30. Willa #2
As players within the movie industry, we're instructed to court the media, whether it’s a well-known newspaper or a flashy online tabloid. As the saying goes, there's no such thing as bad press .
Conversely, the monarchy has their media coverage on lockdown. Though Alex and Nick have loosened the restrictions, it’s still highly regulated.
Nick once likened being a member of the royal family to being a zoo attraction, housed inside a glass enclosure for people to look at and point to, but never sharing any genuine interactions with them.
After only one public outing, I can understand why Nick feels that way.
Yet, I also feel bad for the citizens who came out to see Nick.
Would it really be so terrible if I smiled at them or said a quick hello?
The photographers’ yelling gets louder and more desperate the closer Nick and I get to the shelter of our SUV.
"Willa, is it true the prince proposed?"
"You don't believe he'll settle down, do you?"
"Are you being forced to give up your acting career?"
Despite the melee, I hear a softer, kinder voice holler, "Willa, love! Smile, please."
I'm unsure why I acquiesce—maybe it's the candor in his voice or the polite way in which he asked—but I heed that paparazzo's instruction.
I break protocol, turning toward the voice to see a grandfatherly looking man aiming a battered black camera in my direction.
I smile briefly, looking directly into his lens.
As I do, the whirring and clicking of camera flashes accelerates with the intensity of a thousand suns .
Nick leans down, murmuring in my ear, "Darling, don't give these vultures anything." With his hand on the small of my back, he propels me forward.
Luther jumps from the Range Rover and opens the door to the backseat, hustling Nick and me inside. Once he slams the door behind us, the clamor fades. I sink back into the dark-colored leather and sigh, happy to have that behind us.
Turning my head, I send Nick a questioning smile, “I know your mother is against increasing the media’s access to the monarchy, but I thought you were in favor of it.”
“I am.” He leans closer. “However, that does not extend to the paparazzi. Reputable journalists, yes. Rabid paparazzi, no.”
“That makes sense.” Placing my hand over my chest, I remark, "Well, that run to the car certainly got my heartrate up."
"I can think of a much better way to increase your heartrate, my darling."
"It's only been a week…" I whisper, reminding Nick.
With Alex's help, we were able to get my operative hysteroscopy scheduled while we were still staying at Bainbridge Castle.
It took place in the middle of the night, and I was released from the hospital by daybreak, so the press never caught wind of it, luckily.
According to my surgeon, the procedure went well, but he told me to refrain from sexual intercourse for two weeks.
"It has," Nick agrees with a devilish gleam in his eyes. "But there's a lot of other things we can do other than straight sex."
A smile curls my lips. "You did skip dessert."
The next morning, our peace and quiet gives way to raised voices and Bruno's barking. Alarmed, I sit up in Nick's bed, pulling the bedcovers up and pressing them tightly against my naked body.
A moment later, the outer door to Nick's palace apartment opens, slamming loudly against the wall, and I hear someone striding through the outer rooms toward the bedroom.
Do I have enough time to run into the bathroom to hide?
I eye the distance from the bed to the bathroom and immediately discard that idea. Even if I managed to make it into the bathroom, it wouldn’t solve my nakedness problem. All of my clothes are in Nick's closet or scattered around the floor of the apartment.
Oh, God , I groan to myself. The outfit I wore on our dinner date last night is strewn across the living room, since that's where Nick seduced me, claiming he couldn't wait another second to have his way with me.
Which means that whoever is storming through Nick's palace apartment will know exactly what we were up to last night.
Please be Alex or Ellie visiting. Please don't be Nick's—
"Mother," Nick grumbles, his voice rough from sleep. "We've talked about this. You aren't to stroll into my private quarters without an invitation."
Queen Beatrice stands at the foot of Nick's bed, with an apologetic Johann bringing up the rear. An unapologetic Bruno sits at Johann’s feet, wagging his tail hard enough that his whole body wiggles.
Now, while I'm trapped naked in the bed, is not the time for Bruno to break free and jump on me.
Johann must also sense that it's a distinct possibility, because he grabs ahold of Bruno’s collar.
"Sorry, Your Highness—" Johann begins to explain.
Nick waves his hand. "I understand what a bulldozer my mother can be, Johann. No need to apologize for her brazen impropriety."
Johann bows his head and retreats quickly from the room, pulling a whining Bruno with him.
Meanwhile, the queen’s eyes dart between Nick and me, her lips thinning into a frown. She slaps down a stack of newspapers onto the bed. "This is unacceptable, Nicholai."
Nick sits up and stretches his arms overhead, drawing out his movements to further annoy his mum. The queen crosses her arms with a huff and taps her foot agitatedly. If I weren't stranded in bed next to him, I'd find it funny that Nick knows exactly how to push her buttons.
Finally, he reaches lazily for the paper on the top of the stack and tilts it so that I can see it too. “You look radiant.”
I glance at the photo of myself. It must have been from the moment I turned toward the elderly paparazzo because I’m looking directly into the camera, smiling broadly.
Queen Beatrice tsks loudly.
Ignoring her rebuke, Nick reads the headline aloud. "Playboy prince settling down with Hollywood sweetheart Willa Radford." Glancing at his mother with a dubious expression, he drawls, "And…"
"Keep reading."
This time Nick skims the article without reading it aloud. Curious, I sidle to his side, reading over his shoulder. The article rehashes our date last night, accompanied by photos and a few quotes from other diners. It also includes a brief history of my personal life and my acting career.
Chewing the corner of my lip thoughtfully, I reread it again. What's so bad about this? There isn't anything negative in the article. It’s glowingly upbeat.
Nick tosses the paper down and grabs another.
This time, he reads the occasional line aloud.
"Monarchies operate under complicated behavioral codes and traditions, most of which were established centuries ago.
Last night, Willa managed the impossible, achieving a delicate balance of observing the rules, while simultaneously, coming across as natural and completely accessible.
" Nick tosses that newspaper aside and reaches for another.
"This is yet another welcome sign of the modernization of the monarchy that we see Prince Nicholai dating a woman who does not belong to the aristocracy. "
A few moments later, he reads, “Ms. Radford’s charm and warmth bring a lightness needed in the stiff, cold world of the aristocracy, and she seems a perfect match for Prince Nicholai.”
With every positive quote that Nick repeats, the queen grows more indignant.
Frustrated, Nick flings the last paper down and spreads his hands apart. "And? This onslaught of press coverage is to be expected. What is the problem, Mother?"
"Nearly every article focuses on her !" the queen sneers. "This dalliance is supposed to clean up your reputation, Nicholai, and repair the monarchy in the eyes of our citizens, not elevate her status."
A loud laugh escapes Nick's lips. "You aren't serious, are you?
" he pauses, taking in his mother's expression, then laughs again.
"My God, you are. You're angry because the media has nice things to say about Willa.
" Nick pushes his hair off his forehead and shakes his head.
"You're unbelievable, Mother. You set this whole thing into motion and now you're angry with how well it's working. "
When his mother remains silent, Nick surmises, "Are you worried the media will embrace Willa’s role in my life? Quite possibly, they’ll even come to love her more than they like you, Queen Bee. Are you concerned that Willa's favorability ratings will eclipse yours?"
Queen Beatrice ignores Nick's accusations and flings my dress onto the bed.
"Get dressed and leave," she commands coldly, which are the first words she's spoken to me this morning.
"And wipe that smug smile off your face.
It won't be long before the press turns against you. The pendulum swings both ways."
Nick jumps up from the bed—luckily, he’s wearing his boxers—and storms toward his mum. "Do not ever speak to Willa that way again, Mother. It's you who needs to leave," he thunders, pointing to the door.
Nick's ire doesn't seem to affect the imperturbable queen. "It is inappropriate to have her openly sharing your bed, Nicholai. Now that the media knows of your affair, she needs to move to one of the cottages on palace grounds. Today." With those words, she spins and marches out.
The silence left in her wake is suffocating. Every single interaction I have with the queen is worse than the one before it. She needs me, but she hates me.
"All good things must come to an end," I whisper.
"Fuck that," Nick murmurs, sliding back into bed with me. He kisses my temple and pulls me into his arms. "If you're moving out, then I'm moving with you."