Her Life with the Prince (Completed)

IV

IV

I really adore how beautiful England was. However, the first time I stepped on the land of the British royals as if it did not want my presence in their soil.

The rain was so angry when I walked out from the airport lobby. Pulling my suitcase, I went to the pavement to wait for a car that would bring me in the Palace. That was what Clarissa had told me yesterday. Someone would fetch me and would bring me to the Palace for my interview.

My family had said good-bye to me back at the airport in Chicago. Lola had not made it but she had called that morning before we had gone to the airport. My parents were so happy for me, but I had seen in their eyes that there were hints of sadness of me leaving them. Normal expression for parents. Elena and Hana had hugged me, but Hana was so exaggerated and had cried. Actually, she had been crying since we had left our house. Chance, as always, was out of the world and had no idea I was leaving them.

"I'm going to come back." I had told them.

I had been so excited ever since to see what the Palace looked like. Or how gorgeous Queen Beatrice was. Or how powerful King Gregory looked. Was Princess Emily a snobby like what other tabloids published? Who was more handsome in person, Prince Nicholas or Prince Alexander? Would they allow me to hold the youngest prince of England?

In short, I wanted to know more about one of the most powerful family of the world. Maybe, if I discovered something fishy about them, I could tell it to reporters. They would pay me more. It was a great idea, but terrible. I would not do it even they gave me a million Pounds.

I would consider it though.

I had not done any research about England's weather during October so I was wearing clothes that gave me comfort and, at the same time, would reach Clarissa's requirement. I had a not-so-thin white button-up shirt that had sleeves ended to my elbow, an above-the-knee pencil cut skirt and four inches-high heels.

Cold air blew in my direction so I sneezed audibly. People, who were busy walking and talking, stopped to look at me. Blood went to my face. Holding my nose, I smiled at them and walked away. Away as in far away from those people who started murmuring 'to say excuse me if you sneeze'. Whatever.

I made my way unconsciously–still busy thinking my embarrassment earlier–until I realized I was already soaked by the cold water from the unstoppable rain. I was standing outside the airport with my wet suitcase, and out of nowhere, a car would hit me.

All I could do is to scream, but strong hands pulled me away from the road and the car passed so fast that if ever it hit me, my bones would leave each other.

I thought I was safe but a wall hit my cheek. Actually, it was also known as chest owned by a tall muscular man who wore a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses in the middle of a storm.

His one hand held my arm while the other wrapped around my waist. We were so close that no needle could pass between us. Even though he was wet, I could feel the heat from his body. My hands are on his chest and I could feel his strong torso behind his damp shirt.

We stayed so long in that position until we heard a flirty British accent voice meters away.

"Honey, what are you doing? Do you want to die?" I looked behind the man in front of me to see where those words came from. I saw a woman who wore nearly nothing. She had a tight black dress that covered only her sensitive parts. She glared at us.

My savior removed his hands on me and stepped backward once that gave me a perfect view of his face. He was familiar somehow, but I forgot where I saw that full lips and nose that perfectly match his strong jaws and cheekbones. His wet dark blonde hair pointed in different directions, as if there were hands running through it every now and then.