by Piper Rayne
She circles around at my entrance and stills, the phone dipping down her cheek until she tells the person on the other end that she has to go.
And there’s the look. The one I was expecting.
I’m now clearly the version of Prince Adrian Marx she was looking for earlier. Was the cheese-covered hand down my shirt taking it a tad too far? Maybe. But I’m sure her expectations were sky-high before she walked in. Now let’s see what she has to say when there are no cameras around to prove she sat down to dinner with royalty.
She steps toward me and I meet her in the middle of the terrace, holding out my hand for hers. Like the princess I’m sure she wants to be, she lays her hand in my palm. I raise it to my lips, kissing the top while bowing slightly. A giddy laugh falls from her lips.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I say.
“Yes. You as well.”
She doesn’t curtsey, but I’ve had other dates who have.
Standing straight, I offer her my arm. “Are you done with your phone call?”
Her arm easily slides through mine and I hold her hand with my free one, the way my mom taught me from the age of five. The same way my manners classes reinforced through young adolescence.
We walk off the terrace and through the expansive penthouse toward the terrace on the other side, where Jean has set up twinkle lights, candles, and soft music. But before I can open the patio doors, Jean clears his throat behind us.
“Please head out and make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a moment.” I escort her out of the door and head back in, finding Jean with my cell phone in his hand. “What is it?”
“The queen would like a word.”
“And who will woo my date?”
Jean looks around me. “I’ll handle her. The queen is more important.”
I take the phone from his hands and head into my bedroom so no one can overhear this conversation. Plus, I’m not a big fan of getting reamed out in front of other people.
“Mommy dearest,” I say.
“Don’t, Adrian. The cameras were sent for a reason. They’re proof that you fulfilled the duty of the date. It’s another spotlight moment for the charity.”
“This whole thing is a waste of time. I should be with my friends in the Bahamas. Not here, having dinner with some wannabe princess.”
“When will you ever grow up? There are expectations that are going to press down on you soon. At some point, you need to step up and accept what you were born into.”
“And what if I don’t want what I was born into? Felicia is more than capable of handling responsibilities there.”
My older sister kicks ass and should be the next in line to the throne, but because she wasn’t born with a cock and balls between her legs, all she can hope for is to marry well and push out a few kids.
My mom blows out a breath, annoyed that we’re having this conversation again. “You know the rules of succession. You are next in line to rule, so I suggest you get used to the idea. Nothing is going to change this.”
I have no rebuttal that I haven’t already tried.
“I think we’ve been more than accommodating in indulging your finding yourself phase. You run around the world like you own it, which means you enjoy the money with none of the responsibility that goes along with the title of prince.”
She’s right. My life is a permanent vacation. I only show up to functions when she twists my arm, or they freeze my bank account. And I have been known to whine about how I don’t want to do anything that my role in our family dictates.
As usual, my mother doesn’t allow me to get a word in edgewise. “Now, Jean is going to allow the photographer to come in. They’re going to snap pictures of the two of you together, posed and candid shots. You will smile and behave like the prince I know you are. Is that clear, Adrian?”
She’s using the stern voice she usually reserves for when I do really stupid shit, like the time I took the private plane to Australia to surf when my dad was due to travel the next morning to help a town that had been struck by a tsunami.
“Fine,” I mutter.
There’s a long pause. This is where her mom guilt soaks in. The guilt that her dear children have to grow up with the whole world watching.
“I don’t think we ask much of you,” she says. “We allow you to travel and see the world. But we are your family, and you need to accept the fact there are responsibilities here at home.” She waits for my response, but how many times can we go through this? “I know you’re struggling with what’s happening in a few months, but it will be fine. You’ll adjust. She’s a wonderful girl. Give me some credit.” I can tell from her tone that she’s smiling.
I know the woman I’m arranged to marry. At least I know of her. I’ve stalked her on Instagram just to see who I’ll be spending the rest of my life with. The problem is, she doesn’t seem to love to do anything fun—she visits museums and bookstores. There’s not one picture of her wearing a bikini on the beach.
“Now, please just handle this tonight like you were told. It’s one night and then your obligation is over.”
“Is that him?” Felicia screams from somewhere behind my mother. “Adrian!” She must’ve torn the phone from my mom’s hands. “What the hell? Why did you throw the cameras out?”
“They’re intrusive and annoying. Plus, don’t you think it’ll be uncomfortable for her?”
“Listen—” Felicia lowers her voice. I’m assuming she’s removed herself from our mother’s presence. “I handpicked this woman. She works as a reporter for a small news channel. It’s kind of weird that any woman knows so many facts about you, but whatever, I’m not judging what she’s into. If you mess this up, she’ll probably do a piece on our entire family. Do you think that’s wise right now? With everything else going on?”
Her implication is clear, and I hate the reminder. Two weeks ago, Felicia found my father in a compromising situation with a woman who isn’t our mother. He’s living in another wing of the house now and the woman is threatening to leak the story. We’re in deep distress, which was why I went through with this date—it got me out of Sandsal.
“This is your time to help this family.”
I nod although I don’t answer.
“Please, Adrian.”
I sit on the bed and stare at the floor. “Fine. I’ll allow them in. After this date, I’m coming home and I’m going to have a conversation with Dad.”
“I thought you were going to the Bahamas. Last time you had a conversation with Dad regarding this, you broke his nose.”
“Still bruised?”
She laughs. “Yeah.”
“Okay, well, I better get to the date.”
“Thanks,” she says.
“Did you really handpick her? I thought this was supposed to be a random selection.”
“I wasn’t going to let you spend the night with one of those gushy girls who want you to ride in on a white horse. I’m a cool sister like that. She seems halfway normal, although I’m not sure why she thinks you’re so fascinating.”
“Because I’m a cool guy.”
She laughs. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Talk to you later.”
“Love you,” she says.
“Love you.” I hang up and head to the door.
Jean is waiting patiently outside.
“Go ahead and allow them up.”
He smiles and nods, heading to the door to alert Declan of the change of plans.
I head to the terrace and step outside. Sierra is looking up at the night sky. She’s gorgeous, and I wonder if that’s why Felicia picked her. My sister knows I love redheads. But I doubt Felicia would tempt me unless she’s thinking this is my last chance to enjoy myself before my engagement. She’s always been a helluva lot wiser than me.
“I’m sorry. That was my mother. A change of plans. The cameras will be arriving to take some pictures of us for the charity.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“Th
ey’ll want posed as well as candid ones. It’s annoying but good for the charity.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
She stares at the sky again, and I take her in. Her pale skin appears more golden in the light from the moon and the candles casting their glow on her. Why is she here on a date with me? Doesn’t she know I’m not much without my title?
“What are we looking at?”
Here in the city, there aren’t a lot of stars to be seen, and I hear the traffic noise of Manhattan below us. It’s nothing like back home, but something about the noise of the city keeps me distracted.
“Nothing really. I was just thinking about how small I feel sometimes.”
“Care to elaborate?”
She glances at me before shifting her gaze back to the dark sky above us. “The world is so big, but sometimes we get so caught up in our own little bubble, you know? I think of all the homeless people in the park right now, probably worried about the impending winter. How will they keep warm? Or the panhandlers who have a family to support. Or the orphaned children who have no idea if Santa’s real and if they’ll get a gift this Christmas.”
I nod, not sure why we have to talk about such a deep subject. We barely know one another.
She swivels around and stares at me for an uncomfortable moment. “It must feel good being able to help all those people. I mean, I get to go on a date with you, and in exchange, the food pantry gets all the sweepstakes money.”
“I guess we’re fortunate to be able to pimp ourselves out.”
She tilts her head, trying to understand what I’m saying.
“I mean I should be happy that people want to pay to go on a date with me.”
She nods, more appeased by that answer. “I have a feeling you’re not a typical prince.”
Give the girl a prize. “Does that intrigue you?”
A true smile creases her lips. “It does. I’d rather not have the fake prince, but actually get to know you as a person.”
“Then you should know something about me.” I glance at Jean at the door, waiting patiently with the cameramen behind him. “I hate getting my picture taken.”
“Good thing I love it.” Her hand slides into mine, and she leads us to the door. “I’ll get you through this.”
And she does exactly that. The photographer directs us, and we pose like two teenagers going to prom. Except I’m not some pimple-faced adolescent boy. My hand is firm on her hip, and I can’t help but notice the way her body fits perfectly into mine. She encourages the photographer to continue out on the patio as we clink champagne flutes.
Once the photographer leaves and we’re seated for dinner, I find that I’m actually looking forward to having dinner with her. As she’s talking with Jean, I sneak a text to my sister.
Me: Thanks Felicia. She’s pretty great.
Felicia: I know. Enjoy your night.
I flip my phone to silent and shove it into my pocket, fully intending on finding out exactly what makes Sierra tick.
Chapter Three
Sierra
* * *
Prince Adrian isn’t the asshole I thought he was. In fact, he can be charming when he puts forth an effort.
“Tell me why on earth you wanted a date with me?” He pours more champagne into my glass. “Be truthful.”
I feel my cheeks heat. Might as well tell the truth since I’ll be walking out of here in a few hours, never to cross paths with him again. “Well, you’re hot. And you look like you know how to enjoy life, from the articles I’ve read and your Instagram feed. As embarrassing as it sounds, I’ve always had a fascination with royal families. It all looks so perfect.”
His face distorts and he straightens the napkin in his lap. “You do know that perception isn’t necessarily reality, right?”
I laugh. Try growing up in my family. I was supposed to be the perfect military daughter. Even while mourning my mother’s death, my father told me to hold my head up high, that I should be proud that my mom had died for her country. Ironic coming from him. No one ever knew how depressed he became. How many times I pretended he was working so I could eat at a friend’s house, or the times I borrowed Blanca’s clothes because my dad had to work so much he couldn’t get to my laundry. The excuses for rides home from volleyball practice. And I think people felt they were doing good by helping me so much. They helped the poor girl who had lost her mother. It made people feel good about themselves.
“I do. So tell me some inside secrets.” I lean forward.
Again his face distorts, and he adjusts the napkin in his lap, but he recovers quickly as though it never happened. “I’m allergic to peanuts.”
“Oh, they published that last year when you had that reaction while at the movie premiere in London.”
His eyebrows raise.
Maybe I should keep my mouth shut about how much I’ve read about him. “I only know that because I was dying to see that movie and it was research. Did I tell you I’m a reporter?”
He chuckles. Luckily, a server comes out with two silver dome-covered plates. Saved by dinner.
“Filet and chicken with shrimp,” the server says with a flourish as if he’s revealing the Hope Diamond.
The plate is filled with a small piece of filet with a béarnaise sauce, chicken with what appear to be piccata, and grilled shrimp that looks like it has a glaze on it. The server disappears and reappears again with several trays of side dishes.
“This is your potato. Mashed, baked, and scalloped.” He disappears again and returns seconds later. “Vegetables. Green beans, asparagus, and glazed carrots.”
Each side dish has its own tray. How much did they think two people could eat?
“Thank you.” Prince Adrian bows his head.
“Please let us know if you’re missing anything.”
“Will do,” Prince Adrian responds.
The server leaves as I stare at the array of dishes laid out in front of us. “This is a lot of food.”
He lifts his glass. “Welcome to a royal’s secret life. Where you don’t have to make choices because you get one of everything.”
I lift my glass. “A girl could get used to this.”
He smiles and our glasses clink.
“So, since you clearly know everything about me, tell me about yourself.” He uses his utensils perfectly—the fork hold, the cutting off one piece and eating it before cutting any more. He doesn’t touch the potato plate, which I seem to gravitate toward.
“Not much. I grew up in Carroll Gardens, which is a borough of New York City. Went to college for journalism. Worked my way up to finally becoming a street reporter for a small channel in Cliffton Heights, which is about an hour-and-a-half train ride from here.” I shrug and cut off a piece of chicken.
“You live alone?”
“I live with two… actually tomorrow, I’ll only live with one girlfriend.”
“Oh.” He places his silverware down and wipes his mouth. “So you’re a lesbian?”
I laugh. “No. I live with a girl who is a friend. Do you think a lesbian would want to win a date with you?”
He shrugs. “I have a charismatic personality. Am I not a good date?”
“Yeah, that cheesy handshake request almost made my knees weak.”
His laugh is contagious. The way his face lights up… I’d love to see him in a casual environment. “Sorry about that. I tend to act like a toddler who isn’t getting his way when it comes to things like this.” He motions with his fork, which I’m guessing means the elaborate set up wasn’t done by him.
Not that I thought it would be. Why would he plan a date for a stranger who won it through a contest?
“It’s okay. You threw me and I almost left, but you’re lucky I don’t love being in my apartment lately.”
His focus shifts from his steak to his chicken. It’s intriguing that he starts and finishes one food item before moving on to the next. “Why is that?”
I shrug.
“Come on. It’s jus
t us and the night sky. I told you the royals’ secret.” I quirk my eyebrow and he chuckles, knowing that wasn’t a secret. “Okay. Let’s see… how about… my mom locked me in the car when I was two.”
“Really? Aren’t you guys with security all the time?”
He shakes his head. “A lot, but my mom said it was going to be just me and her that day. It’s this thing she has where she takes one day every month and spends it with one of us. Either me, my sister Felicia, or my brother Rowan.”
A pang of jealousy jolts me like the prongs from a Taser. Memories of visits to the zoo, park, and shopping with my mom flood my mind.
“You okay?” he asks, and I snap back to the present.
I smack on my fake smile. “Yeah. So what happened? Was it kept out of the press?”
He stares at his plate. “My dad came to our rescue without security. I have no idea how he did it, but my mom used to say he really was the prince she married because there he was on Felicia’s white horse, Twinkle, with a coat hanger in hand. Unlocked the door and no one ever knew it happened. The press would’ve ridiculed her.” His small smile says it’s a fond memory. Like one of those stories the Biancos recite over and over every Christmas. But still, there’s some kind of pain in his eyes.
“That’s very heroic.”
He sips his champagne. “See? There’s a secret only the insiders of the Marx family know. So tell me now why you don’t want to be at your apartment.”
“Really?”
“Why don’t you want to be at your apartment?”
I place my silverware down. I want to exchange my plate full of meat for the potato one. “My best friend recently started dating my ex.”
He cringes as I assumed he would. That sentence gains the same reaction from most people. “That sucks.”
I nod, picking my silverware back up. Screw it, I’m having mashed potatoes. I take the large spoon that’s shoved in the middle of the mashed potatoes and heap some on my plate.
“You’re still hung up on him?”
My head shoots up. “No.”