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“Back off,” Arlo growled as he ripped the camera man's arm down. Then, he guided Ada up the boardwalk.
The man followed closely on their heels. “Ada, is your grandmother coming to the wedding?”
Ada whipped around. “How do you know about my grandmother?”
“So, she’s coming?”
“Leave my grandmother alone.”
Arlo wrapped his arm around her shoulders, willing her to keep walking. They were only a few steps away from the car.
As Ada ducked in, the man yelled, “Do you ever worry that you’ll become an addict like your mom?”
Arlo slammed the door.
When he looked up, he saw tears streaming down Ada’s face.
Arlo said good night to Brooklyn and then made his way to the living room. Ada hadn’t come out of her room since they’d gotten home. The paparazzi had crossed the line. Arlo was mad at himself for not protecting her. That interaction was a glaring reminder of what you could expect as a royal. No privacy. Invasive questions. Cruel accusations. Anything for a story. Ada didn’t sign up for this. And it was his fault she had to endure it.
He immediately pulled out his phone. Hitting his dad’s number, he waited for him to answer—although he didn’t know why. King Paulo was always busy with an ambassador dinner or a bureaucratic meeting.
He was about to end the call when he heard, “Henrique, what do you need?”
“Hello to you too, dad.”
“I stepped out of a very important meeting about the state of our economy. You know, the livelihood of our fifty thousand residents that depend on us?”
Arlo blew out a breath. “Cut the guilt trip dad. This isn’t about me. You need to make an announcement saying there’s been a misunderstanding. Ada and I are just friends. If you don’t do it by noon tomorrow, I will.”
“Wait now, son. Let’s not do anything rash. Your mother and I wanted to invite you and Ada, and of course, Brooklyn, to the palace for lunch tomorrow. We’ll discuss our next steps then.”
“Fine. But, this engagement fiasco ends tomorrow. Ada doesn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud.”
“I’m impressed by your chivalry. I guess I didn’t do such a bad job raising you after all.”
Arlo shook his head, anger coursing through his body. He gritted out, “Good night, father.”
Setting his phone down, Arlo stared at Ada’s door. He didn’t want to bother her if she needed space, but he had to make sure she was okay.
Walking to her room, he wrapped his knuckles against her door.
Silence.
“Ada, can I come in?”
“Sure,” he heard her say, or so he thought. He decided to go with it.
Turning the knob, he peered in. Ada was sitting with her back resting on a mountain of pillows—hair in a messy bun and a blanket pulled up to her chin. Black smudges streaked down her cheeks.
His heart twisted. “Ada…” He walked over and without thinking, climbed onto the bed so he could sit next to her.
She looked down at her hands and sniffled.
“Ada, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. The paparazzi are ruthless, and you’re only in this crazy situation because of my horrible judgment.”
Shaking her head, Ada wiped her nose with a tissue. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not fine.”
