The Princess Affair (16 page)

Sasha paused briefly as her gaze fell to the paper. “The holdings of the British Museum represent the most comprehensive record of human history on our planet. Thanks to the generosity of thousands of private donors, construction will begin today on a new wing that will allow the public even greater access to invaluable artifacts. While the advancements of this digital age allow—”

A sudden gust of wind rattled the microphone and caught the paper on which her speech was written, lifting it into the air and propelling it toward the Beefeater guards standing near the flagpole. The camera zoomed out to catch some aide scurrying toward the guards, who remained motionless and stoic as he retrieved the speech.

“Apparently Mother Nature wants me to be brief.” Sasha’s comment prompted a laugh from the crowd.

She accepted the now-battered sheet of paper, and the camera zoomed in again. Suddenly, her smile disappeared and she swallowed hard. Kerry felt herself grip the edge of the table as panic flickered across Sasha’s face. She rotated the speech ninety degrees, then back. A hush had fallen over the crowd, but as she continued to remain silent, the microphone began to pick up a current of murmuring.

“What’s the matter?” Harris asked.

Kerry shook her head. “Come on,” she whispered. “You’ve got this.” She’d been doing so well. What had just happened?

“This…this digital age…” Sasha swallowed hard again. “Presents many, ah, opportunities? Archives, and…and…”

Kerry watched her blink furiously, as though she were trying to focus on something blurry. Or perhaps she was hoping to hold back tears? Sympathy and concern twisted in her gut, making her feel ill.

“It’s like all of a sudden, she can’t
read
.” Harris leaned forward, squinting at the screen. “Did the speech get wet or something?”

Epiphany struck. Sasha’s reputation as an intellectual weakling and the wild child of her family. Her insecurity about her own intelligence.
I’m not a very big reader
, she had said. Without a script to read, she charmed a crowd effortlessly. But now that she was bound to a text, she could barely string three coherent words together. Kerry hadn’t thought to add up the pieces before now, but when she did, a clear picture emerged. One of her cousins suffered from the same condition.

Sasha was dyslexic.

“This is bad,” Harris muttered as Sasha continued to struggle through the remainder of the speech. The syntax of most of her sentences was completely jumbled, and it was impossible to follow a logical thread through the speech. “The media is going to crucify her.”

Kerry’s heart was racing and her palms were moist. She wanted nothing more than to whisk Sasha away from the judgmental crowd—to take her someplace quiet where she could hold her and comfort her and try to convince her that she didn’t have to feel ashamed. She had to grip the table tightly to keep herself from jumping up and running to the train station.

Harris’s palm came to rest on her jittering leg. “Hey, take it easy. This will be bad for a day or two, but it’ll blow over soon.”

She nodded, heart in her throat. As much as she wanted to share her revelation, it wasn’t her place. Clearly, Sasha wanted this kept secret. The real question was why, if her father knew about her dyslexia, would he set her up for this kind of public humiliation? Unless he didn’t know. But how was that possible?

Mercifully, Sasha’s last few sentences were coherent. As the camera panned away, Kerry caught a glimpse of her trembling hands and her heart broke all over again.

“I have to get down there.”

“Right now?” Only when Harris answered did she realize she’d spoken out loud. “And skip out on your professor?”

“Damn it.” Frustration welled up in her, and she smacked her fist against her thigh. “You’re right. I can’t.”

Harris grabbed her hand. “Jesus, go easy. You can always leave later on. But are you sure she’ll want to see you? She’s got to be pretty embarrassed.”

Kerry shook her head emphatically. “I don’t care. I have to try.” She snapped her laptop shut and pushed back her chair. “I’m going back to my room to pack so I can leave from my meeting.”

“Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything.”

On impulse, she leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

Several hours later, she leaned her cheek against the cool window of the train and watched the sun set over the London skyline. It grew larger every second, and for the tenth time in as many minutes, Kerry checked her phone. She’d left a voice mail message for Sasha from the Oxford station, and she’d sent a text just half an hour ago. The lack of response was disheartening. She’d wanted to believe that Sasha wouldn’t shut her out, but apparently, Harris had been right.

Of course, she was probably dealing with quite a bit of backlash already. The fallout of her botched speech had begun immediately, thanks to social media. Her name had been trending on Twitter since noon, and Kerry had already seen two of her so-called “friends” on Facebook sharing a video clip from the ceremony. Their cruel comments had made her actually see red.

As the train pulled into King’s Cross station, she double-checked the map of the Tube on her phone. It was public knowledge that when in London, Sasha resided in Clarence House, the royal residence attached to St. James Palace in Westminster. Perhaps by the time she made her way there, she would have a reply from Sasha on her phone.

But when she emerged from the Underground half an hour later, her phone continued to taunt her with a blank screen. As she paused on the sidewalk opposite the gate to Clarence House, a cold drizzle began to fall. Perfect. For one insane moment, she considered approaching the guard booth and asking to see the princess.

“They’ll probably arrest you,” she muttered. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she turned back toward the Tube station, looking for a place to take shelter from the rain. When her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d forgotten to eat lunch, she settled on the Red Lion pub. She sat at the bar, ordered a pint of London’s Pride and an order of the bangers and mash, and decided to send one more text. The last train back to Oxford left just before midnight.

I’m in a pub around the corner from Clarence House called the Red Lion
, she wrote.
I’ll be here until eleven o’clock. I need to see you. Please.

Before she could second-guess her wording, she hit “Send.” While waiting for her food, she forced herself to get a jumpstart on the reading she needed to do for next week. It was slow going, especially since she couldn’t seem to stop herself from checking her phone every five minutes, but she had managed to make it through a chapter and a half before she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Adrenaline flooded her system as she spun on her stool…only to see Ian, dressed in his customary dark suit, gray trench coat speckled with raindrops.

“Good evening, Ms. Donovan,” he said formally.

She blinked at him dumbly for several seconds before collecting her wits enough to return the greeting. She had no idea what else to say. Why had he come? What did he want with her?

“Is she all right?” Kerry finally asked, not wanting to mention Sasha’s name in the crowded pub.

His mouth tightened. “Frankly, no. She refuses to speak with anyone. I saw your message on her telephone and I’d like to take you to her. If you’re still willing.”

“Even though she doesn’t want to see me?”

“I don’t believe she knows what she wants, frankly. She’s in a very dark mood, and she’s been drinking. At this point, I’m willing to risk her ire.”

“That makes two of us.” Kerry stood, threw a few pound notes onto the bar, and grabbed her backpack. Ian had sought her out. He thought she could help. Silently, she vowed not to disappoint him, or herself.

“I’m ready. Take me to her.”

Ian led her back to the main entrance of Clarence House, where he flashed his credentials at the guard booth. After producing her driver’s license, Kerry was granted entry through a small door to one side of the main gate. As they walked briskly down the gravel driveway, Kerry admired the elegant stucco façade of the residence. Clarence House had been conceived during the Regency and built shortly thereafter, but the building had been given a near-complete overhaul after suffering bomb damage during World War II. Little of the original structure remained, and Kerry had read that it was quite modern inside. She was about to find out for herself.

She caught only a glimpse of the foyer—its gleaming wood floor giving way to cream-colored walls punctuated by several large oil paintings—before Ian led her upstairs. Four flights later, Ian paused on the landing before a large oaken door.

“This is Her Royal Highness’s suite of rooms.” He produced a set of keys and fitted one into the lock, then gestured toward the bench resting against the opposite wall, where the other security officer Kerry had met at Balmoral was seated. “Either Darryl or I will be right there should you happen to need any assistance.”

“Thank you.” Kerry felt a surge of trepidation. What sort of “assistance” did Ian think she might need? What exactly was Sasha up to?

“I shall ask Her Royal Highness’s valet not to attend her tomorrow morning, if you think it best,” Ian continued.

Her valet? Kerry’s brain spun into overdrive as she tried to formulate a response. Sasha’s morning routine was apparently worlds apart from her own. Unsurprisingly. “I’ll manage, thanks.”

“Very well.”

When he pushed open the doors, she was struck first by the darkness and then by the music. After pausing to let her eyes adjust to the gloom, she saw that a long corridor awaited her, culminating in a set of double doors. They were slightly ajar, and flashes of light danced in the gap. The music died, to be replaced by the low murmur of voices. Was Sasha watching a film?

Kerry startled at the quiet snick of the door shutting behind her. Ian had well and truly thrown her into the lion’s den, but right now, there was no place she’d rather be. At the sensation of thick carpeting beneath her feet, she slipped off her shoes and left them just inside the door.

The voices grew louder as she walked slowly down the hallway, their dialogue tantalizing her memory. Whatever Sasha was watching, she’d seen it before but couldn’t quite place it. Feeling like an interloper despite the fact that Sasha’s own guard had granted her access, she took a deep breath as she stopped in front of the doors. And then she pushed.

The doors opened soundlessly to reveal Sasha in profile, seated on a black leather couch, a half-empty snifter in her right hand. Wearing only a black tank top and matching bikini underwear, she was focused on a large television on the wall, but as Kerry lingered in the threshold she turned her head. Surprise flashed across her face before she laughed, quietly and without real mirth.

“Perfect. How did you get here?”

Kerry felt like she had just found herself in a minefield, filled with foreboding that whatever step she took would be the wrong one.

“It’s true what they say about British trains,” she said lightly. “Regular and reliable.”

Sasha turned back to the television. “I don’t want you here. Please go.”

Despite having expected this sort of reaction, Kerry couldn’t suppress the stab of hurt that pierced her stomach. She almost turned around. Sasha was a princess, after all. What right did she have to disobey? But Sasha was also woman she cared for. A woman in pain.

“I’m not going anywhere. And since Ian was the one who brought me here, I don’t think he’ll throw me out.”

“He put you up to this.”

“He didn’t put me up to anything.” Kerry made her voice soft but firm. “I came as soon as I could. He saw the messages I’d left on your phone.”

“I’m sure you can appreciate why I haven’t touched my phone in hours.” Sasha drank from her glass. “I’ve been sitting here praying one of your precious celebrities dies or gets pregnant.”

The rawness beneath her words tore into Kerry’s chest, but she had to tread carefully. Sasha would reject out of hand anything that even remotely resembled pity.

“May I come in?”

She didn’t look away from the screen. “If you must.”

Kerry crossed the threshold and sat gingerly on the matching chair to the right of the sofa. Uncertain, she turned her attention to the screen, only to realize she recognized the movie.

“
The Age of Innocence
?”

Sasha raised her glass in a salute. “One of my favorites. I may be a fuck up, but at least I’ve avoided a loveless marriage. So far, anyway.”

Kerry gripped the arms of her chair, reminding herself not to take the bait. If she expressed sympathy, Sasha would use her as the focal point for her anger. And while Kerry would gladly have painted a bull’s-eye on her own belly if it would help, she knew that in this case, turning herself into a target wouldn’t do a hint of good. Sasha needed to talk about the real problem.

“Have you ever read the novel?” When she remained silent, Kerry pushed harder. “It’s a beautiful book. I read it in my first year of college for a seminar on the literature of New York.”

Finally, Sasha leaned forward, her face a mask of pain and fury illuminated only by the light of the screen. “What do you want me to say? I can’t bloody read, all right? Wasn’t it obvious today?”

Kerry reached for her hand and held on even when Sasha would have snatched hers away. Tenderly, she stroked her thumb over Sasha’s knuckles. They were slightly abraded, as though she had hit something.

“Don’t misrepresent yourself,” she said quietly. “You can read. You’re just dyslexic.”

Sasha blinked, shock trumping her anger. “How did you—but—everyone else in the world is saying I was drunk or high or that I’m just a dumb slut—”

“I’m smarter than almost everyone else in the world.” Kerry dared a small grin, mostly to hide her boiling rage at the catalogue of insults. Sasha needed her to be calm right now. “Also, my youngest cousin has it. A pretty mild case, but some of the signs were familiar.”

Sasha worried at her lower lip with her teeth. Her gaze darted back and forth between the television and the floor. She looked like a trapped animal. Kerry just kept on stroking the back of her hand, hoping the touch would soothe her. Hoping she would open up.