In the twenty four months that has passed since her twin brother, Liam, the King of England, introduced a historic referendum in parliament for his subjects that had been put forth by their father before his untimely death. The United Kingdom chose to keep their monarchy instead of abolishing it, and Eleanor's taught herself to do a number of normal things to try and stabilize her life to prove to her subjects that they had not done the wrong thing by taking a chance on allowing their family to continue to reign.

Just in case, she had insisted.

She's taught herself how to drive, because God forbid she actually has to take the public transportation for any reason other than a publicity stunt. She'll take her Range Rover to the grave, if she has to.

While living among the plebs might have been welcomed by Liam, it wasn't going to be the same for her. She's become accustomed to a certain lifestyle and was in no rush to give it up, title or no title. Besides, the tube was notoriously filled with people and there was nothing Eleanor hated more than being forced to interact with chatty people when she would prefer to blend in with her surroundings.

She's learned how to cook with the help of the palace chefs, and she isn't completely terrible at it. She can cook a hell of a late night meal and proudly showed off her newfound skills to her family, but prefers leaves regular preparations to their chefs. She feels less like an invalid that way.

However, Eleanor has become best at making it look like that she's moved on from the drama that was her life in the first few years following the deaths of Robert and her father. Nobody plays the part of a doting, quick-witted, patron-of-the-arts princess better than she does.

So while Liam cozies up to his new bride, Eleanor still goes to bed alone, and has been for several months now.

For the better part of the last two years if she were going to be honest with herself.

She tries to not let it bother her. After all, she has a big role to play in this monarchy that her people claimed to still want. Liam gave them the royal wedding they wanted. She had shown up and smiled and said how happy she was that her brother had found true love and happiness in their new reality.

His invitation had come back declined, and Eleanor pretended she didn't even know that he had been invited in the first place.

James still keeps in touch with him and has an awful habit of dropping tidbits of gossip, on purpose, to gauge her reaction.

Like the fact that he had moved back to the southwestern United States and was now working in a cushy intelligence job that he had likely come by with with a little aid from the palace.

Or how he had met someone new.

And that after eight months of dating, proposed to her.

And that this mystery bitch said yes.

Eleanor put her foot down after that. She's never once raised her voice to James in anger. In the midst of the unbroken stream of tears streaming down her cheeks, she told him to shut his mouth about Jasper Frost if he knew what was good for him. It was the last time she had said his name out loud.

She suspects that Liam keeps tabs on him too, but for different reasons.

Eleanor knows how to Google, and she's since learned how easy it was to stalk people on Facebook. With a fake account she's made since she isn't allowed to have one of her own.

She's quick to track down one Lindsay Rhodes from Las Vegas, Nevada. Born and bred, her bio blurb said. Lindsay Rhodes is a slight, light-haired brunette who likes jogging and Coldplay and is too fair for the shade of red lipstick she is seemingly wearing in every fucking photo.

Lindsay Rhodes appears to like cooking, and stupid DIY projects from a site called Pinterest. A girl who wants to have a homey home, and is excited about her upcoming nuptials and buying a home in the suburbs. A yard, not a condominium.

She is a woman who shares far too many dog pictures, but is well informed on world events and holds her own in discussions or debates considering she's a fucking journalist.

So, what in the flying fuck does she have in common with Jasper Frost and how did she bag him? Did her pussy write the Declaration of Independence or something?

Lindsay's Facebook page leads her down a dark road she's been avoiding for months now and she's quick to learn that while his new fiancée seems to not understand what Facebook security settings are, Jasper Frost damn well does. His own page doesn't show his face in his profile photo; instead a shadow of his tall, well built figure standing off in the distance in the Nevada desert. Naturally, it was was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Probably for reasons like this one.

And he'd damn well know who Matilda Simon was if she happened to accidentally send him a friend request.

Eleanor firmly believes is many things, but a homewrecker definitely is not one of them.

"I haven't been stateside in so long. I just want to relax on the beach. I want to see," she whines when she informs James she wants to go California. Alone. "I just need a break from all of this. I haven't stopped for two years!"

"Don't do this, Eleanor," Liam later warns her. "You're going to get hurt." He's saying it without really saying it. Liam may not be the brightest tool in the shed at times, but he knows damn well what the next state over from California is.

She needs to know if he's happy without her. She's tried moving on. She's tried throwing herself into other activities, and none of its worked. She needs to get herself the closure she needs the only way she knows how.

Which leads to her current location; sitting in an overcrowded Starbucks off of the Las Vegas Strip with the latest edition of American Vogue, a fat-free latte, not a stitch of makeup, and an old baseball cap she stole from Liam to shadow her face.

James emailed her this morning and told her that that location might hold a particular point of interest for her, if she were to happen to end up in Nevada. Something about this exact location having the kind of tea she liked that not every location carried anymore, despite knowing full well she stopped drinking tea a long time ago and switched to coffee.

She's been there all morning, not knowing what she was waiting for, if anything at all.

"Is this chair taken?"

Eleanor's head snaps up, and her lips part in shock as the girl in front of her stares back, slightly alarmed by her reaction.

"Er, no," she says quickly. "Go ahead it's all yours," she waves her hand, indicating she can take it. The other woman nods, her long loose, brown curls- darker than her pictures suggested- a recent dye job?- bounce as she takes the chair over to a group of other women chattering away about something she can't hear.

He definitely has a type.

She carefully closes her magazine and drains her latte. She contemplates getting another, but decides against it. She needs to get out of there. She's already treading in dangerous waters.

He'd descend on her like a demon straight from the fires of the ninth circle of Hell if he found out that she was in Vegas, ignoring him and stalking his fiancée.

Eleanor sighs, and throws out her paper cup and half-read magazine and leaves the coffee shop without a backward glance.

She just wants to see, and so she'll be back tomorrow.

On the fourth day, a Saturday, he comes in with her. They're both dressed as if they've been out for their morning jog. He looks good in his tight black jersey and loose black running pants.

Jasper gets a venti black tea, and adds a splash of milk, and takes a paper from a nearby table and settles into an armchair across the cafe. She changes her seat so her back is to him as she fiddles nervously with her iPhone.

"That girl in the black hat? She's been here every morning, in the same spot, for the past four days."

Immediately, Eleanor's back goes rigid. She can practically feel the colour drain from her face.

She needs to leave. Now. She's caught between a rock and a hard place. If she turns around, he'll immediately know it's her. If she doesn't, a potentially worse situation could arise and raise more questions than it would give answers.

"So?"

"So Jas, she's English. British. I've heard her speak. She always looks so sad. Like she's waiting for someone to show up and keeps being let down."

"That's unfortunate," Jasper replies with disinterest; his tone takes on that all-too-familiar edge it gets when he's irritated by something. There are millions of scrawny brunettes from England. There's no way it's her. Princess Eleanor would not go stateside without an official statement being issued by the palace, accompanied by a detailed itinerary. Americans would fawn. She would bask in the attention, because clearly Liam's lost his goddamn mind by letting his sister go on an overseas tour. Alone.

She's hardly left continental Europe since Liam's been crowned King. She wouldn't just show up in Vegas, not after all of this time. "Why don't you go join her if you're so interested in her story, Linds. Maybe she needs a friend?"

She's not daft; she know it's her cue to leave. Eleanor scrambles to her feet and gathers her rucksack and phone before beelining it to the bathroom. She locks herself inside the stall furthest away from the door as her body racks with silent sobs, her hand covering her mouth.

Of course they have a bloody routine.

Jasper never have that with her. He'd never be able to go out for a bloody Saturday morning run by himself if he were with her.

Hell, she can't remember the last time she went for a recreational jog, if ever. Jasper had been up and gone for a treadmill run in the family's gym before she had even considered getting up for the day. Had she really neglected Jasper's needs that much? Had they ever discussed her actually working out with him, ever? Liam played polo. He was the athletic one. She and Robbie preferred to watch Wimbledon from the stands and make a scene for Andy Murray.

She lines the toilet seat with paper and sits down on it as the door slowly opens. Someone goes into the stall next to her and does their business as if she's not there.

Eleanor knows she can't stay in the toilet all day. She can't stay in there longer than ten minutes before it starts to look embarrassingly suspicious.

Her phone vibrates in her bag and she draws it out and sees James' name flashing on the screen.

'Just got an interesting call,' his text reads. 'You wouldn't happen to be locked in a Starbucks toilet in Vegas, Princess?'

No, why? Have you finally gone mad? I'm in Malibu, she replies, and sends him a selfie she took six days ago on a beach.

He doesn't reply. She doesn't know that he screencaps her response and sends it to the man standing outside the door standing next to the payphone.

She waits another three minutes, and fishes her sunglasses out of her backpack and jams them on her face as she leaves.

They're gone.

This time, Eleanor knows she can't come back.

It takes James three days to give her a new location to haunt.

A popular delicatessen near some government offices off of the Strip. Famous for their smoked meat on rye.

His favourite.

Eleanor hates bread, so she gets a cobb salad instead and slides into the booth the furthest away from the counter, leaving enough room for her to see who is coming and going as she scrolls through the latest entertainment headlines on her phone.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?!" His voice is stern, disembodied, and perfect as her fork slips from her fingers and clatters on top of the table.

"I'm eating, Jas, what does it look like I'm doing?" she replies, and doesn't look up at him. She can't. Not yet. Instead picks her fork up and shovels a forkful of salad into her mouth to further emphasise her point.

"You can't be here. Not now. Go home, Le- Eleanor. Whatever sick game you're playing here, it ends now. Do you understand me?" He grows, and drops his finger on the table in front of her to further emphasise his point.

Still, she refuses to look at him. Instead, she pops a cherry tomato in her mouth and selects a news story about the public approval rating of the new Prime Minister.

Eleanor doesn't answer and he lets out an exasperated sigh, and drops down into the seat across from her, and rubs his face with his hands.

She continues to eat and pretend to read. When she is done, she drops her fork into the bowl with a loud clatter and pushes it away, and finally raises her eyes to his.

They're red rimmed and bloodshot, as if he hasn't slept properly in days. Years, even.

They look like her own on a good day.

She briefly stares at Jasper Frost like he's a tall glass of cold water in the middle of the Sahara. She catches herself, and immediately stonewalls him.

"Why are you here?" He asks carefully. Trying a different, less confrontational angle this time.

Eleanor opens and closes her mouth several times, and looks away. "I-..." She trails off.

Wanted to see you.

He waits for her, his perfectly groomed eyebrows raised.

"Does she know about me?"

"No." his answer is simple, although the damage to her heart it carries is just as destructive as the weight it carries.

Her brows knit together and her mouth forms into a frown.

"Okay." She answers lamely, choosing to be just as curt as he is, and begins packing her things into her bag. Eleanor turns her head away from him, her hair falling between them creating an unstyled barrier and somehow her

"That's it? That's all you got?" He says suddenly, his voice sounds borderline desperate all of a sudden. "Jesus Christ Eleanor, it's been two goddamn years. Did you honestly expect me to sit around and hope that you'd change your goddamn mind and take me back?! You're the one who-"

"Oh my god."

They both look up in alarm to see Lindsay staring at them, her jaw slack. A smoked meat on rye is in her hands as she takes in the scene in front of her.

Clearly, she had hoped to catch him before he showed up to get his own lunch. How precious.

"Sorry," Eleanor offers halfheartedly and moves to slide out of the booth. Jasper's hand darts across the table and curls his fingers tightly around her wrist, holding her in place. "Let me go Jasper," she hisses.

"No. You're not doing this, Eleanor. Not here," his voice is just as cold as her own. He's using that voice he has- when he's trying to distance himself from her on purpose. She briefly wonders if he's like this with Lindsay too.

"I'm going home," she tries, trying to wrench her arm free, but he's not loosening the grip he's got on her. "I made a mistake- Jasper- you're going to draw attention-"

"You two know each other? Have you been stalking me or something you psycho bitch?!" Lindsay finds her voice and rounds on Eleanor, clearly not realizing who, or what the hell she is.

Eleanor recoils, clearly taken aback. No one has ever spoken to her out of turn like that. Ever.

Jasper loosens his grip on her as if he's just realized he's in the middle of a stare down between his fianceé and ex-girlfriend. Eleanor seizes the opportunity to wrench her hand back so she can escape.

She wonders if she even knows that her fiancé spent three years in the United Kingdom. In the palace. Her palace.

People are starting to stare, and she's getting nervous. It's only a matter of time before she's recognized and this situation only gets worse.

He knows it, too.

"Where is your security detail?" He demands suddenly, his eyes sweeping the room as if he expects someone to pop out of nowhere and extract her from the situation so he doesn't have to.

"I didn't bring one." She fires at him and doesn't hold back. "James trusts me, you see."

"You're not my problem anymore. You're not," he says more to himself than anything through gritted teeth. Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to control his erratic breathing. To contain himself from causing an international incident.

"Who is she, Jasper?" Lindsay repeats, her eyes now unwavering from her own.

"Princess Eleanor Henstridge," he says sarcastically with a wave of his hand as he rises to his feet. "Sit your goddamn scrawny ass back in that booth or so help me God, Eleanor. I'm calling someone right now to bring you a goddamn car. You will go straight to McCarran and you will get back on the fucking jet you flew in on, do you understand me?"

"Princess Eleanor?" Lindsay echoes incredulously, and the sudden realization of why Eleanor has such a familiar face sets in. "What the hell? How do you even know her, Jasper? This doesn't make any sense! What are you not telling me?! Did you fuck her or something?"

Eleanor suddenly- and obediently- sits back down and drops her face into her hands. She's drained and overwhelmed. She knows can't handle anymore of this, because Lindsay doesn't know. She doesn't fucking know his burdens. About what he's done to her. What he's done for her, and her family.

About who she was to him.

Who he was to her.

She knows nothing.

Just Jasper and his fucking lies.

Thirty minutes later, two CIA agents enter the restaurant, and escort her out. They inform her that her belongings were collected from the hotel, and the royal jet is on standby, just like she requested.

Once she's on board, she locks herself in the bedroom at the back of the plane for the duration of the flight. She curls up on the bed as her body shakes with two years worth of bottled up emotions.

She's been working on herself this whole time to be a better person for him, instead of the selfish, immature emotionally unavailable bitch that she was when they met.

If she couldn't love herself, how could he have possibly loved her?

Liam picks her up at the airport, and he can see right away on her face that she did exactly what she said she wasn't going to do.

He doesn't say a word the whole ride back to the palace, instead, he holds her hand as she stares ahead and remains silent. They both know if he asks, she'll break again.

She's come back alone, and it's the only answer Liam needs.

Eleanor doesn't leave her room for three days following her return. She cuts four lines of cocaine on a hand mirror, but can't bring herself to snort it. It's been too long. She's come too far. She dumps it into the toilet and sends it down to the sewers, and drinks two bottles of vodka instead.

There's an old, grainy mobile phone photo she printed off ages ago, and she keeps it in the top drawer of her vanity. The two figures in it are lying in her bed, and the handsome, blonde man is looking at the pretty brunette with smug adoration. She can see the love in his eyes. The young woman smiles a rare, genuine smile at the camera as she lies on her back in the crook of his arm as his fingers play with the ends of her hair.

They were naked. She took it the night before her mother's masquerade, after a particularly good round of sex. She had finally gotten him to smoke a joint with her. They were six months in, and she had finally begun to accept him into her life as something more than just her blackmailing bodyguard.

A boyfriend, of sorts.

Eleanor rips it in half, and throws it in her fireplace and watches their two happy expressions go up in flames.

On the fourth day, her mother springs into action.

"It's been nearly three years since he's left Eleanor," Helena breezes as she yanks the blankets off of her daughter and open the drapes to let some much needed light into her bedroom. "I've lived with what you're feeling now for the past thirty-four. It doesn't get easier my darling, but you will try and pretend that it will."

And she does. She gets Rachel to fill her calendar up again and she visits with the elderly, opens art galleries, and plays with children at their schools and reads them stories about princesses who wear paper bags and live much more fulfilling lives than she does.

Eleanor always smiles in pictures, but it never quite reaches her eyes.

She swore she would never be like her mother.

At least her mother had married the King, and was able to keep her lover on the side, in secret.

Eleanor has neither.

She hasn't touched her computer since she arrived back. She doesn't want to push herself into a deeper depression because she knows she'll ultimately end up back with her old vices.

But not the one she wants.

The months go by and Christmas draws nearer.

She wonders when their wedding is.

It could have very well already taken place for all she knows.

Nobody dares to mention his name in her presence, but she knows they talk.

On Christmas Eve, Willow announces she's pregnant.

She's going to be an aunt.

Liam is going to be a father.

She's no longer going to be the spare, and Eleanor finally realizes that the world is moving on without her.

She goes to bed early.