I had to look at the photos. I didn’t want to—I really didn’t want to—but I needed to know what we were dealing with.

It wasn’t good.

Sophia certainly hadn’t been shy in front of the camera. I couldn’t pretend not to have received a few messages like this myself in the past, but on most of them you could only see one body part—not the face.

Stan had an entire collection of pictures and videos that left no doubt as to who the woman was.

I’d promised Sophia I’d deal with it, but there was one tiny problem with that. I had no idea how. I sent an email threatening him with legal action, but he just sent another back pointing out that by the time the case had gone through the courts it would be too late.

They might not be illegal anyway. I mean, they were his photos, so he could probably do what he wanted with them.

My preferred option was to get on the next flight to California and kick seven shades of shit out of him, but that wasn’t realistic. My calendar had already been filled up with charity events, and the palace was working on scheduling an interview for me where I could announce my intention to be a prince. I barely had time to piss, let alone fly to the US.

Sophia had described Stan as sensible, in addition to being a slimy piece of shit. He wouldn’t want to release the photos if he didn’t have to. They wouldn’t do him any favors with the ladies, and there were some less than flattering video clips showing him making faces that would forever haunt my dreams.

What had Sophia seen in this guy? How could a woman as perfect as her, be with a guy like this? All I knew was that I had to get her out of this mess; even if it meant paying him off.

I called Harry. I paid him to make me look good, and get me out of difficult situations. He knew me well enough to expect a sex scandal at some point, so a blackmail attempt wouldn’t be completely unexpected.

“How can I help, George?” Harry said, as he answered the phone.

“I need to know a bit about the royal finances.”

“Okay, I’ve been looking into that.” I bet he had—probably wanted to know how much he’d get paid if he worked for me. “The short version is that you aren’t going to starve and you’ll always have a roof over your head.”

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that. What about general spending? Do I get given access to a huge bank account?”

“It doesn’t really work like that I’m afraid. All the money comes from the taxpayer—except for any funds you have from outside the family—so spending is closely monitored.”

“I thought the family had an annual budget of millions of pounds.”

“They do, but most of that goes on security. They aren’t living the high-life for the most part I’m afraid.”

Bugger me. This was not good news. Or was it? Maybe I could work this to my advantage.

“Just to be clear,” I said, “there’s no way I could get access to about six hundred thousand pounds without jumping through quite a few hoops?”

“Good lord, no. Not unless it was for housing or security. Why all the questions? Is there something I should know about?”

“No, everything’s fine. Do you have the big interview scheduled yet?”

“It should be in three days’ time,” Harry replied. “I’m just waiting for final confirmation, and then I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, do me a favor, would you? Start spreading things in the media about how I’m considering becoming a prince to do my civic duty, even though it will mean forgoing family wealth, blah blah blah. I want the public to know that there is no money in it for me.”

“That’s fine. It’s not like I’d be lying.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

If I became a prince, I couldn’t pay Stan’s bloody ransom demand anyway. I’d always known being a royal meant a lack of freedom, so it’s not like I was surprised. It didn’t matter to me. As long as I could look after Sophia and give her the life she deserved it wouldn’t be a problem. I could inherit the money, give Tabitha what she needed, and then give the rest to Sophia. Simple. Then I’d be a prince and she would be a princess.

Or she’d leave.

She’d never promised to spend her life with me, and our vows wouldn’t mean much given the circumstances. There was nothing stopping her from getting on the first plane back to America. She wouldn’t want to hang around with the threat of those photos over her head like a sword. She’d want to leave the limelight for good, unless… unless I ended this for good.

I emailed Stan again.

I cannot and will not pay the ransom. You might think princes swim in pools of money, but that isn’t the case. I won’t even have control over my own bank account. Google it if you don’t believe me.

That might have been a slight exaggeration, but who cared.

Look up the royal finances if you want a better idea of how it works. The only money I can spend is the money I have already. I’m happy to make a cheque out to you for £25.60 if you like.

I should have stopped and sent the email then, but I couldn’t help myself.

I don’t know what Sophia saw in you, but she’s under my protection now. Anyone who threatens to hurt her will have to get through me first. If I see you so much as wish her a happy birthday on her Facebook page, I will decide to make a little royal visit to California for a personal introduction. You know the best thing about overseas visits? Diplomatic immunity. I can’t be prosecuted for anything that happens to you. Think about that.

Did princes get diplomatic immunity? Probably not. Hopefully he wouldn’t google that as well.

You had your chance with her and you blew it. Now stay out of her life.

I hit the send button then sent a text to Sophia.

I’ve dealt with it. You won’t be hearing from Stan again.

Thank you, came the reply.

I typed out three words, but hesitated before sending the reply. I’d wanted to say them for ages, but it wasn’t right to do it over a text.

I’d tell her the next time I saw her. She needed to know how I felt. Nothing about this marriage felt fake anymore, and that scared the shit out of me.