Chapter 9
Nine
“Okay! If I could have everyone’s attention for a few minutes, please!”
Lauren stood in a ballroom at the Marina Bay Sands Hotel in Singapore, her voice getting swallowed up by the loud din from
the gathered members of the press—including the royal reporters from back home, dozens of agency photographers, international
TV crews, and local media outlets.
“Excuse me!” she cried again.
Nothing.
To be fair, it had been a long day of travel, and an even longer twelve days of prep after the Queen signaled her approval.
Lauren now understood why it could take more than half a year to set up these sorts of visits, because she barely had time
to sleep or eat during the prep for Jasper’s additions to the itinerary, and her undereye bags and cranky demeanor to proved
it.
At least she had had the thirteen-hour flight to rest a little, and she had taken advantage of every single amenity offered to her by business class, including the free champagne, the Le Labo skincare pouch, and the silk pajamas.
At one point, James had popped up over their shared seat divider, but Lauren had pointed at her screen, then back at him, never taking her eyes off the screen.
“I’m watching Love Island,” she said, “and if anyone interrupts me, I will make sure their hotel room is next to the elevator.”
James had paused for a minute, then wisely descended back into his seat.
She glanced at her watch while standing behind the podium now, which had a seal on it from whatever business organization
had used it before her, which made her feel like a dictator.
A terrible dictator, because, unlike the foreign press who were also covering the trip, the British press pack still wasn’t
listening to her.
“As soon as we’re done here, we can all go to dinner!” she yelled.
That brought everyone to attention.
“Like I was saying,” she said, “both the Duke of Cumberland and Duke of Exeter landed safely earlier this evening. They are
both happy to be in Singapore and are looking forward to meeting the prime minister and his wife tomorrow ahead of the state
dinner at the Istana, the grand official residence of the president of Singapore,” Lauren continued. “You’ve all received
emails with the updated itinerary, which now includes the Duke of Exeter’s movements.”
“I didn’t get—” a lone familiar voice yelled from the back.
“Check your spam folder, Nathan. It’s been sent to all of you,” Lauren said. “The duke will also be making a solo visit to
the National Stadium to meet with a youth group founded by the Singapore football team, and the following day he will be making
a stop at Haji Lane to speak with local artists and store owners and learn more about some of the mental health initiatives
being activated in the area for students.”
There was a pause before another Brit voice shouted from the back, “So he’s going shopping?”
Lauren ignored them. “Also, I have an update on the travel schedule. The ground transportation for all UK media will be at eight thirty tomorrow morning at the Holiday Inn on Farrer Park Station Road—”
An audible groan rose up from half of the British reporters, specifically the half who were staying at the Novotel a few minutes
down the road from the Holiday Inn.
“—and if you’re late, then that’s a real bummer for you,” Lauren continued. “Does anyone have any questions?”
In the back, Oscar raised his hand. Lauren could see his slightly bedhead-y hair, his rumpled shirt, and wondered how much
he had been working lately. Their time together had been nonexistent ever since he virtually escorted her back to the cabin
at Balmoral, and Lauren found herself missing their conversations, missing him. London’s January weather had been absolute
shit, Lauren had been up to her eyeballs in plans and itineraries for Singapore, and Oscar had been chasing down a story.
Still, they’d texted, and Lauren found herself going back and reading through their conversations on nights when she couldn’t
sleep, smiling to herself in the darkness of her bedroom while listening to Una click-clack down the main staircase, on her
way out for another late night.
“Question for you,” Oscar had texted one night while Lauren doomscrolled on her phone and watched a reality show on Netflix
about matchmakers. “Are you so much happier now that you can eat proper British chocolate instead of American imposter chocolate?”
“You can pry my American chocolate out of my cold, dead hands,” she typed back.
“I will, and I’ll put Cadbury’s in them instead,” he replied.
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Dairy Milk. Mini Eggs. Cadbury’s Caramel. You’ll see.”
“That’s not chocolate, that’s a grocery list. Can’t text anymore, I’m eating a Hershey bar.”
“Hershey’s literally smells like vomit. Enjoy!”
It was stupid and silly, something to make up for the endless gray days and the latent gloom that always seemed to make the
long January month feel like a holiday hangover. Lauren felt like she always had to be on her toes with Oscar, which was exciting.
She wasn’t sure if it was because she technically shouldn’t be flirting with a member of the press pack or if it was just
the witty banter that made her constantly check her phone to see if he had responded, but either way, it was fun.
“Yes, Oscar?” she said, standing at the podium in Singapore.
“The itinerary isn’t in Nathan’s spam folder.” The slight smirk on his face told her that he was fucking with her, and Lauren
resisted the urge to throw the microphone at him. Or maybe just make out with him again.
“Then please tell him to get someone else to forward their copy. Like, perhaps you, Oscar. This isn’t exactly encrypted information,
you can all share with one another. Now, does anyone have any actual questions that only I can answer?”
There was a murmur of assent through the group, which Lauren took as a no. “Great,” she said. “So tomorrow, bright and early,
you’ll be at the . . . ?”
“Holiday Inn,” everyone responded dutifully.
“Wonderful,” she said. “Except I won’t be there for the first engagement, I’ll be traveling with Their Highnesses. Harriet
and one of our friends from the British embassy will, however, be on hand.”
There was a smattering of boos, but Lauren just grinned. Not having to start the day on a packed coach bus with the entire press corps was one of the few perks of this visit, and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.
The next day, as Lauren was leaving her hotel room, she stopped to look at herself in the mirror and was surprised that she
couldn’t remember the last time she had really studied her own reflection. Probably because she didn’t have her own bathroom,
she realized with a laugh. The navy blue dress she wore fit well, ready to hide any sweat marks from the intense humidity
outside, and the overpriced high-tech hair dryer she had borrowed from Brooke right before discovering that she had been sleeping
with Brian was the only thing she had kept from that now-dead friendship, and with good reason: Her hair looked fantastic.
She stepped into nude heels before packing up her bag and laptop, and as she was about to open the door, her phone pinged
once, twice, three times.
Lauren half expected a series of texts from her mom, but instead it was Norman, the Duke of Cumberland’s private secretary,
who was also assisting Jasper on this trip. “His Highness wishes to see you,” it read.
“D.O.C. or D.O.E.?” Lauren murmured as she typed.
“Exeter,” he replied.
“On my way,” she texted. The dukes were staying in the premier suites at the highest end of the hotel, which each had their
own “entertainment den,” linens that cost more than her yearly rent, and expansive views of the Gardens by the Bay.
She gave herself one more glance in the mirror before heading out and up to the fifty-fourth floor, where security immediately greeted her as soon as the doors slid open. “Oh,” one of the royal protection officers said. “It’s only you.”
Lauren’s eyes widened. “Well, sorry to disappoint, Dan,” she said, just as Norman came jogging down the hallway. She had never
seen him jog anywhere, ever, and Lauren’s sense of alarm went up by a degree.
“Oh good,” Norman huffed. “You’re here.”
“Is everything okay?” Lauren asked, hurrying down the hall after him, her brain racing ahead to think of all the things that
could go wrong, all the reasons that the duke could possibly—
“D.O.E. is extremely nervous about the day,” he whispered as he tapped his key card against the door handle and they stepped
into the suite. “I thought you might be able to reassure him.”
Lauren opened her mouth to ask another question, but then she was in the room with Jasper, who was standing by the window
in his dark gray linen suit, pocket square tucked perfectly into his pocket, not a hair out of place, his profile illuminated
against the entire city of Singapore.
He looked, Lauren thought for a minute, almost too handsome to be real.
And then he turned, and she saw his anxious face.
“Uh-oh,” she said without thinking.
“Something like that,” he replied with a nervous laugh. “I just . . . I wanted to go over my movements one more time, if that’s
all right.”
“Of course,” Lauren said, even though it was very clear from the worn pieces of paper in his hand that he had gone over them
more than she had.
“I just . . .” He laughed again, then shook out his sleeves. “I have to admit something sort of embarrassing.”
Lauren, who had maybe read more than her fair share of tabloid magazines while getting pedicures, braced herself for the worst.
“I’m not . . . I don’t . . . My wife, my ex-wife, she was the voice of the operation, so to speak. I’m really not used to
having all eyes on me and—”
“—and now you’re the man of the moment about to attend two engagements and then a state dinner with a hundred reporters and
photographers and TV cameras capturing your every move?” Lauren finished for him. She understood how big a deal this trip