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Was it really just sex?
As I reflect back, it was never about sex. Not after that first time. It was about experiencing the things Creed made me feel. Tenderness. Admiration.
Love.
But as my grandmother has repeatedly told me. There’s no place for love in a monarchy. Love makes you weak.
And she’s right. Love did make me weak, so much so that I allowed myself to live in a fantasy world all summer. Imagined what a life with Creed could be like, despite the impossibility of it all. If we continued down that path, it would have only become riskier. And not just to Creed’s reputation.
But to my heart.
I needed this. Needed to be snatched back to reality. Needed Adam to remind me what was at stake.
“As you can see by the recent media reports,” Gianna’s voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.
I glance at the large screen on the far wall, several headlines from the past few days popping up.
“We’ve countered any negative publicity Mr. Gates has received with concerns about Hayes Barlow’s reported drug use. It appears he associated with quite a few methamphetamine addicts. Several medical professionals have suggested his reported behavior is in line with methamphetamine use. As such, nearly all of his sponsors have dropped him, and he’s been placed on leave from his racing circuit pending an investigation. Based on all of this, the ‘incident’ the other night may have just been a meth-fueled outburst. Meth addicts often have episodes like that. Become violent for short bursts of time. Become…delusional.”
“Do you recommend this is the position we take?” my father asks.
If this happened earlier in the summer, I may have fought harder to make my voice heard. Argued this entire scenario stunk to high heaven.
If I reached out to the reporters who wrote these stories, I’d most likely learn they were fed this information from an anonymous source. And that anonymous source probably came from within the palace walls, as is so often the case whenever a news article breaks that could paint anyone associated with the royal household in a bad light.
But I can’t ignore the disapproving expression in Silas Archer’s eyes every time he looks my way. As if waiting for me to challenge him so he can pull out his ace card.
I won’t give him the satisfaction. It won’t matter, anyway. I have no reason to fight this. Not anymore. I made sure Creed hated me.
After the lies I spewed so he wouldn’t fight for me, I have no doubt he does.
If he’d said those things to me, called me nothing more than a spoiled princess who was only good for a bit of fun in the sack, I’d certainly hate him.
“I believe that’s for the best,” Silas answers for Gianna.
“Very well,” my father says, granting his approval, although it’s not necessary. The royal household has most likely already set this course of action into motion. This meeting is just a formality so my father can give his rubber stamp.
Further proof we’re nothing but pawns.
“If I may suggest we schedule an appearance for Her Highness and Mr. Gates at an addiction treatment facility,” Gianna states matter-of-factly, always playing the part of the royal household’s fixer. “It would show they’re sympathetic to the issues facing Mr. Barlow.”
“That’s a wonderful gesture,” my grandmother interjects. “But I also think it would go a long way if Mr. Gates receives positive press in a way that isn’t connected to Mr. Barlow.”
“I agree, and have been brainstorming a variety of possible opportunities to present not just Mr. Gates in a positive light,” Gianna glances my way before continuing, “but also his relationship with the princess. The incident with Mr. Barlow is still trending on social media with strong opinions on both sides, so I’ve come up with several scenarios, one in particular, that will bury any mention of Hayes Barlow.”
I study Jameson. Like me, though, he’s learned to mask his true feelings, remaining the same expressionless man he needs to be for fear someone will use his emotions against him.
“I’m intrigued,” my grandmother says evenly, not so much as a hint of a smile curling her thin lips. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her smile when not at a public event. Even then, her smiles are few and far between. “What kind of positive press are you talking about?”
When Gianna looks my way again, an unsettled feeling forms in my gut. She doesn’t need to utter a single syllable. I know what she’s going to say.
“In my experience, there’s one type of news story that tends to be a golden ticket to block bad publicity. Or at least bury it so far down that it barely registers.”
“You mean…,” my grandmother begins.
“Yes.” Gianna nods in her direction before looking at Jameson and me. “I believe it’s in our best interests to announce an engagement. We were planning for it to occur in a few weeks anyway. With these recent developments, it’s best to limit any possible negative publicity as soon as possible. An engagement will help toward that end.
“Truthfully, I believe this is even better than our original plan. After all, the first time you two danced together was at the King’s Day gala. How romantic that Jameson would propose at that very event his year? Doing it at the gala also has the advantage of it not appearing to come out of left field, based on your history with the event. You’ll dance to the same song, after which he’ll get down on one knee.
