by Amelia Wilde
As he speaks, I slowly sink back into the seat beside my sister. My stomach sinks further, through the bottom of the boat all the way to the ocean floor. We’re trapped like rats.
“But there now,” he smiles. “Let’s not fight. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I want you to help me, and in return, I help you. It’s a win-win, yes? What do you say?”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I can’t shake the bad feeling twisting my guts. “You said we’d be set for life. How can I trust you’ll keep your word?”
“Of course, I almost forgot.” He hastily reaches inside his coat and pulls out a slim wallet. Opening it, he retrieves a black card. “Ten thousand dollars is on this card, prepaid. All you have to do is register it to your name and set up a password. It is yours free and clear.”
Now I really can’t breathe. “What is that?”
“Your first payment.” He smiles, and I see in his eyes he knows he’s got me. “You’ll get another ten as soon as you reach Monagasco, and I’ll reload the card as needed. You only need to text me.”
Ava’s nails bite into my arm. I can feel her breathing quickly behind me, and I know her eyes are fixed on that piece of black plastic just like mine. One word rattles around in my head: Freedom.
“We don’t have passports… visas…” It’s my last ditch attempt at saying no.
“I’ll have ambassador’s visas made up for the both of you. You’re my personal guests.”
The smallest nudge comes from behind, and I know I’m making a deal with the devil, a deal I’m going to regret. Still, like an out-of-body experience, my arm rises, and I take the card from Sir Reginald’s fingers.
We’re in.
“Very good,” Reggie nods, lifting his chin to signal the captain. “Let’s get to Bal Harbour. We have quite a bit of shopping to do.”
4
Unwelcome Guest
Rowan
Reaching down, I take my mother’s hand to assist her out of the shiny black Mercedes town car. A strobe of camera flashes explodes around us making it difficult to see her foot wrapped in a strappy silver heel as it clears the curb. My mother is as accustomed to such events as I am, and she exits the vehicle with practiced grace.
It’s been two weeks since my royal indiscretion was plastered across the front page of every blog and cheap tabloid on the continent, and in that time I’ve performed nonstop penance.
I’ve been photographed at two charity auctions—the first for a children’s home in Romania, shaking hands with the chief architect. The second was at a benefit for the rail workers’ union. I donned a hard hat and stood beside men I equaled in height but didn’t match in sheer brawn.
Behind closed doors, I’ve met with two entrepreneurial startups. I’ve chatted with an American tech billionaire on possibly locating one of his clean-energy electric storage facilities in the northern hills of Monagasco. It’s so risky and new I’ve only discussed it with Cal, but it’s the closest I’ve gotten to revolutionizing our economic basis and moving us away from oil dependence.
Tonight I’m at the royal gala benefitting the Monagasco Red Cross. The annual event draws celebrities and dignitaries from all over the world, and once it’s over, they filter into the streets and the casinos to flood the town’s coffers with high-end tourist dollars. As we walk slowly toward the Royal Sporting Club, my mother leans on my arm.
“Make the most of this night,” she says through her smile. “Look at all the eligible young ladies in attendance. Many are daughters of our allies.”
Her words cause the muscles in my neck to tighten. Glancing up, I notice the Earl of Bishopsworth standing near the entrance with his daughter Graceland at his side. Speaking to him is the Duke of Westingroot. My throat goes dry when I see his eldest daughter Lara on his arm. Lara… The reason I’m in this fucking mess.
I don’t have time to dwell on it. Beside them is another earl or baron whose name I don’t recall… along with what appears to be his daughter, and the pairs continue into the Club.
I lean into my mother’s ear and speak through clenched teeth. “What have you done?”
She smiles and nods to an old crone who arches an eyebrow at me. My smile clenches harder. As if what I did was so blasted unheard of. So I allowed an overzealous courtier to suck my dick. So sue me. It isn’t the first time something like that has happened.
Straightening, my mother speaks softly through her smile. “I simply put out the word the crown prince is ready to marry.”
It takes all my strength not to explode. We’ve made it to the entrance, and the duke is waiting.
“Rowan,” he says heartily, gripping my shoulder in one hand as he shakes my hand with the other. “It’s good to see you keeping with tradition. You remember my daughter Lara?”
All too well… “Yes, of course,” I say, nodding my head while focusing on her mouth. Indeed, that was a superior hummer.
Lara lifts the side of her blue dress and bows her blonde head as she curtseys. “His royal highness and I took riding classes together in Nice,” she says, glancing up at me with a knowing grin.
“You were a far better rider than I was,” I say, giving her a brief smile in response.
I’m not a dick, even if these ancient assholes are royally pissing me off. I really liked Lara that summer. Our memories of being fifteen, riding along the shore, and passing the time together in the twilight hours of Nice are what preceded her dropping to her knees. We’d both had a little too much alcohol that night.
“Perhaps you’d like to dance,” her father says in an encouraging tone.
“Ah, yes… Right after I see Mother in.” I use my mother’s arm to push us through the entrance.
It’s a shitty thing to do. Lara’s a pretty girl, we’ve had some fun times, but nothing puts me off wanting a woman like having her shoved down my throat.
“Oh!” Mother squawks like a hen, but I guide her around the corner into a narrow hall.
“What is this? Some kind of reverse Cinderella scheme?”
She straightens her dress as if I’ve offended her. “Actually, it’s a very straightforward Cinderella scheme.”
“Jesus!” I couldn’t be more humiliated. My fists tighten at my sides as I pace the small space. I wonder how far back it would set me in my PR efforts if I walk out on this charity gala. “So what did you do? Put a link on the royal website? Send out a royal text alert?”
“Of course not,” she sniffs. “I wouldn’t even know how to do such a thing. I simply called a few of my friends, your great aunts…”
Striding back to where she stands, I pause to control the volume of my voice. “I would appreciate being allowed to control my personal life.”
“I’d be happy to allow that, darling, if you hadn’t already lost control of your personal life.”
“I have not lost control of anything.”
“Hello? What’s happening back here?” Cal enters the narrow space all smiles and decked out in his navy Carabiniers jacket.
“MacCallum, would you please escort me to the ballroom. Your brother needs to collect himself, and I have guests to welcome.”
“I’d be honored, Madame.” He gives me a wink and extends an elbow to our mother, who takes his arm and slowly follows him out to the evening’s festivities.
I almost laugh at the irony. The Carabiniers are a small division of soldiers charged with defending my person against attack. How appropriate he should lead my chief attacker away.
For a moment, I consider my fate. I’ve lost my father, I’ve lost one of my most trusted senior advisors in Reggie, I’ve lost my racing, and now it appears these old women are attempting to force me to marry.
My mind travels to when the king was still alive. What would he tell me to do in a situation like this? How can I best serve my country? It only takes a moment for me to know the answer. Be the king.
Straightening my shoulders, I tamp down my anger and find the control switch. Stepping out into the dark hallw
ay I walk to the ballroom. The entire place is filled with ladies and gentleman in formal attire.
Blue and red lights alternate in the tall windows around the room, illuminating crystal chandeliers. A DJ is in the far left corner, and white-clothed tables of hors d’oeuvres line the walls. I’m surrounded by the glittering eyes of scores of young ladies breathless at the thought of being the future Queen of Monagasco.
My eyes roam the various couples when a young lady in an olive-green silk dress approaches. “Hello, there,” she says with a smile.
I smile in return. “How do you do.”
“My name’s Felicity,” she says bluntly. “I’m the Baron of Rothingham’s daughter.”
“How do you do, Miss Rothingham?”
“You can call me Felicity, and I’m all right, I guess. Mum says we’re supposed to be here putting on a show for you or something. It seems rather stupid to me.”
“Seems rather stupid to me as well,” I agree in a low voice.
Felicity doesn’t miss a beat. “When I was sixteen, my parents didn’t think I was showing enough interest in boys, so they threw me a grand ball.” She leans back and gives me a squint. “When I walked in, I expect my face looked exactly like yours does now.”
Her manner causes my insides to relax slightly. “How is that?”
“Irritated…” she pauses to think. “And quite a bit embarrassed.”
“I’m not embarrassed. I’m the crown prince.” I sound more defensive than I feel, and we’re quiet a moment.
“I’m also Lara Westingroot’s cousin,” she continues, “and possibly one of three people who know whose mouth your royal wank was in in all those Internet pics.”
Explaining myself to a near stranger is not something I intend to do. We’re standing at the edge of the dance floor, and all eyes are fixed upon us.
“Shall we dance?” I say, motioning to the floor.
“I suppose we have to now.”
The music starts, and we turn to face each other. My hand is on her waist and hers is on my shoulder. Our other hands clasp at the side, and I study Felicity’s light brown hair styled down to the side in a ponytail. Her makeup is simple powder on her nose as far as I can tell and her lips are glossy nude. Still, her appearance is pleasant. Her eyes are the same olive drab as her dress, but I feel oddly at ease with her.
“What’s your game, Felicity?”
“I suppose I’m trying to figure out yours. You didn’t tell who the girl in the photo was, which makes me want to like you.”
“You’re one of the few,” I say, looking around at the scowling old bitties watching us.
“At the same time, you haven’t spoken to her since, which makes me think you’re a dick.”
My jaw tightens, and I don’t smile. Lara and I had been having a pleasant time that night. However I felt for her at fifteen, my feelings didn’t stand the test of time, and I found our connection dwindled no matter how much we drank. Dropping to her knees felt more like a last-ditch effort to forge some kind of bond.
“Why’d you do it?” Felicity’s eyes move around my face. “I’ve watched you since you nearly won the Grand Prix seven years ago. You’re very handsome, and you’re the most controlled royal I know. I admired you.”
The dance ends, and her hand is in the crook of my arm. We walk a few paces from the floor as I think about her question. No one’s asked it that way, and I consider it would be more accurate to ask why I let it happen. I didn’t do much of anything besides lean back and enjoy the release.
“I was tired,” I confess. “It’s been a long six years, and I wanted…” I can’t say I wanted to feel free. That sounds pathetic. “I needed a break. It felt good to let go.”
“It felt good to get your nut off more like,” she quips. I can’t argue, and she exhales a laugh. “It’s all right. I understand. I don’t think they understand, but I do. I forgive you.”
“Thanks, I guess. I’m paying for it now if that gives you any satisfaction.”
“It doesn’t, but thanks for the dance. Don’t feel pressure to pick me. I don’t care for men.” She does a little sigh. “I’m only here out of curiosity. I find you very interesting.”
That almost makes me laugh, and I give her a wink. “Are you telling me you’re a lesbian, Felicity?”
“Must we label each other, Playboy Prince?”
“Hmm,” I pull back with a frown. “I see what you mean. Let’s not.”
“Lara is very interested in you, or at least the chance at being queen.” She glances around the room. “From the looks of death I’m getting right now, I’d say she’s not alone. I wouldn’t be in your shoes for anything.”
“I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
Her slim brows pull together. “How so?”
“You distracted me from what was shaping up to be a horrid night.”
“Oh, it’s only just started.” She does a little bow. “Good luck, your majesty.”
I bid my strange new friend adieu, and Mother appears to make sure I dance with Graceland next. After her follows a string of noble females, who all look alike to me. I manage to avoid being paired with Lara, who I happen to remember is as fine a dancer as she is a horsewoman.
Still, after talking to Felicity I’m convinced dealing with her would be more than I can tolerate this particular evening. My patience has reached its limit. As a matter of fact, I’m counting down the minutes until I can leave. None of these fine ladies interests me, and they shouldn’t be the targets of my irritation. They only answered the call.
I manage to escape to the broad patio leading off the back of the ballroom, and by some miracle, I’m alone. I spot Felicity on my way out sitting on the sidelines chatting with a woman who looks older than my grandmother. She does a little wave, and I nod as I discreetly back out through the French doors.
Outside, in the fresh air, I take a deep breath and exhale a groan. I walk slowly across the flagstone pavement wanting to rip the bow tie off my neck and throw it over the balcony.
The moon is high and bright and far off in the distance. The noise of the ocean whispers like a taunt, and I wonder how difficult it would be for me to climb over the rail and escape, dash down the hill to the shore below. What I wouldn’t give to be my former self before my father died, free and easy for just one day.
Several moments pass, I stand looking out at the waves now black and tipped in silver by the moonlight. In spite of the annoyance of the evening, the night feels almost magical, like the universe shifts.
A soft voice catches my ear, and I realize I was wrong—I’m not alone. Through my exhaustion, I recognize the words softly spoken from the other side of the small rose bush planted in the center of the patio. A female voice recites a poem I learned in school.
And yet with all this help of head and brain,
How happily instinctive we remain.
Our best guide upward farther to the light:
Passionate preference, such as love at first sight.
I step around the roses, and I’m frozen on the spot. A young woman sits, leaning back on her hand, and she seems to glow in the moonlight. Her dark hair is down her back in long waves that curl gently at the ends. I want to thread my fingers through it and see if it’s as silky as it appears. Her lips are full and pink, and her skin is the color of caramel.
Her strapless gown leaves her slim shoulders bare, and her chin is tilted up, eyes closed. All my tension falls away, and I burn with desire to take her in my arms and kiss her.
I want to run my mouth all over her body and taste her. I want her in my enormous bed in my chamber where I can inhale her scent and have her all around me all night. It’s an insanely primitive response unlike anything I’ve ever felt, yet I have to know who she is. I have to know her better.
“Bonsoir,” I say as gently as possible, despite my growing hunger.
Her eyes flash open, and I’m hit with a blaze of deep emerald green. It’s like a sucker-punch to the chest.
&
nbsp; “I’m sorry!” She leans forward and moves her long dress aside before standing. She’s American…. And she’s trying to leave! My insides revolt. I can’t let that happen.
“Wait!” Dashing forward, I catch her hand. It’s slim and cool in my noticeably larger one. “I was just…” I motion back toward the ballroom. “Taking a break, and I heard you. Were you reciting poetry?”
“I love your accent.” Her chin drops, and I’m pretty sure she’s blushing. I almost can’t control the urges burning under my skin.
“It’s so beautiful here…” She slowly pulls her hand out of mine and points over the hill. “The ocean is just there, and the roses smell so nice.”
In that moment, I remember. “Were you reciting ‘In the Clearing’?”
“You like Robert Frost?” Her eyes sparkle, and I only want to see that light in them forever.
I look around, thinking. “He’s American, but his poems were easy for me to remember. They rhyme, and they feel logical. Intuitive.”
“Yes,” She smiles and nods, as if I’ve read her mind. “That’s how I feel!”
Again, I reach for her hand. Looking down, I notice our skin seems to match, although I can tell she’s been in the sun. Her hands are soft and elegant, and I want them on my body. I want her on my body. I want our bodies entwined, our sweat mingling in the throes of passion…
When she pulls away, it physically hurts. “I’d better get back. I only stepped out for some air. They’ll wonder where I am.”
I capture her hand again. “Who are they? Who are you here with?”
Her chin drops, and she looks worried. “Oh, well, umm…” I watch as her eyes trace the flagstones searching for an answer.
I’m hypnotized by those eyes, by her full lips. Reaching out, I touch her cheek. Moving closer, I’m ready to taste her. Her chin lifts, and her pink tongue slips out to touch her bottom lip. It’s like a match to gasoline, and I know the moment we meet, we won’t be going back.