Romance or Hype?
Three weeks after those super HOT pics of Britain’s Prince Nicholas with his new American girlfriend hit the internet, questions are swirling about what’s happening now. Although press coverage of Maine girl Kyra Duncan has been non-stop, we haven’t seen any repeat dates. Nicholas has been carrying on with his engagements on the far side of the pond.
Sources tell us that there are plans in the works for Kyra to make a quick trip to London, but who knows? Maybe this was just a fly-by royal hook-up, and these two aren’t destined for a happily-ever-after.
I stood in the check-out line at the grocery store, my eyes glued to the carton of eggs in my basket. Whispers swirled around me; I should’ve been used to it by now, but I’d spent so much time over the past weeks hiding at home that being out now felt daring—and dangerous.
“She’s not even that pretty. I mean, look at her. Look at the picture on that magazine. She’s, like, plain.”
“I don’t even think she has make-up on. And the hair . . .”
The first girl giggled. “I read something on line that called her the American Cinderella. But she’s more like the ugly step-sister.”
My throat burned, and I was sure my face was bright red. This was why I didn’t leave my bedroom unless it was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, today it had been just that. Shelby was sick in bed, and today was Honey’s birthday, which meant I had to bake her a cake. It was family tradition: on my grandmother’s birthday, everyone gathered up here in Maine, and I made a German chocolate cake.
But we didn’t have any eggs—both Shelby and I sucked at efficient weekly grocery shopping; we always ended up running out three or four times a week to pick up what we’d forgotten. Since there was no way I could ask my poor beleaguered and feverish friend to go to the grocery store . . . here I was.
“Do you think she even really met him? Or do you think it was, like, one of those things where they doctored the picture to make it look like they were together?”
“Maybe he was drunk. He saw her through beer goggles.” They laughed again.
I was not the kind of woman who stood by while people talked about me. I was the type who championed the underdog and called out the mean girls who tried to make me feel bad about myself. But right now, my hands were tied. If I said anything—if I so much as acknowledged their cruelty—my reaction would be news. Someone would take a picture of the expression on my face, or someone else would leak my words to the press, and then I’d look like a cry-baby.
I’d spent nearly a month doing my damnedest not to look like an idiot, a weakling, a baby or a jerk. I’d smiled as the reporters and photographers had shouted my name and increasingly personal questions. I’d let Shelby show me the pictures that were appearing on line so that I could figure out what I was doing to get caught with unfortunate expressions on my face. I’d stood in front of the mirror and practiced keeping my face motionless.
It was a good skill to have right now, as I pretended to be both deaf and completely insensitive to what the girls around me were pseudo-whispering.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” The voice I heard next wasn’t whispering; it wasn’t pretending to even try. I wanted to turn around and see who was talking now, but I didn’t. I held it together a little longer.
The girls stopped giggling, and the voice behind them—behind me—went on, her tone biting and censorious, with a healthy dose of a strong Maine accent.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves. Standing here, talking about this woman—this woman who’s been dealing with a bunch of ridiculous garbage from the press, just because she had the misfortune to be seen with some guy who’s famous because of his family. But look at her. She’s got class. She might not be like one of your plastic idols, with a fake tan, a fake nose and fake bosoms . . . she’s real. And you—you two should be ashamed of yourselves.”
The silence that surrounded all of us in the moment that followed was deafening. No one spoke. My heart was pounding, and my hands shook a little as I reached down to pick up the eggs and move them to the belt.
The cashier finished the transaction with the man in front of me. I felt eyes watching me still, but I forced myself to keep the vaguely pleasant expression on my face, the one that privately I thought made me look as though I had early onset dementia.
My eggs moved down the belt, and the cashier dragged them over the scanner. The beep was loud in the continuing quiet, broken only when the check-out woman cleared her throat and gave me the total.
I had the money in my fist already, ready to pass over. It wasn’t exact change, but it was close enough. I hoped no one noticed the way my fingers were trembling as I dropped it into her palm and began to walk away, trying not to move too fast. I didn’t want anyone to think I was running away, even if I was.
“Miss! You forgot your change. And do you want me to bag that?” The cashier called after me, but I knew if I turned around, I’d have to meet her eyes, and then I’d inevitably end up glancing at the girls behind me in line and at the older woman who had taken up for me. I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to see any of them. I just wanted to be gone.
I didn’t feel safe again until I was back in my car, on the road, speeding toward home. I followed our new protocol and pulled around to the back of the house, beyond where the reporters would go. It shortened the route to the back door and meant less time I was out in the open, with people shouting at me.
But it was a good day, because no one was waiting. Shelby and I had learned that the presence of the media ebbed and flowed like the tide. Sometimes, they drifted away, when other news was more important. Then something would happen—a new story would pop up, with unnamed sources that insinuated insider information about Nicky and me, and they’d all be back in full force.
“How was it?” Shelby was slumped at the table, her eyes glassy and her face pale. She was in her robe, and her blonde hair was a messy halo around her head.
“Fine.” I didn’t need to give my friend the ugly details, not when there wasn’t a thing either of us could do about it. “I got the eggs. Are you okay if I start on the cake? I don’t want the smell to make you feel worse.”
“Yeah, it’s all right. I’m not nauseated, it’s just my throat and my chest. I’m not sleeping because of the cough.” She leaned her cheek into her hand. “I think maybe it’s just Maine. I need a dose of Florida to get better.”
I began to pull out the ingredients I needed to make the cake. “Shel . . . you know, if you want to go home, go back to Florida for a while, it’s okay. I know this whole mess has been stressful on you. I’m worried that it’s making you sick. So you know, you could take a break. If you go home for a little while . . . you could get back to real life. No reporters, no cameras—just normal stuff.”
She sighed. “I don’t know, Ky. I want to be here for you—I don’t want to abandon my best friend when she needs me. But maybe I could just take a week or so. My mom’s been asking when I’m coming home, and Vivian wants me to visit before she gets too far along.” Shelby’s older sister was pregnant with her first child.
“Of course, she does.” I opened the fridge and pulled out a bag of coconut. “You should do that.”
“I didn’t want to say anything, but now that things are getting quiet, maybe it would be a good time.”
A pang of hurt hit my chest, but I worked hard not to let it show. Shelby wasn’t wrong. Neither of us would be unhappy to see the end of the press attention, but I was keenly aware that if reporters went away, it was because they’d determined that I wasn’t newsworthy anymore—that Nicky and I were not, in fact, a couple.
I myself was beginning to wonder about that. Nicky hadn’t forgotten me—there was no question about that. He called me every day at least once, and we texted all the time. He often voiced his frustration over the distance between us. But we hadn’t been able to work out a solution to that particular problem. His schedule was set up well in advance, which meant he couldn’t simply pop over the Atlantic for an impromptu date. And since he hadn’t asked me to visit him in London, I didn’t feel comfortable making arrangements to fly over there. Not yet.
“I think it’s a good idea.” I began to measure cocoa into the bowl. “If you make the arrangements, I’ll take you to the airport. Do you want to wait until you feel better?”
Shelby wrinkled her nose. “Will you hate me if I say I already made the arrangements? Mom called right after you left. I’m going to fly out on Monday.”
“I could never hate you, Shelby.” I managed a faint smile. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get away. If I could, I would.”
“Why can’t you?” She stood up and came around the table to lean against the counter. “You could fly down to Florida with me. You could stay with me, at Vivian and Charlie’s house. The change would be good for you.”
“I couldn’t do that to your family, but thanks.” I cracked an egg into the bowl.
“Have you heard anything from Nicky?” Her voice was tentative. “Anything about . . . well, anything?”
I glanced at her. “Last night, he said this was getting ridiculous and that two reasonably intelligent people should be able to work out a way to see each other, even if they do live with an ocean between them. He’s getting frustrated.” I dried my hands on a towel. “He’s not the only one.”
“Hmmmm.” The worried expression in Shelby’s eyes was one I’d seen frequently of late.
“Don’t hmmmm me. He’s not ditching me, Shel. If it weren’t for the whole press craziness, this time apart—it wouldn’t be a terrible thing. We’re getting to know each other better every day, because we talk and we text—without the pressures of being together physically.”
“The pressures? Is that what you said? Or did you say without the pleasures?”
I rolled my eyes. “Both. Yes, I would love to live close enough that I could see Nicky every day. Close enough that we could go on real-people dates and actually kiss good-night. But it’s also true that we’re forced to talk about things that otherwise might get brushed under the carpet, if we were spending all our time making out.”
“So it’s like the old days? Nicky is courting you?” Shelby smiled and dabbed at her red nose with a crumpled tissue. “That’s sweet.”
“It is.” I clicked the beater attachment onto the mixer. “But I’m not going to lie, Shel. I’m getting antsy. Restless. Being courted is wonderful, but it’s not great for making me feel secure about . . . this thing between Nicky and me.”
“Your relationship? Are you really scared to call it what it is?” Shelby tilted her head and regarded me curiously.
“I’m not scared,” I defended myself. “I just don’t want to get hurt.”
“Pretty sure that’s the definition of scared.”
“No, it’s the definition of smart and cautious.” I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument, but neither was I going down without a fight. “If Nicky decides one of these days that I’m too much trouble, I’m the person who’s going to be left to pick up the pieces.”
“Do you feel like he might do that?”
Slowly, I shook my head. “No. I mean, I don’t know. When we’re talking and when I’m reading his texts, I don’t think he would. But in the off-times, it’s harder to hold onto that.”
Shelby nodded, a small frown between her eyebrows. “God, Kyra, when did we get angsty? We used to be these fun girls who didn’t care about any guys. We did what we wanted, and we laughed at those silly females who lived and died on whether or not their stupid boyfriends called. When did we become those silly females?”
I reached for a rubber scraper and flicked on the mixer. “Correction, Shel. I became one of those silly females. You are still fun and carefree. You’re still . . . I don’t know, Snow White having a blast with the seven dwarfs. I’m the ugly step-sister. The ugly, insecure and silly step-sister.”
“Huh?” Shelby squinted. “Snow White didn’t have any step-sisters. Also, I’m not sure I like your implication about me and seven guys.”
“No, not Snow White’s step-sister. Cinderella’s.” I peered into the mixer bowl and turned down the speed of the beaters. “I was in line at the grocery store, and these girls behind me recognized me. There was a tabloid in the rack alongside us, and—well, it doesn’t matter. But one of them said I didn’t look like Cinderella, I was more like one of her ugly step-sisters.”
“That’s bullshit.” Shelby’s outraged expression went a long way to soothing my wounded pride. “Who the hell wants to be Cinderella, anyway? She did the housework, hung out with mice and relied on a fairy godmother to get ahead in life. Plus, she wore glass shoes, which, yeah, they might be a fashion-forward choice, but they’re dangerous as fuck. One wrong move and you’ve got shredded feet.”
“Shredded feet,” I snickered.
“I’m just saying . . . think about it. Don’t be Cinderella, Ky. Cinderella flounders around and never takes charge of anything in her life. Even when the prince is there to make all the women in the house try on the glass slipper, old simpering Cinderella is locked up in the tower, wringing her hands, while the mice do all the hard work of bringing up the key. That’s not you. As long as I’ve known you, you were the woman making things happen. So if you have to be the step-sister, fine. Be the step-sister. But be the best bitchin’ damn step-sister you can be—no glass heels for you. The bitchin’ step-sister wears . . .” She narrowed her eyes, considering.
“Converse,” I completed her thought with a laugh. “It’s what old Cinderella should’ve worn in the first place. She could’ve made a fast getaway.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“Kyra!” My mother swept me into a tight hug before I was inside my grandparents’ house. I just barely avoided dropping the cake.
“Hey, Mama!” I leaned up to kiss her cheek. “Watch Honey’s birthday cake. If it ends up on the floor, I’ll have to explain to her why we’re eating German chocolate from the tiles in the foyer.”
“Oh, here, let me take that. I’ll carry it to the kitchen. Mrs. Muller and I are almost finished making dinner.”
That was another non-negotiable when it came to Honey’s birthday. This was a family meal, which meant it had to be cooked by family. Since her housekeeper fell under the family heading, Mrs. Muller was allowed to participate, but my mom was the chief chef of the day.
“Is that my princess?” My father jogged down the steps and scooped me up, spinning me around. “Look at you! You’re smart and strong and beautiful.”
It was the mantra my sisters and I had heard since birth. Our daddy, the son of two former hippies, was the most affirming, feminist-friendly man on the planet, and he never missed a chance to remind us that even though intelligence and strength were more important than physical beauty, we were without a doubt the most exquisite creatures in the world.
“Thank you, Daddy.” I hugged him and patted his arm. “But if you don’t mind, could you cool it on the princess, please? If anyone outside the family heard you, it would look bad. Like I have ambitions.”
My father chuckled and tweaked my chin. “Aw, Kyra, it’s only us here.” He held my shoulders and stared down into my face, his brows drawn together. “Has it been that tough on you, peanut? Mom and I have been worried, but Honey and Handsome said you were doing all right. They said you were dealing with it.”
“Of course, I am. Is there any choice?” I sighed and rolled my shoulders. “It’s fine, Daddy. All the attention is starting to go away. So are the reporters. I’m not going to miss them.”
“Hmm.” My father studied me. “And what about Nicky? Is he going away, too?”
I wrinkled my nose. “He went away a month ago. I mean, he went back to the UK.”
“But from what I hear, you’re still in touch. Your sister said it’s a hot and heavy romance.”
“Which sister said that?” I balled my fists and rested them on my hips.
“Ah . . .” My dad’s expression took on a vagueness that I knew was intentional. “I can’t remember. It was just something I heard in passing. But the important thing, Ky, is that he’s treating you right. Prince or no prince—I’ve known that boy since he was a tot, but that wouldn’t stop me from straightening him out if he falls out of line.”
“Understood, Daddy. I’ll be sure to pass that on next time Nicky and I chat.” I gave him one more quick side hug before meandering into the main part of the house, where Honey was holding court from her favorite wing-backed chair, with my sisters sitting on the sofa.
“Happy birthday, Honey.” I bent to kiss her cheek.
“Kyra, you’re here, finally.” She made a show of looking around me. “Where’s my cake? Don’t tell me you forgot it.”
“Mama took it into the kitchen already. Don’t worry, Honey. It’s delicious. Or at least the batter was.”
“Wonderful. It wouldn’t be my birthday without my Kyra cake.”
Lisel gave a fake cough. “Teflon granddaughter.”
Holding my hands behind my back, I subtly flipped her the bird.
“Honey, what did you do for a cake before Kyra born? Or before she was old enough to bake?” Bria inquired.
My grandmother lifted one elegant shoulder. “Oh, people bought me cake. But Kyra’s been baking me my cake since she was eleven years old. And every year, it only gets better.”
I looked at Lisel and Bria over my shoulder, raising my brows as I pointed to my chest. “Child prodigy, here.”
Bria made a gagging noise, and I laughed as I turned around to hug her. “Oh, c’mere, brat. Look at you. When did you get to be the pretty one?” I hugged my baby sister tight. “I thought you were going to be the gangly one forever.”
“I’ve always been the pretty one.” Bria preened, but it was all show. Bree was gorgeous, but everyone knew that she was also crazy smart. She’d skipped two grades in elementary school, and although she was not yet eighteen, she had already finished two years of college.
“You’re all beautiful, but more important, you’re lovely, compassionate young women.” Honey tucked her bare feet up under her in the chair. “I’m proud of all of my granddaughters.”
I sat down on the sofa between Bria and Lisel, and as I listened to the good-natured sparring going on, some of the tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying with me began to dissipate. It had always been this way with my family; they were my safe spot, my happy place. No one was talking to me about how awkward I looked in the pictures that had been popping up on websites and tabloids; none of them asked me if I’d been in touch with Nicky or was planning to see him soon.
“When are you coming back to Florida, Honey?” Bria leaned forward a little. “The beach house is so empty without you and Handsome there.”
“We’re flying back on Monday. I wanted to celebrate in Maine this year, since we hosted that symposium on organic growing.”
“And because Kyra’s up here,” Lisel added. “You didn’t want her to have to leave her precious plants.”
“Hey.” I kicked my sister’s foot. “Don’t be dissing my babies.” Digging my phone out of the pocket of my shorts, I began to scroll through my photos. “Want to see some pictures? They’re growing so fast.”
Lisel laughed. “No, thanks. I see them on the emails you send out to all of us every single day. I think I’m good.”
I smirked. “You’re just jealous because I got the green thumb in the family.”
“I’m not jealous of that. I got the fashion sense. We both make the world a prettier place . . . just in different ways.”
“You’re not wrong,” I agreed. Lisel had just completed her degree in design and was planning to work in New York this fall. “I’ve missed you since I moved up here. Poor Shelby has to tell me what to wear.”
“Or what not to wear,” Bria put in. “And judging from some of the pictures I’ve seen on the internet lately, she’s not doing her job.”
There was a loaded silence in the room for a moment. I could tell by the expression on Bria’s face that she hadn’t meant what she’d said to be hurtful; it wasn’t like her to be mean. I took a deep breath and stuck out my tongue.
“Bitch.” The word held no heat at all; Bria knew that and grinned.
“Hey, you’re representing all of us in a way. All I ask is that you try not to be photographed in jeans that are over four years old, okay? Have a little pride.”
“Dinner’s ready, everyone!” My mother called to us from the doorway to the kitchen. “Per Honey’s request, we’re eating on the patio. Grab your drinks, and let’s go outside.”
It was a perfect early summer day in Maine, and although the sunshine had been warm all day, the breeze that blew over the flagstone deck was cool and refreshing. I found a seat at the long wooden table, jostling for space between my father and Lisel. My mom and Mrs. Muller were the last to join us.
“Who miscounted?” From his position at the head of the table, Handsome frowned and gazed around at the place settings. “We seem to have one extra spot. Are we missing anyone?”
“It must be for Jeremiah,” Bria joked, referencing her childhood imaginary friend. “Don’t worry, Handsome, he doesn’t eat much.”
“But I do.” The deep voice came from the open doorway behind me, and I spun in surprise, my mouth dropping open as Nicky strolled out. “Thanks for saving me a seat, Aunt Maggie. Happy birthday.”
He paused briefly next to Honey’s chair, wrapping her in a quick, warm hug. The room exploded in voices, most of them aimed my way.
“Did you know he was coming?” Lisel whispered, her eyes wide.
I shook my head. I felt a little dizzy, as though I’d dropped into an alternate universe of the unexpected. Nicky was heading toward me, his eyes smiling and watchful. When he reached my place, he leaned over to press a kiss to my cheek.
“Hi, Ky. Surprised?”
“Just slightly.” I gripped my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. “What—when did this happen? How long have you been here? How long can you stay?”
“Here.” My father stood up and slid over to the empty chair. “Nicky, you can sit next to Kyra. Sounds like you have some catching up to do with my daughter.”
“Thank you, sir.” Nicky flashed my dad a grin before he pulled out the chair and sat down. “I think I’d better make it good.”
“Let’s start passing the food before it gets cold,” my mother interrupted. “Nicky, you can do your explaining while we eat.”
“I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to pull it off—getting over here.” Nicky helped himself to potato salad. “I had a gap in my schedule, but there was a chance I was going to have to take an engagement on behalf of my sister. While I was waiting to see how that ended up, your grandfather emailed and invited me to your grandmother’s birthday dinner. I didn’t tell you, Ky, because if it didn’t work out, I didn’t want to disappoint you.” He slid a portion of barbecued ribs onto his plate. “I’m in Maine until Tuesday afternoon, then I have to fly back.”
“And he’s staying here, with us,” Honey added. “It’s more private than a hotel. The press can’t come past the gates.”
“Oooooh.” Bria wagged her eyebrows. “Sounds romantic.”
“Shut up, Bree.” I glared her way, and Nicky laughed.
“Bria? Is that really you? Last time I saw you, I’m pretty sure you were begging me to give you a piggyback ride.”
My sister giggled. “Sounds about right. And hey, you know, if you’re game, I’d be more than happy to let you deliver on that ride now.”
“No.” I nudged at her foot under the table. “Behave yourself, Bria. Don’t make Nicky sorry he came all this way for Honey’s birthday dinner.”
“Kyra, I hate to break it to you, sis, but I don’t think he flew across the ocean to say happy birthday to Honey.” Lisel winked at me before shifting to respond to our grandfather, who was asking her a question.
“She’s right, you know.” Nicky reached for me under the table, taking one of my hands in his. “I didn’t fly over for dinner. Or for Honey. Or even for birthday cake, which I saw as I came through the kitchen—and it looks amazing.” He threaded his fingers through mine. “I came to see you. And only you.”
A joy I hadn’t felt in many weeks bubbled up in my chest, and I let myself look into Nicky’s eyes. The steady promise and the warmth I saw there erased all of the stress and embarrassment of the past month.
I wanted to answer with some pithy quip, but all I could manage was a smile and two heartfelt words.
“I’m glad.”