But by the time I got back to Aunt Suze’s flat, the initial thrill from the meeting was overwhelmed by the reminder of everything else that was happening in my life. The paparazzi were still camped outside the building, and when I scurried inside past their angrily flashing camera and checked my phone, it showed no messages or missed calls from Charlie.

I was face down on the bed—wallowing—when Paige came home.

“Get up!” She smacked my ass.

“Ouch.” I put a hand on the injured body part. “You don’t slap me when I’m down!”

“The interview went that bad?” Paige hopped up on the bed, and I rolled over to face her.

“No . . .” I said slowly. “It went great.”

“How great?” she demanded.

“ ‘Offered me a job on the spot’ great.”

“WHAT?!” Paige shrieked, jumping on top of me like an enormous howler monkey. “That’s amazing! Why. Are. You. Moping?!”

I tried to push her away, but I was pinned to the bed with my best friend straddling me. If only the British tabloids could see us now. I could just imagine the headline: ROYAL EX CAUGHT IN GIRLY ROMP.

“You’re crushing me!” I protested, shoving her again. “A little air would be nice. Or are you going for death-by-boobs?”

“OK.” Paige rolled off. “Enough.”

“Enough of what?”

“Enough feeling sorry for yourself.” She sat cross-legged on the blankets and gave me a look. “What’s happening sucks. It sucks the big one. But what are you going to do about it?”

“Hide in Aunt Suze’s flat until my flight back to San Diego.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “No! You’re going to get up, put on the sexiest thing you brought, and we are going out to celebrate.”

I gaped at her. “What is there to celebrate? You’ve seen the headlines. The whole world thinks I’m a brazen strumpet. Charlie’s not even answering my calls, and he’s got his championship match tomorrow. What if I’ve ruined his concentration? What if he loses, and it’s all my fault—”

“You got a job offer today.” Paige cut me off. “An amazing, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work with your very favorite designer.” She gave me a stern look. “Are you telling me that isn’t something worth a drink—or five?”

I paused. She was right. The job with Sara was an incredible break. If it hadn’t been for everything with Charlie and the tabloids, I would be dancing on the ceiling right about now.

So why was I letting him ruin my achievement?

If Charlie truly cared about me, he would have listened to what I had to say. He would have at least given me the chance to explain. But he didn’t. He jumped to conclusions, and assumed the worst about me, when all I’d done was make a foolish mistake.

“Maybe you’re right . . .” I sighed. “Maybe the fairy tale with Charlie is finished. I mean, not everyone gets a happily-ever-after.”

I felt a pang just thinking it, but what else was I supposed to do: just sit around waiting for him to give me a chance? I had some pride left, at least.

“You’ll get your happy ending.” Paige hugged me fiercely. “And maybe Charlie will see sense. But I’m not letting you waste the time we have here—and I’m definitely not letting you slink back to the States like you have something to be ashamed about.”

If I knew Paige—and I did—then she wasn’t going to quit until she got her way.

“Ok,” I sat up, trying to shake off my sadness. “You win. Let’s go out tonight.”

* * *

But two hours and three drinks later, all I could think was I should have stayed in. I watched Paige and Jules out on the dance floor, having a great time. They had tried to get me to join them, but I still felt the ache of sadness lurking behind my ribs. So I sat at the bar drinking my watered down vodka cranberry, wishing I was in my pajamas watching a romantic comedy. Except that wouldn’t have made me feel better either.

Because what I really wanted was Charlie. I wanted to be tangled up in his sheets, kissing him. Or strolling along the Thames, talking about everything under the sun. I wanted to hear him laugh, and see that wicked twinkle in his blue eyes, and feel the way I always felt with him: sexy, and free, and alive.

“Buy you another?” Someone sidled up to the bar next to me.

At first I didn’t think they were talking to me, but then I looked up into a familiar face: tanned and brawny, and flashing a mega-watt smile that somehow didn’t reach his eyes.

“If you say you don’t remember me, you’ll break my heart,” Killian Black told me.

“Hi, Killian,” I sighed. “Shouldn’t you be resting up? You’re in the finals tomorrow, right?”

“I don’t need to rest,” Killian bragged. “I can go all night and still be ready to wipe the courts with that asshole.” He gave me a long, sweeping look. It might have been sexy if another guy was doing it, but somehow Killian’s stare gave me the creeps, and I crossed my arms over my chest as if he could see through my clothes.

“What do you think, babe?” he asked. “Want to keep me up tonight?” He leaned on the bar, gesturing towards the bartender.

Luckily I didn’t have to respond since the guy behind the bar came right over to get Killian another beer. “And another for the lady,” he told the bartender.

“I’m OK,” I countered, holding up my pale pink drink, probably more melted ice than vodka at this point.

“Oh, come on.” Killian gave me a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on Davenport.”

I turned away, but Killian grabbed my arm and pulled me back to face him.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, still smiling. “You and I are more alike than you think,” he said.

I shook my head. “I’m nothing like you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No? So you stumbled into all this publicity and press by accident?” He laughed. “You’re either lying, or you’re the dumbest bitch I’ve ever met.”

“Fuck you,” I snarled, trying to get off the stool, but he held me there.

“Oh, come on.” He gave me a grin, all teeth. “I’m just teasing.” He put a hand on my knee. “Don’t you want to get back at Davenport? Make sure he knows what he’s missing?” He leaned in to kiss me, but I shoved him away.

“I’d rather swallow a tennis ball,” I told him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to swallow something else?” He dragged a finger down my arm, moving closer.

I slapped him, but he just laughed.

“Ooh, someone’s getting frisky.” Killian’s eyes narrowed. “You know you were just another notch on the prince’s bedpost, don’t you? He’s got a groupie in every city on the circuit, and they all think they’re the only one. But you’re nothing special, just a Wimbledon whore.”

His words cut through me, but I didn’t want him to see that he had hurt me. I drew myself up to my tallest – still barely reaching his shoulder.

“You’re an asshole,” I hissed. “And you don’t know anything about Charlie. He’s going to crush you in the finals. Because he’s twice the player, and twice the man, that you’ll ever be.”

Turning on my heel, I pushed through the crowd, and away from Killian.

* * *

I managed to round up Paige and Jules, the three of us squeezing into the back of a cab, with me in the middle. It was only their comforting presence—close as it was—that kept me from collapsing into tears. Somehow I made it back to Aunt Suze’s without crying.

When I’d snagged them off the dance floor, I hadn’t told them why we had to leave, but the good friends that they were, they took one look at my face and beelined it for the door. Now they were both sitting, staring at me, waiting for an explanation.

“I ran into Killian,” I told them, and relayed the whole, terrible story.

Their faces went from surprised to sympathetic to angry, and then proud, when I told them I had slapped him in the face.

“Good for you,” Paige cheered. “I would have kneed him in the balls. Asshole.”

“Wanker,” Jules agreed.

“Dickface.”

“Bell-end.”

I managed a smile. They were trying to cheer me up, I could tell.

“There’s always next time,” Jules said. “We’ll show him who’s the loser.”

I shook my head. “I hope not. I never want to see him again. And after the finals tomorrow, I won’t have to. No more Wimbledon, no more tennis.”

No more Charlie, I silently added.

“You really don’t think there’s a chance it could work out?” Jules asked, looking hopeful.

I shook my head. “No,” I said miserably. “I sent him a message. I gave him all the details. He should have responded, but he didn’t.” I felt tears burning the corners of my eyes but I refused to let them fall. “He could have given me the benefit of the doubt, just this once. He should have trusted me.”

“But—” Jules tried, but Paige shushed her.

“It’s OK,” Paige said. “You’re doing the right thing. You shouldn’t have to go groveling to him when he’s the one who’s making the biggest mistake of his life.”

I wished I could believe her, but it didn’t feel that way.

“Can we change the subject?” I asked, feeling tired. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m done with Charlie Davenport. And as soon as the last match is over, and I’m done working at the tea tent, I don’t want to see another tennis match for as long as I live.”