Edward reached in the bowl of fruit on the tray that he and Carrie shared in her bed. It was the last strawberry. He offered it to her.
She shook her head. "You take it."
"I'd rather feed it to you."
"The last time you fed me, I ended up having to eat cold pancakes."
"Is that a complaint?"
There it was, that blush on her cheeks that he found both adorable and arousing.
"What do you think?"
"You're inviting trouble with that look," he said.
Edward held the strawberry to her lips.
"Bloody hell, but I'm in love with your mouth."
Her sultry look changed to a question.
"Are you questioning my stamina?"
"Even princes are touchy about slights to their manhood, apparently,”--she rolled her eyes--"No, I'm questioning your motives. I don't doubt your interest in sex, but you do realize I will eventually see that newspaper you so ineptly hid beneath the pillow, right?"
"Saw that, did you?"
"I did, and I'd just as soon go ahead and find out what terrible things they're saying about me now. It can't be as bad as yesterday when they called me the slut from the South. Honestly, is there an official job title of Chief Insults Officer here in Britain?"
"Click bait, I believe they call it. Anything to sell papers or get page views."
"Did you just say click bait? You sound so street, Your Highness."
"Brits aren't as stuffy as you Americans seem to believe we are."
"I don't think you're stuffy."
She nuzzled his neck, then she did that thing with her tongue on his ear that drove him absolutely insane. And then she grabbed the newspaper from beneath the pillow. He reached for it, but without much enthusiasm, knowing she'd have to see it eventually.
"Forgive me, love. They say some quite rotten things," he said again.
He'd been saying it quite a lot over the past two days.
"The Skanky Yankee? Really? Oh, that is a terrible picture of me. Where did they get that? Have you seen this?"
He had his fingertips pressed to his eyelids.
"Yes. They're a horrid, virulent lot. I know it's difficult, but you mustn't let them get to you. You mustn't let them define your self-image."
"They interviewed Kevin. Because, sure, that's going to yield some accurate information."
"They don't care about accuracy. Or truth, or privacy, or anything but their own bloody self-interest."
He was pacing the room. He didn't even remember getting out of bed. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his.
"You aren't what they say you are, whatever rubbish they're spouting today. You aren't that. They lie and they destroy people and they don't care that they do it. You mustn't let them break you. Use them or ignore them, those are the only choices."
"I know," she said, her voice only a little tremulous.
She wouldn't meet his gaze, but he'd already seen the bright sheen of tears.
"Come along, we're for belowstairs. You've been holed up in this room long enough."
"I don't think so. Not yet."
"Carrie, if you let them force you into exile from life, then they win. I know your parents are worried about you."
She rifled through the accumulated papers on the bedside table, selected one, and held it up to him. It was the picture of the two of them in bed. He'd shielded her from view as best he could. It had taken nearly twelve hours for the sharks to discover her identity, but once they had, the feeding frenzy had become brutal.
"My father has no doubt seen this picture. Are you absolutely certain going downstairs to visit with my parents is a course of action you want to pursue? Because I feel sure my father wants to kick your royal ass." she said with a laugh, "For the first time ever, I mean that term literally."
"What kind of man do you take me for? I called your father when Martin tipped me off that they'd found you out. I explained everything to him."
"Everything?"
"No, not everything. I downplayed your sister's role in the business."
"He might still know. He's not as blind to Amanda's faults as Mom is." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "What did you tell him?"
"That your willingness to subject yourself to that photo and the subsequent media firestorm helped to avert a major scandal for the monarchy."
"You didn't tell him that we really did sleep together?"
"God, no! Nor did he ask. I'm sure he suspects, but he seemed content to avoid confirmation of that suspicion."
"I'm sure. Thank you for calling him."
"It's the least, the very least, I could do. I regret that you were dragged into my life this way."
"I'm kind of glad to have been dragged into your life. Granted, I could do without the paparazzi chases and public humiliation."
"I know it seems as though they pursue me constantly, but that isn't the case," he said, avoiding her skeptical gaze, "Sometimes Lizzy does something so outrageous that they focus on her for a while. Then there are the other siblings. My younger brother, Leopold--he's a favorite target."
"But one of you is always under the gun."
He didn't answer.
"Except Jamie," she guessed, "You all take the fall for Jamie."
"We must do. It must smack of melodrama to hear me say it, but the future of the monarchy truly depends upon Jamie. Britons are largely apathetic, if not openly opposed to, the continuation of the monarchy. It would require excruciatingly little for the balance to shift so the citizenry lines the high street, demanding an end to the crown. Or worse, they could very well storm Buckingham Palace."
"That's what you're worried about?"
"It's what we're all worried about."
He reached for his shirt, which had been carelessly tossed over the headboard.
"Only just now, I'm more worried about you. Please come downstairs. I'll be right beside you. Phillip assured me that Drummond Castle and it's grounds are paparazzi-free. Martin has been coordinating security with castle staff and local law enforcement."
"You talked to Phillip? Did you tell him about ...?" She trailed off, biting her lip.
"No, I didn't. I am a cowardly bastard."
"That's two of us then. I haven't told him either."
"You can't very well tell him, given that your sister is the bride in question."
"Amanda! I can't believe her. What about Jamie, will he tell?"
"Jamie isn't one for inconveniencing himself," Edward said as he let her button his shirt, "If it makes any difference, and I'm not sure it does, he swears that he and Amanda never got around to actually --"
Edward made a vague hand gesture to elaborate.
"To actually doing what we did."
"Right you are."
"I think that has more to do with our interruption than with their own moral fortitude, wouldn't you say?"
"I would indeed. Well said."
"Phillip should still know."
"Are you asking me to tell him?"
She sat down on the bed and dropped her head in her hands.
"I don't know."
His phone buzzed from somewhere in the bed. Carrie dug it out of the sheets and handed it to him.
"It's Lizzy. I have to take this."
Carrie nodded. Her eyes darted to the door. He could see her struggling between wanting to give him privacy and not wanting to leave the room. In the end, she picked up her phone and put in ear buds. She was too embarrassed to leave this room, and it was all his own fault. He felt sick at the thought.
"Lizzy, it's Edward here. What's going on?"
"The report is in."
He knew she referred to the pathology report from their father's recent biopsy.
"And?"
"You need to come home."
"I'm on my way."
He stood there, holding his phone, wondering how in the world he could leave Carrie with the mess he'd created for her. But how could he not? His family needed him. Lizzy would never give him more than a cryptic message over the phone. He wouldn't ask her to. He felt himself grinding his teeth, a habit he thought he'd left behind years ago. He faced Carrie, who was studiously ignoring him. He dropped into the chair across from her.
"I hate this, but I have to leave."
"Edward, you don't have to babysit me. I'll be fine here."
"I know you'll be fine, but I have to leave, and I might not be back in time for the wedding. Actually, I'm quite certain I won't be. There's an issue with the family. I'd tell you what it is, but ..."
"But you won't."
"I can't."
She ran her thumb in circles over the home button on her phone, a nervous habit he'd grown accustomed to over the past few days.
"If your family needs you, then, what can you do?"
He almost apologized to her again, but he stopped himself. His words would do her no good. His phone buzzed again. Martin's number.
"What?"
"A car is waiting outside for you now."
"Now?"
"Yes, Your Highness. The matter is of some urgency, I'm told."
He disconnected and mentally cursed his family's efficiency.
There was nothing of their earlier passion in the goodbye kiss she gave him. Was it his imagination, or did he taste regret on her lips?
***
Carrie dressed in a demure cream-colored suit and kitten heels. It was absurd, trying to come off as classy when everybody she'd encounter had seen naked photos of her. Okay, sure, she wasn't exactly naked in the photos, but enough of her bare arm and the curve of her breast had been exposed that little had been left to the imagination. Standing in front of the mirror, she attempted to convince herself that not everybody had seen the photos. Probably, few people who ran in Phillip's circle read gossip rags or trolled celebrity websites.
"Yeah, right," she said to her reflection, "And I'm the queen of England."
Apparently, everybody in Britain indulged in celebrity gossip, and Edward, the playboy prince, was their favorite headline. There was nothing to be done about it. She'd have to face the fire alone. Edward must have had a perfectly justifiable reason for leaving. Probably an international incident of some sort. Something very weighty and dire of consequence, she was certain.
A knock sounded on the door just as Carrie reached it. Her heart did a little tap dance thinking it might be Edward, but her hopes were ground underfoot as Amanda ran past her and through herself onto the bed sobbing.
"What is it? What happened?"
"It's over. It's all over."
"What is?"
Her mind didn't have to go far to dig up the worst possible scenario.
"Me and Phillip, the wedding -- it's all over."
"You told him about Jamie."
Carrie sat down on the bed. She didn't know which she felt most -- fury at Amanda for putting herself in this position to begin with or pride that Amanda had done the hard thing and confessed.
"Of course, I didn't tell him about that. What kind of moron do you take me for? I just told him that I couldn't marry him."
"You broke it off?"
This was a turn of events she hadn't seen coming.
"I couldn't," Amanda sobbed, "I love Phillip, but I'm not in love with him."
"And you waited until two days before your wedding to realize it?"
Amanda shook her head so vigorously that perfect blond curls smacked her in the face.
"I've always known it, but I wanted it not to matter. Why did it have to matter?"
Her question was a wail of pain that had Carrie patting her sister's shoulder.
"He is so good. He's better than I deserve, but I wanted to deserve him. I thought that if a man like Phillip could want to marry me, then maybe I could become the kind of woman who would deserve him."
Heedless of her silk blouse, she wiped away a tear that was as much mascara and eyeliner as actual fluid.
"But then Jamie --"
"Jamie is a player of the highest order, and you are a moron if you think his seduction of you was anything more than business as usual for him."
"You've got it all wrong. Jamie didn't seduce me; I was the one coming on to him."
Carrie could believe it. She jumped up, the better to pace the room.
"Why? Why would you do such a stupid, idiotic thing?"
"I don't know!"
"Oh well, in that case, we'll all just excuse you for wrecking everyone's lives. I mean, if you don't know why, how can we hold you responsible?"--she stalked toward Amanda and pointed her finger at her--"You are a spoiled brat, a twenty-nine-year-old spoiled brat. And let me put it in terms you can understand--it does
not
look good on you."
"Carrie, everybody is upset with me. Please, please, can't you be the one person on my side right now? Even if I don't deserve it?"
Carrie indulged in a few more huffs of rage, then, deflated, she sat down on the edge of the bed beside Amanda.
"I just don't understand why."
"Philip would never have been happy with me. I always knew that, but you're right. I'm a spoiled brat. It didn't matter to me what he'd feel. I was going to get to be married to someone insanely rich, someone who could have any woman he wanted. I was going to get my own private jet for crying out loud. Did you know that? A brand new Gulf Stream G600--that was Phillip's parents' wedding gift to us! But when we went to the church and met with the priest, it was all so real. I couldn't make the private jet be enough anymore. I felt like a fake," she cried quietly, "because I am a fake."
Carrie pulled Amanda to her so that her cheek rested on Carrie's shoulder. Oh well, she hadn't really liked this cream colored suit anyway. She shushed and soothed and patted.
"So I figured I'd seduce Jamie, Phillip would find out, and Bob's your uncle, as the British, like to say. But Jamie wouldn't go through with it. I honestly never figured on him being chivalrous."
"You could have just backed out gracefully."
"I could. If I wasn't a spoiled brat. I know I've handled it all wrong. I've made a fool of myself, I've embarrassed Phillip, not to mention Mom and Dad, and I'm sorry for all of it."
"Mom and Dad, do they know?"