I gripped the edges of the podium and unfolded the paper with Kirk’s words.The cameras flashed so violently I could hardly see.
“The United States—” I began, my voice taut.
“Is Prince Arthur your boyfriend?”someone shouted.
“Did you meet his mother, Princess Anne, yet?”another voice cut in.
“Do you intend to resign, Ambassador?”
“Does President Harding approve of your relationship with a royal?”
The questions came in waves, relentless, drowning out my words.
I raised my voice.“The United States applauds the commitment of—”
“Is it true the Palace demanded you break up with him?”
“Did you betray your office for love?”
“Are you in contact with Arthur now?”
My throat tightened, and I tried again.“We will continue to pursue peace—”
“Peace through what, pillow talk?”someone jeered.Laughter rippled through the pack.
The paper trembled in my hands, and my chest constricted.The reporters weren’t listening.They never would.To them, I wasn’t a diplomat, or even a person.I was a scandal in a suit, a fallen man wrapped around a prince.
Heat burned behind my eyes.I blinked hard, desperate not to let the tears spill here, not in front of them.
My mouth opened, but no more words came.I glanced down at the page, Kirk’s sterile script blurring.My career, my sacrifices, the years I’d given—all of it had led here, to this podium, to this humiliation.I saw it clearly: I was finished.My credibility was gone, and my usefulness to the Service burned away by the tabloid pyre.
What was left for me?
Arthur’s face rose in my mind, his voice trembling in Eddie’s flat when he said he would give up everything for me.And me, the coward, telling him to wait, to cool things off.I’d chosen this career over him, and now my career was in ashes.
I couldn’t do it.Not another word.
I turned, pressing the paper into Paula’s hand.My voice was a hoarse whisper.“You deliver it.Please.”
Her eyes widened, but she nodded, professional even when surprised.
I caught the eye of my lead agent, gave the signal.“Now.”
They moved instantly, forming a tight wedge around me as I stepped away from the podium.The questions rose to a frenzy, shouted louder, desperate.
“Ambassador Lewis, are you quitting?”
“Will you return to Washington in disgrace?”
“Do you love Prince Arthur?”
That last one cut the deepest.
My pace quickened, almost a run, as the agents ushered me toward the waiting SUV.Cameras chased me, reporters pressing forward against the barrier, their voices sharp and merciless.
My chest heaved as I slid into the car, the door slamming behind me.For a moment I sat in the dark silence, hands trembling in my lap, my breath ragged.
I realised then what I had known all along but hadn’t dared say: my career was over.I was not a diplomat anymore, a respected envoy.Kirk would have my resignation on his desk by the end of the week, and the world would spin on without me.NATO would survive without my presence, and history would never remember Bryce Lewis except as a footnote in a royal scandal.
