His Royal Temper

This Just In:
Prince Edward Brawls With Paparazzi Outside Girlfriend’s Apartment Building

In the past few weeks, we’ve learned a lot about His Royal Hotness Prince Edward the Ginger, and almost all of it supports something we’ve long suspected: the man’s a hardcore pothead and lazy as hell.

This is a guy who pisses in the ocean before going inside his yacht to use the bathroom, who drinks the bong water before sending someone out for more dope, who uses a BS allergy as an excuse to avoid getting a job, and who lets his bodyguards end relationships on his behalf. This is a guy who, after walking his girlfriend to her door at the end of night out, defends her honor with his fists.

Sing with us. “One of these things is not like the other…”

Crazy as it may sound, Prince Edward did indeed escort Isabella “Not-a” Swan to her flat after what appeared to be a date. At ten past midnight, a black sedan with tinted windows pulled up in front of the Chelsea building, the historic hotel-turned-luxury co-op Not-a Swan has called home since moving back to The Westerlands six months ago. Two liveried Protection Officers got out of the front of the car and stood on either side of the rear passenger door, as Prince Edward emerged from the car. Much to our surprise, it was His Royal Hotness who helped Not-a climb out of the car, not one of his thugs—er—bodyguards. As they walked the three meters of sidewalk from the street to the entrance of the Chelsea, Prince Edward kept his arm around Not-a’s waist and leaned into her, as if trying to shield her from the sea of flash bulbs.

When His Royal Hotness reappeared a few minutes later, he ignored the paparazzo’s requests that he pose for a few photos.

This is when shit started to get real.

According to reports, one of the paps yelled something like, “You only lasted five minutes?”

His Royal Hotness froze in place.

Seemingly thrilled to have gotten the famously-stoic prince to react, the pap continued, “Not-a spent more time BUYING the rubber than you did wearing it!”

Because photos of celebs looking at the camera are worth far more money, the paparazzi has a long-standing tradition of saying the most offensive things they can think of with the hope of shocking the subject of their pursuit into turning to look at them.

Tonight they were particularly creative.

That Prince Edward reacted to the first insult hurled at him encouraged the crowd of gathered photographers, leading one of them to take it a bit further.

“Leave him alone, guys,” the esteemed photojournalist shouted. “It’s obvious he didn’t just fuck her. If he had, his hair would be messed up from his blindfold. I mean, look at his girlfriend. No way he could get it up without one.”

Before his Protection Officers could intervene, Prince Edward stalked over to the offending paparazzo and smashed both his camera and his face.

That’s when another pap jumped to his colleague’s defense and punched Prince Edward several times, allegedly knocking out one of his teeth and breaking his nose.

According to an eyewitness, “The Prince got hit a few times before his thugs stepped in and started fighting for him, the pussy. Anyway, after the first punch, you could hear bone cracking, and blood spurted everywhere. You know what the craziest part was? His blood wasn’t even blue!”

It was complete pandemonium until the police arrived to disperse the crowd, issuing a stern warning that anyone remaining would be charged with trespassing. Though several arrests were made, Prince Edward has yet to be seen since his guards ushered him back inside Not-a’s building.

Our reporter asked a detective on the scene why Prince Edward wasn’t being held for questioning and got the following response: “Our first priority is always the safety of our citizens. We’ll get His Royal Highness’s statement once order is restored on the street. It’s not as if we don’t know where he lives.”

The victim of His Royal Temper was taken away in an ambulance. No word yet as to whether or not he’s planning to press criminal charges.

COMMENTS (showing 11 of 2,876)

His Royal Gayness

And we thought only gynos did pap smears!

swatchdogs-n-dietcokeheads

That was a pretty obnoxious thing to say, and he’s been dealing with stuff like this his whole life. Not condoning violence, but I can see how he could get to a point where he’d just snap.

Leisure Suit Larry

What’s the point of having two Secret Policemen with you at all times if they don’t step up when the shit hits the fan?

Her Majesty Queen Charlotte the First of Her Name

How else would I squander your tax dollars? A woman can only own so many palaces, you know.

Boners For Bomer

Further proof that his bodyguards are really his boyfriends. Ever notice how Carlisle and Esme’s protection officers are never in livery and Edward’s are? Methinks he has a uniform fetish.

HRH Princess Edward

As if anyone would press assault charges against Prince Edward! What’s the point? You know he’ll get out of it.

Monarch Shutterfly

At the very least, he’ll have to pay the guy off. There’s no way he can deny it since we got the whole thing on tape.

My Narcissistic Alias

You were there?

Monarch Shutterfly

Yes. Still am, in fact.

My Narcissistic Alias

How? They said they’d charge you guys with trespassing. Besides by all accounts, the show is over.

Monarch Shutterfly

The sidewalk belongs to the city. As long as we remain orderly, we can’t legally be kept from gathering in public spaces. They have barricades up around the entrance to the Chelsea, but as long as we don’t cross them, we’re cool.

And it’s far from over. Prince Edward’s gone into the building, but he’s yet to come out. If he took half the beating everyone claims he did, he’s going to look like shit when he does. Can you imagine our pretty boy with a broken nose? I’ll be damned if I don’t get a picture of it.


 

I’m about to step into the shower when I hear the knock on my door. Right away, I know something’s not right. Visitors to my flat always go through security, at which point the guard on duty calls me to make sure they’re welcome before allowing them into the elevator. Then again, maybe Edward changed his mind and decided to come inside for a few minutes after all. He wouldn’t be announced if he were already in the building.

I shut off the water and thrown on my robe. As I turn to leave the bathroom, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face is scrubbed free of makeup, my hair’s piled on top of my head haphazardly, secured in place with a white plastic roller clip, and my robe, though comfortable, is frumpy as fuck.

There’s no way I want Edward to see me looking like this. I let down my hair and fluff it with my fingers, then rush to my closet for something a bit less matronly I settle on a short, silk robe that’s lavender and gray with a spattering of yellow embroidery. When Esme gave it to me, she said it was “demurely sexy”.

Yep. That’s exactly what I’m going for. I throw on the robe and the prettiest pair of panties I own, then rush to the door. Just to be safe, I stand on tiptoe and look through the peephole. Edward’s standing in the hallway with his Protection Officer, just as I expected. It’s that his shirt’s torn and his mouth is bloody that catches me off-guard.

Oh shit.

“Hang on a sec.” My hands are shaking as I fumble with the lock. It seems to take forever, but eventually, I manage to open the door.

“Hello, Bella,” he says, smiling. “It appears I’ll be taking you up on your invitation after all.”

“Oh my god.” I step aside so he can enter. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?”

“I’m fine; I just got into a bit of a scuffle with a photographer.”

My eyes dart from Edward to his bodyguard. He looks exactly as he did when he left. What’s the point of having a bodyguard if he doesn’t step in during a fight? I open my mouth to ask him where he was through all this, but then I realize I should probably ask his name first.

“This is weird considering you helped drive me home, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” I extend my hand to him. “I’m Bella.”

“Sorry,” Edward says. “Bella, Marcus. Marcus, Bella. To make a long story short, one of the guys I hit insisted on calling the police, and since the entire incident happened on camera, I couldn’t very well hop into my car and speed off. The responding officers were kind enough to permit me to wait inside until they’re ready to take my statement. You don’t mind if they come up here, do you? It’s pretty crazy downstairs right now.”

“Of course not.”

“I’ll let them know,” Marcus says, reaching for his phone.

“Thank you.” Edward wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a trail of blood on his fingers. “Damn it.”

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” I take his wrist in my hand and tug him along with me to my bedroom, closing the door behind us. “Sit,” I say, pointing to the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

I proceed to my bathroom, where I retrieve my first-aid kit from under the sink.

When I come out, Edward’s sitting there waiting for me.

“Interesting choice of decor,” he says, gesturing to the walls.

“Hey, at least I bothered to hang stuff up.”

“You did, which tells me there must be some significance to the both the Wonder Woman poster and the enormous framed print of a hundred-dollar bill, even if I can’t imagine what.”

I’m laughing as I unzip the first-aid kit and put it down on the bed beside him. “They help me stay focused on what I need to do.”

“Be a superhero and make money?”

“Pretty much.” I tear open an alcohol pad. “I’m sorry. This will probably sting.”

“It’s okay,” he says, tilting his face toward mine.

I expect him to flinch when I clean his cut, but he doesn’t. Instead, he scoots closer, stopping when I’m standing between his knees. It dials up the intensity of the moment, making me hyper-aware of everything. The heat of his body, the slight scratchiness of his trousers against my skin, the way his hands move slowly from his legs onto mine—I’ve had sex that wasn’t this sensual. But the cops will be here any minute, and I can’t let myself get carried away—at least, not yet.

I focus on the task at hand. “How did this happen?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Some pap said something that pissed me off.”

“Don’t they always?”

“Frequently, yes. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, and to a certain extent, I am. But sometimes…I don’t know…”

“What?” I put down the used alcohol pad and dab a bit of Neosporin onto my index finger.

“Sometimes they say things that remind me of how they were with my mother, and then I don’t care how it looks or what kind of trouble it gets me into. I’m not going to let it go.”

“I see.” I raise my finger to his mouth. “May I?”

He nods. As I gently apply the ointment to the cut beneath his bottom lip, his thumbs trace lazy circles on the bare skin of my thighs. When I’m finished, he catches my hand in his and presses his lips against my palm. He drags his mouth to my wrist, peppering my skin with kisses.

I close my eyes and lean into him. Just as his hand starts to move up my leg underneath my robe, there’s a knock at the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, Sir,” Marcus calls from out in the hallway, “but there’s a detective here to question you.”

Edward turns his head toward the door. “I’ll be right there.” He looks back at me with an apologetic smile. “Duty beckons.”

“Of course.”

I move out of his way, and he gets up from my bed. As I follow him down the hallway, I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved. I linger behind when he steps into the living room. I might be okay with Edward’s Protection Officers seeing me in lingerie—mostly because I have no choice—but I draw the line at run-of-the-mill popo.

Edward looks at Marcus and nods.

“Your Royal Highness, this is Detective Crowley.” Marcus turns to the policemen. “Detective, His Royal Highness Prince Edward.”

Right away, Detective Crowley bows his head.

“None of that and please call me Edward.” Edward shakes the detective’s hand then gestures to the sofa. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“That’s very kind of you, Sir, but I won’t be here long. I hate to trouble you at all, but since the complainant was taken from the scene in an ambulance, it has to at least appear as if we’re treating you the way we’d treat anyone else.”

Edward looks surprised. “An ambulance? I didn’t hit him that hard, though given what he said to me, I probably should have.”

“I can’t say that I blame you. If someone insulted my girlfriend like that, I’d probably react the same way—”

“Girlfriend?” I look at Edward in disbelief.

I’m not surprised Detective Crowley thinks Edward and I are in an actual relationship—even if it wasn’t the hot gossip right now, he did just see us come out of my bedroom together. What I can’t get over is Edward’s willingness to risk both corporal and political injury to defend my honor. Part of me is appalled by his willingness to allow his testosterone and machismo start a controversy like this and insulted that he thinks I’m unable to handle this on my own.

The rest of me? Pretty fucking turned on.

“Anyway,” the detective continues, “We’re not planning on pursuing this from a criminal standpoint, but obviously, the victim has the right to file charges.”

“Of course,” Edward says.

Crowley moves toward the door, then turns back to Edward. “One more thing. It’s gotten pretty crazy outside. We’ve set up barricades to keep the people from blocking the entrance to the building, but if you were to leave tonight, we’re not sure we’d be able manage the crowds in such a way that would guarantee everyone’s safety. Usually, we only have mobs like this for official appearances by the Royal Family. As you know, those are scheduled well in advance, and the Palace Guard is always on hand to provide crowd control—”

“Of course. I’ll make the necessary arrangements in the morning. If that’s all, Marcus will see you out.” Edward waits for them to leave, then turns to me. “Looks like we’re spending the night. We shouldn’t inconvenience you too much. Marcus doesn’t sleep when he’s on duty, and I can crash anywhere. Do you have a guest room?”

“First things first. You pounded the shit out of a pap because he insulted me?”

“Can we discuss that later? Marcus will be back any minute, and I’d like to have this figured out—”

“No, I don’t have a guest room.”

“Oh.” He almost looks disappointed. “In that case, do you mind if I crash with you? It’s just easier that way since Marcus will be out here in the living room all night. I promise to behave myself.”

“Fine. Whatever.” I wave my hand at him. “Now please answer the question.”

“Yes, I hit him because he insulted you.”

“So much for not lying to me! Half an hour ago, you said it reminded you of your mother.”

He wrinkles his forehead. “Yes, and?”

“Oh, come on! Surely you see how one statement seems to contradict the other.”

“Not really. I saw an opportunity to do something for you that I was never able to do for her, so I took it.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes. “Because talk-shit-get-hit is exactly the kind of behavior one expects from a member of the Royal Family. Next time, why don’t you just demand satisfaction?”

“I would have if I thought I could get away with it! Look, I’m not going to pretend my conduct was befitting of an officer and a gentleman, but I refuse to stand idly while some asshole disrespects a woman I care about.”

Oh, fuck it all. I can worry about what this does to my feminist membership status later. Right now, I just want to kiss him.

I close the distance between us and throw my arms around Edward’s neck. Just as our lips are about to touch, there’s a knock at the door.

Edward sighs. “That would be Marcus. There are a few things I need to discuss with him…”

“Take as much time as you need. You know where to find me.” I smile at him, then head back to my bedroom.

It isn’t until the door closes behind me that my nerves sink in.

I take a deep breath, and tell myself this is no different from our date earlier tonight. I just need to have a plan.

First things first—I know I can’t sleep in this robe without it inadvertently coming open at some point in the night, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to feel sexy.

I settle on a short, off-white slip and put the robe back on over it. Now that I know he won’t see me naked unless I want him to, I can focus on the more important issue: do I want him to?

Crazy as it sounds, I think I do.

I’m still not ready to have sex with him—things haven’t changed that much in the past hour—but I wouldn’t object if he wanted to fool around a bit.

“Sorry about that.” Edward pulls the door closed and moves toward me, his eyes roaming over my body in way that makes me feel naked even though I’m not.

Feeling self-conscious, I head for the bathroom.

“Come on,” I say. “Let me show you where everything is.”

After I set him up with what he needs, I excuse myself so he can take care of business. I climb into bed but stay on top the covers. With my eyes closed, I tell myself this is the same as the steam room. He managed to behave himself then, and odds are tonight will be no different.

The problem is that then I wanted him to behave, and now I don’t.

He comes out of the bathroom wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and a smile. God help me, he’s even hotter than I remember.

“Thank you.” He gets into bed and stretches out on his side so he’s facing me. “I feel much better.”

The lamp beside the bed lights his skin in such a way that the bruises on his jaw seem much worse than they did before.

“Does it hurt?” I ask.

“Does what hurt?”

“Your face. It’s pretty badly bruised.”

“Yeah, I noticed that in the bathroom. It looks a lot worse than it feels.”

I reach for him but stop just before touching his face. “May I?”

“Yes.”

As gently as possible, I trace the outlines of his bruises with my fingertips. “What did he say about me? The guy who did this, I mean.”

“Does it matter?”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows. “That bad, huh?”

“Bella—”

“It’s not as if I’m not going to find out eventually anyway…”

“Fine,” he says, sighing. “He’d read the bit about you buying condoms this afternoon and decided to take it a step further.”

This can’t be happening to me.

I cover my face with my hands and brace myself. “What about me buying condoms?”

“Someone got a picture of you today at the pharmacy. They say you bought condoms, but the photo is of you talking on the phone. You’re standing in front of a shelf of enemas, right under a sign that read Rectal Needs.”

“Rectal Needs? I don’t even know what that is! I ran into Drug$mart for condoms, then Esme called. I didn’t want to take the chance someone would see me buying rubbers, so I went one aisle over before I answered…” But I didn’t look to see which aisle I was stepping into. “It was the ass aisle, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I’ve never been inside a drugstore—”

“This is all my fault.” My face heats up, and it takes everything in me not to cry. “I know what it’s like outside my building every day…if I hadn’t let you come inside the building with me…or if I hadn’t gone to Drug$mart this afternoon…or even if I’d let Esme go to voicemail…” I shake my head. “You know, I’m not sure what’s worse—that all this happened or that it’s actually starting to make sense to me.”

“What’s starting to make sense?”

“How elaborate tabloid fodder can be spun from the tiniest details. What’s crazy is that they’re never complete fabrications—at least, not the ones I’ve seen about me. I read all of them, you know—I can’t not. Usually, they’re easy to laugh off because they’re just so out there…but sometimes what they post is just close enough to what I know that their version of the facts is the one that stays with me. After a while, the differences between the two get more and more blurred, until even I don’t know what to believe.”

“Then you’ll have to take my word for it—everything they’ve posted about today is bullshit.”

“I meant in general.”

“Oh.” He lowers his eyes. “You’re talking about me now, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” I lie.

He looks up at me and raises his eyebrows.

“Fine,” I admit with a sigh. “Yes, I’m talking about you.”

“You know, you could just ask me.”

“Right. Because you’ll totally tell me what I want to know.” I shake my head. “These days, I can’t even get a straight answer out of my own sister.”

“I know this is a sticking point for you, and in a lot of ways, I understand why. You grew up being told to trust people until they give you reason not to, and withholding trust is always meant to be punitive.”

“So was Esme. We have the same mother, you know.”

“Esme’s spent enough time around us to see the other side of things. You have to understand, the monarchy is its own entity. I may be part of it, but it doesn’t belong to me. Hell, my own life doesn’t belong to me. I can’t share what isn’t mine.”

“In other words, feel free to ask, but don’t expect you to answer if I get too personal.” I stare down at my duvet and sigh. “Nice.”

“Actually, it’s the personal stuff—the stuff that’s just about me—that I want to share with you. You want to know which of my tabloid scandals were true? I’ll tell you the story behind every single one of them—on one condition.”

“Please,” I say, rolling my eyes. “If I was going to sell you out to the press, I would’ve done it by now.”

“I know; that’s not what I’m asking.”

I look up at his face. Much to my surprise, he actually seems genuine.

“Then what?”

“I’d like you to do the same.”

“Fine, but I can’t imagine what you’ve read in the tabloids about me you could possibly want me to clarify.”

“In that case, I’ll go first. Did you buy rubbers thinking we’d use them tonight?”

I fake a coughing spell.

He smiles. “Seriously?”

“Not exactly.” I cover my face with my hands. “Ugh! Why couldn’t you start with something easy like, ‘Did you really flip off those photographers?’ or even ‘Was it laundry day when you went running?'”

“You’re stalling, Bella.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath before I look at him. “Yes, I bought them to use with you. But you shouldn’t have to ask me that. I told you at dinner that tonight was the first time I’d been out with a guy in years, so the fact I’m not seeing anyone else shouldn’t be all that shocking.”

“But were you thinking we’d use them tonight?”

“Honestly?” I shake my head. “No. I’m not the kind of girl who has sex on the first date.”

“I see.” His eyes are downcast for a moment, then he perks up as if he just had a revelation. “What about the second? I did leave and come back, so one could easily make the argument—”

I smack him on the shoulder. “Jerk.”

“I’m kidding. As much as I want to, I couldn’t.”

“And just like that, we’re back to the NDA bullshit.”

“There’s more to it than that, though I’d be lying if I said the NDA wasn’t a huge part of it. Like I said before, it’s not that I don’t trust you—”

“I know, I know. There are parts of you that belong to the monarchy, and Your Royal Scepter is one of them. What about the Crown Jewels?”

“The scepter is mine, the jewels not so much.” He scoots a bit closer to me and props his head up with his elbow. “Your turn.”

“Hm…” I say, taking a mental inventory of His Royal Scandals. As curious as I am about the sex, drugs, and penis pictures, there’s something that, given the way I’m starting to feel about him, matters to me much more. “That whole thing with Lauren Mallory and your protection officer. The night you…I mean…the night we met—”

“The night I threw up you?”

I snap my fingers and point at him. “That’s would be the night. When you showed up at Esme’s apartment, you said something about not wanting to be around when Lauren found out she wasn’t welcome at the Palace. The next day, everyone was saying you had your bodyguard break up with her on your behalf.”

“I ended things with Lauren—in person—right before I left for Afghanistan. She just had a hard time accepting that.”

“Fair enough. Your turn again.”

“Is your mother really making you take classes in poise, deportment, and ballroom dance before the wedding?”

“Where’d you read that?”

“Royal Bitch.”

“Figures.” I sigh. “She asked me to take ballroom dance lessons—that’s it.”

“Did you say yes?”

“Yes, assuming she can find an instructor willing to work with my schedule. I wonder where that story came from. The only person who knew about that besides my mom and me is my assistant.”

“Sounds like you need a new assistant.”

I shake my head. “Oh no, she’d never… I mean, her references were impeccable, and we’ve gotten to be pretty good friends—”

“Look, I’m not saying you should go into work Monday making accusations. Just be aware it’s a possibility, and be careful what you say.”

“I don’t even want to think about the possibility Heidi’s been selling me out to the tabloids. Anyway, she signed an NDA.”

“So did Lauren—pictures of my penis still ended up online, didn’t they?”

“Ooh! Let’s talk about your penis instead!”

“This is serious, Bella.”

“I know. And believe me, I’m going to address it. But I can’t do anything about it right now, and since it’s my turn, I want to talk about your penis. Inquiring minds want to know—are you a show-er or a grower?”

This time, he fakes a coughing spell.

“Oh, come on,” I say.

“I’d say a grower, but you have to remember these things are subjective…”

It takes an extraordinary amount of restraint, but somehow I resist the urge to ask if I can hold His Royal Scepter.

“Fair enough. Your turn again.”

“Do I have to stick to things I’ve read in gossip blogs, or can I ask whatever I want?”

I roll my eyes at him.

“What?” he asks.

“You came up with the quid-pro-quo bullshit just so you could ask about the condoms, didn’t you?”

He looks at me as if this should be obvious. “Well, yeah.”

“You’re unbelievable, but fine. Ask whatever you want.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “May I take off your robe?”

It’s not a question I expected, but I don’t have to think about my answer.

“I thought you’d never ask.”





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