A Royal Mistake (The Rooftop Crew Book 2)

by Piper Rayne

  A Royal Mistake

  Piper Rayne

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2020 by Piper Rayne

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar Photography

  Cover Design: By Hang Le

  1st Line Editor: Joy Editing

  2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor

  Proofreader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer

  Contents

  About A Royal Mistake

  Free Download

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings

  About the Author

  Also by Piper & Rayne

  A Royal Mistake

  He’s not your average Joe from the corner bar.

  He’s the heir to the crown.

  I should know, I’ve followed him for years.

  Not in a stalkerish way. Magazines and online gossip blogs are fair game when you’re royalty.

  But I do know every detail about him, down to the brand of boxer briefs he wears.

  All my studying of the man who plays a starring role in my dreams pays off when I win a dinner with him. As if that wasn’t enough, he barters a deal with me that has him moving into my spare guest room.

  I forgot that fairy tales don’t exist though because just as I’m about to get everything I want, including the prince, I find out there’s someone in Prince Adrian Marx’s life I don’t know—his fiancée.

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  Chapter One

  Sierra

  You’d think the reason I’m sitting on a small charcoal sofa in this tiny room with no windows is because I have some fascination with fairy tales. But that theory would have been proven wrong the minute I came out of my mom’s womb with fire-engine-red hair because hello, how many princesses with red hair had their own movie when I was growing up? Yep, one. And she’s a mermaid. Mermaids are about as real as a red-haired princess would be. That and the actual natural blondes in this world.

  Now that I’m older, my crazy red hair has toned down to a more auburn color, and I’m proud to be in the one-percent minority of red-haired people in the world. It makes me unique.

  But as with most things, when people are different, there are stereotypes. I can’t deny that I can be fiery at times and my temper can get the best of me. But I’m not loose like the high school football team believed. I had four years of “does the carpet match the drapes” jokes to contend with while their gazes zeroed in between my thighs.

  That experience, along with a lot of others, made me tough.

  But before I head off on some tangent and raise my “I’m a carrot-top and proud” flag, let’s get back to where I am and how I got here.

  Win a date with Prince Adrian Marx

  That was all I read on the charity website, and I knew I’d do whatever I had to in order to make it happen. Even pay the high entry fee to enter the contest.

  Do I love the prince because he’s a prince? Not exactly, though I’ve always been into keeping tabs on the monarchy. From the first magazine cover I saw him on, I was enthralled.

  The guy is gorgeous. Which is why he’s in so many magazines. And why every time he steps out of his sprawling mansion into his grand courtyard in Sandsal, photographers snap a picture. Needless to say, thanks to their hard work, I already know what the prince looks like under his clothes—except for whatever he’s hiding in his boxer briefs.

  Based on what I’ve seen on social media and in the press, he seems like he doesn’t quite fit the mold as far as how one might think a member of the royal family would behave, which is what makes him so intriguing. I want to know more about him.

  A short knock sounds on the same door I used to come into this room a half hour ago, then it opens. A tall man with a brown flat-top pokes his head in but doesn’t release the knob. “The prince will be ready for you in five minutes. The cameras are setting up now. Have you already signed the release so we can get some pictures?”

  I nod.

  He nods, snorts, and shuts the door.

  Nice guy. Not.

  You’d think sparing a bottle of water wouldn’t be a big deal for the royal family, but there’s nothing in this room except me, a loveseat, a coffee table, some old magazines, and a potted plant that’s seen better days. I’m in a fancy hotel in Manhattan, and though I’m not sure exactly what this room is for, I think maybe at one point it was an employee break room.

  I stand from the couch, antsy now that the time to meet the prince is almost here. I’m rarely ever nervous—except for when I walk into my dad’s house, and that’s mostly because the silence inside makes me crazy with anxiety.

  My phone dings in my purse, so I pull it out, happy for the distraction from my nerves.

  Mick: You’re never going to believe this!

  Mick is my work BFF at the TV station, but he’s always dramatic, so I don’t get too excited over his text.

  Me: What’s up?

  Mick: I just overheard Georgia in Jack’s office saying she’s going to be retiring.

  Holy shit! For once in his life, Mick wasn’t being overly dramatic.

  Me: No way!

  Mick: This is your chance to move into the anchor position. You got this!

  Me: Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m sure it won’t just be me who wants that job.

  Mick: Yeah but you’d be the best at it. Where you at, girl? Let’s go celebrate.

  Guilt floods me. I didn’t tell him I’d won a date with Prince Adrian. I will, but Mick’s as into Adrian as I am, and all his questions and predictions of how the night would go would have made me more nervous than I already am. I’ll tell him after it’s all said and done.

  Me: Sorry, I’m just in the city visiting my dad. He needed me for something.

  Mick: Yuck. Well I’d say have fun, but I know you won’t.

  Me: You can fill me in on the details on Monday.

  Mick: You know it. I got your back.

  Me: Thanks, Mick! Chat soon!

  The John Cena lookalike opens the door without a knock.

  “Ever heard of knocking?” I snipe, pushing my phone into my purse.

  He narrows his eyes as though we speak two different languages and he doesn’t get my point. Technically his accent suggests that maybe English isn’t his first language, but he doesn’t stumble over his words. “The prince is ready.”

  My stomach knots and I grab my purse off the couch. �
��Do you have to call him the prince? Is that an official thing you have to do?”

  He glances over his broad shoulder without amusement. Nor does he answer me.

  Silent treatment. Cool. Mature. Not.

  We walk out of the room and down the hallway of the boutique hotel, then up in a private elevator that requires a key and a password. JC, as I think of him since he reminds me of John Cena, looks over his shoulder while he punches in the code as if I’m trying to spy on him.

  “You can relax. I’m not one of those crazy girls who stalk the prince.”

  He grunts.

  If he saw the stack of magazines featuring the prince in the corner of my room, I’m not sure he’d believe me.

  The elevator doors open, and I move to step out first, but his arm lands across my stomach like a steel rod and I rear back, almost falling to the floor of the elevator.

  “Hold up.” He looks to the right then to the left then back to the right.

  He releases his mom-style seatbelt and I step out into a part of the hotel the average person can’t get a room in. Elaborate doesn’t describe it. There’s nothing modern about this space—it’s stately and worldly, very European. Intricately designed carpets lay below my feet while dark wood frames the doors and ceiling. Splotches of dark green paint can be seen behind the framed artwork that looks as if I stepped into a Catholic church.

  We’re halfway down the hall when JC says something, so I turn back, but he’s talking into his jacket.

  Security mic. Of course.

  “The door is straight ahead. You may enter.”

  My final footsteps take me to a set of double wooden doors with luxury fixtures.

  He’s behind there.

  Prince Adrian Marx.

  JC clears his throat like I’m taking too long after I’ve waited for what feels like forever.

  I glare back at him. “I’m just making sure I’m presentable.”

  Running my hands down my conservative dress, I wish I had worn what I really wanted to, something that made me more comfortable. That ship has sailed though, so my hand twists the doorknob and I open the door.

  I hold the door open for JC, but he shakes his head and turns his back so he faces the hallway.

  I step into what appears to be the foyer of the suite. Marble floors gleam, the beautiful gold-and-white stone feeling more modern than the path to get here.

  “WHAT THE HELL? DON’T MOVE!”

  I freeze where I am.

  “Hi.” A man in beige slacks, a button-up shirt, and a sweater vest comes rushing into the foyer and holds out his hand. “I’m Jean.”

  I shake his hand. He’s quick to let mine go as though we’re in the middle of a receiving line at a wedding and people are waiting behind me.

  “Sorry, the prince is playing Xbox.”

  “Xbox?” I clarify.

  Jean sighs with an expression to say he doesn’t understand it either.

  I’m not against grown men playing video games. Most of my guy friends do, but doesn’t the prince have more important stuff to do? I mean, he’s a prince.

  “Afraid so.” Jean signals for me to follow him. “Sir. Your date is here.”

  “Aw, buddy, I gotta go. Duty calls.”

  I hear a loud thud and assume it’s the controller. Doesn’t seem like he’s doing much prep work for our date. A bit of my excitement over the evening dies.

  Jean finally allows me to enter the room. This is it. The moment I first set my eyes on the prince. I’m fully ready and anticipate being mesmerized by his blue eyes… but all I see are sweatpants and a T-shirt with a stain streaked down the front.

  “Sir, you said you were getting changed,” Jean says, sounding embarrassed.

  Instead, the prince wipes his cheese-covered hand down his shirt and holds it between us. I stare at it. He quickly figures out that I’m not going to shake his hand. Rude or not, he laughs to himself and puts it in his pocket.

  “Sorry, I was online with my brother. With the time difference, we rarely get to speak. Wanted to get in a game with him. Do you play?”

  His accent throws me at first, although I knew he had one. People in Sandsal use a mix of different languages, but his accent comes off as more French than anything. It’s not a thick accent, but it’s there.

  “Not really.”

  He nods then looks at Jean. “What’s the plan?”

  How much more unromantic can you get? After waiting forever for him to finish playing with his toy and his brother, he’s now asking this Jean guy what’s planned for our date. I inwardly roll my eyes.

  “Dinner.” Jean smiles at me. “On the terrace.”

  I glance around, looking for the photographer and his crew since JC warned me they’d be here.

  “The prince has decided not to have pictures.” Jean answers the question I never asked.

  “Too nosy.” Adrian picks up his drink and downs the rest of it. “I’ll be right back.” He saunters out of the room without any urgency in his step.

  Jean shoots me his overly polite smile once more. “I’ll check on the dinner.”

  “Excuse me,” I say.

  He turns around with a look of concern. Maybe he thinks I’m going to bail.

  “Do you mind if I make a phone call while I wait?”

  He releases a breath and his smile loses the tension it was laced with. “Oh, certainly.” He gestures behind me. “You’ll find some privacy on the south terrace.”

  I follow the direction of his hand and see a large formal dining room I suspect Mr. Sloppy Prince won’t be using unless he has a buffet for his gaming buddies. Once I’m through the double doors and on the terrace overlooking Central Park, I pull out my phone to call Blanca.

  “Something’s wrong if you have time to call me,” she says. The easy lilt in her voice is ever-present. She’s too nice for her own good.

  “He’s—”

  “Hold on, putting you on speaker.”

  “Is he dreamy?” Rian asks.

  My friends think my crush on the prince is humorous, but they were speechless when I said I’d scored a date with him.

  “Definitely not.”

  “Uh oh, what’s wrong?” Blanca asks.

  I wish I had it in me to lie, but I’m so frustrated that I spent all day at a spa, had someone come in to do my makeup, and bought a new dress just for this douche to wipe his dirty hands down his shirt before trying to shake mine. “If I wasn’t in the penthouse suite on a terrace overlooking Central Park and hadn’t been patted down by a bodyguard who’d give Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson a challenge, I’d think I’ve been duped.”

  “Why?” Bianca asks.

  “He wasn’t even ready when I got here. He was playing Xbox with his brother. And his shirt was dirty, and his hand was covered in fake cheese.”

  “Okay…” Blanca says.

  “Nothing wrong with some Xbox,” Dylan chimes in.

  “I didn’t know the guys are there.” I’m sure they can all hear the annoyance in my tone.

  “Yeah, sorry. Do you want me to take you off speaker?” Blanca asks.

  I lean on the railing and stare into the darkness of Central Park, thankful the prince wasn’t polite enough to take my coat when he greeted me. “No. I’m just annoyed.”

  “Ditch the prince. We’re about to play a game of Exploding Kittens,” Rian says.

  “While eating chocolate cake.” Dylan’s voice sounds muffled as if he has half the cake in his mouth already.

  I think about my options. Heading home to Cliffton Heights means a night spent with Blanca and Ethan. That uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut. It’s getting easier to be around them, and I couldn’t be happier that my best friend has fallen in love. Okay, I could be happier if it weren’t with my ex, but I’m not bitter about it either. It’s just weird to be around them still. Hopefully that will change when Blanca moves in with Ethan tomorrow. She’s only moving to an apartment at the end of the hall, but hey, a little distance will be a good t
hing for all of us, I suspect.

  Yeah, forget about going back home. Whether this date is going to suck or not, at least it won’t include watching Blanca and Ethan flirt with each other.

  “Nah, I’m going to stay.”

  Just then, the door behind me creaks open and I glance over my shoulder. My phone almost slips out of my hand.

  The man cleans up well.

  His longer-than-average dark hair is slicked back, and his clean-shaven face makes it easy to see how beautiful this man really is.

  “Sorry,” he says with no edge of lying in his tone.

  “I gotta go.” I hang up on my friends, sliding my phone into my purse.

  “Sierra, right?” He walks across the patio with his now clean hand held out for me.

  “Are you a twin?” I ask, shaking his warm, strong, callus-free hand.

  He chuckles and his gaze dips over my body, igniting a wave of heat straight between my thighs. “No.”

  Guess my first impression was wrong. The prince really is a heartthrob.

  Chapter Two

  Adrian

  I surprise her by stepping out on the terrace. She’s probably gushing to her friends about being in my penthouse.

  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.