[Dirty 01.0] Dirty Rich
Page 19
What do I do then? Cave to my father and Marcus and marry whoever it is, playing right into their hands? God only knows what they’re thinking. Maybe this is some ploy to turn me into a permanent bachelor, someone who they can send out to restaurants across Saintland and the rest of Europe to make “political connections” whenever it suits them.
Not a chance.
This time, we’re reaching beyond the limits of propriety, and my father is surely running out of time before his next meeting.
I want to keep shouting, keep fighting, slam my own fist onto the table, but my years of royal upbringing are kicking in, much to my disgust. In spite of myself, I’m taking in calming breaths, running through their arguments in my mind.
I don’t want to understand their point of view, but I can’t help it.
Saintland is the result of a tense civil standoff, and its position will forever be precarious. My father needs to use every avenue at his disposal to make allies in the surrounding countries, even though it’s the year 2016 and we should be past that shit by now. The fact that we have a functioning monarchy is still a bit of a miracle, although with the current climate among superpowers like the United States, is it any wonder?
What I see, and what they apparently do not, is that this romantic strategy is almost sure to backfire. It’s one-and-done. Once my reputation as a playboy gets out to the other countries in Europe, that’s it.
As much as I hate it, the easiest way to end this argument is to agree.
This time.
I’ll come back to this issue soon, when I can present myself calmly and rationally, to deal with it once and for all.
I blow a harsh breath out through my lips. “Fine. I’ll take the girl out. For one date.”
My father’s shoulders drop a couple of inches with relief, and Marcus smiles at me indulgently. In response, I roll my eyes.
“I don’t consider this matter settled,” I say.
“We’ll revisit it later,” my father says dismissively, already returning his attention to the papers on the desk, my brother turning away from me.
That’s my cue that we’re done, at least for now.
What I don’t say, as I turn on my heel and head for the door is that this shit is making me crazy. I don’t say I need a vacation. And I don’t say I’m already making plans to get the hell out of here for a week, maybe two, and there’s nothing they can do to stop me.
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Amelia Wilde writes steamy contemporary romance and loves it a little too much. She lives in Michigan with her husband and daughters. She spends most of her time typing furiously on an iPad and appreciating the natural splendor of her home state from where she likes it best: inside.
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Also by Amelia Wilde
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The Dirty Series
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The Dirty Series Originals
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Dirty Royal: Alec is a real prince…and a total pr*ck. But once Jessica’s had a handful of his crown jewels, she’ll follow him anywhere…including across the ocean.
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Shameless Kiss: Juliet James doesn’t want help—not from anyone. But even she can’t refuse Weston Grant.
Ruthless Kiss: Isabella Gabriel is a real-estate mogul who’s finally met her perfect enemy…and she can’t stop the sparks from flying.
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Copyright Information
© 2016, 2017 Amelia Wilde
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