The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(77)

“Goodbye, Dolly.” I watch her leave and notice the only things left littering the spick and span kitchen is my wine and the dish of olives. Oh, and me.

“I should be going now, too.” Olive follows Dolly, and I smile as much as I can muster. She stops at the door, holding it open. “Forgive me, ma’am. I realize it isn’t my place to ask, but are you okay?”

My smile now is genuine. She is the sweetest thing. “Never apologize for being concerned for someone, Olive,” I gently scold her. “I’m fine.” My reassurance isn’t fooling anyone. “Just silly family politics.”

She nods, thoughtful for a few moments before she speaks again. “I would like you to know I admire you greatly. I think you’re very brave for standing up for what you believe in.”

If it would be appropriate, I would cuddle her, even if she is wrong. I am not brave at all. I’m a coward. If I were brave, I’d say to hell with it, step out with Josh, and let the world see. Let my father see; let the whole wretched family see. But I’m terrified of the consequences. Of losing Josh. No more floating on air. No more losing myself in him. My father and his army of advisors will make sure of it. They’ll also ruin him. I can’t let that happen. I offer her a small smile, hoping to reassure her. I don’t know if I succeed. “I believe in letting your heart guide you. But my heart is caged, and will only be released under conditions.”

“Then I hope he breaks it free for you.” She quietly goes, and I stare at the empty doorway for a long while after she’s gone. Sweet Olive is smarter than she lets on.

I turn back to my wine, losing myself in my thoughts. Tears pinch the back of my eyes. Maddeningly, I feel like I’m letting myself down by sitting here being all melancholy. But frankly, each time I tackle this institution with an argument, I feel wiped out. Despondent. Maybe I even question the whole bloody point. I will never win. Maybe a battle, but never the war.

I startle a little when my phone starts vibrating, and my heart jumps when I see it is Josh. And then I’m frowning, because isn’t he supposed to be at his premiere this evening? “Hello?”

“Hey, my girl.”

My bouncing heart mellows at the sound of his voice, everything in my world balanced and perfect again. “Hey, my American boy.” I rest my elbow on the marble of the island and prop my chin on my hand, all dreamy and content. “Correct me if I am wrong, but aren’t you supposed to be somewhere special this evening?”

“Yes, I am. Are you near a TV?”

“No, I’m in the kitchen. Why do you ask?”

“Find one and turn it on. Be quick. I look like a jerk standing here on my cell.”

Utterly intrigued, I swipe up my wine and rush to the nearest lounge. I find the remote control and quickly turn on the television.

“You found a TV in that palace of yours yet?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Put E! News on.”

I fumble with the button and eventually source the channel. “Oh, it’s you,” I sing when Josh comes on the screen, not directly as such, but there in the background on the red carpet outside the Odeon on Leicester Square, surrounded by his people. He’s talking on his mobile. To me. “Is it live?” I ask, lowering to the table between the sofa and the television.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He gives the camera the peace sign, and I laugh.

“Two.”

“Affirmative.” He smiles brightly as the presenter, a glamourous woman in a killer red dress, talks and constantly looks back to Josh, maybe to see if he’s finished on his call so she can collar him for a few questions.

“You look very handsome,” I say, drinking in the pure exquisiteness of him in his tux, his hair a stark contrast to the sexed-up mess I left this morning.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he says as someone appears by his side and whispers in his ear. I don’t hear her down the line, because his hand is covering the phone. He nods to her, holding up one finger.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“My publicist. I’m wanted by the networks lining the carpet.”

“I think that woman in the red dress is waiting to snare you, too,” I say, seeing her look back again, telling the viewers she will be talking with Josh Jameson any moment. I envy her.

“I know. Better go. Wish you were here.”

“That may be so, but I would bet the crown jewels on the fact that every woman in the world is glad I am not.”

He laughs, and I get the full pleasure of the sound down the line and the sight on my huge television screen. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Hanging up, I watch as the presenter moves in and Josh accommodates her, his publicist keeping a few meters distance.

“And we have the man of the hour, Josh Jameson, people,” the presenter gushes, smiling a toothy, red-lipped smile. “You look radiant.”

Radiant? I roll my eyes. Women look radiant. Not men. “Thanks.” Josh finds that statement rather odd too, judging by his half-smile half-frown.

“Anything to do with the lady on the end of the line?” She purses her lips and shoves the mic under Josh’s nose.

“Sorry about that.” He thumbs over his shoulder. “One of the frat boys from college put an emergency call in. He wants me to get your number for him.”