Page 45 of Tabloid Princess

I caught the tiniest hint of that twitch. Part of me grateful I got to see it one last time.

I stood first, although I was probably breaking protocol—again. “It’s a good thing your time here is done, and you won’t have to see me again.”

He stood, towering over me. Oriental and spice notes whirled in my head. “I’ll see you at my birthday ball, won’t I?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t think so.”

“Leia, if you don’t come it will make it so much worse. It’s only next week. The story won’t be dead by then, no matter what I say. If you aren’t there, then there will just be more column inches.”

“So, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place?”

He stared at me, his eyes burning furiously. “I think you’ve just summarised my entire existence.”

He did it again, made me feel sorry for him. It was unfair.

“I’m sorry.” His arms hung limply at his side and for one long intense moment my body ached like I’d never known before.

“Me too.” I hesitated. “I think I’m going to tidy up here and then go home. I want to go and speak to the staff at Daisy’s school.”

“Daisy?” His lips did curl this time into a faint smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“Why would you?”

His face flickered with a frown. “I don’t know.”

I turned for the door. “Will you be okay?” he asked as I put my hand on the handle.

“As surprising as this may be to you, I’ve survived worse.”

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ten

So much worse.

Head in the oven worse.

“Body language experts have been analysing the images of Prince Oliver and unknown charity worker Leia Lawrence.” I lifted my head from the paper and quirked an eyebrow at Nana. “While no statement has been received from St Mark’s Palace, there are plenty of people who are willing to speculate on this new royal romance.”

I skimmed a bit.

“The fact they are leaning towards one another, their bodies almost holding a mirror image of one another, speaks volumes. It shows an intimacy and familiarity that we have never seen from the usually controlled prince before.”

I shoved the paper to one side and put my head on the table in its place. “Nana, this is terrible,” I groaned. “It’s been over twenty-four hours. Why hasn’t he put out a statement denying everything?”

Nana shrugged and pursed her lips. “I guess he’s a busy man.”

“He has staff for these kinds of things.”

Nana’s eyebrows lifted into her hairline. “Oh, does he indeed?”

“Oh, don’t start. His Press Relations manager or whatever her title is was in the office with us the whole time. Surely she can say something?”

“I have no idea how these things work,” Nana added, although she didn’t need to. None of us knew how this worked.

I pushed back from the table and pulled my legs onto my chair, wrapping my arms around my knees. I wished the last twenty-four hours had been spent with me furiously angry and planning a stampede on the palace calling for them to exonerate my involvement. Rather I’d spent a lot of it staring at the two most printed pictures of myself and Prince Oliver, as though having him touch my hair and stare me in the eyes like that wasn’t already scorched into my brain in glorious technicolour detail.

It was.