The Exiled Prince Trilogy

by Jeana E. Mann

  I ignored his request, unwilling to delve into the wreckage of my marriage. “Put a tail on my wife. Double her security. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

  Spitz stared at me, his eyelids narrowing. “Personally, boss, I think you need to reevaluate your commitment to this woman.”

  A fury unlike anything I’d ever felt welled up inside me. I grabbed him by the neck and pinned him to the wall. “You’re out of line. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fire your ass right now.” He had more than enough self-defense skills to kill me with his bare hands. To his credit, he remained calm and unblinking.

  “Someone inside your circle is giving out confidential information. Who better than your wife? I mean, what do you know about her, really?” He lifted both hands in the air, palms facing outward. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the possibility.”

  I let go of his throat and backed away, my hands shaking. “Spoken like a man who’s been divorced a half-dozen times.”

  “You mean spoken like a man who’s been fucked over by women more than his fair share.” He straightened his collar, calm and unruffled.

  “My wife isn’t like that.”

  “All women are like that.” We stared at each other for an uncomfortable minute.

  “If we’re going to continue this business partnership, you need to understand that my wife and daughter are the most important parts of my life. I won’t tolerate your disrespect toward either one of them.”

  He paced the length of the room before coming to a stop at in front of me. “I know I’m on shaky ground here, but you need to keep your distance from her. Someone might follow her to you.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Asking me to stay away from Rourke was like demanding me to stop breathing. I’d already been apart from her for an eternity, and I was done sleeping alone.

  3

  Rourke

  The floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse bedroom offered the best view in all of New York City, but the Manhattan morning skyline did nothing for the ache in my chest or the emptiness in my heart. Roman’s stunt at the Devil’s Playground NYC yesterday had left me with more questions than answers. I pressed two fingers to my lips, savoring the burn of his kisses, and prayed for a resolution to our problems.

  “Ladies, concentrate.” Christian, my friend and personal stylist, clapped his hands, and called order to the chaos in the room. “Rourke, are you listening to me?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” I’d completely forgotten about Everly’s fundraiser until Christian had shown up this morning with an entourage and a cartful of formal ensembles. He spread an array of designer ball gowns across the room. The piles of silk looked like resting butterflies on the enormous king-size bed. He fussed and fluffed and tugged at the blue taffeta Vera Wang I was wearing until I heaved an enormous sigh.

  The last place I wanted to be was in a roomful of strangers discussing something as trivial as haute couture, not with the space between my legs aching and the Playground fresh in my memories. Despite Roman’s promises that everything would be fine, uneasiness churned in my stomach. Memories of the way he’d brought me to climax flooded my cheeks with heat. Although I was furious at his highhandedness, I secretly hoped he’d kidnap me again. The whole situation had whipped my emotions into a frenzy.

  Christian tugged at the lapels of his blue silk shirt and snapped his fingers at one of the assistants. “She hates it. Bring me the yellow Dior.”

  “I don’t hate it. I was thinking of something else.” I smoothed my hands down the soft fabric and stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. It was the fifth gown I’d tried on. Did Roman like yellow? Then I remembered. He wasn’t going to the ball with me. I’d be flying solo to this event. I swallowed down the thickness in my throat.

  “Don’t lie. It’s written all over that pretty face of yours. Never fear. Christian has brought the answer to your prayers.” He clapped his hands, prompting the assistants to unzip my gown and strip me to my underwear. At first, I’d been embarrassed to stand in front of virtual strangers in my bra and panties, but after the second fitting, I’d become used to it. Christian had assured me that none of my girl parts excited him, and his female assistants were too frightened of him to do more than follow his barked orders.

  “How much does a gown like this cost, anyway?” I tried to search for a price tag, but he smacked my hand away.

  “Don’t worry about the money. Your fine-ass husband said to spare no expense and to give you anything you want.” He ducked to admire his reflection in the mirror and to rearrange the spikes of his trendy haircut.

  “He told you that? Directly? When?”

  “Of course he did, from the very first day. He was adamant. You’re the cherry on his sundae, the sugar in his coffee, the cream cheese on his bagel, the—” At the sight of my raised eyebrows, he stopped and took a new direction. “If you must know, this one is forty-thousand.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I don’t kid about money or clothing. You know this.”

  One of the housemaids walked in with a tray of fresh fruit, chicken salad, and lemon water. She kept her eyes averted from my nakedness. “Is there anything else, Mrs. Menshikov?”

  “No, thank you. Unless you and the girls want something?” I turned to Christian, who was holding the Dior dress up to the light and frowning.

  “No. We’re not your guests. We work for you. You wouldn’t offer lunch to the gardener, would you?”

  “I don’t know.” As a former personal assistant to Everly and then Roman, I still hadn’t wrapped my head around the transition from struggling employee to fabulously wealthy socialite. I knew firsthand how it felt to be in service to someone else. In fact, overcome by the solitude of the penthouse, I’d been eating supper in the kitchen with the cook. Roman would’ve had a fit had he known. But Roman wasn’t here. I blinked away the sting of tears. “Maybe. If he was hungry. Gardeners need to eat, too.”

  My answer made Christian’s eyes bulge. “Listen up. You’re the queen bee of Manhattan. The sooner you start acting like it, the better. What’s wrong with you?”

  Everything. The word scrolled through my thoughts on a marquis, replaying until I wanted to scream. An overwhelming urge to bolt twitched through my toes. I wanted to run home to Aunt May and the comfort of our two-bedroom bungalow, to eat at a fast food chain without an entourage of bodyguards, and take walks in Central Park alone, but I couldn’t. Aunt May was dead, her house sold, and I was the wife of the most powerful man in New York City, if not the world.

  “No. No. No. What are you doing? Get out of here.” He yanked a Hermes scarf out of the hands of a young woman and shouted into the vastness of the bedroom, scattering all of the assistants into the hallway like frightened mice. “I swear, it’s impossible to get good help these days.” The silk of the next gown rustled as he dropped it over my head and tugged it into place. “What about this one?”

  “I like it. What about you? Do you like it?” In truth, I didn’t give two shits about the dress. Where the hell was Roman, and why all the mystery? I glanced at my phone resting on the dresser, like it might offer an answer. After last night’s tryst, I’d hoped he would call. My phone remained silent, and I was too proud to reach out to him first.

  “Rourke. Snap out of it. It’s not about what I want; it’s about you. What do you want?”

  “I don’t know.” I stepped down from the stool and sat on the edge of the bed. “You decide.”

  He placed both hands on his hips and shook his head. “You know what your problem is? You’ve spent so much time in the shadows of Everly and Prince Hottie that you’ve forgotten who Rourke is. You’re acting like you’re still someone else’s personal assistant when you’re the one with all the power. Don’t you understand? With one snap of your fingers, you can have anything—do anything—you want in this world.”

  “If only it was that simple.” I sighed.

  “Where’s that fierce girl I met five years ago? B
ring her out. I miss her.” He flapped his hands, motioning for me to stand up. “Now get your ass off that bed. You’re disrespecting the Dior.”

  “Maybe I should cancel tomorrow night.” The thought of walking alone into a ballroom brimming with the country’s wealthiest citizens made my stomach flip. I’d accepted the invitation months earlier, before Ivan’s death and my disagreement with Roman. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Although Roman and I hadn’t publicly announced our separation, speculation and lies had infiltrated social media. There were bound to be questioning stares and whispers. I shifted from one foot to the other, contemplating and getting nowhere.

  “Oh, no. You’re going if I have to drive you myself. I don’t have a license or a car, so it might get a little scary.” He glared. After a moment, his expression softened, and his voice turned sticky sweet. “Come on, baby girl. You don’t want to disappoint Everly, do you? This is her biggest event of the year. How’s she going to feel if her best friend stands her up?”

  “Fine. I get your point.” This was the longest Everly and I had ever gone without speaking to each other. I couldn’t give her another reason to be disappointed in me. On the other hand, maybe she didn’t want me at the event. Pain pricked my chest. I’d managed to alienate everyone in my life. I had a luxurious penthouse, an indecent amount of money, and no one to share it with.

  “Goodness, girl. Those bags under your eyes look like you’re going on a grand tour of Europe. Can I get some concealer in here? Where is everyone?” He turned in a circle, hands extended, shouting into the empty room. “And what’s going on around your middle? You’ve got a pooch.” His nimble fingers adjusted the sash around my waist to hide the extra pounds I’d put on over the past month. Food had become a source of solace. “I’ll have to let this out a little.”

  “Okay.” I yawned.

  “Mrs. Menshikov, excuse me.” A second housemaid stood on the threshold of the bedroom, overwhelmed by Christian’s glare. “Mr. Menshikov’s new personal assistant has arrived. He’s getting his things moved into the apartment downstairs. I thought you would want to know.”

  “Yes, thanks. I appreciate the head’s up.” A flicker of annoyance burned in my belly. I stared at the new dress in the mirror and struggled to control my temper. Roman had fired me as his personal assistant, claiming it was an unsuitable occupation for his wife. Now that he’d hired someone else, the finality stung. I clenched my fingers at my sides. My old life had slipped away, and I was powerless to stop it.

  The maid hovered. Her occasional glances at Christian suggested she harbored a healthy fear of him.

  “Is there something else?” I asked.

  “Um, Mr. Spitz has asked to see you. He’s waiting in the foyer.”

  “Send him up.” I shifted uneasily against the scratchy inner seams of the gown. For forty-thousand dollars, the dress should have a gold lining. At the same time, an unwelcome shiver ran up my spine. Was Spitz bearing bad news? Or was Roman summoning me again?

  “To your bedroom? Are you sure?” The maid shook her head. “Mr. Menshikov never allows guests in his bedroom—aside from you, of course.”

  I frowned. Had she just referred to me as a guest? “It’s my bedroom, Janet, and you’re right. Of course. What was I thinking?” Lack of sleep was twisting my common sense. A deep breath steadied my nerves. “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute. No, wait, I’ll go myself.” I hopped off the stool. On bare feet, I trotted down the hall and descended the sweeping staircase. The silk gown rustled with each step.

  Christian followed on my heels, muttering. “Forty-thousand dollars, Rourke.”

  “I’m good for it,” I replied.

  Spitz stood at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes widened at the sight of the expensive silk dress, Christian, and my bare feet. The air in the room chilled. He bowed his salt-and-pepper head, shoulders erect. He ran a finger along the inside of the collar of his black dress shirt, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

  “What’s wrong? Is Roman okay?”

  “He’s fine, ma’am. I’m here to inform you that I’ve doubled your security, and I’d like to request that you keep your social activities to a minimum while we work through the situation.” His gaze flitted to the handful of assistants who’d followed me and Christian downstairs.

  “I’m going to a charity ball tomorrow night. Will that be a problem?”

  “Lance has informed me. We’ve made arrangements to keep you safe.” The chill in his tone sent a shiver down my back.

  “Should we go to Roman’s study to discuss this?”

  He lifted a hand. “No need. You seem busy. I’m done.”

  “Wait.” I followed him toward the door. “Is that it?”

  “Well, now that you mention it…” The blunt tips of his fingers scratched over his jaw. “There is something bothering me. If you cared about your husband’s safety, he’d be living here and not in some hotel.”

  “He’s at the Four Seasons. It’s not like he’s in a tent underneath a bridge.” Having seen the opulence of the hotel penthouse a few times before, his argument held little weight. I rolled my eyes.

  “And here you are, the suffering wife, prancing around his Manhattan penthouse in fancy dresses with your entourage.”

  His words stung. I reeled back like I’d been struck. “What’s that supposed to mean?” My temper flared. “Did he say something to you?”

  “No, just my opinion.” The elevator beeped, and the doors opened. He nodded, his gaze chilly. “You have a good day, Mrs. Menshikov.” With a crisp pivot, he strode into the waiting car, leaving me open-mouthed beneath the grand chandelier.

  The doors closed. His insult burned, hot and intrusive. I clenched my fists, wanting to run after him and demand an apology. I stabbed at the elevator button, but it was a long way to the bottom. By the time the car returned, my temper had cooled. Screw Spitz. I had bigger issues to worry about right now. Although I wanted to run to Roman, I couldn’t make myself go. He was a warlord, and the thought turned my stomach. How many innocent people had died from his actions? I’d never touched a gun and never would. If I went to him, I’d be condoning his actions, and I just couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  Let it go, Rourke. I exhaled and turned to leave but barreled into a slender young man with round glasses.

  “Sorry. So sorry,” he said, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

  “Who are you?” His short, curly hair and unsmiling face were unfamiliar. I glanced around for a staff member, panicked to see a stranger in my home. For once, I was alone. They’d probably evacuated to the back of the penthouse to avoid Christian.

  “I’m Percy, Mr. Menshikov’s new assistant. And you’re Mrs. Menshikov?” He extended a tentative hand.

  “Um, yes.” The tension eased from my shoulders. Worried brown eyes studied mine. At second glance, he seemed much younger—maybe early twenties. “Nice to meet you, Percy. I hope you’re getting settled in okay?”

  “I am. Thank you.” He rolled his lips together and glanced from side to side. “I’ll be ready to start tomorrow. Mr. Menshikov said you’d be training me.”

  “Did he?” I held back a scathing tirade of profanity. Roman felt I wasn’t capable of being his personal assistant, but he wanted me to train my replacement. Fat chance. “Well, he was mistaken.” Then my conscience got the better of me. I knew how intimidating Roman could be and how unsettling the first day of any job felt. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, but I’ll make sure you have someone show you the ropes.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. Please let Janet know if you need anything.” I swept the long dress away from my feet and trotted up the staircase. Even though Roman had left, he still ordered me around like an employee, and it had to stop. If he wanted a high society wife, he was going to get one. However, it would be on my terms. Not his.

  4

  Rourke

  The next evening, I walked into The Grand Ballroom of
The Plaza Hotel, feeling like a new kid on the first day of school. After a fortifying breath, I lifted my chin and did my best not to trip over the long hem of the yellow Dior. The last time I’d been here, I’d been Everly’s employee, not a guest. Dozens of watchful eyes tracked my progress as I crossed the glossy floor. Beneath the enormous crystal chandeliers, Manhattan’s finest dignitaries chatted, laughed, and plotted world domination. I scanned the sea of black tuxedos and colorful gowns for anyone I might know but came up empty until the familiar gazes of Everly’s parents turned in my direction.

  “Rourke, darling, how wonderful to see you.” Judy McElroy greeted me with air kisses on each cheek.

  “Yes, it’s been too long. How are you?” Don McElroy’s warm hands enveloped mine and squeezed.

  “I’m good. Thanks. It’s wonderful to see you, too.” Affection swelled inside me as I greeted two of my dearest friends. Although they would never replace Mom and Dad, they had endeavored to fill the gaps left by their passing and never failed to include me in their family gatherings. I owed them more than I could ever hope to repay.

  “Goodness, you’re pale. Do you need to sit down?” She caressed my cheek. Lines of worry crinkled around her eyes. The scent of her Chanel perfume took me back to the days of playing dress-up with Everly and raiding her mother’s cosmetic drawer.

  “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed by all the grandeur.” I smiled to cover up my uncertainties. Smiling could hide a multitude of sins, even for a sinner like me.

  “Everly will be delighted to see you. She thought you might not show. Where did she go?” Mr. McElroy draped a comforting arm around my shoulders as he searched the crowd for his daughter.

  “I’m sure she’s busy. I don’t want to bother her while she’s working.” I had no idea what kind of greeting to expect from her and didn’t have the strength for another argument. Her feelings for Nicky ran deeper than I’d realized. I vowed to keep my opinions about her love life to myself.