A Royal Mistake

by Piper Rayne

  “Oh, your ego must’ve been crushed.” I knock my shoulder with his and he captures my hand in the exchange.

  “I’ve just always been different than my family.”

  My attempt at bringing humor fails, and we stroll hand in hand down the crowded walkway, the view of Brooklyn ahead of us and Manhattan behind. His admission only reminds me of how different I am from my family.

  “Why?” I ask, curious to hear more.

  “The cameras make me uncomfortable.”

  “You’ve never grown used to them?”

  We stop halfway across the bridge and lean on the railing. He takes out his phone and snaps a picture of the Manhattan skyline. “I’ve learned to tolerate them. Haven’t you noticed that most pictures of me are usually ones I had no idea were being taken?”

  I recall the pictures I’ve seen of him online and he’s right—him jumping off a cliff, him on his four-wheeler back home, him entering or leaving a nightclub in Europe. The only pictures I’ve seen of him where he’s posed are the ones with his entire family or when someone he meets must request it.

  “So living in the microscope isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? You’d give it all up to live a normal life where you have to make your own meals, do your own laundry, and work for every penny?”

  He laughs. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  I join in on his laughter. “Yeah, I imagine it’d be hard to walk away from all that, no matter how much you don’t like the cameras.”

  “It’s more my family. I can’t leave them, especially right now.” An awkward silence descends between us until he clears his throat. “Let’s talk about you. I can’t give away too many royal secrets to you.”

  Panic squeezes my heart. Is he expecting me to talk about my family? That’s usually a no-fly zone for me. “There’s not much to tell.”

  He positions me in front of the Brooklyn side and snaps a picture. I attempt to smile casually since this will be the only night I’ll spend with him and this photo will probably be deleted in a month. Then again, maybe he’ll keep it as a memory of a night shared with a stranger, exploring the city. A girl can dream.

  We walk again, continuing on toward the Brooklyn side of the bridge.

  “What about your childhood? Siblings? Parents?” he asks.

  Of course we’re going to start there. “No siblings.”

  “That’s it?” he asks.

  I normally spurt out the news about my mom having died in the Iraq War just to get the pitying looks over with, but I won’t see Adrian after tonight, so I decide he doesn’t need to know that sometimes I chew the same cinnamon gum my mom always had in her purse to remind me of her. Or that I buy the perfume she wore so that the memories I still have of her won’t fade. Her voice quiets a bit in my memory with each passing year.

  Tonight isn’t the night to tell him my sad story.

  “That’s it,” I say and shrug. Nothing to see here.

  “What’s it like growing up normal?”

  I sputter out a laugh. “You mean not being followed around and having a list of royal duties?”

  “Yes, I guess.”

  “I don’t think it’s as liberating as you think it is.”

  “Certainly more liberating than ruling an entire country.” We reach Brooklyn and he flags down a taxi. “Where to now?”

  I slide onto the bench seat and he follows, his large body occupying the majority of the space. His long legs are spread wide, his knee dangerously close to mine.

  “Wherever you want,” I say.

  He smirks and shakes his head. “It’s your choice. The bridge was mine.”

  “Bar?”

  “Done.” He leans forward to talk to the taxi driver. “Best bar around here.”

  The taxi driver glances to me in the rearview mirror like “that’s not my job.” But he pulls away from the curb.

  “Aren’t you worried?” I whisper after the driver puts his earbuds in.

  “Worried about what? Oh, taking over.” He shrugs. “I was brought up knowing it would be my role.”

  He’s so forthcoming with me and here I am lying by omission, like I came from some great family. But this is only one night and it’s not like he has the ability to hide anything. His entire life is documented somewhere.

  “I meant being”—I glance at the driver, who’s now having a conversation of his own with someone on the phone—“recognized.”

  “I’ve gone this entire night without it happening. I think the majority of the time, if anyone does think it’s me, they talk themselves out of it. Because in their minds, a prince would come with an entourage and never be in their corner bar.”

  That makes sense.

  The taxi pulls up to the curb in front of a neighborhood bar that looks like it will be filled with regulars, not outsiders. But it’s probably better this way. His chances of being recognized here are less than at a club. I’m not the only girl in her twenties who follows the prince on Instagram.

  I pull out some money, but Adrian shoos my hand away, pulling out his money clip and paying the driver. He wastes no time before taking my hand and opening the door to the bar, where “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard blares. I raise my eyebrows at Adrian, and he chuckles, pressing his hand on my back for me to continue.

  We find a dark booth in the corner by a long shuffleboard, and an older woman comes over.

  Pulling the pen from behind her ear and sliding on the eyeglasses that are hooked on by a chain around her neck, she prepares to take our order. “What would you like?”

  I look over the menu in the middle of the table. “Martini with a lemon twist?”

  She stares at me but writes it down and looks at Adrian. His good looks don’t faze her in the least. “And you?”

  Adrian’s expression suggests he already likes her. I’m not sure what he likes. Her rudeness? “I’ll have a Rusty Nail. But can we start with two shots?”

  Her pen stays poised over the paper, waiting for him to give her specifics.

  “Woman’s choice,” he says.

  Both sets of eyes land on me.

  “You want me to choose?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay…” I think for a moment because what would a prince like as a shot? Surely he doesn’t want a girly one, plus I doubt this place would even have the ingredients for something like that. “Crouching Tiger?”

  Adrian smiles and looks at our waitress—who never gave us her name, nor does she wear a name tag. She scribbles it down and walks away without a word, her glasses falling back down to her chest as she slides her pen behind her ear again.

  “What’s a Rusty Nail?” I ask.

  “Scotch whiskey and orange peel. What am I in for with the Crouching Tiger?”

  “It’s a type of tequila shot.”

  He nods. “One where I get to lick salt off you?”

  My body heats as I imagine his mouth on the most sensitive part of my body. Well, not the most sensitive, but the part he could lick in public anyway. “Sorry, it’s a straight shot.”

  “And I thought we were getting somewhere here.” He winks and my stomach somersaults.

  Of course I’d imagined our date turning into a one-night stand, but could it actually be possible?

  “And where are you hoping for it to go?” I raise my eyebrows.

  He laughs, sliding out of the booth. “Shuffleboard?”

  “Sure.” I let him dodge the question because I’m not sure I want an answer right now. “I will warn you, I’ve never played this before.”

  He pulls the small disks from the side and puts them on the hardwood surface. “No talking shit like you did with ice skating? Admitting defeat before we even start? We’ve only known each other a short time, but I find it surprising.”

  I mock offense while sliding one of the discs back and forth. “Should I be insulted?”

  He comes over and his hand covers mine. “Not at all. You just seem like a woman who doesn’t take defeat eas
ily. Someone who constantly strives for perfection and never admits when she’s unsure.”

  His hand is soft under mine, but it’s still large enough to remind me that he’s a man. “You might be a little right.”

  “Don’t change who you are on account of me. I’m a nobody.”

  “You’re the Prince of Sandsal.”

  Then he removes his hand from mine and circles behind me, his lips right at my ear. “Not tonight. Tonight I’m your date, Adrian Marx. That’s it.”

  His voice is low and sultry, and I clench my thighs before I can allow myself to swivel around and use my lips to shut him up.

  His hand covers mine again and we’re moving the disc thing back and forth. “This is a weight.”

  I nod, unable to find my voice.

  “It’s all about the pressure and force you use to release it. The goal is to get it to the last section without falling off. Bonus if you knock out an opponent’s disc.” He initiates the release, and I miss his touch as soon as the disc travels down the tabletop, stopping right before the edge.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Not even going to try to hustle me, huh?”

  He chuckles and steps away from me, picking up the two shots that the waitress must’ve dropped off as I was lost in Adrian. Handing one over, he holds his up high. “To whatever tonight brings.”

  I clink his glass and we down the shots.

  He flags down the waitress. “Two Big Bamboos.”

  She nods and heads to the bar.

  “Are you on a mission to get drunk?” I ask.

  “Nah, but I think we both need some nerves to disappear.”

  I try to decipher what he’s talking about and why he would have any nerves. The man has a way of always appearing in charge and in control of himself.

  “Ready?”

  I nod, sipping my martini and stepping up to the board.

  “Ladies first.” He does the whole arm out and bow like you’d expect a prince to do.

  “Man, you’ve perfected that move.” I stand in front of the board.

  “I watch a lot of Disney movies.”

  I try to keep the alcohol in my mouth, but it sputters out, dripping to the floor, when I laugh. “I knew you’d be fun to party with.”

  I grab a napkin and bend down to wipe up my mess. He crouches in front of me and our eyes meet.

  Something’s there.

  It feels like a promise that says we’re about to start the really fun part of our date.

  Chapter Six

  Sierra

  * * *

  My assumption is that Adrian’s been playing shuffleboard since birth because he’s beaten me five games out of five. Plus, I think he could outdrink anyone—including Chugger, the guy who was rumored to drink a pony keg on his own one night in college. Whereas my lips already feel tingly and my hands keep venturing over and touching any part of Adrian that’s acceptable. He’s not complaining though.

  I slide my last disc and it tips off the table halfway down. “I’m out.” Picking up my glass, I slide back into the circular booth. The next round of shots that Adrian ordered is waiting for us. “I might have to pass on this one.”

  “I never figured you for a lightweight.” He slides in after me, another Rusty Nail in his hand.

  “Unless you’d like me to ruin your outfit with vomit, I suggest we cool it for a little while.” I flag down our waitress, who has smiled at us twice now. I think she likes Adrian’s accent. “Water please.”

  She nods, picking up the empty glasses off the table.

  Watching her so I can effectively ignore the feeling of Adrian’s eyes on me, I spot a table full of girls. One of them is staring at her phone and then at Adrian.

  “Uh oh,” I say.

  Adrian leans back, his drink in his hand. “I’m not going to lie, Sierra, I’d like you to spend the night with me at my hotel.”

  My head twists in his direction. His face shows no sign of joking.

  “Um.” Who just asks like that? Who does that?

  A prince does that. A guy who’s never told no. A guy who’s probably slept with any woman he’s ever wanted. And I’m sure there were a lot.

  “You’re not shy.”

  “There’s no point in pretending I don’t want you. Will you spend the night with me?”

  I shake my head to clear it, thankful when the waitress slides the glass of water my way. My lips attach to the straw and I suck until the glass is half empty. He’s still staring at me when I glance over.

  He’s wearing a cocky smirk mixed with a Cheshire Cat grin because he knows I want him. “I’ll serve you breakfast in the morning, but then it’s back to reality for both of us.”

  I nod, still taken aback. I’m not sure I remember having a conversation before a one-night stand. This is a first for me, but he’s Prince Adrian Marx. The man I’ve been following for almost a year. A man I’ve masturbated to more times than any other man. Oh, how I want to know if my imagination is right.

  “Excuse me?”

  Our heads turn to find the girl I saw with the phone standing at the edge of our table.

  The elation in my stomach sinks because she has her phone out.

  Adrian’s smile fades for a moment.

  She looks over her shoulder at her group of friends, who are staring. “Are you Prince Adrian?”

  He bites his lip for a moment. “I am.”

  Her entire face lights up like I imagine mine would have if I had accidentally run into him. She practically jumps up and down. Adrian looks at me from the corner of his eye but keeps his focus on her.

  She waves her friends over and they all hurry off their stools, each one armed with a phone.

  “Can we have a picture?”

  Adrian slides out of the booth. “Sure.”

  “Oh no, we’ll come in your way.” The group slides in on his side. “Would you take the picture?” The girl who can’t keep her eyes off Adrian hands me her phone.

  “Please.” Another girl hands me hers.

  A not-so-nice reply sits at the tip of my tongue, but I can’t destroy Adrian’s reputation. Instead, I press my lips together, grab the phones, and slide out of the booth.

  I stand on the edge as they snuggle in as close to him as they can get. Two of them are cheek to cheek. God knows where his hands are. As I snap the pictures, I realize that I’m right about why he’s so bold to ask me to go home with him. He’s never been told no. Not that I want to be the woman who holds the pin to pop that bubble for him, but someone should. One day. Just maybe not tonight.

  After I’m done, the girls don’t get up. They don’t leave. They ask him a million questions about why he’s there, what he’s drinking, what his favorite thing to eat is, how his sister and brother are.

  Lastly, the bold girl who had the guts to walk over here looks at me still standing at the edge of the booth. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  Adrian’s humored eyes meet mine and I can see that his mind is working overtime on how to answer that question. He’s been so unpredictable tonight, I have no idea what will come out of his mouth. Will he tell them the truth—that I won a date? Or tell them that I’m his girl for tonight but slip this other girl his number for tomorrow?

  Never did I imagine he’d answer, “Yes. This is Sierra.”

  All the overabundance of excitement at the table fades. The girls look at me and their eyes roam up and down, their smiles transforming into scowls. The “she’s not all that” expression is apparent on their faces.

  Damn, I’m getting an idea why Adrian’s life might not be all it seems.

  “If you’ll excuse us, we were having a night together,” Adrian says.

  The girls all profess their apologies, but the first girl doesn’t slide out like her friends. She pulls out a black Sharpie from her back pocket and unbuttons her shirt until the swell of her breasts shows.

  “Can I have your autograph?” she asks.

  Did I just transport to the backstage of some rock concert?
Surely Adrian isn’t at a caliber that makes women strip down. Next thing is she’ll be leaving her underwear for him.

  The ease with which Adrian takes the marker, tears off the cap with his teeth, and puts the tip to skin says it’s not his first time. He’s skilled at being the hot prince with the cap secured between his teeth as though he’s teasing them to imagine what he’d be like in bed. Does he get some kind of kick out of this, pulling at a young girl’s heartstrings with a dream that will never come into existence?

  “Thanks.” She gets out and huffs.

  I sit back down in the booth.

  “Sorry about that,” he says.

  “I feel bad for your future girlfriends.” I laugh, looking at the girl’s retreating form. But when all I hear from him is silence, I turn my head to find him facing straight, his penetrating gaze on me.

  “They’ll probably be used to it.”

  “Oh yeah, you probably can only date women of a certain lineage, right? Like princesses and stuff.”

  “No one tells me who to date.” His face is completely void of any emotion and I wish I could ask him what he’s really thinking about.

  “Well, do yourself a favor and make sure she’s very confident.” I pick up my water and sip the rest until it’s only ice.

  “Want another?” he asks.

  “Nah.”

  He downs his Rusty Nail and slides to the edge of his seat. “You’re pretty self-confident. And you’ve yet to answer my request.” His hand lands on my knee, sliding just under the fabric of my dress, his fingers running along my inner thigh.

  I suck in a breath.

  The door of the bar opens, and my eyes shift because I’m not sure how to answer his question. No doubt I want to sleep with him, but how will I feel in the morning? Because he isn’t some random guy from the club who’s been dancing with me all night. I’ll have to see mention of him on social media for the rest of my life. If the sex is good, which I’m sure it will be, am I doomed to relive our night together over and over again in my head?