Page 51 of Royal Hottie
“They love us together,” he says. “They’re calling us a power couple.”
My stomach rolls. I’m not famous, rich, or powerful. That’s all Phillip. My parents are beside themselves seeing me in the press with Phillip. I’ve kept in touch. They’re proud of the charitable work I’m involved with and, at the same time, worried about my safety. The security guards only make them imagine terrible scenarios where they’ll be needed. I’ve assured them I’ve never felt unsafe. My mom is dying to meet Phillip. She and I were both his fangirl followers when he was more fantasy man than reality. It’s different, though, when you’re the one caught up in the whirlwind of Phillip’s life. I can’t help but feel like an appendage to him, lost in his big shadow, and this power couple moniker doesn’t sit well. It’s a little too close to Phillip and Lana being dubbed the golden couple, part of the reason he was so into the relationship. I don’t want or need others to comment on our relationship. He relishes it.
I turn to him. “I’m not really part of the power, but I’m glad you’ve gotten good press.”
“Good? It’s been fantastic! I may never be called the royal hottie again. Ruby, this is huge. And you are part of the power. They’re calling us the power couple because our humanitarian efforts get results. I’m thrilled. It’s pointing the spotlight where it’s needed most.” He squeezes my thigh. “We’re a great team.”
“I don’t know how much credit I can take. I feel like I’ve just been along for the ride. This is your show.”
He takes my hand, lifts it and brushes a kiss across my knuckles. His aquamarine eyes are warm and tender on mine. I melt like always. “It’s ours. Together.”
My throat tightens, and I press my lips together. “We need to talk.”
A look of alarm crosses his face before he covers with a neutral expression. “When we get back to the room.”
I nod and look out the window at the passing scenery. Downtown New Delhi, like many of the cities we’ve visited, is hot, fragrant, and crowded. We pass high-rise buildings and street-level shops, along with traffic, but the traffic here isn’t just cars, it’s pedicabs, taxis, bicycles, and pedestrians all crammed together on narrow streets. A man pushing a cart veers in front of our car, crossing the street. The slow pace gives me plenty of time to think on what the next step should be with Phillip. We’ve gotten close in a way we might not have been if we hadn’t been traveling through so many foreign lands. He was the most familiar person to me when I often felt overwhelmed, either by the pomp and circumstance of high-level meetings or the abject poverty that tore at my heart. Through it all was Phillip, always warm and smiling, a steady familiar presence.
We’re nearly at the hotel when he says excitedly, “I just got an email from the UN. They’ve seen all the good press around us and think together we can do a lot to draw attention to the cause.” His eyes are intent on mine. “Together, Ruby.”
I see his future with clarity in that moment and it is not my future. Traveling like this as a full-time job around the world, speaking at the UN and other foreign diplomatic meetings, giving interviews, drawing people together. That’s what he’s good at. And I would just be part of the background, not contributing in any way besides photo opportunities. I want to go home. I want to meet my baby sister, run my own business, be back in the country I love.
I blink back tears and look away. I can’t break down here, can’t have a heartfelt talk either, telling him goodbye. I have to hang on until we get to the privacy of our hotel room.
He cups my jaw, turning me toward him. “It’s our shared press that’s gotten me to this level. Ruby, come with me. This is our shared honor.”
“I’m just background.” My voice cracks.
He drops his hand and scowls. “You’re much more than that.”
I’m quiet. I don’t want to disappoint him, but this is not my life.
He goes on in an urgent voice. “You’ve been connecting with the women in a way that I can’t.”
I shake my head, my voice strained by the tight lump of emotion caught in my throat. “They connect with you fine. They love you.”
He frowns. “We’ll talk more later.”
The moment we’re in the privacy of our hotel room, he takes my hand and guides me to the plush beige sofa in the palatial formal living room of our suite. We’re staying at a hotel called Leela Palace, and it lives up to its name. I take some deep breaths, trying to calm the riot of emotions that erupted when I realized I have to tell him goodbye. I don’t want to say goodbye.
He gives my hand a squeeze. “I thought you enjoyed your time on this tour. Why wouldn’t you want to continue it?”
I hesitate, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “I have enjoyed myself, mostly because of you, but this isn’t my thing. It’s yours. My life is back in the US. My family, my new sister, building a career doing what I love.”
“You won’t be leaving your family forever. We can visit.”
“It’s not the same. I want to be a big part of my sister’s life. I don’t want to just pop in and out of it. And I’m starting a new business, which looks very promising, if I could just get back and follow up on all my new prospects.”
“So you choose a job over a calling?”
I don’t know what to say to that. Is one type of work more important than the other? I applaud his work, but I don’t know that I want to be his helper. I want something of my own. And I do love interior design. There’s no room for doing what I love in his future life. “I know it’s hard to understand because what you’re doing is so important, and I support it one hundred percent, but it’s your calling not mine.”
He stares at me. “I don’t understand. I thought you believed in the cause.”
“What about my job?”
His brows draw together. “Why do you persist in talking about your job? If you’re with me, you don’t have to work. After all we’ve seen on this trip, I’m sure you can see how important clean water efforts are. It raises the quality of life beyond mere survival. By comparison, decorating is meaningless, frivolous fluff.”
I suck in air, my heart stopping for a moment and then lurching forward. All this time I thought he respected me and what I do. I cross my arms, hugging myself. “Well, it means something to me.”
