The Duke and the DJ: a Sweet Royal Romance (The Rebel Royals Series Book 3)

by Shanae Johnson

  "You need your own show," said Spin.

  Lark didn’t disagree. Instead, she asked a rhetorical question. “How many female magicians can you name?"

  She knew Spin had no real answer. Not many people outside the magic industry did. Outside of that actress in that Hollywood movie about magic, Spin couldn't name one, even though Lark had rattled off a few names which Spin had promptly forgotten.

  “But I’ll tell you this,” Lark said looping her arm through Spin’s, “I am tired of pulling weight for men.”

  “Amen to that, sister.”

  It was the same in the music industry. Men held most of the power be they producers, promoters, artists, or DJs. The entertainment industry was tough for those of the female persuasion.

  "You could go back to dancing,” Spin offered as they turned the corner that would take them to their street.

  It was another rhetorical statement which didn’t warrant a real response. Spin knew her friend had been bitten by the magic bug. Lark was in it for life. Her dancer’s body was what got her jobs with magicians who wanted to stuff her in small places, slice her in half, and use her looks to distract the audience. The problem was that Lark was more talented than each man she’d ever assisted.

  "I just need someone to see my talent and want me alone on a stage,” Lark said. “Not as a sidekick."

  "Well, you're my heroine."

  “Ahhhh.” Lark pressed a fierce kiss onto Spin’s cheek. “Love you too, girl."

  Lark was the first real friend Spin had had in a long time. Both girls were American transplants in a foreign land. Well, Spin was only partly American. But it was the part she claimed. The other half of her didn’t exist as far as she was concerned.

  "You need a break of your own," Lark said, changing the subject. "Don't you want to be on the big stage? To sell out crowds like Paris Hilton?"

  “How dare you." Spin came to an abrupt halt, making Lark stumble. Good. She deserved it for that tasteless crack.

  Lark chuckled at Spin’s reaction to being compared to the socialite turned DJ. One night the two women had gone to one of the heiress’ shows, preparing to heckle and make fun. They both had been shocked when they found themselves having a good time and vibing to the tracks the Manhattan debutante mixed. Lark had never let Spin live that night down.

  "I don't need a big stage," said Spin. "Small clubs and secret raves are all I want."

  She had no desire to make a name for herself. Since the name she was currently using wasn't her real one. She didn't want those who knew her true identity to ever find her.

  The two women crossed the street to arrive at the hostel they both were staying at. The building had never seen better days. Spin was sure it had been designed with crumbling brick and rusted metal. But it was cheaper than renting a flat. And it came furnished with everything they needed; a bed and a closet.

  “You coming out tonight to the rave?"

  "Yeah," said Lark. "I just need a disco nap if I'm gonna roll with you all night and into the dawn."

  "See you in a few hours, sleeping beauty. I'm gonna grab something from the shop before heading up."

  Lark slipped into the back door while Spin circled around front. She was looking forward to tonight’s party. She was looking forward to showing off the new beats she’d been playing around with earlier in the day.

  Spin liked to push the boundaries and mix old tracks from the eighties and nineties with new hits from today. She liked crossing musical genre lines and sneak in a country ballad with hip hop. She joyed in fusing a classical piano riff with an electronic beat.

  "Her name is Eleanor Trent."

  Spin froze in place. She took a step back and pressed her form into the crumbling brick at the side of the building. She was just under the manager’s office. The cheapskate had the windows thrown wide open because air conditioner wasn’t a word in his vocabulary.

  "You know anybody by that name?"

  Spin didn’t recognize the voice of the speaker. But she did recognize the accent. The man was Austrian.

  "Never heard of her," said the owner.

  Slowly, carefully, Spin inched her body up to peer into the window. Standing on her tiptoes, she got a good look at the Austrian man. He was tall and thin as a crepe. She didn’t recognize him. She didn’t need to. She knew what he was looking for.

  Spin pressed her hand to her heart. When the cold gem made contact with her skin, she felt a second of relief. But only a second. She would not let this man find what he sought.

  "But you don't need a birth certificate or identification to rent here,” the owner was saying. “Just cash.”

  The crepe-shaped man pursed his lips. He looked left and right. Spin ducked down, pressing herself against the building. A few seconds later, she saw him crossing the street to the next hostel. He'd get the same reaction from them. No one here knew the name he’d used because she never used it. Still, her heart beat fast to know that she’d have to leave soon.

  Chapter Five

  “You want to have your stag party where?” Carlisle scratched at the blond curls atop his head. His green gaze went from Zhi to Alex and back again, hazy with incomprehension.

  “In my restaurant.” Alex spread his arms around the inside of the Prince’s Palate. His usual mischievous grin was filled with pride of ownership as his dark eyes surveyed his small kingdom.

  The three friends sat at the bar which was pushed up to the kitchen where they had a front-row seat of the food preparation going on behind the scenes. The restaurant wasn’t technically open to the public, there were still renovations going on in the main dining area. But Alex and his fiancée had a tasting for some movers and shakers in the culinary world happening in just a matter of days. So, being the true friends that they were, Zhi and Carlisle had volunteered to be taste testers.

  “We’ll close shop for the night,” Alex continued, “and I’ll fly in chefs from around the world. We can even make it a culinary competition like that show where the chefs cook head to head.”

  The man was beaming at his idea of a bachelor party fit for a prince. Both Zhi and Carlisle gawked at their friend. Silently, Zhi let out a relieved sigh. He’d expected Alex would want a destination party on some private island. Zhi couldn’t afford to take that particular duty on as his best man. He could barely afford lunch.

  Thankfully, this bill was being covered by Alex as the owner. It was the best meal Zhi had had in months, mainly because the last sumptuous bite of food he’d had had been prepared by Alex’s fiancée, Jan, when she’d won the annual Union Day pie making competition. He’d dreamed about that slice of pie ever since.

  Jan emerged from the kitchens with a dish. The pretty blonde rattled off a list of exotic ingredients that were in the dish which Zhi promptly tuned out. His ears were far too full of the scents wafting in the air, and his tongue only cared about sampling the fare.

  Zhi and Carlisle groaned with delight as the first morsel hit their tongues. Meanwhile, Alex had interrupted the pie maker with a kiss before she could escape the table.

  “I know what I’m having for dessert,” he said into her ear, but loud enough for the carpenters in the other room to hear his claim.

  “My potatoes are gonna burn.” Jan gave him a playful shove and then dashed out of his way before he could grab her again.

  Alex beamed after the woman. Zhi had never seen his friend look adoringly at any woman except his niece, Penelope. Other than Penelope or his brother’s soon to be wife, Esme, Zhi had never seen Alex actually look a woman in the eye.

  They all had had their fair share of partying. But now Alex was settling down. He was not only the happiest Zhi had ever seen him, but he also looked content with his lot in life.

  The prince was marrying for love. Not title. Not money. Though that’s what everyone had initially assumed. But love was clear in both the prince and the pie maker’s eyes.

  Zhi had seen the same look in King Leo’s eyes. Leo had married for duty his first go
around. He hadn’t been unhappy. But with his second wife, Esme, he had the same sparkle as his brother.

  Love matches were rare for nobles. Even in this day and age. From somewhere in the back of his mind, he swore he heard his father snort at the idea. The delectable bite of food on his tongue turned bitter with the memory of his father’s words from earlier.

  Marry more money.

  Zhi set his fork down. He picked up his folded linen and pressed it against his mouth, trying to clear the distasteful thought from his palate.

  He hadn’t planned to marry for love. Sure, he’d figured he’d marry someone from his own class, someone who he found compatible on things that mattered. They’d have some things in common, like music or art. But he couldn’t imagine deceiving a woman as his father had done his mother.

  Zhi had seduced his fair share of women. But they all came to him willingly. He made no promises. Most enjoyed the novelty of landing a duke, even if only for a short period.

  He wondered if anyone would ever date him now that he was about to be destitute? Looking up, he saw Alex and Carlisle laughing. He knew the two had their own burdens, but money wasn’t one of them. Would his friends be there for him when he became penniless?

  He knew they would. They’d been through enough that money, or the lack thereof, would not rip them apart. They’d likely want to help him, to at least give him shelter.

  It wasn’t himself he was worried about. It was mainly his mother’s reaction to impending poverty that concerned him.

  Nian Zhen had been raised in luxury back in Spain. But she’d also been scorned because of her heritage and the newness of her family’s money. It had made her shy and reserved. He also suspected it was a major contributing factor in why she accepted the abuse her husband doled out to her over the years. She never felt that she belonged, not to his society, not to his world.

  She rarely made public appearances. Which had been perfectly fine in her husband’s eyes. It was easier for him to carry on his affairs without his golden ball and chain standing beside him. Mondego House had become as much her cell as it was her home. Zhi wasn’t sure she would survive outside its walls.

  She’d been turned out by her family after choosing and then sticking with her husband. She’d had her heart broken by the man she thought would love and protect her for always. Through it all, she’d never said an ill word about any of the people who were meant to care for her but had trudged over her. She deserved better.

  “She deserves the world,” Alex was saying. His gaze was on Jan’s figure in the kitchen window as she stood over a stove. “Can you believe her ex left her at the altar? Literally. He just left her there and walked away. I can’t imagine ever being away from that woman for the length of time it takes to bake a casserole.”

  “Afraid she’ll run?” said Carlisle.

  Alex threw a buttered roll at him which Carlisle caught and took a bite out of.

  Zhi couldn’t imagine feeling that way about a woman. He felt that way about his mother, his home, even his staff. He loved the place and the people who’d been there his whole life.

  “When you find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with,” said Alex, “you want to give them everything.”

  “Never thought I’d see the day when the Playboy Prince would settle down,” said Carlisle.

  “You know all those stories in the papers were false,” said Alex.

  “Not all of them,” Zhi corrected. “Don’t forget, we know you.”

  “Is this wedding planning with the bride's maids?”

  The three men at the bar all turned to see Omar, the Marquis of Navarre coming up behind them. The man moved like he was the king of the desert. His dark gaze assessed the situation with amusement and clarity.

  “You ladies deciding on flowers for your bouquets?” Omar said as he clasped each of their hands in turn.

  “You’ll help with entertainment,” said Alex. It wasn’t a question. But neither was it a command. They all simply knew what the marquis’ response would be.

  “I practically raised you,” Omar said. “Of course, I’ll help with your little hen party.”

  Omar was only a few years older than the three of them. He, Leo, and the Earl of Larida were a threesome much like Zhi, Alex, and Carlisle.

  “We can get started once I’m back.” Omar plopped down on a stool and picked up Zhi’s fork. “I’m headed to France to sail back to Cordoba on a cruise ship.”

  “Lifestyles of the rich and famous,” chided Zhi as the entertainment producer gorged himself on the scraps left on Zhi’s plate.

  “Rich, yes. Famous, not so much. I was invited by a tech billionairesse. Parker Paley-Li, have you heard of her?”

  Omar laid a magazine down on the bar. It opened to a paper clipped page. On the glossy spread, Zhi saw a grimacing female.

  This Parker Paley-Li might have been smiling, but there was a tug at the corner of her mouth that pointed down. Her hair was a riot of colors, and the glasses she wore over her eyes reminded Zhi of someone from the fifties.

  “She’s doing amazing things with coding and computers,” said Omar, around the last bite off Zhi’s plate. He reached over for Carlisle’s plate, but his advance was met with a threatening butter knife.

  Zhi paid no attention to the food war. His attention was riveted to the words beneath the tech pioneer’s photograph.

  In the article, the reporter asked Parker about her love life. She said she was sadly single but looking. She went on to say that she didn’t have any game. She lamented how potential partners found her brains and her money intimidating, so she hadn’t found that special someone.

  “You’re staring pretty hard there, Your Grace,” said Carlisle.

  Zhi’s head shot up from the magazine. He wasn’t one to blush, but he felt his cheeks redden. He had no idea why? He wasn’t thinking any impure thoughts about the girl.

  Marry more money.

  “Don’t tell me you’re looking to get off the market too?” Carlisle’s face turned horror-stricken. “Don’t leave me alone out here.”

  Zhi shrugged, then shoved the magazine from him. “Her story is interesting is all.”

  “She is interesting,” said Omar. “Her father immigrated to the States after college and rose up in the ranks of Silicon Valley. She took his knowledge and passion for computers and built herself an empire at the ripe age of twenty-two. She also loves music. You two have a lot in common. You should come with me.”

  Marry more money.

  “I can’t.”

  The fork paused halfway to Omar’s mouth. Zhi may have said those two words a bit more forcefully than he’d meant to. But it was because he’d been answering the voice in his head and not that of his friend.

  “I can’t,” Zhi repeated and a more socially acceptable volume. “I have responsibilities at home.”

  “How is your father?” asked Alex.

  “Same as always,” said Zhi. “Making everyone around him miserable on his descent into hell.”

  “Sorry,” said Carlisle.

  Zhi knew the man sympathized. His father was the same in almost every way. Though Carlisle had managed to step in and save his inheritance before things got dire. No one knew how bad things were for the Mondego estate. And Zhi wasn’t about to tell.

  “You should come and take a break,” said Omar. “It’s just an overnight trip. Parker is rewarding her entire staff with a weekend cruise to our humble homeland. She’s rented out my club for the weekend, too. Come let your hair down before it gets pinned up with planning this wedding.”

  Zhi looked again at the magazine. He thumbed it open to the page of Parker’s interview. Further down in the spread, the reporter asked if Parker was looking for a prince charming or a titan of industry. Parker’s answer was neither. She was looking for a person who was compatible. They had to love music, be devoted to their mom, like she was, and not be afraid to get their hands dirty when times got rough.

  “What do you s
ay?” asked Omar.

  The lump in Zhi’s throat was a little hard to swallow, but he managed. “A little weekend getaway might be just what I need.”

  Chapter Six

  The lights flared over the ceiling, across the floor, and around the room. The crowd threw their hands up in the air, fingers splayed open as people jumped. It looked like fireworks of the flesh to Spin. She closed her eyes, not needing to see what her own hands were doing. She worked the turntables as though they were her magic trick, and she made each and every one of the people gathered disappear inside her hat, tumbling down into the depths of the beat to escape whatever they were running from.

  The party was just getting started at one in the morning, and the fashionably late had yet to arrive. Spin went through her playlist. It was a multigenerational, multi-genre mash up. She layered Funkadelic with Nirvana, Motown divas with pulsing electronica, classic elevator music with jazz.

  Music was music, and she hated labels. If the beats lined up, she’d toss them into the mix and watch the crowd go wild. They were near to stampeding as she layered in a nursery rhyme over a thumping House beat. Spin stomped her feet to the beat and clapped her hands in time to the impish lyrics right along with them. After her close call earlier in the day, she needed to get lost.

  Music had been her escape all her life. When Spin was a child, her mother, Angelica, had taught her about chords and individual notes and music. Angelica would play the part of the flute. Spin remembered listening to the light, airy notes, chasing after them as they swirled around in her imagination.

  Playing the same song, her mother strummed the notes on an acoustic guitar. Angelica’s nimble fingers tickled the keys, shimmying over Spin’s shoulder and making her want to shake her body in time to the music.