The Princess Affair (24 page)

“I could scream. My protection detail would barge in and arrest you.”

Enjoying the ease of their sensual banter, Kerry laughed and leaned in closer. “Oh, you will scream. My name. In passion.” She brushed a soft kiss across Sasha’s lips. “I think Ian will get the hint and stay away.”

“Again.” Sasha’s hips flexed restlessly. “Kiss me again.”

Kerry lowered her head but paused mere inches from Sasha’s inviting mouth. “Say please.”

*

The tabloids were obsessed with “Sasha and Luke” for two weeks before it became clear—thanks to photographs that emerged of her dancing at Mahiki with the heir to the throne of Luxembourg—that Boyd was no longer on the royal radar. At first, Kerry found the media’s obsession laughable. They thought they were revealing news, when really Sasha was adroitly leading them on a wild goose chase.

Kerry had quickly learned not to read the comments on the newspapers’ online articles about “Sassy Sasha.” The tasteful protestations of attraction didn’t bother her so much—she could, after all, empathize. But many people either spoke of her in vulgar, wildly inappropriate terms, or they denounced her activities in harsh language. Seeing the ignorant public’s opinion made Kerry’s blood boil. What would they say if they knew she was putting on an elaborate performance to protect their fledgling relationship? Would they still be so critical?

Sometimes, even Kerry’s peers weighed in on Sasha’s love life. A drunken Kieran had once dubbed her “sexy as fuck” during a pub crawl—prompting Harris to kick Kerry in the shin under their table—while Anna had alternately lauded Sasha’s fashion sense while disapproving of her “wild child” tendencies. Whenever the Princess Royal became a topic of conversation, Kerry resolutely kept her head down and her mouth shut.

But as the cool October days gave way to a blustery November, Kerry began to increasingly doubt her ability to keep up the charade. It had become difficult for her to stomach the weekly sight of Sasha flirting with men whom the public would—she had little doubt—vastly prefer to herself as a partner for their princess. Besides, nightclubs were fun on occasion, but they lost their novelty quickly. After two weeks of watching Sasha from the sidelines of one exclusive and outrageously expensive venue after another, Kerry decided to forgo the all-night partying and meet her in her apartment.

For the fourth weekend in a row, she had made the trip down from London to a deserted Clarence House. This time, Sasha had promised she would quit her club of the week early and be waiting for her, and yet when Kerry stepped inside, she found the rooms dark and empty as always. Instead of retreating to the couch, she went to the kitchen, took a beer from the refrigerator, and sat at the small table. As she spun the bottle in her hands, she listened to the rain and wind lash at the trees outside. Mother Nature seemed frustrated, and she could empathize. On the one hand, Miranda’s plan for Sasha appeared to have worked; the paparazzi had stopped hounding her quite so mercilessly now that she was back to handing them easy fodder. But on the other hand, Sasha had become increasingly embroiled in her own game. Sometimes Kerry wondered if she even remembered why she was playing it in the first place.

It was getting more and more difficult to watch from afar while Sasha deliberately played a caricature of herself for the benefit of the public. No matter how she tried not to look, she couldn’t avoid the ubiquitous images of Sasha on the arm of some hot male musician or athlete or entrepreneur. Glossy magazine covers and sensationalist tabloid headlines taunted her on every news stand. It had gotten to the point where she couldn’t even shop for groceries without her stomach turning.

At times, she felt as though she had been pulled into some sort of bizarre love triangle between Princess Alexandra and her assortment of male decoys. Yes, she and Sasha were able to spend at least one night a week together. But after a bout of frenzied lovemaking followed by a few hours of sleep, they always woke into a world they couldn’t share with each other—a world that held no place for them as a couple. Inevitably, Sasha would have to get up to attend a charity polo match in Ascot or an extended family outing at Sandringham Estate or a state dinner at Buckingham Palace. The royals, she was coming to realize, lived their lives almost entirely in a fishbowl.

As she picked at the corner of the label on the bottle, Kerry reminded herself that even had she been a man, her place at such functions would not have been guaranteed. Over the past few weeks, she had been reading about the beginnings of Arthur and Ashleigh’s romance, just to get a sense of perspective. They had been together for almost a year before Ashleigh had begun to accompany Arthur to official events. Was that even what she wanted—to be held up to the scrutiny of the masses the way Ashleigh was now? And what did Sasha want? Admitting to a relationship with another woman would rock the royal boat as it had never been jostled before. Did Sasha have any desire to “go public,” or was she simply having fun?

The beer label ripped beneath her fingers and she sighed in frustration. She wanted to be sympathetic and compassionate, but more and more, being Sasha’s secret was chafing at her sense of self worth. Was this how Lancelot had felt about Guinevere?

And then she had to laugh at herself, because Arthur was Sasha’s brother, not her husband. And because she had no wish, however romantic parts of the story might be, to insert herself into such a tragic tale.

The sound of the door opening pulled her from her thoughts. Taking a long pull from the bottle, she readied herself for Sasha’s excuses. Moments later, she appeared in the doorway, dressed in a shimmering gold gown that almost swept the floor. Tonight’s outing must have been classier than the average nightclub.

Sasha regarded her silently. “I’ve let you down. You’re angry with me.”

Kerry spread her hands. “That’s not the right word.”

Sasha stepped over the threshold and took a seat across the table. “But you’re definitely not happy.”

“No,” Kerry said. “I’m not.”

Sasha glanced at the clock on the wall. “I realize I broke my promise to be here, and—”

“That isn’t the problem.” Kerry picked at the corner of the Hobgoblin label.

“Then what is?”

Beneath the coolness of Sasha’s tone, Kerry could detect a note of…perhaps not fear, exactly, but concern. Maybe even anxiety. Was that a good sign? An indication that she genuinely cared?

“I know this is complicated. So complicated.” Exhaling slowly, she tried to walk the emotional tightrope between her feelings for Sasha and her frustration with her. “But it’s been almost two months since you told me you needed to buy yourself some time so that you could decide what you really wanted. Instead, you’ve gotten completely caught up in the game you’re playing with the media. Recently, I’ve gotten the feeling that it’s more important to you than I am.”

Aside from the flush that rose to her cheeks, Sasha betrayed no indication that Kerry’s words had affected her. Crossing one leg over the other, she presented a nearly impassive façade. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“I wish I knew where I stood with you. You seem content with this system we’ve put into place, but I—I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

She shook her head, feeling miserable. “I’m not trying to bully or pressure you. I’m just trying to tell you how I feel.”

“Do you honestly believe I enjoy living a double life? Pretending for the cameras? Watching every word that comes out of my mouth?”

Just as Kerry was opening her mouth to reply, Sasha’s phone rang. She glanced at her purse. “That’s my father. I’ll return his call later.” She leaned forward, intent on Kerry’s face. “Tell me what you want from me.”

Faced with this icily composed version of Sasha, Kerry had to remind herself that while she might not be a princess, she too had rights. “I want us to have an honest conversation about where this―us―is going. In Ireland, you talked about our connection. Do you still feel that? Do you think, someday, that you’ll want to make this relationship public?”

Speaking the words made her mouth go dry, and she swallowed hard. “I know something like that would take time. And I can wait, if I have to. But not forever. I won’t hide forever. I lost my first love to the closet in college. I won’t lose myself.”

Sasha’s fingers twitched against the lacquered surface. Otherwise, she betrayed no movement. “Let me be certain I understand you. You’re asking for clarification about my intentions with respect to…this.” She gestured between them.

Feeling suddenly shaky, Kerry took another sip of her beer. “Yes.”

“And while you would consider continuing to keep…this…a secret for a short time, you refuse to do so in the long term. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Kerry’s stomach was in knots. She might as well have been speaking to a robot, for all the emotion Sasha was showing. What did that mean? Was this the end? If it was, she sensed no relief on the horizon of her psyche—only sadness and pain and longing.

Sasha’s phone rang again. At first she ignored it, but as the ringtone resolved she looked over at her purse in concern. “That’s Ashleigh,” she murmured. “Just a moment. I have to…hello? Ash? No, I—
what
?”

As Kerry watched, the color disappeared from Sasha’s face and she swayed in her chair. In an instant, Kerry was kneeling at Sasha’s feet and lacing their fingers together. Something had happened. Something awful. In the face of Sasha’s palpable fear, Kerry’s frustration melted away. She felt the world snapped into crystalline focus as adrenaline surged through her blood. She had to stay calm. She had to be strong. Sasha needed her. That was the only thing that mattered.

“Now. I’m leaving now. I’ll be there—Ash, please, just—I love you. Yes. Soon.”

When the phone dropped from Sasha’s hand, Kerry was there to catch it.

“Sweetheart?” The term of endearment came without thought. “What’s happened? Can you tell me?”

Pale and trembling, Sasha turned to her with a grief-stricken expression. Kerry brought her hand to her mouth and kissed each knuckle gently, willing her to find the words.

“It’s Arthur. He’s—he’s had an accident.” She gulped for breath. “He’s in a coma.”

The city passed in a blur of rain-washed light. Sasha leaned her head against the window, wishing the cool glass could ease her fevered mind. Outside, people were going about their daily lives—enjoying their Saturday night, despite the weather. Meanwhile, she had slipped into a parallel universe in which the very idea of enjoying anything ever again seemed ludicrous.

Arthur. Her brilliant, charming, loyal brother. Arthur, who had always let her have a head start in their childhood footraces. Arthur, who had once given the jacket off his back to a homeless boy on the street. Arthur, who had comforted both her and Lizzie so well in the wake of their mother’s death. Arthur, whose patient explanations over the phone had made it possible for her to pass her history course at university. Arthur, who had asked friends, family, and strangers alike to donate to charity in lieu of sending wedding gifts. Arthur, the golden boy not only of the United Kingdom, but of the entire Commonwealth. And beyond.

“It should have been me,” she whispered.

“Pardon, ma’am?” Ian asked gently.

“Never mind. I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t stop mentally retracing Ashleigh’s words in a futile search for more information. This afternoon, Arthur had been out on a training mission in foul weather. There had been some sort of accident, and he had been evacuated by helicopter to the nearest trauma center. Shortly thereafter, he had been transferred to the London Brain Centre at Wellington Hospital. Their father, whom she had called back immediately, had been unable or unwilling to offer any more details.

A crowd was already gathering outside the hospital by the time Sasha’s car pulled up. At first, she felt outrage that so many photographers were hoping to capitalize on her family tragedy. But then she saw the signs interspersed with the telephoto lenses.
God bless you, Prince Arthur
.
Praying for you, Arthur. We love you, Arthur
. The news had barely broken, and already people were showing their support—abandoning their Saturday night plans and braving the discomfort of the elements to hold a vigil for their fallen prince.

She stepped out of the vehicle before Ian could open his umbrella. Rain pelted down furiously as the crowd surged and cameras flashed. She didn’t care about any of it. She had to get inside. Members of both the royal guard and the police force closed around her in a phalanx as she moved toward the doors.

Once inside, Ian offered his handkerchief. She took it gratefully and wiped her face, nose crinkling as she caught the scent of antiseptic. The sharp odor sent her flashing back in time to her mother’s illness: the months spent in and out of the hospital, its pale walls closing in on her at the end. Her stomach roiled, and she pressed the cloth more firmly to her face.

“Are you all right?” Ian’s hand was at her elbow.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded. When she felt her fingers trembling against her face, she willed them to stop. She had to be strong. For the sake of Lizzie and Ashleigh and even her father. Arthur had always been the strong one. Now it was her turn.

Exhaling slowly, she raised her head. The guards had remained outside. Ian stood at her right hand, and a nervous-looking man in a pair of scrubs lingered a few feet away.

“Can you take me to my brother?” she asked him.

“The physicians are still running some tests, Your Royal Highness,” he said. “But I can take you to the private waiting room where your family is gathering.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

As they fell into step behind him, she tried to return the handkerchief to Ian. He pressed it back into her hands.

“Keep it. I have plenty.”

“Thank you.” She subtly leaned her shoulder against his. “For everything.”

“It’s always an honor, ma’am.”

As they continued down the maze of corridors, Sasha found herself wishing that Ian weren’t the only person at her side right now. She missed Kerry with a ferocity as sudden as it was unexpected. Despite the tension of their earlier conversation, Kerry had been a rock as Sasha attempted to pull herself together. She had led Sasha into the bedroom and helped her pick out clothing to wear. While she was changing, Kerry had poured her a glass of water, and while she drank it, Kerry had rubbed her back. And as Sasha was about to leave, Kerry had pulled her into a gentle embrace.