by Artemis Hunt
“Yeah, it has happened,” Claire says, smiling slyly. “Did he tell you that he loved you? He told Tatiana the exact same thing, and you can see how that went. I’m telling you all this for your own good, by the way. My brother can’t make a commitment, and you don’t want to be in a family who thinks you ought to be put back in your rightful place, do you now?”
An acute discomfort prickles the back of my neck.
No, no, she’s lying. You have to trust Alex.
And yet, when I recall all the Google articles and images of Alex with other women, a sliver of doubt crosses my mind. Alex the player. That was my initial impression, and dare I say – prejudice.
My voice quavers as I say, “What do all of you have against me? I have done nothing except stand by your brother when he needed me.”
“I have nothing against you personally, although I can’t speak for my mother.” Claire curls a finger around her hair. “You’re just not the type we would want for my brother’s girlfriend. What would the press say? A prince dating a hotel maid so that the palace can save on toilet cleaning?”
Now, that’s really vulgar and low. I physically wince. Claire has a cruel streak in her, I realize that now.
I was going to say that I am not going to remain a hotel maid forever, when it hits me again – what’s wrong with a prince being with a hotel maid? This isn’t the medieval ages. Heck, it isn’t even the middle of the twentieth century where there was an actual division of classes and races. The world has changed a lot, even if some of its citizens haven’t been dragged along for the ride.
“There’s nothing wrong in Alex dating me,” I say.
“If you seriously think that, you’ve got a rude shock coming. Anyway, we have reached Rue Chabon. We have a lot of shopping to do.”
Despite Claire rattling my confidence, I must admit to being impressed by Rue Chabon. This is apparently the Magnificent Mile of Moldovia. Its sidewalks team with fashionable shoppers in sunhats and pastel sundresses, and the storefronts are decorated with gorgeous clothes, purses, hats and accessories. All the designers are here – Gucci, Dolce and Gabbana, Chanel, Bottega Venetta, and even the newer ones like Zac Posen and Zubair Murad. Here and there, sidewalk cafes intersperse the designer stores. The whole place has the ambience of a French Riviera.
The Merc does not stop at any of these stores. Instead, the chauffeur drives us into the underground car park of a lovely little boutique hotel on Rue Chabon itself called ‘La Palais’.
“I thought we were going shopping,” I say.
“We are,” Claire replies.
The Merc lets us alight at a pair of elevators where a woman in a two-piece suit awaits us.
“Good morning, your highness,” the woman says. She has large gold hoop earrings and her copper hair is neatly done up in a stylish chignon. Her makeup is impeccable in the way of cosmetic salesgirls.
“Good morning, Eva. Eva, this is Elizabeth. She’s going to need a lot of help. Elizabeth, this is my personal shopper, Eva.”
Personal shopper? I’ve only heard of those, though I’ve never had a personal shopper in my entire life (and never dreamed I would need one). And a personal shopper who waits for us at a hotel? This has got to be a first. And yes, I get the dig Claire made at me – loud and clear.
“Right this way, Miss.”
If Eva knows who I am, she makes no indication of it.
Claire turns to Jasper. “She’ll be all right with me. You stay down here. I’ll call you when we’re finished.”
Jasper glowers, but does not take a step towards the open elevator doors. Even he has to reckon with the orders of a princess. His baleful eyes lock with mine as the elevator doors ping shut.
We zoom up to the top floor. When the doors slide open, we step out to a plush, quiet corridor. Eva leads us to a large area called ‘The Horizon Club’.
The moment I enter it, I’m floored.
The whole room is not only filled with the usual hotel club sofas and armchairs and piped instrumental music but there are racks and racks of hanging clothes, just like in a store. Half mannequins sporting gorgeous daywear and nightwear rub shoulders with smartly dressed live shop girls. All the big labels are there in bold letters on top of the racks – Versace, Dior, Chanel, Givenchy.
And the shoes . . . pairs and pairs in all colors stacked up on boxes. I recognize their labels: Jimmy Choo, Stuart Weitzman, Manolo Blahnik. There are jackets and dresses and silk pajamas and frilly nightgowns and suits and brassieres and piles of soft lacy panties on tables.
I don’t know where to turn.
Against one wall is a smorgasbord of pastries, breads, cheeses, platters of bacon, creamed eggs and tomatoes. There are jars of orange juice and milk next to bowls of cereal and butter curls on a bed of ice.
Is all that food for just the two of us, or is everyone invited as well?
“Oh goody, breakfast!” Claire makes a beeline for the pastries. She crams one delicate creampuff into her mouth. “They never serve us stuff like this at boarding school.”
The women are all smiling patiently. No one else seems to be eating, although a couple of the girls dart longing glances at the spread.
“I, uh, just ate,” I say, feeling self-conscious. I can never eat when there are that many eyes upon me.
“Suit yourself.” Claire forks several pieces of bacon on a plate and flings herself into an armchair. Then she leans over to me. “Say, you don’t mind if I put anything I like on Alex’s tab, do you? You needn’t tell him. It will just be between you and me.”
Oh, is it what this is about? I recall the conversation at the dinner table and her mother not giving her clothing allowance.
So she’s using me.
“I don’t think that’s right,” I reply.
“Oh come on, don’t be a fuddy duddy. You’d want at least one person in the family to be on your side.” She smiles innocently as she forks a rasher of bacon into her mouth.
This is making me uncomfortable. Is she trying to bribe me? No wonder she didn’t want Jasper here. I’m aware that I shouldn’t embarrass her by saying no in front of all the shop girls, and yet I’m aware that this may be a test – she might want to gauge if I would deceive Alex in any way.
Oh, my head hurts!
I grip my fists and take a deep breath. Any move I make will probably be construed wrongly anyway, so I might as well be true to myself.
I try to make my voice as impartial as I can. “Claire, this is your family’s money and you can do what you like with it. I’m not going to go out of my way to say anything to your brother, but if he or your mother asks me, I would probably have to tell them the truth.”
There. She’s going to hate me forever now. But she already hates me, so what the heck.
Claire’s face is like a rock. She appears stunned, at least momentarily. I take it that no one aside from her mother has ever said no to her before. Anyway, I didn’t really say no. I just put the ball back on her court and maintained my position.
Her eyes narrow. She puts her fork down on the side table.
“I see. So that’s your stance.” Her mouth compresses in a flat, ugly line.
I nod. My heart is thudding hard against my ribs. Confrontation is always so hard for me.
“I won’t lie to your family, Claire. Not for anyone. Not even for your brother if he asked me to, and I don’t think he ever will.”
Silence. The women in the room exchange uncomfortable glances with each other and shift on their feet.
“Fine then.” Claire gets up. She stalks off and heads for the exit. She turns. “But don’t count on me to get your back next time.”
I don’t say anything.
As soon as she vanishes, a palpable cloud lifts from the room. The atmosphere lightens considerably.
Eve says in a low voice, “She’s not a good enemy to make, ma cherie.”
I sigh. “None of them are, but they already hate my guts anyway.”
She seems to ponder this, and then she brigh
tens. “Come, let’s pick out something for you. A whole new trousseau, shall we? What do you say we begin with some suitable clothes to be photographed in?”
This is a cheery prospect. I can’t help smiling again despite everything.
“OK. But I insist on only one thing.”
“What is it?”
I wave my hand at the food spread. “Seeing as I’m not going to be eating all this alone, why don’t we all have a little bit of breakfast?”
The girls all eye each other in delight. I think they must have been up since five preparing all this for me.
“Are you sure?” Eva asks me, creasing her brow. “It has never been . . . done.”
“I’m pretty sure. There’s no one to spy on us anyway.”
A sprinkling of laughter and chatter now permeates the solemn room. I smile as the girls make a line for the buffet.
8
It’s a good thing I decided to wear one of the two piece suits I bought on Alex’s tab. It’s a cream-colored cashmere number, extremely well cut and a lot like something Kate Middleton would wear at a function (I think), only pricier.
“You have to find your own style,” Eva advises. “I’m here to guide you.”
She’s talking as if I’m a princess-in-waiting already.
I toss a laugh. “It’s too early to find my own style. Besides, I don’t know how this whole thing will pan out. You know . . . with Claire and her mother . . . ”
Eva nods. “Say no more. I completely understand. The royals may be a handful at times. Some of them are extremely spoilt. I daresay they need a little shakeup in their ranks because they are starting to lose touch with the common people. You are the breath of fresh air they need.”
“They don’t see it that way.”
“They should.”
I need to call Jasper to bring the car around, but I realize I don’t have his number because I wasn’t in the right mind to take it down before Claire sent him away.
“Don’t worry,” Eva says. “I’ll call him.”
She whips out her cellphone and dials. I can hear the distant ringing tone that emits from her phone.
“Mr. Jasper? Yes, she’s ready for her pickup. I’ll help her with the bags. Yes.” She beams at me. “You can go down to where he dropped you.”
I have bought enough clothes to fit into twelve large bags. Four of the girls – now well-fed and contented – volunteer to accompany Eva and me down the elevator.
We crowd into the small space. When we reach the basement, the elevator doors open to reveal Jasper, his expression as disdainful as always.
“I trust you have had a fruitful trip,” he says.
“Where’s Claire?” I ask.
“Is she not with you?”
“No.”
“I’m certain she has hitched another ride somewhere else, so I wouldn’t worry about her. Come.” He gestures to the Merc, which is rolling slowly towards us.
I take a step towards it, two large bags in either hand.
Everything happens so fast that Jasper and Eva are every bit as sucker punched as I am. There comes the sudden sound of two car doors opening. Two photographers rush out of a parked car on our right and begin snapping photos of us.
Jasper rushes in front to shield me, but it’s too late.
9
Woebegone, I stare at the front page headline of Mundi, the main newspaper of Moldolvia. It is in French, but the photo splashed there is of me, flanked by Eva and the four girls with all the paper bags – all clearly displaying the logos of Versace and Fendi and Jimmy Choo and everything else.
I can’t read French, but I know the headlines state:
“Mystery Woman Revealed to be a Maid. Goes on a shopping spree on taxpayer’s money.”
I’m shocked that they found out so much in such a short period of time. If I peruse the article further, I know the Google translation would reveal the phrases:
“Hotel maid”
“Poor”
“Using the prince’s money”
“Gold-digger”
“Trying to trap a prince”.
Oh shit.
Alex puts his arms around me from behind. “You can’t stop people from printing whatever they want. The trick is not to care.”
I sniffle. “You have to care about some headlines.”
I’m trying not to care, but I do. God help me, but I do.
“Well, some, but not every one. I’ve learned to tune it all out.” He turns me to face him. “Hey, why are you crying? There’s no need to cry.”
I can’t help the tears from spilling down my cheeks. We are in his bedroom, a tastefully decorated suite without the humungous walk-in closet.
“Alex, you don’t think I’m with you because of who you are, do you?” My voice trembles.
“Of course not.” He sounds indignant. “I was the one who made you come with me in the first place when you didn’t want to have anything else to do with me. I was the one who insisted you went shopping on my expense account. And it’s not the taxpayer’s money. I earn my own director fees and I have salary stipends like everyone else.”
I want to ask him something very, very badly, but I’m afraid of the answer. I wipe my tears off. No, it’s not the answer I’m afraid of, but of making him lie to me.
I ask it anyway because I’m a masochist.
“Alex . . . have you ever said ‘I love you’ to any other woman? Like . . . Tatiana, for instance?”
I quail inwardly, afraid to hear his reply.
His handsome forehead frowns. “No. Never. I would never say that to Tatiana. We weren’t even technically going out together. Why would you think that?”
I want so much to believe him and I do believe him. I shouldn’t have even let the doubt creep into my mind.
He presses me to him. His body is hard and his arms wrap themselves around me.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever said those words to, and I’m being completely honest. We’re in this together, Liz, no matter what anyone says and how much they want to us to be apart. It’s not going to be easy.”
I bury my head against his chest. He’s got that right.
“Now tell me . . . who said that to you about Tatiana?” His voice is a comforting vibration within his chest.
I shake my head. I’m not a rat, despite of how cruel Claire has been to me.
Alex tips my chin up so that I can look at his face. “We’re going to show everyone that although we come from two different worlds, we can love each other and we can be together. Are you in this with me?”
His shining blue-green eyes regard mine. In the daylight filtering through his balcony doors, lighting his tousled hair into highlights, he has never looked more beautiful.
“Yes,” I say.
Oh yes. This is a man worth forging through the prejudices and heartache and bad press and conflicts. Because I love everything about him deeply. I love him for who he is and in spite of who he is.
“Good,” he says, smiling, “because we have one hell of a ride ahead of us.”
WORKS BY ARTEMIS HUNT
EROTIC ROMANCES
The ‘Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male’ series
A Virgin Enslaved
The ‘Maid for the Billionaire Prince’ series
Mysterious Desire
Forbidden Desire
ROMANCES
The Body Snatcher Wears Lipstick
Snow White and the Alien
EROTICA BY APHRODITE HUNT
The ‘Initiation’ series
Open Your Legs for Me
Blindfolded and Spread-eagled
Thighs Wide Apart
Teacher, Please Spread my Pussy
The Final Initiation
The Initiation: A Bundle of 5 Stories
The ‘Initiation 2’ series
Open Your Legs for my Family
Bend Over for my Family
Publicly Display Yourself for Me
Sex Slave at Sea
>
Paraded before the Billionaires
Sex Slave at the Auction
‘The Royal Captive’ series
Prince Miro’s Capture
Prince Miro’s Submission
Prince Miro’s Enslavement
Prince Miro’s Punishment
Prince Miro’s Escape
Prince Miro’s Final Confrontation
The Royal Captive: Vol 1 to 3
The Royal Captive: Vol 4 to 6
The ‘Naughty Nymphomaniac’ series
I was a Naughty Nymphomaniac
Officer, Please Spread and Cuff Me
Gang Banged by the Chain Gang
Tempting the Hot Navy SEAL
The ‘Delicate Piercings’ series
Her First Clit Ring
Her First Clit Ring 2: Menage
The ‘Undercover’ series
Undercover: Exposing the Bad Doctor
Undercover: Stealing from the Sexy CEO
The ‘Alien’ series
Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens
Trapped with Sex-Starved Aliens 2
Hot, Wet and Steamy (individual stories)
When He’s Inside You
My Stepson is a Naughty Stripper
The Gorgeous Naked Man in my Storm Shelter (Erotic Suspense)
Dear reader, as this list is not always comprehensive due to more stories being churned out after this point in publishing, please visit http://artemishunt.blogspot.com/ and http://aphroditehunt.blogspot.com/ for more stories and updates. I write as Artemis Hunt for erotic romances and Aphrodite Hunt for pure erotica. So please be aware of what you’re getting into, dear reader, when you read one of my stories. Thank you so much for your support.
READ THE FIRST CHAPTER OF ‘A VIRGIN ENSLAVED’, AN EROTIC ROMANCE NOVEL
BETH