Chapter 19

Tamara

My heart galloped in my chest like a wild mustang. It had been all day.

Nothing I did—no calming teas, soothing music, mediation—helped shovel aside some of my anxiety, and the longer the day went on the worse it seemed to get.

It all started when I woke up at five in the morning to a call from my agent, badgering me with questions about my relationship with the prince and berating me for not telling her sooner so we could ride the publicity. After I figured out that it wasn’t just her that knew—it was everybody—I ended the call and stormed into Jo’s bedroom.

Jo was sleeping like a log, mouth wide open and not a care in the world. A pillow to the head did the trick. After about fifteen minutes of fighting, wherein she insisted that Tristan hadn’t told a soul and I insisted the facts didn’t lie, Jo stormed out of the apartment in her pajamas and I got ready as quickly as possible and left for work.

When I got there, I discovered that yay, lucky me—the press were camped outside, waiting. They hounded me on my way through the gates, yelling questions that varied from one shade of rudeness to the next.

Now, I sat in my trailer and tried not to cry. This was my personal hell.

The set gates held the press at bay for now, but I couldn’t stay here forever—though the prospect was certainly tempting. I’d never seen so many of them, and they were out for blood. Alexander was the juiciest news story in the country. How could I have been so stupid?

I flitted like a ghost between places—costume, make-up, rehearsal, none of it mattered—surprised every second that my heart hadn’t exploded yet. I saw Michael a couple of times. I expected a snide look from him but he smiled instead, which I took to mean all his attempted cozying up to me over the past few weeks had only been an attempt to get close enough to embarrass me again. Now I’d done the hard work for him.

No matter what I did throughout the day, however, I couldn’t bring myself to read the actual article. I knew I should, that the only way I could ever understand the scope of the issue was to just bite the bullet and read it, but every time I tried it slipped through my fingers.

What did it say about me? I could only imagine the nasty things the press would have to say about the mixed-race American commoner who’d stolen the heart of their prince. They already had tons of kindling to work with from my last time in the paparazzi spotlight, so they wouldn’t have to look hard for ways to drag me down. And I just couldn’t take it.

Around lunchtime, I prepared to board myself up in my trailer with the biggest bottle of water money could buy and a gigantic turkey and mayo sandwich. When I got there, the door stuck on something when I tried to open it. I shoved and it scraped open, revealing its impediment.

My face stared back up at me. Well, it started off into the distance, an expression of bliss on my features as Alex whispered something into the crook of my neck. My heart tumbled over and I nearly slammed the door shut and burned the whole trailer to the ground. Then I realized I’d put it off too long. It was time to read.

I sequestered myself in the corner of my couch and flipped the pages of the newspaper until I landed on the one that sealed my fate. And I read.

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it wasn’t nice. Along with the implication that I was jockeying for the crown, the writer had no problem bringing up my previous relationship drama as an example of why the prince needed to keep me a secret. That hurt. I reached the “inside scoop” part and my hands turned cold.

The paper’s source mentioned the prince visiting me on set, bringing me flowers that I threw out. I never told Tristan that. I never told my sister that either, nor anybody else I could think of. That meant that whoever blew the whistle on our relationship was likely on set with me now, and I had a bad feeling about who it might be.

I slammed the water bottle down on the table next to me and vaulted to my feet. I was going to kill him.

Michael wasn’t hard to find. He spent most of his free time in his trailer, either yakking on the phone to one of his friends or entertaining some poor young groupie who had no idea how much of a loser he was. Thankfully, today he was alone.

I yanked open his door and stormed up, throwing the balled-up newspaper in his face. “What the fuck, Michael?”

The ball bounced off his nose and onto the couch next to him. He picked it up and had the gall to pull it open, like he needed to read it to know what it said. He stared at it for a long while, then his lips turned into a nasty smile and he rose to his feet.

“Come on, Tamara,” he purred. “You think this is my fault? You should know better.”

He stepped toward me and I took a step back. I wasn’t sure what I expected when I came over here, but this reaction wasn’t quite it. I guess I had hoped he would break into tears and start begging for forgiveness at my feet. Wishful thinking.

“I know better than to trust you,” I said. “Thank god I didn’t give you another chance, not that the thought crossed my mind.”

His jaw ticked. “You think being the prince’s booty call makes you better than me?”

“I think being a good person makes me better than you!” I yelled. “What you did was unprofessional and downright cruel. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“What I did?” Michael sneered. “I haven’t admitted to anything. Remember that before you try slandering me in the papers.”

He didn’t need to admit to anything. He hadn’t denied it, and the look of satisfaction on his face made it obvious he was the inside source who’d ruined my day.

“You are such a fame whore! All you think about is the next interview and the next scoop!” My voice had reached a shrill level and my face was hot. I knew anyone outside would be able to hear us, but I didn’t care.

“I’m not like you, Michael! I’m not going to take this to the papers. I just want to live a happy fucking life without having lies spread all over the pages of a magazine just because you’re bitter that I broke up with you!” I grabbed the nearest object—a TV remote—and chucked it at Michael. It hit him in the arm and bounced off.

“You’re just a pair of tits and a pretty face!” he roared. “I made you what you are!”

“Oh yeah? I don’t see you in a starring fucking role! I made it big on my first try and you couldn’t get anything bigger than a herpes commercial until Freedom Five! And look how well that went!”

At the mention of his old TV show, which was cancelled after a disappointing three episodes, Michael’s face reddened.

Someone banged on the door. “Open up!”

I recognized Yesha’s voice and decided it was time to go. I was over this.

I opened the door and shot out of the trailer, barreling past the director. Michael followed me.

“He doesn’t love you!” he yelled. “You’re just a piece of ass to him. The public would never accept you and he knows that!”

“Hey!” Yesha screamed. “Both of you, stop right now!”

I stopped mid-step. Her tone brokered no argument. Even Michael shut his mouth, miracle of miracles.

“Tamara, take the rest of the day,” Yesha said. “As for you Michael, come see me in my trailer.”

A crowd of onlookers had gathered around Michael’s trailer, and they murmured amongst themselves with delight. Michael was in deep shit.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I wanted to be home, even if it meant slogging through wall of press dying for another bite of action.

I stomped back to my trailer, shaking off anyone who tried to talk to me. I just wanted to be alone. I would grab my stuff and be out of here before I bit somebody’s head off.

Too bad my trailer wasn’t empty. I gasped in surprise.

Alex jumped to his feet with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I didn’t know where you were and I didn’t want to wander around looking for you. Figured that wouldn’t be wise.”

I closed the door and locked it just in case. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay.” He stepped toward me, threading his fingers through mine. “I’m sorry about the article.”

I pulled my hands away and started gathering up my stuff. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Tell that to my father. I didn’t realize he would be so upset,” he said, chuckling. “It’s not like I bailed to go partying.”

I hadn’t expected to see Alexander today, hadn’t even factored in what I was going to do when I did see him. The uncomfortable truth settled on my shoulders and I knew then what I had to do.

For the first time all day, my heart stopped beating. It froze and cracked in my chest.

“I’m sorry too, Alex.” I turned to face him, even though I wanted to look anywhere but those gorgeous green eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His face fell. “What?”

“The scrutiny, the anxiety...it’s too much.” I scraped a hand through my hair and shook my head. I was getting major post-Michael flashbacks and I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. Ending things with Alex felt like cutting off a leg, but if that was where the infection was, wasn’t that just what I had to do?

“I don’t understand.” Alex stepped toward me. “It was one article, Tamara. I’ve been through much worse.”

“I don’t care if you’ve had worse!” I cried, my anger toward Michael funneling into Alex instead. “You’re acting like this is all some big joke to you, but it’s not to me. This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this in the first place.” I paused and took a breath, avoiding his eyes in the small space. “Just go, Alex.”

“Just go?” His voice grew dangerously low, more of a growl than anything else. “After one slip to the press you expect me just to turn my back on this?”

“I don’t expect anything.” I met his gaze. “I demand. It’s over.”

The words felt like razorblades on my tongue but my panic wouldn’t let me say anything else. My life was about to be picked apart piece by piece—again—and if I didn’t cut the tie now, it would only get worse.

What was I thinking getting involved with him in the first place? I wasn’t princess material. Today’s article only drilled that into me more. The public would never accept me at Alex’s side as anything more than a conversation piece, and if I was going to have him, I wanted so much more. I felt so much more.

No. I couldn’t dwell on those feelings. It was too late. It had been too late since the first moment our eyes met.

Alex ran his tongue over his top teeth and shook his head in bemusement. “I can’t believe you.”

“I’d start trying.”

“It was one article, Tamara.”

“That one article is just the beginning if we keep this up,” I said. “I should have never listened to you in the first place. We should have left things as they were at the masquerade ball.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t agree.”

“Too bad.”

Fire burned in the air between us, and for a second I couldn’t tell if we were fucking or fighting. Things between Alex and I had always been intense—I should’ve realized that our breakup would get heated.

Alex marched up to me, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to look him in the eye.

“Tamara, I know you’re scared,” he said. “But you need to develop a thicker skin. You won’t last in this business without one.”

“Thanks for the completely unsolicited career advice, your royal highness.” I yanked myself back a few steps. “Here’s some for you—if you want the perks of royalty, including launching a charity project and expecting everyone to give a shit, you can’t keep running from who you are. The only reason you’re not partying anymore is because you replaced partying with me. I’m just another form of escape to you, Alex. Your dad sees it too.”

His lips parted, face relaxing just enough to let me know I’d hit a sore spot.

“That’s not true,” Alex said, reaching for me again.

I snatched my purse from the table and ducked his grasp, heading for the door without another word. By the time I reached the pavement outside I was practically running. If I didn’t, I knew I would break down and sob.