The Royal Scandal | Prince William |

The Prince and the Girl

May 12, 2001

The next day she had woke earlier than she ever had, her mind running miles a minute the second her eyes saw daylight. Last nights events were still fresh in her mind, her hand still stinging. She dared glance out the window to see photographers already waiting by the front door.

It was only six a.m. but she had to get out, to clear her head and maybe see what everyone had said about her. So, she threw on a pair of dark aunglasses, Natania's sweats, and a short brunette wig.

They were dancers, no more explanation is needed for why they would have a wig.

The fact she had a wig wasn't even comparable running out the Upper School dormitory right passed the photographers and not a single one batting an eye at her. What was more bizarre was that she ran, nor did she stop when she was well passed the swarm of cameras.

Her feet pounded with the pavement, and very few people were out in Covent Garden to stop her or slow her. It took four blocks for her to finally bend over and inhale sharply. Her lungs felt bruised and raw, but cardio had never been her strong suit. Running only felt good for a few minutes, a way to clear her mind, but the longer she breathed erratically the more she regretted it.

Then she looked up, and saw the latest papers on the stand. The two closest to the front were all Jaclyn could see.

The first was a grainy picture of her hand on Emma's face. If her name weren't above it in big bold letters she could have tried to swear that it wasn't her.

"Jackie is attacking," she read the title in a mumbled voice, "they're not even trying to be clever anymore."

"Poor girl, just when she thought she could catch a break." Jaclyn jumped looking to the elderly man that had snuck up on her. For a second she forgot about her disguise and blushed at the idea of being caught.

"Do you think if I told them I just cared for the sports section they'd leave her alone?" He flipped right past the front page not bothering to read a word of the article that was probably spewing off every reason she was unfit for royals. For some reason her smile grew, "doubt it, they seem to love terrorizing everyone."

Feeling better Jaclyn pulled the second article out from the rack. For a second she regretted doing so.

There were two pictures. One of her fleeing the scene last night her phone pressed to her ear horror written on her face. The other was of William in Africa, a tall tanned brunette snuggling into his side, but his gaze was down on his phone.

"William too busy for American mistress's drama," she read again her voice tweaking the slightest. It was pure coincidence that they both had phones, she hadn't even been talking to him when hers was taken. She also didn't mean to read the title aloud, and to sound so wounded while she did so.

"Bunch a rubbish if ya ask me," the man chided never looking up from his paper.

"Exactly," she said deepening her voice, "pictures don't tell the whole story, sometimes it's the angle or it was taken at the wrong time." There was no reason to believe that these rumours were any more true than the ones of her had been.

Then again there had been real feelings between her and William even if they weren't together. That was the unreasonable section of her heart that always jumped to act that instilled the slightest worry in her.

We're good, she thought setting the tabloid down before she could get too into it.

He's with a gorgeous model in Africa, that small but loud voice said. It didn't want to hear reason, it just wanted to hurt, but she couldn't allow that.