Page 4 of Scandal Queen

Patrick’s voice filtered through the floorboards. “You can’t tell her, Molly. Just leave it now.”

“Are you crazy? She’d never forgive me.”

The walls were thinner than I would have thought for an older cottage. Their conversation brushed away any remnants of sleep. Regardless, I needed to get up and get some food for Daisy; she needed to eat regular meals while she healed.

“I think he’s done enough. I mean I’ve known her as long as you have, and I’ve never seen anything destroy her like this. Not even her waste of a space mother hurt her in this way.” I sat up straight at Patrick’s response. There was only one ‘he’ they could be talking about.

I shoved at the duvet, struggling to push it off my legs. Daisy whimpered and rolled over.

Silently, I crept along the hallway back to the top of the stairs.

“It’s not like she isn’t going to see, Paddy. We haven’t taken her to bloody Mars.”

“I’ll unplug the telly and take it back to London with me.”

“Don’t be an arsehole.”

My entrance would have been stealth-like if I hadn’t slipped down the last three stairs and landed on my arse. “Shit.”

A pause lengthened from the front room until Molly’s blonde head ducked around the doorframe. “What on earth are you doing on the floor?”

“What are you both talking about?”

Her lips crimped like she’d sucked a lemon, but she quickly smoothed her frown away. “Don’t try to detract from the fact you’ve fallen on your arse. Paddy! She must be feeling better, she’s falling over again.”

Shaking my head, I forced myself up from the floor. “Don’t bullshit me, Molly. Tell me what you’re talking about.”

With an audible sigh, she pointed at the small room which seemed to act as front room and entrance. “It’s the news.”

My stomach had been tied tight into knots for so long I’d almost forgotten how it should feel. Now it squeezed like someone was pulling on a taut string. “What’s happened?”

“Oliver.”

I pushed past her, my feet almost moving on their own command. My brain shut down. The news flicked on the screen. My gaze darted to the red banner running along the bottom of the picture: Prince Oliver gives honest statement and apologises to the public.

I stared, my mouth falling open and hanging loosely. He was going to apologise about me. He was going apologise to all those other people—about me.

I sunk to the floor although my legs still shook even once I sat on the green rug. “Have you seen it?” I whispered.

“No, it hasn’t come on yet.”

I blinked and my eyes stung as though I’d leant into a cloud of noxious fumes. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry again.

The tears dropped anyway; I hated every damn one.

“Babe, come on. You don’t even know what he’s going to say.”

“He’ll say I was a mistake. And he’s right, it was all a terrible mistake.”

“Don’t watch it then, leave it.” I knew Molly spoke sense, but I knew I’d watch anyway; like a moth who flew too close to the lightbulb and singed its wings, I’d watch him tell everyone he’d made a terrible mistake in loving someone like me.

I tucked my knees to my chest, mainly to stop them shaking, and waited.

And waited.

Until his face filled the screen, and my chest took a punch from an invisible heavyweight boxer. A navy T-shirt and dark jeans replaced his prince uniform. Not that dissimilar to the travelling clothes he’d worn just days ago in King’s hospital with me.

He hurt to look at. Too beautiful. Painful, really.