by Alyssa Cole
“That was fun.” Her eyes were glinting and a dusky blush spread over her cheeks.
“Good. You need some fun in your life,” he said.
“I’ve had my fair share of fun, don’t worry about me.” Another smile, but her eyes had lost a bit of their shine. She was doing that thing, where she parried good things by reminding others—and herself—that she was bad. Bollocks to that.
“Look at me, Portia.” She reluctantly brought her gaze to his. “You’ve been having me do all this stuff so that I can walk into any room and know I belong there. I need you to do the same for me now. Repeat after me.”
“This is silly,” she said, shifting in his lap.
“My name is Portia Hobbs, and I’m bloody magnificent.” Tav bounced his knees. “Say it.”
“My name is Portia Hobbs, and I’m bloody magnificent,” she muttered.
“I’m smart as fuck, and can do literally anything I put my mind to. Now you say it.”
“I’m smart as fuck and . . .” She trailed off and dropped her gaze. “I feel ridiculous.”
“I’m going to say something so pathetic that I will vehemently deny it if you ask me about it later.” He slipped his hands behind her back and wove his fingers together, resting his hands at the dip of her back.
“Are you secretly a Dr. Phil stan?” she asked, clearly trying to distract him. He didn’t go for the bait.
“I wish you could see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Mine. You can think what you want about yourself, but I’ve two eyes and a brain in my head and the view right now? It’s bloody brilliant.”
He might turn out to be a shite duke. He might spend the rest of his days wishing he’d never found out the truth about his father. But Portia’s gaze popped up to his and her palm came to his cheek and she smiled so brilliantly that Tavish could never regret wearing his heart on his chain mail sleeve.
“Have you forgotten that you’re supposed to be a wanker?” she asked as she rocked forward in his lap.
“I haven’t forgotten, but maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”
“Rubbing off? Is that what you call it here?” She rocked forward again, her hips moving in a sinuous motion beneath his arms. Sensation shivered up Tav’s spine then vibrated against his thigh . . . then vibrated again.
Wait.
Portia huffed, pulled back, dug into her pocket, and tugged out her phone.
“Hm.”
Tav gave her a quizzical look.
“Apparently, we have company,” she said.
“Who is it?” Tav husked.
“Who are they. Someone named Greer? And a guy who showed up with her.”
“Ah. My ex-wife. And her husband, I suppose.” He looked at her closely, gauging her reaction.
Portia made a considering noise. “I haven’t checked the Debrett’s but I’m pretty sure leaving your ex waiting while you dry hump your squire in a fairy wood is just not done, Your Grace.”
There was slight disappointment in her voice, but nothing more, as she stood and began tapping her response.
“Back to reality,” he said.
“Your reality is other people’s fantasy,” she reminded him gently.
Tav knew what his fantasy was and it had just been disturbed.
“Aye? Well, other people need better imaginations.”
Chapter 22
It had been a bit of a day. Portia had gone from bordering on the edge of burnout, to lap grinding in the forest, to sitting awkwardly in the armory’s living room sipping tea with Tavish, his ex-wife, Greer, and Johan, the Prince of Liechtienbourg. She’d come to Scotland for excitement, and she was certainly getting it.
“Well, this is cozy,” Johan said in his deep Franco-Germanic accented voice, pushing a lock of auburn hair from his face. His keen gaze danced between Portia, Greer, and Tav, and then he took a sip of tea.
“Yes. Quite,” Portia said, surprised to find herself a bit flustered. She didn’t get the urge to climb him as she had when she’d first seen Tav, but Johan was kind of attention grabbing.
She’d seen him in tabloids and thought he was okay—too pretty for her taste—but in person he was . . . harshly beautiful? He looked like a fairy prince: tall, lean but muscular, and oozing refinement. Big blue eyes and long lashes and a semi-permanent smirk evened out by a strong jaw, as if he was always faintly amused. She would have mistaken him for a polished aristocrat if she hadn’t seen his ass in the news more than once.
Greer shifted on the sofa, visibly uncomfortable. She had long black hair and warm gray eyes that were dimmed with worry. Her nails were polished and unchipped, and she still worked at the same company she had ten years ago and owned a house in a nice neighborhood that wasn’t a gift like Portia’s properties were. She wore a brown knit sweater, jeans, and a stiff smile, and she was the woman Tavish had once thought he’d spend forever with.
Portia thought back to their dancing in the woods and wondered if he’d ever made Greer feel like she was the center of his world, and everything would work out fine if she’d step into his embrace. Portia bit her inner cheek lightly to chase the thought away. Of course, Tav had made Greer feel good. He would have been a terrible husband otherwise. But they’d still grown apart, eventually.
If she wasn’t enough for him, this portrait of domestic stability, why would he stick around once you start making mistakes left and right?
No. None of that. I’m bloody magnificent.
I’m also leaving in a few weeks.
“Sorry to be a bother,” Greer said. “I just didn’t know what to do. I tried calling you, Tav, but your voice mail box is full.”
“I’ve been meaning to check it, but I forgot the pin and then I forgot to change the pin and things have been busy . . .” Tav’s shoulders rose up toward his ears as he struck an apologetic pose.
Greer chuckled and shook her head. “I’ve heard that before.” Her tone was nostalgic, not bitter, and Tav chuckled, too. There was an affection between them, a familiarity, and Portia tried not to imagine them in love in this very building years before. Acknowledging someone’s past was much easier than visualizing it.
“Aye. You know how it is. How I am.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Portia picked up her tablet and added “Tavish haircut” to her to-do list, which was his to-do list. “Portia has been handling pretty much all of the communications, bless her, but not my cell phone.”
Greer glanced at Portia. “He’s the worst, isn’t he?”
There was something shy in the way she said it, searching, and Portia realized that Greer was extending some “This is awkward, but we’re cool, right?” feelers. As if Portia were Tav’s girlfriend, instead of his apprentice or squire, which at this point, she wasn’t too clear about either.
Portia nodded and returned her smile.
Greer turned her gaze back to Tavish. “I’m here about this duke business, which is something I never thought I’d say to you of all people. My goodness, your father must be livid.”
Johan raised a hand in the air. “I’m here for that, too. I was just in town for a charity polo match and Thabiso asked me to stop by and offer my vast expertise on being famous for no good reason.” He glanced at Greer. “Thabiso is my friend. He’s a prince.”
Greer nodded, her eyes widening as they did every time she glanced in Johan’s direction.
“I have to admit this is all a bit much. Tavish is a duke, there’s a prince in the parlor.” She looked at Portia, then Tav. “I’m not used to this. And that’s why I’m here. The paparazzi have been hanging about. They’ve snapped photos while I’m taking the kids to school, and shown up at my work and Christopher’s, trying to get dirt on Tavish. They won’t listen when I say I don’t know anything and it’s a bit frightening.”
Tav made a sound of frustration. “I’m sorry, Greer. I never meant for you to get caught up in this.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s just . . . a lot. They shout things like ‘Do you regret divorcing him now t
hat he’s a duke?’ Christopher’s been taking it all in stride, but the kids are frightened and it’s a bother to our neighbors and other parents at the school.”
Portia put down her cup. “I’ve been researching British law to figure out where we can draw the line with these people, and what’s actionable and what’s not, but with everything else going on I dropped the ball. Sorry.”
“Are you running Mr. McKenzie’s security detail? Or are you his lawyer?” Johan asked in a tone Portia couldn’t parse. “Thabiso told me you were an apprentice swordmaker.”
She could parse that. Johan’s tone was somewhere between polite inquiry and not so subtle judgment.
“I am an apprentice. I’ve been handling other matters, though.” She gave Greer an encouraging look. “I’ll try to figure this out.”
She tapped open her to-do list added Figure out how to stop paps and Security detail for Tav.
She swiped to her emails and beside her Tavish heaved a sigh. “They’ve been after Jamie and Cheryl, and bothering folks in the neighborhood. I didn’t think they’d bother you, though. It’s been ages.”
“That was a mistake,” Johan cut in. “Everything is carrion for these vultures now. They’ll search out your first kiss, your teachers, your plumber. There are now people out there intrigued by what dental floss you used just because you have a title in front of your name. C’est das leben.”
“So there’s nothing to be done. How comforting,” Tavish said, narrowing his eyes in Johan’s direction.
Johan shrugged. “I wasn’t sent to give you comfort. You already have someone for that.” He nodded in Portia’s direction and her face went warm. “I’m here to help you navigate your new career.”
“I already have a job,” Tav said.
“And now you have two,” Johan replied. “Portia here seems to have several more than that so no complaining unless you’re not as capable as your apprentice.”
Tav looked a bit flustered. “Well, it seems a bit rude to point this out, but aren’t you on the cover of damn near every tabloid? Not sure you’re really going to be helpful with the career navigation.”
Johan looked at Tavish the same way one would a chick chirping mindlessly. “Do you happen to know what my brother, the actual crown prince of Liechtienbourg, looks like? Or what he does on a daily basis?”
Portia racked her brain. Prince . . . Luca? Was that his name? He was still in high school. She thought he might have blond hair . . .
“I’m drawing a blank,” Portia said.
“Me, too,” Greer added. She kept her gaze pointedly away from Johan and Portia was sure the woman was thinking of some debauchery or other that she had seen.
“No clue,” Tav admitted.
“Well, then you can understand that there are many ways of handling the paparazzi. I use one that works well for me, and to do that I need to know how they operate. Do you think one just ends up on every tabloid cover—not damn near every—by chance?”
“So . . . you play them to your own ends?” Tav asked.
“Ouay. They focus on me, and they leave Lukas alone. If you don’t think that’s helpful to you, I can go.”
“I need all the help I can get if you hadn’t noticed,” Tav said ruefully. “Thank you for offering and I accept.”
Portia glanced at her texts and noticed she’d just received an influx of them—there was a string of messages from her various social media accounts notifying her that attempts had been made to change her passwords. Panic seized her.
“Someone is trying to hack my social media.” The thought of her private messages and private photos being stolen, or worse, shared, filled her with tension.
“What?” Tav said.
Johan sighed. “You have two-step activated, I suppose?”
Portia nodded as she hopped apps, checking that each was still in her control. Her heart was pounding—even though this wasn’t a physical attack, it was an intimate one. Her privacy was being invaded before her eyes by unseen forces.
“Change all of your passwords to be safe. Tavish, you’ll have to change your passwords, too.” Johan turned to Greer. “There’s a service for people who prefer a more direct approach to ridding themselves of insistent paparazzi. Former rugby players in possession of very thick necks and a thorough knowledge of British law. If you provide me your phone number, I’ll have them contact you. Don’t worry about the cost.”
Portia glanced at him, surprised. She’d wondered why Thabiso was such good friends with a known troublemaker, and now it was starting to make sense. He was a fuckboy with a heart of gold.
Greer stood and took the card Johan had smoothly proffered. “I’m going to go; have to pick up the kids. Thank you, um, Your Highness.”
“Please. Call me Johan.” He stood, taking her extended hand and bowing regally over it. Pink bloomed on Greer’s cheeks.
“Oh, um, yes. Johan. And nice to meet you, Portia. I hope you get everything sorted with the hacking. We’ll all have to deal with the invasiveness for a bit, it seems.”
She didn’t sound bitter, but the words landed heavily between them. Little did Greer know that all of this was Portia’s fault. If she hadn’t gone into hyper research mode for no damn reason, none of this would be happening.
“I’ll see you out,” Tav said, standing to follow her.
Johan turned his gaze to Portia and she raised her brow in a silent “what?”
“Thabiso is a shameless gossip but he didn’t tell me you and the new duke were an item.”
“We’re not,” she said, training her face to an impassiveness that almost matched his own. She and Tav had barely spoken to each other in his presence—how had he picked up on anything?
“So, you’re just friends with benefits? All the better. Best to get over him now and get out while you have a chance.” He said it nonchalantly, as if he’d commented on the weather before taking another sip of his tea.
Portia’s mind-your-business hackles activated and stood at attention. “This is super inappropriate. I know you’re Thabiso’s friend, but you know literally jack shit about me.”
“Ach. Sometimes I forget that Liechtienbourger forwardness can be considered rude by Americans. Ironic, yes?” He presented her with a smile meant to disarm and swept that lock of hair from his eyes. “I know a little about you. I don’t say this to brag, but I’m very good at reading people. I don’t usually call things to their attention unless I think they’re in danger.”
Portia scoffed and laughed at the same time—scaughed?—and shook her head. “Did you literally ‘Portia, you in danger, girl’ me?”
Johan deigned to show confusion. “What?”
“Ghost? Whoopi? As in a charlatan psychic?” Her annoyance grew, fed by her fatigue and her anger that even a stranger could take one look at her and tell her she was silly for expecting someone to care about her. “Ooo, do I get to be the ‘close acquaintance’ who calls the Looking Glass to inform them of Prince Johan’s psychic powers? I don’t really need the money, but it would be an upgrade from the usual stories they write about you.”
His confusion faded and he set his mug on its saucer. “You are a people pleaser. You worry about failing those around you to your own detriment, and you don’t stop to think about what you’re getting into until you’re past the point of no return.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then caught himself, pressing his lips together.
She put her phone down in her lap, trying to hold his gaze even though she felt as exposed as she had by the hacking attempts. “Is it my turn to play this weird party game?”
Johan did his hair toss, and angled his face so that she got an eyeful of sharp cheekbones and pouty lips. He was trying to distract her with his beauty, likely out of sheer habit. His eyes held no hint of flirtation—they were serious and somewhat cold. She thought of the dazzler Tav had explained to her. “Party games are fun, or the ones I’m used to are, and this isn’t. I think you know that, as you’ve been scanning
the room trying to figure out what people needed and how you could give it to them since you met me.”
What the hell was this? She wanted to tell him that he had it all wrong, that she was selfish and didn’t think of others, except he wasn’t. She was always trying to figure out how to please people. She was always running low level scans making sure there was nothing for her to do. It was exhausting, now that she had put her finger on it. Now that Johan had, rather.
“Is there a point to this?” She took back whatever kind thoughts she’d had about the prince, and about Thabiso for sending him.
“You’re a comfortable person to talk to. Has anyone ever told you this?”
Portia blushed despite knowing he was buttering her up, but then he kept going.
“Because of that, I will be to the point. If you have a choice, and you do have a choice, you should run far and fast from this situation.”
“And why would I do that? Because some bored royal is trying to mess with my head?”
Johan dropped his gaze into the bottom of his teacup, and when he spoke his voice was as bitter as the leaves at the bottom of it. “My mother was my father’s secretary. Their love story is very famous. There are even films about it! The bachelor king falling for his commoner assistant.”
“I’m not exactly a commoner,” Portia said, slightly offended. “I’m the wealthy American teaching Tav how to maneuver through high society. It’s not like I’m powerless.”
“Even more reason to run. You don’t need him.” Johan caught her gaze with his and she could see that his concern was genuine. He wasn’t playing some aristocratic mind game with her. “You were hired as his apprentice, yes? I read your blog posts on the way here. When did you last make a sword? What are you getting out of this?”
Portia had asked herself the same questions, but hearing them come from a complete stranger was bracing.
“That’s none of your concern,” she bit out.
He nodded thoughtfully. “That may be true, but please ask yourself—where does your work stop and your relationship begin? My mother dedicated every bit of herself to supporting my father. To making sure she lived up to this great man who had chosen her of all people, and taken in her son as well. And, this part you may know, if you’ve seen the movies or books or commemorative plates—my mother is dead.”