The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1) Page 18

  I pull Stan to a gradual stop. “Oh. I see.”

  “We all know the papers dress things up.”

  I frown at thin air, caught off guard. “Yes, they do,” I reply, sounding unsure. So that’s it, then? “Please do let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

  “Thank you, Adeline. I will.” Haydon hangs up, and I slowly spin my phone in my hand, a little confused by that conversation. He turned up at Kellington the night of my party, and I know he was checking up on me. He may not have found Josh Jameson in my suite whipping me with a belt, but he knew something was going on, and the papers have confirmed it, even if they’re reporting a morsel of a story and detailing the wrong man. Princess Adeline kissing a soldier is nothing compared to Princess Adeline tied up and being thrashed by Hollywood actor extraordinaire Josh Jameson. Haydon’s happy to let the kiss slide?

  “Heading back, ma’am?” Damon asks, pulling up next to me, his bent arm resting out of the open window.

  “Yes, I believe I’ve had enough for today.” I turn Stan and give him a kick, letting him canter back to the stables. The feel of the wind in my hair would usually have me smiling, but today I can’t appreciate it. Something just feels . . . off.

  IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT EACH time I’m standing here, I’m wearing a different dress. Or my shoes are different. Or my hair and makeup have changed. I still only see a hollow woman. I wince as Jenny pulls and sweeps the front of my hair over my ear, pinning it in place securely before spraying my low chignon with lashings of hairspray.

  “Lips?” she asks, looking at my red Jimmy Choos.

  “Red.” I know I should go for something more subtle and girlie, more acceptable for a royal engagement. But the defiance in me refuses to mismatch my lips from my shoes to please the Monarchy. It’s red. The shoes are red. Slutty, scandalous red. I open my mouth as Jenny lines my lips and fills them in with the perfect red to match my shoes. Standing back from the mirror, I take in my form. The welts on my wrists are faded now, hardly noticeable, although still detectable if you look very closely. “I’ll do.” I accept my red clutch and let Jenny put the finishing touches on my makeup. “Thank you.”

  Kim appears at my suite’s door. “Time to go, ma’am.”

  “I’m coming.” Air. Lots of air. I pull it into my lungs and leave, Kim flanking me. “Walk me through it.”

  “You’ll be greeted by the gallery owner, as well as his staff. You will be introduced, you can say a few words to each of them, if you wish, and then you’ll unveil the plaque and declare the gallery open. Have you prepared any words of your own?”

  “A few,” I tell her, taking the balustrade as we reach the stairs. “But what else am I required to say?”

  “I gave you a prepared speech this morning. You were going to weave your own words throughout.”

  I wrack my mind and find no recollection of that conversation. I shrug my apology and Kim sighs as she hands me a sheet of paper. “Here.”

  “Thank you. Is there alcohol?”

  “You may have one glass.”

  “You are so generous, Kim.” I could do with a bottle. Or ten.

  “We’re expecting gossip paps amid the press.” Kim flicks me a look as her steps match mine down the stairs. “Security will keep them as far away as possible, but questions will be called, given the recent headlines. Ignore them. The formal greetings were due to be outside the gallery, but we need to get you inside ASAP, so we have changed the plans.”

  “Very good.” I smile at Damon when he nods and opens the car door for me.

  “You look beautiful, ma’am.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Damon.” I slide into the back seat and look up at him on a small smile. “But it’s all rather a waste with no one to appreciate it.”

  His eyebrows rise slowly, as if he doesn’t agree. “If you say so.” The door shuts, Damon puts himself behind the wheel, and Kim drops into the passenger seat. She goes straight to her mobile, checking ahead of our arrival that everything is in place. I look behind to see a car tailing us, as well as one up front.

  The door opens and Eddie slips in beside me, brushing through his dark blond hair with his hands. He looks dashingly handsome in his tux. “Evening,” he says, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. Taking my hand, he squeezes, his way of telling me we are good. “How was Father this morning?” he asks.

  “Oh, you know about that?” I sniff, returning his squeeze. “Your name wasn’t even mentioned during my royal dressing down.”

  “I wasn’t the one caught eating a man alive.”

  “You eating a man alive?” I laugh softly. “Now that would be real cause for a media frenzy.”

  “We’ll leave the men eating men alive to Uncle Stephan.” Eddie grins, and I smile, then focus on adding my own words to the manufactured speech.

  OH GOD, THE STREET OUTSIDE the building is swarming with press, cameras flashing, railings holding people back. Kim curses under her breath. “Bloody hell.” She unclips her seat belt and turns in her seat to face us. “Damon will walk you in, okay?”

  “No walkabout?” I quip, counting endless press, as well as members of the public who have come to steal a glimpse of me.

  Damon holds his earpiece as he reels off instructions to his men, scanning the vicinity. “Set?” he asks. “Good.” When he looks back at me, I give him a thumbs up and take a deep breath. He nods and exits, followed swiftly by Kim. A few seconds later, my door is opening and flashes are blinding me. “Fast but steady, ma’am,” Damon orders, placing his hand on my lower back. “And remember to smile.”

  “Like you need to remind me?” I paint on my smile when the crowds erupt, letting Damon guide me into the gallery.

  “Princess Adeline. Princess Adeline,” they shout. I wave to the sea of people being held back by railings, the press also being pushed back by the Metropolitan Police. Looking over my shoulder, I see Eddie emerging from the car, immediately flanked by security. The excitable crowd moves up a level at the unexpected appearance of Prince Edward. “Marry me,” one girl calls. “I love you,” another screams.

  I laugh, being ushered into the gallery where a line of people awaits me. “Okay?” Damon asks, checking on Eddie.

  “Yes, thank you.” I compose myself and slip my clutch under my arm as he takes a step back and falls into his silent but oh-so-very-present pose, his fingers resting on his ear to listen for the all clear.

  Kim joins me, looking way too flustered. “Ready?”

  I nod and perfect my smile as Kim walks me forward and announces me to the first person standing in the perfectly straight line, a short, rather round man, who I recognize as the CEO of the charity. Kim motions to him. “Your Highness, this is Gary Perkins, founder of High Spirits.”

  “Your Highness.” He bows his head and takes my hand when I offer it. “Thank you so much for joining us on this special evening.”

  “It is my pleasure,” I reply, claiming my hand back as he straightens and looks at me. I can see the nerves on his face, like most people I am introduced to on formal occasions such as this, so I quickly work on putting him at ease. One thing I have learned over the years of royal engagements is to make them laugh. It relaxes them in an instant, and therefore relaxes me, too. I lean forward, like I am going to tell him a secret. “I hope you don’t mind, but my brother was at a loose end this evening. I told him you wouldn’t mind if he gatecrashed your party.”

  As planned, Gary bursts into a deep belly laugh, the nerves disappearing in an instant. “Not at all, ma’am.”

  “Oh good. He’s usually well behaved.” More laughter. “Although, probably wise to keep him away from that champagne fountain.”

  “Thank you for the advice, ma’am. And I must thank you for being such a wonderful patron for the charity.”

  “Very welcome.” I smile, guilt niggling the corners of my conscience. I am a patron for over one hundred charities, and truth be told, I am only told what I need to know regarding the operatio
ns of them. But the point of having a known face as a patron is exposure. The tweets, the messages of support, and the media articles are not my words. They’re the words of my advisors. The speech-writers. “Can I just say, the work you do for the young adults is tremendous. Really tremendous.”

  “It’s such a passion of mine, ma’am. Creativeness, art, and expression. It’s all such wonderful therapy, and as you can see”—he motions around the gallery, and my eyes follow, seeing the walls adorned with canvases, and the floor scattered with stands displaying sculptures—“the results truly speak volumes.”

  “They really do,” I agree. “Well done for giving these vulnerable people such a valuable opportunity.”

  He nods and motions down the line. “May I introduce you to the key members of our team, ma’am?”

  “Certainly.” I scan the line and quickly gauge the length. It’s going to be a long haul. But that champagne fountain is waiting at the other end.

  “May I introduce Professor Lennington,” Gary starts, motioning to the lady first in line. She curtseys, her mane of frizzy locks falling forward, her glasses slipping to the end of her nose. She quickly rectifies her out-of-place spectacles and takes my hand. “She is a very talented painter.” Gary goes on as Professor Lennington’s hand trembles in mine.

  I place my other hand over it, applying a little pressure. “I hope your hand in steadier with a brush in its grasp,” I say lightly.

  She laughs. “Your Highness, such an honor to have you here.”

  “Professor Lennington has donated her time and invaluable knowledge to the project. We couldn’t have done it without her.” Gary smiles proudly.

  “How wonderfully generous of you.” I release her hand.

  “It’s been an amazing experience seeing these young adults expressing themselves so ingeniously.”

  “Maybe Edward and I should explore the possibilities of expressing ourselves in such a way.” I look back to my brother who grins cheekily, offering his hand to Professor Lennington.

  “I’m terribly clumsy with my hands,” Eddie says softly.

  More laughter breaks out, and my brother gives me a discreet wink.

  Over the next hour, we’re introduced to the entire line of twenty people, and then a dozen more before a glass of champagne is placed in my hand. I’m still not done, though I do get to sip while I am given a guided tour of the gallery, being shown endless paintings and sculptures while hearing the story of the artists, from young, homeless people, to people with learning difficulties. Listening to so many inspiring stories has the smile on my face fixed naturally.

  When my tour is complete, Kim checks in with me quietly. “Can I get you anything?” she asks.

  I shake my head as Eddie slopes off, collecting another glass from the fountain and settling in for a conversation with some of the charity’s representatives while I continue the pleasantries with Gary, listening to him explain how the project works, with the artists receiving a percentage of all sales to encourage their newfound hobby. I’m about to declare my intention to purchase one of the stone sculptures, a beautifully simple naked woman, when a raucous cheer erupts from the street outside, the crowds clearly still holding fort. I look across to Damon, whose hand instantly moves to his earpiece, listening carefully. He nods and catches my frown, but assures me with a mild shake of his head.

  “Time to say a few words,” Kim says, motioning me to a nearby wall that has a small pair of red velvet curtains concealing what will be a sparkling engraved plaque. I move into position and face the gathered people, waiting for it to quieten down.

  Then I clear my throat. “Thank you.” I smile, scanning the crowd, making sure I address everyone before me. “I am so very thrilled to be here today to . . .” My words get lost amid a tidal wave of shock when my scanning eyes fall upon something that I’m unprepared for. Or someone.

  My breath lost, I stare at Josh Jameson standing at the back, his head literally head and shoulders above everyone. His face is straight, his blue eyes watching me. My blood sparks. My heart misses too many beats. Two suited men flank either side of him, standing tall and ominous. A cough jolts me from my stunned state, and I swallow, looking away from him. My mind is blank. Where am I? What am I supposed to be doing? Everyone is staring at me, and when Eddie frowns and looks back, I see recognition on his face as I try to focus on fixing my shakes. “I am so very proud,” I start again, breathing through my words, “to be a patron for High Spirits Charity.” I keep my eyes well away from the back of the room. What is he doing here? “Their work is truly inspiring.” I force a smile, my body arrested by shock, fear . . . heat. The words I memorized in the car have escaped me. Gone completely. Taking hold of the silver chain beside the curtains with a shaky hand, I fast-forward through all of my forgotten words. “I am delighted to declare the High Spirits Gallery now open.” I pull the chain, and the curtains slide across, revealing a silver plaque engraved with my name and today’s date. Applause breaks out, and Damon is quickly by my side.

  “Everything okay, ma’am?”

  “What is he doing here?” I ask through gritted teeth, my panic rising when I see Josh breaking through the crowds, leaving a sea of frowning people in his wake.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, ma’am,” Damon says. “And my guess is pretty good.”

  I flip him an incredulous look. He’s doing a terrible job of concealing his smile. “Funny ha ha,” I mutter indignantly.

  “Am I the only one who knows of your numerous meetings with Mr. Jameson?” Damon asks out the corner of his mouth.

  “Matilda does. But only you and her, and let’s please keep it that way.”

  “Of course.”

  Josh saunters over, his gait confident and smooth, his face wickedly handsome. He’s all smart casual in a suit, opened collared shirt, no tie. Damn his gorgeousness. “Your Highness,” he purrs, bowing his head only a very little. That accent, the way he says the words I hate. It reduces me to a pool of want every time. It’s like a shot of adrenalin that wakes up my entire body.

  I’m aware that everyone in the room is looking this way, to the Hollywood actor and the Princess conversing. What is he playing at? I offer my hand and plaster on my smile, though it takes everything out of me. I’ve been captured off guard. I’m unprepared. “Mr. Jameson, what a pleasure to meet you.” My vocal chords tremble.

  His smile is knowing as he kisses the back of my hand. “Always,” he whispers, and my tummy tightens as I feel his hot, wet tongue meet my skin.

  I snatch my hand back and fight my eyes not to widen, looking to Gary, who looks a little shell-shocked by the appearance of Josh Jameson in his gallery. The media attention he has already will be amazing for his project. Now, it will be extraordinary.

  Scanning my surroundings, I see clusters of people talking between themselves, though their attention is never far away from Josh and me. Kim eyes me curiously, and Damon steps back, giving us space that I really don’t want. Not now. Not here. I don’t search out Eddie. I don’t need to see him to know he’ll be keeping a close eye.

  I turn and wander over to the nearby sculpture of a naked woman, the one I was planning on purchasing. It is minimal, only the outline of her long, willowy body detectable. As I knew he would, Josh joins me and also feigns admiring the art.

  “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

  “Correct.”

  “Why?”

  “There is no one special.” I repeat the words he spoke in the interview without thought, and quickly close my eyes, full of regret. I have seen him only a few times. Of course I am no one special.

  “You wanted me to declare to the world that I’m seeing you?”

  “No, because you are not.” I brush him off with my strongest voice, however weak I feel inside. “You realize pictures of us will be splattered all over the media tomorrow,” I say quietly, disturbed by this stupid stunt of his.

  “I’m buying art. Nothing unusual. Besides, I arrived separately so th
ere will be no pictures of us together.”

  “Josh Jameson showing up to a gallery opening unannounced isn’t unusual?” I laugh at his stupidity. “The media will be going wild.”

  “Talking of the media . . .”

  My eyes start to burn from staring at the same spot on the sculpture, where Josh’s hand is now resting. That hand. That wicked, talented hand. Talking of the media. I don’t say a word, leaving Josh to press on.

  “So the night I fucked you blind, you had another man’s lips on yours before mine?”

  I swallow and blink slowly. “What of it?”

  “What of it?” He laughs, running his hand across the hips of the woman. “For a start, if I had known, I would have whipped that beautiful ass of yours a lot fuckin’ harder.”

  I inhale, shocked, and scan the vicinity for prying eyes and ears. We are safe, but still. I clear my throat and search for calm. “I think it’s time you looked around the gallery that you’re apparently rather interested in.”

  “There’s only one thing in this gallery that I’m interested in.”

  My mind reels. He’s changed his tune. A flash of satisfaction darts through me, but I am quick to rein it in, reminding myself of why Josh and I are never going to happen. My life. His boredom levels. “Well, that one thing is not interested in you.”

  “Why are you denying me?”

  “If I don’t, then they will.” My thoughts tumble from my mouth, and I feel his eyes on my profile as I mentally run through every reason why I need to keep myself away from Josh Jameson. There are too many, not least the fact that I get that wonderful feeling of freedom and relief whenever I’m with him. Like now. There’s an army of people and press outside, crowds of people behind us, yet I hear none of them. I see none of them. I sense nothing except Josh. It’s wonderfully therapeutic, like nothing I have felt before. It’s also something I must not get used to.

  A loud cough startles me back to the here and now, where Josh is standing next to me caressing a sculpture of a naked woman.

  His hand pauses, his leather shoes bringing him a step closer to me. “You’re imagining me doing this to you, aren’t you?”