Page 27 of Scandal Queen

“Does he indeed.” He paused.

“Really, Your Highness, I don’t know why you couldn’t have lay low for a few weeks like you were asked.”

I opened one eye. Was the professional and perfect Freya Cole chastising the prince?

To my surprise he laughed. He leant over towards me. I quickly shut my eyes, as he placed a kiss on my temple. “Some things can’t be put on hold.”

Maybe they thought I’d fallen asleep. Maybe they assumed I’d slipped into a shocked coma—it could happen—but they carried on talking. “Does she even know what’s about to happen? Everything is going to change for her.”

“She knows,” he replied, but hesitation ran beneath his words.

“Oh and just to warn you, your attire during your grovel-to-the-public interview has not gone unnoticed.”

The car slowed to a halt. I couldn’t open my eyes. Gravel crunched under the tyres.

“I’m in trouble for wearing jeans in public now as well, am I?” He laughed but it lacked humour.

“I’d be grateful for small mercies.”

“Freya. Relax, this is all what it’s meant to be.” He sounded confident, his voice now ringing with utter certainty, the clear toll of a bell.

She didn’t answer. A door slammed. I’d have to pretend to wake up any moment. I didn’t want to be carried into St Mark’s Palace. My arrival, even upright and on foot, would cause enough of a stir.

“Freya. Before we go in. She’s going to need staff; can I trust you to help?”

I actually sicked in my mouth. Staff?

“I could take offence at your comment, but I won’t. Small household?”

“Yes. We shall be doing most things together.”

“If you’re allowed.” She snorted and I wanted to punch her for being so intimate with my man. Even if he wasn’t just mine and actually belonged to every person on the whole bloody planet.

“We will be allowed.” That golden glow of conviction rang through his words again and it weaved itself into me, through the tight knots of worry and stress, through the concerns which centred around, ‘what the fuck am I doing?’. It spoke straight to my heart. Deep inside.

My eyes snapped open and I blinked into Oliver’s green gaze. “Good sleep, my love?”

“Very restful.” I smiled at him and gave Daisy a little nudge. If I wasn’t going to be carried, and could walk in with my head held high, the woman the prince chose, then I was sure as hell going to make sure my daughter did it with me.

Oliver smiled and we held a long look. “Welcome home, Miss Lawrence.” He winked.

“Why, thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

He grinned and I smiled like a dick, while behind us Freya tutted and rustled the papers on her lap.

I stepped out of the car and stretched myself tall. So I wore jeans and an oversized hoodie; I’d been photographed in my pyjamas so the whole world would see them and probably discuss my love of Tweetie Pie.

I stared at St Mark’s, the pale stone still glowed despite the grey sky.

Home.

He kissed under my ear and took my hand. “Just remember that I love you very much, and please, please, no matter what happens, don’t run away.” He shot me a sheepish smile.

“I’ll try not to.”

His fingers tugged on mine. “I know you will. It’s why you’re my perfect princess.”

Seven