Brief Encounters

Timeline 1 (Part 17)

I sat alone in my hotel room, the steady ticking of the clock the only sound breaking the stillness. Each passing minute brought me closer to seeing Jeanna. She'd flown in this morning, likely exhausted from the long journey and the relentless pace of her tour. I'd arranged for us to meet here, a private space far from the prying eyes of the press and the world's relentless gaze.

Jeanna always insisted the attention didn't bother her—that she'd grown used to it. But I knew better. The constant scrutiny, invasive questions, and loss of privacy would wear down anyone, no matter how composed they seemed. She faced it all with unshakable grace, but I couldn't help wondering: how long could she truly endure it? How long before the weight of it all became too much?

The thought tightened something in my chest. For every time I managed to shield her from the glare of cameras, there were ten other times I couldn't.

I opened my laptop, hoping to distract myself, but the headlines only sharpened my unease.

"Prince William and Jeanna Caught in Late-Night Rendezvous!"
"Caught! Prince William and Jeanna Share Intimate Night at Private Residence!"
"The Truth Behind William and Jeanna's Alleged Love Story!"

My jaw clenched as I scrolled through the articles. It wasn't just the sensationalism of the words—it was the photos. Images captured in places we'd chosen for their privacy, taken from angles that felt too deliberate, too knowing. These weren't random snapshots. Someone had tipped them off.

I studied the pictures closely, analyzing every detail—the framing, the timing, the vantage points. A nagging suspicion began to grow, unwelcome and persistent. Someone close to us must have known. The thought felt absurd, even paranoid, but I couldn't shake it.

Simon, my driver, came to mind first. He'd been with the family for years, solid and dependable. Then Patrick, my assistant, who knew the finer details of my schedule better than I did. And Paul, Jeanna's former assistant, who had recently left under sudden circumstances to pursue painting.

Coincidence, I told myself. It had to be. Perhaps I was overthinking it, searching for a reason when the truth was simpler: privacy was a luxury we no longer had. Still, the seed of doubt remained, stubborn and unyielding.

I shut the laptop and leaned back, rubbing my temples. The weight of scrutiny was familiar, a constant companion. But this wasn't just about me anymore—it was about Jeanna. She bore the brunt of the attention now, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I should be doing more to protect her.

A soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. Patrick stepped in, his tone professional as always. "Miss Jeanna is here, sir."

Relief washed over me, cutting through the tension in my chest. "Send her in," I replied, my voice softer now.

When Jeanna entered, it was as if the air in the room shifted. Her presence was a balm, soothing and grounding. She looked tired—her hair loosely tied back, her face free of makeup save for a hint of eyeliner—but still, she was stunning. She dropped her bag by the chair and walked toward me, her eyes lighting up when they met mine. Without a word, she stepped into my arms, and I held her close, letting the world outside this moment fade away.

"Hey," she murmured, her voice soft, her lips curling into a faint smile.

I stepped back, still holding onto her gaze. "Hey," I replied just as quietly.

She studied me for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You look serious. What's wrong?"

I hesitated, then shook my head. "Nothing's wrong," I said with a small smile. "I'm just happy you're here."

For a moment, the silence between us was easy, a reprieve from everything else. I led her to the couch, and we sat down side by side.

"How was the flight?" I asked.

"Long. Boring. Roe wouldn't stop humming show tunes, and the guy next to me looked like he wanted to strangle us both," she said with a soft laugh, sinking into the cushions.

Roe. His name slipped out so naturally, as it always did, and I felt a flicker of something I couldn't quite name—something uncomfortable. I reminded myself it was natural. They'd spent weeks together, performing, traveling, practically living in each other's pockets. Of course, his name would come up.

"I missed you," Jeanna said, her hand finding mine, her touch grounding me again.

I squeezed her hand gently, forcing myself to push aside the unease. "I missed you too. More than you know."

She began telling me stories from her tour—funny mishaps, highs and lows, and inside jokes with her castmates. Her eyes lit up as she spoke, her hands animated. I couldn't help but feel that familiar pull, the one that made me want to freeze time, to keep her here forever. But every mention of Roe sent another small flicker of unease through me, each one sharper than the last.

It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. I trusted Jeanna completely. But there was something about the way she talked about him—her laughter, the softness in her tone—that made me feel like an outsider looking in on a world I couldn't fully understand.

"You're quiet," she said suddenly, her eyes searching mine.

"Just listening," I replied with a small smile, though even I could hear the strain in my voice.

Her gaze lingered, perceptive as always. "William, talk to me. What's going on?"

I hesitated, but there was no hiding it from her. "It's Roe," I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended. "I'm not jealous, not really. But I see how close you two are, and... sometimes I wonder if he fits into your world better than I ever could."

Her expression softened, and she leaned forward, taking my hands in hers. "William," she said gently, her voice steady, "Roe is my best friend. He's been there for me through a lot, and yes, he understands a part of my life that you don't. But that doesn't mean he's more important to me. You're the one I think about when I wake up. You're the one I miss when I'm away. And you're the one I flew halfway across the world to see."

Her words settled over me like a balm, easing the tension I hadn't realized had wound so tight.

"You're my person," she continued, her gaze unwavering. "And if I ever make you feel like you're not, I'm sorry. But I need you to know, there's no one else I'd rather be with."

I swallowed hard, nodding as I pulled her into my arms. Her warmth, her scent—everything about her anchored me. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of peace.

"I'm sorry," I murmured against her hair.

"Don't be," she said softly. "Just don't ever doubt how much you mean to me."

We stayed like that for a long time, the ticking of the clock the only sound in the room, the world outside forgotten.