A NEW PARAMOUR FOR THE PRINCE?-4
550 Words
TWO HOURS LATER, NIGHT had fallen on London. Amelia trailed after her family as they made their way to a Chinese restaurant for dinner. Before they walked inside Charlie fell back, took her by the elbow, and steered her to a little lamp lit spot of pavement beside the door.
“What?” Amelia asked, blinking. “Whatever this is, can’t we do it inside where it’s warm?”
“We could,” Charlie acknowledged. “But I thought you’d prefer not to have Mum overhear. Or anyone else.”
Amelia folded her arms over her chest and said nothing.
“Arthur called me three days ago,” her brother said.
“He did?” Charlie was the only person Amelia had ever known who talked about the Prince with such familiar terms. But then, he and Prince Arthur were friends, and he was allowed. Amelia was not, even though the Prince had asked her if she, hypothetically, wanted to marry him.
“He did. And he told me to watch out for you. And that’s all he told me.”
Amelia tipped her face up to look Charlie in the eye. “Do you have a question then?”
Charlie shook his head. “No. I just wanted you to know that whatever’s going on, I know a bit more about it than anyone else except you two —”
“I assure you, I have no idea what’s going on.”
“— and you can talk to me. If you need to.”
Amelia scoffed. “That would be like talking to you about subduction zones.”
“Just, look, Meels.” Charlie’s voice was low and urgent. “He’s twice your age, his life is stranger than we can fathom, and his first wife died.”
“Ten years ago; I’m not dating him; Princess Imogene died in a skiing accident; and that’s not catching. Can we go inside now?” Amelia spoke brusquely to mask her rising anxiety. Charlie wasn’t wrong. There was no way she could fathom what she was getting into.
Charlie wrung his hands. “I’m just saying, if he’s taken an interest in you —”
“Do you think we’re having an affair?”
“I think you’re my only sister, and one of my dearest friends who happens to be the Prince of Wales can be a womanizer who doesn’t always make the best choices.”
“I promise you that’s not what’s going on.” Amelia remembered pictures in the tabloids, photos from holidays Arthur had taken with one or another of his mistresses. There had been white sand and blue water, and the press had been blamed each time said mistress did not become a princess. Whatever was going on now certainly was not that.
“Then what is?” Charlie asked.
Amelia said nothing and met his gaze steadily. Her determination was rising. If she did want this — and she wasn’t yet sure that was the case — it wasn’t something she could pursue half-heartedly. She could panic and run, or she could carry on. And if she carried on, the stakes were far too high for her to do so casually. She owed her brother a better explanation. She owed herself a better choice. But this was neither the time nor the place to speak the words. She wasn’t sure yet. And neither was the Prince.
Charlie’s eyes moved over her face, looking for something. “I won’t tell Mum and Dad,” he said softly. “But you can’t keep whatever this is a secret. Not for long anyway. I don’t think you’re made for it.”
Amelia considered every bizarre thing that had happened to her since Christmas and found herself at once furious at his doubt and desperate to, somehow, someday, prove him wrong.
“Come on,” she said, taking his elbow like she had no secrets and he was the one in need of familial support. “Let’s go inside.”
* * *
- Writer
