Princess Daisy was caught yesterday afternoon at the welcoming party for the newlyweds with her skirt pushed up and her blouse open. Did she have the prince between her thighs, or are they trying for a baby? Click here for more!
The fucking Royal Exposé.
I cover my mouth with both hands as a noisy sob escapes my chest. The screen blurs as tears flood my eyes. A warm pressure slides over my shoulder and squeezes.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Yes, it really is.”
“You think I haven’t had paparazzi shots of my dick?”
“This wasn’t from a long lens. We shouldn’t have done it.”
My parents are going to see everything. I want to crawl under the bed and die.
Liam shuts the laptop and picks me up off the chair. I blink, and tears slide down my face. He brushes them aside as a passionate gleam shines in his eyes.
“I don’t regret a thing.”
“O-of c-course you don’t! That’s me they’re demonizing there.”
“Oh who gives a fuck about the tabloids? You had sex with your husband on your honeymoon. Stop the fucking press!”
“Don’t try to trivialize this.”
“I’m trying to make you feel better. They’re going to keep at you the entire time we’re married, probably well after that too.”
Liam holds me against his chest, rubbing my back as tears inexplicably build up in my eyes. I wrap my arms around him and let out an exhausted sigh. God, it’s been weeks since I’ve been held like this. We said we’d just be friends with benefits, and yet my heart jumps when he touches my chin and claims my lips. It’s a sweet kiss, the first one that really makes me want another.
A knock at the door makes me jump.
“Your Highness, the inn has prepared breakfast. Shall I bring it to your room?”
“We’ll be down in a moment. Thank you.”
“Right you are, sir.”
The steps creak as he descends the staircase.
I pull away from Liam’s arms as my stomach roils. I’m in no mood to pretend to be someone I’m not.
“Don’t let it ruin your day. You’re not the first royal to be caught in a scandal, nor will you be the last.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes. Damn it, I shouldn’t let this stupidity get to me. He’s right. In a week there will be something new.
I take Liam’s hand, and we walk out of the small, bright room and down several flights of stairs. It’s a very homey bed and breakfast with a sunroom attached to the living room. Rain patters the windowpanes on the ceiling. The beams are painted white, and there’s an old-fashioned, whitewashed table sitting in the middle. There’s already a pot of tea and place settings for two. Seeing all of this reminds me of Tom, who owned the B&B I booked. Liam pours the tea for us.
The man whose voice I heard outside the door smiles as he enters the sunroom, his livered arms trembling under the weight of his plates.
He carefully drops one of them in front of me. It’s the same dish I had at Tom’s. It’s a plate of fried food: beans covered in red sauce, a tomato, mushrooms, potatoes, and fish.
“Thank you.”
“We’re so honored to have the prince and princess staying with us. Please enjoy.”
We eat the breakfast quickly and spend the rest of the morning walking through Kirkenhaum. Liam’s robust security team keeps most of the people at bay. Then we squeeze though a particularly narrow street.
Smile. Shoulders back. Walk like a princess.
I’m too focused on maintaining my princess image to really pay attention to the woman wearing a Liam and Daisy Royal Wedding t-shirt fighting tooth and nail to get through the circle.
“Daisy! Daisy! What’s his cock taste like?” I spend about a second wondering what the appropriate princess response to a question like this would be before I burst into laughter. Liam, ever the model prince, smiles at the crowd and blissfully ignores her.
“Let me touch his cock!”
“Damn you, woman! Get back!” The guards seize her shoulders.
I dissolve into tears of laughter as cameras flash around me. Liam pulls me to his side, whispering, “What does my cock taste like?”
“Rainbows and unicorns. That’s what I think she expected me to say.”
His teeth flash as deep laughter bursts from his chest. Then he ushers me inside a pub, half his guards remaining outside. The bartender, a balding gentleman wearing a flannel shirt, approaches the prince.
“Good afternoon. I’d like to watch the football match, if