Royal S.O.B. (A Bad Boy Romance) (5 page)

"Welcome,
Your Royal Highness!"

This
was the Chief Royal Housekeeper inviting Addie to the palace.

More
than feeling awkward, she felt like laughing. Ever since that day of the 'royal
introduction', comic scenes were piling up one on top of the other.

She
was taken to the wing dedicated to her, Princess Adelaide. It was at least
twenty times the size of the entire apartment she'd been living in before. But
then, size never translated as peace.

She
chose not to move in that day. It felt so odd, she had to return to her old
home, still on the market. But there was a problem – she felt lonely without
her mother. The memories of their good times spent there started to haunt her.

Finally
she had to call Cate to come and spend the night with her. They chatted and
chatted till early morning. Then Cate went home and she went on her jog. And
that was that.

She
returned, got ready and proceeded to the library.
There was no other place she could go to.
She was in the bus when
she felt a vibration between her legs. She took out her mobile phone.

It
was her mother. Surprising she kept the same number still.

"Yes,
Mum."

"Princess
Adelaide."

It
was her mother's secretary.

"One
moment, please."

This
was new. She waited.

"Hello,
baby?"

"Yes,
Mum."

"Darling,
how are you? And
where
are you?"

"I'm
about to reach the university."

"Where
were you last night?"

Addie
paused before admitting quietly, "I went home."

There
was a short silence on the other end.

"Sweetheart,
at least you should've told me."

It
had begun. For a mother and daughter who'd spent their lives as friends,
suddenly there arose a need to communicate this way, to hide things.

"I'm
sorry, Mum. I tried, but it wasn't easy. So I gave up."

"Were
you not scared, baby, all alone at home?

"I
was. But then I called Cate over."

"That
was a good idea, honey."

There
was a pause.

"But
come home today."

"Home?"

"I
mean, here."

Addie
was silent.

"Will
you, baby?"

"Okay,
I will."

She
couldn't say no to her mum, queen or not.

"Ring
me, I'll arrange the transport."

That
evening, after the library was shut, Addie felt lost. It suddenly felt like she
had nowhere to go. She knew she couldn't go back to the apartment – that would
only serve to reinforce her despair. The only other option was to go to Cate's.
But she had already promised her mother she would go to the palace...

For how long could she
do this escaping act?

She
called her mom.

*****

Addie
had a disturbed night.

Not
just because it was a new setting. She was plagued by thoughts of her old home,
the apartment she was born in. And of the time she'd spent with her mother
there.

Now
she was with her mother – in the same place, the same palace – but in different
corners. She had her own wing, and her mother was in the central wing, and
there were rooms upon rooms separating them. They might as well be living in
faraway cities.

Next
morning, she got up early – as was her habit. She wanted to go for her jog, but
she just did not know where to go. It was only later that she realized the wing
she was staying in had its own jogging track.

When
she started jogging eventually, she was the only one. Earlier, at the public
park, she would hate the crowds. But here, with an entire track for herself,
she missed the crowds. Funny thing, human nature.

She
wondered about breakfast. That was when an elderly lady appeared at the door.
It was her governess. A practical, working substitute for her mother, Addie
mused.

"Your
Royal Highness," the woman began.

"The
name is Addie. Adelaide," replied the princess politely.

"Can
you call me that, please?"

The
governess hesitated.

"I'm
sorry, Your Royal Highness. But I couldn't possibly do that."

"Why,
are you not human? Or am
I
not
human?"

The
old woman smiled – Addie found her very pretty.

"Your
Royal Highness, why question well-worn traditions? Life is simple when we just
follow them."

"You're
so beautiful," Addie suddenly said, and at this the governess blushed
coyly.

"And
what do I call
you
?"

"You
can call me governess, Your Royal Highness."

"Oh."

She
was disappointed.

"Can
I not call you Auntie or something? Or at least your name? What's your name,
Auntie?"

"My
name is Mrs. Bradford, Your Royal Highness."

"Can
I at least call you that? I hate this 'governess' bit – so inhuman."

"As
you wish, Your Royal Highness."

"Listen…
Mrs. Bradford. I was neither 'royal' nor 'highness' until yesterday. So I can't
just get used to it. At least when we're together, can you call me Addie?"

The
nice lady hesitated.

"Please."

The
governess looked this side and that. Then she said, in a whisper, "All
right."

"Thank
you!" Addie cheered before impulsively planting a kiss on the pretty
lady's cheek.

"My
child," Mrs. Bradford whispered again.

"Things
like these are unheard of. Somebody might notice."

"Oops,"
Addie whispered back, playing along.

"So
let's go inside and play proper."

She
held Mrs. Bradford by her hand and pulled her along.

This
was a dangerous game.

Kenrick
was doing a hundred miles on city roads with milling traffic all around them.
And he wasn't even slowing down for the crossings. More than anything happening
to them, Pat was worried about how many people Kenrick would kill or maim that
day. As for themselves, they were not even wearing helmets; it was minutes
before they were booked.

The
wind was hitting their faces dangerously. Pat wondered if Kenrick was keeping
his eyes open at all. After a point, he had to keep his own eyes closed – such
was the speed and the heat.

Now
they were in the unglamorous part of the city. Good-looking houses gave way to
ghettoes, and pretty women somehow turned into ugly shrews. How Kenrick
detested it!

In
revenge, he revved up the bike even more, now touching almost two hundred, on
roads that were not meant for such fast riding. People on either side were
screaming, giving way, often missing the speeding bike – and a horrendous
accident – by a whisker.

Kenrick
was angry. No, make that livid. And the reason for it was not immediately
known. Sitting behind him, Pat was shivering, in fear, enhanced by the bike's
high vibration. He kept wondering if they would ever return in one piece.

For
Kenrick, it was all a cruel joke. It seemed like he had a lot of pent-up
frustration inside, and he appeared to be taking it all out by being rash in a
place he loathed, by almost knocking down people he abhorred. On either side of
him were lowly dwellings and lonely people, hapless common folk whose lives
were an endless drudgery. By racing past them, Kenrick felt a kind of huge
superiority and heavenly elation, as if he was leaving these helpless souls
behind, crushing their lives under his wheels, and emerging victor somewhere
into the future.

A
full hour of this torture later, they were back to the Harley showroom. By
then, the brand new bike with its formerly shimmering body was covered in dust
and soot. Pat had a glance at himself in the glass – he looked a spectacle. And
so did Kenrick.

Back
at the manor, both of them were exhausted, but Kenrick was smiling. He felt as
if he had just won a war, against an unknown enemy, and he was joyous.

An
interesting piece of news awaited Kenrick. And that made him even more joyful.

"Guess
what?" he asked Pat.

"What?"

"You
know I got a new mother a few days back."

"Yes,
I recall – is that why you're so thrilled?"

"No.
She got me a stepsister. That's why."

"Really?"

"Yes.
A real unexpected windfall."

"Have
you checked her out?"

"Not
yet. I mean I've seen her in passing, amidst all those ceremonies. Seems like a
good catch."

"So
when do we meet her?"

"We?
As in the royal 'we'?"

"No,
you and I?"

Kenrick
considered Pat for a moment.

"Must
I take you on this expedition?"

Pat
was quiet.

"Okay,"
agreed Kenrick.

"Since
you've been with me through thick and thin, more thick than thin."

Kenrick
reached under the intricate mahogany table and pressed a switch. A bell rang
somewhere in the corridor.

"Why
delay the advent of good tidings?" Kenrick murmured under his breath.

There
was a knock on the door.
"Yeah, come in!" yelled Kenrick.

*****

That
afternoon, both of them had a nap. The bike ride had taken its toll.
 

Sleep
came easily to Kenrick. Obviously – for a man with no worries in the world,
with not a care, with everything available at arm's length, why should slumber
be an issue?

Kenrick
had always been a great sleeper. Indeed, it could be said of him that he had
slept his way through the Air Force, and through university before that. His
education was the best that money could buy, after which his natural
intelligence took over.

It
was a shrewd kind of cleverness. A propensity to find the shortest cut to the
longest distance. And an elephantine memory. Kenrick had to see anything just
once (and that included chemical or mathematical formulae) and it would be
imprinted on the screen of his mind. And this went for the topography of a
place as much as it did for the printed word, or the curves of a woman, for
that matter.

He
was not one to pore over books for hours on end. But it did not mean he was
inattentive. For him, study meant being sharp in class – he would devour
everything that was taught, without the aid of taking down notes or reading
thereafter. For Kenrick, study meant reading up once on the eve of the
examination. That was all there was to it.

His
friend, Pat, would often wonder how the prince pulled it off. While not first
in his class or anything of that order, he was always among the brightest, and
most definitely in the top ten if not the top five. While the rest of his
cronies would spend sleepless nights in dorms, doing what they called group
study, Kenrick would be doing what he knew best: sleeping, or fucking.
Or fucking and then sleeping.

His
God-given brilliance came to his rescue throughout his career, too. Kenrick's
entry into the Royal Air Force was one such miracle. It could be said with some
accuracy that he never sat with his books at the table – ever. In this
particular instance, he took the help of his assistants at the manor.

It
was comical. A day prior to the Air Force written test, he summoned all of
them. They sat around him with all the textbooks open. Then they read out from
the sections that he wanted them to. While they read, he asked questions, they
answered; he had queries, they clarified. This happened for a few hours in the
afternoon, and that was that.

Next
day, he qualified for his Air Force test. No, there was no foul play – it was
the RAF. It was as stringent as it got. Which meant, full marks to Kenrick, his
ultra-receptive brain and his weird method of studying to thank.

Ditto
for his Air Force training. While he would attend the physical part of it
religiously – that was mandatory – for the theoretical side, his proven methods
were used. And yet again, he came out with, shall we say, flying colors.

His
posting was to a remote location in the south of France, for a friendly aerial
exercise between the two countries. It was a great place, resplendent with
scenic beauty, both natural and feminine. But to his misfortune, Kenrick got a
bastard of a commanding officer.

Bastard
from his point of view, of course. Major Cuthbert was one of the most upright
officers in the entire force. And he had the medallions to show for it. In
Kenrick's books, however, he was an authority to be fought. But the Major would
have none of it; he would never tolerate a junior officer's nonsense –
irrespective of the color of the blood in his veins.

The
Major wrote a stinging report on First Flight Officer Kenrick Royce and sent it
to Headquarters. That was the end of it. Kenrick got a reprimand, and a
punishment posting to Kenya.

Kenya – where was that?

Kenrick's
knowledge of third-world countries was not one of his strong points. But his
royal blood was. So he got out.

To
be ordered around was not for him. That was
his
job, as future king.