When I think of home, I think of Pennsylvania. The small town where I grew up is a simple town, full of simple people. There are three stoplights, one elementary school, a diner and a man-made lake that the town considers a community swimming pool.

I was born there, I was raised there, and I thought I would live out the rest of my life there. My mother was the manager at The Honey Time Diner, we lived in a quaint two-bedroom ranch, I went to school, and at night we’d sit on the deck drinking lemonade or hot chocolate, depending on the season.

It was she and I against the world, our little bubble of two was all I’d ever known.

And then Bennett Charles McAlister, or as the world knew him, the Duke of Westminster, rolled into our lives. The third in line to the British throne, the notorious royal’s town car broke down on the road outside of our house in early May of this year. He’d walked the half a mile up our driveway, mud and dust caking his shiny black shoes and impeccable suit.

The minute he’d entered our home, and the second he and my mother had breathed the same air, I knew that the bubble had burst. It was no longer just the two of us, that much was clear from the minute their eyes had connected. I’d felt like I was witnessing a star explode, or God perform a miracle … the moment two people fell in love was rarely seen by others yet I’d watched it blossom and unfold right there in my living room.

In all eighteen years I’d been alive, I’d never seen my mom look at a man the way she’d looked at Bennett. It was apparent from the get go that this was the man she’d been waiting for, the literal prince coming to save her from her average life. And luckily, he didn’t mind that his common princess had a daughter.

So here we are, living in London. If it weren’t happening to me, and if it hadn’t been such a nightmare thus far, I would think the past three months were straight out of the Twilight Zone. My mother meeting Bennett was one thing. But to be wearing possibly the next King of England’s ring on her finger, to be marrying into the royal family? Sometimes I had to pinch myself when I woke up in the residence of Kensington Palace that we now occupied.

But with the good came the bad. And while my mother had found her happiness … members of Parliament, the press and even those closest to her husband-to-be were crucifying her. Calling her a gold digger, questioning her motives, digging up any piece of insignificant dirt on her and running it for the masses to see.

And apparently, that crucifixion extended to me.

I’d expected to walk into Winston today and go virtually unnoticed. I was no one, I had no money, I wasn’t upper crust like the rest of these kids. I was simply a tourist, staying for a temporary amount of time until I vanished out of their lives. I hadn’t expected the stares, the curses, the whispers.

And I certainly hadn’t expected the teenage James Bond who’d hypnotized me and basically told me to go to hell. His commanding presence still sat in my bones, that perfect English bone structure with the devious green eyes and mysterious dark hair were tattooed on the back of my retinas.

The way he’d touched me, no … not even touched me. He’d simply held a lock of my hair between his fingers, yet it had felt like a thunderstorm between my thighs. I’d never felt anything so powerful, so intimidating … so sensual. But his words, menacing and licking up my spine like poison, were targeted. He meant them, whoever the hell he was.

“Did you get a lot of homework on the first day? How did you prefer Winston?” Bennett walks into the room and zaps my mind out of it’s horrible thoughts.

I turn to my soon-to-be stepdad and smile. I guess it was good that if I only got one father figure in this life, it’s Bennett. Decked out in his casual attire, which includes a tie and ironed dress pants, his expression is hopeful and open.

Actually, Bennett and I get along quite nicely. I’d never had a father; the low-life had skipped town when Mom had gotten pregnant with me the summer after she graduated high school. Bennett didn’t try to parent me, but instead formed a bond with me that I cherished even in the short amount of time we’d known each other. He liked to read, and had introduced me to classics that I hadn’t added to my collection. His record albums include The Beatles and Fall Out Boy, so he was okay in my music book. And most of all, he loved my mom as if she was the most rare and precious substance on this earth … so I’d taken a liking to him instantly.

“I got some light reading and a few question sets for trigonometry, but nothing crazy. And my first day was … okay.” Besides the stares from both students and teachers, and the fact that some British supermodel called me a lamb for slaughter.

Bennett chuckles, taking out some scones from the bread box and putting water in the teapot. “I know some of those kids and professors can be harsh, but know your worth, Nora. You are bloody smart, smarter than any person I know. Focus on that and you’ll be okay. Tea?”

Since living in London, I’ve found that tea and biscuits are the answer to every problem. I’m not sure if I agree, but Bennett does make a mean cup of Earl Grey.

I nod, setting aside the books and papers in front of me. “So, can we finally go to that soccer match you’ve been promising?”

Before moving all the way across the universe, my mom and I had never done any traveling outside of the East Coast of the United States. It’s been Bennett’s mission to take us on a grand tour of his country, and his continent. So far, he’s shown Mom and I the beautiful gardens at Buckingham Palace, we’ve spent an afternoon at London Bridge, and a weekend in Italy which I will never forget in my lifetime.

But, he’s been bragging about the world’s best sport, and I’m anxious to see what the fuss is about.

“First off, it’s called football. Bugger, I cringe at that word. And soon, but not this weekend. We have the annual Regents Dinner this weekend, and that will take up most of your mother and I’s time. But of course, you’ll join us.”

He doesn’t say it as a command, something I’d feared he’d start doing when we moved to be in his home country. No, he says it as an inclusion, like we are a family and we go together. Kind of like Grease or The Parent Trap.

But inside, I cringe just like he does at the word soccer. These galas and dinners and royal events are intimidating to say the least, and I no longer look forward to them.

A fake smile plasters to my face, because I need to keep a brave one on for both of them. “Can’t wait.”