I didn’t pay attention to what they said anymore—hell, I almost didn’t even hear what they called out. I’d learned that the press was forever trying to create the appearance of rifts within the family, particularly when it came to women. Yes, we lived in the twenty-first century, but clearly, the world at large still believed that two strong, attractive women could not exist in the same circle without one of them trying to outshine the other. If they weren’t pitting me against Alex, they were imagining that Daisy and I were drifting apart after I’d apparently “usurped her limelight”. And if it wasn’t one of Nicky’s sisters, it was one of his cousins who supposedly resented me for the attention I’d taken from them.
All of it was nonsense, and I treated it as such, ignoring any question or statement that suggested argument or disagreement. I did the same when they asked about my job, which according to the media, I was ever on the verge of losing because of my new royal lifestyle. And the baby bump question? Well, reporters had been shouting that one since the day Nicky and I had gotten married—even slightly before that. The normal order of things was love, marriage and baby, and they were impatient for us to move along to the next step.
But today there was something new added to the repertoire, and it caused a slight stutter in my step.
“Kyra, is Prince Nicholas all right after the protestor scare this week? Are you both backing down from your activism in climate change and environmental work?”
When I heard that last one, I couldn’t help turning my head to look at Harold. His mouth was set in its usual straight line, and his face was expressionless ... mostly. But I detected the faintest glimmer of frustration there all the same.
Once we were inside, standing by the elevator, I wheeled around to face him, addressing him in a furious whisper. “What did they mean, Harold? What protestor scare?”
“Ah, ma’am, you know the press—”
“Harold, stop it. Don’t bullshit me. Not you.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Your Royal Highness.” He inclined his head slightly and gazed directly into my eyes. “Please don’t put me in this position.”
I didn’t have an answer for that, but dammit, I was frustrated. I understood that Harold’s first loyalty had to lie with the Royal Family. Yes, I was a member of that family, but he couldn’t betray his commitment to the greater whole in order to satisfy one part—me. If I pressed him, he might give in ... but it would be at the cost of his conscience and maybe even his job. I would never do that to him.
“Is it something I can find out myself?” I’d gone on a news fast since marrying Nicky. I didn’t like everything that was written or said about me, and the easiest away to avoid being upset by what was in the media was to play ostrich and bury my head in the proverbial sand.
“I would imagine so.” Harold widened his stance and stabbed at the elevator button again. “Slow this morning, isn’t it?”
I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I remained silent as we took the empty car that whisked us up to my floor and then as Harold walked me to my office, where he did the same cursory check that he did every time we arrived.
“All good to go, ma’am.” He moved to the doorway and gave me a small bow. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Harold,” I began and then stopped speaking. He paused, and I saw his eyes go on alert.
“Never mind.” I shook my head. “I’ll text you just before I’m ready to leave.”
Once he was gone, I sank into my desk chair and opened my laptop, clicking on an internet browser and typing a few words into the search bar.
Prince Nicholas, protestors, Scotland
I didn’t have to look far. There were multiple articles, some written as recently as an hour ago, detailing how a small, radical subset of the larger marching group outside of the conference hotel in Scotland had rushed my husband’s car when it had pulled up at the doors. My stomach clenched as I read an eyewitness describing the way the car had rocked and how police had descended to push away the crowd. There was even an aerial photo taken, showing how completely engulfed Nicky’s car had been ... how vulnerable he had been and how easily he might’ve been seriously hurt.
My eyes still glued to the computer screen, I reached for my phone, following my first instinct to call Nicky and ask why the hell he hadn’t told me about this. But then I stilled my hand. He’d seemed so tired last night, so down. With any luck, he was still asleep now. I’d hate to wake him up only to give him a hard time.
There’d be plenty of time for to do that when I got back home this afternoon.
But Nicky wasn’t at the cottage when I got home.
I could tell the house was empty the minute I walked inside, but even so, I climbed the steps and looked around our bedroom. I even snuck down to the tiny guest room, but it too was unoccupied.
Back down in the kitchen, I found a note on the counter:
Ky—
Had to run out for a quick meeting this afternoon. I’ll be home soon.
Love you,
N
Well, that explained his absence. I was slightly annoyed that he hadn’t texted me—if I’d known he wasn’t going to be home, I’d have stayed longer at the office—but at the same time, Nicky had been aware that I’d had an important conference call this afternoon. He had probably reasoned that it was a better idea not to disturb me.
With a sigh that was one part frustration and one part resignation, I went back upstairs to change into yoga pants and a T-shirt and then spent the next hour doing absolutely nothing productive. I puttered around the house, thinking I’d tidy up a little, but the inimitable Mrs. Winston had been in today, which meant the entire place was spotlessly clean and organized.
