The Princess Affair (10 page)

After a few more minutes of idle chat, Heather turned, bent her head, and pressed a kiss to Kerry’s right bicep. “I’m going to run to the WC.” She brushed Kerry’s jawline with her knuckles. “Then you should join me on the dance floor.”

“Okay.”

But as soon as Heather disappeared, Kerry threw a few bills on the bar and hustled out the door. She was being an ass, but she had to escape. This wasn’t what she needed. Every second of her encounter with Heather had felt wrong. Terribly wrong.

A blast of cold air greeted her outside, and she turned her face willingly into the wind. As she broke into a jog, Kerry realized this was the second night in a row that she’d fled from a beautiful woman. Was it worse that she’d gotten herself in the same situation twice in two days, or that she had run away each time?

“Pull yourself together,” she muttered as she turned the corner onto St. Cross and headed toward the Manor. She had one short week to settle in and prepare before the maelstrom of classes began. One short week to get her head on straight and stop sabotaging herself.

“Focus. No more mistakes.”

Sasha sipped at her tea and pretended to stare contemplatively into the impeccably manicured garden that stretched out below her table. It was beautiful, if you liked orderly paths lined with trimmed hedges, ornamented with flowering shrubs placed at precise, repetitive intervals. She found the entire scene rather dull and much preferred to covertly people-watch behind her large sunglasses—especially because most of the people were not-so-covertly watching her and Ashleigh. The Terrace of the Goring Hotel was one of the most famous tea spots in the city and attracted tourists and members of high society alike. She could practically hear their exclamations and speculations. The princess is dining with the prince’s fiancée! Are they actually friends, or is this a publicity stunt? What are they talking about? How does Ms. Dunning feel about Princess Sasha’s vexed public image?

While the tabloids had gotten wind of her presence at Summa on its opening night, they hadn’t discovered that she’d ditched a scheduled event to be there, so she’d dodged that particular scandal. Neither had there been any word from her father, who was returning today from a business trip to Edinburgh. She wondered if he’d managed to see Arthur while in Scotland. Probably not. He was, after all, a stickler for the rules, and Arthur wasn’t allowed any sort of leave until the Christmas holiday.

“Did you talk to Arthur yesterday?” she asked Ashleigh. “I haven’t spoken to him since the weekend.”

“He called this morning to tell me they’re heading off on some sort of exercise and it might be a few days before we could speak again.”

“How did he sound?”

Ashleigh smiled over the brim of her teacup—a gentle, happy smile that was entirely without pretense. The fondness she felt for Arthur was palpable, and Sasha wondered fleetingly whether she would ever inspire that kind of emotion in anyone. Being wanted had its perks, certainly, but sometimes she hoped for more. For someone who would smile that way when thinking of her.

Her mind’s eye flashed to the memory of how Kerry had instinctively shielded her when their kiss had been interrupted. No one short of her own protection detail had ever reacted that way—certainly never a woman whom she’d just engaged in a clandestine tryst. Sasha couldn’t deny that Kerry’s instinctive selflessness and courage made her even more attractive. Perhaps that was why she’d found herself unable to stop thinking about her, days later.

“He sounded excited.” Ashleigh’s words cut through her introspection. “You know how he is.”

Arthur’s boyish enthusiasm hadn’t entirely faded, and Sasha hoped it never did. How he managed to retain it in the face of their father’s tyrannical handling was beyond her. Then again, their father treated his only son quite differently.

“I hear the King has asked you to fill in for Arthur at his engagements,” Ashleigh said. “How has that been?”

Sasha bit back a sigh. Ashleigh was aware of the fault lines that ran beneath their family’s civilized veneer, and Sasha felt fortunate to have another ally in her future sister-in-law. But she didn’t want to monopolize the conversation with her complaints.

“It’s a tug-of-war, as always. Nothing new there. But how are you? Holding up all right?”

“Yes, just fine. Plenty to keep me busy.”

“Like this film project.” Sasha was more than happy to turn the conversation to something that did not involve family. “What did you think of my initial ideas for venues for the premiere?”

They talked business for a while, and Sasha felt her melancholy slip away as the plans for Ashleigh’s event began to coalesce. The film launch was meant to cater to a broadly influential audience—from peers of the realm who had been born into the House of Lords, to up-and-coming avant-garde artists working for social justice. The best sort of party would be one with the formal trappings of an elegant society soiree, which could then be subtly undercut throughout the event. Most of her previous work had been on birthday parties and bridal showers, and Ashleigh’s request presented a unique opportunity to showcase the range of her abilities.

As Sasha was wrapping up a voice memo outlining her to-do list, a murmur rippled through the crowd. Moments later, a hush descended, broken only by faint whispers. She glanced up to the sight of her father striding toward them, dressed immaculately in a black suit and holding a briefcase in one hand. Flanked by two members of his security team, he cut an imposing figure. Murmurs of “the King” reached her just before he did. Ashleigh rose immediately, while Sasha took her time getting to her feet. She also kept her sunglasses on.

“Good afternoon, Alexandra. Ashleigh.”

“Good afternoon, Your Majesty.” Ever proper, Ashleigh delivered the words with a small curtsy.

“Hello, Father.”

He only glanced at her before returning his attention to the woman who would soon be his daughter-in-law. “I don’t wish to inconvenience you, Ashleigh,” he said, “but I’m afraid I need to speak with Alexandra on some business matters.”

“Of course, sir.” Ashleigh gathered her shawl from the back of her chair and embraced Sasha lightly. “We made some great progress today. See you soon.”

With an extra squeeze that Sasha knew was a silent token of encouragement, Ashleigh turned toward the doors leading into the lounge where her own bodyguard waited. Irritated at her father’s callous interruption, Sasha dropped back into her chair before he was seated. A minor breach of protocol, but the tiny rebellion felt good.

“I suppose it never occurred to you that we might be discussing business of our own?”

His bushy eyebrows rose. “You’re affronted?” He opened his briefcase and pulled out the tabloid that had broken the story of her visit to Summa. It displayed a grainy photograph—clearly taken by someone’s phone—of her dancing in the club. Kerry’s face was visible in profile, but fortunately, they had been several feet apart at the time. Sasha felt a sudden pang of guilt for what might have happened had the camera caught them a few minutes later.

“When I rang the Secretary of the Rhodes Trust to ask her how the reception had gone, she mentioned how sorry she was to hear of your illness, and how impressed she was by the generosity of your impromptu visit the next day.”

Sasha crossed her right leg over her left and hid behind her glasses, determined not to let him bully her into guilt or defensiveness.

“This rag,” he continued, rattling the paper, “tells a different story.” When she remained silent, he leaned forward. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”

“I don’t believe my behavior requires justification.”

When his cheeks grew mottled, Sasha struggled to hold back a tight smile. If they had been in his office, he would have been able to give his temper free rein. Here, in public, she had the distinct advantage. He leaned in over the table, and Sasha found herself hoping he would inadvertently dip his dark sleeve into the clotted cream.

“You are going to make amends to the Rhodes trustees,” he said, his voice soft and threatening. “You will organize an
appropriate
event for the incoming class of scholars—an
academic
event—and you will pay every penny yourself.”

For a moment, Sasha wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. Once she realized he was quite serious, she couldn’t stop her smile from breaking free. At her father’s look of consternation, she laughed. Did he truly believe he was punishing her by asking her to plan a party? Not only could she use this opportunity for her company’s advantage, she could also test the fortitude of the walls Kerry Donovan had put up between them.

“What exactly do you find so humorous about this situation, Alexandra?”

She stood and reached for her purse. “Only this, Father: that for the first time in my life, you’ve ordered me to do something I’m actually good at, and that I enjoy.” She turned to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder. “Your invitation will be in the mail.”

*

The sun was just beginning to set as Kerry entered the front door of the Iffley Road Sports Complex for her weekly workout and dinner “date” with Harris. Just for him, she’d made one exception to her morning exercise rule, and so far she was enjoying their sessions. Tonight, though, she passed the ID checkpoint with a pit of dread in her stomach. She knew exactly what Harris would want to discuss tonight, and she didn’t have any good answers.

As she walked through the atrium, she passed Claudia Tully, captain of the Balliol women’s football team. Claudia had been kind to her ever since they’d met at the first team meeting—before anyone knew Kerry would be a ringer. Smart, fun, and happily involved with her boyfriend, Claudia was exactly the sort of friend Kerry wanted to cultivate.

“Kerry, hi!” Her curly brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed with exertion.

“Hey, Claudia. Good workout?”

“Not bad. Are you excited for Saturday?”

Kerry grinned. “You have no idea.”

On Saturday, Balliol would play Magdalen in the first match of the season. The team had only been practicing since the first day of classes, just over a week ago, but Kerry was so eager for a real match that she didn’t care how ill-prepared they were. Besides, as she had to keep reminding herself, this was essentially an intramural league. She hadn’t played in an organization this low-stakes since kindergarten. It took some getting used to.

“I can’t wait,” Claudia was saying. “You’ll be our secret weapon. They’ll never know what hit them.”

“I’m just glad to be playing. I was going crazy without it.”

Claudia nodded sympathetically. “I’ll let you go. See you at practice tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.” And then she remembered. “Oh, hang on. I’m going to have to miss a game. Not next week, but the weekend after. I’m sorry.”

Claudia waved away her apology. “Please, don’t even worry. It’s fine.”

After bidding her good-bye, Kerry jogged up the stairs toward the weight room. Still preoccupied with how to formulate a response to Harris’s inevitable question, she didn’t notice that he was lying in wait for her at the top.

“Hey, you.”

Nonchalance, she decided, was the best tactic. “What’s up? How was your day?”

“My lecture was boring. But it was the hot prof, so I didn’t mind so much.”

“Glad to hear it, one-track mind.” She slugged him lightly in the shoulder. “How about you help me with my erg technique today? I’ve never figured out how to use that thing properly, and I’d like to add it in to my cardio regimen.”

“Follow me, young Skywalker.”

He led the way to a row of erg machines and demonstrated where the straps should rest on her feet. After situating himself onto the next machine over, he grabbed the handle and leaned forward in a low crouch.

“Watch my technique, and remember: first legs, then back, then arms.”

“Legs, back, arms,” Kerry repeated under her breath as he demonstrated a few strokes on the machine.

“Now you try. I’ll watch your form.”

Kerry sat all the way forward until her knees were touching her chest. She grasped the handle and pushed backward with her quads, focusing on the sequence Harris had taught her. Legs, back, arms. As she slipped into a rhythm, she increased the pressure of her strokes.

“That’s near perfect,” Harris said. “Just remember, when you want to row harder, most of that power should come from your legs.”

Breathing deeply, she focused on maintaining the proper sequence of motions. Already, she had broken a sweat. Now that she knew the proper technique, the erg would make a valuable addition to her fitness plan.

At the whirr of the machine next to her, she looked over to see Harris settling into his own stroke. His movements were smooth, economical, and powerful—the product of years of repetition—and Kerry tried to mimic his form and fluidity.

“So,” he asked after a moment, “get anything interesting in the mail today?”

Despite having expected the question at some point, she faltered. Determined to regain her rhythm before she answered him, she spent several moments focusing on her technique.

“I got the invitation, yes,” she finally said.

“She organized it with you in mind, didn’t she?”

“What?” Kerry willed her body to continue moving smoothly, despite the storm winds lashing at her mind. “No, she didn’t.”

“She sure as hell did. C’mon, Ker. This thing is at Balmoral Castle—built when, exactly?”

“Fourteenth century, originally,” Kerry said automatically, before realizing she’d betrayed herself.

Harris just laughed. “And the guest of honor is the President of the Royal Institute of British Architects. Face it: Sassy Sasha has made it doubly impossible for you to reject her invitation.”

“I don’t have to go.”

“Oh? Really? You’re going to miss out on a chance to explore a Scottish castle and to meet the biggest bigwig in your field?”

Kerry’s jaw clenched and she yanked harder at the handle, taking out her frustration on the machine. He was right, and she didn’t want him to be. As she had read the elegantly-lettered invitation this morning, her mouth had literally fallen open. She couldn’t argue with logic. Sasha had deliberately laid a trap for her, one into which she would willingly walk.