated undressing and waiting for Sasha naked in her own bed. But as appealing as the thought was on one level, she hadn’t just come here to make love. They had barely spoken all week. She wanted to know what Sasha had done, what she’d been thinking of, how she was feeling. More than anything, she wanted to recapture the closeness they’d found in Ireland—a closeness that included the physical but extended far beyond it.

  After stowing her bag neatly in a corner, she settled back onto the sofa. There was always more reading to be done, but tonight she needed a break. Once she had reacquainted herself with the remote, she flipped through the channels until she found a sports highlights show. Thankfully, instead of having to watch repeat footage of men trying to break each other’s necks, she could catch up on all the spectacular Premier League goals while waiting for Sasha to return.

  *

  The sound of a slamming door roused Kerry from her second impromptu nap of the day. Disoriented, she raised her head and immediately grimaced at the crick in her neck. She’d fallen asleep sitting up on Sasha’s couch. Glancing blearily at the clock on the television, she realized it was almost midnight. Where on earth was—

  “Hi.” The single, sultry syllable came from the doorway where Sasha stood wearing a velvet green dress with a plunging neckline just short of scandalous. “You look fantastic.”

  “Hi.” Kerry swallowed hard as Sasha executed a tight pirouette. The fabric draped artfully over her shoulders to pool at the small of her back, revealing the smooth, milk-white expanse of skin. “And…wow.”

  Within moments, Sasha was straddling her on the couch, fingers combing through her hair. Kerry inhaled deeply, but the familiar aroma of lilacs was all but drowned out by the scent of rum. Even as every cell in her body lit up in response to Sasha’s closeness, warning bells throbbed in her brain.