The Prince's Secret (Prince Harry Fanfic)

Part 67 - Tidal Wave

Samantha

Brrrrrrrt. Brrrrrrrt. Brrrrrrrrt.

I opened my eyes. The window was barely gray with morning light. It was early—far earlier than I was used to getting up, even on days when I had to go work in the polo yard.

Brrrrrrrrt.

My phone vibrated, again and again and again, as the alerts cascaded in from all my social media accounts. I didn't have that many accounts, only Instagram with photos of my clothing designs, and a few neglected accounts from my college days, but they were blowing up.

I didn't really want to look, but I had to. I had to know what I was up against before I dealt with the onslaught. What had Meg unleashed on me? What was everyone saying?

With cold fingers I typed in #princeharry and read the results with a growing sense of dread.

Meg Moran shattered by Prince Harry's Infidelity...Queen Pleads With Harry to Ditch the Side Chick...Pregnant Meg Fights For Her Prince!...Cinderella Stable Girl Intent on Ruining Royal Wedding!...Royal Wedding Washout?...Royals Take Sides Over Harry's Side Chick...Fake Fashion Designer Tricks the Prince!...Harry Chases Doxy While Meg Stays True!...Meg Miscarriage Scare As She Deals With Harry's Hussy!

The comments and tweets slid by in a haze of negativity, the attacks increasingly more personal.

Stolen designs—copied from others—cheater—fake—no talent—

The list of insults was endless, some of them so thoroughly British that it would have been funny if they weren't referring to me.

Homewrecker—slut—doxy—slag—cow—whore—minger—scrubber—bitch—

And then there were the threats, some veiled, some quite obvious.

Get away from the prince!—Leave Harry alone!—You should be arrested—Get out of our country—Go back to your moose and maple syrup—Sluts like you make me sick! You should all die—Heres the bitches address lets go find her—

I scrolled through the comments and tweets much, much longer than I should have, unable to tear my eyes from the tidal wave of hate. I finally dropped the phone in my lap and buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking.

Meg had done her job well. She'd even dropped the pregnancy bombshell into the media, playing for sympathy.

There was one short text from Harry in the midst of the madness. Having an amazing time helping move elephants. Wish you were here with me. Maybe next time? Love ya. And then a photo of him working, hands on an elephant. He was in work boots and casual pants, probably as smeared with animal drool and shit as I was when I worked at the stable. He looked relaxed yet intent, so very natural and un-prince-like that my heart went out to him. I wanted to be there with him, wanted to be beside him, not hiding away here in my flat because the haters of the world were out in force against me.

I didn't expect the world to love me. In fact, I didn't care if they did. But if they were going to hate me, I wanted it to be for things that I actually did, not lies that someone else was spreading. And I did care, very much, that Harry's family might be forming opinions of me based on what Meg was saying.

My phone buzzed again, but this time it was Randa. FFS! Hold tight I'm on my way over.

I smiled, glad that I could once again count on Randa to have my back. Watch for creepers out in front, I warned her.

Randa: I have a riding crop and know how to use it. They better watch out for me, was her response.

I made some coffee and tidied the flat a bit, stowing away the coats-in-progress that covered the dinner table and a few of the chairs. The coats were beginning to come together, but they were still at the stage where I was afraid they were going to look awful when they were finished. The insults on my Instagram page, which I had shut down that morning, still whispered in my mind, and I pushed them back with an effort.

I jumped at the sound of fists hammering on my door. Not the downstairs door that led to all the flats in the building, but the door to my flat. Had someone let Randa in the building?

I approached the door cautiously as the knocking continued. Putting my eye to the peephole, I was relieved to see the building manager on the other side, and I opened the door.

He coughed and refused to meet my eyes as he said, "You know we've had to hire extra security for the building since you moved in? You're going to be billed for that."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"And here." He shoved a handful of papers at me. "I've sent a copy to Greta as well. We can't have this kind of publicity around here. The other owners are complaining about the people outside. The photographers and all. You'll have to leave at the end of the month."

"The end of the month? That's only a couple of weeks away! How am I going to find something on such short notice?" And something I can afford, I thought, knowing that the only way I had been able to stay in London was the incredibly low rent Greta was charging me since she was friends with my father.

"Shouldn't be a problem for you, should it? Get the prince to help you out. I hear his family's got dozens of houses." He turned and stomped off.

I went back in the flat, stopping to take a peek at the dozen or so people crowded on the sidewalk, phones up, ready to take pictures. Where could I go? Randa was crammed in a tiny flat with four other girls, already sharing a bedroom and one bathroom. I might be able to crash on her couch for a few days, but it was not a long-term solution. Harry might be able to help, but I really didn't want to ask it of him until the situation with Meg was resolved.

There was always Vancouver...

Get out of our country...Go back to your moose and maple syrup...

Well, those trolls might get their wish after all, if I couldn't find a place very soon.

I picked up my phone and looked at the photo of Harry with the elephant again. More than anything, I didn't want to interrupt his time away, doing the work he loved, far from newspapers and the scandalous stories about him that awaited his return. Love you, I texted back, afraid to say anything more.

From the window I spotted Randa's curly head bobbing down the sidewalk, her walk determined, riding crop in hand as promised, and I had to laugh. Maybe she knew someone who could help me. Maybe by the time Harry returned, the haters would be off on the track of some other poor celebrity scandal, and everything would turn out all right.