His American Princess

by Pamela DuMond

  Was it possible we were here again?

  Maybe the better question would be —

  What the hell could I do to make it better???

  Dear Readers: Yay! Thanks for reading His American Princess! I hope you loved the romantic adventures of Vivian, Prince Max, and Prince Leo. Enjoy more steamy romance and all the feels by one clicking THE DUCHESS’S DECISION now!

  Lucy finally gets her HEA with one of the Princes of Bellèno. Will she end up with Prince Nick, the spare to the throne, or Prince Leo the heir? Enjoy the laughter, the sweetness, the steam, and find out how this adorable, filthy romantic tale concludes by one clicking THE DUCHESS’S DECISION now!

  If you loved THE CROWN AFFAIR you’ll love the steamy, hilarious, and very sweet stand alone romantic comedy THE CLIENT!

  I was an underpaid assistant working at a matchmaking agency. How was it possible that I made a love match that resulted in the society marriage of the year?

  I didn’t plan on running into the smoking hot, tuxedo-clad brick wall of a man at the wedding. I didn’t plan on him stopping my fall by grabbing onto my boob and Not. Letting. Go. I most definitely didn’t plan on this gorgeous man being my new CLIENT. One-Click THE CLIENT now!

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  * * *

  If you like your stories dark, sexy, angsty, filled with twists and turns you’ll fall hard for 21st CENTURY COURTESAN!

  It’s an addictive series filled with love, lust, family loyalty, deceit, revenge, and all the sweet little things in life worth killing for.

  Start the series FREE by One clicking TYCOON: A 21st Century Courtesan Prologue (FREE!)

  * * *

  If you enjoy Time Travel romance that’s swoony and packed with thrills — you’ll get swept up in The Believer: Jack & Clara - a STAND ALONE in the Mortal Beloved world.

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  If you’re a reader who loves to play mobile games— check out Cupcakes, Spies, and Despicable Guys - a hilarious story about a cat who thinks he’s a secret agent! Then pick and choose your story when you play it as a mobile game on Chapters Interactive Stories !

  I’d love for you to join my readers group at DuMond’s Dirty Darlings.

  Turn the page to read a few excerpts. Happy reading!

  Excerpt of The Duchess’s Decision

  THE CROWN AFFAIR: BOOK 4

  * * *

  CHAPTER 1

  * * *

  VIVIAN

  I shivered, pulled the sash of my woolen coat tighter around me, and adjusted the scarf that I’d been wearing for forty-eight straight hours. I’d already dribbled a mochaccino down my front and the smell of buttermilk-curdled crème mingled with the bitter fragrance of smashed dreams. It was a cold, crappy morning in hell and I wasn’t all that happy about it.

  I usually adored being in St. Luce, the capital city of Bellèno. The bustling European metropolis had an energy, and a friendly hustle-bustle vibe. And I adored its architecture – a mish-mash of modern structures made of concrete block and glass, juxtaposed with gorgeous older buildings that resembled decadent pastel pastries.

  The jail that my kind-of-husband was being held in fell into the former category. I stood in front of it, knowing my beloved Max was just behind its walls. It looked like a sad wedding cake that had been left out of the box for too long, icicles dripping from its roof.

  Perhaps I was projecting my own insecurities and simply describing myself. I was a hot mess. Makeup-less. Sleepless. Groom-less. Oh. Skip that one, because apparently there was a possibility that I was married, just not to the right guy. More specifically, not to the right brother. I had signed up to marry Prince Maximillian Rochartè of Bellèno, he of the wavy ginger hair, come hither hazel eyes, and six pack abs so ripped, I massaged my hands against them every night. I had signed up, on numerous occasions might I add, to marry this delicious man with the hilarious sense of humor. He was the younger prince of Bellèno, the ‘spare’ to the throne, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass about royal titles and monarchy, pomp and privilege. I did, however, care very much about Max.

  I cared about the thoughts in Max’s brain, and every inch of his delectable body. I cared about his kindness, the way he treated people, myself included, with honor and dignity. I cared that he loved me so much he’d married me three, count that, three times now. Which is why it pained me that through some cruel twist of fate, I was now quite possibly legally wed to his older brother, Leo. Oh yes, a few days after my last royal wedding, Archbishop Causesdesperdues had butted into my life again, insisting that I was married to the other prince of Bellèno.

  What’s the problem, Vivian, one might ask. Leo was equally hot, the heir to Bellèno’s throne, the handsome chestnut-haired playboy crown prince who had slept with half of the eligible ladies in Europe, and was tackling other continents as well.

  I’d never had sex with Leo—but we’d made out a once or twice in the past—purely in the line of my former part-time job. And yes, I knew his attractions were… sizeable. But my brother-in-law’s charms were the least of my worries because my Max was still incarcerated.

  The royal St. Luce prison was in serious need of a paint job, but acted like it didn’t care, squatting imperiously behind high, thick, wrought iron fences. Palace guards wearing warm winter coats accented in the royal colors of purple, white, and gold stomped up and down the perimeters, trying not to shiver in the gloomy cold.

  It was January 2, and the skies were gray with approaching storm clouds. It had been two days since my Max had been taken into custody and thrown into jail by Archbishop Causesdesperdues and his bullies. Or as I liked to call him, Archbishop Asshat. Two days and two nights that my husband—maybe technically not my husband, but whatever, should have been my husband—had been forcibly removed from our home and ripped away from me.

  After Asshat’s guards cuffed Max, they escorted, or should I say—hauled—him away from our home, and stuffed him into the back seat of a black, shiny town car. I chased after them imploring them to release him. I swore like a sailor, while flipping them off with both hands, but they ignored me, and the sedan peeled off, smoke belching from its tailpipe.

  I raced after them, absolutely livid, until I couldn’t run any longer. I stopped, hunching over to catch my breath. I felt hopeless and helpless, but then realized what needed to be done. I rallied my ladies-in-waiting.

  We texted, phoned, Face-timed, messengered, and e-mailed. The ladies called their friends who called their friends, and now I, together with a few hundred women were marching in a sisterhood of protest outside the cakebread jail, carrying picket signs proclaiming: “Release Prince Max!” “False Arrest!” “Down with the Fake-riarchy!” and “Hell no, we won’t go!”

  Lady Joan Brady tugged on my arm and pulled me to the sidelines. “Vivian. Speaking of hell, you look just like it. Why don’t we take a quick break? It will do us both good.” She pulled a thermos from her Gareth Trent designer tote and unscrewed the top.

  I rubbed my hands together, pressed them to my mouth and blew on them. “I hope that’s the really extra strong super black coffee.”

  “Triple dark French blend for you, my friend.” She poured two cups of steaming brew and handed one to me. “It’ll zap you awake quicker than a cattle prod and bonus—it warms the hands. You’ve been out here since the night Max was arrested. You need some sleep, a warm bed, and as much as I love you, trust me on this, you need to shower.”

  I held up one arm, sniffed my armpit, and cringed. “Was Joan of Arc all that worried about her hygiene when leading French troops into war with the English?”

  “My namesake only had the locals following her. If the paparazzi had been hounding Joan it would have been a different story. She might have practiced her key talking points and polished her armor. Maybe it’s time you return to the townhouse and regroup. Let the palace lawyers and the
bureaucrats figure this out.”

  “And leave Max all by himself inside a jail cell at the beginning of the New Year? At the start of our marriage? That would be a shitty thing to do to him, let alone set a terrible example of the kind of wife I aspire to be. I will not be the woman who’s only there for her husband during the good times. I didn’t enter this marriage for titles or headlines and trust me, he didn’t either.”

  “I know, Vivian.” Lady Esmeralda Castile von Haspburgh joined us. She held out her mug. “Caffeinate me, Joanie not of Arc.”

  She did, and Esmeralda sipped from her steaming cup. “My sources, Vivian, tell me now that if you’re wed to Leo, you’ll have moved up five places in the line to become Queen of Bellèno some day.”

  “I couldn’t care less about becoming the queen of anything.” I gazed at the prison, wondering if Max could see me through one of the windows from his cell, possibly on the second or third floor. On the off chance, I waved and then blew him a kiss.

  “That’s not true,” Joan said. “Everyone wants to become queen of something.”

  “Fine. You’re right,” I said. “I claim pizza. I’d like to become Queen of pizza some day. Thin crust, pepperoni with mushrooms. And for the last time, Esmeralda, you might think you know everything but you don’t. I’m not married to Leo!”

  “Archbishop Causesdesperdues says you are.”

  “Archbishop Causesdesperdues has his head up his ample, floppy, asshat behind. You were at my wedding. You listened to me pledge my vows.”

  “You must be saying something wrong because they don’t seem to be sticking.”

  “Then tell me what to say!” I grabbed Esmeralda by the shoulders of her double-breasted crimson coat and shook her. “I’ll say whatever I need to say, whatever promise I need to make to be married to Max. I pledged my vows to Max. NOT Leo!”

  I heard a distinct crack, and it came from Esmeralda’s back. She widened her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry!” I said. “Crap, I was somewhat violent with you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fabulous. You just adjusted my middle back better than my chiropractor has done in years.”

  “Jesus Christ, I’m losing my mind.”

  A firm hand landed on my shoulder. “Trouble, ladies?”

  I swiveled and saw a familiar face. “Major Peters!” I stared at the handsome late thirty-something man in a military uniform.

  “Actually, it’s Captain Sam.”

  “Of course. Captain Sam. You helped us so much when Max was kidnapped.”

  “I’ll never forget our mission to Monaco,” he said. “You ladies were superb. Who knew you could harmonize like Diana Ross and the Supremes?”

  “We were the Ice Cream Dreams. That was crazy! It’s been a few months since I’ve seen you, Captain Sam. What brings you back to St. Luce?”

  “Oh, he knows what brought him to St. Luce,” Esmeralda said. “And Captain Sam also knows why he should have stayed the hell away.” She swiveled and walked off, her head high, her hips swaying from side to side.

  “Aren’t you going to say hi to Captain Sam?” I asked.

  She waved at us dismissively.

  “I don’t understand. I know we are all stressed out. But why is Esmeralda being so rude?”

  He cleared his throat. “Because I get under her skin.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “Yes. Happy New Year to you, Duchess.”

  “I’m not a Duchess.”

  “That remains to be seen. Since I last saw you, I received a promotion. I’m now personal attaché to the Prince of Bellèno. His go to person. The man assigned to help him with pressing palace matters, sticky situations, you know, the usual.”

  “That sounds terrific!” I said. “Congratulations. So, you’ll be working for Max and be able to help us track down what went wrong with this latest snafu. It’s only been a couple of days, but I can’t reach Leo. He’s the guy to clear this whole thing up. Maybe he has a new lady in his life because he’s not at his townhouse, and he’s not answering any of my texts.”

  He cleared his throat, “Word is he has.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “Perhaps he’s taking a holiday with his new lady on a tropical island. They’re frolicking in the Caribbean, or the Seychelles, working on their tans while I’m stuck here in St. Luce smelling like curdled milk and yesterday’s dreams.”

  “Actually, Prince Leo is here,” Captain Sam said. “He touched down at the airport a little over an hour ago and is making his way toward us, even as we speak. Look.”

  I glanced up and spotted a black, shiny Mercedes town car with two motorcycles driven by security police leading the way through the crowds.

  “Thank God! Bellèno’s playboy prince might be a wild child but he’s no one’s fool. He loves his family, and he’s got a heart of gold. Tell me he’s going to end this mess here and now? That he’ll declare this is just a big, crazy mix up and that Max and I are truly married? That there’s been fake news about Bellèno royal marriages, and weddings.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “But he has to do something.”

  “Oh he is. Prince Leo told me in great confidence that the palace is going to invoke an ancient royal law, break Max out of this jail, and have him transported to the palace where he’ll be under house arrest.”

  “That’s terrific, I think.” I smelled something a bit rank, and realized it was me. “I need to go home and shower before I drive to the palace to see Max.”

  “There’s plenty of time, Duchess,” he said. “But I believe you have to schedule your visit with the proper authorities in advance.”

  “I don’t think I’m a Duchess. What is this ridiculousness with the whole house arrest thing? These adultery charges need to be dropped. Max and I are legally wed. There is no way I’m married to Leo.”

  He sighed. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a cock-up.”

  “What do you mean, a cock-up?”

  “You know, a screw up, a mistake of epic proportions. The kind of thing that goes down in history books as being one of those quirky blunders that everyone loves to dissect. But when all is said and done, it’s tough to put a finger on it because a cock-up takes on a life of its own and becomes either a tragedy of comic proportions or a comedy with a tragic flare.”

  “That sounds familiar,” I said. “Kind of like everything that’s happened to Max and me since we tried to get married.”

  “You’re not the only person this has affected. Cock-ups have a ripple effect. Leo, your friends, the Royal family, the people that love them, and eventually even distant onlookers get involved in some way.” he said.

  “This ordeal is some weird kind of misunderstanding and someday we’ll laugh about it over a nice single malt Scotch,” I said. “But right now I am sleep deprived, my skin is tingling, and it doesn’t feel all that funny. I need to go home. Shower. Feed my dog and snuggle with him for a minute. And then visit my husband. I want to hug him, and kiss him, and tell him everything’s going to be all right. That we can go back to our married life. Is that too much for a girl to ask? Is that too much for a new bride to ask about her new husband?”

  “Actually, no. I feel for you, Duchess.”

  “Not a Duchess.”

  Captain Sam stared at his feet. “I’m actually here to escort you home.”

  “Thank God!” I said. “11211 Centralaski Park West, please.”

  “Actually, I’ll be driving you to 11213 Centralaski Park West.”

  “But that’s Leo’s place.”

  “And yours as well, Duchess. I’m here to escort you back to your royal residence as the lawfully married wife of Prince Leo of Bellèno, heir to the Bellèno throne.”

  PRAISE

  * * *

  “…drama and intrigue and love and friendship. There were so many sweet parts in it, and again the heartbreak. Thank goodness Vivian and… finally got their HEA!” BChe
rry27

  One-Click THE DUCHESS’S DECISION now!

  DESCRIPTION

  A few years ago, I was an impoverished cocktail waitress. Then I fell in love with Prince Max – he of the impossibly cute dimples, the nickel sized cleft in his chin, and the six pack abs so ripped I mended them every night with my tongue.

  * * *

  We got married and I was walking-into-walls deliriously happy.

  * * *

  I didn’t expect entitled, greedy thieves to arrest Max in an attempt to overthrow the monarchy. I didn’t plan on – presto change-o -- being legally wed to Max’s swoony, older brother, Prince Leo. I didn’t suspect Leo still had ‘feelings’ for me which makes this whole thing an even hotter mess.

  * * *

  Now Leo, my party-hard Ladies-in-Waiting and I must travel to Sicily to the Festival of the Three Kings to track down the sleazy, bug-eyed ‘prince of trashlandia’ opportunist who lays claim to the throne. It’s three days of dancing, drinking and deception.

  * * *

  What could possibly go wrong?

  * * *

  Vivian will finally get her HEA with the Prince of Bellèno. But will Vivian choose Prince Maximillian — the spare? Or Prince Leopold —the heir?

  Read THE DUCHESS’S DECISION now!

  The Duchess’s Decision © 2018 is the re-imagined, steamier, more explicit version of Royally Wed: The Cock-Up © 2017. Additional content has been added to the original story.