by Nell Stark
As quickly as it had begun, the kiss was over. Sasha, her lips moist and her eyes slightly glazed, backed away until she was at a safe distance. “Good-bye. I’ll see you soon.”
“Anytime you like.”
Sasha nodded. For a moment, it seemed she was on the cusp of saying something else, but then she turned decisively and walked out the door without a backward glance. Kerry watched her get into the car and followed its progress until the taillights faded into the distance. Only then did she turn around and go back upstairs.
The room felt large and empty without Sasha, but the pillow she had used still faintly smelled of lilacs. Curling her arms around it, she focused on taking slow, deep breaths as she silently recited another prayer for Arthur. When fatigue hemmed her in, pressing her down into the mattress, she didn’t fight the impulse to drift off.
What felt like moments later, she was roused by the insistent buzzing of her phone on the nightstand. Fumbling groggily for it, she caught sight of the clock and realized she had slept for almost three hours. Thankfully, she didn’t have any obligations until the early afternoon.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” Harris sounded frantic. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Kerry curled herself into fetal position around the pillow and tried to find the volume button. His voice was far too shrill. “Why wouldn’t I be? And I’m in a hotel on High Street. Sasha showed up last night.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Of course I know. That photograph is everywhere!”
“Photograph?” A wave of foreboding washed over her. “Damn it, Harris, start making sense. What are you talking about?”
“You really have no idea.” His tone was deadly serious. “I don’t know how to tell you this. If you have a television in your room, turn it on. You are all over the news right now, Kerry. Someone managed to snap a photograph of you and Sasha kissing, and it’s gone viral.”
“What?” Panic sluiced down her spine, knotting her stomach and making it hard to catch a deep breath. When she reached for the remote, her hands shook. “How?”
“I don’t know!”
After several attempts, Kerry managed to power on the television. Heart thumping wildly, she thumbed through the menu until she found a news program. The headline made her feel as though she were in free fall.
Sassy Sasha Has Lesbian Fling While Brother Remains Unconscious.
Over the roar in her ears, she heard the anchor explaining how Sasha had been photographed in a kiss with a woman, whom a hotel employee had identified as one Kerry Donovan, at the Old Bank Hotel in Oxford early this morning. When the picture flashed on the screen, Kerry sucked in a sharp breath and gripped the bed sheets. The captured moment was the kiss they had shared in the lobby hours before. Had the paparazzi been lying in wait across the street? How had they found out about Sasha’s trip in the first place?
“They’re going to crucify her.”
“I wish I could tell you you’re wrong, but it’s already happening.” Harris paused. “And they’re saying some pretty awful things about you, too.”
“I don’t care about that.” Kerry jumped up and paced over to the window. When she twitched aside the curtain, she could see a crowd beginning to gather on the sidewalk below. “Fuck. The press is waiting outside. I need to find a back door.”
“No. Stay put. I’m coming down there. I’ll find one for you, and we’ll slip out together.”
“Harris, I don’t want you to put yourself in the midd—”
“Either you let me help you, or I’m calling the police. They’re bound to step in soon, anyway. Is that what you want?”
Kerry’s heart felt as though it would burst out of her skin in another moment. “Not if I can help it.”
“Then you stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes, tops. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“What room are you in?”
“Six nineteen.”
“Okay. Good. I’m hanging up now. Don’t you dare move until you hear from me again.”
“I won’t,” she said. But he had already disconnected the call. She was alone.
Shivering in the throes of adrenaline, Kerry stared numbly at the television as the anchor repeated that Sasha had been caught on film in a passionate embrace with another woman. The broadcast cut away to Main Street, where a reporter was interviewing passers-by about their opinions. One elderly man claimed her tryst brought down irreparable shame on the house of Carlisle and threatened the existence of the monarchy. A mother walking her twin girls to school chastised Sasha for setting a bad example. As the criticism continued to roll in, Kerry cradled her throbbing head in her hands. She could process only one thought.
They were over. The paparazzi had caught them. They were over.
Chapter Eighteen
Sasha sat on her couch, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the blank television screen. Waiting for the inevitable knock at her door. The day had dawned bright and cold, but the sunlight outside mocked her. An invisible storm had been unleashed, and she was at its center. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the battering winds.
She could also see Kerry’s face. She had replayed their last moment together a thousand times since it had happened. That sweet, passionate kiss had given her the strength to climb into the car that would return her to the hospital—the strength to face another day at her brother’s bedside. When the news broke, her protection detail had immediately whisked her back to the shelter of Clarence House. Here, she could remain shielded from the press for as long as she wished. But who would protect Kerry?
The university would try its best; Sasha knew that much. But the simple fact was that Kerry was much more accessible than she was, and that made her much more vulnerable. Worst of all, there was nothing she could do. The juggernaut was in motion. Even if she made no comment or publicly disavowed any sort of relationship, the photographs alone were enough to incite a media frenzy. There was nothing she could do.
And then guilt twisted her stomach, because that wasn’t actually the truth. There was one thing she could do. If she acknowledged their relationship and brought Kerry under the protection of the monarchy, at least they could weather the storm together. But how could she possibly do that now? Arthur’s condition remained critical and uncertain. Could she ask her family to shoulder the burden of her coming out when they were already mentally and physically exhausted? Could she in good conscience take attention away from Arthur’s recovery by making an announcement about something as trivial as her relationship status? The photographs from this morning were already creating an uproar that would distract from what was truly important. And her critics would use them as yet more evidence of her personal failings.
Rubbing her temples, she took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her racing heart. And then a loud knock sounded at the door. Oddly, she felt relief. At least she wouldn’t have to dread this particular encounter anymore.
“What have you done?” No sooner had she closed the door behind her father than he had rounded on her, index finger pointed accusingly. He was dressed immaculately as always, but his eyes were bloodshot and his raised hand trembled.
“What were you thinking? To go off and have a bloody fling in the middle of this? With a woman? When your brother is lying in a coma?” He grasped her shoulders, hard. “He could be dying, Alexandra! Dying! Can’t you stop thinking about yourself, just this once? Can’t you show Arthur—not to mention the remainder of your family—the respect we deserve?”
Sasha wanted to protest. She wanted to tell him that Kerry wasn’t a fling. She wanted him to know how kind she was, how generous, how intelligent. She wanted to tell him that for the first time in her life, she thought she might actually be falling in love. But in the wake of his pain and wrath, she couldn’t find the strength to explain herself. Mutely, she nodded.
“You have utterly disgraced this family, and we are all paying for it,” he fumed. “Elizab
eth’s protection detail was very nearly overwhelmed when she attempted to go to class this morning.”
“What?” Sasha thought she might be sick. Lizzie was being harassed as well?
“The moment she stepped out of doors, she was bombarded by questions about her elder sister’s sex life.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to think of anything else to say.
“Tell that to her!”
“I will.”
“The media is turning this into a circus,” he continued. “All we can do is restrict their access to you as much as possible. Your security will be doubled, and you will travel only between here and the hospital. If you wish to go anywhere else, you will have to come to me first. Are we clear, Alexandra?”
“Yes.” Silently vowing not to be a coward, she met his angry eyes as she whispered the word. “Yes, Father.”
“Good.” He loomed over her, powerful and menacing. “Return to the hospital once you’ve pulled yourself together. Your family needs you.”
As the door slammed in his wake, Sasha felt her legs tremble. She reached out to the wall for support, only to find herself sliding down, down, down to the floor. A drop of moisture plinked onto the gleaming hardwood. Then another, and another. Dimly, she realized they were her own tears.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, not knowing whether she was speaking to Kerry or to herself. “I’m so sorry.”
*
Kerry slid into her customary seat in the lecture hall and immediately opened her notebook, ignoring the whispers that filled the air around her. It had been three long days since photographs of “the princess affair,” as it was being called, had hit the Internet. Gritting her teeth, she opened her laptop and pulled up a Web browser, then typed in the URL of The Times. Skipping past the headline containing her own name, she glanced over at the text box proclaiming the latest news about Prince Arthur’s condition. Apparently, despite a measurable reduction in the swelling of his brain, he still hadn’t regained consciousness. With a sigh, she closed her computer and glanced down at her syllabus in an attempt to force herself to focus on today’s topic. “The Non-Euclidean Geometrics of Deconstructivist Architecture.”
“Just fantastic,” she muttered beneath her breath. Then again, perhaps a difficult lecture topic was exactly what she needed to distract her from the chaos awaiting her as soon as she tried to leave the building.
Foiled in their attempts to gain access to Sasha aside from a few distant photographs of her entering or leaving the hospital, the paparazzi had descended en masse upon Oxford. While both city and university police were doing everything in their power to maintain order, the crowds had grown increasingly disruptive. Some students had even joined in the frenzy. Kerry couldn’t go anywhere without being followed, pointed at, and shouted to.
Worst of all, she’d had no word from Sasha. While she couldn’t stop herself from continuing to hope for some kind of message, realistically, she knew she wouldn’t receive one. Under any other set of circumstances she would have felt deeply hurt at having been so unceremoniously dumped, but their relationship had been discovered at the worst possible moment. Sasha was doubtless coming under enormous pressure from her father, and Kerry felt sick that the photographs had caused the royal family further distress during an already terrible time. But she refused to apologize for what she and Sasha had shared. If she said so much as one word to the media, she knew they would find a way to twist it to suit their agendas. And so she kept her mouth shut, no matter what tawdry remarks they hurled her way.
She was also feeling quite a lot of guilt for how the situation had affected her own family and friends back home. As soon as her identity had been confirmed, the American press had flocked to Pearl River to dig up every bit of information they could about “Sassy Sasha’s Latest Conquest,” as one headline had read. Her sister had been positively mortified by what she had done. Upon calling home, she’d heard a tirade from Mary about offending God and sullying the family name, and how much the entire “situation” was adding untold amounts of stress to her already busy life. Fortunately, her parents had adopted a much gentler attitude, promising that the community was rallying around her to keep her privacy as intact as they could. Aidan and Declan remained thoroughly supportive, as they had always been. “If anyone could deserve you, Ker,” Declan had said during their brief phone conversation, “it would be a princess.”
The professor stepped to the podium, jarring her out of her reverie. For the first few minutes, Kerry managed to retain the thread of his talk and even jotted down a few notes. But as the room grew stuffy and his voice droned on, her fatigued mind began to drift to thoughts of Sasha. Resolutely, she stayed away from the sad or stressful memories―picturing Sasha’s smile, hearing her laughter, feeling the ghost of her touch. Despite the ever-present ache in her chest, the thoughts brought her a small measure of comfort.
But as her professor began to conclude his remarks, her anxiety resurfaced. The paparazzi would be waiting at the building’s entrance. The police had arranged two guards to escort her everywhere, but they could only protect her physically. She still had to endure the mockery and the jeers and the endless, completely inappropriate questions.
When she left the lecture hall, she found Harris waiting outside, holding two coffees. He handed her one and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “How are you holding up, champ?”
He had been her rock for the last few days—running interference, keeping her supplied with food, and even filtering information when she didn’t feel up to wading through all the muck on the Internet.
“Better now,” she said. “Thanks for this. Ready to face the horde?”
“Whenever you are. There’s no rush.”
She took a tentative sip of coffee. “You know you don’t have to keep doing this, right? The police said they’d provide me with an escort as long as I needed one.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust Oxford’s finest,” he said, “but they’re doing a job. I’m your friend. It’s different, and I want to be there.”
“And trust me, I appreciate it.” She patted his shoulder. “When you next find yourself embroiled in an international scandal, I promise you’ll be able to count on me right back.”
He laughed and linked his free arm through hers. “Let’s do this.”
At the door, they met up with the same two policemen who had walked Kerry to the hall earlier.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “And thanks, as always.”
Guilt over having forced the Oxford Police Department to attach personnel to her had made Kerry err on the side of being overly polite. She thought she detected the flicker of a smile on the taller one’s face before he pushed open the door. But when she stepped outside, the mob was waiting.
A cry of, “There she is!” was soon swallowed by her name being shouted, over and over. Looking straight ahead, determined not to meet the eyes of a single reporter, she slowly descended the steps behind the first officer who gestured for the crowd to make way. Harris followed at her heels, and the second officer brought up the rear. As they reached street level, the questions poured in fast and furious.
“Have you heard from Sasha?”
“How does it feel to have been rejected by Princess Alexandra?”
“Was Sasha a good roll in the sack?”
“How much did the princess pay you, Kerry?”
That was a new one, and she couldn’t stop herself from wincing. Suddenly, Harris was darting past her in an impressive burst of speed to loom over the unfortunate soul who had dared imply she was a whore. She couldn’t see much of the man from behind Harris’s broad back, but he seemed short and rather skinny—certainly no match for an Olympian rower.
“You piece of scum. Apologize to her. Now.”
The police crowded close, warning both men away from each other. The crowd surged in behind them, and Kerry felt a rush of claustrophobia as bulbs flashed and someone cursed and the threatened paparazzo vehemently p
rotested Harris’s menacing attitude.
Kerry had once thought of Harris as a gentle bear, but there was no trace of gentleness in the tendons that stuck out from his neck like cords and the mottled skin of his face. His hands were clenched into fists. Feeling dizzy, she rested one hand on his back as much for support as to calm him.
“Let it go, Harris,” she said, pitching her voice beneath the angry shouts. “Let’s get out of here.”
But he was on the warpath. “That goes for all of you! Bullies, every one! Can’t you see she’s a human being? An intelligent woman who—”
“Sod off, faggot!” The shout came from nearby. When Harris turned his head to seek the source of the insult, the skinny man wound up and punched him in the jaw.
Harris’s head snapped back only a few inches, but a line of red opened along his jawline where the man’s ring had caught the taut skin there. A roar went up from the crowd as people shoved and clamored for a fight.
The first officer leapt forward to subdue the antagonist, and Kerry tugged hard at Harris’s raised arm. His eyes were dark and furious.
“Enough! You’re hurt! Damn it, Harris, let’s just get out of here. Please!”
As he finally let her pull him away, the other officer beckoned to them, a baton raised in his free hand. He shoved forward through the crowd in the direction of a nearby side street.
“Backup,” he explained, pointing to a waiting squad car. At that moment, a siren wailed nearby. “And more coming. Go!”
They piled into the car, which promptly roared away. Harris had his shirt pressed to his jaw, and he still looked like he wanted to commit murder. Kerry could think of nothing else to do but rub the back of his neck in small, hopefully soothing circles.
“Where are we going?” she asked the policemen.
“To the station. There’s a clinic nearby if you need stitches, sir.”
Harris pulled away the shirt briefly and turned to Kerry. “What do you think?”
“Just Steri-Strips, probably. But get another opinion. Harris, I—”