Royal Disaster #3

by Renna Peak

  “I want you to tell me the truth!” She crosses her arms. “Whatever the truth is. Do you love me or don’t you?”

  I stare at her, unsure of what to say. It’s true that I almost said it yesterday—and if she’s telling the truth, I did say it when I was drunk—but that doesn’t mean it’s true. I was just caught up in the moment. Right?

  Right?

  As I’m staring at her, trying to find the words to express the jumble of things going on in my head, Sophia’s face softens slightly.

  “Do you love me?” she asks quietly. “Yes or no?”

  Before I can answer, a hand bangs against the wall next to the door, making us both jump.

  “Can you two keep it down in there?” Rider calls. “I don’t want to listen to you guys argue all night.”

  Sophia turns away from me.

  “Wait,” I say softly, grabbing her arm.

  “It’s all right,” she says. “Forget I said anything. This is why I didn’t bring it up before—I knew it would only start an argument.” She closes her hand over mine, looking up at me. The look in her eyes makes me want to pull her into my arms and never let go. “You’re right—it’s only been a few weeks. It’s too early to be having this conversation. Let’s not think about the future. Let’s just enjoy the present.”

  I don’t trust this sudden shift in her.

  “Are you sure?” I ask her.

  She nods. “The future will catch up with us soon enough. Come on—I’m exhausted. Let’s just go to sleep.” She slips out of my grip and climbs back up on the bunk.

  I climb up beside her. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her up against me. My leg hooks over hers, and my face nuzzles deep into her hair.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur against her neck.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for,” she whispers back. “Let’s get some sleep. I want to be well-rested when we reach Vegas.”

  I don’t argue, though for a few minutes I consider slipping my hand beneath her clothes again, connecting with her in the way we both seem to enjoy, giving us both the chance to forget, if only momentarily, all this complicated talk about love. But the moment is gone. So I just hold her close and wait for sleep to come.

  It takes a while. She doesn’t fall asleep quickly either, but eventually, I feel her relax in my arms, and her breathing becomes more regular. For a while, I just listen to her soft breaths going in and out, trying to think about anything but the argument we just had.

  In the next compartment of the bus, I can hear the sounds of Rider’s and Jameson’s game. It sounds like Charlie is still hanging with them, too, and he’s laughing and heckling them. I’m not sure how late it is when someone—Jameson, I think—finally comes back into the bunks. I pretend to be asleep. A short while later, the others pile in. They joke quietly as everyone climbs into their respective beds. We’ve been doing the long enough to have some amount of respect for each other’s sleep on these overnight drives.

  Soon the guys are asleep, too. Jameson’s low snoring sounds rhythmically from the bunk below mine, and I can hear the soft buzz of music escaping Rider’s headphones—he listens to classical concertos while he sleeps. Charlie tosses and turns a few times before finally getting comfortable. He usually ends up halfway off his bunk by morning.

  I squeeze Sophia closer, still not letting myself think of anything but the feel of her in my arms.

  Is this what love feels like? It’s so different from before…

  But that thought brings up a whole slew of other memories, and I push those away, too. What was it that Sophia said? We need to focus on the present. And that’s what I plan to do.

  And with that, I finally let myself relax into sleep, praying that all of this will be a bad memory by the time we reach Vegas.

  Sophia

  When I wake, Pax is no longer in the bed. The other three men are snoring in their bunks, but judging by the beam of light peeking from under the shutters, it must be morning.

  I straighten my clothing and tiptoe out of the bedroom, careful not to disturb the others. As soon as I slide the door closed, I hear it—the quiet strumming of a guitar coming from the front of the bus.

  I stop just inside the doorway, close enough where I can see Pax playing a few bars before writing in a notebook. He hums quietly to himself as he writes—and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him more content.

  Something warms my chest at the sight. This is his joy—his bliss. And he gets to make a living doing what he loves.

  I’m not sure why I said anything to him last night. It only made him angry, just like I knew it would. I wasn’t lying when I told him it was too early to be worrying about such things—that we should focus on the present. But part of me wants to share everything with him. I can’t really say why, but seeing him like he is now must be part of it. I want to know him—everything about him. The good parts and the bad. I’ve never felt anything like it before.

  He finally glances up, and his breath hitches as he startles. “How long have you been standing there?”

  I shrug, walking over to take the seat across from him. “Long enough.”

  He smiles, shaking his head as he writes something in his notebook. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” I motion toward his book. “What are you writing?”

  “Just…nothing. Just playing around.” He sets his guitar next to him. “How did you sleep?”

  “As well as I could. Your bandmates snore pretty loudly.”

  He grins. “Yeah, you should hear them after they’ve had a little more to drink.” He watches me closely. “I’m really sorry—”

  “How long until we get to Las Vegas?” I interrupt with a smile of my own. I really don’t want to hear him apologize for what happened—I don’t want him to be sorry. I want him to admit he meant what he told me the other night—not that he’s sorry about saying it.

  I can’t say for sure that whatever it is between us is love, but there is definitely something here. Something more than lust at any rate.

  At least there is for me. And I know if I were to mention anything of the sort to him, he’d probably have me kicked off the bus an instant later. Feelings seem to be off the table for Pax. And I need to understand why. I have to find out what happened to him—why he’s so unable to allow any sort of emotions to show. Why he can’t just admit that there’s more here for him than a fling, too.

  His brow furrows for a moment. “We’re almost there. You still up for that date?”

  “Of course.” I force another smile. “I’ve never been to Vegas, so you’ll have to show me all the sights.”

  He cocks his head. “You’ve never been? The jet-setting princess has never been to Vegas?” He chuckles. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’ve never felt the need. It all seems a bit…gaudy. Over the top.”

  “I believe that’s the point of the city even existing.” He grins again. “You’ve really never been?”

  “No. I really haven’t.”

  His grin widens. “Well. This is going to be a lot more fun than I thought.”

  Pax

  This is my chance to show Sophia my fun side—to show her how exciting dating a rock star can really be. And what better place to do that than in Vegas?

  After the trucks are unloaded and we’re checked into the hotel, I hook my arm around her waist and sweep her out onto the Strip before her brother can find us.

  “We’ve got a full day ahead of us,” I say into her ear. “Any requests? You’re the Vegas virgin, and I want to make sure you don’t miss out on anything.”

  She laughs. “It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “And in this city, there’s still plenty to do.” I squeeze her against my side. “What do you say we start out with some breakfast? I know just the place. It might even put your palace breakfasts to shame.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re being seate
d at the best breakfast place in town—the restaurant that has gotten me through more than a few bad hangovers. With Sophia’s permission, I order us the deluxe breakfast experience—a multi-course feast of bacon, omelets, biscuits and gravy, waffles, pancakes, roasted potatoes, french toast, fresh fruit, and savory, flaky pastries filled with sausage and onions. And, of course, an endless supply of both Bloody Marys and mimosas.

  “How are we supposed to eat all of this?” she asks.

  “I always wonder that, and I always manage to finish it anyway,” I say with a grin. “This is Vegas—the city of excess. You gotta live it up.”

  She gives me a wry smile and a shake of her head, but her skepticism doesn’t stop her from scarfing down her chocolate chip pancakes.

  “Tell me,” I say, stirring my Bloody Mary with the piece of celery sticking out of the top, “what do you do for fun back in Montovia?”

  “What kind of question is that?” she says with a laugh.

  “The date kind. This is a date, isn’t it?”

  “True. Though usually breakfast comes at the end of the date, not at the beginning. We’re doing this all backwards.”

  “It’s okay if we bend a few rules. I’m just happy we finally get to have a date with just the two of us, no siblings tagging along.”

  Her smile widens. “Me, too.”

  “So what’s your answer, then? What does a princess do when she’s not running around causing scandals with the hottest rock star America has ever seen?”

  “She does normal stuff—reading, shopping, working.”

  “Work?”

  “Yes, I do work. Mostly with my family’s various charities and foundations. And I have official duties, though not as many as my older brothers. But believe me—there’s plenty to keep me busy.”

  “I bet.” I munch on a piece of bacon. “What’s Montovia like, then? Is it really different from here?”

  “A little. We certainly have nothing like Vegas.” She pushes a piece of her pancake into a blob of syrup. “And we don’t have nearly enough pancakes. It’s a small place—really not much more than the capital city and a few smaller villages and towns. And a decent number of farms. And this probably sounds trite, but I think it’s the most beautiful place in the world. Snow-topped mountains, lush valleys, rivers and lakes and fields… No matter where I travel, nothing speaks to me quite like home does.”

  “I’d love to see it someday.” I don’t even realize the words have slipped out of my mouth until I see Sophia react. She blinks, shifting in her seat, but once she’s over her initial shock, she smiles.

  “I’d love that, too,” she says.

  And somehow, that brief exchange shifts something between us. Whatever tension was left over from last night seems to slip away, and we fall into something easy and comfortable—the conversation flows as quickly as the drinks. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much.

  But that’s only the beginning. After breakfast we head into one of the casinos—after a brief stop at a gift shop, where we buy cheesy Las Vegas hats. It’s not much of a disguise, in the grand scheme of things, but few people expect a rock star and a princess to walk around in hats with “Vegas” spelled out in glitter and sequins. It’ll keep most people from glancing at us twice, which is enough to give us a little privacy.

  And we take full advantage of it.

  We gamble for a little while—losing a quite a bit on the slot machines but coming out ahead at roulette—before walking down the Strip and taking in some of the sights: the fountains in front of the Bellagio, the Eiffel Tower at the Paris Hotel, the volcano at the Mirage.

  We eat in a restaurant surrounded by a giant aquarium tank on all sides, then see a show with acrobats dancing around in neon, glowing costumes. All the while, we laugh and talk as if we’ve known each other our whole lives. It probably helps that we never go long without a drink in our hands—alcohol is so fucking cheap here, it’s hard not to drink. After what happened two nights ago I know I should take it easy, but something is different now—and the more time I spend with Sophia, the simpler and easier all of it seems.

  What the hell was I so worked up about? I find myself wondering as we sit in a high-end bar after the show. Why was I trying to make this more complicated than it needed to be?

  I gaze at Sophia, who’s happily sipping at a lavender-colored drink with a weird name I can’t remember. The buzz of the bar around us fades away behind the warm, happy buzz in my mind, and though my thoughts are slow and jumbled, they’re also undeniably optimistic and content. The glittery gold lights behind the bar cast an ethereal glow on Sophia, making her hair shine and her skin shimmer. She doesn’t look real.

  “What are you staring at?” she says with a smile around her straw.

  “You,” I tell her. “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She blushes. It makes her even more beautiful. “You’re drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “You are. But it’s okay—this time I am, too.”

  “Well, drunk or not, you’re still beautiful.” I finish off my drink. “But I’m not drunk.”

  “You’re soooo drunk,” she says, dragging out the words.

  “Maybe I am. But only a little. And you’re still beautiful.”

  Her smile widens. “You keep saying that.”

  “It keeps being true.”

  “Who knew you were such a charmer?”

  “Lots of people. I’m the charmingest… Charmingest? Is that a word?”

  She laughs and takes another slurp of her drink.

  Okay, maybe I am drunk. But I’m not so drunk that I don’t realize what I have in front of me.

  “You’re amazing,” I tell her, sliding my arm around her waist. I almost fall off my stool, but I manage to catch myself.

  Her laugh tinkles through the air again. Sweet music to my ears.

  “You’re amazing, too,” she says. “Thank you for today. It’s been great.” Her words are slightly slurred, but her eyes are sharp and bright.

  And I can’t stop myself. “I love you, Sophia.”

  The smile falls from her lips, but she doesn’t pull away. After a moment, she gives a nervous laugh and places her hand on my chest.

  “You don’t mean that,” she says. “You’re only saying that because you’re drunk. Just like last time.”

  “No, I mean it. Drunk or sober, I mean it.” I pull her closer. “You know I do, Sophia. I mean it. I love you.”

  “How do I know if I can believe you?”

  “Look me in the eyes. What do they tell you?”

  She obeys, and her smile returns. “They tell me you’re drunk.”

  “And that I love you.”

  She shakes her head, but she’s loosening up again, relaxing in the scoop of my arm. “I want to believe you, Pax. But I’m not sure I trust my judgment right now.”

  There has to be some way to prove my feelings to her. Some way to show her what she means to me. This day with her was exactly what I needed to get my head out of my own ass and realize what a special thing I have in front of me.

  And then it hits me.

  I slide off my stool, pulling her off of hers.

  “Come on,” I say. “I’ll prove it to you.”

  Alcohol is a funny thing. Sometimes, it brings out the truth—the things you’re afraid to think or say when you’re completely sober. But it also has a way of making you forget shit, of blocking out whole moments of your life as if they never existed.

  I wake to the sun pouring in through the hotel room window. It takes a minute for me to remember where I am, but the view of the Vegas Strip outside reminds me pretty quickly. With a groan, I rub my aching head. I had way too much to drink yesterday.

  We had way too much to drink.

  I glance down at the bed beside me. Sophia is still asleep, snuggled under the covers, but the sight of her makes me happy. Judging by the fact that we’re both clothed, it looks like we didn’t h
ave sex last night, but that’s probably a good thing, considering I can’t remember much after we stumbled out of that show with all the crazy acrobats. Still, things are finally good between us. I know that much.

  I climb out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. I stop in front of the mirror, inspecting the damage from last night. I’ve got dark circles under my eyes, but nothing a bunch of water and some stage makeup shouldn’t fix. Yawning, I rub my cheek, feeling how thick my stubble has gotten since I’ve gone two days without trimming.

  Something catches the light in the mirror, and I freeze, squinting at my reflection. There’s something on my finger.

  I pull my hand away from my face and look down at it. There’s a ring on my finger—a completely unfamiliar ring. The simple gold band sits around the ring finger of my left hand.

  The bottom drops out of my stomach. What the…

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looked like a wedding ring. But I’m not fucking married. How the fuck did I get a fucking wedding ring?

  A sudden, horrifying thought occurs to me. I stumble back out of the bathroom toward the bed. Sophia is still snuggled under the covers, but her left hand is peeking out from beneath the sheet. I roll back the covers just enough to see her fingers.

  There’s a gold band around her ring finger, just like mine.

  I stumble back until my spine hits the wall behind me, completely stunned. I try to remember what happened last night, but everything after the show is a big, empty blur. I have no idea what happened—not the how, or the where, or even the why. Either way, though, the evidence is clear.

  Sophia and I are married.

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