A Royal Romance Disaster?
This week, all the buzz in London has been about American sweetheart Kyra Duncan, the latest love of Prince Nicholas, who’s been in town for a visit. The couple hasn’t been shy about displays of public affection as they’ve cavorted together across the city.
Most of the news and photos have been glowing tributes from those who love love and anticipate another transatlantic match for us all to coo over. However, despite that, there’s a strong and growing voice of dissent who aren’t so happy about Duncan or the possibility that she could be the next new member of the royal family.
“She’s just . . . crass,” one onlooker complained after catching sight of the couple this week. “She was wearing jeans and gym shoes, and she looked slovenly. That’s not what a princess should look like.”
One source tells us that Prince Nicholas took his girlfriend along to a meeting of the foundation Waste Not, where she was not shy in sharing her viewpoints and opinions on hunger and farming practices.
“She practically shut down the prince,” says our source. “Here it was his meeting, his work, and she kept interrupting, correcting him, even. It was uncomfortable for everyone there.”
Whether or not this kind of behavior will be tolerated by the prince and the rest of his family remains to be seen. According to palace insiders, Kyra is scheduled to return to her home in the states in two days, which will apparently be a relief to some who are not enjoying her visit in Britain.
I read the piece twice, my throat burning with humiliation. I hadn’t meant to look at it; Shelby had sent me a link to a picture of Nicky and me that she’d loved, and the scathing article had been headlined on the same page, just above the photo.
It was a shame, because the picture of the two of us really was a good one. I might have had a smile on my face now, like I had in the photograph, if I hadn’t been idiotic enough to read the story.
“Nicky.” I glanced up from my phone, frowning. “The other day, when I was at the meeting with you, at Waste Not—did I overstep? Was I rude? Did I talk over you?”
“What? No. Of course, you didn’t.” He shook his head, his eyes fastened on the road in front of us. We were on our way to the luncheon Carol had suggested I attend, and until a moment ago, I’d been blissfully happy.
Last night, Alex had helped me choose a perfect dress and heels to wear, since the event was a professional one. She’d even made some suggestions about how I should wear my hair, and both of us had reminisced over one summer in Florida, when she’d taught me how to do French braids. I’d forgotten about that until she’d brought it up.
This morning, I’d felt as pretty and as perfect as I could. I’d greeted Nicky with a kiss when he’d come to collect me, and the expression of open admiration in his eyes had been the cherry on top of a lovely week together. I had begun to feel that maybe I really might be able to pull this off. Maybe I could be the kind of woman, the kind of partner, who Nicky needed. Maybe happily-ever-after really was possible.
And if I hadn’t clicked on the link for the picture as we drove to the hotel where the luncheon was being held, I’d still have been living in that state of contented ignorance.
“Why would you even ask that?” Nicky spied the phone in my hand. “Oh, God, Ky. What did you read?”
I clicked the off switch and slid it into my bag. “I didn’t do it on purpose. Shelby said she’d seen this picture of us and it was super cute. I wanted to see, too. But I guess between the time she sent me the link and now, they’ve updated that site with a story. And it’s not a very nice one. As a matter of fact, it’s horrible.”
Nicky sighed. “You can’t read that shit, sweetheart. People are going to talk. And as wonderful as you are, the sad truth is that there are always going to be people who don’t like us. And there are also downright unpleasant people who only want to make everyone miserable. Don’t let them get to you.”
“But Nicky—this is about your work. I don’t want to mess up anything.” I twisted the edge of my coat sleeve between my fingers. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come today. I don’t want anyone to think I’m pushy.”
“You’re not. And besides, I asked you to come. So did Carol. We want you there, Kyra. We value your input. You’re not coming as arm candy—you have something important to contribute.”
I fidgeted a bit in my seat. “What if people think I’m being overbearing?”
“They won’t. But if anyone does—” Nicky cast a steely glance my way. “Fuck them. They don’t know me, and they don’t know you.”
I didn’t have time to debate the point with him, because we were pulling up in front of the hotel. I sat still in my seat and waited for Nicky to open the car door for me, taking his hand as he helped me out.
“Smile, love,” he murmured. “Don’t let them see you’re rattled. They smell blood, this bunch. They’ll go for the kill if they think you’re vulnerable.”
I lifted my chin, met his eyes and forced my lips to curve, hoping it didn’t appear more like a grimace than a genuinely pleasant expression.
Nicky held my hand tightly as we hurried to the door. Once inside, I sucked in a deep breath, grateful for the relative quiet.
“Sir, we’re right this way.” Carol, dressed in a bright blue suit, met us a few steps inside. “Ms. Duncan, thank you for being here, too. We’re so pleased that you could join us.” She leveled her gaze at me, and I knew that she’d read the article as well. I could see it in her eyes.
“I hope I can be helpful,” I mumbled.
“I’m sure you will be, and we appreciate you taking the time on your holiday.” She spoke with a certain intention, and I realized she was trying to show me support. I appreciated the effort, even if I still wasn’t certain I should be here.
Nicky and I were both seated at a round banquet table, along with six other men and women. I noticed that some people gazed at me with open curiosity, while others tended to avert their eyes.
Straightening my spine, I summoned up any inner fortitude I had left and channeled the Kyra who knew how to charm businesspeople on behalf of my grandparents. How different could this be, really? People were people. If I was polite and pleasant, what could they complain about?
The first fifteen minutes were spent exchanging pleasantries and commenting on important topics like the weather and other meaningless niceties. I did my best to nod and smile, but I didn’t have much to add. I was beginning to feel like a bobble head doll, only there to affirm what others were saying.
Then a woman leaned forward, pointing her fork at Nicky. “Sir, I saw your interview about the new policies in restaurants and groceries. I understand that you are looking for any ways in which to alleviate the hunger situation, but don’t you think that’s going to put at risk the very population you’re trying to protect?”
Nicky lifted his napkin to his lips, pausing before he responded. “Mrs. Gummer, do you know how much food—how much good, viable, imminently edible food—is discarded in this country, because of policies that are ostensibly designed to protect people? You’ve seen the numbers—I know you have, because I’ve sent them to your office myself. It’s disgraceful. And the idea that it’s dangerous to stop food waste is at best a lazy response—and at worst, it’s intentionally negligent.”
Mrs. Gummer’s thin cheeks flushed. “Sir, with all due respect, I’m not sure you’re in the best position to speak about hunger. When have you or any of your family ever gone without anything you wanted?”
I sucked in a silent breath, waiting for Nicky to lose his cool. But he only smiled.
“I don’t think that’s germane to the topic at hand, but of course, you’re right. I don’t have to worry about where my next meal comes from. I could toss out enough unused food on any given day to feed a village and never feel the lack. But simply because something doesn’t directly affect me doesn’t give me the right to ignore its existence. In the mid-twentieth century, when Hitler was practicing genocide, the majority of people in Great Britain were unaffected. But we still cared, didn’t we? We still sent soldiers there to liberate the camps, didn’t we?”
“Are you likening what the Nazis did to our own government’s policies, sir?” A man with a thick moustache lifted his eyebrows. “That’s rather outrageous, don’t you think?”
“People are dying.” Nicky shrugged. “The power to alleviate suffering lies within the hands of the government. It’s not such a leap when you look at it that way.”
An older lady with long white hair inclined her head toward me. “Sir, perhaps we’re making your guest uncomfortable with this subject. She’s been very quiet.”
Nicky shook his head. “Kyra knows as much about hunger, food sustainability and farming as I do, if not much more. She’ll be happy to tell you her angle on the topic.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the lump in my throat kept me from saying anything. All I could see were the words from that article I’d read.
Uncomfortable for everyone there . . .
“Ky.” Nicky prompted. “Why don’t you share a little about other options we have to addressing the hunger problem? Tell everyone about what you’ve been studying.” His eyes encouraged me, and even though I still didn’t want to speak, I knew I couldn’t disappoint him, either.
“I, ah.” I cleared my throat. “I study sustainable farming practices. We’re working on how to improve techniques so that farms can produce better, more wholesome food without a devastating impact on the earth.”
“Are you now?” The same gentleman with the moustache tittered. “I find that amusing. My family has been in agriculture for generations. I doubt you could have taught my father or grandfather anything about being more efficient farmers.” He hmmphed. “That’s the problem with universities these days. They think they’re discovering new topics and wisdom, but really, it’s just old rubbish repackaged.”
I drew myself up to sit straighter. The derision in this man’s tone burned away the worry and regret I’d been clinging to, the fear that had been keeping me silent so far. Inclining my head, I echoed his earlier words.
“Are you likening the education system to Waste Not’s proposed food repurposing, sir? If you are, then bravo. I can see you really get it. You understand that something doesn’t have to be new to be valuable and useful.”
His face froze. “Young lady—”
But I wasn’t finished. “You’re not entirely wrong that some of the things I’m studying in school aren’t altogether recent discoveries. In fact, some of what I’m exploring is nearly a hundred years old. And others are ancient ways that our more recent ancestors stopped using when they were convinced that better living through chemistry was the way to go. But what we’ve learned is that in trying to make our food stronger and more resilient, we’re killing the earth and poisoning her people.”
Mrs. Gummer made a rude noise under her breath, but Mr. Moustache—I still couldn’t remember his name—regarded me with interest. My eyes flickered to Nicky, wondering if I’d gone too far, but he was sitting back in his chair, his arms crossed, his face alight with pride and encouragement.
But at the tables around us, I noticed more than one person listening to the interchange, and several had out telephones and were madly tapping away. I swallowed hard and worked to keep my voice even.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to be . . . pedantic. As Prince Nicholas mentioned, I’m studying agriculture, and maybe I get a little too passionate about it.”
Around the table, people shifted in their seats, possibly in relief at the idea of dropping a sensitive topic. As the conversation went in another direction, I didn’t look at Nicky. Instead, I focused on the embroidery of the tablecloth and the bland smile I was determined to keep on my face.
“Thank you for allowing me to be here.” I’d repeated the same phrase four times in the past five minutes, as people stopped to speak to me. The luncheon was ending, but nearly everyone was milling about the room, chatting. Nicky had excused himself to speak with Carol and her assistant, leaving me feeling alone and awkward. I had sensed in the rigid, formal way he’d spoken as he’d moved away that he was frustrated with me, but I was at a loss as to what else I could have done.
He didn’t seem to understand the position I was in right now. If I spoke my mind and was open about my thoughts, I ran the risk of alienating people not only from me but from him and his work. I had to be subtler. I had to be diplomatic. And if that meant stifling my own strong opinions . . . well, that was the price I’d pay for being who he needed me to be.
“Ah, the lady who has so much to say about farming techniques.” An older man who I’d seen sitting at a nearby table approached me, his expression inscrutable. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”
I stretched another fake smile across my face. “Hello. I’m Kyra.” I extended my hand before it occurred to me that maybe he was some of kind of aristocracy and I was committing a faux pas.
But he didn’t even blink as he gripped my hand and gave it a brief shake. “Martin Barrett, Ms. Duncan. A pleasure.”
I frowned. That name was familiar. “Are you . . . Sir Martin?”
He laughed. “Does my reputation precede me?”
“Ah.” I shook my head. “I remember Nicky—uh, the prince—mentioning a few people who would be here at the luncheon.”
“Well, only believe a quarter of what he said about me.” Sir Martin lowered his voice and leaned closer to me, as though confiding a secret. “He doesn’t agree with me much these days, but I’ve known Nicholas since he was born. I went to school with his grandfather.”
“That’s nice.” I sounded insipid, but I didn’t know what else to say.
“We don’t see eye to eye on some of his new ideas about farming and food supply,” Sir Martin went on. “I think science and technology have only helped us in finding new ways of growing and preserving food. This movement for more naturalism and less processing—well, it’s ridiculous. Mankind is meant to move forward. Genetically modifying our food is the next step in making it better. I fall in with the Americans in that way, but I’m fighting a battle here in Britain against the naturalists. And Nicholas is among those leading the charge.”
“Of course he is.” I tossed up my hands. “And he’s right. In the states, we’re battling against GMOs and other types of artificial food manipulation. In fact, being hands-off and non-interventionalist is the basis for my graduate thesis.”
“Non-interventionalist?” He snorted. “I believe I’d call that anti-science.”
“Not at all. It’s simply a new way of looking at things—or maybe more accurately, a rediscovered way of living with the land instead of trying to control the land.”
A glint of interest shone in the older man’s eye. “I pride myself on having an open mind, Ms. Duncan. Tell me why I should reconsider my position. Convince me.”
I took a deep breath and glanced around us. No one was really paying any attention to what I was saying, and I knew that Nicky and Carol had been particularly intent on changing Sir Martin’s mind. If there was a way I could help without making it a big deal, maybe that would make Nicky happy.
I spent the next ten minutes explaining to my new friend what I did in Maine, the soil projects we were working on and the idea of natural farming. If he’d shown any sign of disinterest, I would’ve quickly cut it short, but he didn’t. Instead, he asked intelligent, pertinent questions that led me to believe he was fascinated with the subject at hand.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Nicky slid up next to me, his hand a light touch on my arm.
“Nicholas.” Sir Martin inclined his head. “Your young lady has been educating me on some of the finer points of new farming techniques. She’s quite amazing and very passionate about her topic. And frankly, she’s an incredible young woman.”
“Oh, no, not really.” I shook my head. I didn’t want Nicky to think I’d been over here talking about myself. “It’s not that big a deal. Sir Martin was kind enough to let me share about what I’m studying. He’s been very patient, listening to me rattle on.”
“I’m sure he has been.” Nicky’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the uneasiness I’d felt all morning stirred again in my gut. “Unfortunately, Sir Martin, I need to steal Kyra away just now.”
“Of course, of course.” The older man beamed down at me. “We’ll talk again soon, I hope. I’d like to hear more about your work.”
“Thank you, Sir Martin. I’m looking forward to it.” With one last nod of my head, I allowed Nicky to steer me through the crowd of people who were also preparing to depart. I maintained the bland and benign expression that I’d begun to see as my mask.
“Are you ready to go now?” Nicky’s voice was even and distant at my ear, and his hand rested on the center of my back, between my shoulder blades. “The car’s waiting.”
I frowned, glancing back over my shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
His eyes were flat. “Nothing at all.”
“Yes, there is,” I insisted, stopping in my tracks and turning to face him. “What did I do wrong? Did someone say something?”
At last something akin to interest flared on his face. “Something wrong? How could you have said something wrong, when you barely expressed any opinion at all? You were perfect, Kyra. Which was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To make everyone else in the world happy, no matter what it took.”
A few people standing near us turned their heads, avid curiosity in their eyes. I felt my cheeks flush, and I reached out to grip his wrist. “Nicky, I wasn’t saying—”
He shook off my hand. “We are not doing this here.”
Through clenched teeth, I ground out, “I’m not the one who started anything here.”
Without answering me, Nicholas turned around and began stalking toward the exit, leaving me to follow, painfully aware of the stares and the whispers all around me. I straightened my back, lifted my chin and made a point of moving with as much grace as I could muster. Which, let’s face it, wasn’t a whole lot, given who I was and the heels I had on, but I did my best.
Nicky waited just outside the door, staring straight ahead. He opened the passenger side door of the car for me, and I slid in, saying not a word. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harold in the back seat, studiously not looking at us. The man’s eyes were darting here and there, ever vigilant, but I knew he was trying to give us at least the illusion of privacy.
Not that it mattered an iota. His jaw still clenched, Nicholas pulled away from the curb and drove through the streets, never so much as glancing my way. I stared through the windshield, hoping that I appeared to be calm on the outside when I was anything but inside.
The minute we were inside the Kensington Palace walls, Nicholas headed for his own cottage. Slowing to stop by the door, he lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror.
“Harold, I’m going to leave you here while I take Kyra to my sister’s place. I’ll be back within a few moments.”
The policeman nodded. “Of course, sir. Good afternoon, miss.”
I managed a semblance of a smile. “Thanks, Harold.”
No sooner had he closed the car door that Nicholas was off again, peeling around the corner to Alex and Jake’s apartment.
“Nicky, I don’t know what your problem is. I don’t know what I did to set you off, but—” The beginning of a sob rose in my throat, and I swallowed it back. “But I don’t like being treated this way.”
“You didn’t do anything. What on earth could you have done?” He turned in his seat to face me, but his eyes were focused somewhere beyond me. Whatever it was that had shaken him up, he’d regained his composure now—or at least he was putting on a good show of it. He was full-on Prince Nicholas mode, without a hint of my Nicky in sight. Something inside me shriveled up, and I felt an urgent, compelling need to get away as fast as I could. I didn’t know how to deal with him this way. He was unfamiliar.
“All right, then.” I reached for the door handle, fumbling to open it before I mortified myself with tears or screaming. It was a toss-up as to which might happen first. “I’d better go inside. I need to pack before I leave tomorrow.”
“Probably a good idea.” Nicholas shifted to face the front again and gripped the steering wheel.
“That’s it, then? Am I going to see you tonight? Or tomorrow, before I leave?”
He shook his head. “I need a little space, Kyra. I have to . . . I just need some space.” He exhaled through his nose. “Safe travels. We’ll talk soon.”
I paused in the midst of swinging my legs out of the car, but I didn’t look at him. “Will we? Or is this it? Because if this is the last time I’d going to see you, I’d like to say something. I’d like to say . . . thank you for these last few months. It’s been like living in a different world. Not always a good one, but different, and I think it changed me. I’d also like to say fuck you, Nicky, because you made me fall in love with you. You made me want to make plans for the future, to believe that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. I wasn’t going to tell you that, not now, not this soon, but if this is the last time we’re going to be together, I want you to know it. I want you to know that every time you touched me, kissed me, looked at me like I was the only woman in the world—every time you loved me—it meant something to me. I thought it did to you, too, but I’ve been wrong before.”
“Kyra.” He sounded tired, but I heard frustration in his voice, too.
“No, I don’t want you to say anything. I don’t need your pity or whatever lines you throw at women when you’re done with them. I was stupid enough to think it could be different with us. I thought we were friends who were more. I don’t know what I did to make you change your mind. All I can think is that when I came here, I disappointed you. Is that it? Were all my quirks adorable in the states, but annoying here in England? That’s the only thing I can think of that I did wrong. I’m sorry I outstayed my welcome and made you sorry that you invited me here.”
“Kyra, none of that is true. None of it. You’re not a disappointment—how could you ever be that? But one of us has to be—” He stopped. “Kyra, don’t you see? You’re trying to be what you’re not. What I love about you—what I have always loved about you—is your strength and your confidence. That’s why it’s killing me to see you give that away. To see you change who you are and how you are. We sat at that luncheon today, and I saw you downplay your intelligence and accomplishments. I heard the way you back-peddled with Sir Martin, when I joined you. For the love of God, Kyra, you changed your hair.”
I frowned. “I was trying to be—sometimes you have to make concessions. You have to bend when you’re a part of a couple, and I know that—I’m not exactly royal family material as I am.”
“That’s why.” Nicky closed his eyes. “That’s it, right there. What does it matter that you’re not royal family material, which of course is your opinion, not mine? Have I ever made you feel that you had to change to be with me? If I did—God, Ky, the idea that I did anything to make you believe you weren’t enough—that’s why we need to . . . take a step back. We need to reconsider. Because, Kyra, I don’t want to live without you, but I will be damned if loving you means I have to destroy who you are.”
“And you’re the only one who has any say in this decision?” My lip was beginning to quiver, but I held it together.
“Obviously, because if I can’t trust you to stand up for yourself enough to stay true to who you are, I can’t expect you to make a hard choice like this for the both of us.” He almost snarled the last words, and I couldn’t take another minute of sitting there, feeling him rip us apart.
I managed to scramble out of the car and slam the door before I could hear him say anything else. Gripping my handbag tightly to me, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other until I got inside the apartment, at which point I broke into a run, dashing up the stairs to the guest bedroom I’d been occupying.
No one was home just now. I remembered that Alexandra had an overnight engagement in Scotland, and Jake had gone along with her. Her secretary was somewhere in the apartment, probably, but he wouldn’t bother me.
I stripped off my dress and kicked away my heels, pulling on yoga pants, a T-shirt and a hoodie before I slid my feet into slip-ons. Right now, I needed clothes that offered comfort and mobility. Clothes for a fleeing woman, I thought to myself, my breath hitching just slightly.
But I wasn’t going to cry now. There wasn’t time for that. Now was the time for swift and immediate action.
My hands were only shaking a little as I yanked open drawers, and I called that a minor victory. Dumping all of my clothes onto the quilt that covered the bed, I strode to the closet and pulled out my suitcases. There wasn’t time to fold everything neatly, so I stuffed it all into the bags as quickly as I could.
Darting into the bathroom, I grabbed all of my toiletries and makeup, dropping it into the bag and tugging the zipper closed. I slid my phone out of my pocket and skimmed my fingers across the screen until I spotted the email confirmation of my trip for tomorrow. With a few touches, I found room on another, earlier flight and confirmed that I’d be on it. The only problem was going to be getting to the airport. I couldn’t exactly call a cab to pick me up from the center of Kensington Palace.
For a few moments, I stood in the middle of the room, stymied. And then I remembered the expression Nicholas had worn sitting next to me in the car, and I knew I had to do whatever I could to get away as soon as I could. My bags had wheels, and I was strong. I wasn’t some lightweight who couldn’t manage her own shit.
Without too much issue, I steered my luggage into the hallway and closed the bedroom door behind me. A pang of regret sliced through my chest, but I ignored it. Later I’d think about this and let myself wallow a little. But for now, I needed to get moving.
No one bothered me as I bumped down the steps, across the foyer and exited through the front door. I knew there was a better than good chance that some security camera was watching me, but I didn’t care. Not unless they were going to chase me down and toss me into a dungeon at the Tower.
I did my best to walk sedately along the sidewalk that ran the interior perimeter of the Palace complex, trying to look as though I knew exactly what I was doing and wandered around dragging my suitcases every day. I was so intent on playing it cool that I jumped a mile when I heard a voice just behind me.
“Excuse me, miss.” It was Harold, and he was leaning out the window of a small, non-descript white car, one hand resting on the wheel. “Can I help you get somewhere?”
I wanted to say no, that I was fine and could take care of myself, but the still-functioning part of my brain intuited that perhaps Harold’s offer was actually his kind way of telling me that I was breaking some kind of rule.
Pausing, I frowned at him. “I need to go to the airport.”
Surely Harold was aware of my original travel plans; I was positive Nicky had arranged for someone, probably Harold himself, to pick me up and drive me to the airport tomorrow. But the policeman didn’t even blink when I made my announcement.
“Of course, miss.” He jumped out and reached for my suitcases. “I’ll get you there in a jiffy.”
Within seconds, my bags were in the trunk, and I was in the passenger seat. The car ambled along the narrow way until we reached the gates, which opened as if by magic as Harold turned out into the city.
We were both silent. I almost opened my mouth several times to explain why I was leaving today, and why I hadn’t called to ask for help, but in the end, I decided it didn’t matter. I wondered if Harold had played this role before, coming to the aid of women whom Nicholas no longer wanted. Maybe I was just the latest in a long line of discarded girlfriends. No explanations were needed.
He only spoke to ask me about my airline, and once we’d arrived at the terminal at Heathrow, he jumped out to help me with my bags.
“Thank you, Harold.” I tried to muster up as much dignity as I could. “It’s been a pleasure to know you.”
“The honor’s been mine, miss.” He hesitated, as though he was about to say something else, but instead, he only shook his head and extended a hand to me. “I hope you have a safe and uneventful journey home. And I also hope that we meet again soon.”
I wanted to bark out a sardonic laugh that said unlikely, but that would’ve been unfair to a man who had shown me only kindness. Instead, I nodded and made my way to the ticketing desk.
It wasn’t until I was standing in line, waiting my turn to check my bag, that I began to think about the press. Clearly, no one had expected me to be at the airport today, because there wasn’t a camera or a reporter in sight. However, mindful of the thousands of cell phones around me, I made a concerted effort to keep a bland expression on my face. The last thing I needed was a picture of me looking weepy and forlorn to hit the tabloids.
The ticket agent did a quick double-take when she saw my name on the print-out, but she recovered and was professional. It wasn’t until I’d gone through security and customs and reached the gate that someone approached me.
“Excuse me.” The voice was soft and tentative. “Are you Kyra? I mean, the one who—you know. Prince Nicholas’ girlfriend?”
She was perhaps fourteen years old, and her eyes shone with admiration and perhaps a touch of envy—not of Nicholas and me, I thought, but of the romance of it all. I imagined she was the sort of girl who wanted happy endings and fairy tales.
I evaded the question as I’d learned to do. “I’m Kyra. It’s nice to meet you.” I offered her my hand. “Are you traveling to the United States today, too?”
She shook her head. “Just coming back with my mum, and I saw you and told her it was you, but she didn’t believe me. We’re just back from Florida.”
I smiled. “I’ll bet you had a wonderful time. It’s beautiful down there this time of year. Much nicer than where I live, where there’s probably snow on the ground.”
The girl laughed. “It was very warm, but the beach was lovely.” From a few feet away, an older woman I assumed was her mother called out, and she glanced over her shoulder. “I guess I should go, but—could I possibly get a picture? With you, I mean? I wouldn’t give it to anyone, just show my friends, I promise.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to refuse, as I’d gotten in the habit of doing, but then it occurred to me that I was no longer bound to try to please Nicholas and his family.
I nodded, warning her, “I probably look a wreck just now, from getting ready to travel. So I really would appreciate it if you don’t send this to anyone else. It would be embarrassing.”
“I won’t, I swear.” She lifted her phone, tilted her head close to mine, and snapped the photo. “Oh, thank you so much. You’re so nice, and just like a normal girl.”
I smiled. “That’s all I am. Normal.”
“Can I ask you just one thing before I go?” She bit her lip and gazed up at me through thick lashes. “Is it just . . . wonderful? Being in love, I mean? It looks amazing, and so romantic and lovely.”
My heart ached, not only for myself but for this girl who still had years ahead to discover what love and romance and relationships were really like. I wanted to warn her to be careful and to guard her heart and not to trust it—to go forward with a clear head and open eyes. I wanted to tell her to avoid plunging headfirst in love with a man who seemed to feel the same way about her.
But I knew my words would’ve fallen on deaf ears. She was young, and until she experienced love for herself, she wouldn’t believe me even if I told her.
“Of course, it is,” I answered her at last. “Just as lovely and romantic as you think.”
Her eyes lit up. “I knew it. I just knew it. Thank you so much. Oh, and for the picture, too. For talking to me. You’re so nice.”
She flitted away to join her mother, and I watched her go, melancholy stealing over me. For a brief moment in time, I’d learned what it was like to have the admiration of people who didn’t know me, for reasons I couldn’t fathom. While I wasn’t going to miss the media attention or worrying about every little thing I said or did, I realized that on some level, it was a privilege to be an unwitting role model. It wasn’t something I’d sought out, but under other circumstances, maybe I could have used the position to do some good.
The gate agent announced that my flight was boarding, and with a sigh, I hitched my handbag more securely over my shoulder and joined the line of waiting passengers. I glanced over my shoulder for one last look. My adventure in royalty was ending, and I was all right with that. I’d never chosen to walk that path.
It was the end of the love story that was breaking my heart. I had a feeling that getting over Nicky was going to take a very long time.
The Lloyd Post
Editor’s note: The following piece was written by one of our staff reporters, Sophie Kent, who’s spent a good part of the last year covering the romance between Prince Nicholas and American Kyra Duncan. Her opinion piece first appeared on her own blog, but she is graciously allowing us to share it here, too.
A break-up is hard. Ending a relationship with the person who has been your significant other, no matter how long or short a time that has been, is painful. Most, if not all, of us can relate.
Now imagine that your heartache is played out on the world’s stage, for everyone to see. Imagine reporters asking you daily about the one person whose name you never want to hear again. Imagine photographers taking pictures of you, even when you feel miserable. Imagine being unable to forget or ignore, because there are stories about your pain in newspapers and online.
If you can imagine all of that, you know a bit about what Kyra Duncan has been going through over the past week.
I met Ms. Duncan in April, when a story broke that she’d been spotted and photographed kissing a man who happens to be a member of Britain’s royal family. From the start, this woman has been gracious, kind and patient with all of us members of the press who have taken up residence on her front lawn, following her everywhere and making her life enormously complicated.
When she returned from England this week, it was clear to me that something had changed. As a woman, I recognized the signs and symptoms of heartache in a fellow sufferer. At that point, she had every right to tell the lot of us to get the hell off her property. She would have been excused if she had been rude, nasty or unpleasant to us. She had nothing more to lose; if her relationship with the prince truly is over, as it seems to be, she doesn’t need to behave out of respect for the royal family anymore.
And yet she has. She has carried on with being polite and kind. She hasn’t said anything about anyone, nor has she hidden herself at home. She has shown incredible dignity under trying circumstances.
I don’t know anything about the true nature of her affair with the prince. Perhaps they were very good friends whose love turned romantic for a season. Perhaps this was merely a fling. Or maybe it was something real and true that has been derailed by the complexities of twenty-first century life as a prince.
Regardless, I can’t help being sad that it appears that Ms. Duncan won’t be joining the family after all. Her class and unabashed sense of self could only add another dimension to what its members wryly call The Firm.
I, for one, think they are missing out. And if Prince Nicholas is reading this, I recommend copious amounts of flowers, boxes of chocolates and an enormous outpouring of apology for whatever you did. You let a good one get away.