Page 66 of Tabloid Princess

“Everything okay?”

“Tough day.” I nodded almost numbly.

“Were the press still on you?” Nana looked confused. I’d told her the ball was okay, nothing special—all lies.

I didn’t tell her that my head spun with thoughts of him. My stomach tied into knots, my nerves frayed.

That the monster had ruled my every moment since I’d left him on the balcony.

“Uh. No, it was all normal today. Daisy okay?”

Nana looked at me closer. “She’s colouring at the table. Leia, are you okay; you’re frightfully pale?”

“Mm. Can you hang around for a moment. I just need a few minutes to sort myself out.”

Her expression creased with concern, but I shook my head and staggered blindly for my room where I opened the door and fell in, clutching my handbag to my chest, just as I had the whole way home.

On the bed I pulled it open and fished out a thick cream envelope. The same envelope that I’d found in there after my snatched sandwich during an utterly bonkers day.

I couldn’t think about work and how busy we’d been; the calls from the press asking for information and interviews. The calls we had from people who had heard of us and had picked up the phone to ring, wondering if we might be able to help them.

It was everything I’d ever wanted for Bright Futures, but I couldn’t even process it.

I could only stare at the envelope, my fingers shaking slightly as I slid out the crisp cream paper.

Dear, Leia.

I’m hoping you will do the honour of having dinner with me.

Tonight?

I’ll send a car for you at 7. If you wish to decline, please pass your refusal on to Bill. No blood no foul as they say.

But please know I shall be waiting to see if you come.

Yours.

Oliver.

I stared at it over and over again; even though in the hours since I’d opened it, I’d read it countless times.

I couldn’t go. It was insane. Crazy.

What if the press saw me again?

What about Daisy?

My heart ached with such a responding pull that I folded over to ease the discomfort. The memory of the balcony punched through my chest. That tangled emotion I’d fleetingly experienced…

The prince probably made women feel like they were falling in love with him on an hourly basis. I wasn’t unique.

This wasn’t right.

I’d tell Bill no. I’d send my apologies. I’d write my own letter explaining that I couldn’t attend, that it wasn’t feasible.

I rolled over and grabbed a piece of lined paper we’d used for Daisy’s homework yesterday, when I’d struggled to focus—my head spinning with dances and kisses and my focus had been pulled from the centre of my universe.

Dear Prince Oliver, I wrote. I tapped the blunt edged pencil against the paper. Thank you for your generous offer for dinner. Sadly, I can’t come due to the fact I’m an idiot.