by Kim Karr
“What have you told her?”
I reach for my nose hoop only to remember it’s gone. Growing up is really hard to do. “I’d rather not say.”
His eyes dull a little, and I know it’s because of my avoidance. “Still can’t tell the truth.”
I clear my throat and put my big girl panties on. “That’s not it. I’m trying to avoid antagonizing you. If you must know, I told her what she wanted to hear.”
Now, he’s full-on glaring at me. “And that was?”
“I told her that you and I have spent some time alone and that we have kissed. Needless to say, she is very pleased.”
He frowns, and I swear he’s backing away from me, as if he wants to keep his distance, just like me. “Did you tell her we fucked?”
There’s no way I’m not turning a thousand shades of red this time. “No!”
When he actually grins, I wonder if he’s having fun interrogating me and if I’ve been reading him wrong. Is this a game to him? “You should,” he tells me. “That sort of information ought to really please her.”
“That’s private.”
This time his face brightens at my response, and I can tell whatever he’s about to say will be the truth. “It can’t be any worse than having over a million viewers hear you moaning my name behind closed doors on national television.”
Now, I cover my face.
It’s true.
So very true.
The cameras might have been on the other side of the door during private times and unable to see us, but we were wired for sound. And yep, everyone heard everything. Good thing television is censored.
Mortified, I’m peeking at him through my fingers when the doors open. My heart does a little arabesque because, for the first time, he looks amused instead of brooding.
Ushering me out of the elevator, he places his hand on the small of my back, and it causes instant sparks to soar through my blood. “Take the gloves off,” he whispers in my ear, as he pushes open a door that must be over fifteen feet tall.
Since he didn’t make fun of me, and he did it quietly, I decide he’s being sincere, and I take them off.
Before I know it, I’m standing in the most magical room. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, a large antique crystal chandelier, and beautiful silk draperies that are sheer enough to allow a view of the stables and the lake just beyond. On the wall above the fireplace is a picture of two love birds sitting on a branch—a gift from her ex-husband, of which she received many before and after the divorce. From my research, I believe this is the Queen’s sitting room, and her favorite room in the cottage.
The traditional, expensive décor is not the only thing that grabs my attention. The photographs and oil paintings of horses on nearly every inch of wall space are eye-catching as well. And then there is the thick Aubusson carpet outlined in purple that takes up most of the floor space.
I’m still taking it all in when the Queen enters through a mirrored door using a cane. Julius is just slipping away when she calls his name. “Julius, dear.”
“Yes, Grandmother?” he asks, pausing outside the room with hands gripping the frame but not turning around.
“Stay for tea, won’t you?”
Turning around, he steps back in. “Sure.”
“Your Majesty.” I curtsy as she approaches me.
Queen Helena is wearing a bright green dress and matching hat along with sensible shoes. I glance down at my chucks and think we both have the right idea.
“Please, take a seat.” She indicates the sofa to the right and then sits across from me, patting the space beside her for Julius.
If we were in a much better place, I’d tease him about how polite and well-mannered he is around his grandmother and what a dirty talker he is when she isn’t around.
Placing my hands on my knees, I grin at her. “This room is amazing.” My attention is on the desk. Upon it sits a large black-and-white photo of a beautiful woman standing beside the most handsome man with a prized horse in the background. The man looks so much like an older version of Julius, but he is not Vittore. “Is that you?” I ask the Queen, pointing.
She nods, smiling. “It most certainly is. That picture was taken on my wedding day to Julius’s grandfather, Aristotle. We got married right on these very grounds, and that is Hercules beside us. He was my most favorite horse for many years.”
Through all of my research, I hadn’t uncovered anything about her wedding day. “You got married at the House of Drake? I had no idea.”
The Queen beams. “My father was so upset with me for choosing an Englishman that he refused to give me an elaborate wedding. The joke was on him, though, because having it here couldn’t be more perfect.” She gestures to a photograph of her father, King James II. “He hated Aristotle from the start, and I don’t think it had anything to do with him being British.”
“Why didn’t he care for him?” I ask, way out of line.
Regardless of my intrusive question, she answers, and her smile turns reflective when she does. “My father wasn’t a man who let emotion rule him. He didn’t care for impulsiveness or risk-taking, and Aristotle possessed both of those dangerous traits. He said Aristotle would break my heart, and I guess, in a way, he was right.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She waves a hand. “Shh. Don’t be. Without Aristotle in my life, I wouldn’t have this fine boy.” She pats Julius’s leg and then waves the butler over, who just entered the room pushing a cart in his hands.
Julius just shakes his head. In truth, it’s rather adorable, although he wouldn’t like it if I told him so.
The tea service is not only elaborate, but it is also indulgent and elegant. Etched with the royal crest and outlined in gold, it is unlike any I’ve seen.
A fruit cake is served on a silver platter, plus there are smaller pastries, crust-less sandwiches, and scones on matching platters.
Everything looks delicious, including my ex.
“So.” The Queen pours tea into a golden-rimmed china cup that’s been placed in front of me. “I’ve come to learn that you work for that wretched woman at the helm of Wimbledon Life. Is that right?”
Julius just about chokes on his tea.
Curious where this is going, I answer honestly. “Yes. Raquel Livingston is my boss.”
“Yes. Her. That woman. She’s a real witch.”
Laughter spills from my lips. “I have to admit, I’ve come to learn she is a bit brash.”
The Queen shakes her head, her eyes bright with humor. “That’s being kind.”
“Perhaps.”
“Since you work for her, you must know she really dislikes me.”
“Grandmother,” Julius says. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, my boy, but it is. That tramp couldn’t leave her mark on my ex-husband, and she can’t stand that I did.”
Julius’s jaw drops. “You know about her and Grandfather?”
“Of course I do, dear. Aristotle and I might not have been very good bedmates, but we were the best of friends long after we divorced. He told me everything. Even the things he wasn’t proud of and especially his fuck-ups.”
“Grandmother!”
“What?” The Queen feigns innocence.
“Those are family secrets, Grandmother,” Julius scolds, his eyes bouncing my way.
Glancing at Julius, who looks completely horrified, I give a little huff of laughter. Although I don’t know the specifics, I can surmise that Aristotle and Raquel had a thing and that she has stock in Monaco Unlimited because of it, as a payoff of sorts.
The Queen throws her grandson a cheeky smile. “Oh, please, I have a good feeling about Ophelia. She won’t tell anyone about your grandfather’s dirty little secret, will you, dear?”
I lean forward, holding her steady gaze. “I won’t write a word about Mr. Monaco, I swear, unless you direct me to do so.”
Julius narrows his eyes at me, while Queen Helena chortles. “You can call him Aristotle, dear. H
e’s not an angel, and neither is Julius.”
“Grandmother! That’s enough!”
She throws her head back in laughter. “It’s the truth. Now, about the summer season, you know I am without a press secretary at the moment.”
After I sip my tea, I clear my throat and bite back any remaining laughter. “Yes, I do know that.”
“Well, since Raquel is determined to report on the Crown’s affairs, I’d like to tell you that I am willing to grant you weekly private interviews with myself, my family, and my staff.”
“Why would you do that?” Julius asks, seemingly annoyed.
“Because,” she sips her tea, “we have nothing to hide.” Lowering her cup, her gaze shifts to her grandson. “Do we, Julius?”
This time, he attempts to smile at her. “No, we absolutely don’t.”
I glance toward Julius, wondering if he told her about us, because I swear by the way she’s looking at me, she knows about our past. When I get no clear indication, I look back toward the Queen. “Do you think you could tell Raquel that? Because I don’t think she knows that.”
The Queen shakes her head. “Oh, dear, you are just the delight I need to make it through the summer season.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“She doesn’t mean anything,” Julius pipes in.
The Queen frowns at her grandson. “I mean,” she clarifies, “That it will be refreshing to have a young woman’s point of view around here for a change. The press is always so stuffy and has so many unkind things to say about my family. Hearing your voice when the news comes out about my abdication will most definitely help with the transition.”
“So the rumors are true?” I ask.
“Yes, they are. It’s time this old coot takes some time for herself.”
The news about her stepping down isn’t exactly shocking. However, it is sad. “I appreciate your trust, Your Majesty.”
“Well, there’s more. Not only would I like the news to be reported properly, but I’d also like the story to be told with the correct reasons attached to it, and I’d like you to be the one to tell it all.”
My jaw almost drops at information. “You want me to write about you? As in more than just the summer season?”
She nods.
“I’m flattered, but—.”
She interrupts me. “Is that a yes?”
I glance toward Julius, who is avoiding looking at me, so I shake my head. “I’m not sure I’m the right person for that job.”
The Queen smiles almost to herself. “You absolutely are.”
My pulse stops for a second, and then it restarts. There may be a real story for me to tell, after all. Not having to fabricate one is a relief I can’t even begin to unravel. Raquel has green-lighted me to report on the Crown’s summer season, and this is news. Perhaps not the dirty laundry she wants, but a story nonetheless. And the truth at that.
The only issue is Julius.
Will he allow me to get as close to his family as the Queen is asking?
The older woman is still smiling at me, but she must feel my burning, questioning stare because she adds, “Of course, you’ll need to spend a good deal of time with Julius over the next six weeks, as well. I hope that won’t be an issue?”
Julius jumps to his feet. “Grandmother!”
Grandmother! Huh. So it isn’t just me Julius speaks to with a warning tone in his voice.
That’s good to know.
She raises her brow in warning. “Relax, Julius. I mean, you’ll have a part of the story to tell as well that she’ll need to hear. I’m not playing matchmaker if that’s what you are thinking. Now, sit down and eat a little something.”
“I’m not sure Ophelia is a good fit for you,” he voices, and my heart drops. He doesn’t want me near his family.
“She is more than a good fit. She’s perfect. I’ve read some of her work, and I trust this young woman will tell my story with the heart and passion it deserves. Once I’ve told the story in its entirety, I will unveil the news to the world. Then, and only then.”
That familiar scowl returns to his face, but he does sit and grab one of the sandwiches when he does.
Broody.
Moody.
And annoyed.
“What?” I mouth while his grandmother is pouring some more tea into her cup, and he’s glaring at me with flame throwers in his eyes.
As if disgusted, he shakes his head.
Frustrated with Julius, I set my cup on my saucer and reassure the Queen as best I can. “I will do my very best.”
“I know you will. And I think you could be just what my grandson needs to get the press off his back.” She lifts her glass of tea to me, and I smile.
This time, Julius just rolls his eyes. However, the way they flick to me with amusement glittering in them makes me wonder if I might not be cracking through his armor, and the fluttering in my lower belly takes me by surprise.
The rest of the afternoon tea is spent discussing her life as a child, and I’m thankful to have work to concentrate on because spending this much time with Julius is making me feel hopeful, again.
Just as I’m getting to my feet to leave with Julius, the Queen says, “Oh, Julius, did you hear the news about Prince Rainer?”
The air around Julius thickens with anger. “Yes, I have,” he responds, his voice hoarse.
I feel my face flood with heat, suddenly apprehensive about being here. “What news?” I blurt out, worried that it could have something to do with Julius or me or the threatened lawsuit that he knows nothing about.
She glances up at me, looking very tired. “That he and Princess Beatrice Hill of Eastwood are expecting their first child.”
An air of relief washes through me—a baby. Okay, I can handle that news. Hopefully, now that Rainer is blissfully wed, he has resigned himself to the station he holds, which is nowhere near the throne. Still, if I never hear that man’s name again, it will be too soon.
And judging by the brooding look on Julius’s face, I’m more than confident I’m not the only one who feels that way.
In fact, I know I’m not.
ROSES ARE NOT RED
3 Years Earlier
After the final three, Julius tried to end the show.
The producers wouldn’t have it, yet everyone knew he’d been spending his nights alone with me.
The game had long ago ended, and although he kept up appearances for the camera, I knew he was mine.
We’d confessed our love and planned to marry as soon as the filming ended.
Until everything changed.
The finale was the toughest thing I ever had to live through.
Julius had already said goodbye to the other girl, and he was on his way to me when the producer said, “I got a call.”
I was on the dock in Belize with the wind blowing my hair in my face when alarm slithered down my spine. “From who?” I asked.
“A man named Prince Rainer. He claims you aren’t a student at NYU after all, but rather a journalist from the Vespa Isles out for a story. Is that true?”
At first, I stood in shock, but then I lost it. My shoulders started to shake violently, and Joe hugged me.
In between heaving sobs, I tried, unsuccessfully, to sputter out something coherent, but before I could, Julius was approaching me. Feeling confident in what we shared, all I could think was, I will tell him the truth, and everything will be fine.
The producer stepped away just as the cameras started rolling. I wiped my eyes and wanted to blurt out the truth, but Julius was on one knee, asking me to marry him, and I was saying yes, and the producer was saying nothing, so I did the same.
Relieved, I thought the show was going to let me handle the situation off-camera.
Boy, I was wrong.
As soon as Julius and I kissed, Joe rushed between us. “So, is it true?” he asked us.
“Is what true?” Julius was confused.
“That Lia Heart from New York is really Opheli
a Heart from Alexandria, and she only came on the show for a story.”
Julius was stunned. It took him a few beats before he could look at me. “Is that true?” he asked.
“No…not in the way you think,” I quickly replied, having no idea what the hell I was even talking about. I wasn’t a liar, and yes, it was true, but not in the deceitful way the show was characterizing it.
“In what way, then?” Julius asked.
Talking to him right then wasn’t a good idea, and yet, I knew I had to. “Prince Rainer sent me here on an assignment, but as soon as I met you, I knew I couldn’t go through with it.”
His face turned red. “Prince Rainer?”
I nodded. “Please, just listen to me.”
“I have Prince Rainer on the line,” the producer announced, and then let the awful man speak, telling the world about our deal. My deal with the devil. The one I thought I’d ended.
Shock hit Julius harder than a ton of bricks as he listened to what the man had to say. To witness the siege taking place on our happiness was nothing short of awful. His entire body jerked like I’d punched him when Rainer mentioned the money, but the charming dirty-talker paled before my teary eyes when he learned about the exposé I was hired to write. The one proving he wasn’t worthy of love.
“Hang up the fucking phone, now!” Julius blasted.
After the call was disconnected, I tried once again to explain. “It started out as a story, but as soon as I met you, I told Rainer I quit. I’m so—”
Julius’s hand cut through the air between us in a gesture to silence me. “Just stop. I don’t want to hear another word from you. Ever again.”
My gasps turned loud, and I couldn’t control my sniffling as mascara ran down my cheeks. “Please,” I begged, “Just listen to me.”
His nostrils flared as fury consumed him, and when he finally spoke, his words were guttural. “Don’t fucking say another word.”
“My feelings for you are real. I wanted to tell—”
“I said, stop.” He stepped forward, forcing me against the wall. “I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”
“Please, just listen—”
His face was so close to mine, and then I felt the warm puff of his breath on my lips. “Why are you still talking?”