What happens when a princess meets a popstar? Well, besides lies, deceit, and a media frenzy for the ages--maybe true love.
Strangers to each other, but not to the world. After a night-and early morning-of mysterious bliss, Bernie and Harry separat...
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From: Harry <hes1@ gmail.com> To: Honey Bee <bernadette.pw@ ubc.van.edu> Date: 05 July 2018 Subject: I've been thinkin' 'bout you
Honey Bee,
Do you think about me, still?
I should have cancelled my flight and stayed in bed with you all day. 10 hours in the air, still smelling you on my skin, feeling you in my bones...it's torture. All I want is to have you on me again. Tell me, when can I see you? Come back to London, and fall right into my arms. I'm restless without you.
H.
*~~~~~~*
Bernie cradled her phone in her hand, tapping the screen every so often so it didn't dim on Harry's email. She cherished it. Harry gave her such a warm, fuzzy feeling in her belly, it was good to know he was feeling something too. Maybe they actually had a chance...
She dismissed the thought immediately. Of course they didn't have a chance. Harry sent the email before their tryst on the balcony was plastered over every tabloid in England. Try as though Grandfather had, he hadn't been able to purchase all of the photos. Meesh had called with the news before Bernie and her siblings boarded the private plane that would bring them back to London. Evidently, when the photographer was offered an absurdly large sum from the royal Press Secretary, he laughed in her face and said he'd rather publish all the photos for free than let them bury the scandal. Clearly Grandfather wouldn't stand for that, and a deal was made to sell the raunchiest photos—i.e. the ones where Bernie's knickers were around her ankles and her tits were on full display as Harry buried his head between them—to the palace while the one remaining was the photographer's to do with as he wished. So obviously he sold it to the highest bidder, and Bernie kissing Harry was on the front of every paper.
Or so she heard. Bernie couldn't stomach actually looking at the photo or reading any of the inevitable articles. Just like she couldn't stomach replying to Harry's email. Had he seen the headlines yet? Had his family and friends told him he'd been caught romancing the most controversial royal since Mary, Queen of Scots?
It hadn't been hard for Bernie to keep her word to her mother and not cause trouble; she spent the last two days in bed lamenting what could have been. Yes, eventually she would have to tell Harry who she was, and he most definitely would have cut things off because no one in their right mind would get involved in aristocratic bullshit if they didn't have to. But Bernie thought, perhaps naively, she could prolong the inevitable by a date or two and savor Harry's company.
Not to mention, Bernie was still impossibly cross with Eddie for sleeping with Stella and wasn't very interested in socializing.
"Jane," Bernie sighed, shifting in her seat and stowing her phone to talk to her Head of Security. Jane looked up from her copy of Vogue. "Can you ask the pilot to divert? Take us to Paris or Amsterdam or literally anywhere besides London?"
