by Anna Bloom
I wondered what this point system could be; but there was no way in hell I’d ask. I had a mental list of things I’d ask Oliver later once we were alone.
Like when we got out of the car at the palace hours before and he’d held my hand and said I’d make his perfect princess. Why he didn’t actually tell me what he meant was that he’d told his family he was going to marry me.
I mean, I’m pretty sure I should have heard that first?
Of course, I’d have run for the hills screaming, but still.
Would I though? I cast a side-eye at him, analysing his face in profile. Noble and beautiful, well, until his lips curved as he caught me staring.
But marry?
Really?
I’m not sure a five-week whirlwind relationship where we’d hidden everything from, well, everyone, really constituted marriage.
But then hadn’t I already committed to him, to that, to a future, when I walked through the door at St Mark’s?
My head. Would they have cleaners to wipe my brains off the walls? Maybe it happened all the time in here.
“But never down to one point, Sir.” Marcus removed his glasses and rubbed at his nose. “Even after the wedding debacle, we never went as low as this. You cannot push this matter onto the public so soon after the bribery issue in Finsbury.” Bribery issue? Is that what it was called?
I stiffened at the mention of the failed royal wedding. Hadn’t Oliver been prepared to marry once before? Maybe it was his thing. I felt awful for even thinking it. His brother John had slept with his fiancée. It had been Oliver who’d been wronged, not his fiancée at the time, Charlotte Macclesfield, as the papers had reported.
But then we all knew the papers spoke a load of bollocks. Well I knew that now.
Oliver’s attention flickered back in my direction at my movement.
“Maybe if we hadn’t covered everything up, we wouldn’t have taken such a hit,” he said; his tone icy enough I leant away from him slightly.
“No, Oliver,” the Queen interrupted. “To be discreet is the principle on which this family is based.
I cringed and tried to slip down in my seat again.
“Indeed it was.” Marcus sniffed and put his glasses back on again; his attention once again settling on me.
“So I believe.” The Queen’s voice remained calm and authoritative. The King hadn’t spoken once. “We need to work hard to increase Leia’s popularity with the public.”
“Mother, Leia hasn’t done anything wrong.” Oliver’s voice tightened. “It was me who behaved is such a deceitful way. Leia is the innocent in this, and she’s one of them. We don’t need to do anything to her to make her more popular with them other than to just let her be herself.”
“I quite agree,” she agreed, nodding at her son. “But let’s polish her up a bit, really give them a people’s princess to fall in love with.”
My head began to whirl. The walls of the meeting room spun with an alarming speed.
Oliver’s hand slammed down on the table. “No, that’s not the point here. I’ve just promised the people on a live television interview that I’m going to begin to show them myself. That begins with her.”
Sweet Jesus.
My head ached like it needed to be between my knees while I breathed into a brown paper bag.
I pushed my chair back. My eyesight tinged with darkness, light spots zooming across my vision. “Please excuse me.”
I probably broke yet another protocol as I lurched for the door. From the edges of my still working peripheral vision, I saw Oliver stand to follow but I held out my hand.
In the hallway I gasped.
I wanted to run, find Daisy, and then leave this place and never return.
But hadn’t I promised him only hours ago that I wouldn’t run? He knew! He knew this was what it would be like, and he’d coerced me into a promise with his surreptitious charm and general wily ways. The sneaky royal blighter.
Instead of searching my way back to the apartment, I fell through the door next to the meeting room, back into the library where I’d initially met the King and Queen.
“Ha! Told you; that was well under thirty minutes.”
I froze as the sardonic voice darted across the room. Like Oliver’s, but not. My gaze swung until it landed on the two other Beaufort children sprawled across the sofas.
“Leia, you’ve let me down.” Isabella sat up, crossing her endlessly long legs, and reaching into a small bag on a low table in front of the sofa on which she’d been lay. She pulled out a gold-coloured credit card and pinged it towards her brother John. “Twenty-four hours only, and if you get me in trouble with the oldies, I’ll kill you.”
I didn’t want to look at him. He disgusted me. How he’d behaved with Charlotte Macclesfield could never be forgiven. A fiery little stab of rage pinged in my currently healed chest. He’d betrayed his brother, made him a laughingstock in front of the whole country… but… a little voice said in my head… you wouldn’t be here now if he hadn’t.
Hmm.
I folded my arms, well aware of the blue eyes of the middle prince on me. He was nothing like Oliver. Whereas the future king was astoundingly handsome, beautiful almost in the chiselled edges of his face I loved to slide my fingers around, the long slope of his nose and his high and smooth brow; John’s looks were diluted almost: his hair a pale gold, his skin pale and light.
“The tabloid princess.” John pushed up from his own sofa and paced across the space to where I stood with my arms folded like a shield. He managed to walk as though he were on the prowl and I shifted back, rocking onto my heels. “What a stir you’ve caused.”
I lifted my chin. “Not intentionally.”
“But still, so many column inches, so many things to print about.”
I glared with as much animosity as I could summon until the bastard laughed in my face. “Isabella, she’s such fresh blood.”
The youngest of the siblings, tall and willowy, as beautiful as any woman on the front cover of a magazine, stood from her sofa and then promptly fell to the side.
John’s attention on me lapsed and I breathed a sigh of relief while they both fell about laughing. Without looking too obvious, I glanced over Isabella. She seemed blind drunk—how long had we been in that meeting room? To me it had only felt like five minutes in front of a firing squad.
I took a step backwards, but John’s eyes snapped onto me again. “Don’t run, little princess, we only want to play.”
I gasped loudly. What the hell had I entered into?
Stepping backwards, I fell over a low object and lurched towards the ground. Behind me the door opened and strong arms caught me.
“Jesus, John! She has enough trouble standing up as it is.” Oliver’s lips pressed into my neck and John folded at the waist, howling with laughter.
“You should have seen your face. Oh my god, that was so funny.”
I stared at him while Isabella kicked her legs, very un-princess like, into the cushions of the sofa.
“Sorry.” Oliver’s breath skimmed my skin, his hands slipping around my waist. He lifted his face to glare at his brother. “That’s not funny, guys. Marcus has already been a twat enough for the whole palace today.”
I shuddered at the thought of Marcus and his grey frowning brows.
John straightened his face. Now I could see the humour in the depths of his expression I could see the similarity with Oliver. I tried to hide my surprise with how easy Oliver seemed with his adulterous sibling. I guess I’d assumed there would be animosity there.
“How many points we down?” John asked, arching a fair eyebrow.
“At least three million.” Oliver rubbed my arm. “Thereabouts.”
Isabella righted herself. She didn’t seem that drunk now, definitely acting earlier, but I knew enough about abuse to see a buzz in her eyes that didn’t come from playacting. “Don’t worry, Mum will have it all sorted soon. Leia will be regally gliding in Chanel in no time and the worl
d will ever forget she came from a slum.”
“Bella,” Ollie warned.
It seemed odd to hear the princess, usually featured on the front cover of Vogue or Cosmo to be referred to in such intimate terms. She was simply Princess Isabella, but then wasn’t Ollie once Prince Oliver to me too.
“Come on, let’s get back to Daisy and Nana.” Oliver tugged on my elbow.
“I should apologise to your parents for leaving so rudely. It was unacceptable.” I tried to think how these people would act, how they would behave, what they would say.
Oliver turned me in his arms, his lips curved into my favourite quirk. “Don’t you worry about that, let’s go home.”
“Ah, Johnny, look it’s so cute,” Isabella singsonged. Definitely buzzed. Definitely.
Oliver rolled his eyes at them both and led me out of the library back into the silent hallways. If staff were about, they seemed to discreetly disappear when a member of the royal family walked along. Apart from the butler at the front door, I hadn’t seen anyone. I looked up and down the corridor, this time taking in more of the furnishings. Decadent, but tasteful. Lots of cream and then shades of green with the odd flash of red in places. Along one corridor was a giant fireplace which seemed very out of place. I turned my attention to it and Oliver paused.
“Sorry, I forget you haven’t seen this all before. It’s just normal to me.”
I nodded and waved my hand. The universal sign for ‘give me more’.
“I told you this land was reclaimed during the reformation.”
“You did. The gardens and the secret garden were part of the original grounds.”
“Some of the insides too. The chapel for example.” For some reason my heart rate spiked at the mention of the chapel. No member of the public had ever seen it—ever. Well none that had then spoken about it or leaked it to those damn story hounds
“This part of the palace is original and what isn’t was built soon after the reformation.”
“So we are standing in a Tudor building?”
“I didn’t know you were a history buff.” His lips quirked. “But then I’m guessing there are lots of things I’ve still got to learn.”
“Before we get married you mean?”
His eyes held mine, but if I expected him to explain or quantify the plans his family seemed to have, he didn’t.
“So, this large fireplace here would have been in the great gallery. It would have kept visitors and courtiers warm while they waited for an audience with the King in the great hall.”
“A great gallery and a great hall; there are a lot of greats around here.”
His lips lifted into a smirk. “Anyway, that’s enough of that. What do you think about ordering pizza for dinner?”
“Pizza?” I raised an eyebrow. “The prince likes to order pizza?”
“Honestly,” his smile grew dangerous, “there is only one thing the prince loves more.”
Daisy and I were walking along the grass of the gardens when someone called my name. I say gardens; what I meant was the giant fuck-off landscaped grounds of about a million acres—all in the centre of London.
I turned and then almost fell over when I clocked sight of the Queen coming over the grass towards us.
“Oh my god,” I muttered, catching hold of Daisy’s hand. “Please behave.”
My words were utterly unnecessary, if anyone needed to be told to behave it would be me. Twice.
Please don’t say anything stupid. Please don’t say anything stupid.
“Leia, this must be Daisy?” The queen smiled and leant down to Daisy to shake her hand. Daisy bobbed a cute little curtsey which reminded me that I needed to do one too. Mine cranked down like a spring that needed oil.
“Your Majesty, this is Daisy, my daughter.” Why did I sound like a dick? Had a switch been flipped?
“Leia, please, I’m Margaret; most family call me Margi.”
“Blah, bluhbluh.”
Daisy giggled.
“Perfect, I shall take that as you are agreeing.” The Queen flashed me a smile that reminded me all too much of Oliver.
“I apologise for leaving the meeting. I appreciate that was rude.” I turned slightly and glanced at my arse to make sure I didn’t have something stuck up there.
“No need. We probably scared the life out of you.”
I nodded automatically, my cheeks burning.
“But you haven’t run screaming yet, which I think is the thing Oliver fears most.”
I pulled a face and glared at the darkening sky. The day had nearly come to an end. The sun had dropped behind the trees, lengthening the shadows across the grass and bringing a cool nip to the air. “I don’t think I could do that.”
The Queen eyed me with keen interest. “That’s good to know.”
She turned her attention back to Daisy. “I’ve heard you love everything about princesses?”
Daisy nodded, her lips stuck together.
“Would you like to come and see in the palace? Oliver’s Daddy would very much like to meet you.”
I met my daughter’s wide stare and nodded. “You can’t get overtired.”
The Queen held her hand out to Daisy. “We won’t be long, but I have lots of things she’d love to see.”
“Okay…” I didn’t know what else to say. Oliver’s Daddy hadn’t said two words to me since I arrived.
“And, Leia. We will start at nine sharp tomorrow. I believe we have just over a week until Daisy goes back to school.”
My mouth dried. “A week for what?”
Isabella’s words rang back at me from the library. The Queen would have me gliding about in Chanel—she didn’t know I couldn’t glide if my life depended on it.
“You’ll need to meet your stylist. There are guidelines I expect all members of the family to follow.” She frowned. “Although, I don’t believe Oliver has given you a very good example of that.” The Queen’s lips turned down with distaste. “Denim on the television, whoever heard of such a thing.”
I chewed my bottom lip and sunk my hands into Oliver’s hoodie.
“Anyway, business tomorrow.” She smiled at Daisy. “This afternoon is for princess fun.”
Daisy’s expression brightened, but she still looked a rabbit in headlights; sometimes I was pleased to see any of my genetics in her.
Once they’d left, I walked back to our apartment by myself. Oliver sprawled on the sofa in a very un-princely way.
“Did Daisy get Queen nabbed?” He asked, rolling himself up, proving what those abs he maintained were for—not rolling to his side like an upside down ladybird like I would.
“Yes. Did you know about that?”
He pitched his head to the side as if thinking. “No, but I guessed as much. Mum loves children; it’s why she’s always on at me to get married and produce an heir.”
Ah… there’s that word again.
I flinched almost automatically.
“Are you allergic to the word marriage?” His eyebrow rose with his question and I wanted to hide under the rug in the middle of the room.
“No.”
“But?”
“Well, Oliver. We’ve been together a few weeks, most of which has been in secret. We broke up, then got back together again. I think if we were to get down to the nitty gritty we could count our dates on one hand.” I held my hand up to stop him interrupting. “And by the way, making out on my sofa doesn’t really count. Then suddenly here we are, the press are camped outside the palace gates, and your family are working out how to turn me into a princess everyone will love, all so you can marry me… eventually, when the points are high enough.” I heaved a breath.
He stalked towards me, his eyes burning. My stomach tightened at his determined approach. “Tell me.” His voice pitched softly. “If you met me at the pub and we had a few outstanding dates. Things were getting deep, you thought you were in love with me, but it seemed too crazy, too spontaneous. But then one day I told you that I didn’t want to be
with anyone ever again, except for you. That I wanted to breathe and live with you, to never have a morning when I didn’t wake with you, that in every single moment, you made the life I’d been given infinitely better just by being you. How would you have reacted?”
My heart. It ached and pulled. I rubbed at my chest. Don’t you dare cry.
“I’d have been swept away with your words.”
“So I stand here, and I say the same. I can’t face tomorrow without you. I don’t want to. I’m a prince; people have been making plans for me since the day I came into existence, but those don’t mean a thing. Not really. Tomorrow, my mother will tell you to never wear jeans in public, to always keep your jewellery discreet during the day. Marcus will tell us next week that we’ve gone up three points in public opinion, but we’ve got a way to go. None of that, not one bit of it, changes a damn thing about how I feel about you, or who I know you are to me in my heart.”
“Okay.” I grabbed him pulling him tight to my chest, linking my fingers behind his head. “I get it.”
“I’ve said enough?”
I touched my lips to his, letting go of all my worries and concerns, taking the moment for everything that it was. A woman and a man who may just love each other to insanity and back.
Nine
“Ugh, what’s that noise?” I pulled the duvet up and screwed my eyes as tightly shut as I could.
Oliver stretched his foot, hooking it through mine. “It’s my alarm, I’m going for a run. You fancy it?”
I popped open an eye. “Ugh. No.”
“It’s a great way to start the day.”
I ogled his handsome sleep-smudged face—definitely my favourite look—and shook my head. “Running is a pastime for losers.”
“Am I a loser now?”
“Yes, a royal one.”
Rolling, he caught my wrists in his hands and lifted them over my head. My nipples stood to attention with anticipation; the sheer camisole I’d put on for modesty last night did nothing to hide them.
Smirking a little, Oliver dropped his head, brushing his lips over my collarbone, then across my chest, while I strained for him to take his lips where I wanted them—one of my nipples between his teeth. “A royal loser?”