Page 29 of Deposed

All traces of annoyance vanished. It was easy to bicker with Blake when I couldn’t see the repercussions of my actions, but the sheer number of reporters jostling each other for the glimpse of the royal rebel made my stomach drop. I had done this. And so had Rudolph. If those stills of Blake hadn’t hit the internet, the first scandal would have faded into the background by now.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, scooted across the limo’s leather seat and rubbed his back to a panoply of camera flashes. “Come on,” I said without moving my lips, just in case one of the nosey fucks outside was recording a video of us for later examination. “We’ll get through this together.”

Blake raised his head and turned to me, dark eyes shining with gratitude. “I’m glad you’re here.”

A lump formed in my throat. He should be spitting in my face, not smiling into it. I rubbed my aching chest. If I said too much, I would probably burst into tears. “Sure.”

The driver walked around his side of the vehicle and fought his way through the paparazzi to reach the passenger door.

Tiny prickles of nervousness spread across my skin, and my stomach hollowed. This was a different crowd of photographers to the ones I had following me around when I was with Sergei. They probably either belonged to the tabloids or sold their images to such establishments. Some of them jammed themselves and their camera lenses to the window, filling the limo with light. I stole another glance at Blake, whose skin took on the pallor of dead fish.

Once we had waded our way through the riot of photographers and walked through a reception hall consisting of various shades of brown, we entered a sad-looking room, half filled with well-fed, bright-eyed people I suspected were reporters.

The meeting itself was depressing. After the disguised reporters, Blake and I introduced ourselves and got our welcome hugs, we all read from a piece of paper, and the leader facilitated a group discussion. Neither Blake nor I participated but we listened to anecdotes ranging from the sad to the scary to the downright shocking. We exchanged glances. We didn’t belong here, and our attendance felt like voyeurism.

When we didn’t stay for the coffee and chat after the meeting, half the room followed us out.

“Emilia!” shouted a reporter as we stepped out of the town hall into the bright afternoon.

I raised my head and gave the man a bright smile. “Hello. Are you enjoying the weather?”

“Very nice. Did Blake break up your engagement with Sergei Bachmann?”

Plastering on a wistful smile, I said, “Absolutely not. The distance broke us apart in the end. I was always at school and Sergei was about to start a grand tour of Europe.”

“Are you going out with Mr. Simpson-West?” yelled another reporter.

“Blake and I are just good friends.”

Blake placed an arm around my waist. “I’d like there to be more. Emilia is an exceptional young woman and one I would love to get to know better.”

I gave him what I hoped was a bittersweet smile. “I’ve already given my heart to Henry Bourneville.”

“Emilia!” shouted another reporter. “What can you say about the scantily-clad tryst with Bourneville?”

My smile dropped. “It was between two underaged boys that should never have been published by respectable newspapers.”

The driver held the door open, but the reporters and photographers wouldn’t let us through to the limo until we told them we wanted to sit down to answer all their questions.

Despite my efforts to make Blake look good while maintaining the facade of being Henry’s girlfriend, Blake sat in the seat opposite me and sulked throughout the entire journey.

Fatigue spread through my bones, and I sank into the leather seat, stretched out my legs and watched the freeway whizz past. If Blake wanted a fake girlfriend for the press, he needed to work with someone else. I pulled out my smartphone, replied to a few emails, and glanced at Blake every few minutes. Today had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and I didn’t know if things were better between us or worse.

As soon as we reached Elder House, I bolted out of the limo and bounded up the stairs. If the triumvirate objected to my evening off, they could kick down my door.

Chapter 10

The next morning, Blake had returned to his usual exuberant self, and we sat around a regular table the staff had dressed with crystalware and fine china. Coates and his group of rugby pals sat at the head table, looking like a group of oversized, clueless dicks without Charlotte and the doppelgängers. Just after the servers had removed my completed plate of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon, Mr. Jenkins approached our table.

“Miss Hobson, may I see you in my office before first bell?”

My gaze flickered to the girls’ empty seats at the head table. “Is this some sort of ambush?”

He had the nerve to rear back as though I’d slapped him. Pink blotches rose to his thin cheeks. “O-of course not!”

I twisted my lips, showing him how much I believed him. “Last term, you escorted me to the headmaster’s office, where two policemen were ready to arrest me for the most heinous of crimes. I’d count that as an ambush.”

His blotches darkened. “I-it’s an academic matter.”