Page 88 of Tabloid Princess

My legs shook as Bill opened the door and waited for me to step out.

I was really going to do this.

Heart over head.

The monster purred with satisfaction.

I paused there, grasping onto some reality. “How come you’re the only security staff I ever see?”

Bill smiled. “That you see.”

“Oh.”

A woman stood near a single black door, her uniform blending in with the woodwork. “Miss Lawrence, I’m Sally Gibbons. Welcome to the National Gallery. Have you been before?”

“Uh. Yes, once on a school trip.” I glanced around at the private car park. “This isn’t how we arrived though.”

She smiled, her face friendly, no judgement or criticism. “I think you’ll like this tour much better.”

Tour?

I followed her through the door, Bill walking a short distance behind. Everything echoed with quietness. The click of her heels, my own shuffling feet.

This couldn’t be real.

A small elevator stood inside a sterile lobby and she pressed the button.

“The gallery is shut isn’t it?” I asked, twitching the hemline of my dress. I’d gone for the black and silver ferns—I was about to meet the prince in Primark’s finest.

And he couldn’t see the problems facing us? Clearly, he lived in delusion.

“Oh yes.” She smiled but I couldn’t grasp the meaning. The elevator took us from the car park to the main lobby. Now this I remembered. Wide steps lifted from either side of a huge reception area. Benches lined either wall, for all the many visitors the gallery received on a daily basis to sit on.

“This way please, Ma’am.” Sally gestured me up the first flight of stairs and then hooked around to the right.

Black curtains hung from the ceiling creating a vacuum within the bigger room. My gaze travelled to where masterpieces hung on the wall. This place held paintings that were considered national treasures, purchases and gifts that now brought millions of visitors to see them.

I remembered my younger self standing in front of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers and wondering why it wasn’t bigger.

“Through here please.” Sally pulled back the curtain and then stood to one side so I could pass. I turned, searching for Bill who gave me a nod and a very small smile.

The curtains were thick and heavy. I doubted sound or light would travel through them very far.

With a deep inhalation of breath, I stepped through, the curtain dropping almost as soon as I walked into the small area.

On the wall a huge painting lit the darkened space, small warm coloured lights ensured it wasn’t too dark, but it wasn’t the painting I looked at.

Stood before the canvas in a pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, his hands in navy suit trouser pockets was the prince.

And he took away every molecule of air I had.

In front of a masterpiece he looked as exquisite as a freshly painted work of art. His dark hair tousled into messy knots, his eyes skimmed with intensity across the surface of my face.

“You came.” He seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t sure.”