He was hungover.
His pride was pricked from Mallory thinking she could run out on him. No, he hadn’t pulled out all the sex bells and whistles for her, but there hadn’t been time. They’d both wanted it fast and frantic.
Aside from her ghosting, the night had been terrific. The fun of the bets and the games had lightened his mood more than it had been in forever. The sex, well, that had been a game changer.
Or would have been, with any other woman.
The harsh morning sunlight drove into his brain the reality of 1) not being able to date a commoner, 2) not being able to date, well, anyone that wasn’t on his list of approved bridal candidates now that his thirtieth birthday loomed, and 3) absolutely, 100 percent not at all being able to date his sister’s…almost sister.
Never again.
That was the only possible takeaway from last night. It could never happen again.
No matter how badly he wanted it to.
So yeah, miserable, despite the croissants with raspberry jam and three cups of coffee. Christian buttoned his gray suit with the black pinstripes his valet had laid out and wished it was his riding jacket instead. A hard gallop on his favorite horse, Bariq, would clear his head.
But it was Tuesday, so there was unending work to get done. Most of it covering for his AWOL father. So make that reason number four to be miserable.
“Let’s roll,” he said, without looking at the bodyguard du jour outside his bedroom door.
“You’re a selfish jackass,” replied his best friend.
Oh, great. Without missing a beat in his hurried walk down the endless, tapestry-lined hallway, Christian said, “This already isn’t a good day, Elias. Whatever bug crawled up your ass is going to have to stay there until, let’s say, Christmas.”
“You know why I’m here instead of the bodyguard assigned to you for today?”
“Erik’s allergies are acting up? Or you lost a bet?”
Shit.
That tossed-off question took him right back to the bar. To the gleam in Mallory’s green eyes every time she notched up more points than him. To the way they’d darkened to the deep winter green of pine needles as he plunged into her.
Thankfully, Elias couldn’t hear the thoughts in his head and barreled on with his dressing down. “I’m here because I can yell at you in a way the rest of the RPS officers can’t. You’re not a rebellious teenager anymore. You can’t pull a stunt like last night’s again. Not anymore.”
Normally he’d agree, to make peace.
Not today.
Today, in his current burn-it-all-down mood, he’d respond with a tool he rarely used—his rank. “I believe I can, actually, do whatever the fuck I want. Comes with the title.” He made a miniscule adjustment to the Windsor knot in his light-purple tie. “Not to mention being, for all intents and purposes, the acting king.”
“It’s dangerous,” Elias insisted. “We caught the kook who almost shot Kelsey, but we still know nothing about who kidnapped her.”
“That was decades ago.” And the point wasn’t so much that they almost shot Kelsey as it was that they did shoot—and almost killed—Mallory.
“Hatred? Revenge? Those things tend to stay fresh, no matter how long they’re bottled up. Who knows how many others out there are upset enough to try and take a shot at the royal family?”
“Our approval rating is fine.”
After a low chortle, Elias said, “I don’t think assassins participate in news polls.”
“Maybe they do. Maybe that’s their nefarious plan to lull us into complacency.”
“Look, the RPS knows you’re a handful. And they also know that if anything happens to you when you run off on them, they are ultimately responsible for your life. Including going to jail for failing to discharge their duty if you’re killed.”
“Seriously?” Nobody had ever laid it out like that for Christian. It was always his choice to escape—not a failing by his bodyguard. Guilt settled like a boulder in his gut.
“Yeah. But more to the point, if anything happened to you, how do you think Genevieve and Kelsey would feel? If your recklessness cost you your life, what would it do to them?”
Christian steepled his hands over his face, suddenly struggling to breathe. Then he scrubbed them up and down, finally going all the way over the top of his head.
The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his sisters. He didn’t want to make them grieve. Or the country. He’d seen enough of that after his mother’s death.
It had been drilled into him from the start that the country came first. That all of his choices had to put what was best for Moncriano ahead of his personal wishes. If that meant missing birthday parties because he had to greet a foreign ambassador, so be it. Joining the navy instead of going off to grad school? Not even a discussion.
And the most recent one—marrying a woman who “official people” considered appropriate to someday be queen. Also not up for discussion.
“I didn’t think of that. You’re right, Eli. It was selfish. And it’ll never happen again. You have my word.”
“Good.” Clapping him on the back, Elias smirked. “And if you thought me yelling at you was the worst, well, buckle up.”
“God. Now what?”
“Schedule change.” Elias indicated with his hand that Christian should take a left and head down the wide, curved staircase. “The grand duchess has requested your presence.”
Christian loved his gran. But she wasn’t a storybook cuddles and candy sort of grandmother. Getting a summons from her usually meant she needed to indicate her disapproval and disappointment of something he’d done.
This felt way more like a Monday than a Tuesday. Since when could Tuesdays be so shitty?
The grand duchess was waiting for them at the foot of the thickly carpeted stairs. Even though it was only nine in the morning, the lapel of her black suit—always mourning black, even though her daughter had died more than twenty years ago and her husband five years before that—was weighed down by a ruby-and-diamond brooch. Not to mention a string of pearls with the ruby-and-diamond clasp centered at her throat, along with matching earrings, bracelet, and ring.
“Good morning, Christian. Is there no mirror in your suite? You’re rumpled.”
Christian finger-combed his hair. “Didn’t realize I’d be seeing my favorite grandmother, or I’d have spruced up.”
“You are the crown prince. You should be spruced to the hilt simply to nod at the footmen that you pass every day.”
“Yes, Gran.” He’d heard it all before. It would surprise no one if, at her funeral, the woman pulled a resurrection just to criticize a crooked tie or not-somber-enough jewelry by her family. She loved them. Christian and Genevieve were just convinced that she loved protocol a teensy bit more.
For once, though, she nodded at him. Could that be wordless recognition for how he’d been frantically trying to cover for his father and acting as king? “I apologize for the last-minute notice of this morning’s event, Christian, but my gift arrived and this shouldn’t wait a moment longer.”
“Your gift? I know I didn’t miss your birthday.” If he had, his private secretary would be sent packing. It was one thing to miss an official function, but Christian made a point of celebrating his family. And, damn it, his hangover left him in no condition to do the brainwork necessary to catch up. “What’s this all about?”
“With your father, ah, indisposed, I need you to confer a title.” Another nod of her impeccably coiffed head. It sounded like an order, but that nod turned it into a request. An acknowledgment that he needed to agree, rather than her usual railroading.
That was a first. Also just plain weird.
“An emergency title? It isn’t a pint of blood, Gran. There’s no actual life-and-death urgency to bestowing a title.” From behind him, Elias snickered. It was a li
berty he never would’ve taken before dating Kelsey, not even as Christian’s best friend. It was nice to see him loosen up. If only that could’ve happened without the weirdness of knowing Eli was sleeping with his sister… “Who couldn’t wait until the next knighthood ceremony in October?”
“Miss Wishner.”
No.
This could not be happening. Christian shot out a hand to steady himself on the ornately carved newel post. He wasn’t prepared to come face-to-face with his one-night-only stand. Not yet. Especially not in front of his grandmother.
Was this a joke? A setup by Elias? A way to get him back for sneaking out of the palace last night? But the grand duchess certainly wouldn’t be in on a prank.
Blustering to cover his discomfort, Christian said in an overly pretentious tone, “That’s not your call to make. It’s Papa’s.”
“I’m quite certain the king would sanction this if he ever rejoins the world. You didn’t wait for him when you knighted your friend back there.” She pointed at Elias, still a good four steps up, wisely staying out of the line of fire. “You also gave Genevieve’s boyfriend the Order of the Peacock just a few weeks ago. One might say you were handing out honors as though they were a stash of cookies left after a party.”
He hadn’t explained fully to his grandmother that Lord Theo had risked his career and his name to share information that prevented an attempted coup by the now ex-prime minister. The fewer who knew the details, the better.
But did she really think he’d done it just to reward the guy for dating Genny? Sure, his sister could be a high-maintenance pain in the ass, but come on.
Scrambling for any excuse to get out of seeing Mallory in a matter of minutes, Christian fell back on the one fact he knew would rile her. The grand duchess was all about the sanctity of their monarchy. And he’d heard plenty of snide, dismissive whispers about Mallory throughout the palace, seen it in papers and on social media from his snobbier countrymen. Trying to make it sound like the woman had bubonic plague, he said, “Gran, she’s an American.”
“I’m well aware. I have all my faculties about me. There’s no need to talk down to me like I’m two steps from the grave.”
In his current condition, with a headache and exhaustion making everything fuzzy, Christian didn’t have the energy to go around in circles with her. Nor was he ready to see the woman with the beautiful smile who made him feel capable.
Who made him feel normal.
Happy.
A woman who was, once again, completely off-limits to him.
And that he completely wanted again.
Out of ingrained habit, Christian offered his arm to his grandmother as they walked down the hallway. “I meant that you usually argue against foreigners being recognized in such a manner.”
“Because most of them do not deserve it. But Miss Wishner does. She almost lost her life simply by aligning herself with Princess Kelsey. For loving Kelsey and being a role model for her and undeniably an exemplary person.” Her fingertips bit into his arm. “She bled for us, Christian. She deserves a title in recognition for that sacrifice.”
He didn’t disagree.
It was surprising, however, that the grand duchess had come to this realization herself.
“Are you sure it wouldn’t mean more coming from King Julian?”
“I’m quite sure that it would. Would you care to offer a date and time at which the king might rouse himself to leave his rooms and perform his God-given duties as monarch of this country?” she asked in a tone as sour as a raw lime.
They were not having this conversation now.
Christian needed to be firing on all cylinders to walk the tightrope of acknowledging his father had ghosted them, while still maintaining that he was the sovereign. He and Genny could barely discuss the situation. The grand duchess would no doubt push and prod and try to force him to an ultimatum.
Instead, he picked up the pace. If Gran wanted to prove her spryness, she’d have to keep up. “I’ll do it,” he said curtly. “I assume you have a title chosen, the paperwork completed, and a photographer standing by?”
“Two out of three.” She nudged his elbow to turn him down a dark corridor lined with tapestries.
“This isn’t the way to the throne room.” That was where they always held the official ceremonies.
“I know this palace like the back of my hand. What are you inferring?”
It’d be nice if he could acknowledge that his gran was in a mood, but no, this was an average day’s worth of snooty snit, as Genny called it. “Nothing. It’d just be good to know where we’re going.”
Footmen scrambled to open the floor-to-ceiling dark-wood doors. “The Hall of Ancestors,” she pronounced.
Of course. His least favorite room of all 715 in Alcarsa Palace. The walls were crowded with full-length portraits of centuries of Villanis, all in crowns. Most looked dour. Regal. Imperious. Weighed down by the responsibility of caring for a kingdom. The dark wood and lack of windows made it more like the tomb of the ancestors. It was weird to think that someday he’d be up there.
As kids, he and Genny had imagined it to be full of ghosts. They’d scared themselves coming down at midnight on a dare. Which had resulted in a lecture from their grandmother on the difference between honoring and ridiculing revered ancestors. But it still didn’t take much to imagine that suit of armor lurching toward him, arms extended.
Then he caught sight of a deep-red ponytail. It was a ghost, all right. The ghost of the biggest mistake of his life, come back today to torment him.
…
Mallory was a planner. And a rule follower. So last night’s…encounter with Christian hadn’t just been stepping a toe outside of her comfort zone. No, it was so far away that it had required a passport stamp.
She hadn’t been thinking.
She’d been upset.
He’d been…handsome. Charming. Funny. As competitive as her.
Oh, and the best sex of her life. Not that it mattered. Because it would never, could never, happen again.
But you didn’t just get over a night that epic after a few hours of sleep. She’d planned to stay in bed, eyes closed, reliving every glorious moment. Possibly all the way through to lunch. Until her sister’s maid had rushed in with a royal freaking summons and gotten her scrambling to pull herself together.
So was she looking and/or feeling anywhere close to her best? Not unless hangover chic was now a thing in the royal court. Could puffy bags be considered an upside-down smoky eye? Pretending to stretch, Mallory reached behind to check the tag to discover if her white sundress was right side out.
How was this now her life?
She was the person who carried extra pantyhose in her purse to job interviews, just in case. The one who timed dry runs of getting ready for almost everything. Memorized her entire family’s blood types and Social Security numbers, just in case. Being caught unprepared simply did not happen to Mallory.
Except, of course, for the case of finding out her sister wasn’t related to her. And was a princess. And getting almost assassinated.
Maybe being blindsided was the Moncriano version of Mallory’s life?
Kelsey snagged her arm. “Wait for me. Sheesh, Ms. Protocol, you’re the one who insisted that you’re never to walk ahead of me. Your legs are so long I’ve never been able to keep up in sneakers, let alone these skyscraper shoes.”
“Platforms,” Mallory corrected for the tenth time. Gorgeous tan patent leather platforms that went completely unappreciated by her sister. “And put some hustle in your bustle. We can’t be late for a royal summons.”
“Well, I can. Technically, I outrank the grand duchess.”
Mallory stopped so fast that a flustered footman scrambled to open the nearest door. After waving him off, she said, “I will give you fifty dollars to say that to her face.”
<
br /> After a thoughtful squint, Kelsey shook her head and kept walking. Faster, at least. “Not even for a slice of raspberry peach pie from that place we love in the Upper Peninsula.”
“Wow. Playing the Debbie’s Pie card. You know we’re both going to be craving pie for the rest of the day.”
“Better than worrying about whatever we’re busting our asses to get to…where are we going, Lathan?” Kelsey asked her bodyguard.
“The Hall of Ancestors, Your Highness.”
“Is it as much of a party pad as it sounds?”
His lips twitched. All of her assigned bodyguards were bending over backward to treat her with utmost formality now that she was openly dating one of them. Except Kelsey wanted nothing more than to throw formality out the window and kept trying to tease them into casual responses.
Whatever game got you through a day in the life of a princess, right?
Mallory didn’t have the patience to watch Kelsey torture him, though. She was petrified that one of them had broken a big, hairy, totally unknown rule. “Why would the grand duchess summon both of us, unless we were in trouble? I’ve worked very hard to stay off her radar. You made it very clear that she is not a hugging, cookie-baking sort of grandmother.”
“Oh, there’s an update—I’ve forced two hugs on her. It’s been a productive summer that way.” Kelsey flapped a hand in her direction. “Stop worrying. You can’t be in trouble. You’re perfect enough for both of us. Really, they got a raw deal. You should’ve been the missing princess. You’d rock at it.”
Talk about a nightmare. Life as a royal was hard freaking work, despite the awesome perks. “No, thank you. A sideline view is more than enough.”
“And,” Kelsey continued with far too much good cheer, “if I got in trouble every time I screwed things up, they’d have sent me packing my first week here.”
On that upbeat note, two footmen, liveried in lavender vests, opened the floor-to-ceiling doors of ornately carved wood far darker than that used in the rest of the palace. They’d be foreboding—sinister, almost—if Mallory wasn’t wholly caught up in her fear of whatever was in store with the grand duchess.
Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals) Page 4