CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER TEN
‘I SSY, HI …’ M EL MURMURED , disorientated to see her friend by her bedside. She blinked, trying to clear the fog from her brain. She’d fallen asleep in the early hours, all the reasons why she had been an utter fool to sleep with Rene again finally quieting enough for her to drop into exhaustion.
‘Good morning, Mel. How are you feeling?’ her friend asked gently, the concern from yesterday still thick in her voice.
‘I… Good. Better,’ she said, which wasn’t entirely the truth, but she was determined to make it so. ‘By the way, I should contact the cabin owner and thank them and pay for the damage,’ she said. It was something which had occurred to her yesterday, while she was trying to divert her brain to the practical, instead of mooning over Rene or getting upset about his abrupt departure.
Isabelle smiled. ‘It’s already been done.’
Mel frowned. ‘But I should pay, not you.’
‘I didn’t pay, Rene did,’ she said gently. ‘He also sent an official message of thanks to the rescue team.’
‘Oh…’ Mel murmured, hating that the mention of his name only made the aching pain in her chest return. ‘That’s good.’
Apparently, he’d thought of everyone yesterday. Except her.
She stretched and rubbed her eyes, trying to cover her reaction, aware of the dull headache pounding at her temples when Isabelle crossed the bedroom and opened the curtains.
Bright sunlight flooded the room. She sat up abruptly, a dart of shame clearing the last fog from her brain, even as the dull headache became razor-sharp. ‘What time is it?’
No wonder Isabelle had come to wake her. It had to be past noon already.
‘I need to get dressed,’ Mel added, becoming frantic. She needed to find her safe space again, which had always been her career, and her place as Isabelle’s trusted companion and adviser. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have been at work hours ago.’
She’d already missed almost a week while being stuck in the cabin with Rene. And there was a lot of work to do now Isabelle had unlocked Androvia’s future with her fake marriage to Travis Lord.
But when Mel went to whip back the sheet, Isabelle sat back on the bed and grasped her wrist to prevent her getting up, a strange expression on her face.
‘Mel, it’s okay. You don’t need to go to work today. That’s not why I’m here…’ she began, her gaze softening with sympathy.
‘But…of course I do,’ Mel began, confused now as well as wary. Why was Issy looking at her like that? As if she were fragile and needed protecting, when their relationship had always been the other way round. ‘There’s so much to do. Now you’re married to Lord we can finally get started on all the infrastructure projects prevented by the conditions of your father’s will.’
Isabelle had come up with the scheme to marry the US champion snowboarder-cum-billionaire businessman in desperation, so she could circumvent the conditions her father had insisted on. That when he died, his daughter—who had only been eight at the time of her parents’ death—must be married before she could make commercial decisions about the huge tracts of land owned by Androvia’s royal family.
Mel had never been convinced that pretending to be madly in love with a total stranger was a good idea.
Added to that, Lord was a self-made billionaire who had come from nothing, had no respect for monarchy and exuded the kind of animal magnetism which would burn most women to a crisp at fifty paces. Even women who hadn’t been impossibly sheltered, as Issy had been her whole life. But Mel had been unable to refute the fact that Isabelle had to marry someone to get control of the land, and as Issy had insisted that someone definitely was not going to be Rene she had eventually been forced to support Issy’s wild scheme.
‘Now you’re finally free to develop the land and stimulate some much-needed economic growth in Androvia, we need to figure out which projects to prioritise, not to mention getting the negotiations for Lord’s resort on the White Ridge finalised, and the press release issued,’ Mel rattled off. The leasing of the land for Lord’s resort was the lure Issy had used to get him to agree to the marriage, so that needed to be a priority. ‘And we’ve only got a year before the divorce, so time is…’ She trailed off though when her friend laughed and she noticed the sparkle turning Isabelle’s green eyes to a bright emerald.
‘It’s okay, Mel,’ her friend murmured, the colour on her cheeks surprising Mel even more. Isabelle was a serious person—she always kept her emotions controlled because she’d had to, becoming Queen while still a child—but right now she looked… Well, not serious at all. ‘There’s not going to be a divorce,’ Isabelle said.
Mel simply stared back at her. ‘There’s… There’s not ? But… Why not?’ she managed, hopelessly confused now. ‘Wasn’t that the deal you made with Lord?’
Issy took Mel’s hands in hers and squeezed, then shook her head. ‘Not any more.’ The secretive smile that curved her lips grew until it brightened her whole face—and made her look happier than Mel had ever seen her, as if she were lit from within. ‘I’ve fallen hopelessly, completely in love with him, Mel.’ She laughed, the sound so full of joy it was almost a giggle. ‘And, unbelievably, Travis has fallen in love with me, too.’
‘Why is that unbelievable?’ Mel replied instinctively, because she had always been the Queen’s biggest ally, her greatest supporter, her closest friend… Although maybe she wasn’t that person any more. Was that Travis Lord now? After only a few weeks? Mel tried to force a smile to her lips and dismiss the panicked thought. Not to mention the jolt of panic at the thought of being replaced in Isabelle’s affections.
Isabelle deserved to be happy after dedicating so much of her life to her country and her people. And if her friend had genuinely found love with her fake husband, and if the man deserved her, that would be amazing. But what if Travis Lord wasn’t that man? What if he was simply exploiting Issy’s sweet nature and her inexperience with men? Wasn’t it Mel’s job to make sure?
‘You’re incredibly lovable, Issy. I’ve loved you ever since I met you,’ Mel said, wishing she could believe her friend’s revelation. ‘But are you sure? It seems awfully fast. You’ve only known him for a couple of weeks…’
She didn’t want to burst Isabelle’s bubble. But her own experience of hot, charismatic men was that you should never make the mistake of relying on them. Or being blind to their faults. And you certainly shouldn’t risk falling in love with them, because that would tend to make you do both.
Oddly, the thought reassured her. She couldn’t possibly have fallen in love with Rene because she was still very aware of his faults. Most notably, his ability to seduce her into thinking she was special to him, when she knew she wasn’t. And walking away without saying goodbye!
The sparkle remained in Issy’s eyes, though, even as her expression became astute and considering. ‘Actually, I got to know him during our stunt date and the months afterwards, while we were planning the wedding on different continents. We…’ she looked down at their joined hands, a sure sign she was nervous ‘…we were texting each other—a lot—during that time.’
‘Really? But why didn’t you tell me?’ Mel asked, then wanted to grab the words back. How needy did she sound? And how jealous and insecure.
But how could she help it, when she suddenly felt as if everything was changing too fast, and not for the better.
Isabelle shrugged, the blush brightening. ‘Honestly, I think I was embarrassed at how excited I was about those texts.’ The uncomplicated grin returned. ‘Perhaps I should have realised I was already falling in love with him.’ She chuckled. The light, effervescent sound was one Mel had never heard come out of her friend’s mouth—it was a giggle. Should she be charmed by it, though, or even more disturbed?
‘Travis called it sexting!’ Issy added. ‘Which might explain why, as soon as we were alone together on our wedding night, well…’ the blush deepened ‘…we discovered we had a lot of chemistry.’
‘Okay…’ Mel nodded. ‘That’s…exciting,’ she said carefully, trying to get a handle on this sudden change in her usually serious friend—and control the panic. Because these revelations signalled a fundamental change in their relationship, too. Isabelle had never kept secrets from her. But then, Mel thought miserably, she had kept several from Issy. Not just her night with Rene four years ago, but also what had really happened between them in the cabin.
‘Yes, it was, very exciting,’ Issy said with considerable fervour. ‘I had no idea I even had a sex drive. But listen…’ Her expression sobered. ‘I actually didn’t wake you to talk about me…and Travis.’ She sighed. ‘Even though he is one of my favourite topics. LOL.’
Whoa. What the heck?
Mel’s surprise was turning to astonishment. Had the Queen of Androvia just made a joke about her husband and said ‘LOL’ , like the teenager she had never been allowed to be?
Before Mel could process her astonishment, though, at this novel new playful side of her friend, the Queen squeezed her fingers again.
‘But seriously, that’s enough about me. We need to talk about you…’ Issy swallowed heavily, her gaze softening again ‘…and Rene,’ she continued. ‘Because a situation has arisen, and Travis and I think you should take a break for a couple of weeks in his house in Colorado until it all blows over.’
‘What…? What about me and Rene?’ Mel managed as guilt consumed her.
Did Issy know, somehow, about what they’d been doing in that cabin?
‘Mel, there are pictures,’ Issy said gently, her expression becoming pained but her tone losing none of the sympathy and concern.
‘What p-pictures?’ she whispered, the bottom dropping out of her stomach.
‘Of the two of you, together,’ Isabelle added carefully. ‘The morning you were both rescued.’
Mel yanked her hands free, panic and shame clawing at her throat.
The drone? Oh, God. No.
Her stomach twisted, and nausea rose up her throat.
She’d been naked, clearly having spent a torrid night in Rene’s bed. Good grief, she’d probably still had the sheen of afterglow in her eyes from the titanic orgasm he’d just given her. And the press had pictures …
She covered her mouth, scared she might throw up.
While it was doubtful that salacious photos of them would have a detrimental effect on Rene’s reputation, because he was a man, and a prince, and was already known as a playboy, it would be devastating for hers. But far worse—it would be devastating for Isabelle’s reputation, too. Mel was the Queen’s trusted adviser, a loyal member of her team, and she’d been caught in flagrante with the neighbouring Prince.
The press wouldn’t just shame her . A scandal of this magnitude would make a mockery of everything Isabelle had tried to achieve over the last fourteen years to prove herself a worthy and dignified Queen. It could even put in jeopardy the integrity of all the projects they had been working so hard towards in the last few years.
‘Issy, I’m so, so sorry. I’ve ruined everything,’ Mel began, not sure how she could make amends. ‘I should never have…’
‘Mel, don’t apologise. This is not your fault,’ Isabelle interrupted, her voice firm and determined, the tone a combination of the loyal friend and the regal Queen.
‘How can it not be my fault when I’m the one who slept with him?’ Mel cried, sickened now not just by her thoughtless, reckless behaviour but by the fact she had managed to trash everything—her reputation, and Isabelle’s and Androvia’s—and all the achievements she was most proud of in her life, for one night of pleasure.
But Isabelle simply grabbed her hands and held onto them, her gaze direct and devoid of judgement.
‘Listen to me, Mel. Don’t you dare blame yourself for the unconscionable behaviour of the person using that drone. They had no right to take intrusive photos of you two. And no right to sell them. And the press had no right to print them and post them online. Or to be camped outside the Palace now, but that’s what they do… And it’s what we have lawyers and security teams for.’
Mel’s heart sank into her imploding stomach, the shame overwhelming.
The photos were on the internet. Naked, explicit photos… And the press were outside the Palace.
She tugged her hands free and leapt up from the bed, frantic and feeling sicker by the second but aware of one thing. She had to minimise the Queen’s involvement in this catastrophe.
‘I need to leave. You and Travis are right. I should resign…to limit the damage…’ She crossed the room, flung open the doors of her armoire and pulled out a suitcase.
She would have to give up her job, the work she loved, and leave Androvia and the Palace, which had been the only real home she had known since she was ten. But all of that served her right for being a fool and bringing this mess to her best friend’s doorstep.
But as she began to frantically fill the suitcase, her mind whirred. What would she do? And where could she go?
Her mother had returned to London the night before, after she had been assured Mel was okay. She had a full schedule of catering jobs, several of which she had already had to cancel to come to Androvia, worried about her daughter, while said daughter had been busy indulging in an insane fling.
But as Mel hauled her clothes off the rail and threw them in the suitcase, Isabelle appeared by her side and took her arm again.
‘Mel, stop.’ The quiet command cut through Mel’s panic, enough to have the clothes sliding out of her fingers and falling to the floor. Her knees began to shake.
‘I refuse to accept your resignation,’ Issy said, ‘as you have done nothing wrong. And Travis and I are not suggesting you leave for good, just for a couple of weeks until this dies down and we can get the Crown’s lawyers working on getting the photos deleted and Travis and my PR teams have worked out a story you’re comfortable with to feed to the press,’ her friend continued. ‘This is your home and will always be your home.’ Isabelle grasped her other arm and gave her a gentle shake. ‘You’re my family, Mel. The only family I had for a very long time. And no way am I letting you deal with this mess alone.’ She gave a hefty sigh. ‘A mess which is absolutely and unequivocally not your fault.’
She tugged Mel towards her and wrapped her arms around her. ‘Do you understand?’ she whispered against her ear.
Mel shuddered as a wave of emotion welled up inside her, the panic and shame joined by the unbearable weight of gratitude and love.
‘But I’ve made such a mess of things,’ she offered, her voice shaking.
She didn’t deserve Isabelle’s support. But having it meant everything.
‘Do you understand me?’ Isabelle repeated, her voice softer but still firm, like the hug.
Mel nodded, tears stinging her eyes, the emotion jammed in her throat. She choked out the first sob, then couldn’t seem to stop as Isabelle held her and soothed, her voice calm and measured and reassuring.
The great gulping sobs were hopelessly self-indulgent and melodramatic, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Isabelle held her and comforted her until the storm finally passed.
Eventually, she managed to persuade Isabelle to leave her to get dressed, but only after she had promised to come to Isabelle’s study in the East Wing as soon as she was ready. Apparently, Travis Lord had already assembled a team of lawyers and hired a ‘crisis management’ guru to discuss next steps.
But as Mel showered and dressed the headache continued to pound at her temples, and the nausea lay like a sleeping dragon in the pit of her stomach.
Isabelle was wrong.
She had messed up. And while she wasn’t responsible for the behaviour of the press, this situation was her fault in many ways. She had been impossibly selfish and, worst of all, na?ve, thinking she could sleep with Rene and there would be no consequences. And she had also been dishonest. Isabelle trusted her and she had destroyed that trust. Because she hadn’t told Isabelle or her mother the truth when she had arrived the day before, and now she was dragging Isabelle and her new husband—not to mention the rest of the Palace staff and the Androvian monarchy—into this mess with her.
And why had it come to this? Because she had been determined to indulge some idiotic fantasy that she and Rene had more than chemistry?
An hour later, as she made her way to Isabelle’s study, dreading having to face her friend and her new husband—and all the other people who had no doubt seen those pictures too, and discuss ways to handle the fallout—her mind drifted to Rene.
The tears threatened again, because all she could see was the way he’d looked the last time she’d seen him—dishevelled and intense, naked and hot, with the beard, the scars and the healing wound on his arm making him dangerous and impossibly handsome and, for a fleeting moment, almost hers.
She swallowed the tears down ruthlessly.
You need to hold it together now and forget Rene for good. Because all your childish obsession with him has ever meant for you is trouble.
But as she walked into Isabelle’s study and saw the array of people assembled there, ready to stand by her and to help her out of this mess, all she really felt was even more alone.