The Prince's Secret (Prince Harry Fanfic)

Part 48 - Paper Chase

Samantha

From experience, I knew if I wanted to get into the walk-in clinic in a reasonable time I needed to show up when they opened. As wonderful as it would be to sleep until noon, I set my alarm and forced myself out of bed at 7am.

I debated on whether or not I really needed to go to the clinic, but the reflection in the mirror made up my mind. The scratches were healing just fine, but my nose was several shades of purple and pretty tender and my left wrist was hurting as well. Putting my hair up into a ponytail was both painful and difficult, so I knew I'd better go get it checked out.

Luckily the clinic was only a few blocks away. It was cold enough that I could get away with a knitted cap pulled low and a scarf wrapped around my face to hide most of the damage. I was proud of my hunting experience, but I knew that many people were rabidly against any form of hunting, even when it no longer involved foxes, and I didn't really want to have to explain myself and answer "What happened to you?" fifty times on the way to the clinic.

There were only a few people in front of me at the clinic and I kept to myself, still bundled up, hoping I would not catch anything nasty from all the people who were coughing and sneezing. I had just gotten into the exam room when I felt my phone ringing, but I ignored it.

"Wow! What happened to you?" the doctor asked as I unwound my scarf.

"I fell off a horse," I said. "We were galloping along and suddenly there was a tree in the way."

"Looks like the tree won that battle," the doctor said, looking into my pupils and all that to see if I had a concussion. "Too bad you weren't out hunting—you might have gotten picked up by a prince."

"Excuse me?" I said, pretty sure I hadn't heard him right.

"Oh, the photos are all over the papers, you know," he said carelessly. "Prince Harry was out hunting and some woman took a tumble off her horse and he helped her up. Imagine that, eh? Blam, you fall off your horse and there's a prince to help you to your feet!"

I tried to laugh as my phone vibrated again. "Yeah, that would pretty wild, wouldn't it?" I said, itching to pull my phone out and text Harry.

The doc announced that I did not have a concussion and my nose was not broken. I did have a slight sprain and he gave me a brace for my wrist and a couple of prescriptions. "Better luck next time!" he said, and I wasn't sure if he meant not falling off, or falling off where I could get scooped up by a prince. If only he knew.

I pulled out my phone. One message from Harry, and several texts from Randa.

Randa: OMG you have to see the papers

Randa: RU ok?

Randa: U look all bloody

Randa: Y didnt you let me know?

Randa: U in the hospital or what?

Great. Just great. Hands shaking, I played back Harry's message.

Umm...hi, it's me. The secret is out. Don't talk to anyone. I'll take care of it. He sounded angry, and didn't even bother to say goodbye before he hung up. It was so unlike his usual unfailingly polite self that I was worried. Did he somehow blame me for what was going on? I dialed Harry's phone but it went straight to voicemail and I hung up without leaving a message.

I had to see those photos.

I wrapped my scarf up to my nose and pulled my hat down as low as I could and checked myself out in the clinic window. The parts of my face that showed looked pretty beat up, but at least I was unrecognizable. I headed for the little store down the block.

The windows of the corner store were steamy from the heat and the place smelled of coffee and spicy food. The papers were all in racks right in front of the counter and there I was—there we were—in all our grainy glory, half a page high. Harry cuddling me at the polo match. Harry helping me to my feet at the hunt—wow, there had been an awful lot of blood. I was not easily recognizable, but anyone who knew anything about the local polo scene would quickly deduce who it was in the photos. It was pretty obvious that Harry and I were close, at the very least—and pretty obvious that I was not dark-haired Meg.

"You gonna buy those?" the guy behind the counter snapped.

"What?" I blushed—not that he could see me blushing, under the bruising and the scarf. "Umm, yeah. I guess so." I grabbed a copy of each paper with my photo on the front and set them on the counter.

He looked at papers and rang them up. "Are you one of those?" he asked.

"One of...those?"

He nodded at the papers. "You know. Who reads all about the royals. Waste of taxpayer money, I say, keeping them royals around, living the high life, having all those babies and driving fancy cars. Worse than movie stars. At least they work for a living. But those royals—they don't do nothing. And there they are, every day, on the front page, wasting our time and money."

I suppose I should have defended Harry and his family. He was my boyfriend, after all. Now that my photo was plastered all over the front pages with his, did that put me in the same category?

I didn't say anything. I paid for the papers, rolled them up to hide the photos, and left the store as quickly as I could.

Back at the flat, I sent Harry a text.

Me: I've seen the papers. What now?

But there was no reply. He was working today, I told myself. I probably wouldn't hear from him until evening. I sent a text to Randa, to stave off any further questions.

Me: I look a mess but I'm ok. Meet me at the Lion around 4?

Her reply was almost instantaneous.

Randa: U bet. U better talk!