by Karina Halle
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “As I said, I shouldn’t have taken the risk. I should have thought it through. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I look at Monica as I say the last bit, but she’s still not looking at me.
“I’ll say it again: this still isn’t the end of the world,” Eddie says, shrugging. “Perhaps the world could use a distraction in the form of Harrison’s arse.”
“How did you know they posted a picture of that?” Harrison asks. He then looks to me. “And while it may not be the end of the world for me, if someone is already calling up Mrs. Evans and asking questions, that means things might get a lot more complicated for Piper.”
He’s right, of course. But when it comes to pictures of me and Harrison together, I don’t see how anything could harm me, except an invasion of privacy.
“Mom, are you sure you didn’t say anything too damning?” I say to her. “You realize that the person who called was probably from a tabloid.”
“I swear I didn’t,” she says. “I guess this all makes sense now. You’re famous because of the pictures; now everyone wants to know who you are. You’re the mystery girl, Piper.”
Except that I wanted to stay the mystery girl. I’d been so focused on not upsetting Monica that I didn’t for a second think about how my being with Harrison would affect my life.
But really, what can they say? “Local schoolteacher enjoys fling with royal bodyguard”? Other than the expected slut-shaming and a new focus on me as a person of interest, is this really going to change things for me?
“So how should we handle this?” Harrison asks.
Eddie shrugs. “Well, I’m going to finish dinner. Then we can all retire to the deck, open a bottle of champagne, and celebrate the fact that you’ve found each other.” He looks to his wife with a smug look on his face. “I hate to say it, but, Mon, darling, you owe me money.”
She gives him a small smile.
They bet on this?
Dinner is over fairly quickly, and as everyone prepares to head outside with champagne glasses, I pull Monica to the side.
“Hey,” I say to her. “Look, I’m really sorry. I haven’t . . . we haven’t been sneaking around for very long, and I’ve felt so bad about keeping it a secret from you. I know what you said about us, and I should have run it past you first. I should have been open.”
“Piper,” she says softly, putting her hand on my arm. “It’s okay. And I should have never said anything to you about him before. It wasn’t my place.”
“You said it would reflect badly on you, and now it might.”
“I know what I said. But I was wrong to say it. I’m so used to thinking about myself that I didn’t stop to think about you or Harrison. Whatever you guys are doing, however you feel about each other, it’s okay. Whatever you do is your business, and if it reflects badly on us, then so what? People who hate will always find a reason. The both of you are great people who deserve someone great in your lives. I mean that.”
“You’re not mad?”
She shakes her head and plays with the pearl necklace around her neck, no doubt worth a fortune. “I’m not mad. But I do feel bad that you’re going to be in the public eye again. Let me tell you, those first sex photos will haunt you for the rest of your life. I should know—I had quite a few back in my day, before I met Eddie, of course.” A wicked smile flits across her lips. “Hell, maybe just enjoy it. After all, how many people can say that they had sex in a lake with Harrison Cole? You know he’s become quite the fan fiction hero.”
A knowing look passes between us, and I have a feeling I’m not the only one who has read them.
Monica goes out to the deck, but I excuse myself to use the washroom.
To be fair, I just want to look at the pictures in private.
I sit on the toilet, pull them up on TMZ, and flip through them.
They aren’t that bad. I mean, it does look like we’re having sex, even though the shots are a little grainy and shaky, obviously taken from far away. My top stays on in these pictures, thank god, since I know my breasts were exposed on a few occasions. It seems they caught us at the end of the act.
And then there’s the final picture, just as Eddie predicted, the both of us walking onto shore, Harrison completely naked, tattoos and bare butt on display. I have no doubt that if I checked Perez Hilton, I’d see him fawning all over Harrison’s gorgeous body right now. I have to say, it makes me feel uneasy to know that he’s being exploited, more so than I am.
The article is typical TMZ style, giving as much detail on who I am as possible. A local schoolteacher and next-door neighbor. Thankfully they don’t say anything shitty, though I’m sure that’s happening elsewhere in the world.
I exhale loudly and exit the page. It’s a gross feeling to know that the world knows your business, and this is a giant leap from my mention in the ShoreLine. The only thing I can do is hold my head high and not let it bother me. I knew Amy Mischky would throw me under the bus the first chance she got.
But if this is the worst she can do, then I can handle the worst.
I decide to check my email while I’m at it.
And that’s when I see a message from the school board.
My heart stops as I catch the subject line:
“You are under review.”
Twenty
I stumble out of the bathroom, my phone clutched in my hand, and run right into Harrison in the hallway.
He immediately grabs me by the arms, holding me, his eyes anxiously searching mine. “Piper,” he says gruffly. “I am so sorry.”
I blink at him, unable to get my head on straight.
“I didn’t know if I should have said anything about the pictures or not,” he goes on. “I certainly didn’t want to spoil your dinner. But I thought it would be best that we came clean. They’d find out sooner or later.” He peers at me closer. “You’ve seen the pictures, haven’t you?”
I nod, my lips moving, but it feels like forever before words come out, like everything is moving in slow motion. “I saw the pictures. But I don’t care about the pictures. I don’t care about what they wrote. I . . . I just got an email from the school board.”
“The school board?”
“Yes. They said I’m under review.”
“What?!” he exclaims, his eyes wide. “Because of the pictures.”
“Yes. No. Here.”
I pull up the email on my phone and give it to him, my hand trembling.
He reads it over, his frown deepening, his eyes blazing as he goes.
I’m in deep shit.
According to the email, someone filed a private complaint about me and my personal “hobbies,” saying that I’m unfit to be a schoolteacher and that they don’t feel comfortable with someone like me teaching at the school. The school board has to take the complaint seriously, so they’ve set up a meeting on Monday for me to state my case in front of everyone.
The reason?
It’s not just the pictures. I could understand a little if it were the pictures. Even though it was a private moment, I was in an area where I shouldn’t have been, and the press is painting me as a little wanton, which definitely doesn’t help with the next part.
The next part being that my podcast is out in the open.
Whenever my mother did that interview today, the news got printed really fast. Romancing the Podcast, though not the subject of the article that I believe is in the Daily Mail (which is much worse than TMZ), was mentioned.
A romance podcast shouldn’t be a big deal.
But whoever filed the complaint has made it a big deal.
Something something, a public schoolteacher shouldn’t have a public podcast where she discusses sex and reads explicit sex scenes out loud.
Never mind the fact that it wasn’t public until today, that it’s been operated anonymously. I suppose I co
uld just deny it’s me, but I guess once you do know it’s me, it’s easy to connect the dots.
I’m fucked. And the funny thing is, this is exactly why I wanted to keep the podcast a secret, because I knew that someone somewhere would take offense at it and then call for me to lose my job over it.
And that’s exactly what’s happening.
Harrison finishes reading and hands the phone back to me.
“Sue them,” he says angrily.
“I can’t sue them.”
“They have no right to fire you over something you do in private. Over sex? Over discussing sex? That’s preposterous.”
“They’re looking for any way to vilify me, you know that.”
“Not they,” he says. “Someone. Someone who filed the complaint. The school board will side with you, once you state your case. Not that you should have to state your bloody fucking case; you’re entitled to do whatever you want on your own time so long as it hurts no one, and this hurts no one.”
“Except that someone wants to hurt me. They want to prove a point.”
“It doesn’t say who they are.”
“No. But I have an idea. It’s either someone from Joey’s family or it’s Amy’s mother. The town crier. She’s blocked a bike lane from being built, a bike lane that would prevent the dozens of accidents and collisions we have on our main drag every year, just because it would promote tourists to come visit. If she’s that rooted in stasis, there’s no way she’s going to let this fly.”
He sighs. “I guess we’re going to have to wait and see. You know I’m coming with you, right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He puts his hands around my waist and dips his head, looking at me sincerely. “It’s for your own protection, and I mean it.”
He leans in and kisses me gently. “I’m really sorry it had to be this way,” he murmurs, running a hand through my hair. “I thought we had a little more time with each other before we were exposed.”
“I did too,” I tell him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “But I don’t regret it. I don’t regret it coming out, because I have to say, I was feeling pretty sick at the thought of keeping it from Monica. I would have kept the secret for you, but it didn’t feel right. Now she knows and . . . I guess she’s okay with it.”
“She owes Eddie money,” he says with a soft smile. “I guess he bet that one of us liked the other one. I wonder if she owes him double now that it ended up being mutual.”
“Liked,” I say. The word, though accurate, sounds so small and puny on my tongue. “I more than like you, Harrison Cole.”
“And I more than like you, Piper Evans.”
“And I think the two of you are the cutest thing since sliced bread,” my mother’s shrill, tipsy voice comes through, breaking us apart.
“Since when is sliced bread cute, Mom?” I say wryly.
“Since you cut a little happy face in it,” she answers matter-of-factly.
The thing is, I should be mad at her because she’s the reason that this shit is all happening. But I know it’s not her fault. And the last thing she needs is to know that I’m being investigated by the school board. It’s better I say nothing at all.
She gives us another approving look before she walks into the washroom and closes the door. I grab Harrison’s hand and give it a squeeze. “I’m not going to tell her about the email, just so you know.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’ll blame herself. And rightly so, but it will send her on a downward spiral.”
“But doesn’t your mother have a right to know? You can’t keep hiding all the bad things from her, Piper. You know it doesn’t work.”
He has a point, but he doesn’t have my mother.
“I’m protecting her,” I tell him. “You of all people should know what that’s like.”
He studies me for a moment and then nods. “Come on. Let’s at least try to enjoy the night.”
He gives my hand a squeeze and leads me to the back deck.
* * *
Monday rolls around before I know it.
I did my best to try to slow the weekend down. On Saturday, Monica, Eddie, Harrison, and I went for a walk along a trail not many tourists know about, named for the Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield. It takes you past old-growth cedar groves, then through a fairy-tale-like forest with exposed veins of quartz and moss, and along a gurgling creek that runs out into the ocean, to a grassy knoll where you can sit and watch the pleasure boats, seals, and sometimes orcas glide past.
We didn’t run into anyone until the end of the trail, and they only gave us a second look and a smile and carried on.
On Sunday, Harrison spent the evening at my house.
A night off.
My mother decided to give us some privacy and said she was going into town, which was surprising but appreciated all the same.
I wanted Harrison to stay over, but he said he didn’t want to push his luck. Even though he’s a free man to do what he wants, we’re both still trying to figure out the balance here. Obviously I’m okay with whatever, at least until school starts again after Labor Day (if I even have a job . . . ), but Harrison has never had to balance a relationship and his job before. I know he wants to make sure he’s doing right both ways, so he’s taking his time. And so if that means he’s not spending the night here yet, then that’s okay with me. As long as I get some lovin’ and some quality time before he goes.
But he does stay true to his word when it comes to protecting me.
So at nine thirty the next morning, he’s knocking at my door, ready to take me to the meeting.
“Where are you going?” my mother asks from the couch, already engrossed in some soap opera.
“Just to town,” I tell her. “Text me if you need anything?”
She gives me a once-over. I do look extra professional today. My hair is pulled back in a low bun; I’m wearing a white shirt and black pants. I look like a waitress.
I leave before she can say anything else, smiling at Harrison.
“You still haven’t told her?” he asks.
“Shhh,” I tell him, my finger to my mouth. “She has surprisingly good hearing.”
“Piper . . .”
“This is for the best,” I tell him. “Now come on, let’s take my car. I don’t want to show up in anything royal-related. I’ll look like a pompous ass.”
“You’d take Oscar the Grouch over a pompous ass?”
“Every time. Get in.”
He gets in and then we’re off, and suddenly I wish I wasn’t driving because I’m gripping the wheel so hard that my knuckles are white and my palms are sweating.
“Hey,” Harrison says gently, putting his hand on my leg. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to do great.”
I give him an incredulous look. “I know you’ve seen me when I get nervous. I babble. I’m going to babble. I’m not going to say the right thing.”
“You will,” he assures me. “You will. Trust yourself. You’re sticking up for yourself, your podcast, your habits, perhaps even your love life, if it comes to that, and I sure hope it doesn’t. You know yourself the best, and you sell yourself the best. Anyone with a brain will be able to see your whip-smart mind and beautiful heart.”
God. I’m melting here.
I give him a look full of longing, the kind of longing that makes me want to pull the car off the road and climb on top of him. “Please stop being so nice to me.”
“I’ll never do that.”
“It’s going to go to my head.”
“If you know how amazing you are, the world will be a better place.”
Where did I find this man again?
Oh right. The royals next door.
Harrison’s kind words and pep talk, combined with the pressure of his soothing palm on my leg, k
eep my nerves in check for the drive, but by the time we pull in front of the elementary school, I’m a nervous wreck again.
Naturally, it being a Monday in the middle of summer, there aren’t many cars here. I recognize the principal’s station wagon, plus the electric car of the chairperson, and five other cars. I’ve never actually been to a school board meeting before, since I’m not on the board (and have never been in trouble), so I have no idea what to expect.
“You’re going to be fine,” Harrison says to me again as we walk toward the front doors, giving my hand another comforting squeeze.
It’s so weird being here in the summer; it feels like a place from a dream. In a way it’s best that I avoid the building on my months off and get back into the swing of things in the fall. Being here now feels like a mistake, like I’ve stumbled into some other dimension. It makes me realize how different I am in the summer, when I’m not working, than when I am. Not that either version of me is bad, but they do feel like different people.
We walk in through the doors and toward the first classroom on the right. The door is open, and there’s a low murmur of voices.
I stop just outside and look up at Harrison. “Do you mind waiting here?”
“Not at all,” he says, leaning in and giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ve got this.”
I’m not sure what I’ve got. But I know I’ve got his support. And that counts for a lot.
I step inside the classroom and see seven heads swivel toward me.
I try to take them all in at once, but at the same time they’re a blur, like I see nothing at all.
“Piper,” the principal, Georgia Hopkins, says to me. She gives me a shaky smile and gestures for me to sit down at the front beside her.
I am so nervous I might just pee my pants.
It’s hard to swallow, I feel like I’m almost choking, but I manage to walk across the room toward her without fainting or screaming.
Georgia has always been a great principal, beloved by both the kids and the staff, and I know from the apologetic look in her eyes that none of this was her idea. That puts me a little more at ease, knowing there is one more person here who has my back, even if the other person is waiting outside the door.