by Amelia Wilde
That girl.
Aside from that, my father is the fucking King of Saintland. He doesn’t need to ask me this question. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s had people keeping tabs on her since we arrived.
I look at him as he sits across from me at his desk and choose, at the last moment, not to make a snide comment. “No,” I answer.
He puts down his pen and looks up at me. “What’s causing the delay?”
“What’s causing the hurry?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Alexander,” my brother says, clearly agitated. “For once, can’t you—?”
My father silences him with a wave. “I thought my directive was clear, son.”
I look from him to Marcus with narrowed eyes. “What’s clear to me is that you find her presence distasteful and you want her out of the country. I’m not sorry to say I disagree with that assessment.”
The King of Saintland leans back in his chair.
“Alexander, this isn’t a personal judgment against the girl.”
“The girl,” I repeat after him, my tone acidic. “Her name is Jessica Reeves, which I’m sure you’ve already learned from Nate. I know he slips you pertinent information.”
He holds up his hands in deference. “I’m sure Ms. Reeves is a fine young woman, but the important thing to do right now is to rebuild your reputation.”
“My reputation?”
“Yes. It does us no favors if the tabloids—.”
“The tabloids will print whatever they damn well please, and we all know it.”
“This is a matter of…”
His voice fades out as I’m gripped by an idea that rises in my mind like the sun, at first just peeking over the horizon before popping forth and blinding me with its light.
I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.
I can’t believe I didn’t see all this for what it was.
I stand up abruptly from the table. “This discussion is over.”
“Sit down, Alexander, we’re not through—.”
“We are through, unless you’re ready to swear that you haven’t been manipulating my schedule for the past two days to keep me away from her.” If my gut feeling proves right, the breakneck scheduling will continue until Jessica is safely back in the United States, away from the prying eyes of the Saintland media, and I’m free to become just another pawn in my father’s political games.
The silence hangs between us for one beat, two, and then my father cuts his eyes away from me to look at Marcus.
The glance tells me all I need to know.
“I see. Your majesty,” I say, keeping my voice steady, its tone frigid, “I’ve been called away on urgent business. You’ll forgive my abrupt departure.”
Before he can say another word, I’m out the door and gone.
I can hear Jessica laughing as I approach her suite in the Northern Crown. It sounds like Claire is inside the room with her.
Sure enough, the companion I’ve contracted to make sure that Jessica wants for nothing while she is here answers the door. Behind her, Jessica sits on the floor amongst a pile of shopping bags and parcels. The two women have obviously been sorting through and admiring her purchases.
“Your highness!” Claire says, inclining her head at me.
I smile back at her. “Are you two enjoying yourselves?”
“Yes!” Jessica says, although when she catches sight of my face, her smile slips a little. “Claire took me sightseeing earlier today, and then shopping. You’re too much, Alec.”
“Not possible,” I say, crossing the room and leaning down to kiss her cheek. When I straighten up, Claire has her purse slung over her arm and is standing next to the door. That woman can really read a room.
“Goodnight, your highness,” she says, giving a little wave. “Ms. Reeves.”
“Please, call me Jessica!”
“Jessica.” With a grin, Claire slips out the door, pulling it quietly shut behind her.
Jessica rises to her feet and puts her arms around my neck, kissing me softly. The tension goes out of my shoulders at her touch, and after a moment she pulls back to look into my face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Is it so obvious?” I ask, giving her a half-smile meant to throw her off the trail leading to my irritation with my father and brother.
“Yes,” she says, her expression serious.
For a long, silent moment, I search for the words to describe the situation with my father and brother, but there’s no way I can say it without further complicating things.
It’s then that I decide, once and for all, that this entire thing is bordering on the absurd. I am the second prince of Saintland. I will never be the king. I will represent the royal family, yes, but it’s my brother who will reign. There is no reason why I can’t have a private life of my own choosing.
There’s no reason why I can’t build that life with Jessica.
“You know, it’s nothing,” I say to her, leaning down to kiss the hollow between her shoulder and collarbone. “Now that I’m with you, nothing can be wrong. It’s all very right.”
“If you say so,” she says, a wicked gleam twinkling in her eyes.
That’s my cue.
Chapter 19
Jessica
I’m almost positive that Alec blew off his entire afternoon schedule in exchange for a romp in bed with me. Something about it seems risky—isn’t he a prince? Doesn’t he have obligations? I quickly erase those thoughts as his hands caress my breasts, embrace my waist, and tease the folds between my legs.
After all, I’m the one who’s always been an advocate of doing what feels right.
Being with him feels so right.
I just wish that being here, in Saintland, felt as perfect as driving through the countryside surrounding Sainthall.
But even when Alec masterfully works my body into an orgasm or three, something continues to nag at me.
What is causing the tension lines around his eyes?
When we were together in New York, he never seemed to worry about anything. He was free as a bird. The only constraints were the ones I put on the two of us, and now, looking back, I wish I hadn’t done that.
As Nate drives us through the streets of the city while the sun fades in a flush of brazen red and orange hues into the landscape for the night, I consider how best to broach this subject with him. It’s not that I’m having a bad time—far from it.
Maybe it’s just the weight of his responsibilities now that he has returned to the kingdom.
I have no idea what it’s like to be a prince. It’s probably much more fun in my imagination than it is in real-life.
I take hold of his hand and scoot closer to him, the fine fabric of my dress gliding easily across the leather seats. When we were finished in bed—well, when we took a break in bed, I doubt we’ll ever truly be finished—Alec summoned my team together. They came rolling in as soon as I stepped out of the shower.
“Come in, come in,” he said, flashing his perfect smile. Soon the suite was filled with a playful banter as they went to work on adorning me for our dinner date.
He’s taking me to one of his favorite places—the Knight’s Cap. The dress code isn’t quite as stringent as the one at the Diamond Circle, but the dress I chose from the racks is still elegant and regal. I feel very Kate Middleton.
Once we’re seated at a private table overlooking the canal and our first glasses of wine have been poured, I look across the table to admire the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“So,” I say, pausing to take a sip of my wine. “Are you planning to tell me what’s making you so tense?”
He laughs, leaning toward me. “How could I be tense after the afternoon we just had?”
I can’t help but grin back at him. “You’ve just been awfully busy since we landed here, and sometimes there’s a strained look in your eyes…”
Alec sighs a little, the light in his eyes dimming. “We’ve come to that crossing, haven’
t we?”
“I did tell you about Michael. Trust me, I only talk about that when absolutely necessary.”
“All right. Fine. The truth is…” He looks down into his wine as he swirls it absentmindedly in his glass before drawing a long sip. “The truth is that my father isn’t very pleased with what I’ve done.”
“Going to New York?”
“That…and bringing back an American woman to…date.” The word “date” is a loaded term, encompassing everything we’ve done together and promising all the possibilities for the future.
I bite my lip and look down at the bread basket. It stings that Alec’s father has a problem with my presence here, but more than that, it doesn’t bode well for our future together. His father is the King of Saintland. He could have me deported at any time…and that’s when I realize that those plans are likely already in the works. Alec has been a prince all his life. The responsibilities would be nothing new, but a fight with his father over me would certainly be a recent development.
I could make it easier on everyone by simply going to the airport and booking a flight back to New York.
Even as I consider it, I know it’s not going to happen. With every conversation we have with one another and every minute we spend together, I feel more strongly that being with Alec is the right decision. The words flow easily between us. I find it easy to share things with him about my past that I thought would be difficult to talk about.
And because my feelings for him are growing every minute, it hurts that his family wants nothing to do with me.
The rational part of my mind intercedes. They don’t know you. If they knew you, they would love you, just like he does.
These thoughts fly through my mind in a matter of moments, and I’m able to look back up into Alec’s eyes with a smile on my face.
“Your father and I haven’t been introduced.”
He throws his head back and laughs, then reaches across the table for my hand. “You’re damn right about that. I’m sure his feelings would be different if he knew you. But you know fathers. Stubborn mules, all of them.”
The joy and tenderness in his eyes when he looks at me…it’s enough to carry us through any bullshit with his father. I have to believe it is. My heart beats a little faster.
I’ve fallen. Hard.
After we finish our meal, Alec takes my hand as we stroll along the canal, watching the moonlight dance on the water’s surface.
“That’s a sight to see,” I say, twining my fingers through Alec’s.
“You’re a sight to see,” he says, wistfully looking into my eyes.
We haven’t been walking five minutes when running footsteps approach us from behind. I turn to see a pair of children, a boy and a girl—they can’t be older than seven or eight. Their parents, a young couple by the looks of them, are following along slowly behind them. The mother gives me a shy wave.
“Hello!” calls the boy, looking up at me. “Are you going to be the new princess?”
I laugh, but my cheeks flush red as I bend my knees so I’m on the same level as the boy. “Do you think the prince needs a princess?”
Alec’s chuckle tells me he approves of the idea.
“Will you sign your autograph?” pipes up the little girl, tight blonde curls bobbing, holding out a drugstore notebook and pen toward me.
“Of course I will. But I’m only a visitor from the United States. Are you sure you want my autograph?” I keep my tone light, but the sentiment gnaws me at my core. I’m not a princess, and despite how much I’m willing to fight for Alec, that could end up being our undoing.
“You’ll be a princess one day,” she says matter-of-factly.
“You’re very kind,” I say simply, taking her notebook and pen and signing my name in the prettiest handwriting I can. I also sign the boy’s notebook, and then Alec signs one for both of them as well, his name appearing as a regal scrawl next to mine on the page.
The parents approach and we exchange courteous introductions before they usher the two children away, chattering and pleased.
So that’s what it’s like to be royalty.
This is what Alec is like, playing a kind of indulgent father figure.
I blush just thinking about it.
It’s not until we turn to go that I see the photographer standing across the road, his camera rapidly clicking photo after photo of us.
Chapter 20
Alec
I’m in the middle of a daytime TV interview two days later when Nate steps up behind the interviewer and taps her on the shoulder, leaning down to whisper something in her ear.
She flashes an artificially broad smile at me, almost appearing to crack the thick layers of makeup she’s wearing to offset the bright camera light, and swiftly rises to her feet. “Thank you so much, your highness,” she says to me. “It appears we’ve run out of time, but please do visit us again soon.”
“You’re so welcome,” I say, shaking her hand. Denise is the lead anchor for Saintland’s biggest—and only—news network. She routinely interviews me once every few weeks.
I step towards the side of the set, and Nate is there to meet me. I shoot him an irritated look while I wait for the tech to disconnect the microphone pinned to the inside lapel of my jacket.
Once the man is out of earshot, Nate gestures for me to follow him to the exit.
“What’s going on?” I’m not sure if I should be concerned about the interruption or annoyed by it.
“The king has requested a meeting.”
“In the middle of a goddamn interview?”
“He doesn’t seem to care about the interview.”
“Yet he’s the one who insisted on scheduling all of them.” I roll my eyes.
Nate shrugs. I shouldn’t take my anger and frustration out on him. He’s only the messenger.
I’m silent during the short drive back to the palace, spending the time racking my brain trying to figure out the reason why my father needs to speak to me so urgently. So urgently that he would interrupt a media appearance that he scheduled. This can’t possibly have anything to do with the spontaneous meet-and-greet with that cute family Jessica and I signed autographs for after dinner last night, can it?
Surely not.
When I get to the council chamber, my father’s face is beet red, and his jaw is clenched tight.
“Your majesty,” I acknowledge, giving a little bow. I remain standing in front of his desk.
My father rises swiftly to his feet, his arms crossed over his chest, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes spark with fury.
The door behind me opens, then closes forcefully. It’s Marcus. He exudes an air of importance as he strides through the room to stand next to my father.
Good God. Now what?
“Alexander,” my father growls. “These publicity stunts have to stop.”
Though I have no idea what he’s referring to this time, I’m immediately on the defensive. “Publicity stunts?”
“Parading that woman in front of the media, meeting with the public…what makes you think you have any right to do that?”
“You have to realize,” interjects Marcus in a patronizing tone, “that your actions are reflecting poorly on the entire Caldwell house. We are the royal family, Alexander, and we have an image to uphold if this country is going to remain a respectable player in European politics.”
I roll my eyes at him, and I’m unable to resist hurling a biting comment. “Thank you endlessly, Marcus, for letting me know. I’d almost forgotten that our father is the King of Saintland.”
“That would explain it!” my brother shouts condescendingly. His face has transformed into a strange color, the flush in his cheeks not the characteristic color when he’s angry. “There’s no other possible reason for to you act with such disregard for your station,” he hisses.
“I see, I see. You’ve got it all figured out, have you? Go ahead. Accuse me of drumming up publicity just to air our dirty laundry.” Never mind tha
t the real purpose for my dinner date at the Knight’s Cap was to formally demonstrate that I want to be with Jessica. I certainly didn’t take her there to advertise the fucking discord in our family. “If that was how my dinner date was perceived, I’m sorry, but you only have yourselves to blame—.”
“I’m not making a baseless accusation, Alexander!” my father says sharply, interrupting me as he slams a copy of today’s newspaper down onto the desk in front of me.
“What, did your bullheadedness finally make…?” My voice trails off as I see the headline on the front page. It’s a high-resolution photograph of Jessica. She’s kneeling down to talk to a pair of children, a radiant smile plastered across her face, and holding a tiny notebook in her hands. In the photo, I’m smiling at the young parents. It’s a pretty scene, but the headline splashed directly above the photo reads, ROYAL PALACE SHUNS SAINTLAND’S SWEETHEART.
Saintland’s Sweetheart? As far as I know, Jessica’s name hasn’t been leaked to the media yet. Nate would have told me if it had. Admiring Jessica’s exquisite beauty radiating from the photograph, it’s easy to see why they could have come up with that headline. I could look at her all day, and I can’t be the only one. I scan the text of the article—her name doesn’t appear anywhere.
“You’ve got this all wrong,” I argue, looking up from the paper. “I didn’t plan this. The two children ran up to us and—.”
“After your recent behavior, I have no reason to believe you,” my father thunders. “I am through listening to your snide comments and excuses.” His face hardens to stone. “This ends now, Alexander, right now.” He inhales a deep breath and clenches one fist on the surface of the desk. “Find something to occupy yourself, away from this office, until you’ve gotten rid of the girl.”
I open my mouth again, then snap it shut.
What the…? My father is impossible.
Nodding slightly to him, I spin on my heel and head toward the door. I fling it open with a hard shove until the door cracks against the wall, and stride angrily into the hallway.