Carrying a black backpack, Ryan, accompanied by George and others, walked through the VIP passage toward the airport exit. Among the group, aside from his own team, there were also a few staff members from the publishing house.
Natalie and Mrs. Shelley, however, cleverly kept a certain distance from Ryan and his entourage.
Sure enough, just as they exited the VIP passage, dozens of reporters and paparazzi frantically clicked their camera shutters and swarmed toward them. Fortunately, there were enough staff members who quickly stepped forward and shielded Ryan behind them.
Ryan had long anticipated such a scene. After all, the new book signing event for the next day had already been announced. Anyone interested could easily find out his travel itinerary. Moreover, in the eyes of the British media, the Harry Potter series was unmistakably a product of British literature. Topping the American bestseller list was seen as a victory for the entire United Kingdom.
"Ryan, how does it feel to return to London?"
"It's said that your two years in London inspired the creation of the Harry Potter series. Do you have anything to say to your British fans?"
"We've heard that the Harry Potter series will have seven books. Can you tell us anything about the plot?"
These were relatively normal questions, posed by journalists from reputable media outlets.
"The current sales of Resident Evil—are they simply thanks to the popularity of the Harry Potter series? Some experts say that if it hadn't ridden the wave of The Goblet of Fire, the book would've been completely unremarkable."
"You donated all the profits from your second single to the Princess's charity foundation. Will you be visiting Kensington Palace during this trip?"
"What's your relationship with Miss Drew Barrymore? Have you kissed? Slept together yet…"
The tabloid reporters weren't polite in the slightest. This was the birthplace of paparazzi, after all. They didn't care whether he was a minor. Compared to their American counterparts, their questions were like knives.
Protected by George and the others, Ryan had no interest in answering any of the questions. If he opened his mouth, the paparazzi would become even more aggressive, and the next day's headlines would surely distort everything he said.
In his previous life, the reputation of British tabloids had been notorious.
"Poor Ryan," Natalie muttered beside Mrs. Shelley—half a sigh, half schadenfreude.
The journalists' madness caught the attention of bystanders. Soon, someone recognized Ryan. A young man shouted, "Look, it's Ryan Jenkins!"
Hearing the rush of footsteps, Ryan felt a headache coming on. Clearly, his influence had already spread across the Atlantic. He shot a glance at George, signaling to quickly move toward the cars.
Before the crowd could fully surround them, several vehicles broke through and sped away from Heathrow Airport, heading toward central London.
Midway, the convoy split in two. The publishing staff went to their designated hotel, while Ryan, Natalie, and the others headed toward a small villa in Kensington.
This villa, owned by Nicole, had long been managed by a professional housekeeping company. It cost little to maintain each year, yet the upkeep ensured it didn't deteriorate from lack of residence.
"We're here." Ryan opened the decorative garden gate and walked in first.
"Is this where you lived during your two years in London?" Natalie asked curiously.
"Yup. Come on, Nat. Let me give you a tour."
The others were naturally taken care of by Kinsey. Ryan took Natalie on a stroll through the front garden, then led her inside the villa, checking out each room one by one.
"Harry Potter and The Sixth Sense were born in this room," he said, pointing to his bedroom.
Compared to his home in Los Angeles, this room was much smaller. Looking at the instruments and furniture inside, Ryan felt a pang of nostalgia. This place held his most beautiful memories—memories of a life shared with Nicole Kidman.
"Ryan, you spaced out," Natalie gently pinched his ear—clearly a move she'd learned from Nicole.
"Just remembering what it was like living here." Ryan smiled sheepishly, then tugged her toward the rooftop. "Come on, Nat. There's a terrace up there too."
The surrounding neighborhood was full of detached houses like this one—few tall buildings in sight. Standing on the terrace and looking out into the distance, one could see remarkably far.
"Is that… Kensington Palace?" Natalie pointed to a building three or four stories high in the distance.
"Yes." Ryan nodded. "That's where Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales lives."
"I wonder if she's home. I've never seen her in person," Natalie said, shielding her eyes with her hand, as if trying to see through the building.
"Is that so…" Ryan's eyes twinkled. "Nat, would you like to meet the Princess in person?"
"Uh…" Natalie blinked, then remembered that Ryan knew Diana. "Well…"
"Tell you what. I have Her Highness's private number," Ryan sighed—it had cost him the royalties of a single song, and the offer wouldn't last forever. But just to fulfill a friend's wish, "Let's head back downstairs. I'll give her a call and see if she's in London."
As dusk fell, a black sedan drove out of the garage, heading toward Kensington Palace. In no time, the paparazzi stationed outside the villa split into two groups—one on motorcycles gave chase, the other stayed behind.
You had to admire the efficiency of London's paparazzi. Even before Ryan and Natalie had finalized their plans, they'd already tracked down their residence and surrounded the place.
"So annoying—they're following us again."
In the backseat, Natalie glanced behind them and saw several motorcycles tailing at a steady distance, clearly irritated.
"Nat, once you become famous, they'll treat you the same way," Ryan said indifferently. "This is them being restrained. A few years from now, they'll be pressed right up against the car windows taking pictures."
Natalie shrugged. She had some vague notions about this world, but didn't want to share them with Ryan. As the car passed security and entered Kensington Palace, she asked:
"Ryan, do I need to curtsy?"
"That's up to you—we're not British."
Even so, before getting out of the car, Ryan straightened his formal attire. Seeing him look so proper, Natalie couldn't help feeling a little nervous.
"Relax, Nat. Her Highness is very kind."
After getting out, Ryan offered his arm. Once Natalie took it, he walked toward the main entrance. Having undergone strict British etiquette training, Ryan moved like a true English gentleman—his gait, his manner, his response to the doorman—all impeccable.
Led by the butler, they entered the hall. The chandelier overhead lit up the space like daylight. A noble-looking blonde woman stood in the living room, accompanied by two boys—one older, one younger.
"God bless you, Your Highness."
Ryan gave a small bow. Natalie performed a ladylike curtsy.
"Hello, Ryan. We meet again," said Diana.
After Ryan introduced Natalie, Diana gave a gentle nod and introduced the boys beside her.
"This is William, and this is Harry. They're both big fans of yours."
Though he was reluctant, Ryan gave another bow. After all, strictly speaking, Kensington Palace was a royal residence.
"Pleased to meet you, Your Highnesses."
Natalie subtly pinched his arm—she could tell how unwilling he was.
Although Diana said the boys were fans of his books, the two clearly resembled their father more—stern and rigid, showing no signs of enthusiasm, leaving Ryan feeling quite awkward.
"Ryan, this isn't a public event. No need to stand on ceremony," Diana said, relaxing once the butler and attendants had left.
Indeed, she didn't like royal formalities. And now that she and Charles were at odds—slinging mud at each other and dragging the monarchy's image through the dirt—she was even less inclined to keep up appearances.
"Nat, you're Ryan's friend? Are you also an actress?" Diana asked, her keen eye no doubt sharpened by years of dealings with the entertainment industry.
"Yes, Your Highness." Natalie was even more reserved than Ryan—now regretting the impulsive visit. She should've just stayed at the villa and adjusted to the time zone.
Diana chatted casually with Natalie for a while. Meanwhile, Ryan was stuck making small talk with the two princes. Perhaps due to their royal upbringing, they clearly had little interest in someone from the entertainment world. Even though Ryan could tell from their words that they had read Harry Potter, their interest was in the books—nothing more.
Since they were already here, it would've been rude to leave immediately. At Diana's invitation, Ryan and Natalie stayed for dinner.
Contrary to expectations, it wasn't the typical dull and ancient English fare, but a French gourmet meal. Sitting at the long dining table, Ryan let out a small sigh of relief. To be honest, traditional English food was nearly inedible. During his two years living in London, he'd eaten it very sparingly.
Even though Diana had said to make themselves at home, with two rigid little princes sitting across from them, neither the free-spirited Ryan nor the shy Natalie could really relax. Dinner was extremely awkward.
I'm never coming back here again, Ryan swore silently to himself.
In fact, he understood very well—the rift between Diana and the royal family was irreparable. She had always been something of a rebel and didn't care much for protocol. But those two princes, with their every motion seemingly choreographed, gave Ryan and Natalie no room to breathe.
It was no wonder they preferred their father. Royal brainwashing was still incredibly effective. All Ryan could do was sigh inwardly.
"Ryan, I heard you have a signing event tomorrow?" Diana asked.
"Yes, at Trafalgar Square."
"If you need any help, just ask."
"I will, Your Highness." Ryan knew not to take polite offers too seriously.
He was no naïve child. The reasons Diana agreed to meet him were threefold: their brief connection in Los Angeles, his growing influence in the entertainment world, and, of course, the donation he had made.
Still, perhaps influenced by his past life, Ryan preferred Diana to the stuffy royal family and Prince Charles—even if she had her own obvious flaws.