The Royals Next Door by Karina Halle

Five

He’s got a nice butt.

I frown at the thought in my head, mentally swatting it away. One minute Harrison is demanding I immediately drop everything and go and meet my new neighbors, as if it were an order, not a choice. The next I’m ogling his butt as he walks in front of me down to where my driveway intersects with theirs.

But it really is a nice butt. His suit jacket just skirts the top of it, but there’s no denying how perky and muscular it is, like he does a lot of lunges, or . . .

As if he can hear me, he shoots a sharp glance at me over his shoulder, and I immediately still my thoughts, bringing my eyes up to meet his. Or, his sunglasses.

He jerks his chin down toward the road, where a bunch of flatbed trucks with planks of wood and other building materials in the back are parked in the cul-de-sac.

“They’re all ready to go, once you sign a few papers,” he says gruffly.

Jeez, that was fast. I should stop being annoyed at everything Harrison is throwing my way, but it irks me to think that he’s got all these builders at his beck and call, as if they know I’m going to sign the papers, as if everything from this point onward is predetermined, and I have no say in it.

“What makes you think I even want a gated entry?” I ask him.

“Believe me, you will,” he says over his shoulder as we start up the driveway to the mansion. “I take it you’ve never dealt with the British press before.”

I don’t have anything to say to that because obviously he’s right, of course, and I’ve seen on Twitter alone just how intrusive, rude, and downright cruel they can be. If the duke and duchess are moving in here, then I’m probably going to want that fence.

I don’t have a lot of time to think about the fence and the gate, because soon we’re approaching the front of the house.

I’d be lying if I said I’d never seen it before. Many a time I’ve scrambled up the slight slope through the ferns and hemlock to take a look-see. But I’ve never gone farther than the driveway, even if I knew no one was staying there at the time.

Even now, it feels kind of wrong, but from the way Harrison and his nice butt are marching forward, I need to follow.

The mansion at first glance seems smaller than it is. The paved, tree-lined driveway does an elegant swoop into a massive A-frame three-car garage that’s attached to a one-level made of bricks of pale stone. But the closer you get, you notice that the bulk of the mansion is behind that one-level, sloping down to the ocean in sections.

Harrison goes straight to the ornately carved front door, which looks like it was cut from a massive tree, and rings the bell. As we wait, his posture goes straighter, his hands clasped behind his back. I want to ask him where he’s living, since he’s ringing the bell and not walking right into the house, but then I see a shadow pass through the narrow windows at the side of the door and suddenly I’m nervous as hell.

It finally hits me what’s happening. I’m actually going to meet Prince Eddie and MRed. Right here, right now.

This is absolutely insane.

And then the door opens.

I hold my breath.

A petite woman in her early fifties appears at the door, dressed in a gray shift dress and flat shoes, her graying hair pulled back into a neat bun.

She nods at Harrison and then gives me a small smile. “You must be the neighbor,” she says in a crisp British accent. “I’m Agatha, the housekeeper. Please come right in.”

Harrison walks in, and I follow him into the foyer.

“Should I take off my shoes?” I ask, reaching down for my boot, even though Harrison has strolled in without taking his off.

“That’s quite all right,” Agatha says. “The floors can be a bit cold at the moment. They’re supposed to heat up, but I think we need an electrician in here to fix it.”

“Well, good luck getting a reliable electrician on the island,” I blurt out with an awkward laugh. “They only show up when they feel like it, like you’re a huge inconvenience for hiring them.”

I’m not exaggerating. There’s a faulty baseboard heater in my room, and I called the electrician about two months ago and he still hasn’t shown. Keeps texting me, saying, “Hope to pop by soon,” but that “soon” never comes.

But from the firm smile on Agatha’s face, perhaps it’s not my place to joke about that.

“We will be hiring from off-island,” she says.

“Of course,” I say back, matching her smile. I should figure they’ve got all this worked out. It accounts for how they’ve got trucks full of building materials out front, ready to go.

“It will be nice for the duke and duchess to have you next door,” Agatha says as she leads the way across the marble floors through the first level, which is sparsely decorated with some art prints of the Pacific Northwest. “We’re all a bit fish out of water at the moment.”

“That’s what I’m here for!” I say, way too enthusiastically. “Anything you need, any questions at all, I’m your gal.”

“I’m your gal”?This isn’t a forties screwball comedy, Piper.

I really need to dial it down a notch.

I glance up (way up) at Harrison, who has fallen in step beside me, expecting him to be giving me a look.

And he is. He looks rather amused.

But what’s catching me completely off guard is that his sunglasses are up on his head.

Which means, for the first time ever, I can see his eyes.

And . . . dear lord . . . am I in trouble.

Harrison’s eyes are this gorgeous blue, a color that flirts between the sky and smoky sage green. At the moment they’re crinkling slightly at the corners, yet I can tell how quickly they’d change in intensity. No wonder I could feel his gaze even beneath his glasses.

I swallow hard, unable to take my eyes away. At least until he raises his brow, those beautiful blues seeming to smirk at me.

They seem to ask, Which do you prefer, my eyes or my ass?

To which I’d say, That’s an impossible choice.

“Watch your step,” Agatha says quickly.

I look down in time to see that I’m in the middle of stepping off a landing.

Harrison’s arm shoots out and grabs me by the elbow with so much force that I’m practically frozen in mid-step before he pulls me back.

“Oops,” I say, giving him a quick, red-cheeked smile. Shit. I nearly ate it just because I was caught up looking at his eyes. I can only hope he doesn’t bring that up or else I’ll probably never stop hearing about it.

He lets go of my arm and gives me a nod, and still, there’s that amusement in his expression. The kind that says he’s laughing internally at me.

“Here we are,” Agatha says, leading me over to a living room type of area with a see-through gas fireplace in the middle and floor-to-ceiling windows. The room looks over their sloping backyard, a spacious tile patio among a cultivated rose garden and sun-bleached brown grass beyond that. There are a few massive fir and arbutus trees and a stone-worn path that leads down to the private dock where a fifty-foot powerboat is tied up, sea-green waves crashing against the hull. In the distance, a ferry passes.

It’s stunning. Absolutely. But in the back of my mind I can’t help but notice that this would be our view if it weren’t for where my house is situated and the trees that block it. It’s like I’m realizing for the first time that my mother and I really do live in what used to be a very rich family’s servants’ quarters. We’re buried in the trees, forgotten; they’re up here in the open with the sun and the waves.

“Please sit,” Agatha says, pointing to a modern-looking wing-back chair beside a polished wood coffee table. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”

She walks off, and I half expect Harrison to walk off too.

But of course not. He wouldn’t leave a potential “threat” alone in their house. He’s standing in front of me, as if I’m going to make a run for it and start rummaging through Monica’s underwear drawer or something, though his attention is out the window.

“Do you have the same view?” I ask him. I’m too nervous to sit down, so I just stand awkwardly by the chair.

He looks to me and gives me a strange look. Now I can see that laser focus in his eyes. It’s almost unnerving, like they’re seeing right through me. Maybe it would be better with his aviators back on.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, his brows together in that formidable line.

I nod at the windows. “I was wondering if you had the same view. If you lived here with them.”

His face is like a mask. “I will be living . . .” He pauses, clears his throat. “I live above the garage. Agatha lives in the lower level.”

“Was it like that back in the UK? Did you live with them?”

“I had a cottage on the compound.”

“So this is a big change for you too.”

He shrugs with one shoulder. “I can deal.”

But I’m staring at his shirt collar. When he shrugged, it moved over a little, exposing the skin above his collarbone. I swear I saw a tattoo.

I’m about to ask about it (because clearly I have no filter when it comes to him) when I hear footsteps behind me.

Harrison immediately drops his chin, his hands clasped in front of him.

I turn around, and there they are.

Prince Eddie and Monica.

In the flesh.

They both smile at me, and suddenly I have no clue what I’m supposed to do.

Curtsy? Right?

Or bow?

So I end up doing a curtsy-bow hybrid that makes it look like I have stomach cramps.

“How do you do?” I say to them as I straighten up, keeping a smile on my face while wincing internally at how ridiculous I must look.

“Monica,” MRed says to me as she comes over, her hand extended, a beaming smile on her face.

I’m in a daze as she shakes my hand, focused on how damn pretty she is. I mean, this is the woman I watched accept her Grammy for best new artist; this is the woman in the infamous burlesque R&B video that had her in a blond wig, grinding against Zac Efron; this is the woman on People’s 50 Most Beautiful People list (who should have been on the cover instead of Blake Shelton). I even watched her wedding on TV.

And she’s standing in front of me, giving me a genuine smile and a hearty handshake. She’s so much more beautiful in person. I didn’t think that was even possible. Her dark skin is even-toned and glowing, her curly hair piled into a messy topknot, not a lick of makeup on, and yet she looks like she’s ready for a photoshoot, even though she’s just wearing leggings and a flowing tunic that gives her this boho chic vibe.

“Hello,” Eddie says in a quiet voice, his accent as proper as can be, bringing my attention to him. “I’m Eddie.”

Again, I’m drowning in disbelief here. Eddie is only a few years older than me, and as I grew up, I watched as he grew up. His face and the face of everyone in his family have been constants in my life, whether I was paying attention or not. I mean, his father is on our twenty-dollar bills.

In person, he’s also better-looking. Compared to his older brother, who most people fawn over, Eddie is an unusual-looking guy with a piercing stare that says way more than he ever verbalizes, but he’s still handsome. He just has a way about him, and right now, I’m picking up on that quiet kind of charm. It helps that he’s wearing dark jeans and a navy polo shirt, a lot more casual than the Eddie I’m used to seeing in the press.

He shakes my hand, firm and warm, and I must be having an out-of-body experience right now, because I don’t think I feel the floor beneath my feet.

“You must be Piper,” Eddie says.

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Monica adds.

I give her a nervous smile. The only way she knows anything about me is because of that big oaf standing behind me. I don’t dare turn around and meet Harrison’s eyes. I can only imagine what he’s said.

Still, I say, “All good things, I hope.”

Which in turn makes a moment of uncomfortable silence fall between us, Eddie’s eyes darting over my shoulder to Harrison.

“Of course!” Monica exclaims, flashing me her pearly whites. “Here, why don’t you sit down and get comfortable.” She gestures to the seat while she looks over at Agatha. “Can you bring us some refreshments?” Monica looks back to me. “Would you like something to drink? Sparkling water, tea, a glass of wine?”

I’m never very good in these situations. I should say I’m fine, I don’t want anything. Maybe a glass of water.

But because I’m nervous, and frankly I’m curious to see what kind of wine they drink, I say, “A glass of wine would be lovely.”

“Red or white?”

“Either is fine. Whatever you have open.”

“Are you sure?” Monica asks. “It’s no bother. We have everything.”

So much pressure. Everyone is staring at me to make a choice.

“I’ll have a glass of white,” I say. “Since it’s finally summer and all.”

“Hmmm, I think we only have sauvignon blanc chilled,” she muses, looking to Agatha.

“There’s a pinot grigio in the wine cooler in the cellar,” Agatha says.

Monica then looks back to me for my opinion. This feels like it’s already turning into a to-do. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“Whatever is easiest,” I tell her. “I’m not fussy.”

Monica nods and gives me a small smile, probably picking up on how uncomfortable I’m feeling. “Agatha, can you get a glass of sauvignon blanc, please?”

As Agatha walks off, I look at Monica in surprise. “You’re not having any?”

Perhaps it was the wrong question, because she looks uncomfortable for a moment. “No, uh, it doesn’t agree with me.”

“Agatha,” Eddie quickly says after her, “make that two glasses.” He gives me a wide grin. “I’ve been drinking too much beer lately; it’s probably time to switch.” He grabs his nonexistent belly in demonstration.

“Please, have a seat,” Monica says again, gesturing to the chair as Agatha goes off toward the kitchen.

I quickly sit, feeling like I’m being a pain in the ass. I’m also still in disbelief that this is happening, like perhaps my mother put those magic mushrooms that grow in our yard in today’s tea and now I’m on a hell of a trip.

Monica sits down on the love seat across from me, while Eddie sits casually on the arm of the plush couch. Harrison moves back toward the windows, though his gaze is tight on me, intense and suspicious. I do my best to ignore him.

Monica, though, must have noticed the look I gave Harrison, because she leans forward, her expression becoming warmer. “We really appreciate you coming over. I know that this all must be such a big change for you, and we want to work with you to make sure that this whole transition goes as smoothly as possible. We want to start off on the right foot, be good neighbors.”

“So far, so good,” I tell her. “Though, to be honest, I think we’re all a little surprised that you picked this island when you could live anywhere you want.”

Monica exchanges an amused look with Eddie before she smiles at me. “We get that a lot. To be honest, we’re surprised that people are surprised. I mean, look at this place. It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She gestures to the view. “Where else in the world could you get this out your back door?”

I can think of a million places. “It’s pretty now, but wait until winter comes. We don’t get a lot of snow in the Pacific Northwest, but we do get months and months of rain and gloom. I’m from Victoria originally, and it took a few winters to get used to how dark it is here. When you’re away from the city lights and the hustle and bustle, you really realize how alone it can feel. No wonder half the town either disappears to Mexico or Hawaii.”

Oh god. I’m rambling.

“I actually like the gloom,” Eddie says. “Monica here is the sun bunny.”

“That’s because you turn into a lobster in the sun,” she points out. “So, Piper, how long have you lived here?”

“Five years. My mom and I moved so I could take a teaching position at one of the elementary schools.”

“Aww.” She breaks into a wide grin. Holy girl crush activated, Batman. “Which grade?”

“Second. Still sweet and innocent.”

“That is so sweet. I would have loved to go into teaching if, well, you know, music didn’t happen. So your mother, does she still live with you?”

People always tend to act funny when I tell them I live with my mother (though it’s more the other way around, but I digress), but Monica merely seems curious.

“She does. She’s got some neurological issues, so she lives with me and I pretty much support her. My father skipped out when I was a teen, so I’m really all she has.”

To her credit, Monica doesn’t look like she pities me. “That’s admirable,” she says. “I hope I can meet her soon.”

I give her a polite smile, secretly hoping that never happens. My mother can be unpredictable, to say the least, and a situation like that might just set her back. She’s been doing good lately but still refuses to see a therapist, and her medication seems to work half the time (probably because she forgets to take it if I don’t remind her). Her whole life has been one step forward and two steps back.

Agatha appears with a tray holding two glasses of white wine, which she hands to me and Eddie, and a plate of tiny slivers of cucumber sandwiches, which she places on the table.

“If you’re hungry.” Monica gestures to it.

I’m not at all, but I take a sandwich, just to be polite, even though it has cream cheese, which tends to turn my stomach upside down.

“Well, it’s good to know that about the winters,” Monica says as I absently nibble on the sandwich sliver. “To be honest, I’m not sure how long we’ll actually be here for. That’s why we’re renting. We’re just kind of . . . figuring things out as we go along. We thought this island would be a good place to do that. Compared to back at home, the media so far has left us alone.”

“You say that,” I tell her, “but I’ve been in town, and people are losing their minds about this.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” she asks, frowning. I probably should keep things positive, so I’m not sure why I’m telling them this.

I shrug. “The locals here can be . . . fussy. It’s a big island, but it’s a pretty odd, tight-knit community that tends to keep to themselves. I’ve been told it’s because no one lasts very long here for one reason or another, so locals don’t want to get attached. It can be . . . challenging making friends with people who gel with you. But I’m sure you’ll have no problem. You know, if that’s what you want.”

“To be honest . . . ,” she says, looking like she’s trying to find the right words. She and Eddie exchange a glance. “We’re okay with that. Not only because we’re not sure if we’re here for long, but because we really just need a break. We just want it to be the two of us. We’ve been shared with the public for so long, especially Eddie . . .”

“I totally understand,” I tell them. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help keep it that way. I’ll protect your privacy. If you need someone to run errands or help out in some way, I can do it. I have summer off anyway.”

“Oh, we could never expect that of you,” Monica says, leaning forward and placing her hand on my knee for a second. “We have plenty of help here.”

“Though it wouldn’t hurt to get to know some of the island,” Eddie says. “Through the eyes of someone who lives here. I know that what we crave is a step back from the limelight and some privacy, but I also know my wife, and she’s going to get cabin fever pretty soon. Being locked up in here with me isn’t as fun as it sounds.”

Monica laughs, and from the way they’re gazing at each other, it’s apparent how in love and in sync these two are. I wish I could write something up about them or do another podcast, just to prove to all those tabloids and nobodies on Twitter who keep insisting that it’s all a sham, that she’s using him, that he’s whipped or whatever misogynistic bullshit they keep spouting, that they are so far off the mark, it’s not even funny.

Of course, being a good neighbor means keeping my mouth shut, as hard as that’s going to be.

“The offer stands, anytime,” I insist. “Anything you need, I would be happy to help.”

“Well, thank you,” Monica says. “You’re too kind.”

Harrison suddenly clears his throat, bringing our attention over to him. “There’s still the matter of the NDA.”

“Of course,” Monica says quietly. She gives me a sheepish look. “Honestly, I hate that we have to even bring this up. I know things are going to be strange for you, especially once the media figures out where we are . . . hopefully not before the fence goes up. And really, there’s no pressure for you to sign it. It would just make us feel a lot better.”

“I get it,” I tell her. With her asking me directly, it makes it an easy decision. Better than Harrison, anyway.

Harrison disappears into another part of the house, and then as I finish my glass of wine, Eddie asks me a few questions about outdoor activities, the best restaurants, that sort of thing. And even though I haven’t for a moment forgotten who I’m talking to (a bloody prince of England!), the two of them have such an easy, zen way about them that it feels a little like talking to old friends.

Soon the sun is low in the sky, turning the water into gleaming gold, and Harrison produces the documents, placing them on the coffee table.

There’s a lot of paper, and I do my best to read through each one. I don’t think I need a lawyer to review anything, it seems pretty standard (I mean, I’m guessing, because I’ve never had to sign one of these before), although I do notice there’s a little part about the fence and the gate, and I have to sign that I have no objections to either on my own property line.

When I’ve reached the end, I’m surprised to see another set of papers at the bottom.

“It’s for your mother,” Monica says. “I’m sure we’ll be running into her eventually. Again, no pressure at all.”

I just take the papers and smile politely, sensing that my time here is wrapping up. I’m not sure how much of this visit was to get to know me and how much was to make sure I’m not a loon. I think I may have seemed normal, but in the end, I still signed the papers. “Well, thank you so much for having me over. It’s a beautiful place. Oh, and for the wine and food.”

I get to my feet, and Monica does the same, her hands clasped together at her middle, as if she’s not sure what to do with them. “Thank you so much for coming over. We promise we’ll do our best to keep things normal around here.”

“I’ll show Ms. Evans out,” Harrison says, walking toward the landing, as if he expects me to follow. And after I nod my thanks again to Eddie and Monica, my mother’s papers firmly in hand, I walk right behind him, somehow used to him being my escort.

He opens the front door for me like a gentleman at least, slipping his sunglasses back. As we walk down the driveway, he’s not talking, and I don’t even do my nervous blabbering.

I’m about to say, “They seem really nice,” when suddenly the sound of a drill blasts through the air. We round the corner of the driveway, and down at the bottom, where all the flatbeds are parked, there are at least a dozen construction workers, all carrying two-by-fours and digging a fence line.

“What the hell?” I say. “That was fast! How did they know?”

“I texted them the moment you signed the papers,” Harrison says, nodding a greeting to one of the workers before we turn into my driveway. “The duke and duchess are used to efficiency.”

“I think you’re used to efficiency,” I tell him, walking in step beside him. “They actually seem pretty chill and normal.” I mumble under my breath, “Can’t say the same about you.”

When he doesn’t say anything to that, I stop, which in turn makes him stop.

“So is this the end of this?” I ask him. He frowns in response, so I go on. “Your around-the-clock surveillance of me?”

“We’ve been here less than twenty-four hours,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. His very wide, very manly chest. “I hardly call that around-the-clock.”

“I guess I’m concerned this will be a constant thing.”

“You signed the papers,” he says. “And once your mother signs hers, I’ll lay off.”

“Oh, so now you’re admitting that you’re being a bit much.”

“I’m not being a bit much. I’m doing my job.”

“You’re walking me home. You’re not doing that because you’re a gentleman.”

His frown deepens, and he raises his chin. I think that remark may have gotten to him. “As I said, it’s my job to protect them.”

“Seems like you do a lot more than just protect them. I saw your pal out there on the boat earlier. I know there are men up in the trees.”

I glance up to make a point, then gasp loudly when I notice a hand waving to me from high up in a Douglas fir. I can’t remember if that’s Isaac or Giles.

But it doesn’t matter which tree man it is. I continue. “Who knows how many other security officers are about. The point is, I think you’re more like their manager than anything else.”

He stares at me for a moment, giving me plenty of time to focus on my reflection in his sunglasses. My hair is a bit ratty, and I wish I could have been wearing something a little nicer to meet the royals for the first time.

Finally, he says, “I’m whatever the duke and duchess need me to be. Maybe in your world you’ve just got your teaching, with some Tic Tac–eating tendencies thrown in there, and that’s it, but in mine, it’s possible to wear multiple hats at once.”

Did he just try to insinuate that I have nothing going on in my life other than my job? “Hey, I wear many hats too,” I tell him, unable to keep the bite out of my voice. “Maybe to you I’m just some island hick schoolteacher, but I take care of my mother when no one else will. I provide for her, I keep this house going, I’ve sacrificed a hell of a lot in order to stay with her and make sure she’s okay. I’m a teacher, and I’m a caregiver. And I’m a daughter. And I have interests and hobbies and a rich inner world that you don’t know anything about. So don’t try to paint me into a box, because I don’t fit in one.”

My heart is pounding from all that, making me feel both alive and a little sick. I can’t believe I just let that all out there like that.

Harrison continues to stare at me, then swallows. “I won’t paint you into a box if you don’t paint me into a box,” he says, his voice low and gruff, the kind of voice that would send shivers up my spine under any other circumstances.

And he’s got a point. I can dish it out, but I can’t take it. Apparently that was a sore spot for me.

“Okay,” I tell him, my pulse still wild in my neck. “Do you trust me enough to let me go, or do you have to walk me to the door?”

He tilts his head for a moment and then nods. “I trust you. Good night, Ms. Evans.”

He then turns on his heel and marches away, disappearing around the bend.