EIGHTEEN

When I flick my TV on in my apartment I expect to see a rerun of friends. But i don't.

I see me. my face. A headline "Crown Prince dating commoner from America."

The remote falls from my hand as my mouth drops.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

Angela strolls in unaware and smiles at me.

"Oh you're home from your sexy royal time," she claps, "how was it?" Next time I want to come with you."

She turns her attention to the tv and her mouth drops seeing a photo of me alongside her on the screen.

"So they found the instagram," she whispers.

I can't tear my eyes away from the screen, my heart pounding in my chest. The news anchor's voice drones on, but I can barely make out the words. Something about a whirlwind romance, a chance encounter, and now... this.

"Angela," I manage to choke out, "what have you done?"

She shifts nervously from foot to foot, her eyes darting between me and the TV. "I may have... posted a few pictures. You know, just to show off a little. I didn't think anyone would notice!"

I run my hands through my hair, my mind racing. "Notice? Angela, it's all over the news! How could you—"

A sharp knock at the door cuts me off mid-sentence. We both freeze, staring at each other in panic.

"Mademoiselle?" a muffled voice calls from the hallway.

"That's the door man," she walks to our door.

"Wait!" I hiss, but it's too late. Angela's already turning the doorknob, her curiosity overriding any sense of caution.

The doorman, Pierre, stands there looking flustered, his usually impeccable uniform slightly askew. "Mademoiselle, I apologise for the intrusion, but there are... reporters. Many of them. They're gathering outside the building."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "How many?" I ask, dreading the answer.

Pierre's moustache twitches nervously. "At least fifty, and more are arriving every minute. They're asking for you by name, Mademoiselle."

Angela's eyes widen in a mix of excitement and fear. "Oh my God, we're famous!"

I grab her arm, pulling her back into the apartment. "We're not famous, we're trapped. I have to call Edward."

On the TV photos of us together flash up on the screen from our time in Gestina. We're kissing in the images, his hand a little too friendly.

"Oh my god," Angela watches in shock, "that hand is unfortunate."

I fumble for my phone, my hands shaking as I scroll through my contacts. Edward's name seems to mock me from the screen. How did this happen? Just yesterday, we were stealing kisses in secret corners of the palace, laughing about how we'd managed to keep our relationship under wraps for months. Now, it's all crumbling around us.

As I hit the call button, Angela paces nervously behind me. "What are we going to do? Should we make a statement? Oh! Maybe we could do an exclusive interview!"

I shoot her a glare that silences her immediately. The phone rings once, twice, three times. Each second feels like an eternity.

"Hello?" Edward's voice is tense, guarded.

"Edward, it's me. Have you seen—"

"Yes," he cuts me off, his tone clipped. "I've seen it. The palace is freaking out. Publicity is working on it."

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Edward, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. Angela, she—"

"It doesn't matter how it happened," he interrupts, his voice strained. "Angela did nothing wrong. We're going to fix this. I'm going to protect you. Both of you."

His words, meant to reassure, only intensify the knot in my stomach. I can hear the controlled panic in his voice, the weight of royal responsibility crushing down on him.

"Protect us? Edward, there are reporters swarming outside my apartment. How exactly are you going to—"

A commotion outside our window interrupts me. Angela rushes over, peering through the curtains. "Oh my God," she gasps. "There's a helicopter!"

"My house is currently being live streamed on the TV," I mutter, "there is a helicopter outside filming my windows."

Edward's voice comes through the phone, sharp and urgent. "Stay away from the windows. I'm sending a security team to extract you. They'll be there in ten minutes."

My heart races as I process his words. "Extract us? Edward, what's going on?"

"It's not safe for you there anymore," he says, his voice softening slightly. "We need to get you to a secure location until we can control this situation."

I glance at Angela, who's still transfixed by the scene outside. "And Angela? What about her?"

"She's coming too," Edward replies without hesitation. "We can't risk leaving her behind to face this alone."

Just then, my phone buzzes with incoming messages. I pull it away from my ear to see a flood of notifications – missed calls from my parents, texts from friends, even messages from people I haven't spoken to in years.

My instagram account starts to blow up with followers.

"I knew this would happen but this is terrifying," I whisper.

"Edward, I—" I start, but he cuts me off again.

"Listen to me carefully," he says, his voice low and urgent. "Pack a bag, essentials only. Don't answer any calls or messages. When the security team arrives, they'll use a code phrase. Don't open the door for anyone else. Understand?"

I nod, forgetting he can't see me. "Yes, I understand."

"Good. I'll see you soon. Stay safe." The line goes dead.

I lower the phone, my mind reeling. Angela turns from the window, her face pale. "What did he say?"

"We're leaving," I say, moving towards my bedroom. "Pack a bag. Quickly."

As we scramble to gather our things, the noise from outside grows louder. Chants and shouts mingle with the whir of the helicopter blades. My phone had never been so loud.

"Why couldn't my boyfriend be an accountant," I mutter.

"The sex wouldn't be even half as good," Angela wraps her arm around me, "it's going to be okay."

I manage a weak smile at Angela's attempt at humour, but the gravity of the situation weighs heavily on me. As we hastily stuff clothes and toiletries into our bags, my mind races through the implications of what's happening. My quiet life in Paris, my anonymity, my freedom - all of it seems to be slipping away with each passing second.

The chants from outside grow louder, and I can make out my name being called repeatedly. It's surreal, hearing strangers shouting about me, speculating about my life, my relationship. I zip up my bag with trembling hands, trying to steady my breathing.

"Do you think they'll let me bring my hair straightener?" Angela asks, holding up the device.

Before I can answer, there's another knock at the door - sharper, more authoritative than Pierre's. Angela and I exchange glances, frozen in place.

"Mademoiselle, the eagle has landed," a deep voice calls out from the hallway.

I exhale sharply, recognising the code phrase Edward texted me. "That's them," I whisper to Angela. "Grab your bag."

With shaking hands, I open the door to reveal two imposing men in dark suits. Their eyes scan the apartment efficiently before settling on us.

"We need to move quickly," the taller one says, his accent crisp and British. "Are you both ready?"

I nod, hefting my hastily packed bag. Angela, still clutching her hair straightener, does the same.

"Follow us closely," the other man instructs. "Keep your heads down and do not engage with anyone."

As we step into the hallway, the noise from outside becomes even more pronounced. Chants, shouts, and the persistent whir of helicopter blades create.

"Holy shit," Angela whispers, reaching to take my hand, "you really should have just dated an accountant."

As we descend the stairwell, the cacophony from outside grows louder with each step. The security team flanks us, their bodies forming a protective barrier. My heart pounds in my chest, and I grip Angela's hand tighter.

We reach the ground floor, and one of the agents peers out the lobby door. He speaks quietly into his wrist, then turns to us. "The car is ready. We'll move on my signal."

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. The agent nods, and suddenly we're moving. The lobby door swings open, and we're thrust into chaos.

The noise is deafening. Cameras flash like strobe lights, momentarily blinding me. Voices overlap in a frenzied chorus, shouting questions and calling my name. I keep my head down as instructed, but I can feel the press of bodies around us, the desperation to get closer.

Once we're in the car I lean into Angela letting go of a deep breath.

The car door slams shut, muffling the chaos outside. The tinted windows shield us from prying eyes, but I can still see the sea of reporters and photographers pressing against the vehicle.

"Are you alright?" one of the agents asks, his eyes scanning us for any signs of distress.

I nod weakly, unable to find my voice. Angela, still clutching her hair straightener like a lifeline, manages a shaky "Yeah, we're okay."

The car lurches forward, inching through the crowd. I watch in a daze as faces blur past the window, some excited, others angry, all of them focused intently on catching a glimpse of us.

"Where are we going?" I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

The agent in the passenger seat turns to face us. "We're taking you to a secure location. Prince Edward will meet you there."

"Do you think work will mind us taking a sick day?" Angela looks at me.

I let out a nervous laugh, the absurdity of Angela's question momentarily cutting through the tension. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to be our biggest problem right now."

As if on cue, my phone buzzes again. I glance down to see a message from my Disney boss: "Saw the news. Take all the time you need. We'll talk when things calm down."

"Well, that answers that," I mutter, showing Angela the message.

She nods, a hint of relief crossing her face. "One less thing to worry about, I guess."

The car weaves through the crowded streets of Paris, the driver expertly navigating around the throngs of people and news vans that seem to have materialised out of nowhere. I catch glimpses of familiar landmarks passing by, but they look different now, as if the entire city has been transformed by the revelation of my secret.

"What if they put you on the money or something?" Angela gasps.

"Edward will probably be on the money," I say, "every time I buy something my boyfriend will be looking up at me."

"It'll change expressions depending on what you buy. Another candle? Frown. Sexy panties? Smiling," she giggles.

I can't help but chuckle at Angela's absurd scenario, grateful for the moment of levity. But as we leave the city limits, reality comes crashing back. The enormity of what's happening starts to sink in.

"Angela," I say softly, "what if... what if this changes everything? What if I can't go back to my normal life after this?"

She squeezes my hand, her expression turning serious. "Hey, you are my best friend. Nothing will ever change that. Your whole world might shift, but I'll be here through it all."

I'm grateful for her. In this moment - I'm so thankful.

As we drive up a winding driveway, a grand château comes into view. Its stone walls and towering turrets look like something out of a fairy tale, but the modern security cameras and guards patrolling the perimeter remind me that this is very much reality.

The car comes to a stop, and one of the agents opens the door for us. "We've arrived. Please follow me."

Angela and I exchange a nervous glance before stepping out. The air is crisp and clean, a stark contrast to the chaos we left behind in the city. As we walk towards the entrance, I notice movement behind one of the upper windows. A familiar silhouette appears, and my heart skips a beat.

"Edward," I whisper.

Before I can process anything else, the heavy wooden doors swing open. There he stands, my prince, looking both regal and utterly exhausted. His eyes lock onto mine, and I spring forward. Racing into his arms, feeling safe as safe could be by his hold.

"You're okay, my love," he whispers, "you're here. I'm here."

Edward's arms wrap around me tightly, and for a moment, the world fades away. I breathe in his familiar scent, letting it calm my racing heart. When we finally pull apart, I see the worry etched across his face.

"I'm so sorry," he says, his voice low and strained. "I never meant for this to happen. I thought we were being careful."

"It's not your fault," I assure him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "We knew it would come out at some point."

Angela clears her throat behind us, reminding me of her presence. "Um, hi there, Your Highness. Nice place you've got here."

Awkwardly she drops into a curtsey.

Edward chuckles softly at Angela's awkward curtsy, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Please, Angela, there's no need for formalities. Especially not after..." he trails off, gesturing vaguely at the situation we find ourselves in.

"Right, of course," Angela says, straightening up with a sheepish grin. "So, what's the plan? Are we going into hiding? Witness protection? Ooh, do we get new identities?"

I can't help but roll my eyes at her enthusiasm, but Edward's expression turns serious again. "Not quite that dramatic, I'm afraid. But we do need to discuss our next steps." He turns to me, his eyes softening. "Are you ready for this?"

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "I don't think I get to not be. What about our lives."

"It'll be okay, Bella," Angela reassures me, "I can get our neighbour to get anything we missed from our apartment. I'll make sure the rent is paid."

Edward leads us into a grand study, its walls lined with ancient books and priceless art. A team of people in suits is already gathered around a large oak table, their faces etched with concern.

"This is my crisis management team," Edward explains, gesturing for us to take a seat. "They've been working non-stop since the news broke."

A stern-looking woman with greying hair stands up. "Your Highness, we've prepared several statements for your approval. We believe the best course of action is to confirm the relationship and control the narrative."

I feel my stomach twist. "Control the narrative? What does that mean exactly?"

The woman turns to me, her expression softening slightly. "It means we present your story in the most favourable light possible. We highlight your education, your career, your philanthropic efforts. We make the public fall in love with you."

Angela perks up at this. "That won't be hard at all. Bella is so loveable! She rescued a kitten from a gutter outside the apartment just last week."

Edward squeezes my hand reassuringly as the crisis team begins outlining their strategy. My head spins as they discuss press releases, carefully orchestrated public appearances, and a comprehensive social media plan. It all sounds so calculated, so far removed from the genuine connection Edward and I share.

"And what about our privacy?" I interject, my voice smaller than I'd like. "Will we have any left?"

The stern woman—Susan, I learn—gives me a sympathetic look. "I won't lie to you. Your life will change dramatically. But we'll do everything in our power to protect you both as much as possible."

Angela, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly speaks up. "What about me? I mean, I'm not trying to make this about me, but... am I in danger? Will the press come after me too? They know I live with her."

Edward nods gravely. "We've considered that. For now, it's best if you stay here with us, Angela. We can provide security for you as well and manage any press inquiries about your connection to Bella."

Angela's eyes widen. "Stay here? In this castle? With you guys?" She looks around the opulent room in awe. "I mean, if you insist..."

I can't help but giggle at her enthusiasm, even as anxiety churns in my stomach. "So what happens next?" I ask, turning back to Edward and the crisis team.

Susan clears her throat. "We'll release a statement confirming your relationship this evening. Tomorrow, we've arranged for a carefully controlled photo opportunity - just the two of you, looking happy and in love. It will help shape public perception."

Edward nods, his jaw set. "And after that?"

"After that," Susan continues, "we'll need to prepare you both for your first official public appearance together. It will likely be a charity event next week. We'll coach you on protocol, appropriate behaviour, and how to handle press questions."

I feel overwhelmed by the rapid changes to my life. Just days ago I was a normal girl living in Paris, and now I'm being prepped for royal appearances. Edward seems to sense my unease and squeezes my hand gently.

"It's a lot to take in, I know," he says softly. "But we'll get through this together."

Angela pipes up again, "So when do we start princess lessons? I've seen The Princess Diaries, I know how this works."

Despite everything, I can't help but laugh. "I don't think it works quite like that, Ange."

Susan clears her throat. "Actually, we will be providing something of the sort."

I stare at Susan in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? Actual princess lessons?"

She nods, her expression deadly serious. "We prefer to call it 'Royal Protocol and Etiquette Training,' but yes. It's essential for your smooth integration into royal life."

"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "When do we start?"

Susan begins to say 'immediately' but Edward cuts her off.

"Tomorrow," he says, "lets let the girls have a break. This has been a big day for them."

"Of course, you highness," she bows her head.