by Tamara Lush
ALL I ASK
Paradise Beach #3
Tamara Lush
Copy Editor
Rebecca Cartee
Cover Design
Najla Qamber
Contents
All I Ask
ALL I ASK — PLAYLIST
Prologue
1. Isabella
2. Isabella
3. Tate
4. Isabella
5. Tate
6. Isabella
7. Tate
8. Isabella
9. Isabella
10. Tate
11. Isabella
12. Tate
13. Isabella
14. Isabella
15. Isabella
16. Tate
17. Isabella
18. Tate
19. Isabella
20. Isabella
21. Tate
22. Isabella
23. Isabella
24. Tate
25. Isabella
Epilogue
If you enjoyed this book…
About the Author
All I Ask
She's a European princess. He's a laid-back island lawyer. Is their relationship real - or a massive royal scandal?
Princess Isabella of Montignac is supposed to marry a prince that she doesn't love from a neighboring European principality -- but he was caught on a viral video snorting coke off a stripper's butt in Las Vegas.
All Isabella wants is to be left alone to do her environmental charity work. If she refuses to marry the prince, she'll lose her title and royal allowance. So she flees to a Florida island to think about her future.
When she checks into the Paradise Beach Resort, a fat pug takes a whizz on her travel pillow. Then the dog's owner, an extremely sexy guy named Tate, asks her to dinner. But just when things are looking up, an unpredictable turn of events happens.
Isabella's arrested for harassing an alligator and an island cop suggests she call a local lawyer. Turns out it's a familiar face: Tate, the hot man candy from the day before. And since she has to stick around on the island to clear up her legal troubles, she and Tate have a hard time keeping their hands off each other.
Will Isabella forsake everything she knows -- a royal title, palaces and riches -- for a life on Paradise Beach, and for Tate's love?
ALL I ASK is Book 3 in the Paradise Beach Series.
Copyright © 2019 by Tamara Lush
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ALL I ASK — PLAYLIST
Memory, Violent Femmes
The Chain, Fleetwood Mac
Born on the Bayou, CCR
Somebody’s Baby, Jackson Browne
Margaritaville, Jimmy Buffett
Turn Your Lights Down Low, Bob Marley
Kickstart My Heart, Motley Crüe
Moon River, Frank Ocean
Call Out My Name, The Weeknd
Mystery of Love, Sufjan Stevens
Making Love Out of Nothing At All, Air Supply
I love you, Billie Eilish
Listen to the full playlist on Spotify!
Welcome to Paradise Beach.
There’s sugar sand, warm water and endless sunshine.
It's a state of mind. A place with the most stunning sunsets in the world. An oasis with a legacy of passion. And island life is even hotter after dark...
Come to Paradise and fall in love.
Prologue
The Star-Mirror
LAS VEGAS (API) — Prince Charming, he’s not.
Jacques de Rousseau, the heir to the throne in Lutzelbourg, was spotted on video Saturday night snorting cocaine and cavorting with a stripper at a posh Las Vegas club.
An eagle-eyed royal watcher captured clear images and video of the playboy prince during his bawdy bros’ night. Images show him with a credit card in hand, dividing lines on a mirrored surface and Hoovering up the substance with his nose.
The Star-Mirror viewed the video, which shows a well-endowed, topless woman dressed in what can only be described as a silver thong, draping herself face down over Jacques’ lap. Laughing riotously, he carefully sprinkles white powder on her bare bottom.
Someone off camera hands the partying prince a rolled-up U.S. bill—the denomination is unclear—and he leans down and proceeds to snort the powder off the woman’s backside.
Then, he spanks her as she squirms in his lap, giggling raucously. The video was first posted on Twitter and spread like wildfire on social media.
The woman in the video is identified as a stripper at Larry Flynt’s Hustler Club in Las Vegas.
It’s unclear how this will affect the Prince’s relationship with Princess Isabella of Montignac. The Mirror has learned their formal engagement will be announced this summer, but all bets could be off after this scandalous video.
Isabella, 30, recently returned to her small kingdom after a three-month trip to Bhutan, where she’s the royal patron of an elephant conservation charity.
Although arranged marriages are no longer common in Europe, the royal families in both countries have long desired their children to wed.
From the time Jacques and Isabella were in secondary school, their respective parents spoke publicly about the need for friendlier relations between the two bordering nations, which have been strained in recent decades.
A royal marriage would help facilitate better trade deals and intergovernmental treaties, the countries believe.
A united front between the two countries could give the principalities more clout within the European Union. The two countries started as one in the 12th Century, but split during a regional civil war in 1519. In the 17th and 18th Centuries, the offspring of the royal families in both countries often intermarried, which makes Jacques’ and Isabella’s union in lockstep with tradition.
Royal watchers say Isabella has been less than happy with the arrangement but tolerates the plan out of love for her country—and because she’s the only daughter of King Josef and Queen Genevieve.
Her brother, Prince Josef V, is in line for the throne of Montignac. Josef and Isabella had a younger sister, Princess Maria, who died from meningitis when she was four. Her death likely makes Isabella more compliant to her parents’ demands, according to William Hanson, the author of the newly released book A Royal Romp: One Hundred Years of Scandal.
“Isabella’s life was infused with her parents’ sadness over losing Princess Maria. So initially, she was eager to play the part of the perfect daughter, representing the country in various charitable endeavors around the globe,” Hanson said. “But in recent years, she’s stayed away from the kingdom and has forged a feisty path for herself in environmental charity work.”
Hanson said it’s unclear what, if anything, she will do following this latest scandal with Prince Jacques.
“It may be a step too far for the plain-spoken princess, or she may chafe against her royal obligations.”
The Las Vegas incident is just one of many scandals and foibles in the life of the 31-year-old Prince.
He’s been in three drunken driving accidents—one which seriously injured a classmate from Eton College—one yacht collision in Monaco, and numerous brawls in at least four countries. During one incident in Amsterdam, the Prince smashed a fan’s cellphone and was arrested on battery charges. The charges were later dropped.
“His bad behavior even influenced the chaste Princess Isabella, who was rumored to have taken drugs at private parties with the Prince back in her early twenties,” Hanson said. “Although she seems to have redeemed herself and calmed dow
n with recent charity work.
“The Queen of Montignac will almost certainly want to begin wedding proceedings for her daughter immediately. Isabella’s the first woman in the Montignac royal family to reach 30 and still be unmarried. And with Prince Josef V set to marry a member of the Dutch Royal family next year, the Queen wants to get Isabella out of the way first, so to speak.”
Isabella has been dubbed “the plain princess” by the world’s media because she eschews designer clothes, luxury resorts, and nightclubs. Instead, she spends her time kayaking, hiking and helping various environmental causes—making one wonder how Prince Jacques will survive a marriage with the practical, yet slightly boring, royal daughter of the small European nation.
One
Isabella
“That pig,” I whisper, slamming the paper down on the 18th century mahogany breakfast table. “Las Vegas? A stripper? Coke? Could he be any more cliché, for God’s sake?”
“Language,” Mother says, picking up a china teacup that’s probably been in our family for centuries.
“I’m done with royal decorum,” I seethe. “And obviously, Jacques is too. What was the previous scandal? Was it when he and a Saudi crown prince drag raced the Lamborghinis in Dubai, and his brother had to pay all that money to the tabloid to ignore the story? Or was it the fistfight outside the Paris club with that rapper guy?”
Right now I want to smash that cup, the handmade croissants, and the artisan blueberry jam right into Jacques’ smarmy face. I’ve had enough of his reputation dragging me into the gutter with him.
While I’m in a murderous mood, I’d also like to throat-punch the reporter who subtly shamed me for—gasp—not being married by the ancient age of thirty.
A small part of me hoped Jacques would die from drugs or fast cars so I wouldn’t have to spend the next several decades with him under the same palace roof.
Awful, I know.
“Snorting coke off the ass of a stripper is where I draw the line.” I glare at my parents. “He’s like a bad penny. A plague of fleas. A recurring STD. There’s no way I’m getting engaged to him, much less marrying him. Mother, did you leak the engagement news while I was away?”
Father winces, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes becoming deep cracks. Mother’s mouth twitches into a smile.
“I’ve had to endure this behavior from him for years,” I hiss. “And the rumors about my connection to that tosser are affecting my reputation and hard work with the charity. Don’t you care, for God’s sake? I can’t live a lifetime like this.”
The vein in my right temple throbs. If someone were to wrap a blood pressure cuff around my arm, I’m certain my levels would be off the charts. My hands tremble from so much rage that I cross my arms over my chest.
“I may or may not have leaked the news.”
“Wonderful. Sold out by my own family.” Why did I even return from Southeast Asia? At least the elephants liked me.
“Dear, we have always known Jacques was deficient in many ways,” Mother murmurs in her always-formal tone. After attending college in America, I became used to a more laid-back manner of speaking. My accent used to mirror my Mother’s, but no more. She blinks, her long, black lashes fluttering over ice-blue eyes. “But we have an agreement.”
“This is the 21st Century. Does anyone care anymore? I don’t. The concept of an arranged marriage—”
“This is not an arranged marriage,” Mother interrupts in a sharp voice. “Do not give us that feminist rhetoric again. We are different from the rest of the population, Isabella. We are royals. We have protocol.”
“We. Are. Royals,” I mimic her haughty tone, then roll my eyes, something I’ve done a lot in the past week since returning. “If it’s not an arranged marriage, then why has it been planned and discussed in excruciating detail since my twenty-first birthday?”
Of course, I know the answer, because I’ve had this argument about a hundred times over the past decade.
“It is tradition,” Mother says in a steely voice.
“Screw tradition,” I mutter.
“It is a necessity for the Kingdom,” Father says.
“Fuck that too.”
“Language,” Mother retorts loudly. “You are a princess, and you will be a queen when you marry Jacques. We want your wedding to take place before your brother’s.”
“Oh, that’s the real issue at hand here. You want to dispense with me before the main event.” I snort. “Why don’t you focus on the heir apparent and his perfect little Dutch princess? No one gives fuck all about me. Let me live in peace, please.”
Mother gasps. “Hopefully, your filthy mouth will have subsided by the time you assume the position of Queen. Thank goodness you are not this profane in public.”
“I’m always a lady in public,” I shoot back. “But I might stop being one if you make me marry that dillweed.”
Mother waves her hand in dismissal. “Now that you are home, you need to focus on the engagement announcement. What to wear, where it will take place, that sort of thing. I think we should do it in the rose garden. And I think you should wear coral. It will make you look more alive.”
I inhale a thin breath. “No.”
“Then how about the salle des fêtes?”
Now I‘m exploding with anger. “No. I don’t want it in the party hall, or the rose garden, or the summer house. I’m not marrying that nutless wonder.” I drum my fingers on the table and shoot fire at her with my eyes.
This year I’m standing up for myself.
“I shall call the fashion consultant. I suspect you do not even own anything feminine, not after traipsing around wherever with elephants. God, they must have smelled something awful.” Mother shudders. “And try to ring Jacques. Perhaps that Las Vegas situation is exaggerated.”
“That photo of him with blow coating his nose like Tony Montana in Scarface sure looks pretty authentic to me.”
“Oh, Isabella. Do not be difficult. Have lunch with him somewhere public—it will be good for the press to see him with you. It will let the world know you forgive him for whatever happened in London.”
“I don’t forgive him. If I see him, I’ll punch him in the balls, and you probably don’t want the tabloids to see that,” I snarl, wondering why they’re so concerned about what’s good for him and not their daughter. “I’m sick of the papers repeating lies about me, just because it’s rumored we’re getting engaged. Which we are. Not. Doing.”
I push my plate of eggs away from me in a huff.
Father clears his throat. “Love,” he says weakly. “Where did you learn such language? We did not send you around the globe to learn to swear like a sailor.”
“It had to be those years in America,” Mother says.
I smile prettily, the sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Dearest Father, I’d hoped the two of you had become more enlightened in the past three months while I was away. Apparently my hope was misplaced. And perhaps I wouldn’t use such strong language if you’d listen to me. I want nothing to do with Jacques.”
Father glances down at the tabloid lying between the carafe of orange juice and the fresh-cut pineapple on the breakfast table. The front page headline is in massive, bold type, and it sends a wave of revulsion through my gut. My anger spikes again.
THE PRINCE AND THE PROSTITUTE
Idiot.
“You are always like this when you return from one of your trips, all empowered and independent. Remember when you came back from New York? Such a strident little thing.” Father chuckles, somehow uttering the exact words that will make my head explode with rage. “I am sure Jacques will settle down once you are married and you will become less strident.”
“I don’t give a crap if he calms down. And frankly, I don’t care what he does with a stripper or what he snorts up his nose. I don’t want to marry a man I don’t love, have never loved, and will never love. I have my own life and want to live it in peace. Alone.”
Mother daintily sips
the last of her tea. “Sorry. It is tradition. And you know the consequences if you break that tradition.”
Two
Isabella
I gape at Mother. “Why can’t you be reasonable? Why would you want a son-in-law who acts like this?”
“We cannot all be perfect like you, dear.”
A red fog swims across my vision. “I’m going to ignore that hurtful comment. Do you want to sit across from Jacques at a formal dinner and think about him spanking this?” I slap my hand on the newspaper, and my father jumps a little. Hopefully, if I’m crude and rebellious enough, they’ll understand my distress. “Because I don’t, and I sure as hell don’t want to be forced into his bed every night.”
I pantomime a gag to get my point across.
“Have separate bedrooms, for all I care. My priority is our country and our family’s legacy. If you do something stupid, you will lose your title and your royal allowance.” Mother fixes her thousand-yard stare at me, and I’m reminded once again that her heart is made of pure ambition and ice. “It is time for you to stop traipsing around the third world and fulfill your royal obligations.”
Heirs. She wants heirs. Why, I’m unclear, since she’s been a cold and unfeeling parent for decades now. When my little sister died, it was as if Mother shut down. Understandable, to a point.