Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Instead, I feel like I know less than I did before.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – HATTIE
On day one after I visited the palace, I slept like a baby.
On day two, I didn’t sleep at all. Nightmares of the night I was kidnapped plagued me, and after my darling sister wished death upon me, my anxiety passed the mental barrier and turned physical. I could barely get out of bed. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, and sometimes, I could barely even breathe.
On day three, I vomited so much that everyone was so afraid I had some kind of virus that they left me alone. I barely moved all day, instead choosing to lie in my bed and hope it would all be over soon.
On day four, I got out of the house, picked up a prescription for my anxiety medicine, and took enough that I momentarily wondered if I’d ever feel anything again. I even thought for a second that if I were a less vengeful person, I’d take so many that waking up the next morning would be impossible. Perhaps even preferable.
On day five, I watched a news report about the crown prince while editing his portraits. He’d visited a school to open their new sports pitch, and between all my little tweaks on his almost flawless photos, I watched him play football with class four of Rosenthal Primary School.
On day six, I edited some more and turned to the royal gossip podcasts. They speculated over his assumed future wedding to Jasmine Sinclair, the so-called philanthropic darling of Askurg’s upper class. They wondered if it really would happen, given that they’ve never been photographed together even at official events. They recited tips sent in and rumours heard from ‘contacts’ close to them both who assured them they were just private, very much in a relationship, that the wedding was happening.
And now, on day seven, I’m stepping off a train in Greenwood Bay having received a six-thirty a.m. text telling me two simple things.
A time and a place.
The Crown Hotel, Greenwood Bay, six-thirty p.m. Give them your name at reception.
Given my downward spiral in the last few days, getting here has been no easy feat. Not only was my father reluctant to let me ‘go to work’ and stay out overnight so soon after recovering from my alleged virus, but Rosalyn found out about my prescription and believes me to be ‘unstable.’
If only she knew just how fucking unstable I really could be, she’d lock me in her precious wine cellar.
I also know there’s someone following me. I’m not an idiot. It’s not the first time that ghastly woman has set someone on my tail, and I doubt it’ll be the last. Unfortunately for her, she’s not going to get anything that she wants.
There’s only so far into the hotel her little private eye can follow me, so as soon as I get into the lift, it’s game over for him.
I hope he’s enjoyed his little train ride, though.
Prick.
I step up beside a taxi in the line outside the train station and he rolls down his window. “Are you free?”
“Yes, love. Do you want me to put that bag in the back for you?”
“No, it’ll be fine with me. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He pushes a button and the back door slides open so I can haul in my case and photography bag. No sooner has my bum touched the seat than the door slides closed and he asks, “Where to?”
“The Crown Hotel, please,” I answer.
“No problem.” He sets the little ticker above the rearview mirror to start and pulls away from the taxi line, allowing the others behind to take their place in the queue.
I settle back into the seat and look out of the window. Thankfully, Greenwood Bay is a huge tourist town, and I’ve been here so many times that a last-minute, sunset engagement shoot wasn’t an unbelievable lie as far as my father was concerned.
And oh, no, I simply have to stay overnight because I don’t have possession of my driving licence anymore.
Not that it means I can’t drive, of course. The lack of my own car is the main obstacle to that, but I also just can’t be bothered. The fit that Rosalyn would throw if she caught me driving isn’t worth the little patience I have when it comes to dealing with her.
It’s a good thing I don’t mind trains.
I catch the taxi driver glancing back at me. He almost looks as if he’s going to make small talk, but I turn my head to signify I don’t want to engage with him. Obviously changing his mind, he puts his full focus back on the road and we continue our drive without a shared word.
Thank God.
About ten minutes pass before we pull up outside the hotel. The large, historical building that was once a part of the Royal Family’s property portfolio looms above, and after I pay the driver, I step out onto the pavement and look up at it.