Chapter 11
A lexandra
In the pretty receiving room I remembered my father loving, with floral wallpaper and a tea service set out, I regarded the man in front of me. Sir Reginald was private secretary to King Philip, and one of the creepiest men alive.
I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was so off-putting about him; perhaps his soft hands with long fingers, hooked through the teapot’s handle, or his pin-neat grey hair, swept to the left at an exacting degree that never changed.
Maybe it was the way he’d treated me since I was a teenager—like I was a piece to be moved around a chessboard and not a human being. Not that my opinion mattered. Sir Reginald was as much part of the fixtures and fittings of Ossington Palace as any other historical item. If ever I needed to talk to the king, I had to go through him first. Even if I texted my cousin directly, Sir Reginald typically answered. Today, though, in between meetings, I’d gone directly to him.
The secretary set down the pot, poured milk into his cup, swirled his tea, then finally raised his emotionless gaze to mine. “What can I assist you with this morning, Your Royal Highness?”
“The list of events you sent me, is there any way we can adapt it?”
Sir Reginald sipped his drink and watched me, as if waiting for me to elaborate.
I rolled my hands. “There are some I’m not entirely comfortable with. I wondered if we could change them.”
I was due my period, and a headache panged behind my eyes. I’d sat through two meetings already with charities and organisations, and coupled with the art gallery disaster, all I wanted was to crawl back into bed. On top of that, I’d overheard palace gossip that had sent me fully into misery mode.
Raphael had been fired.
No doubt because of me.
I didn’t have his phone number or any way to contact him. Going through his team was a no-no as personal details were never shared. I’d had a quick hunt for him online but found nothing, and desperately, I wanted to hide away with my phone and track him down.
Looming over it was my panic over a specific activity on my calendar which involved public speaking. I just…couldn’t.
“Was there one in particular that concerned you?”
I shrank in my seat, feeling like nothing more than a whiny child. I couldn’t tell Sir Reginald the truth. He’d laugh me out of town. “It’s just a couple of tasks within the overall workload. Perhaps we could take one out, such as the banquet?”
He placed his delicate teacup in its matching saucer and reclined in his seat, taking his time over answering. “When considering activities and events for the royal family, His Majesty is very careful in selecting a balanced calendar that ensures representation across industries and all levels of society.”
“I know that?—”
Sir Reginald spoke over me. “Of which those allocated to Your Royal Highness are but a small number of the total. I understand that there are other things you might prefer to do with your time. The concept of work is not always pleasant for everyone.”
Oh, fuck him. I hid a glower.
“However, the summer break is the only time off of significance His Majesty takes throughout the year and is essential to his well-being and to that of the queen consort and their young family.”
My forehead furrowed. “Is there something wrong with him or the family?”
Sir Reginald recoiled. “No, there is not, and you should not suggest such a thing. Are you suggesting I interrupt His Majesty’s vital solitude to discuss balancing your calendar?”
Typically, the royal family took the entire summer off. King Philip, my cousin, and his wife and children, their fourth child only six months old, were sunning themselves on a yacht in the Caribbean.
My dad, brother to Philip’s deceased father, had always taken two months off as well. Not that Dad did any royal engagements anymore. After my mother left him, he’d suffered a stroke and mostly stayed behind closed doors.
I clamped my jaw. “No, and I’m not trying to shirk my duties, I’m just asking to change a few things this week.”
“King Philip prefers the royal family to be visible throughout the year. His reputation as a hard worker is of vital importance, as much as his desire to be a man of the people. If you are not out there representing his interests, we would need to consider an alternative.”
“An alternative to me?”
Sir Reginald smiled, the effect deeply unpleasant. “You aren’t the only representative of your branch of the family. Should I commence my enquiry?”
A chill slunk through me.
I’d asked for a small change, and he threatened the peaceful life my father lived. In the spring, I’d finished my master’s degree, and although my dream had been to spend every free minute painting, I had accepted a request from my cousin, via Sir Reginald, to become part of his royal calendar to cover the gap while he was away. I’d always been photographed anyway, so it made sense to get paid for it. Or, rather, my father was paid as head of our household. The only other member of our branch of the family, as Sir Reginald put it.
I’d received a two-week schedule and had wanted to do well at it. Yet that job, as such, came at a price. After my father’s stroke, his removing himself from public view meant that he was no longer working for the royal family. The king, again via Sir Reginald, had made noises about reducing the money that was going his way.
Dad didn’t need much. His home, Lancaster House, belonged to the Crown, but he held the lease. Maintaining the huge, draughty building, paying our living costs, and managing his staff, including security, were his only priorities now he didn’t have my tuition fees. Was he privileged? Yes. Had he had any alternatives as brother to the king? No. Not that he’d ever found. And now he was unwell, he could do even less. Certainly not attend sporting events and garden parties.
I’d stepped in, and with snake-like precision, Sir Reginald had homed in on Dad as my weakness.
With a stiffened spine, I gave Sir Reginald a single shake of my head. “No. I understand perfectly. Please forget I asked.”
“I shall enjoy reading the headlines later.”
The secretary rose and left me without another word.
I flopped back on the antique sofa and closed my eyes. My phone buzzed. I found it in my dress pocket and checked the screen.
Riss: I will be with you in a few minutes, ma’am.
I tapped out a reply, telling the security guard where I was, then thumbed over to the conversation with Dori. Late last night, he’d sent a picture of himself in some club, neon paint daubed on his bare chest and some elaborate drink in his hand.
I called him. He picked up after several rings, a grunt my greeting.
“I think I hate my life.”
“Is it spoiled brat day already? It comes around so fast.”
I groaned. “You can talk. I tried to change my schedule, and it was like I’d gone full treason.”
Material rustled, as if I’d woken him and he was still in bed. “Darling girl, talk to Daddy.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Did you just refer to yourself in the third person, and as ‘Daddy’? Don’t be revolting.”
“I wasn’t referring to me. Your actual father. You’re stressed out at work. He’s been through it all. Surely the old boy would be able to help?”
I sighed. My father’s viewpoint was increasingly hostile to the family he’d grown up in. A chat with him usually ended up dwelling on the brother he’d lost too early, the wife who’d been driven away, and the daughter he wanted out of it. But that could never happen, and I’d never tell him why.
“No, I’m currently avoiding him as he hates me being here. Not that he could do anything as that isn’t where my problem lies.”
“Then where does it originate?”
“With the bodyguard.” I winced, but the words were out there.
A pause followed, then interest curled in Dori’s tone. “Go on.”
“Raphael was fired because of me.”
“Use his correct name, will you? Hot Bodyguard has a ring to it. Would telling him about what I’m assuming is at least fifty percent overwhelming attraction assuage the problem?”
“Not if I can’t find him.”
“Gotcha. Then how about you find him and fuck him? All will be right with the world if he’s any good in bed. My guess is he’s a giver. He’s got that air about him, and he is absolutely into you.”
I hissed through my teeth. “If you were in the room, I’d throw something at you.”
“I’d catch it. Is fucking him off the table, then?”
“I told you, I have to work today.”
“Ugh, the toil. What’s the event?”
I filled him in on the afternoon I’d be spending at the Botanical Gardens as well as the outfit I’d chosen, adding, “But my attendance won’t be confirmed until I’m there, so it should be low-key compared to the art gallery.”
“Sounds boring. Do something bad to make the afternoon more interesting.”
“Ooh, I like that idea. A little chaos never hurt a formal event.” Plus it could save me from the speech I needed to give in a week.
“Exactly. Send me pictures. Then tonight, when I have had more than an hour’s rest, we’ll scour the internet to find your man.”
“Are you alone right now? I didn’t ask.” I didn’t even know what country he was in.
Dori made a noise of disgust. “I’m going back to sleep where I can pretend the world isn’t shit and everything is fine. Night, darling girl. I’ll no doubt see your outfit of the day blowing up my phone later.”
“Don’t hang up?—”
He already had, reinforcing what I should’ve known, that Dori would talk when he was ready and not a second before.
A knock at the door brought Riss into the room.
The new head of my security team, as the last guy had been let go along with Raphael, walked me through the plan for the week. Badly, I wanted to ask Riss what she knew, but she was deep into the arrangements, and I owed it to her to listen.
A gap came in the conversation, and Riss put down her tablet. “That’s a wrap. Was there anything which stood out as unexpected or that you wished to bring to my attention, ma’am?”
She’d started ma’aming me in earnest since this morning. I glanced away, trying to be casual. “The team has changed. Can I ask why?”
“I’m afraid I’m not privy to the reasons Jared was let go.”
“And the other bodyguard?”
Her brow furrowed. “The temporary team member from last week?”
“Yes, him.”
“Raphael Gordonson has rejoined the service and will be present today.”
A small gasp escaped me.
Raphael was back. I’d get to see him and give my apology. The hot summer sun shone brighter through the London air.
Riss frowned. “If that’s an issue…?”
“No,” I squeaked. I went to tell her how I’d once known him but held my tongue, suddenly worried that our familiarity might be another reason for him to disappear. “No issue at all. He’ll be an asset to the team.”
Her professional smile returned. “If that’s all, I’ll see you downstairs at one.”
She left me, and I let out an excited, if muted, whoop, then trotted out of the receiving room and back upstairs, via Ossington Palace’s broad central staircase. Like most royal residences, the building was partially open to the public, but the central wing was entirely private. The king and his family had the main apartments on the second floor, and I had a suite of rooms a fair distance away on the third. I practically danced to it, my heart pounding the whole way.
In my rooms, I locked myself inside.
Between Raphael being here and Dori’s challenge to make the afternoon more interesting, my misery had evaporated. I had to prepare.