“RISE AND SHINE, SLEEPING BEAUTY.”
Someone shook my foot, and still mostly asleep, I scowled and kicked at the hand, moaning words that were unintelligible even to me.
“Kyra, c’mon. Wake up. I’m making you waffles for breakfast, but we’re out of milk. I need the car keys so that I can run to the store and get some.”
Waffles. That was definitely the magic word. I opened one eye and tried to focus on Shelby. “In the front pocket of my purse, hanging on the hook in my closet.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Be right back.” She paused by my door. “You might get out of bed and set up the waffle iron for me. Maybe make some coffee.”
I grunted. “’kay.”
For a few minutes, I didn’t move at all. I listened to Shelby’s steps down the hall and through the kitchen. When I heard the back door open and then close, I finally rolled over and reached for my phone.
There was a text message notification, and a smile I couldn’t hold back if I’d wanted spread over my face.
Good morning, beautiful. I hope you wake up as happy as I did this morning. On the plane already, and by the time you see this, I’ll probably be getting ready to land in London. Talk to you later today.
I hugged my arms around my middle, giving a happy sigh that almost turned into a squeal. But it didn’t, because even if Nicky was already across the Atlantic, I was too cool to squeal over a boy. Or a man. Yeah, Nicholas Windsor was most definitely a man.
Glancing at the clock, I tried to figure out the time difference and how long the flight between Bangor and London might be. The plane probably was preparing to land about now, as Nicky had predicted, or maybe it already had, and Nicky was on his way to his apartment. His apartment in the palace, which was something I couldn’t think about too long, or it would totally freak me out.
The slamming of a door made me jump, and I sat straight up in bed, pulling the sheet nearly to my chin, my heart pounding. There was no way Shelby could be back already; the closest convenience store was ten minutes away on a good day. She probably hadn’t locked the door, because we rarely did. Who the hell was coming into my house? A burglar? A serial murderer? Oh, that would be just my luck: here I’d finally connected with a nice guy, and now I was going to get my throat slit in my own bed.
Adrenaline surged into my bloodstream as a dozen scenarios flitting across my brain in the seconds before Shelby came stalking back into my bedroom. Her eyes were wide, and she didn’t look happy. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out why she might be pissed at me.
She opened her mouth and started to speak, and then closed it again, as though the words just wouldn’t come.
“What’s wrong?” I scrambled out of bed and nearly tripped as the sheets were wrapped around my knees.
“Kyra.” Shelby managed to ground out my name. “Why the hell is there a bunch of photographers and reporters out in our front yard?”
Confusion and bewilderment replaced the panic I’d felt a few minutes before. “What?”
“Reporters, Kyra. I walked out the door, went around the house to the driveway, and they were waiting there. They all started yelling your name, taking pictures, and asking if it’s true that you’re dating Prince Nicholas.” She tapped her foot on the floor, and her lips were pressed into a tight line. “Something you need to share with me, Kyra?”
“Shit.” I sat back down on the edge of the mattress and covered my face with my hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Yeah, I think you’re going to have to come up with something better than that.” Shelby threw up her hands. “Is it true? Is the mystery guy you’ve been seeing lately really Prince Fucking Nicholas?”
“Um.” I gnawed on the corner of my lip. “It’s not exactly . . . I mean, it didn’t start like that.”
Shelby cocked her head and raised one eyebrow. I recognized that expression. It meant, keep talking.
“I didn’t lie about who he was,” I rushed to explain. “When I said I’d met someone I’d known when I was a kid, that was true. It is true.”
“And . . .” She rolled her hand. “And you used to play with kids from the British royal family when you were little?”
“Well, yeah. It’s complicated, but his grandmother on his mother’s side was a friend of Honey’s. She lived in the house next to us on the beach in Florida. So when he came to visit with them every summer, we used to play together. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Mmmmhmmmm.” Shelby clearly needed more.
I decided that in the interest of time and expediency, I’d leave out the whole first kiss deal. “So then he was at that dinner at Handsome and Honey’s place last week, and we sort of . . . reconnected.” I bit the side of my mouth to hold back the smile that threatened to take over my face at the memory of that first evening. “But nothing happened then. I wasn’t holding out on you.”
“Nothing happened then.” Shelby nodded. “Which tells me that something has happened since. Also—hello, you have dinner and start to hang out with a prince? Ky, I don’t care that he’s an old family friend. You don’t hold that shit back from your best friend.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. But I didn’t know if it was going to be anything, and then . . . it was.” I met her eyes. “Full disclosure time? He kissed me last night. And we had a super romantic dinner. And I think it might actually be something. But he’s back in the UK now, so—”
As if on cue, my phone began to ring. Butterflies exploded in my stomach when I saw the caller ID on the screen, and I answered it quickly.
Before I could get out more than a hello, Nicky was speaking tersely into my ear. “Kyra, we have a situation.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.” I gave Shelby wide eyes.
“I just got off the plane in London, and I was mobbed by the press.” He muttered something that I didn’t quite catch, but I could imagine what it might be. “They were all yelling at me about you. Kyra, did you say anything to the media?”
I couldn’t answer him for a moment. Hurt and a little pissed at his assumption, I hoped he could hear the annoyance in my tone. “Of course, I didn’t. What do you think of me? I didn’t even tell Shelby. She just found out what’s going on when she tried to leave the house to buy milk and ran into a bunch of photographers in our front yard.” I sniffed a little. “She needed milk to make me waffles, because she’s such an awesome friend, and I hadn’t even told her. So please don’t insult me by assuming I’d blab to the press.”
“Kyra.” I heard the apology in his voice even before he spoke the words. “I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say. I was taken by surprise—like I told you last night, reporters don’t take that much notice of me usually. I can come and go without them bothering me. I didn’t have any warning this time. I guess I sort of went over the edge. I really am sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I took a deep breath. “But how did this happen? And why do they care?”
“They have a picture of us,” Nicky said grimly. “It’s a little blurry and dark, but it’s clear enough to see you and to recognize me.”
“The lady with the phone?” I rubbed my forehead, where a headache was lurking. “I told you I thought she was taking pictures.”
“Probably,” Nicky agreed. “Not that there was anything we could’ve done at that point, even if my policeman had caught her in the act.”
“But how did they figure out who I am?” I hadn’t seen anyone I recognized at the restaurant. “Gav would never tell anyone. He’s not that way.”
“You made the reservation last night in your name,” he reminded me. “It wouldn’t take much investigation to find that information. And the hostess recognized me—she had your name on her computer. Not that difficult to come up with the right answer when you add two and two.”
“Ack.” I dropped back down onto the bed, closing my eyes. “What a mess. What do I tell them? How do I deal with this?”
Nicky sighed. “It’s best just to be as pleasant as you can be. Don’t talk to them, but don’t run away. Smile and ignore their questions. If you have to say something, say ‘No comment.’”
I wrinkled my nose. “Great. On the other hand, I could just stay in the house until they get bored and go away.”
“You could do that, but then you and Shelby wouldn’t get your waffles, would you?” There was a teasing note in his voice. “By the way, please do apologize to Shelby for me. Please tell her that it was totally my fault you kept her in the dark. And tell her . . .” He hesitated. “Tell her that I can’t wait to meet her the next time I’m in the states.”
I swallowed. “So . . . there’s definitely going to be a next time? All this . . . the press . . . it doesn’t scare you off?”
He laughed softly, and the intimacy of the sound thrilled my heart. “I think that’s a question I should be asking you, not the other way around. It’s going to take more than some idiots snapping pictures and yelling questions to frighten me.” He hesitated. “What about you?”
“Puh.” I blew out a breath. “Please. I don’t scare that easily. Besides, they’ll get bored and go away soon.”
“Right.” There was a voice in the background, speaking low. Nicky said something in reply, but it was too muffled for me to understand. “Sorry, but I need to go now. I’ve got a meeting, and I’m late. Talk to you tonight?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Okay. Bye, then.”
I sat with the phone in my hand for a few more seconds. The mattress dipped as Shelby sat down next to me. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her eyes were full of curiosity.
“Want to catch me up on a few things, Kyra?”
The rest of that day was surreal, like something that was happening to a different person. Only, it wasn’t. It was happening to me.
Shelby had listened to my explanation in complete silence. When I’d finally run out of things to say, she’d just shaken her head.
“I get it. I understand why you didn’t tell me. And I forgive you. But holy shit, Kyra. He’s a prince. You’re dating a prince. That’s . . . it’s kind of insane.”
I’d dropped back onto my bed, screwing my eyes shut. “I know.”
“By the way, whoever outed you didn’t know you at all. The reporters were all shouting your name when I came out—they thought I was you—but they were pronouncing it wrong. They said Keera, not Kyra. I didn’t correct them, because—well, because I was too stunned.”
“That makes sense. If they got my name from someone at The Meadows, from the list of reservations—that wouldn’t tell anyone how to say it, just how to spell it. At least I know it wasn’t anyone close to me who spilled the beans.”
“So what comes next?” Shelby had laid down on the bed, too, stretching alongside me. “Are you going to England? Do you have to get a bodyguard? How does this work?”
I’d lolled my head slowly back and forth. “I have no idea, Shelby. No idea at all.”
As much as I’d wanted to hide in bed all day and hope that the reporters got tired of waiting, I had promised to meet Ed at the garden before lunch, which meant I had to get up and put on some clothes, even if there weren’t any waffles coming my way anymore. It was too late for us to make them now, and I was too rattled to enjoy them, even though Shelby had calmed down enough to offer to make the necessary the milk run.
She trailed me from my room to the closet to the bathroom as I got ready to leave, peppering me with leftover questions.
“Did he talk about his family?”
“Does he live in a palace?”
“Is he an amazing kisser?”
“Is that really what you’re wearing?”
At the last one, I wheeled around, hands on my hips. “Since when do you critique my wardrobe choices for working in the garden? Yes, this is what I’m wearing. Jeans, my boots and a sweatshirt. Those are garden clothes. If I put on a dress and heels to get on my hands and knees to dig, Ed would have me committed. And he’d kick me off the project, which would make me furious since it’s my idea in the first place.”
“Fine, fine.” Shelby held up her hands. “I’m just saying, whatever you walk out in right now is what they’re going to take pictures of, and those pictures will show up everywhere—and that’s going to be the first impression you give the world. Couldn’t you skip the garden today and go visit H squared instead? You could put on a really cute dress, and I’d do your hair for you.”
“No, I could not.” Catching up my curly hair, I wrangled it into a band on the back of my head. “Because Honey would think I was crazy if I showed up at her house, all dressed up. I can’t stop living my life because there are a few people with cameras in our yard, Shelby. Besides, Nicky wouldn’t want me to change anything about myself. He said so.”
“I’m not suggesting you should. But there’s a difference between changing who you are and presenting who you are in the best possible light. When you’re first dating someone, you realize that if this person is your one and only, eventually he’s going to see you without make up, with your hair a mess. He’s going to see you on sick days and PMS days—and yeah, he’s going to see the not-so-pretty. But you don’t show him that on the very first date, or he’d go running into the hills, just like you would if he showed up unshaven in dirty boxers and a three-days’ growth of beard. Putting your best foot forward isn’t lying about who you are.”
“I agree with you. Which was why, when Nicky was here, he saw me all dressed up, and he saw me in jeans. He saw me at our romantic dinner in my cute little dress, and he saw me at the garden, mucking up dirt. I don’t have to impress him.” I sat on the edge of my bed to tie my Converse.
“It’s not Nicky I’m talking about here. It’s the world, Kyra. It’s his family. They’re going to get their first look at you in these pictures.”
I stood up, reaching for my sunglasses. “And that is why I’m wearing my sneakers and not trudging out in my garden boots, which are in the back of the car. If they follow me to the garden, they can see me in my boots.” I paused as a new thought occurred to me. “I hope they don’t follow me to the garden. I don’t want people tromping all over my plants. That would suck.”
“That’s what worries you most, huh? Your plants? Aren’t you the least bit spooked about what they’re going to write about you? Aren’t you at all nervous?”
“Shelby, relax. This isn’t a big deal.” I dangled the car keys from one finger. “Do you need to use the car? You can drop me off if you do.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m here all day, studying for finals. Without milk or waffles, of course.”
“Sorry. I’ll try to remember to pick up the milk on the way home, and maybe we can have waffles for dinner. Okay?” I bent to kiss her cheek. “See you later, chick. Thanks for forgiving me and understanding about Nicky.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waved her hand. “Go on. Go get mobbed by the press and let them photograph you in your dirty jeans.”
I stuck out my tongue at her. “They’re not dirty. They’re well-loved.”
“Whatever!” she yelled after me, so that I was laughing when I opened the door to step outside . . . and was immediately overwhelmed.
Once upon a time, I thought celebrities who wore sunglasses all the time were being ridiculous and putting on affectations. But now . . . now, suddenly, I got it. Because even with my sunglasses, and even though not all of the people taking pictures were using flashes—it was gray and cloudy outside—I was momentarily blinded on my own front stoop.
“Keera! Over here! Keera! Are you Keera? Keera! Are you dating Prince Nicholas? How did you meet? Are you in love with him, Keera? Are you moving to England? Are you planning to see him again? How long have you been together? Keera! Over here. Smile for us, love! Give us a smile!”
I wanted nothing more than to run back inside my house and slither under my bed. I forced myself to try to walk forward, keeping my head down until my eyes cleared and I could see where the hell I was walking. I was terrified that I’d stumble over a rock and land on my ass. Talk about first impressions.
“Keera! Are you in university? Do you have a job? Did you see the pictures of you with Prince Nicholas? What did you think?”
“Keera—”
“Actually, it’s Kyra.” I couldn’t stand it one more moment. Hearing them yell my name—saying it wrong—was like nails on a chalkboard. “Kyra. If you’re going to yell my name, could you at least pronounce it right? Thanks.”
As if all the reporters thought with one brain, they fell silent when I spoke. I could still hear the click of the cameras, though. I managed to reach my car.
“Kyra, then.” The voice was closer than I expected it to be, and I startled. “Kyra Duncan. I’m Sophie Kent. Would you like to give me a statement about your relationship with Prince Nicholas? Something that we can print—you know, your side of things. So that the world can hear your story. What it’s like to be an American girl dating a British prince.”
When I didn’t answer, she went on. “If you don’t say something, we’ll just run the story based on what we’re guessing and seeing. Conjecture. Give us something to print.”
I opened my car door and turned to face the woman standing behind me. She was about my age, I guessed, holding a camera and a small recorder. I knew she was here because she had a job to do, but I didn’t like the situation any better, even though I understood the why.
With a ghost of a smile, I shook my head.
“No comment.”