All I Ask

by Tamara Lush

  “What the eff is this?” I whisper out loud.

  “What? What happened?” Bella—Princess Isabella—murmurs, leaning forward. I scrape my chair back, holding the phone out of her line of sight.

  My phone vibrates again. Another text from Max. What now? My heart pounding, I tap over to it.

  Check this out. You’re about to have dinner with royalty. Which makes sense because you’re often a royal pain in the ass.

  Leave it to Max to joke at a time like this. Thanks, dude.

  He’s sent a screenshot of a news article about the Montignac royal family. The large photo at the top of the page is of a woman—the same stunning brunette sitting across from me in a dingy police interrogation room, the one with the sexy freckles in a dirty t-shirt and rumpled shorts.

  Only in the picture, she’s wearing an elegant, strapless blue dress, lipstick, and a fake smile.

  And a diamond tiara.

  Six

  Isabella

  My bottom lip begins to quiver as I watch Tate’s eyes widen.

  He’s staring at his phone, as if in disbelief. First, he blinks a few times, then taps and swipes. Then he blinks some more. He slowly lifts his gaze to me. There’s a flicker of recognition, then his eyes drop back to his phone.

  He knows. I can always tell the moment people recognize me. It’s as if their eyes become sharper for a beat, then an invisible wall goes up. They automatically see me as different.

  They don’t know how to act. It kills me that this will happen with Tate within minutes. There’s something about him that I like, and it isn’t just his handsome face or muscular body. My shoulders tense.

  “What?” I whisper, even though I know what he’s just discovered about me. Teeth chattering, I cross my arms and rub my hands over my skin. Why is this police station’s air conditioning set at a subzero temperature?

  He swallows and scoots his chair forward. “The reason why you don’t want to give police your name—does it have anything to do with this?”

  He slides the phone toward me. My hands are shaking now. I pick up the cell and scan the screen.

  There’s a photo of me from a year ago, taken during my cousin’s wedding held at the royal palace. I was dressed in what I consider my princess costume—poufy dress, updo, makeup, diamond tiara. It’s one of my better photos, and I’m relieved Tate saw this.

  Given all the awful pictures of me online, at least he saw the prettiest one. Although I’m not sure why I care.

  I set the phone down and look him squarely in his beautiful, dark eyes.

  “Yes. That’s me. And yes, that’s why.”

  He nods slowly, taking it all in. Since I attempt to be a regular person as much as possible, my royal status is sometimes shocking to people. I know it’s a lot to absorb. Which is one of the reasons I didn’t tell him when we met yesterday. I’d wanted to be normal, something I’d never—

  I gasp with sudden awareness of the situation and uncross my arms, flailing a little bit.

  “They’ve found me, haven’t they?” I cry.

  Gripping the table, Tate looks around the dismal, beige room with a wild expression. “Who? What?”

  “The tabloids.” Tears spring to my eyes. I imagine Tate running out of here and emailing TMZ or the Mirror about my foible with the alligator. Hell, he’ll probably try to wrangle a picture of me in jail. He’ll make thousands. When I walk out of here, there’ll be paparazzi lining the streets of Paradise Beach.

  His hands let go of the table. “Wait. No. I don’t think so? Why do you think they’ve found you?”

  “How else would you know who I am? Who sent you that link?” I point to his phone, my hand quaking.

  “My brother and his fiancée. They recognized you yesterday when we were all standing with Chunky at the reception desk. They were the ones who ran up when Chunky did his business on your pillow. I guess I never introduced you properly because…”

  Alarm bells scream and echo in my brain. Everything and everyone is suspicious now. “Because why?”

  He blinks. “Because I was so captivated with you,” he says in a low voice.

  I roll my eyes, but my stomach does a little flip, like it’s never done before. He was? “Puh-lease.”

  “No, I’m serious. When I saw you…” He shakes his head. “It‘s not important right now. We need to get you out of here.”

  “Exactly. But I want to know how your brother and his fiancée knew who I was. Did the tabloids tip them off? No one in America usually recognizes me.”

  “Max and Lauren were in London not long ago. They’d seen you in the papers. That’s what he said in his text. And Lauren spent some time in Europe, and she’s Instagram famous.”

  I nod slowly. Plausible, I guess. “Do you think they’ve tipped any media off about me? And what do you mean by Instagram famous?”

  His brows knit together. “No. Of course not. They’d never do anything like that. Max takes his guests’ privacy and comfort seriously. And Lauren, she has a big travel account on Instagram. She posts photos and stuff. It doesn’t surprise me that she recognized you.”

  “But would she sell info to a tabloid?”

  “No.” He pauses. “I don’t think so. And she won’t if Max tells her not to.”

  “Doesn’t give me a lot of confidence.” I cross my arms and prop them on the table, chewing on my cheek. I’ve gotten myself in quite a situation here… “What are you going to tell them?”

  “What I am I going to…what? Tell who? Max?”

  “No. What are you going to tell the tabloids? That I called you, desperate, after mauling an alligator?” I can’t hide the bitterness in my voice.

  He leans forward and reaches in my direction, his big hands wrapping around my folded forearms. The warmth of his palms against my bare skin sends little sparks through my body. Dammit, this should not be happening.

  “Bella? Isabella? What do you like to be called?” His tone is soft and genuine. So much so, it almost makes me weep. Usually people joke and call me royal highness or some crap.

  “Bella’s fine,” I say softly. No one’s actually ever called me that, and I like the way it rolls off his tongue. Which is stupid since he’s just going to disappoint me by selling my story to the papers. I just know it.

  His grin is boyish and adorable. “Bella, I’m not going to tell anyone anything. For the moment, I’m your attorney. And I take attorney-client privilege seriously. I’d never tell anyone anything about you. The things you and I talk about are confidential and will always be confidential. I need you to understand that.”

  Unconvinced, I narrow my eyes at him. “Hmm.”

  “I’m going to get you out of here, and we can deal with the rest after, okay? We’ll probably have to get a criminal defense attorney to help, since I actually do environmental law. I sue the state over wetlands violations, represent the Sierra Club, and file litigation on behalf of manatee groups. That sort of thing. I can help you in the short term, though. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

  I rub my lips together. This won’t be easy.

  He squeezes my arms. “I suspect that someone like you doesn’t often trust strangers. And I apologize that you’re in a position where you have to place all of your faith in a guy whose dog pissed on your pillow. But I won’t let you down, Bella. I’ve got you.”

  “I guess I don’t have much choice but to trust you,” I mutter.

  The next few hours fly by in an excruciating blur. I chew my fingernails off while I wait, alone, in the cold, beige room.

  Meanwhile, Tate handles the following with swift grace: he retrieves my backpack from the police, goes to the kayak rental place where my car is parked, finds my room key, goes to the resort, and locates my passport stuffed into the lining of my suitcase.

  Then he returns to the police station and gives them my real name. Isabella Grimmelshausen—he leaves out my five middle names and my title—and somehow gets the authorities to set bail. Apparently, I’ll still
need to appear before a judge on Monday. For reasons I don’t understand about the American justice system, I’m free to go.

  We’re walking out of the police station, and Tate’s hand is on my lower back, quickly guiding me to his vehicle. I squint in the bright, late-afternoon Florida sunshine, my eyes darting around for the photographers. I edge closer to him, hoping to use his body as a shield when the cameras assault us.

  “There’s nobody here,” Tate murmurs, opening the SUV door for me. “It‘s okay. You can relax. Jesus, you really are worried, aren’t you? Are you about to cry?”

  I nod, then climb in and exhale. He’s right. I don’t see anyone other than some middle age tourists in shorts and bright t-shirts wandering past on the sidewalk. I heave a few breaths.

  “Oh thank God, I’ve never been so happy to leave a building,” I moan, scrubbing my face with my hands. “How did you do all that so quickly?”

  He starts the ignition and pulls away from the police station. “It’s a small island. My family’s well-known. I have plenty of connections. And I was able to get my hands on enough cash to bail you out, plus give a personal assurance that you wouldn’t leave the country. That goes back to the connections part. I’ve known the judge for a long time and went to law school with her clerk.”

  “Thank you. I can’t believe you worked all that magic in a few hours. You’re incredible.” I cut a glance to him and study his profile. He grins wickedly, and that thrum in my belly starts up again. Focus, Isabella, focus. You’re not supposed to seduce your attorney. My emotions are scattered because of everything I’ve gone through. And jet lag. I can’t forget that. It always messes with my mind.

  My legs are also pink. Probably heat stroke from being in the kayak in the sun, on top of everything else.

  “We’re going to have to discuss what’s next, Bella. When were you planning to leave Paradise Beach?”

  We’re chugging down a road near the beach in thick tourist traffic. I turn away from Tate’s handsome face and stare out the window at the taffy shops, the t-shirt-joints, and the restaurant with the fresh stone crabs called Screwy Louie’s. I think Poppy and I ate there ten years ago.

  My stomach rumbles, and I wonder if Tate heard the sound. “I’d planned on staying two weeks. It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation of solitude and peace.”

  “Well, we might be able to salvage some of it. Still, depending on who we get as a criminal attorney, and whether the state drops the charges, you might need to stay longer.”

  I shrug, thinking of my parents and Jacques. I stifle a cynical laugh. Maybe going to jail for molesting an alligator would be better than announcing my engagement to him. “That’s fine. I’m flexible.”

  “Really? Because I would’ve thought someone like you had a busy schedule.”

  “It’s a long story,” I mutter.

  “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to tell me,” he says cheerfully.

  I glance at him, and he shoots me a look. “But only if you want to.”

  Goodness, he’s adorable. How will I manage to get through the next couple of weeks without flirting with him? Without wanting more? Usually I don’t feel this way about men, but I’m drawn to something about him.

  Maybe it’s the stubble. Even now, as we roll to a stop in traffic, my hands itch to reach out and stroke his dark whiskers. To run my hands through his thick dark hair. To press my mouth—

  He clears his throat and turns his head. “Bella? You okay? What’s on your mind?”

  “Oh!” I’m startled by his sexy voice. “Ah. I was just thinking about going back to the hotel. And wondering how long it’ll be until the media finds out I’ve been arrested.”

  The traffic moves, and he turns to face the road. “That’s a good question, and I’ve been thinking about that situation. I figure we have anywhere from twelve to seventy-two hours. We’re a small island, and there aren’t a lot of local media who monitor the police news here.”

  I lean forward in my seat, adjusting the air so it blows in my face. As cold as I’d been in the station, I’m burning up now. Maybe it’s because I just noticed Tate’s massive biceps. What is wrong with me today? Why am I focused on totally inappropriate things when I’m in such a serious situation?

  “You want me to turn up the air?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Tate flicks a knob, and the wind from the vent dries the perspiration on my face.

  “It was clear that none of the cops knew who you were, and the court clerk didn’t, either. Of course, I didn’t tell them. But I could imagine the officers might email the details of your arrest to the state’s newspapers because it’s an unusual case. Woman pelts alligator with granola bar.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “I know, it’s bullshit. We’ll get it taken care of. I’m worried, though, that once bigger papers get ahold of that and print it, the tabloids you’re concerned about will take notice.”

  I screw my eyes shut. “Yeah. Me too. And I’ll be in that resort, defenseless. Pretty much anyone can get close to my suite. You don’t know how relentless they can be.”

  Tate nods. “My family’s resort is safe, but it’s not secure. Not for someone in your situation.”

  I open my eyes and allow my head to fall in his direction. He’s chewing on his full bottom lip. My gaze lands on his hands, which are lightly caressing the steering wheel. Ugh, why does my attorney have to be the most attractive man I’ve seen in a long time?

  I let out a sigh. “I’ll just have to deal with it. I guess I’ll hole up and order room service.”

  He releases his bottom lip, and a serious look crosses his face. “Well, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. I don’t want you to be a prisoner in my family’s resort. An idea came to me as I was running around, getting everything together for your release.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “As part of your bail conditions, I had to vouch that you wouldn’t leave the island.”

  “Okay.” My mind spins with possibilities. I hadn’t considered that option. Perhaps I could just sneak off in the middle of the night and catch a flight back home. But no, I couldn’t do that to Tate. He’s been a total sweetheart and went to all these lengths to spring me out of jail.

  God knows what would happen to him if I fled.

  He grins, and something about his expression is wickedly attractive. I rub the back of my sweaty neck, aware that my heart’s beating a thousand miles a minute. “What were you thinking?”

  “My house is in the only gated community on the island. Which means there’s a guard gate with twenty-four seven security. No one gets in without permission. I have one neighbor, and my home’s only accessible by a single road or the water. So it’s extremely secure. Probably one of the most private places on the island. My advice is this: while we work on getting these charges dropped, you should come stay with me.”

  Seven

  Tate

  I just asked Isabella to stay at my house. Sleep under my roof. Lounge around my pool. Hopefully, in a bikini. Or topless. She’s European. Isn’t that a thing over there?

  What the hell is wrong with me? I’m already crazy-attracted to her, which is a no-no if I’m going to represent her. But I’m not a creeper. I can stay under the same roof as her and control myself.

  It’s not like this is the first time I’ve invited a client to stay; during an oil spill in the Gulf a couple of years ago, an entire environmental nonprofit group camped out in my house. For three straight weeks, we cooked out and swam in the pool. Most of us even played volleyball at sunset.

  I wasn’t attracted to any of them, though.

  “I couldn’t impose on you like that. I’m sure you like your privacy.” Her voice is barely audible over the roar of the SUV’s blasting air conditioner.

  “Well, I’ll have to stop drinking my coffee naked in the mornings.” I pause to watch a pretty pink flush creep across her bronze cheeks.

  “Joking. It’s not an imposition. Really. I have
a big house, and it’s just me. And I’ll be gone during the day, so you can relax.”

  We pull into the resort driveway, and I park. When I turn to her, I watch her scan the front of the property.

  “Looking for photographers?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Is your life always like this?”

  She turns to me, her amber eyes wide with fear. “It is.”

  “I’m sorry.” I pretend to study the steering wheel and run my hands over it. “Well, I don’t want you to worry like this every minute of the next couple of weeks. Please, stay with me. You’re not imposing. It’ll be better than renting a random house on the mainland, where you won’t know anyone and you’ll feel isolated. I have a guest room on the bottom floor, you’ll have the whole place to yourself. A private pool, a beach, lots of books…” I grin. “And Chunky. He’ll be with you.”

  She returns the smile, and my heart squeezes. Absolutely squeezes with adoration. I am so screwed.

  “That’s a tough offer to decline. But I can’t refuse any offer involving a dog. Even if he ruined my travel pillow.”

  I grin. “About that. I ordered you a new one. It should be coming tomorrow.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve had all day. And really, you don’t have to drink coffee clothed if you don’t want to. I mean, ah…” Her words dissolve into laughter.

  Oh, dear God. Does she know what she’s doing to me? My dick twitches to life as I fantasize about us drinking coffee. Naked.

  “I mean, just tell me if you’re going to be unclothed. I’ve been to nude beaches in Europe before.” Ah-ha. I was right.