I DIDN’T EAT THE BURGER; my stomach wouldn’t tolerate it, not because my royal tummy is not accustomed to such food choices, but because I felt physically sick. Matilda, however, scoffed it down in a few greedy bites and assured me that it really was the most delicious burger she’d ever eaten, if a little cold after going through security checks. Not that she has tried many burgers, either.
I went to bed and tossed and turned for most of the night, every blemish on my body pulsing as a constant reminder of him.
By the time morning arrived, I was going out of my mind, so when Kim turned up with a rack of dresses courtesy of VB for me to try on, it was a welcomed distraction. But I couldn’t very well strip down and expose my battered body to them, so after seeing Jenny and Kim out of my suite, I made sure I tried each of the ten dresses twice. I walked around my suite in each and tried on a dozen different pairs of shoes with every single one. I was determined to make my task last most of the day so I could eat my supper before killing the rest of the evening in my office, going over official correspondence and letters that have been screened before making it to my desk.
By five o’clock, I was happy I’d achieved my goal, though Kim and Jenny looked thoroughly bewildered by my mess as they gathered up the dresses and matched the scattered shoes around my suite, boxing them and putting them in my dressing room.
Dolly serves my supper at six, and the table’s set for two. “Who’s eating with me?” I ask Olive as she sets down a beautifully dressed plate of poached salmon before pouring me some lightly sparkling water.
“Prince Edward, ma’am. He will be joining you shortly.” Olive disappears out of the dining room, just as Eddie wanders through the doors at the other end. I smile at the sight of him, relieved I won’t be alone with my thoughts throughout supper. He wanders the length of the huge dining table to me, his finely tuned body dressed casually in some dark jeans and a Vivian Westwood shirt.
“Evening, little sister.” He kisses my cheek and settles in the chair opposite me, two meters of shiny wood between us.
“Evening.” I wait for Olive to deliver Eddie’s supper before collecting my silverware and cutting into the salmon, the flesh falling away with little help from my knife. As I stare at the plate, the pink fish morphs into a juicy big cheeseburger, topped with pickles and oozing cheese. My mouth waters, my mind wanders. It’s bad for me. I should make better choices.
“Adeline?”
I look up to find Eddie watching me across the table, his silverware in his hands ready to eat. “Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
He cuts into a potato slowly as I take my first mouthful of my supper. “What did you do today?” he asks.
“Tried on dresses,” I answer. “I’m opening a gallery on Friday evening for a charity I’m patron of.”
“You look thrilled about it.”
I realize my enthusiasm is lacking, so I try to rectify it. “It’s a great charity.” I fail, feeling deflated.
Eddie places his silverware down and takes his water, resting back in his chair. “Come on, tell me.”
I sigh and drop my knife and fork, my stomach churning too much to eat. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. It’s okay for you. You go off on tour, serving our country. You have a purpose. I don’t. Well, I do, but being married to a man I have no feelings for, producing a few babies, and being the dutiful wife is not appealing to me.”
Eddie gives me that sympathetic look, the one that reminds me there is no way out of my life. I don’t own myself, the Royal Family owns me. Their expectations, their traditions, their duties. “The public loves you.”
“The public loves the polished, free-spirited princess who apparently won’t settle down until she is ready. They wouldn’t love the whore who sleeps with inappropriate men.”
“Adeline, less of the whore-talk. What has possibly brought all this on? You are usually so content with yourself.”
“That’s just it, isn’t it, Eddie? I’m none of those people. Not the whore, not the polished princess, and—”
“You are the princess the people love. The free-spirited young woman. We all know your bad decisions are based purely on that rebellion in you. You don’t need to be wild to make a stand. It just earns you a headache from the top.”
“That’s rather rich coming from you,” I scoff, picking up my fork and poking at my salmon. “You party harder than me.”
“I drink. I have mate-time.”
“Oh, yes, I forget that a bit of boisterous behavior from the Prince Soldier is perfectly acceptable around here. Besides, no matter how uncertain I am about myself, I’m certain I will never want to marry Haydon Sampson, and that alone labels me a rebel, without any of the other stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Men. Drink. Parties.” Oh, how I wish I had planned a gathering for this evening. Anything to take my mind off my plight. Instead, I must blend into an extravagant dining room meant for a banquet and reflect on everything that is wrong with my life. So much for distraction with the help of Eddie. “Anyway. Enough of me and my woes. What have you planned while you are off duty?”
“The gallery opening Friday evening.”
“What about it?”
“I’ll accompany you.”
I sit up straight in my chair. “You will? Oh, Eddie, I would love that.”
“Me, too.” He resumes his dinner, and my appetite returns. “I’ll be at the Royal Marines Association in the morning, meeting the families of fallen soldiers. I should be back in plenty of time.”
“Do you enjoy things like that?” I ask, spearing a piece of asparagus and nibbling the end. “It must be dreadfully depressing.”
“It’s sad, of course. But it’s important to make sure the families know their loss hasn’t been in vain. They have a massive support network available for them. Not that it can ever compensate, but . . . well”—he shrugs—“they’re heroes.”
I return to my food, a small, sad smile on my lips. Here’s me wailing about the constraints of my life. At least I have a life. “Did you know that Father met Senator Jameson when he served in the military?” For the life of me, I don’t know where that question came from.
“I did.” Eddie gives me a curious smile across the table that I battle not to react to. “Why do you ask?”
My eyes plummet to my plate. “Just wondered.”
“Just wondered,” he muses.
I drop my silverware and breathe out. I can’t contain it. “Why did you invite Josh Jameson to my party?”
“And there we have the problem.” Eddie follows my lead and rids his hands of his cutlery, too. “Is this why you are moody?”
“I am not moody.”
“What happened between you two?”
“Nothing.” I gather my napkin from my lap and place it by the side of my plate, forcing a meek smile.
Eddie’s high eyebrows virtually merge with his hairline. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“He’s gotten under your skin.”
I snort at the mere suggestion. “No man gets under my skin. There would be little point allowing them to, since the King would ensure they were dug out with a blunt knife rather speedily.”
“So you’re not playing with something you cannot have, you want something you cannot have.” He laughs, and the sound, along with his statement, is torture. “That’s a whole new ballgame, Addy.”
I stand up, ready to put an end to this preposterous conversation and my brother’s outlandish insinuations. “You are so far off the mark, Edward.”
His laughter increases. “You only call me Edward when you’re on the defense.”
“Good evening, brother.” I march away from him, outraged, hearing him sigh to himself as I go.
“Adeline?”
“What?” I bark, swinging around at the door.
His face is serious. I don’t like it, not one tiny bit. “Let go before they make you.”
I inhale sharply, in a staring deadlock with my beloved brother, no counter coming to me. “I’ll be in my office.” I turn and walk away on trembling legs, and when I make it to my office, I drop to my chair like a brick, my body heavy, my heart heavier. Everything is heavy. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think. I pull my box of correspondence forward and start flicking through the papers. The itinerary for my trip to Madrid, the finely tuned plans for Friday evening’s opening, the request for an appearance at a local women’s shelter. I drop them all, unable to engage my brain. With my head in my hands, I slump over my desk and fall deeper into despair. Josh Jameson was like a red flag to a bull. The ultimate no-go zone. It was only supposed to be a bit of fun. And I can see for Josh, it was exactly that. The morning after our game, he called nonstop until he finally tracked me down at the stables. Last night I thanked him for our fun and called it a day before he did. I’ve not heard from him since. I don’t think I could ever get bored of you, darlin’. It was a good line. But it was just a line. What was I thinking? What was I hoping for?
I push the questions away quickly. What does it matter? It is done with now.