Island Doctor to Royal Bride?

She stopped for a second as Philippe’s pale face changed into a frown, then lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. ‘I won’t do that to my patients, Philippe. I won’t expose them to that—having a sick kid is hard enough. Plus, I don’t want the safe haven project rubbished.’ She put her hand on her chest and looked at him again.

Another tear slipped down her cheek. All those reasons were good reasons. She knew that. But she still hadn’t mentioned what was at the heart of it all. She drew herself up. ‘But as well as all that, I want privacy, Philippe. I don’t want people examining my background. Asking stories around the place I lived when I was a kid. My parents were my parents. That’s their spot in my life. They weren’t rich. We struggled at times. Do you think I want to be splashed across the papers as the abandoned baby from the poor family? Then I won’t be good enough, they won’t be good enough. I won’t have that. I can’t have that.’ She pointed at the paper. ‘These are today’s headlines. I can only imagine what they’ll say tomorrow if they start digging.’

It was almost as if the world were working against her. A few seconds later she recognised a face on screen. Amal. A little kid she’d worked with in Washington with leukaemia. He was sitting in his wheelchair, beaming at someone. ‘I love Dr Arissa,’ he said, waving at what seemed like a camera phone.

The feed switched to the news anchor. ‘Well, there’s a thumbs up from one of her patients,’ he said, beaming inanely towards her.

‘No,’ she breathed as more tears streaked down her face. It was everything she’d feared. ‘How on earth did they do that? How did they get hold of Amal so quickly?’

Philippe looked horrified. He glanced at his watch. ‘The press pictures must have leaked hours ago when we were all in bed. The story must have gone global.’ His brow creased. ‘But I have no idea how they found him.’

She turned on Philippe, her voice rising. ‘You promised me that there would be no publicity here.’ She shook her head, ‘And I, like a fool, believed you.’ She was angry with herself again. She met his gaze. ‘I believed you because I wanted to believe you. Because I trusted you. Because you had me swept up in some kind of—’ she threw her hands out in frustration ‘—made-up fairy tale.’

She walked over to the dressing room and started pulling out her case. Now she’d started she couldn’t stop. ‘But this isn’t for me. This isn’t my life.’ She couldn’t stop shaking her head as she gestured towards the television screen. ‘I won’t allow them to do that to me—or my patients.’

‘Arissa, please stop. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry that this has happened to you.’ He was at her side, holding onto her arm. He looked just as upset as she was.

She’d already flung her suitcase wide and started to throw things haphazardly inside.

Their picture flashed up on the screen together again and she froze. It was that look. That look that had passed between them. His hand on her cheek and her hand on top of it. It made her heart twist inside her chest. There—for all the world to see—was the look of love that had passed between them. It wrenched at her in ways she didn’t even want to admit to.

There was another of them midway down the stairs, her arm tucked into his elbow. The smile on his face as he looked at her. One of them dancing in the middle of the ballroom floor with eyes only for each other.

Philippe let out an exasperated sound. ‘There’s more?’

She’d only seen the first one that had made the newspaper front page. She hadn’t seen the rest. Then another flashed up of them on their first day in Corinez, sitting in the coffee shop together, laughing.

He shook his head. ‘I thought someone recognised us that day,’ he growled.

She’d felt it. She’d felt it every time she was in his company. But now she was seeing it through someone else’s eyes. The way they looked at each other, the way they interacted, the way they laughed together, and, instead of making her happy, it made her want to cry.