“I’m not coming around to anything. You are the ones making a goddamn grave mistake.”
Without thinking, I’m heading toward the gardens located on the side of the palace, a place I used to spend time alone with my mother. Marcus continues following me, relentless in his needling, and I open the door to the garden with a bang that sounds like a gunshot. He trails out behind me, still shooting off at the mouth.
“I just don’t see it, Alexander. What could a common woman from the United States possibly mean to you? You’ve always been so blind. So sadly blind. Are you coming to realize that you have a part to play as a prince of Saintland? Are you finished being so self-absorbed?”
I stop, turn to face him, closing the distance between us in one step. With a roar, I grip the front of his jacket with both of my fists, shoving him up forcefully against the palace wall.
“Don’t you ever speak of her again, you fucking waste of a human,” I bellow into his face, holding him up a few inches from the ground and shaking him. “Never again, or so help me God. I love her, and there’s not a damn thing you and father can do about it. Is that understood?”
Marcus’s eyes dart to the side.
Too late, I see the photographer who has climbed up onto the garden wall. He’s holding his camera in one hand and has his phone positioned at an angle towards us in the other, capturing our every word and movement.
Chapter 21
Jessica
I don’t see or hear from Alec for a couple of days, but I know that he’s busy. The local news station is constantly running interviews with him, and reports are ongoing about what the royal family is doing in preparation for the country’s upcoming annual Summer Festival. Claire explains to me that the event celebrates the country’s independence and tradition. Even though Saintland is a relatively new nation, they established traditions early on, and the Summer Festival is one of them.
My heart beats faster and I get goose bumps when I see him onscreen, smiling widely at the citizens of Saintland who rush to shake his hand. Alec is the complete package. He’s so handsome, and his goodness and genuine rapport with people radiates from the TV screen. It makes my heart flutter to think that of all the people he meets and reporters he jokes with, I’m the one who knows Alec the animal, and how sexy and dirty he can be in the privacy of our bedroom.
I only wish that his father wasn’t a source of tension for him. During our last date, I could sense it in the stiffness of his shoulders and in his uptight expression.
Maybe this deluge of appearances is a sign that he’s smoothed things over with his father and brother.
I’m watching one of his interviews, recorded earlier in the day, and reveling in the gorgeous lines of Alec’s handsome face, when Claire arrives for the afternoon. She’s planned more shopping and a sightseeing venture outside the city.
When she enters my suite, I know immediately that something isn’t right by the worried look in her eyes.
Before I can question Claire, the TV interview with Alec ends abruptly, the announcer suddenly rising from her seat and shaking his hand, nonchalantly bridging the gap between segments with light commentary about how busy it is to be a member of the royal family.
“Good morning, Jessica,” Claire says, sitting down next to me on the sofa. “You look lovely. Are you ready for shopping and lunch?”
“Thank you,” I say, glancing down at the sleeveless dress I chose with the team yesterday. It’s a sea green color that sets off my deep auburn hair, which looks better than ever thanks to the attention of Saintland’s best stylists. I’ve never once colored it, but somehow in their hands the color is more vibrant, smooth and shiny.
But that, I remind myself sternly, is completely beside the point.
“I am,” I answer, “but I’m not going until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she protests, firing me an unconvincing smile.
“Claire. You’re supposed to be my faithful companion,” I say, looking at her with a hint of disappointment. “What’s going on? If it’s a personal matter, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not that…”
“Spill.” I give her a pointed look.
Claire bites her lip and considers me for a long moment, as if trying to make up her mind about something. Then, pulling her oversize purse into her lap, she reaches into it to retrieve a small tablet that she carries everywhere with her. Scrolling her index finger across the screen, she begins to speak, seeming to take care with each word.
“Some news has broken about Prince Alexander that involves you.”