“Amelia,” she says breezily, “do you mind if I take your car for a spin? I rather fancy driving us back, if you don’t mind. May I?”
Amelia nods, not even questioning this.
As this photographer continues to say nasty things to get a response, as he continues to hunt me like prey, I understand now why Bella keeps her head down. Why she hides in her studies.
Bile rises in my throat as I realise this will happen to me every single time I go out in public for as long as I stay with Xander.
Which means for the rest of my life, if I marry him one day.
It takes everything I have not to burst into tears.
Soon, we are at the car. The photographer has his camera up against my window, still clicking away. I tamp down the urge to throw up. I turn my head towards Bella, and she squeezes my hand in hers.
“Don’t worry, we’re about to lose this bastard,” Jillian says. “I took an evasive driving course so I could get Clementine around before she had security. And I’m going to take us on a long, scenic tour of London to make sure we lose any others who might be hiding out there.”
Before I can blink, Jillian has us out and is moving in traffic, far from the eyes of that photographer. She’s making moves and taking different routes just like someone in one of those action films.
“How did he know?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Nobody knows. We’ve been so careful. We’ve only told the squad. I don’t understand.”
My brain desperately searches for an answer. Did someone in the squad speak too freely in front of someone else? Was Xander’s phone hacked? Did someone inside of Kensington Palace sell us out? Was it our fault for holding hands while walking through the grounds there? Or that night he pinned me up against a wall and kissed me?
A sick feeling surges within me. Oh, God, does someone have a picture of that? Of the future king blatantly making out in public? What if our conversation was overheard? What if it’s reported that I was completely drunk? What kind of impression would that give the world?
My mind races. What pictures might they already have? Will any of them humiliate Xander like the one that just popped into my head?
“I’m going to be sick,” I cry, holding my head in my hands. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. We were going to come out at Christian’s wedding.”
I feel Bella’s hand on my back, rubbing it gently. “I know, Poppy, I’m so sorry. Your first introduction to the media shouldn’t have been an ambush. It’s disgusting. He is an awful one; he’s tormented Liz and me before. His name is Peter Royce. He’s a horrible excuse for a human being.”
I lift my head. “You know him?”
“You will get to know all of them after a while,” she explains. “But yes. He stalks royals for a living.”
“What publication does he work for?”
Bella bites her lip. She hesitates before answering.
“Dishing Weekly.”
I gasp in horror. My fragile composure bursts with those words, and I begin to sob. Dishing Weekly isn’t going to prepare a sweet little story about the girl from Wales who fell in love with a prince.
It’s going to be a horrible exposé.
“Poppy, it’s going to be all right. You will survive this, no matter what is printed. No matter what the pictures are, no matter what the story says, you aren’t going to heed any of it,” Jillian says, her voice clear and firm. “It’s not going to be easy or pleasant, but you know who you are and what matters most.”
I grab onto those words and hold onto them as hard as I can. I have to believe that.
I have to.
“I need to warn my family,” I say, the thought popping into my head. I grab my handbag and frantically dig for my phone. “They don’t even know—oh my God, they can’t find out like this. And my employers. My best friend. I-I have to tell them.”
My hands are shaking as I hold my phone. I see it’s two o’clock.
Xander is in the middle of his tour of the cheese factory. I can’t talk to him now. I send him a quick text, tears blurring my eyes as I type:
Dishing Weekly is onto us. Photographer ambushed me as I left the shop with Bella today. He knew my name. That I was seeing you, everything! Someone tipped him