Chap­ter 38: Brid­get

I WAS A MESS OF NERVES FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK. I TRIED TO HIDE IT, but every­one noticed—Rhys, Mikaela, my fam­i­ly. I blamed it on stress, but I wasn’t sure any­one believed me.

I didn’t tell any­one about the video. Not yet. The sender hadn’t con­tact­ed me since, and my replies to their email all bounced. I con­vinced Niko­lai and Sabrina’s secu­ri­ty team to sweep their house for bugs as a “pre­ven­ta­tive mea­sure,” but they didn’t find any­thing, not even in the library.

It should’ve made me feel bet­ter, but it only put me more on edge. Who­ev­er the sender was, they could move in and out of one of the city’s most high­ly guard­ed build­ings with­out being detect­ed, and that wasn’t good. At all.

My top sus­pect was Andreas, but he wasn’t the type to hold back. If he had a damn­ing video of me and Rhys, he would hold it over my head. Taunt me with it. Prob­a­bly black­mail me. He wouldn’t send it once and not fol­low up again for almost a week.

He’d looked for me at the reception—I still didn’t know what for, as I hadn’t seen him since the wed­ding and he hadn’t con­tact­ed me—but that was while Rhys and I were in the library.

If it wasn’t Andreas, who could it be? And when would the oth­er shoe drop?

Because there was anoth­er shoe. I was sure of it.

“Something’s both­er­ing you,” Rhys said on our way back to the palace from a char­i­ty shop rib­bon-cut­ting cer­e­mo­ny. “Don’t tell me it’s stress. It’s not.”

I mus­tered a weak smile. “You think you know every­thing.”

I should tell Rhys. He’d know what to do. But a small, stu­pid, self­ish part of me was afraid of what telling him would do to us. If he found out some­one knew about us, would he with­draw and break things off?

If I didn’t tell him, though, the video could blow up in our faces, and I’d lose him any­way.

My head ached with inde­ci­sion.

“I know every­thing about you.” Rhys’s words rolled over me, deep and con­fi­dent.

Just tell him. Get it over with like rip­ping off a Band-Aid. Oth­er­wise, the secret would hang over my head for God knew how long, like a guil­lo­tine wait­ing to strike.

Before I could broach the sub­ject, how­ev­er, the car stopped. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts I hadn’t real­ized we were head­ing away from the palace instead of toward it.

Rhys had parked on the side of the road, next to a for­est on the out­skirts of Athen­berg. I’d camped there once with Niko­lai in high school—under strict super­vi­sion, of course—but I hadn’t been back since.

“Trust me,” he said when he noticed my con­fu­sion, which only increased as he led me through the for­est. A clear trail snaked between the trees, so oth­er peo­ple must’ve tak­en the short­cut, even though the for­est had a main entrance with a gift shop and park­ing lot.

“Where are we going?” I whis­pered, not want­i­ng to break the rev­er­ent hush blan­ket­ing the trees.

“You’ll see.”

Cryp­tic as always.

I sighed, equal­ly annoyed and intrigued.

Part of me want­ed to tell him about the video now, but I couldn’t very well ruin the mood before I saw the sur­prise, could I?

Excus­es, excus­es, my con­science whis­pered.

I ignored it.

When we arrived at our des­ti­na­tion, though, I couldn’t hold back a small gasp. “Rhys…”

We stood in a clear­ing, emp­ty of every­thing except for a large, beau­ti­ful gaze­bo. I didn’t even know the for­est had a gaze­bo.

My heart pinched at the clear call­back to our first time togeth­er.

“If we get caught, pull rank.” Rhys held out his hand. I took it and fol­lowed him inside the wood­en struc­ture. “We’re pret­ty far from the main trail though, so we should be fine.”

“How did you find this place? You’re like the Gaze­bo Whis­per­er.”

He laughed. “I planned on hik­ing here some­time and stud­ied the trail maps. The gaze­bo isn’t a secret. Most peo­ple are just too lazy to come all the way out here.”

“Why…” I trailed off again when he fid­dled with some­thing on his phone and soft music filled the air.

“We nev­er got to dance at the wed­ding,” he said sim­ply.

“You don’t like it when I dance,” I half-joked, try­ing to hide the emo­tion welling in my chest. What hap­pened in the library dur­ing Nikolai’s recep­tion would for­ev­er be etched in my mind.

“I love it when you dance. But only with me.” He placed his free hand on the small of my back.

“You don’t dance.”

“Only with you.”

The burn inten­si­fied. “Care­ful, Mr. Larsen, or I’ll think you actu­al­ly like me.”

His mouth curled into a grin. “Baby, we’re way beyond like.”

The but­ter­flies in my stom­ach explod­ed, and a sweet, gold­en warmth filled my veins.

For the first time in days, I smiled.

I stepped into Rhys’s embrace, and we swayed to the music while I buried my face in his chest and inhaled his clean, com­fort­ing scent.

Our dances would always be ours. Secret, private…forbidden. Part of me cher­ished the moments that belonged to us alone, but part of me wished we didn’t have to hide. We weren’t a dirty secret. We were the most beau­ti­ful thing in my life, and I want­ed to share it with the world the way all beau­ti­ful things deserved to be shared.

“Where’d you go, princess?” He skimmed his knuck­les down my back, and I smiled through the ache in my heart.

He knew me so well.

“I’m right here.” I tilt­ed my face up and kissed him. We took it slow and sweet, explor­ing each oth­er with the leisure of peo­ple who had all the time in the world.

Except we didn’t.

The kiss, the music, the gazebo…it was the per­fect moment. But, like all moments, it couldn’t last.

Even­tu­al­ly, it would end, and so would we.

“BRIDGET, WAKE UP!”

The next morn­ing, loud pound­ing roused me from my sleep.

I groaned, my body resist­ing move­ment even as my heart invol­un­tar­i­ly gal­loped at the sheer pan­ic in Mikaela’s voice.

“Brid­get!” More pound­ing.

“One moment!” I forced myself out of bed and threw on a dress­ing gown before I opened the door, tak­ing in Mikaela’s wide eyes and ner­vous expres­sion. Her skin was paler than usu­al, mak­ing her freck­les stand out like a dark con­stel­la­tion across her nose and cheeks.

She lived only a few min­utes from the palace, but she wouldn’t be here so ear­ly unless it was an emer­gency.

“What is it?”

Was it the video?

My stom­ach lurched. God, I should’ve told Rhys yes­ter­day, but I hadn’t want­ed to destroy our time at the gaze­bo, and then…then… Oh, who was I kid­ding? I had plen­ty of time to tell him after­ward. I’d just chick­ened out like a cow­ard, and now, the chick­ens were com­ing home to roost.

Breathe. Stay calm. You don’t know what’s actu­al­ly hap­pen­ing yet.

“It’s…” Mikaela hes­i­tat­ed. “Bridge, turn on The Dai­ly Tea.”

The Dai­ly Tea was a celebri­ty news and enter­tain­ment media com­pa­ny that includ­ed the country’s most-read mag­a­zine and one of its most-watched tele­vi­sion sta­tions. Some con­sid­ered it trashy, but it had a huge audi­ence.

Mikaela fol­lowed me to the sit­ting room, where I picked up the remote with shaky hands and turned on the TV.

“…reports Princess Brid­get is in a rela­tion­ship with her body­guard, an Amer­i­can con­trac­tor named Rhys Larsen.” The Dai­ly Tea host’s voice trem­bled with excite­ment. “Larsen has been by her side since her senior year at the pres­ti­gious Thay­er Uni­ver­si­ty in the U.S., and sus­pi­cions about their rela­tion­ship have abound­ed for years…”

For years? That was, for lack of bet­ter words, utter bull crap. Rhys and I hadn’t even liked each oth­er years ago.

I watched, dis­be­lief sear­ing through me, as can­did pic­tures of us flashed on-screen with the host’s voiceover com­men­tary. Us walk­ing down the street with Rhys’s hand on my low­er back—to steer me around a pud­dle when I wasn’t look­ing, if I remem­bered cor­rect­ly. Rhys help­ing me out of the car at a char­i­ty gala while our eyes locked onto each oth­er. Me stand­ing a lit­tle too close to him at an out­door event a few months ago, but only because it was freez­ing and I need­ed the body warmth.

All inno­cent moments that, framed in a cer­tain way and cap­tured at a cer­tain sec­ond, made them look like more than they were.

Then the more damn­ing pho­tos sur­faced. Rhys glar­ing at Stef­fan dur­ing our ice-skat­ing date, look­ing for all the world like a jeal­ous boyfriend. Him press­ing me against the car in the park­ing lot of the Roy­al Botan­ic Gar­dens. Us leav­ing the hotel where we’d spent that one glo­ri­ous after­noon, our heads bent close togeth­er.

How the hell had some­one cap­tured those pic­tures? Oth­er than the ice rink, we hadn’t spot­ted any paparazzi fol­low­ing us. Then again, we’d been distracted—horribly so.

On the bright side, there was no men­tion of the sex tape. If The Dai­ly Tea had got­ten their hands on it, it would be the only thing they talked about.

“Is this true?” Mikaela asked, her eyes huge. “Tell me it’s not true.”

“They’re just pic­tures,” I deflect­ed.

I breathed a lit­tle eas­i­er. Only a lit­tle, because it was still a huge mess, but it was fix­able. They didn’t have the video. “We can—”

“BRIDGET!”

Mikaela and I exchanged wide-eyed glances as my grandfather’s bel­low thun­dered down the hall.

Uh-oh.

AN HOUR LATER, I SAT IN MY GRANDFATHER’S OFFICE WITH ELIN, Markus, and Niko­lai, who’d insist­ed on join­ing the emer­gency meet­ing. Mikaela had been polite­ly but firm­ly dis­missed. I wasn’t sure where Rhys was, but it would only be a mat­ter of time before he was roped into the con­ver­sa­tion.

“Your High­ness, you must tell us the truth. It’s the only way we can help you fix this.” When­ev­er Elin was pissed, her left eye would twitch, and right now, it was twitch­ing hard enough to pop a blood ves­sel. “Is there any truth to the alle­ga­tions?”

I’d reached a fork in the road.

I could either lie and drag out the cha­rade, or I could tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may.

If I did the lat­ter, Rhys would be fired, but he was prob­a­bly already on the chop­ping block whether or not the alle­ga­tions were true. He was too high pro­file now, and peo­ple would gos­sip regard­less. The palace couldn’t afford that kind of dis­trac­tion.

But if I lied, I could at least buy us some time. Not a lot, but some, and that was bet­ter than noth­ing.

“Bridge, you can trust us,” Niko­lai said gen­tly. “We’re here to help you.”

Not real­ly, I want­ed to say. You’re here to help the crown and its rep­u­ta­tion.

Per­haps that was unfair, but it was true to vary­ing extents. They didn’t care about me, Brid­get. They cared about the princess, the crown, and our image.

My grand­fa­ther and broth­er loved me, but when it came down to it, they would choose what was good for the roy­al fam­i­ly as an insti­tu­tion over what was good for me.

I didn’t fault them for it. It was what they had to do, but it meant I couldn’t trust them with my best inter­ests.

The only per­son who had ever seen me and put me first was Rhys.

I looked around the room. There was my grand­fa­ther, whose expres­sion remained neu­tral even as anger and wor­ry flick­ered in his eyes. Markus, tight-faced and tight-lipped, who was no doubt fan­ta­siz­ing about wring­ing my neck. Elin, who for once wasn’t look­ing at her phone but was instead star­ing at me with bat­ed breath. And final­ly, Niko­lai, by far the most sym­pa­thet­ic of the bunch, though wari­ness creased his brow.

Then I thought about Rhys. His rough hands and rough voice, and the way he held me. Kissed me. Looked at me, like he nev­er want­ed to blink.

Baby, we’re way beyond like.

I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and took a fork in the road.

“The alle­ga­tions are true,” I said. “All of them.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath all around. Markus pinched his tem­ple while Elin flew into action, her fin­gers mov­ing over her phone fast enough to start a Cat­e­go­ry Four hur­ri­cane.

Dis­ap­point­ment carved deep grooves into Edvard’s face. “Mr. Larsen’s employ­ment is ter­mi­nat­ed, effec­tive imme­di­ate­ly,” he said, his tone sharp­er than I’d ever heard it. “You will end the rela­tion­ship and nev­er see or speak to him again.”

He spoke not as my grand­fa­ther, but as my king.

My nails dug into my thighs. “No.”

Anoth­er sharp intake of breath from every­one present.

Edvard straight­ened, the remain­ing neu­tral­i­ty in his face giv­ing way to anger. I’d nev­er dis­obeyed him, not when it came to the big things. I loved and respect­ed him, and I hat­ed dis­ap­point­ing him. But I was sick and tired of oth­er peo­ple dic­tat­ing how I should live and who I should be with. While I would nev­er have the free­dom of a nor­mal per­son, one who hadn’t been born into this life, I had to draw the line some­where. How was I sup­posed to rule a coun­try if I couldn’t even rule my own life?

“I can’t stop you from fir­ing Rhys,” I said. “But I’m not end­ing my rela­tion­ship with him.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” It was the first time I’d ever heard Markus curse. “Your High­ness, he is—was—your body­guard. He is a com­mon­er. You are first in line to the throne, and the law dic­tates—”

“I know what the law dic­tates. I have a plan.”

Well, half a plan, but if I round­ed up, it was a full plan. I knew what I need­ed to do, I just need­ed to fig­ure out how to do it. There were a hand­ful of min­is­ters I was cer­tain would sup­port a repeal of the Roy­al Mar­riages Law, but the oth­ers need­ed over­whelm­ing pub­lic sup­port for polit­i­cal cov­er.

How­ev­er, if I brought up the issue now, with the alle­ga­tions float­ing around, I might as well wave a sign scream­ing It’s true! I’m in a rela­tion­ship with my body­guard!

Edvard’s face red­dened while Markus glared at me.