Reign (A Royal Romantic Suspense Royal Secret Billionaire Novel)

by Blair Babylon

  Her face clenched.

  He covered her with this body, rubbing his cheek over hers and nuzzling her as his cock pressed at her ass. His voice dropped as he commanded, “I said to relax.”

  She took a deep breath, and then her knees dropped lower and wider to her sides as she unclenched.

  “Good girl, and hands around my back.”

  Her fingertips tendrilled on his skin, the lightest of pressures, her fingernails slowly tracing invisible lines from his waist and over his ribs to his shoulders.

  He growled in her ear, “Show me you like it when it hurts,” and he slowly, ruthlessly, squeezed inside of her until his balls were tight against her butt cheeks.

  Her back arched under him, and she gasped. Her fingernails became bright stripes of ecstasy over his skin.

  Relief flooded his body.

  He was already so close, trembling on the ragged edge of orgasm, but he was going to force her to come again. He slid his other hand between them and found her clit with his thumb, circling it at first, barely moving his hips, and then she moaned under him.

  That breathy sound meant she was tightening inside, and even her asshole clenched farther down on him like a vice straining against the steel of his erection. He stroked with his thumb, long deep swipes from the point of her slit down to her opening, slipping his thumb inside her before he dragged it through her folds again.

  Her hips bucked as the pad of his thumb scraped over the firm nub of her clit.

  She bit her lip and grated her fingernails over his back again.

  God, keep doing it.

  She was going to rip him to pieces, flay the muscle from his bones and rip the chambers of his heart from each other.

  His body surged toward release.

  Twice more, and she was straining upward, her neck and back bowed as he pulled back and then forced himself through the solid ring of muscle guarding her.

  One more time and she cried out with her mouth open in astonishment, pulsing around his thumb and his cock deep inside her, shrieking, “Yes!”

  As she pulsed, Maxence pounded into her ass, an instinctive thrust and blast of release.

  His orgasm ripped through him, tearing him apart until he was nothing.

  Sovereign Prince Maxence and Dree Clark were an hour late making their entrance at the gala ball that evening. Everyone remarked about the lovely high-necked, deep blue gown she’d changed into and how brave she was for surmounting her scare and making an appearance.

  They danced until dawn, and Maxence was surprised that he couldn’t remember whether anyone else had been in the vast Grimaldi Forum because he only had eyes for Dree.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Traitors

  Maxence

  After a five-minute walk from his palace office, Maxence slipped into the back of the courtroom in Monaco’s courthouse, located a few streets away from the palace and across a tiny street from the cathedral where his parents and brother were buried.

  His two bodyguards, now from Monaco’s Secret Service as his confidence in them had grown, discreetly secured the area as he settled into the back row, stretching his long legs.

  Up at the front, the magistrate was reading the verdicts in the case of the Crown versus Lady Marie-Therese Grimaldi, accused of drug trafficking, collusion, accessory to kidnapping, attempted murder, sedition, and treason.

  She broke down sobbing as each verdict came back guilty. She would be remanded to a prison in France for thirty years to the rest of her life.

  Her father’s sentences had been handed down earlier that morning and were essentially the same.

  Maxence watched his cousin, whom he’d played with as a child and been at school at Le Rosey for nearly half their lives together, clawing at the table as the bailiffs dragged her out. Her dark hair was tied back in a lank ponytail, split ends frizzing out from the sides.

  He would consider commuting their sentences in the future, maybe in five years or a decade.

  But it couldn’t be too soon.

  When treason is not punished and stopped in its tracks, it is only a dress rehearsal for a larger attempt at overthrowing the government.

  When Hitler had incited two thousand Nazis to march on Munich in 1923, he’d received a light punishment for it because he was such a promising young man.

  Maxence would not allow Monaco to become a failed state ruled by racists and fascists.

  He left the courtroom quietly and didn’t look back.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Swan

  Maxence

  A few weeks later, Maxence found Dree sitting on the floor of her closet in her fluffy white bathrobe, her arms resting on her knees as she stared up at the mass of dresses hanging from the rods.

  Maxence was fitting the buttons on his tuxedo shirt through the buttonholes, always a delicate operation. “If you don’t want to attend the reception tonight, it’s completely all right. Your presence wasn’t announced, so there won’t even be excuses to make.”

  She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide and vulnerable. “I don’t know what to wear.”

  Maxence determined that there were at least fifty gowns of differing lengths and levels of formality hanging on the rods around them with a quick visual count. Half of them would be perfectly suitable. “Are these not to your style? Tommaso said the stylists hadn’t had any direction from you, so they chose a range of possibilities and are awaiting your feedback on their choices.”

  Tears wobbled in Dree’s eyes. “I don’t know which one to pick. I don’t know which one is appropriate. I don’t even know how to put some of them on. I kind of like that pink one, but I can’t find the zipper on it anywhere. And I don’t know if it’s the right length or fussiness or anything else. Other than your enthronement and the Sea Change Gala where Chiara and the seamstresses told me what I would be wearing, the last time I had to wear a formal dress like this was my high school prom. My mom sewed my prom dress for me out of Mandi’s dress from the year before and some extra glittery trim. And I was happy with it. I’m going to screw it up, and I’m going to embarrass you, and all those people taking pictures of us will say what a stupid country hick I am.”

  The tears overflowed her eyes and dripped down her clean face.

  Maxence gave up buttoning the shirt and squatted down beside her in the bottom of the closet amongst the shoe racks. “You know you have stylists who will help you pick something out, and then help you put it on, and then do your makeup and hair for you.”

  “I can do my own hair and makeup. The enthronement was a special case, like a wedding. I don’t need people to fuss over and primp me every dang day.”

  “For the last few months, Tommaso hasn’t been helping me dress because he thought we wanted some private time together since our relationship is a bit new, which is correct. He’ll probably start coming in soon, though.”

  “You are so spoiled,” she fretted.

  Max chuckled. “It saves time. When I had state events to attend as a teenager, Tommaso laid my clothes out for me, helped me shave properly, and trimmed my hair if necessary, and it usually was necessary. And then, he helped me dress. Tommaso taught me how to tie a tie and insert my cufflinks. My father’s valet taught me how to tie my shoes when I was three.”

  Her face creased in a stubborn little frown. “I can tie my shoes. I can put on my own pantyhose. I don’t need some stranger to come in and dress me like I’m a baby.”

  He smiled down at his pretty little Dree. “You’re not a baby. You are a nurse practitioner who saved Lady Valentina Martini’s life twice. The second time was by defibrillating her heart, but the first time was by insisting that the first-aid tent and the defibrillator were at the enthronement at all. You don’t have to be good at everything. Are you planning the wedding all by yourself with no input from anybody else?”

  “No. Chiara and Alcide are helping me with everything, from keeping me company while we’re shopping to keeping track of everything that we’re
doing and buying, to making sure I don’t make a complete idiot of myself with this.”

  “Are you going to plant a garden on the palace roof and grow the vegetables for our wedding dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Or go out front and pave the road that leads to the palace?”

  She was still pout-frowning. “Well, of course not. That’s silly.”

  “Are you growing all the rosebushes and gardenias that will be necessary for the tens of thousands of flowers that will decorate that enormous Court of Honor

  in the center of the palace?”

  Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as if she were stunned. “Tens of thousands of roses and gardenias, and in June? Oh God. The bees. I’d better specify a dozen more EpiPens.”

  “Right, and are you planning to walk out there the morning of our wedding and lay the red and white carpets over the cobblestones and then place each one of the thousand chairs upon them, both inside the Court of Honor and outside in the larger courtyard for the citizens?”

  She grumped at him, “Well, I would, but Chiara said event workers were going to do that part.”

  “Exactly. My point is that we live in a society. The whole reason humans build societies is because you should do what you do best, and you should let other people do what they do best. And in that way, everybody does better. The farmers should grow the vegetables, and they do a smashing job of it. The road construction crew should pave the road, and we don’t have potholes because they do a good job. You are a level-headed, smart nurse practitioner who can be an amazing princess. You can make sure our citizens are healthy and happy, whether you do it directly working part-time in the hospital as a nurse or by influencing our healthcare policy and making sure that there is a first-aid tent at all major events. You do what you do best. And you can let the stylists do what they do best, and the florists will acquire and arrange the flowers, and everyone will rise to the level of our best proficiency instead of being nomads and scavengers and sinking to the level of what we don’t know how to do.”

  Dree sniffled. “I still don’t know what dress to wear.”

  Maxence smiled at her. “I’ll call Tommaso to help you tonight because I’m convinced he can do anything, and he is also convinced of that. Tomorrow, you can discuss with your stylists which events you want to appear at and what would be appropriate for you to wear, and what time they should be here to advise you and help you prepare for each official political and cultural event. This is your job, at least one aspect of it. You’re not expected to cook the meal before each one of these events, and you’re not expected to sweep the floor afterward. And you’re not expected to shop for the many clothes that you will require, or to be able to reach behind yourself to zip them up, or to find appropriate cosmetics and apply them before each one of these events. Come on.” Maxence held out his hand to her. “Tommaso can be here in just a few minutes. Let’s get a cool washcloth on your face so you’ll be all ready when he gets here. I’m sure he can do makeup or commandeer someone who can.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  High Society

  Dree

  Since Dree wanted her parents to come to her wedding, the time had arrived for her to come clean about who and what Maxence was.

  Dree video-called them on her phone. “Hello, Mama?”

  Her mother fluttered her hands, which were entirely predictably covered with flour because it was time to cook breakfast over in New Mexico. “Oh, it’s my baby girl, who finally called me. It’s been weeks, you know.”

  “Mama, could you get Daddy over by the phone? I’ve got something I need to tell you both.”

  Her mother crowded up close to the phone so that all Dree could see on her screen was one bulbous, blue eye. Her mother’s harsh whisper was filled with static. “You didn’t get pregnant before you got married, did you?”

  “What? No! That’s not it. I just need to talk to the two of you about the wedding.”

  “Because after Mandi, I don’t think your daddy’s heart could handle it.”

  “Mama, I’m not pregnant. I just need to talk to you guys about the wedding,” Dree said like she was stating it for the record.

  Dree’s mother finally crowded her father over to the phone, and they sat staring down into the phone between them, waiting. Her father asked, “What is it that you have to tell us, baby girl?”

  He sounded a little grim.

  “I don’t want you to be mad at Maxence because I told him not to mention this while we were in New Mexico. I wanted you to get to know him just as him, so you would react to him normally.”

  “Are you in a family way?” her father asked in a monotone.

  “No! And you folks can quit asking that. It’s just something about Max’s family and his career that you ought to know.”

  “I knew it,” Dree’s father said. “There’s always something weird about those Europeans.”

  “There’s nothing weird about him. Look, I’m just going to tell you straight out because I don’t know any other way to do it. You know how over here in Europe they have like—monarchies? Like, they have actual kings and queens, and princes and princesses?”

  Dree’s parents looked at each other and then looked at Dree. Her mother said, “We read books. We know what a monarchy is, dear child.”

  “Well, Maxence’s government job, which he told you that he has, is that he’s the Prince of Monaco. He works for the government because he is the government. He’s the whole government.”

  Dree’s parents frowned at each other for a moment and then turned back to the camera. Her father asked, “He’s not the king?”

  “Monaco doesn’t have a king. A prince is as high as they go.”

  Her mother leaned toward the phone. “Oh honey, I think he must be trying to deceive you. I know that’s what happened with Francis, but maybe you just attract boys like that. You just pack your bags and come on home, and we’ll take care of you. We’ll help you through this one.”

  “Mama! He really is the Prince of Monaco. Look him up online or something.”

  “Honey, honey-child, you need to get over these delusions. Come on home, and you can talk to Sister Annunciata about it. She’ll set you straight.”

  “I’m serious! I’m sitting here in the Prince’s Palace in Monaco right now! I watched his enthronement ceremony last week where there was a whole bunch of people here, and they bowed down to him and everything!”

  Her parents were still shaking their heads sadly at her.

  “I’m telling you the truth!” she insisted.

  Her father said, “We know you think you’re telling us the truth, but these are wild and outlandish claims, Andrea. You need to pack your suitcase and come on home now.” He crouched closer to the phone. “Is he giving you drugs?”

  At that moment, Maxence walked into the apartment, pulling his tie from around his collar as he headed toward the bedroom.

  “Maxence!” Dree yelled across the room. “Come on over here and tell my parents who you are. They don’t believe me.”

  Maxence sauntered over, smiling. “You told them about the prince thing?”

  “I’m trying to.”

  Maxence leaned down beside her, and a whiff of his aftershave puffed from his shirt collar and brushed Dree’s face with the clean scent of a garden beside the fresh, clean Mediterranean sea. He said, “I’m afraid it’s true, Mr. and Mrs. Clark. My grandmother was Grace Kelly. She met my grandfather, Prince Rainier III, while she was here in Monaco filming To Catch a Thief with Cary Grant.”

  Dree could hear her parents gasp all the way from New Mexico.

  Her father asked, his tone wistful, “Did you ever meet Cary Grant?”

  “Sadly, I didn’t,” Maxence said. “But we have the car the two of them drove in To Catch a Thief here in a museum in Monaco.”

  Bartholomew Clark put his hand over his heart. “Cary Grant’s car.”

  Dree said to him, “I’ll take you to see it when you’re here in Monac
o for the wedding.”

  Her father appeared to have trouble swallowing.

  Maxence’s voice was lower, more seductive, as he said, “I’ll let you drive it.”

  Her father sighed and wiped his eye. “It would be my greatest honor.”

  After they hung up, Maxence was still laughing. “I can’t believe how much your father is obsessed with Cary Grant and To Catch A Thief.”

  “Well, of course,” Dree said. “That’s where my middle name, Grace, comes from.”

  Maxence stopped laughing. “You’re named after my grandmother?”

  “Just my middle name.”

  “That’s quite enough, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, it gets worse. My first name, Andrea, is a diminutive of the name of Grace Kelly’s character in her next-to-last movie, The Swan, when she was Princess Alexandra. And my communion name, Catherine, was her character’s name in Green Fire.”

  Maxence grabbed the edge of the table beside him. His knuckles turned white.

  She asked, “You didn’t notice my siblings’ names, Carrie, Grant, and Kelly?”

  He sat down heavily in a chair, gasping slightly.

  And that’s when Dree started laughing.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The Wedding in Monaco

  Dree

  Dree hovered over her phone while her stylist Émilienne yanked at her hair, ratting, teasing, and smoothing her short tresses around the hairpiece that formed a smooth bun on the back of her head.

  Her thumbs flew over the screen, typing out, Did they make it?

  Maxence typed back, Arthur said they were all on the plane. I haven’t gotten any texts since then. Surely, he has Wi-Fi on the plane. What kind of a computer hacker doesn’t have Wi-Fi on their private plane?