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

by Iris Morland

  “I’m pretty sure he’s made solely of sugar and making his mom have a heart attack.” We both watched as the chase continued. The boy ran across someone’s picnic, the mom stopping to apologize, which allowed him to gain ground again.

  But right as he reached the bench, he tripped over something. We were too far away to see. Suddenly, the game was over, the kid was crying, and his mom plucked him from the ground and hugged him closely.

  “What do I get for winning?” I said, smiling. “Come on, pay up.” Olivier reached into his wallet, but I laughed at him. “I don’t want your money.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  I didn’t know, but I did know that I wanted to wait to cash in on my winnings. “When I figure it out, I’ll ask you for it. How about that?”

  “This seems like a terrible idea to agree to.”

  “Yet you’ll do it anyway, won’t you?”

  Olivier scoffed, but he didn’t say no. I smiled, triumphant.

  We eventually returned to the hotel, our feet sore from how far we’d walked. Before we reached the building, though, Olivier said quietly, “I meant what I said.”

  I waited, breathless.

  “So I think it’d be best if we had separate rooms,” he continued.

  I deflated like a sad balloon. It was logical and smart, and it fucking pissed me off that he could be logical in this moment. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I nodded tightly.

  “I’ll go talk to the front desk. Here’s the key to the room. You can have that one for tonight.”

  “What if there’s no room at the inn?” I quipped.

  “Then I’ll deal with that, too.”

  I suddenly had the urge to mess up his hair, to make his cheeks turn red, to see him as upended inside as I was. He moved through the world with so much confidence that sometimes I wondered if he were truly human. I both admired it but, like right now, hated it.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” I said. I was pleased that my voice didn’t waver at all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We arrived at the address we’d received from Jeanne early the next morning. After meeting in the lobby, Olivier had been polite but distant. It still snagged at my heart, but I forced myself to put it behind me.

  We had more important things to deal with. Like finding this stupid clock and my father. Then again, if he knew the effort I was putting into finding him, he’d probably think it was hilarious. I hadn’t known him, of course, but based on what Liam had told me, Connor Gallagher hadn’t taken many things seriously. Including his family.

  The store was located five miles from our hotel, in the northern part of Berlin. It was a nondescript storefront, except for the creepy mannequins in the window.

  One wore a dress straight out of the fifties, a lacy apron tied in the front, while the other mannequin wore a suit that had shoulder pads so large that it looked like a linebacker. Furniture from various eras—leather couches, stuffed velvet chairs, and mod-style tables—were just a few of the items as we stepped inside.

  It smelled musty, the lighting garish, but it was filled with people. The walls and the floor were covered with items: vases, furniture, rugs, lamps, dolls, books. I smiled when I found a stack of vintage Harlequin novels on one table. I flipped through one, considering buying it, when Olivier said, “I want to find the owner.”

  I followed Olivier into the depths of the store. It was a total maze, and I wasn’t entirely certain we could find our way back to the entrance.

  “Wait, do you speak German?” I said to Olivier. I hadn’t even thought to ask him, since I’d gotten so used to him speaking French while we were in Paris.

  “Only a little,” he admitted.

  “What languages do you speak fluently? Besides English and French?”

  “Italian, some Spanish. I’d taken German lessons but had never committed myself to learning. A smattering of Russian, as well, but that’s a very difficult language to learn if you aren’t a native.”

  I smiled wryly. “Oh, I’m sure.” I tried to sound like I knew what I was talking about.

  “Do you speak Gaelic?” He weaved his way around a glass table as he spoke.

  “Only a little. My older brother speaks it, although he says he’s forgotten much of it. I only lived in Ireland until I was six.”

  “That’s a shame. You should try to learn it.”

  “If I end up staying in Ireland longer term, then I will, definitely. I wanted to get to know my father’s side of the family better.”

  After inquiring about the owner at one of the handful of checkout areas, we waited for this mysterious person to arrive. Although the employee had said it wouldn’t be long, Olivier and I found ourselves waiting for close to twenty minutes.

  “Aren’t Germans a punctual type of people?” I said. “Unlike the French,” I couldn’t help but adding.

  “Spaniards are much worse at being on time. So are the Italians,” replied Olivier. “The French would be in the middle, I believe.”

  Finally, when the owner came to speak with us, I was about to fall asleep in a very comfortable leather recliner. The owner, a short man with a well-trimmed beard and wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, said in English, “You were wanting to speak with me?”

  Olivier rose. “Yes. I apologize that we didn’t make an appointment. We weren’t able to find a phone number to call ahead.”

  “Oh, the internet never has it listed right.” He put out his hand. “I’m Stefan Bauer. Nice to meet you.”

  I shook hands with Stefan before he escorted us to his office in the back of the shop. We had to step over a number of items, the hallway packed with even more things. If Stefan weren’t the owner of an antiques store, I would’ve assumed he was just a hoarder.

  Stefan’s office was more a closet with an ancient computer and even more ancient furniture. I nearly sneezed as dust rose up from the chair I sat on.

  “Now,” said Stefan briskly, “how can I help you?”

  Olivier explained our story, how we’d gotten Stefan’s name from Jeanne. Stefan listened, not asking any questions but simply nodding. I interjected where necessary. I didn’t want him to think I was some bimbo who couldn’t speak for herself.

  “So you see, we think you might’ve sold this clock to my da,” I said as I handed Stefan the documents. “His name is Sean Connor Gallagher. I believe it was your store that mailed the documents to my grandda’s estate in Dublin.”

  Stefan stroked his chin. “Ah, yes. I remember this. It was a strange request. The buyer didn’t want his purchase to be traced to my store.” Stefan wrinkled his nose. “Insulting, like I was dealing with black market goods.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you aren’t,” I said quickly.

  Stefan leaned back into his chair. “You’re correct, young lady. Everything I purchase and sell is always above board. I’ll admit, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d sell the clock to this person—your father, I presume? It made me suspicious that Durand had sold me a stolen antique. But I’d known Durand for two decades, God rest his soul.”

  “His widow, Jeanne, provided us with your information,” said Olivier.

  “Indeed, indeed.” Typing on his keyboard now, Stefan said nothing for close to five minutes as he searched his computer. I half-expected him to pull out a floppy disk and hand it to us. I tried to make out his screen, but Olivier kicked my ankle when he saw what I was doing.

  Stefan took off his reading glasses. “I can provide you with the address Sean Gallagher gave me.”

  My heart nearly burst inside my chest. “Oh, that would be so amazing!”

  Stefan held up a finger. “On one condition.”

  I looked at Olivier. Olivier said, “You have a price?”

  “Of course I do. We all do.” Stefan leaned forward, and I wondered if he was going to ask us for some absurd amount of money. Or if he needed us to murder his rival, or deliver cocaine to some drug house—

  “I want you to come to dinn
er at my home tonight,” he said finally.

  Olivier and I said nothing. Eventually, I blurted, “You want to poison us first?”

  Stefan blinked then let out a hearty guffaw of a laugh. “Poison you? Good lord, why would I do that? Kill you and then, what, give you the information? My dear, that makes no sense.”

  Olivier shot me a look that said, Stop talking, please. I had to chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something biting.

  “Dinner is acceptable,” said Olivier finally. “Is that all?”

  “Oh no. I’m asking you to dinner because my daughter loves royalty.” His expression turned wily, his smile wide. “And if I were to bring a prince to dinner, I don’t have to buy her the expensive phone she’s been begging me for.”

  “How old is your daughter?” Olivier looked green about the gills.

  “Thirteen.” Stefan shuffled some papers. “And I’m sure Klara will want to invite some of her friends, too.”

  Oh God, an entire gaggle of thirteen-year-old girls fawning over Olivier. I nearly choked on my tongue to keep from laughing.

  Grimacing, Olivier agreed to the terms, taking a piece of paper with Stefan’s address and phone number on it, and then proceeded to glower at me the entire ride back to the hotel as I laughed at him.

  Stefan lived in a townhouse at the edge of the city. When Olivier and I arrived, the sun was beginning to set, and Stefan ushered us to his rooftop terrace. It was a warm summer night, perfect for eating outside. Before either of us said a word, we were handed beers and shown to a table filled with all kinds of food.

  “Wow,” I said to Olivier, “who knew the antiques business was so lucrative?”

  “That, or he comes from money.” Olivier popped an olive into his mouth. “Or his wife does.”

  Stefan’s wife, Luisa, was taller than her husband, willowy where he was squat. Her English was not as strong as Stefan’s, and after a few minutes of conversation in English, she floated off to speak with her daughter Klara.

  Olivier couldn’t avoid the group of young girls who had started giggling the moment he’d stepped onto the terrace. Stefan had brought Klara forward to be introduced, but she was so shy that she’d quickly returned to her friends.

  I counted four other girls besides Klara. They all looked about twelve or thirteen. There was one who was especially tall; another was much shorter. The tall girl seemed to find her limbs too long, and she moved with the awkwardness of a girl who was still getting used to her body. The shorter girl kept standing on her tiptoes to get a look at Olivier.

  I elbowed him. “So which one will you take as your bridge?”

  He nearly spat out his beer. I patted him on the back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “One of them would surely accept your suit. Then again, you might just go with Klara. She probably has a huge dowry.”

  “Please, please, just stop talking.”

  I gurgled. My gaze caught Klara’s, and I motioned for her to come over. She covered her face and then whispered into tall girl’s ear. Then the whole group erupted into laughter.

  “You’re going to have to go over there eventually,” I said.

  Our gazes went toward Stefan, who raised his drink with a knowing look that said, Make my daughter happy and you’ll get the information you want.

  Olivier groaned. “Why did I agree to this?”

  “Dude, they’re only young girls. They won’t kill you.”

  He looked so glum that I had to rein in my laughter.

  “Have you ever experienced the intensity of teenage girls hanging on your every word? Wanting autographs? Selfies? Asking you intimate questions that you absolutely cannot answer?”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever had that problem.” I tugged on his shirt. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get this over with.”

  When we approached, I half-expected the group to turn tail and run. But one of them, a girl with a head of dark, riotous curls, was clearly the leader of the group. She said something in German that sounded like, Don’t be such spineless boobs. Probably. German wasn’t exactly my forte.

  “Ladies,” said Olivier gravely. He looked like he wanted to throw himself bodily off of the roof.

  “What’s everyone’s names?” I pointed to myself. “I’m Niamh. This is Olivier—”

  Group giggle.

  “We’ve met Klara. Who else?”

  Curly-haired girl thrust out her hand. “I’m Sofie.” Her English was impeccable. She pointed to tall girl. “Astrid.” She pointed to short girl. “Mia.” Then to the last girl, who hadn’t raised her gaze from her feet. “And Anna.”

  To my immense amusement, Olivier gave them all a flourishing bow. “My ladies,” he said, his voice entirely serious. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Sofie’s eyes lit up. “What’s it like to be a prince? Do you get to wear a crown every day?”

  “Only on special occasions. They’re rather heavy to wear every day.”

  “You should wear a tiara,” said Klara, which made all the girls laugh. “What, he should! He’s very pretty!”

  “I agree. Olivier would look very pretty in a tiara,” I said.

  At that, the group of girls’ gazes swung toward me. I could sense a mutual feeling of who is this girl and why is she with Olivier emanating from them all. I had to admit, I was intimidated. Thirteen-year-old girls could rip you apart with just a few words and a passive-aggressive post on Instagram.

  “Are you guys dating?” asked Sofie. She looked at my sneakers, to my ripped jeans, to my worn t-shirt. Damn, I’d felt that in my bones.

  Before I could answer, Olivier took my hand and squeezed it. “We are. We met recently but have been traveling together for the past week.”

  I stared at him. The girls stared at him. Did he want me to get murdered?

  “Are we dating?” I gave him an incredulous look then laughed. “That’s the first I’ve heard about it.”

  No one else laughed. You could’ve heard a pin drop. No wonder Olivier had been terrified: these girls weren’t easy to please.

  Astrid was assessing me, her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you American?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “How did you even meet?”

  Klara shot Astrid a look. “You can’t just ask people that,” she hissed.

  Astrid remained unperturbed. “Why not? Maybe they met on Tinder.”

  I choked on my drink. This time, Olivier had to pat me on the back.

  Sofie’s eyes lit up. “How did you meet?” She sighed then put her chin on her hands. “I bet it was super romantic.”

  “Sofie, do you even know what Tinder is?” This was from Mia.

  “Duh, I know what it is!”

  The girls began to snipe at each in German. Anna, the shy one, just watched with wide eyes.

  “We didn’t meet online,” said Oliver, loudly. He cleared his throat as five pairs of eyes swung to him. “We met in a library.”

  I scowled at him. If these girls found out I’d hit him with a book, they might beat me with their phones and upload it on TikTok.

  “Oh, like in Beauty and the Beast,” said Klara.

  “Exactly like that.” Olivier slid onto the table in front of the girls. “Niamh, you see, is actually very shy—”

  I made a face that caused the girls to laugh.

  “Don’t believe anything she says,” continued Olivier. “She’s very shy around handsome men, like yours truly.”

  “I could never talk to a boy like you,” whispered Mia.

  “Of course you could.” Olivier resumed, “Niamh wouldn’t meet my eye when we found ourselves in the same aisle in the library. But it must’ve been fate, because we both reached for the same book at the same time. Our fingers touched…” Olivier let the moment lengthen. “And then the rest is history.”

  I had to admit, he could spin a tale. I nearly believed that was how we’d met. The girls were now hanging on his every word, rapture in their expressions. Prince Charming had
charmed the swarm of adolescents. It was both obnoxious and adorable.

  “Now, who wants to take pictures?”

  Five hands shot up at once, and then Olivier was in the midst of taking selfies with the girls. I wandered off to the food table. Strangely, I felt a pinch of jealousy. I had no idea why, and it ate at me.

  My stomach turned. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore. Turning, I nearly ran into Stefan’s wife Luisa.

  I apologized, and despite my ruffled nerves, hers seemed completely intact. Despite bumping her arm, she hadn’t spilled a drop of her drink. Amazing. I needed to know her secrets.

  “Your prince is very charming,” Luisa remarked as we both watched the girls ask him questions.

  “He can be.”

  Luisa raised a slim eyebrow. “You sound…envious.”

  “They’re just kids.”

  “You look at him like my daughter looks at him, you know.”

  “I do not.” I sounded so defensive that I forced myself to laugh. “If you mean I look annoyed, then I would agree.”

  “You look at him like he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, but he won’t pay you the same compliment.”

  That hurt. I couldn’t help but wonder if Luisa had some ulterior motive, but why would she? We would be gone tomorrow. Her daughter had gotten her night with a prince and seemed thrilled.

  “I don’t say these things to hurt you.” Luisa placed a long-fingered hand on my shoulder. “Merely to put you on your guard. I was once an impressionable young woman with a big heart. Like you.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  Luisa hummed and sipped her drink. “True. But I’ve seen that expression on the faces of many of my female friends. Even I was one of them, if you can imagine it.”

  I felt like I was on a ship that kept rocking back and forth. My legs felt wobbly. My eyes burned, and I hated feeling so vulnerable in front of this stranger.

  “I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary. I’m well aware that Olivier isn’t the man for me.”

  “I hope your heart knows that as well as your mind does, my dear.”

  I watched Olivier from across the terrace, my heart pounding in my ears. Stefan had joined the group while Luisa sat nearby. When Stefan motioned to me to join them, I put on a strained smile and walked over. I wanted to go hide in the bathroom, but I wouldn’t let Luisa see me crack.