Page 89 of A Royal Mistake

Remembering Henry’s comment about her purse, she rolled over and grabbed the clutch from the nightstand. Snuggled back under the comforter, she unclasped the bag and withdrew her phone. Just a quick email check and then she’d get a shower.

With any luck, there might even be a follow-up or two from last night’s fundraiser.

Probably wishful thinking, but a woman could hope.

She’d made so many new contacts, several of them promising, in addition to securing commitments from Frau Dietrich and Herr Neumann. And, okay, she’d been a bit underhanded with Frau Dietrich, but it was for a good cause.

Hopefully, karma agreed.

Ignoring the missed calls, she tapped the email icon on her phone and waited for it to pop up. The inbox was full, but it was the subject line of the first email caught her eye:URGENT.

Pippa’s stomach sank, dropping faster than a red card in a polo match.

It wasn’t unusual for the palace press secretary to send time-sensitive missives, but the timing… She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that crawled up her spine as she tapped the screen to open the email.

The message was short and to the point:We need to talk damage control.

Below, there was a link to The Daily Scoop.

With shaking fingers, Pippa followed the link. She felt a bit like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole and only one thing was certain: her life would never be the same.

The website loaded, and she found herself staring at Henry’s handsome face. There were two images side by side. One of Henry doing fieldwork in an unidentifiable village. The other was a picture of Henry in a sleek black tuxedo. In both photos, he beamed at the camera, devastatingly handsome with his dimples on full display.

Her eyes darted to the headline:HSH Prince Henry, World’s Hottest New Royal.

Pippa gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth.

No. No. No.It couldn’t be true. There had to be a mistake.

Henry wasn’t royal. He wasn’t hiding a secret identity like some kind of vigilante superhero. He was a philanthropist, for crying out loud. Aside from his fundraising efforts, he didn’t even rub elbows with royalty.

The tabloids are always fucking things up, creating scandals where none exist.

They’d done it to Liam. To Xander. Now her.

She skimmed the article, pulse hammering at her temple like a war drum. The words blurred before her eyes, churning in her brain like toxic sludge. The kind only the paparazzi could withstand.

Fifth in line to the throne. Count Rietberg. Backup plan.

She didn’t bother to finish the article. It was rubbish. It had to be.

Because if it wasn’t? If what the article said about Henry was true?

Pain lanced through her chest and she closed her eyes, fighting a losing battle against the tide of hurt and betrayal that crashed down over her, stealing the breath from her lungs. If it was true, she’d allowed herself to be played for a fool. Proving once again that she was too damn naïve and trusting for her own good.

And this time?

This time, she’d made a royal mistake, sacrificing her body and her heart.

* * *

Grease sizzledin the pan as Henry flipped the bacon. Nothing like a homemade breakfast to explain to your girlfriend—wait, was Pippa his girlfriend?—that you lied about your heritage.

It didn’t matter. Pippa would understand. She knew firsthand how brutal the press could be. What was in a name, anyway? Shakespeare himself had said it best…‘That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.’

Pippa was an English major. Hopefully, she was also a fan of Shakespeare.

Guilt tugged at his conscience. He never thought he’d say it, but maybe Dom was right. Maybe he should have told her sooner, but there was no point lamenting what-if scenarios. What was done was done and he couldn’t un-eat the sandwich, even if he wanted to.