Tabloid Princess, page 1
Tabloid Princess
Anna Bloom
For,
Ayelet
Who does love a prince
“My Crown is in my heart, not on my head:
Not deck'd with Diamonds, and Indian stones:
Nor to be seen: my Crown is call'd Content,
A Crown it is, that seldom Kings enjoy.”
William Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part 3
Contents
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Scandal Queen
Acknowledgments
Thank You
Preface
It seems inconceivable that in one moment every shred of an existence can change:
The car was going too fast.
The illness inoperable.
The heart stopped beating.
In just one moment everything that you are, everything that you live for, can change.
When I think of my moment, it’s never how I expected it to be. It’s an aching reality that the things which you dream of can never be, were never meant to be, yours.
He was never meant to be mine.
But even knowing that, would I change it?
Would I turn my back on that faintest glimmer of forever to save my heart, which would never beat the same again?
Would you?
Would you deny the prince of your heart, even if the cost was your soul?
One
“I’m here, I’m here.” I shouldered my way into the office wondering why the air seemed hotter, before remembering that the air con went out last Friday. It’s the hottest September on record. Just for the record.
I landed in my chair, the decent force of gravity behind me scooting the wheels partway into the middle of the room. I used my feet to work my way back to my desk. “Have you seen this?” I threw the newspaper down. “I mean, seriously. Look at this prick.” I shook the paper out and stabbed my index finger at the bold headline: Prince to invest in new charity initiative. I scowled at the paper and the image below it. I mean, really?
‘The Prince’ was stepping off a yacht for fuck's sake. Wearing a polo shirt and those posh brown leather boat shoes only utter tossers wore.
“Shh!” Molly frowned at me and shook her head. Clearly she wasn’t reading the headline properly. To make sure she understood my point I rustled it in her direction.
“Molly. What does this guy know about charity? I mean, maybe he’s bored. Maybe he’s run out of new restaurants to visit or journalists to punch. But let’s be real here; he doesn’t know the first thing about places like us. He’s just swanning around in his fancy car, at his fancy palace, all while we are sweating our arses off because we can’t afford to fix the air con and help the people who need us. He’s beautiful, there’s no denying it—but there are homeless people starving on our streets, surely that’s worth more column inches?”
“Leia!”
“No, Molly!” Nothing could stop my tirade. “I’m sick of it. This country is just so fucked up. This guy could fart, and it would make headline news.”
“Leia! What the hell are you wearing?” Molly said the only words that could stop me talking.
“What do you mean?” I pushed at my fringe. The sticky heat had made it weld itself to my forehead. “It’s new.” I frowned down at the corduroy.
“New, when? Two decades ago?” Molly’s voice dripped with latent sarcasm and I glanced over at her. Of course, she wasn’t sweating and flustered. Her long blonde bob was beautifully sleek, and her canary-yellow sundress nipped in at her waist.
I flipped her the bird.
It’s a Monday morning thing.
“The woman in the charity shop said it was vintage chic.”
Molly lowered her head to her desk, one of her arms wrapping tight around her middle. “Your fashion sense is going to be the end of me, Leia.” She waved her hand in my direction. “Or my eyeballs will actually explode once and for all.”
“Bite me.” I wheeled back to my desk, grabbing for my cardboard coffee cup and tipping it to my mouth. If I could squeeze some caffeine into my morning, I’d be able to come up with a slightly wittier comeback than ‘Bite me’. I mean, who said that these days apart from thirteen-year-olds?
I watched my reflection in my monitor shoot Molly a spectacular eye roll. Now that, any thirteen-year-old would be proud of.
“Go on. Give it to me. Tell me I’m an apple shape and should be wearing a miniskirt on the bottom and some sort of tent to cover my tits up top.”
“Leia….”
Two things happened at once. Molly, who looked like a volcano on the cusp of explosion, pointed behind me. While my right hand, usually my stable one out of the two useless limbs I’d been charged with owning at birth, just let go of the coffee cup.
I leapt from my chair, turning to where she gestured towards Janine’s office behind me. I’d get in trouble for swearing, again. Maybe she’d send me home to get changed so it didn’t look like I’d pissed coffee all day. Maybe I’d change into something that wasn’t actually a carpet circa 1970.
Janine was there but my eyes skipped right past her. Like a foot to the side and then two foot up.
There he was.
His lips curved at the edges, and those green eyes—there wasn’t a single woman in the entire universe who hadn’t fantasised about those staring back into hers—blinked a slow, dazzling knicker-melter.
There he was.
“Oh.” That’s all I had. It was the sum total of my education articulated into one long and drawn out vowel sound.
Prince Oliver.
The future king.
I stared blankly, my expression surely one of a deer about to be mowed down by a truck going too fast. His returning smile said it all. Basically, ‘Look at this utter lunatic’.
“Oh, shit. Uh.” Still with the excessive vowels and cursing. I reached my hand for the newspaper; but there was no chance in hell he hadn’t heard my morning rant. There were people in China who’d heard it.
With a face the temperature of the sun I frantically unravelled fistfuls of kitchen towel and tried to fashion a very swift and crude skirt out of recycled paper.
Janine, whose expression told me without her uttering a single sound that this was possibly the last thing I’d ever do for Bright Futures, took control.
“Your Royal Highness, this is Leia Lawrence, our marketing manager.”
She didn’t need to make it sound quite like that.
What the shit is actually happening here?
I stared between the king to be and my office manager. And then I stared again.
“Leia? As in Princess Leia?” he asked, and fuck me, it should be illegal for someone to have a voice like that. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Molly slumping in her chair. Whether she was mid-orgasm or working out a plan to launch herself into his path was unclear.
“Yes. And my brother’s called Luke.”
A muted pause filled the air, while inside I withered away and died a slow and painful death. I just tried to joke with the heir to the throne… and it was a lame joke at that.
He turned for Janine, while I fidgeted, wishing that magic was real so I could vanish away my coffee stain, the outfit it was on, and perhaps my personality.
“I’m sorry for calling in unannounced.” His voice lifted with an almost melodic lilt. On a whim I glanced at the heavens because surely only angels weeping would make a noise like that. “It’s hard to give my charities my full attention when every visit turns into a media circus.” His smile was all encompassing. The same smile frequently splashed on the front pages of newspapers. More than frequently, daily at the moment.
Who was he dating?
Was the wedding off forever?
Why had another royal romance failed?
I stared at him, utterly mesmerised by the beauty of his face. I could see no logical reason why anyone would fail at a relationship with him. I hated myself for even thinking it; he was beautiful though, too beautiful.
“Oh, I assure you, we would welcome a media circus, actually any media.” Janine’s barb in my direction was barely concealed and it took all I had not to roll my eyes in front of the future king. To be fair, she had a point.
“Well, if I knew we had a famous patron and that he’d be stopping by, maybe my job would be easier.” My retort was far sharper than I intended.
“Oh, that’s my fault.” Somehow the prince managed to wedge his shoulder between Janine and I, diffusing the simmering tension. It also put the full wattage of his smile and insanely green eyes down onto me as though we were the only two people in the room. “I just like to keep things private if I can.”
I snorted. I actually snorted. My hand clapped over my mouth. “Sorry, that was rude.” Holy crap. Could it get any hotter in here? “I just meant that you and privacy don’t seem to go hand in hand.”
He inclined his head just a fraction, his lips curving ever so at the corner, as though I was slightly above amusing. “But I’m here and the press aren’t,” he countered, one eyebrow lifting a millimetre.
“Yay for us.”
Right then would have been a perfect time to step back, take a break, go to the ladies, dry my skirt, get a fucking brain; that kind of thing.
“Maybe I could help you with media attention?” he suggested to Janine, but his hand gestured towards me. I could only assume he meant to discuss how to get media attention with me; the marketing manager. That would make total sense, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything because his voice pitched lower, smoother, a hot wire straight to my insides. I needed to calm down before I degenerated to Molly’s current state. I was going to remind her of this until the day I died. Which might well be in five minutes time if he flashed that smile on me again.
“Well,” Janine giggled, a sound I’d never heard her make, “That would be most welcome. Leia, I’m assuming you’re otherwise unengaged.” The prince couldn’t see the face she pulled in my direction.
She wanted me to have a meeting with him? Like now? Right now? I’d just called him a prick. Oh my God; I’d called him a prick.
“Uh, Janine. I’m wearing a coffee. Is there any chance I can go and locate some jeans and maybe some knickers that don’t smell of latte?”
A wild chuckle lifted from Molly’s direction. Poor old Paula, still carrying the weight of her fourth child fanned herself down with the back of a yellow legal pad.
“And I think I’m going to stop talking right now.” I backed up, heading to my desk where I grabbed my purse.
Those lips stretched into a smile, his expression flitting between utter confusion and mild amusement.
“There’s a Primark just down the road. I’ll be back in five…” I waved at the door leading to the street outside. “Assuming it’s okay? You know, to go now, your uh Highnessy person.”
“Make it ten,” Molly interjected.
The prince folded his arms across his chest like this was the best damn show he’d seen in a while and he planned to stay after the interval.
“Care to come and help?” I shrugged in Molly’s direction. My Monday had officially pitched off the edge of normal.
“I think that’s sensible.” She nodded with more enthusiasm than she usually showed for Primark, then grabbed her handbag and came to my side. Her cheeks were unnaturally flushed.
Janine tutted and shook her head. “Good God, it’s a miracle we are still in business.”
I straightened up, meeting the prince’s amused gaze. “And we are essential to, er, to er, you know.” For one rather long and uncomfortable moment I completely forgot what the charity I’d given my adult life to even did.
“Go shopping!” Janine glowered at us and then turned for the prince, muttering something about flighty staff and coffee on the carpet.
Molly hooked her arm through mine and steered us both for the door. Out on the street we paused, breathed, and then both screamed at the top of our lungs, jumping up and down and clinging onto one another’s arms.
“What is happening here? I mean seriously. Is this a joke? Are we being filmed?” I’m the first to stop bouncing.
“Dude, you want to so hope not. That outfit really does suck, and I’m not even joking now.”
“I can’t believe you said all that when you walked in.” She shook her head but couldn’t wipe her grin off her face.
“And I can’t believe you didn’t stop me. Molly, come on.”
“Yeah, but you hate the… now what was it you called him… Tosser?”
“That was last week,” I grumbled.
“Ah, yes. This morning you called him a prick, in front of him.” She snorted again.
I rubbed at my face, my excitement and shock swiftly crumbling. I really did. I wouldn’t be winning a Pride of Britain award any time soon, or ever.
“Fuck, Molls. Am I actually going to have to talk to him? Like talk marketing and shit. We both know I haven’t a clue.”
“The fate of Bright Futures may well depend on it.” She eyed me with an appraising sweep, but a deep spark of excitement lit her chocolate eyes. “We are going to need a push-up bra. First things first. A push-up bra.”
“Bloody hell, Molly. It’s a meeting not a sex tape.”
“Darling, it’s all about the cleavage.”
Twenty minutes later, I tucked my hair behind my ear as we slipped back into the building. Molly insisted on leaving the corduroy in the changing room bin. She said we’d go back later for a sacrificial burning. Which was rude, but I could kind of see her point.
Paula was tapping on her keyboard and her ovaries still seemed to be inside her body, so I figured the prince had left. “Did he go?” I whispered as I slid into my seat.
“No, he’s with Janine and has been since you guys left.” She turned to me, her eyes saucer wide. “Can you believe he’s here?”
“No, not really.”
“It’s like meeting someone you’ve always known.”
My face scrunched with a will of its own. “Paula, I don’t think we can be sure the prince the papers write about every day is the real guy.” I stared with interest at Janine’s closed door. “I mean, no one can have that many dates, surely? He’s been photographed with about fifty women this year alone, and it’s still only September.”
“He can be pictured with me any time he likes.”
Holding my hand to my heart, I allowed my mouth to open in mocked shock. “Paula, what would Matty and the kids say?”
She flashed me a truly wicked grin. “He’s on my pre-approved shag list.”
I scrunched my face, not sure if I actually wanted to know what a pre-approved shag list was. I think the grin said it all, but of course I had to ask.
“It’s a list Matty and I have. We’ve each put down five names that the other one would have to accept us shagging.”
I mused on this, while I waited for the timer symbol on my screen to turn more times than the earth spins in front of the sun in one year to bring up my login box.
Leaning back on my chair, I stared at Paula. “I’m thinking Matty didn’t think you’d actually meet Prince Oliver though? Who’s he got on his list?”
“Sandra Bollocks. Anne Hathaway, and that one who’s an Avenger.”
“Scarlett Johansson?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
I paused for a moment. “Matty’s not really got a chance of meeting any of those has he?”
That dangerous grin, part psycho, part sex addict—I mean they do have four kids—reappeared. “That was his call.” She spun back in her chair, clapping her hands together. “And I’m going to give this my best shot.”
“Paula! You can’t. Poor Matty, I’d never be able to talk to him again at a Christmas party.”
Just as she stood and shook her booty for all it was worth, Janine’s door opened. Her expression said it all. Why her accusatory glare slid to me I didn’t know. I wasn’t grinding my almost arthritic hips in the middle of the office. “Leia, are you ready?”
“Uh, sure.” My legs stuck to the chair unwilling to move. Somehow, I forced myself into action and walked stiff legged towards her.
“What exactly does he want to talk to me about?” My heart hammered like a marching band, an uneasy flutter fanning in the space under my ribs.
“He wants to talk marketing exposure and how to generate more interest in the charity.”
Despite the wracking nerves determined to make me land face first on the floor, I paused. “Why? Why now?”
Janine, her usual pale skin still tinged with her I-just-met-the-heir-to-the-throne blush shrugged. “He hasn’t said.”
“Well, didn’t you ask? I mean,” I shifted towards her and lowered my voice, “this is a bit weird isn’t it?”
