Chapter 18 Chapter eighteen
DEV
I arrived at Nido Café twenty minutes early, which was ridiculous.
It was just coffee. Just a conversation. Just two people who'd accidentally destroyed their lives together talking without cameras present.
Nothing to be nervous about.
Except I was nervous. Properly nervous. The kind of nervous I hadn't felt since my PhD defense.
I ordered an espresso, sat at a table in the back corner. Quiet. Private. Away from the window where photographers might spot us.
Though maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe the media had moved on. Maybe nobody cared about the disgraced princess and the PhD student who'd caused the scandal.
I pulled up the news on my phone. Right. Still front page everywhere.
Guardian: "Week After Royal Scandal, Questions About Crown Estate Accountability Mount"
Telegraph: "Princess Aanya Reportedly Seeking Employment After Title Loss"
Daily Mail: "Disgraced Princess Spotted at Friend's Flat, Looks Exhausted"
There was a photo of Aanya leaving Priya's building, carrying boxes. She looked small, tired, normal. Nothing like the polished princess from the gala or the fierce woman who'd ripped up palace documents on stage.
Just a person dealing with consequences.
My phone buzzed. Text from Giulia: Is this your coffee date with the princess? Don't mess it up. She gave up everything to validate your research. Least you can do is not be awkward.
Me: Thanks for the confidence. Very helpful.
Giulia: I'm serious. This woman is brave and brilliant and threw away a throne for truth. If you spend the whole time talking about data analysis I will personally kick your arse.
Me: What should I talk about then?
Giulia: Her. Ask about HER. What she wants, what she's scared of, what she's planning. Not the scandal. Not the monarchy. Her.
Me: When did you become a relationship expert?
Giulia: Since my brother became emotionally constipated around the first interesting woman he's met in years. Don't screw this up.
I put my phone away, trying to calm down.
This wasn't a date. This was just coffee. A conversation between two people who'd been through something intense and needed to process it together.
Except the way my heart was racing suggested my body disagreed.
The door opened. I looked up.
Aanya Windsor walked in.
Not Princess Aanya. Not HRH. Just Aanya.
She was wearing jeans, a navy jumper, a brown leather jacket. Hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. No makeup that I could see. No jewelry. Nothing royal about her appearance.
She looked nervous. Scanning the café, looking for me.
Our eyes met.
She smiled. Small, uncertain, real.
I stood up, suddenly aware that I had no idea what the protocol was here. Did I shake her hand? Hug her? Bow?
No. Definitely not bow. She wasn't a princess anymore. That was the whole point.
She reached me before I could decide.
"Hi," she said. Her voice was quieter than it had been on stage. Less certain.
"Hi. Thanks for coming."
"Thank you for inviting me." She looked around the café. "This is nice. Quiet."
"Thought we could use quiet after this week."
"God, yes."
We sat. Awkward silence.
The barista came over. "What can I get you?"
"Just an Americano, please," Aanya said. Then she pulled out her wallet, fumbled with it. "Sorry, I'm still figuring out how money works. Is five pounds enough?"
The coffee was two pounds fifty.
She genuinely didn't know.
"That's plenty," the barista said gently. Took a fiver, brought back change.
Aanya stared at the coins like they were a puzzle to solve.
After the barista left, she looked at me. "I've never ordered my own coffee before. Palace staff always handled it. I had no idea how much things cost. Is that pathetic?"
"It's honest."
"It's pathetic. I'm twenty-seven years old and I don't know how to buy coffee." She laughed, but it was strained. "This week has been a very steep learning curve in how much I don't know about being an actual person."
I didn't know what to say to that. The gap between our worlds had never been more visible. She'd given up everything and was learning to be normal. I'd been fighting to survive my whole life.
"How are you doing?" I asked. "Really?"
She was quiet for a moment. "I don't know how to answer that. Some moments I feel free. Like I can finally breathe. Other moments I'm terrified because I have no idea what I'm doing or how to survive or who I am without the title."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is. But it's also real. For the first time in my life, everything is real." She looked at me. "How are you? Your research is everywhere. Parliament's calling for inquiries. Crown Estate's under investigation. You got what you wanted."
"Did I?"
"Didn't you?"
I thought about it. "I wanted the truth to matter. I wanted my father's death to mean something. I wanted accountability. And all of that's happening. But I didn't want..." I gestured vaguely. "This. You losing everything. Your family cutting you off. The media circus."
"That wasn't your fault. That was my choice."
"Choice you wouldn't have had to make if I hadn't presented that research."
"Choice I should have made years ago if I'd had any integrity." She leaned forward slightly. "Dev, you showed me evidence of harm my family's institution was causing. Real harm to real people. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? Perform sympathy while changing nothing? I couldn't. Not after I knew."
"Most people in your position would have."
"Then most people in my position are cowards."
The barista brought her coffee. She wrapped both hands around the cup like she was cold.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Why did you help me? At the gala. When Edmund stepped on my gown. You could have let me fall. You had every reason to hate me, hate what I represented. But you helped me anyway. Why?"
I thought back to that night. The moment I'd seen her falling. The instant decision to catch her.
"I didn't see a princess," I said. "I just saw someone who needed help."
"But you knew who I was."
"Yeah. But in that moment, you were just a person falling. And I'm not the kind of person who lets people fall when I can help."
She studied my face. "Even if they represent everything you hate?"
"You didn't choose to be born royal. You didn't choose what Crown Estate did. You were just... there. Existing in a system you'd inherited." I paused. "Though after Tuesday night, you did choose. You chose to tell the truth. That took real courage."
"Or stupidity."
"Maybe both."
She almost smiled. "Probably both."
We drank coffee in comfortable silence for a moment.
"I got a job offer," she said suddenly. "Rosa Lombardi. From the community centre. She wants me to run an education access program. Working with displaced families, helping kids who've had to change schools."
"That's brilliant. Are you going to take it?"
"I think so. The interview's this afternoon. But I'm terrified. I've never had a job interview. Never had a real job. I don't know if I'm qualified."
"You've got years of education experience. You speak five languages. You're smart, dedicated, you actually care about the work. You're qualified."
"I'm also the disgraced princess who betrayed her family on national television. Not exactly a selling point on a CV."
"To some people it is. To people who value integrity over institutional loyalty. To people like Rosa."
She looked at me. "Do you think I did the right thing?"
"Telling the truth? Yes."
"Even though it cost me everything?"
"Did it cost you everything? Or did it cost you the performance of being someone you never chose to be?"
She was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know yet. Ask me in a year."
"Fair enough."
More comfortable silence. This was easier than I'd expected. Talking to her felt natural. Like we'd known each other longer than one gala and one forum.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Of course."
"Why did you keep my waistcoat? After the gala."
She looked surprised. "How did you know I kept it?"
"I didn't. Until just now."
She laughed. Actually laughed. "That's sneaky."
"Academic research skills. Ask the right question, confirm the hypothesis."
"Well, your hypothesis was correct. I kept it. I found the Tube ticket in the pocket, researched Crown Estate news, found your Guardian article, realized the server who'd caught me was Dr. Dev Marchetti. And I kept the waistcoat because..." She paused. "Because it was the first time in years someone had helped me without wanting something. Without performing. You just helped because I needed help. That felt real. I wanted to remember what real felt like."
Something in my chest tightened.
"I'm glad I helped," I said quietly.
"I'm glad you did too. Though I'm sorry you're stuck with the aftermath. Media attention, people asking questions, probably palace pressure on your university."
"Actually, the university's been supportive. King's released a statement defending academic freedom. Professor Williams called to apologize for pressuring me before the forum. The LSE offer came through officially yesterday. Starting in September if I defend my dissertation by spring."
"Dev, that's wonderful!"
"Yeah. Turns out publicly validating my research on national television was good for my career." I smiled. "Who knew?"
"I'm genuinely happy for you. Your father would be proud."
Hearing her say that, using present tense like my father's pride still mattered, still existed somewhere, made my throat tight.
"Thank you," I managed.
We finished our coffee. The café was filling up with the late morning crowd.
We should probably leave before someone recognized her, started taking photos.
But I didn't want this to end.
"Would you want to walk?" I asked. "There's a park nearby. Quieter than here."
"I'd like that."