Page 35 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)
Twenty
Benedict
“ S ir, we cannot stress enough how important it is that we have all the information.”
I must really have done it this time, because Preston Thomas brought backup.
He is flanked on either side by a pair of grim, blue-suited press staffers, and resting atop the table between us is a single newspaper.
The image on the front page is one of my face, not scowling or expressionless as I’m typically depicted, but filled with undisguised longing for the woman passing me.
I stared at the photograph for a full minute when it landed on my desk, taken off guard by the sight of my face in such an unfamiliar expression. Even without a clear memory of the moment it was taken, it’s obvious what I was thinking as I looked at Zelda Flowers.
It looks like I want her, and apparently, every dubious celebrity news source in the world agrees.
Peering over the table at me imploringly, my always red-faced press director is even more flushed than usual and has lifted his handkerchief to his brow so many times since we sat down that the unfortunate rag must be drenched by now.
“It’s a look ,” I bite back, so annoyed at being called into this meeting that I don’t particularly care if I sound like a petulant child. “It must be a slow news cycle. They’ll drop it soon enough.”
The thought of sitting here for even one more minute, discussing Zelda Flowers, while the ache of regret and loss is still so acute, is terrible. Unfortunately, this statement does nothing to lessen the tense expressions on all three palace PR officials’ faces.
On the contrary, Thomas lifts his handkerchief yet again, dabbing at his hairline, his expression full of poorly suppressed panic.
“Sir, it’s critical that you tell us if you met Miss Flowers before your visit to the set of The Dark House , and if so, what the nature of your relationship was.
It will greatly inform how we proceed in our handling of this. ”
I hesitate, biting my tongue as I consider how best to respond. While I have no intention of telling them the actual location of our meeting, it seems ill-advised to deny it did occur before my brief tour of her workplace.
The look on my face as I looked at Zelda makes it obvious she is much more to me than a casual acquaintance.
Then, there’s the fact that we were out in public together while staying at Fernmoor House.
Our disguises were flimsy at best, and it isn’t outside the realm of possibility that someone looking through their pictures of the pub from that night could spot me in the background with my arms around a slight, dark-haired woman.
Amidst the raging public speculation about my relationship with Zelda, such an image would surely fetch a hefty sum.
It would also invalidate any claims either of us made that the look was merely the result of my love of the deserts just out of camera view, or whatever nonsense Thomas and his team cook up.
For once, the media has it spot on, and I have nothing to gain by lying about it.
Wishing I’d had the foresight to take headache medication before entering this meeting, I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Yes. I met her before.”
Ringing silence follows this, and Thomas looks nothing short of mortified. “Were you—please pardon me, sir—but have you been intimately acquainted with Miss Flowers?”
“Intimately acquainted is one way to put it.”
The set of Palace Press Corps gargoyles exchange worried glances behind Thomas’s back, and I can’t say I blame them.
The man looks ready to keel over. Anyone would think he would be used to this shit by now, after decades of service to the royal family.
God knows this isn’t the first sex scandal he’s had to contend with, and yet our poor old press corps director is still shocked.
“It’s just a photograph.” I wave my hand toward the newspaper with an impatient huff. “Surely if we ignore it, people will find better things to talk about.”
“Actually, sir,” chimes in the woman to Thomas’s right. “We think, if there is some merit to the story, that it would be wise to capitalize on it.”
Cold spreads through my chest. “Capitalize on it?” I echo, hardly able to believe I’m understanding her correctly.
“Yes,” agrees Thomas with obvious reluctance, offering me a professional sort of grimace.
“We looked into Miss Flowers when the story broke and got ahold of several of the studios she’s worked with.
They agreed to part with their market research on her for a reasonable sum.
” He holds out a hand, and the man beside him hurries to produce a packet of paperwork, passing it to me.
“Now, this is in the context of her general likability as a performer, but I do think it’s applicable for our purposes. ”
There’s a collection of qualifiers and data, which mean absolutely nothing to me, but the numbers listed do seem to be high. “She’s well-liked?” I deduce, setting it aside.
“Quite. People find her relatable, friendly, and compassionate. She has high marks for her personal style, charity work, and focus on family. Apparently, she had a rather nasty breakup a few years back but came out of it looking like the victim.”
The nameless press woman at Thomas’s side leans forward intently, her eyes alight with excitement. “We couldn’t buy better publicity than this, sir. People are going mad just at the idea of you together. If we frame it correctly, this relationship would be a game changer for public opinion.”
Of all the things I expected them to propose, leaning into the spray wasn’t even on the list. Typically, when stories emerge to tarnish the reputations of royal family members, the press office’s first move is to deny, deny, deny .
Or, in a pinch, pass the blame on to a convenient scapegoat.
If Thomas had his way, me and my late family members would be seen as nothing short of saints, wholly blameless in any matter of immorality.
There is a lump lodged painfully in my throat. “Surely the difference in our ages would be an issue. I’m sixteen years older than her.”
The press corps woman only shrugs. “It’s a little edgy, perhaps, but not so terribly out of bounds that you’d face any real controversy. She’s an adult, you’re an adult… People love to talk, sir. We mustn’t make the whole thing too proper.”
Scrubbing both hands over my face, I suppress a groan with difficulty. What the fuck do they want from me?
“There are laws, aren’t there?” I ask as my hands fall back to the table, looking back and forth between the three. “No monarch or direct heir to the throne can marry a foreigner, or some such nonsense? Surely that would read poorly, as though I’m not taking her seriously.”
Or worse, using her.
My stomach rolls at the thought.
The woman actually brightens at the reminder.
“Yes, there are laws. Which we might also spin to our advantage. You could use it as an example of many antiquated statutes still present in Stelland and get the people on your side. It’s an easy win.
Not to mention”—her lips twitch—“it’s terribly romantic, sir.
A real Romeo and Juliet moment. People will love it, and it may take quite a while, but if your relationship progresses to that point, I’m confident we could use the momentum to have the laws changed. ”
“I—” Faltering, I clear my throat, struggling to maintain some semblance of decorum when it feels like the walls are closing in on me.
Recreating my thought process on the day I left Zelda at Fernmoor House is a struggle now, removed from the intensity of the situation.
Even so, I remember the feeling of bitter hopelessness and the crushing certainty that nothing could possibly come of a relationship with her.
For weeks after, I was haunted by the question of what would have happened if I’d done things differently, if I’d held on.
Now, I have my answer, and it’s more gut-wrenching than I could have possibly imagined.
Instead of being met with outrage, I’m being told that this woman is exactly the kind of person my people would like to see at my side, and that any obstacles that stood in our way could have been overcome.
I had a chance with her. We could have been something, but I smothered that possibility before it could do more than flicker to life, and I hurt her for nothing.
Is my view of life so dark that it’s capable of overshadowing even Zelda ?
Christ, I’m a fucking asshole.
“Are you alright, sir?”
I must have been quiet for a long time, because when I look up, I find all three members of the press corps staring at me with obvious concern.
“Fine,” I brush off the question impatiently, hating that I’m being forced to admit this to Preston Thomas of all people. “Miss Flowers and I parted ways. So, I’m not sure how that will factor into your plans.”
Silence falls. “Perhaps she would be open to an arrangement?” proposes the man on Thomas’ other side hesitantly.
All eyes are on the man nervously tapping his pen on the surface of the table. “What kind of arrangement?” I demand.
His throat bobs, and he looks to his boss, then back to me.
“This wouldn’t be a one-way street. The perception of being in a relationship with you would be tremendously beneficial to Miss Flowers as well.
It would bring international attention to her, and, when it’s all said and done, likely catapult her to the very top of the A-list. In her line of work, that would mean better roles, more money, advertising opportunities… ” He trails off, arching his eyebrows.
“I agree with Marcus, sir,” Thomas tells me with a pained grimace, no doubt traumatized at being forced into such a position. “If your romantic relationship with Miss Flowers is no longer in effect, perhaps she could be persuaded to agree to a short-term, mutually beneficial arrangement.”
My first thought, after I’ve finally wrapped my head around exactly what it is they’re proposing, is that she won’t do it .
I know Zelda, and she has more integrity and compassion in her little finger than anyone at this table has in their whole body.
The woman won’t even eat eggs because of all the mistreated chickens out there.
There is no way she would deceive the world to help a man she believes to be cruel and manipulative, even for her own benefit.
Shouldn’t I at least offer her the option? It seems… it seems inconsiderate to thrust all this upon her and not even give her the opportunity to truly benefit from it. Isn’t that the least I can do?
Since I came into this woman’s life, I’ve brought her nothing but heartache, selfishly putting myself above her feelings time and again.
If I’d had any self-control at all around her, this would never have happened.
I didn’t, and in a single, raw moment, I brought the entire world’s attention onto us.
Now, even if nothing more comes of this, we will be connected for the rest of our lives.
“Sir, I’m aware this is all highly unorthodox,” says Thomas, dragging me from my thoughts with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat.
“It wouldn’t have been suggested if the situation weren’t fairly dire.
As you know, the coronation ceremony is in two months, and it is absolutely vital to have public support behind you at such an important juncture. ”
Perhaps I should, but in truth, I really couldn’t care less.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I collapse back in my chair. When I lower them again, I find the three press corps members staring at me hopefully. “Would I… Would I have to call her?”
After all this, I don’t even have the woman’s telephone number, and her words from the day I followed her into the trailer on set drift back to me: “Maybe if you asked for my number like a normal person, I would have let you join me.” She’d said it as I watched her naked form slip behind the shower curtain, her voice strong and uncaring, determined not to let me see how deeply I’d hurt her.
I press my hand to the center of my chest, rubbing absently as the newly reopened wound inside it throbs.
“No, sir, we should approach her agent or attorneys. I believe that would be more prudent, given the circumstances,” Thomas assures me with a renewed air of confidence. “Would you like us to proceed with this course of action?”
I don’t give myself the opportunity to second-guess the decision. “Fine.”
“Excellent.” The three of them exchange pleased looks, and begin gathering up their things, but Thomas pauses—obviously thrown off—when he sees I haven’t raced for the door as is my general custom. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, sir?”
With difficulty, I force myself to my feet. “No.” I brush past them and out into the hall, making the solitary journey back to my rooms without really seeing the palace around me.
She isn’t going to agree. I’m sure she’s not.
If, by some miracle, she did, though… No . I won’t allow myself to entertain the possibility when Zelda has absolutely no reason to accept such an offer.
Why would she, when I’ve given her so many more reasons to reject it?