Page 8 of A Royal Disaster
As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was a series of images below the headline, capturing every humiliating moment of her introduction to the crown prince, including one of him bent over, clutching his royal jewels.
Mierda. This was all Chad’s fault. If it weren’t for him and his ridiculous lawsuit, she never would’ve been in the alley in the first place. Never would have made such a spectacle of herself or given his lawyer the perfect headline to establish a pattern of reckless behavior. She was so screwed.
Abandoning her coffee, Lena stumbled to the kitchen table and sank down in one of the chairs, fearing her legs might give out. She skimmed the article, which basically made her out to be a paint-wielding flake who’d unleashed her fury on the sweetheart prince who all of America loved.
Except her, apparently.
This was bad. Really bad. Why did Liam have to be a prince? Only she could have such bad luck as to splatter-paint the World’s Most Eligible Bachelor. Which pretty much branded her the villain of the story.
With shaking hands, she opened her social media apps and scrolled through the notifications. She was being dragged online. People were actually suggesting she be locked up, like it was the internet’s collective duty to mete out punishment and protect Valeria’s honor. There was no mention of the fact that Liam had been trespassing. Not that she thought the internet gave a damn about the truth.
Who needs facts when you can attack a total stranger and ruin their life, right?
Lena shot to her feet. She needed to talk to Nia. Nia was an expert on all things celebrity. Maybe she’d know what to do. Lena raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
When she entered the studio, Nia was on the phone.
“I understand, Mrs. Smith, but I assure you there’s been a misunderstanding. We take pride in providing a safe, welcoming environment for all of our students.” There was a pause and Nia frowned. “Yes, Mrs. Smith. I’ve cancelled the reservation, but I do hope you’ll reconsider. Nikki’s one of our best students and we’d hate to lose her.” Another pause. “All right. Have a nice day.”
Lena slumped against the doorjamb, her craptastic mood souring further. “That didn’t sound good.”
Nia turned to face her, a brittle smile fixed in place. “We’ve had a few cancellations this morning, but I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure this will all blow over quickly,” she said, her words lacking conviction. Nia gestured to the coffee pot behind the counter. “There’s a fresh pot if you need a pick-me-up.”
She so did. But first she needed to know exactly how bad things looked for the studio. “Cuéntame. How many cancellations?” She would not cry, no matter how bad the news. Surely it couldn’t be any worse than being called a fugly hack by an internet troll.
Nia hesitated and Lena’s stomach dropped. “The Smith birthday party, the Vixen corporate event, and…the O’Reilly bridal shower.”
Me cago en ná.Lena counted on paint party revenue to pay the property tax bill. “It’s not even eleven yet…” Which meant things were going to get worse before they got better. There would be more cancellations as news of her run-in with the prince circulated. The question was, how many?
“We’ve also had some withdrawals,” Nia said, toying with the belt of her apron. To her credit, she held Lena’s gaze, but that was actually worse, because it meant Lena could see the concern lining her eyes. “From the painting and pottery classes.”
The phone rang. Once. Twice.
“You should get that,” Lena said, retreating into the storage room as tears blurred her vision. She needed to get the hell out of EVA. There was no way she could stand around and watch her dreams go up in flames.
…
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Fin asked, shaking his head in dismay as the Range Rover cut a path across Manhattan. The city was a blur outside the tinted windows, and Liam gave silent thanks that for once they weren’t idling in gridlock. “The last time you visited East Village Art, you were assaulted and humiliated in the populars. Surely one visit was enough to last a lifetime?”
Liam snorted. Since when had Fin been given to such dramatics? “I would hardly say I was assaulted.” Unless of course he was face-to-face with Elena. Then all bets were off. “What happened wasn’t Elena’s fault. You saw yesterday’s headlines. She’s as much a victim as I am. I need to make it right.”
If it wasn’t for him, the paparazzi never would’ve targeted her.
“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Fin asked, his tone leaving little doubt as to his thoughts on the matter.
Liam grinned. “I’m still working out that bit.”
He needed to work it out fast. They’d be at the studio in a matter of minutes, and he still hadn’t figured out what he was going to say to Elena.
Probably best to lead with an apology.
“Honestly, the longer you stay in America, the more you act like a bloody American. By the time we get home, you’ll be completely lacking impulse control.” Fin shuddered as if the very idea terrified him. “Whatever you do, don’t run off to Las Vegas and get married. Their Majesties would never forgive me if you don’t make a proper match.”
Liam stiffened. He had no interest in getting married, and Fin damn well knew it.
But perhaps…perhaps in helping Elena, he could also help himself.
Two birds, one stone.
