The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1)

by Iris Morland

  The commotion caused a few other people to come around to see what was going on. By the time I’d apologized at least a thousand times, the woman finally telling me she’d be okay, I’d nearly forgotten about Olivier. Until I returned to our seats and he was sitting there, waiting for me, a look on his face that said, “I know you overheard my conversation I’d not wanted you to hear.”

  Great. Just my fucking luck.

  “Want some cookies?” I pulled out the bag, but Olivier didn’t take my bribe.

  “Were you following me?”

  I sat down with a huff. “No. I was getting food and exploring. I just happened to run into you.”

  “How much did you hear?”

  I couldn’t make out what he was thinking. His face was blank. He wasn’t angry, but he wasn’t happy, either. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes.

  “Even if you’d sat here the entire time, I wouldn’t have understood what you were saying, anyway.”

  He looked triumphant. “So you were eavesdropping.”

  I bit into one of the cookies that was filled with chocolate and was promptly distracted because it was amazing. I ate another in quick succession.

  “So I was eavesdropping on a conversation in a language I can’t speak or understand.” I shrugged. “I really don’t think that counts as ‘eavesdropping,’ do you?”

  Olivier still seemed tense. Because I was a glutton for punishment and was insatiably curious, I couldn’t help but ask, “Who were you talking to?”

  I really didn’t think he’d answer the question. But to my surprise, he said, “My father.”

  Now, this was getting interesting.

  “What other snacks did you buy?” said Olivier suddenly.

  I emptied my hoodie pocket where I’d stashed the goods. Olivier snorted when I showed him my bounty. “Did you buy everything available?”

  “Pretty much. Hey, I’m hungry. I didn’t eat much last night.”

  Olivier picked out a bag of camembert chips, his expression softening. “I used to eat these all the time as a kid. I haven’t had them in years.”

  “Well, now I’m extra glad I bought them.”

  Olivier took out a chip, and we ate in companionable silence. But I wasn’t about to let the tidbit about his father go to waste. “So what did your father have to say?”

  “He wants me to return home.”

  “Why?”

  Olivier shook his head. “He thinks this is a fool’s errand.”

  “You told him what you were doing?”

  Olivier hesitated. “In a sense.”

  “Okay, it sounds like you need to explain that one.”

  “He knew I wanted to find Mother’s clock. He doesn’t know, though, that I was the one who sold it all those years ago. Mother didn’t want him to know, because he’d be angry with me. So he believes she was the one who sold it.”

  “Was he angry at your mother for doing that?”

  “My mother says he was hurt, but not as hurt as he would be if he discovered I’d sold it to pay off gambling debts I’d accrued. My father loathes gambling.” Olivier wiped his hands on a napkin, all class while I was licking my fingers like a total animal. “Apparently, Father had a close friend who became addicted to gambling, to the point that his friend stole from him.”

  I winced. “Ouch. Yeah, I can see why he’d be pissed at you.”

  “So he thinks this is just me wasting time instead of taking on more duties as a prince. Even worse, he’s pressuring me to marry soon.”

  My eyes bugged out. “Soon? Like how soon?”

  “Within the next year.”

  I stopped eating at that admission. “But you’re not even thirty. What’s the rush?”

  “He thinks marriage will force me to settle down into the role. A family would tie me down most effectively.”

  “Well, that’s a depressing way to put it. And extremely old-fashioned. Now I’m expecting your father to withhold your inheritance until you father an heir.”

  Olivier’s lips twitched. “You aren’t completely wrong.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “Ugh, gross.”

  At that, Olivier cocked his head to the side. “Are you objecting to marriage and children in general or the idea of marriage and children with me?”

  Shit, I’d walked into that trap. “Neither. Both.” I forced my brain to stop freaking out. “I mean, I’m objecting to the idea that you’re just some means to an end. That what you want doesn’t matter.”

  “What I want doesn’t matter.” There was no bitterness to the words. Simply a statement of fact. “When you’re born into such great privilege, you’re also tasked with the responsibility attached to it. What I want isn’t nearly as important as continuing the Valady line.”

  I felt like I was in some nineteenth-century novel, hearing Olivier speak of heirs and lineage.

  “So what happens if you decide to go AWOL?” I asked. “Does your father lock you in the dungeon and throw away the key?”

  “That’s what marriage is for.”

  That was a depressing statement. Feeling frustrated on his behalf, I pressed, “But what if you go off and do what you want? Is that against the law?”

  “Of course not, but that would mean disappointing and hurting my family. My father would be devastated.” Olivier looked stricken and even angry. “He already expects me to fail. I’m not going to try to fulfill his low expectations of me.”

  The words were surprisingly bitter. Leaning forward, I said, “I can’t imagine he thinks badly of you.”

  “How would you know?” The words were harsh, making me rear back. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I scowled at him and crossed my arms. “Geez, sorry I said anything,” I said sarcastically. “Return to your scheduled moping and I’ll just eat my snacks.”

  It took a few minutes, but Olivier finally said softly, “Apologies. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration on you.”

  I was still offended, but I could accept a sincere apology when I heard one. “You’re forgiven, but only if you go buy me more of these cookies. That’s my demand.”

  Rising from his seat before bowing, he said, “My lady’s wish is my command.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  My head rested against the warm grass. I groaned, stretching, feeling the rays of the sun on my face. I didn’t want to wake up. It smelled so good, and it was so deliciously warm.

  Then I heard someone call my name. “Niamh,” the voice said. It repeated my name, more forcefully this time. “Niamh.”

  I opened my eyes. Olivier was lightly shaking me awake, and I realized in a flash that I’d fallen asleep with my head against his shoulder. And to make things even worse, I’d proceeded to drool all over his sleeve.

  “We’re arriving in Frankfurt,” said Olivier. “Wake up.”

  “I’m awake, I’m awake.” I grimaced at the wet spot on his jacket, but he hadn’t yet noticed it. I wiped my mouth of any remaining drool. Geez, could I be any less sexy?

  Olivier pulled at the arm of his jacket. Then he raised an eyebrow at me. “Left me a gift, did you?”

  I sank down into my seat. “Sorry. I don’t usually drool.”

  He took off his jacket and stuffed it into his bag. “That jacket cost me over a thousand euro, you know.”

  I blanched. “Are you serious? Shit, I’ll pay for dry cleaning—”

  When he began to laugh, I realized he’d been messing with me. “The look on your face…” He kept laughing.

  I wished I’d punched him in my sleep. What an asshole. “Why are you the worst person ever? Ugh, why did I agree to this stupid trip to begin with?”

  “Because you can’t speak French and you needed my money?”

  “Okay, nobody needed you to answer.”

  He just chuckled. When we arrived in Frankfurt, we got off the train and boarded the one to Berlin while saying very little to each other and our trip to Berlin was uneventful. Thank God.

  A
fter we arrived at our hotel, it was already too late to go to the antiques store, so we could either stay in or wander around Berlin. I absolutely did not want to hang around our hotel room with Olivier, so I brushed my hair and said I was going out.

  Olivier decided to tag along. Part of me almost wished he’d stayed behind, while the other part of me was glad for the company. Our hotel was in the Friedrichstadt neighborhood, near the famous Gendarmenmarkt square that included the Berlin concert hall.

  It was a warm summer evening, and all about us were people walking around and enjoying the weather. Olivier and I bought beers at a bar nearby before continuing our wandering.

  Soon, the sound of people talking and cars driving along the streets was replaced by the sounds of music. On various corners, parks, and outside buildings were musicians. Crowds of people listened, while others meandered like we were. There were so many people, in fact, that it was difficult to go far without getting stuck in some huge crowd.

  “What is this?” I said over the noise of a trombone quartet playing.

  “Fete de la Musique.” Olivier handed me a flier. “I’ve attended the one in Paris but never here in Berlin.”

  “That sounds French, not German.”

  He smiled. “That’s because it was a day invented by a Frenchman. You don’t have it in America?”

  “Probably, but I’ve never heard of it being done in Seattle. Then again, I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to things like this.”

  We stopped to grab huge, warm pretzels, and I dipped mine in a spicy mustard sauce as I walked. It was awkward, but even as Olivier laughed at my pretzel-dipping skills, I didn’t care. I might be homesick, but nothing could compare to all of the food I’d eaten while abroad.

  The moment I’d noted that Olivier hadn’t been mobbed by his fangirls here in Berlin, a group of no less than six girls squealed and headed straight for us, practically causing a car crash when they rushed across the street toward him.

  “Prince! Prince Olivier!” One of the girls shoved a notebook into Olivier’s hands. “Autograph! Please!”

  I just kept eating my pretzel. Olivier was cordial, although I could tell he was annoyed at the girls asking for selfies—one for each of them. It got to the point that we began to attract attention.

  “Who is that?” said a woman who walked by. “Is he famous?”

  I swallowed my bite of pretzel. “Kind of. Have you ever seen that commercial for erectile dysfunction? The one with the monkey?”

  The woman made a face. “No. A monkey?”

  I kept my expression bland. “Yeah, it’s big in the States. Anyway, girls keep mobbing him now. It’s kind of annoying, but what can you do?” I popped the last bite of pretzel into my mouth. “I’m so happy he’s seeing some success finally.”

  I leaned over and whispered, “He’s convinced this will be his big break. I don’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. He sends the commercial to everybody to watch, all the talent scouts. He even sent it to Justin Bieber’s agent and thinks he’ll be in his next music video.” I shook my head. “He has no idea. So sweet, so naive.”

  The woman nodded, like she really had some idea what I was talking about. “How sad.”

  Olivier approached us, his gaze darting to the strange woman. He then glanced at me. “Niamh…?”

  I looked over at my companion. “Oh, this is who I was talking about. Olivier. He doesn’t have a last name. He’s like Madonna, or Cher.”

  The woman reached out to shake Olivier’s hand. “Good for you on your success. Don’t ever give up, yes?”

  “Um, thank you?”

  The woman shook his hand a second time, nodded at me, and took off. Olivier gave me a suspicious look. “What in the world did you say to her?”

  “Buy me another pretzel and I might just tell you.”

  “If I’d known the moment I first met you that you were so easily bribed, I would’ve used that to my advantage.”

  “The first time we met, you weren’t exactly trying to be Prince Charming.”

  His smile was wry. “I didn’t know you’d be important enough for me to charm.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him, which made him laugh. His laugh felt like golden notes against my skin. It was embarrassing, how easily he could affect me. I thought back to our kiss two nights ago. My cheeks turned red. Olivier’s eyes darkened, and for a split second, I could’ve sworn he was thinking about the exact same thing.

  Then the moment ended when a little boy bumped into my leg.

  “Let’s get you that pretzel,” said Olivier.

  If I were stupid, I could almost imagine we were on a date as we wandered through the heart of Berlin. Except I knew very well that if I reached out and took Olivier’s hand, he’d look at me like I was crazy.

  I glanced up at him out of the corner of my eye. He caught me looking.

  So I said, “Why did you kiss me?”

  He almost collided into an elderly man. To avoid a full-on human crash, he did a little spin that made him look like he was break dancing. It was hilarious.

  Olivier brushed off his clothes, like he’d actually tripped and gotten them dirty. He was still spotless, as usual.

  “Based on your reaction, you aren’t exactly looking to repeat the kiss.” My tone was acidic.

  Olivier gave me a strange look. “What makes you think that?”

  “Um, two things: when I tried to kiss you, you acted like I had leprosy. Secondly, after kissing me once, you still act like I have leprosy.” I shrugged. “I mean, I can put two and two together. You don’t think I’m attractive. It’s okay.”

  I was lying about that last part. It wasn’t okay. It sucked hardcore. I made me feel like I was about three inches tall and ugly to boot. I knew that as a woman of the twenty-first century I was supposed to not care about male opinions. Sue me, I was shallow.

  Olivier stared down at me, his eyes wide. “You think I don’t find you attractive?”

  “You don’t have to repeat it like that.”

  “I do have to repeat it, because it’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve heard you say.”

  We’d stopped in the middle of a square, and people were giving us annoyed looks for blocking foot traffic. But I was only vaguely aware of the crowd.

  I could only see the look on Olivier’s face.

  “Not wanting to kiss you has nothing to do with you,” he said finally.

  I cocked my head to the side. “Either I’m dumb or that statement was lost in translation.”

  “Niamh. You are—” He blew out a breath. “You know who I am.”

  At that, I felt a sting of irritation. “How could I fail to remember that?”

  “I mean, nothing that I want to happen with us could ever happen. I’m not meant to marry an American girl. That’s not what it means to be the Hereditary Prince of Salasia.”

  I could almost see the crown weighing him down, and for a moment, I felt it, too. It hurt. It really did.

  “I think you’re insanely attractive,” he continued. “And just insane. You make me insane, too. You aren’t afraid to speak your mind. You live your life without a care what anyone thinks—”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You don’t care what I think. Do you know how many people I’ve known who didn’t try to flatter me, to cajole me, to get me to do things for them because of my position?” His hands were warm on my elbows. “You, Niamh. You are one of the few people who’s ever just seen me as a man, instead of as a prince.”

  My heart pounded in my throat. I suddenly felt like crying. Feeling completely discombobulated, I was forced back to the present when a passerby’s purse knocked into my arm.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We ended up at a park nearby. There were still lots of people, but it was large enough that we could find a little bit of privacy. Sitting on a bench at a nearby garden that overlooked the Spree River, we didn’t say anything for a long moment.

&nbs
p; Eventually, Olivier took my hand. And my pathetic, lovesick heart nearly imploded inside of me when he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “Don’t,” I whispered. “Please don’t.”

  He released my hand, albeit reluctantly. His gaze returned to the water below.

  I couldn’t stand the silence for long. It meant that we were wasting time when we could be talking. Speaking quickly, I said with a breathless laugh, “I had the idea early on to seduce you. To get you out of my system.”

  Olivier didn’t laugh. He just sent me a heated glance. “If you think one time would be enough,” he nearly growled, “then by all means, let’s return to the hotel.”

  I’d made a miscalculation. Swallowing hard, I pressed my hands to my red cheeks.

  “No, no. I mean, I want to. But it’d probably be a terrible idea,” I said.

  “Yes, a terrible idea. A very terrible idea.”

  Except he caught my eyes again, and the look in them made his statement a big, fat lie. I shivered. If we were alone, there was no telling how quickly we’d rip each other’s clothes off.

  I forced myself to watch a family a few yards away. A child that was probably no more than three years old was currently running away from his mother, and she was chasing after him, red-faced and yelling.

  “Wanna bet how far that kid gets before his mom catches him?” I pointed. The boy had run through a flock of geese, causing the birds to honk in dismay.

  Olivier narrowed his eyes. The mother was now fending off an angry goose with her hat. “Seems as though he’ll get all the way to that tree over there.”

  “I think he’ll get to the bench beyond it. The one that has balloons near it.”

  Olivier put out his hand, and we sealed our bet.

  The little boy ran and ran, which, considering how short his legs were, was pretty impressive. His poor mother had extricated herself from the angry goose and was rushing after her son. The kid was giggling maniacally as he got closer to Olivier’s destination, his mother close on his heels.

  “Come on, come on,” muttered Olivier. When the boy was able to run past the tree, his mom just narrowly missing picking him up, Olivier swore and threw his hands up. “He can’t be running that fast.”