The Prince and I

by R. S. Lively

  “Can you find it in less than three hours? Because we have a plane to catch.”

  Pursing my lips, I debate if I want to ask him for help or not. I choose not. I stomp down the hallway until I get to another intersection. Left or right. Left or right. I look both ways, and then kick myself. This isn’t a traffic stop. I chose to go left. Stairs should be coming up soon if I remember correctly.

  But a painting I have never seen before catches my eye, slowing my strides. It looks older, but the man in it looks so much like Luca, I have no choice but to admire it. The man in question is wearing a tan suit, his hair clipped back, showing the strong structure of his jaw. He is standing behind a woman, his hand on her shoulder as she looks straight ahead, neither of them with smiles on their faces.

  “That’s my great-great-great-great grandfather.” Luca’s voice carries through the small tunnel of the hall.

  “You look exactly like him.” I lift my hand to touch the canvas, but Luca stops me, bringing my hand back down.

  “Oil from your fingers could ruin the painting. It’s very old, but yes, the family genes are strong. The only thing different about me is the suits I wear. Look at the tails on that thing, Mon Dieu!” he shakes his head at the style his ancestor rocked, in my opinion.

  “What does that mean?” I’ve heard it a few times over the last couple of days.

  “My God,” he answers.

  We stay like that as I study the painting and finally admit defeat. “I went the wrong way, didn’t I?”

  “You did, but I love you anyway.” He steers me back in the direction we came. “You took a left when you should have taken a right, and you took a right when you should have taken a left.”

  “That isn’t confusing at all. Whose idea was it to make the castle so confusing?”

  “Blame the man in the painting. He loved mazes.”

  If there is one thing I’ve learned about this past week, it’s that mazes seem to be everywhere in my life, and I’m getting tired of getting lost in them.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Luca

  Loading my mother into the plane is more difficult than we thought it would be. The tumor has grown, and now she can’t walk in a straight line. She refuses help. This is her first extended time on her feet in months. With every step she takes, she falls sideways, and my dad catches her.

  “Amour, please don’t struggle. Let us help you,” my dad begs.

  “I don’t need help.” She tries again, but her foot slips off the step. “Merde!” she curses.

  My jaw drops to the floor. My mother never curses. She embodies the classiest of classy. She is the perfect definition of royalty. “Mère,” I scold in a playful manner. It’s French for mother, but I never call her that. I always use English.

  “Don’t mère me. You get a brain tumor and see how you feel,” she snips. Her frail hands grip the rail of the steps leading to the jet. It’s only about ten, but to her, it must be a mountain. Sweat dribbles down her temple as she stares at the top of the staircase like it holds a prize. The prize isn’t anything that can be seen. She wants proof. She wants to show everyone she can do it, but she wants to feel it too.

  Mother doesn’t want the tumor to beat her, and this is her way of proving it doesn’t, but watching her struggle, not even being able to get the first step, makes me see that it just might beat her.

  “Have you tried walking sideways?” Rosie’s sweet, melodic voice advises beside me.

  “How do you mean?” the king asks, holding his arms out to catch his queen.

  Rosie clears her throat to speak up. She is learning fast that she can say whatever is on her mind. And there will be no judgement here. “Well, the tumor is affecting her mobility, but every time she steps, she goes sideways. Her brain is wired to do that now. I’m thinking, turn to the left, Caroline, and try going up the stairs like that.” Rosie shows my mom what she means by turning her own body to the side and going up the steps.

  “That looks harder. She’ll fall. I won’t allow it. That’s final.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but my mother is used to it, and she always fights until she gets her way.

  She slaps his hands. “Get off me. I can do it. Allow me? Please,” she scoffs, using the rails to help move her body to the side.

  My father doesn’t argue. He never does when my mother puts her foot down. He doesn’t leave. He stays right behind her, so if she falls, he falls first. She takes her first step. It’s shaky and she already seems tired. I’m about to tell her to stop, that this is ridiculous and carry her up the stairs myself. We have a doctor’s appointment to make and Jesse to save.

  But her foot lands on the step. “I did it!” she cries, placing another foot down, and another, and another.

  “You’re doing it, Amour! You’re doing it!” My father cheers her on, and a single tear slides down his cheek.

  It makes me choke up. I never see my father cry. It’s a simple feat, going up stairs. But no one knows how hard it really is until the ability is taken away. I know my father is afraid to be without the love of his life—King Luca Addington isn’t a man who shows his emotions, but he will for my mother.

  I asked him once why he only ever kept his emotions until Mother could see, and he said, “She is the only one that deserves them. She is the only one that gets that part of me.” I didn’t understand what he meant until now. Loving someone is such a vulnerable thing to do. To truly love them is to give them what no other person around you can get from you.

  “I’m so proud of you.” My father must think he’s whispering low enough for only her to hear, but Rosie nudges me and holds her hands against her heart like it is the sweetest thing in the world that she has ever seen.

  “I’m tired, Amour,” Caroline mutters, leaning against my father’s chest.

  He holds her as he places a kiss on top of her head. “Of course you are. Let me take you inside.” He picks her up this time, wedding style, and disappears into the plane. They are probably going into the bedroom on board so Mother can lie down and really relax for the long flight ahead.

  “Your parents are the sweetest couple in the world. I hope when we get married; our love lasts like that,” she says absentmindedly. She pauses at she goes up the steps, finally hearing the words she said. “If, you know, we go there,” she backtracks.

  When we get to the top before entering the jet, my hand wraps around her and draws her close. My lips tickle her ear. “Our marriage will be written in fairytales.”

  “I hope so,” she exhales.

  “I’ll write it myself if I must.” I kiss the shell of her ear and push her inside the jet.

  “Sweet-talker.”

  “Tease.” I grab her ass when she rubs it against my cock.

  She bats her eyelashes at me, and she sits in the exquisite leather seats that have the royal crest seared in the middle. Two lions, a shield, and a rose. The seat reclines and she puts her hands behind her head. “Oh, wow.” She groans as she gets comfortable in the chair, making my cock take notice of her laidback position.

  We will have to fly again to join the Mile High Club when everything settles down in our lives. The attendant, Rachel, closes the hatch, and after a quick announcement from the captain, the jet starts to roll back.

  Her hand lands on my thigh, close to my leaking tip. This is not the time for an erection when my parents are in the back of the room. Lacing my fingers through hers, I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it like I always do. I love the look of happiness it brings her. Something so small, something almost meaningless, but it means everything to her.

  So, I’ll never stop doing it.

  Weightless as a cloud, the plane turns on the runaway, the engine buzzing higher and higher, gaining power, preparing us for takeoff. The jet bursts down the black pavement, slamming us back in our seats. Her breasts are bouncing from the turbulence, and I stare at the beautiful formation. Up and down, up and down, with a slight jiggle. I lick my lips and imagine her top is of
f.

  The plane accelerates until the nose points upward into the air, and just like that, we are in the sky, going higher and cutting through the clouds. The bright light that is the sun shines through the small, oval window, highlighting the natural caramel color of Rosie’s hair. The sun kisses the side of her face, spotlighting how beautiful she is.

  “I can feel you staring at me,” she says with her eyes closed.

  “Is that so? What makes you think that?”

  She wiggles around in her chair until she finds a comfortable position. “I don’t know. I can just feel it. It’s like sparks are flying under my skin when you stare at me. My body comes alive. I just always know.”

  Veering right, I dip my head to her ear and blow a sensual breath. Goosebumps arise on her body, reacting to my presence. “You’re right. I am watching you. I’m always going to watch you. Because you’re mine, Rosie. And I always look after what is mine.” I sit back, watching her breathing change.

  “Not fair,” she whines. “You’re getting me wet, and there’s nothing you can do about it here.”

  “Good. Sit in your slick. Let it be a reminder of how much your body needs me.” I need her, too—my cock gets as hard as nails when she says she is wet. It’s so frustrating that I can’t take her here. I want to be able to take her whenever I want.

  Her eyes snap open, and her hand goes to her stomach. The cocky smirk I have on my face disappears when her pale skin gets even paler. “Are you okay, my sweet?”

  “I don’t know.” She leans her head against the window, the sudden change in her behavior worrying me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My stomach hurts. I feel like…” The whites of her eyes show when she bolts forward and runs to the bathroom ahead. She doesn’t have time to shut the bathroom door as she pukes into the toilet.

  I hold her hair back, like I did the other day when she got upset about the person in her room, understandably. I can’t think of anything to say to make her feel better; not much can when she is spewing into the toilet. I grab a cotton napkin from the sink and wet it, placing it on her nape. I rub soothing circles on her lower back, hoping the small gestures make her feel a little better.

  “The rag feels good.” She spits into the toilet. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I was fine five minutes ago.”

  “Maybe it was the sushi we had for lunch.”

  “Maybe, but I love sushi,” she mewls, placing her cheek on the porcelain throne. Sweat gathers on her hairline in little beads, but it isn’t hot in here at all.

  Her cheeks are flushed, but it isn’t the same as when she is aroused. They are a deeper shade of red, reminding me of a searing hot piece of iron fresh out of the fire. I place my hand on her forehead, and she feels clammy. When I move my knuckles to her cheek, the heat scalds my skin. She’s burning up.

  “We need to get you to a doctor.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just the stomach flu.”

  “Given this and what happened the other night, I’m worried about you. You are sick.”

  “The other night was just stress, Luca. Maybe it’s just a little case of motion sickness this time. It isn’t unheard of.”

  “I don’t know. When we get to Glendive, I’m having a doctor check you out.”

  She sits up, sways, and props herself up by using the cabinet next to us. “Glendive? I need to go to New York City to get my brother!”

  “I sent him a plane ticket already. He will be on his way soon.”

  “You always think of everything.”

  “Only when it comes to you.”

  “That’s not true. You care about your family. You searched for a doctor to save your mother. You weren’t going to stop. You have a big heart, Luca Addington.” She gives a sad smile before hurling over the toilet seat again.

  “Is that how you feel about it?” I’m trying to make her happy, even if it is poor timing.

  She reaches her arm behind her and her fingers search for my face, but the tips are wet, probably from puke. I lean back and bend her elbow, placing her hand back on the toilet. As much as I love her, if I can help it, I want to do everything I can not to get puke on me.

  I wet the washcloth again and dab it on the back of her neck and along the side, then drag up her cheeks to her forehead. She sighs in contentment.

  “Thank you,” she says in one ragged, long breath.

  I hate that she doesn’t feel well. This isn’t just the flu. It’s something else. “You never have to say thank you. I love taking care of you.” I keep her hair back as she slumps against the cabinet. She takes the rag from my hand and wipes her mouth with it.

  It’s going to be a long flight for her if this keeps up. My poor, sweet, little fox.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rosie

  The plane finally lands in Billings, Montana. It’s the closest airport to Glendive, so we have to rent a car to get to our destination. Luca had already rented a bed and breakfast in Glendive. Like, the entire thing. He booked the whole place and gave the owners five thousand dollars more upfront in order for us to stay as long as we want.

  Luca has to carry me out of the plane, and his father has to carry Caroline out of the plane. Jeez, his genes on his father’s side of the family must be really strong. They never feel sick. I wonder if they are immune to the oddities that like to attack the human population, because I never see them sneeze, or even sniffle. It’s ridiculous.

  “Your brother should be landing right now, too,” Luca says, his lips close to my ear. He has been so amazing during this entire trip. I threw up a hundred times and slept for a few hours. He forced me to drink ginger ale and eat a few crackers. It helped. Along with his fingers running through my hair, it put me right to sleep for the last two hours of the flight. I woke up in his lap, and now he is carrying me down the steps of the jet, and the sun is blinding my eyes.

  I cuddle my face into his chest, inhaling his masculine scent. I use him as a human shield to block the harsh rays from hurting my head more than they already do. “I can’t wait to see him,” I mumble.

  “We are going to wait for him here at the airport, but my father is going to drive on without us. He wants to get Mother settled for the night.”

  “That makes sense.” My jaw pops as I yawn, wishing I could be settling in a bed right now.

  Luca runs his finger down my jaw. “You can sleep in the car. I hope tomorrow you feel better. It’s going to be a busy day.”

  “Oh, that’s right. It’s your mom’s surgery. I don’t care how sick I feel. I’m going to be there. We will load up on ginger ale and crackers,” I say warily.

  My eyes close as he kisses my forehead, making the flu I felt ease. Being close to him always makes me healthier—mentally, physically and emotionally.

  “Look who it is,” Luca mutters in my ear.

  It grabs my attention and I turn my head to look in the direction he is looking. There, my seventeen-year-old brother is coming closer. He hasn’t seen us yet. He looks around and shoves his bag higher on his shoulder.

  Luca puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles, making me wince from the sharp sound. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t think. I’m so thoughtless.” He lays his cheek against mine.

  He’s so hard on himself. He doesn’t get one thing right, and he lets the guilt eat at him. “You’re perfect,” I reply before raising my hand to try to get the attention of my brother.

  When he sees me, he has a big smile on his face. It falls when he sees me in Luca’s arms. “Rosebud, you feeling okay?” Jesse squats to get eye-level with me.

  “Stomach flu,” I murmur. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you, too.” Jesse’s blue eyes, so much like our father’s, slide from me to Luca. He holds out his hand in greeting. “I’m Jesse Caldwell. Her brother.”

  “Little brother,” I chime in.

  He pushes against my shoulder, telling me to shut up. “It doesn’t matter. I still have the right to prote
ct you.”

  “Prince Luca Addington, the III.” Luca shakes his hand in return, and I’m so happy I don’t miss the expression on Jesse’s face.

  “Prince? Is that your first name or a title?”

  “Title.”

  Jesse mulls the answer over in his head and stands up, hands on his hips, staring up at the ceiling. “Okay. I know you’re a prince, but still, if you hurt her, I’ll do my best to kill you. And I’ll probably fail because you have guards, but I’ll still attempt it. I don’t care about your power. I care about my sister. She has been through enough.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, Jesse. If I hurt her, I give you permission to kill me.”

  “Uh, okay… That isn’t what I expected.”

  “Yes, well, we don’t have time to waste to discuss what you expect. We need to get going.” The movement Luca causes as he stands makes my stomach roll again.

  “Slow! Go slow,” I say through gags, fighting through the urge to toss my cookies again.

  “Sorry, my sweet.” He readjusts me in his arms and begins walking.

  I close my eyes, not bothering to watch where we are going. The people passing will just play with my mind and make me feel worse. Luca’s heart beats against my ear, and I think about how far we have come in a matter of weeks. Two weeks and he has changed my entire life. If someone were to tell me I’d be in a prince’s arms, falling in love, and planning a future with one of the most powerful royal families in the world, I would have laughed at them.

  I’m not real sure how I got here. Everything seems to be a blur now, like all this didn’t mean to happen, but it did, so now I’m going with it. Even if the universe made a mistake and meant to deliver this royal god to someone else and not me, I would have fought tooth-and-nail to get to him. Our souls would have found each other. The pull is too strong to ignore.

  I groan when my stomach flips, and I try to nestle deeper against his chest. Why can’t we be in Glendive already? In bed, where I can look like crap in peace.