The Royals Next Door

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.”