Page 56 of Tabloid Princess

“Wow, Leia.”

I flushed, although that wasn’t hard. I’d been involved in some serious sporadic flushing for days.

My brain every thirty seconds reminded me that Prince Oliver had held my hand, then I’d flush all over again.

Everyone thought it was stress. It’s not as if I lacked reasons to be stressed.

I knew it was something else. Something unnameable and tragic.

I thought about him more than I should.

It hurt in ways I couldn’t deal with. My time was spent between reminding myself that he was the heir to the throne and his hand holding couldn’t mean anything, to telling myself that it didn’t matter, I’d take it whatever.

The self-preservation I’d maintained since a child, had packed up and gone on holiday.

The dress, which wasn’t a dress at all, moulded to my top half with silver sequins that shimmered as I moved. The bottom was a wide skirt of silver tulle. The two halves were cleverly disguised by a ribbon which nipped in my waist. “I don’t know how you managed to put this together so quick.”

My throat flushed a furious pink and both Emilia and Molly looked at me with concern.

“Leia, if this is too much you shouldn’t go.” Molly looked knockout in a red, slim-fitting dress with a deep cut to her mid-thigh.

“I have to. He,” I stumbled over this, “Was right. If I don’t go it will look more suspicious and I think at this point they will print just about anything.”

My rescued escape from the pub last week hadn’t gone unnoticed, but thankfully no one had seen Oliver and I in the car together.

I didn’t add that I couldn’t consider not going because I had to see him, as dangerous and as crazed as that might be.

“The taxi will be here in half an hour. Shall I do your hair?” Molly offered and I turned to Emilia to see if she was finished fiddling with the hem.

“My job here is done.” She grinned as she straightened. “I’m not going to lie, Leia, if this dress ends up in the papers tomorrow, I won’t be sorry.”

I nodded and stared down at her creation. It deserved to be in the papers, although preferably not on me.

“And I won’t lie, I kind of hope it isn’t.” I grinned at her despite the staccato beat turning my insides to frazzled mush.

“Sit and don’t crease.” Molly picked up her straighteners and waved me to the kitchen chair I’d pulled into the bedroom. Once I’d sat and she’d frowned at me for having my dress crushed under my thunder thighs, she used her straighteners to curl my hair into thick blonde ringlets which she then pinned up in a relaxed updo.

“You look like a princess.”

“I feel like a buffoon.”

“A buffoon princess. I think you could make that work as a thing.”

She was joking, but her words were too close to the insane dreams I’d allowed myself to slip into the last few days, ever since I got out of his car to his almost whispered, “Goodnight, Leia.”

Round and round my head it spun: Goodnight, Leia. Goodnight, Leia.

“Mummy, can I come in now?” Daisy peeked around the door, her eyes widening as she took in the flouncy skirt. “It’s a swirly skirt.” She nodded with approval.

“Well I won’t be swirling, Daisy. You know I can’t even walk straight most days.”

“Mummy.” Her tone sharpened. “Princesses glide, they don’t walk.”

Molly’s face cracked into a wide grin. “Daisy, can I be honest? It’s just as well your mother won’t be a princess; she’s not good at gliding.”

Daisy looked up at me, her face shining with bright admiration. “Are you going to see the prince?”

“No, sweetie.” I swallowed down a rush of sicky nerves. “It’s his birthday, lots and lots of people will be there. Aunty Janine for one. It’s a special day for her too.”