Something in the Heir (It's Reigning Men Book 1)

by Jenny Gardiner

  “I have faith that one thing you’ve mastered is cracking open a little bubbly. Granted, this isn’t vintage Dom Perignon, but mixed with a little orange juice it’s a perfect addition to our brunch.”

  She handed him two champagne flutes to fill with the Prosecco, and she topped them off with juice. “To adventure,” she said, clinking her glass with Adrian’s.

  “And to my gracious hostess. Thank you for saving me from a fate worse than death,” he said, tipping his glass to hers yet again. “At least for the time being.”

  They sat down at the tiny dining room table off the kitchen.

  “As my grandmother used to say before each meal here, enjoy your vittles,” Emma said, laughing. “Before you even ask, it’s a country term for food. Not that my grandma was a country gal, she wasn’t. She just loved The Beverly Hillbillies.”

  Adrian raised his eyebrow.

  “Of course you wouldn’t know that cultural touchstone. Television, from back in the dark ages. Just know that it’s a classic, and if you’re lucky maybe we’ll watch some this week on Nickelodeon.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he said, digging into his first bite, his eyes opening wide in surprise at how good it was. “This is amazing.” He moaned. He actually moaned.

  “Huh, I don’t think anyone has ever gotten too excited about my cooking,” Emma said. “So glad you’re enjoying it. You can take pride in knowing you contributed to its amazingness. You helped birth this puppy. Even though I’m fairly certain the food you’ve eaten to this point in your life is a bit more impressive than my omelets. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “You underestimate your gifts.”

  “Beats being a gifted jewel thief, or a talented stripper, I guess. So tell me, besides being painfully dapper and charming, what gifts do you hold up for the world to see?”

  Adrian sat in silence, pondering this question, cutting a bite of omelet and eating it, then cutting another bite and eating it as well. “I suppose no one’s ever asked me that before. I’m not certain I have any gifts.”

  Emma shook her head. “I think you underestimate yourself,” she said. “First off, you’re flexible. I mean come on, twenty-four hours ago you were a pampered prince. And look at you now! You’re slumming it in a statue of David apron in my parents’ beach house. That’s nothing if not flexible.”

  “So I’m on par with Gumby, then.” He smiled.

  “Aha! So you do have cultural references. You’re familiar with Gumby.”

  “Who isn’t? That would be like not knowing who Saint Nicholas is. Nonetheless, resiliency doesn’t win me any prizes in the humanitarian department.”

  “And cooking a good omelet does for me?”

  “Good point. But still, you give me pause to wonder what I’m doing that is relevant in this life.”

  “Hold that thought.” Emma raised her index finger, got up from the table and grabbed her laptop that she’d left near the door. She sat back down, opened it up and started typing into a search engine. “Aha, just what I thought.

  “‘Monaforte’s Prince Adrian, at the opening of a homeless shelter in the nation’s capital,’” she recited from a news story. “‘His Royal Highness Prince Adrian, heir to the throne of Monaforte, visits infirmed children at a local hospital along the coastal town of Principia.’ Wait, wait, here’s another: ‘Prince Adrian hugs a grieving mother whose child died in an avalanche in the Alpine village of Alise.’”

  She threw Adrian an I-told-you-so glance. “So let’s dispense with the ‘I’m useless’ mentality and appreciate the ‘that with which we have been blessed’ one, got it?”

  “Okay, you win. I’ll concede I’m able to use my position as a platform to help others. But I am still not convinced that I have a higher purpose. Maybe it’s still to be determined. Like you, you’re a fabulously talented photographer, I assume.”

  “Damn straight I am,” she said, laughing. “Nevertheless, we’re talking apples and oranges, my life and yours, though. And not like that makes me any great savior. Let’s just be happy with we are who are.”

  “Indeed. And that you had a getaway car at just the right moment for poor, poor pitiful me. You’re my savior, at least.” He grinned at her.

  “And I’ll be grateful I have you here to help me do the dishes. So roll up your sleeves,” she said, pointing to his bare arms, sleeveless since he’d removed his shirt while prepping the meal, “and let’s knock this out so we can figure out the rest of your vacation.”

  “Deal,” he said. “But, er, um, I’m afraid you’re going to have to teach me how to wash pans. I haven’t a clue.”

  “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

  Chapter Six

  EMMA sat glued to her laptop, cranking out an email to Caroline.

  “Oh, girl, you are so not going to believe what I’ve been up to.”

  She’d put Adrian on the nearby sofa and turned on Nickelodeon, figuring he’d be perfectly entertained with classic sitcoms for a while.

  She proceeded to fill in the blanks on what had transpired over the past twelve hours, adding her friend was sworn to secrecy on all of the above.

  “I alternate between being all fan-girl that I’ve got this handsome prince as my captive at the beach house, and wanting to dope-slap myself that I am even thinking of him as a handsome prince. I have no business going there in my brain. He is so far off limits for me he’s practically within limits.

  “Argh, maybe that’s the problem. He’s actually very approachable and normal even, yet he’s never even cooked a meal before. Can you imagine? Who hasn’t stepped foot in a kitchen to prepare a meal? Unfathomable what that life must be like. Although I think he’s really chafing at the rules and restrictions. I guess even those with unlimited everything have limitations. It seems his mother is calling the shots on his marriage. He said she’d let him ‘sow his wild oats’ and now it’s time to buck up and do what’s right for the family. I guess it’s all fine and good to sow those oats, but you can’t harvest them and eat the bread from it! I can’t imagine my mother telling me whom to marry! Although as we all well know, she would give up her first-born child to see me married, except that I’m her first-born — make that only— child. Then she could stop worrying about my availability shelf-life. I swear the woman thinks I’m a tub of yogurt about to spoil. Ahhh, well, I have to run. Now that I’m royal social director I’ve got to figure out what to do with the guy. Other than the obvious, which is not an option. I think the first order of business is finding him something to wear. Can you picture me putting him in Bob’s clothes? Somehow I can’t see him donning those brightly patterned pants Daddy loves to wear. I mean they might have a certain tacky charm on my father, but how mortifying would that be for his royal highness to be tugging on a pair of seersucker pants with embroidered red lobsters all over them? I’m not sure I even want Adrian to see them, they’re so far beyond what normal people in his world wear, let alone have to wear the things. I’ll keep you posted. And remember, mum’s the word. Don’t tell a soul!”

  ~*~

  “Well, your most princely, what say we find you some clothes to wear?”

  Emma had earlier unearthed an oversized sweatshirt stuck in the back of her closet that she’d lifted from an old and mostly long-forgotten boyfriend. Great sweatshirt, not so great boyfriend. If memory served her, he was the one who ditched her because she told him that his brilliantly self-serving suggestion of a threesome with her best friend would forever be relegated to his dreams. At least the threads lasted longer than that relationship. So right now Adrian was wearing the guy’s Carolina blue Tarheels hoodie and a thousand-dollar pair of tuxedo pants, along with those spiffy shoes. Somehow the look worked, in a slumming-it sort of way.

  “I’m fine with this, really,” he said.

  “You won’t be for long. Before you know it you’re going to find those clothes have gotten ripe. Plus I don’t want Je
ffrey’s creep factor to inadvertently rub off on you.”

  He turned to sniff his armpit. Typical male. Guess they weren’t that different the world over. “Smells okay to me,” he said. “And what’s this about a creep factor? Go on. I’d love to hear this story.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “That is one that’s better left untold.” She tried to divert his attention. “Besides, I can’t begin to know how to wash designer tuxedo pants. Let’s at least aim for some variety. My treat.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to change the subject. Believe me, I will get that story out of you. Vee haf our vays,” he said. “And no, you are not treating me to a wardrobe. I’m paying.” He whipped out the collection of cash and cards he’d tucked away.

  “In that case, maybe we can buy me a new wardrobe too. I have been known to spill my guts if the price is right,” she said, winking at him. She grabbed her keys and his hand and pulled him off the sofa. “Don’t want you to become a couch potato. Yet, anyhow. Speaking of potatoes, we need food. This will be your indoctrination into daily life for us commoners. It’ll be fun!”

  ~*~

  “I had considered taking you to a big box store first, but I think they’re just a little too low-end from what you’re used to. There’s a cute little beach shop I think we’ll start at. Then we’ll hit a grocery store for the necessities.”

  “What’s a big box store?”

  “Giant warehouse retailers that sell everything from ride-on mowers to boxer briefs, and anything in between. Cradle to grave, in a depressing sort of way. For that matter they probably sell caskets.”

  “Gee, can’t wait to see it.”

  “On the upside, there’s a liquor store nearby too, so we can stock up while we’re out.”

  “Drunken debauchery on the agenda this week?”

  “Maybe not debauchery, but we are at the beach… It’s a given that you have cocktails while on vacation. Even in the off-season. Even if it’s not exactly a vacation, and more like a hideout.”

  After a short drive, Emma pulled the car into a small strip mall and they got out at Where’s the Beach?, her favorite surf shop in town. Adrian looked skeptical but followed along obligingly.

  Inside there were few signs of the season, with racks and racks of board shorts and displays of sunglasses and flip-flops and lots of surfboards.

  “Hoping they do a brisk business in Christmas gifts for people jonesing for summer,” Emma said. She looked into his eyes and saw the question and shook her head. “It means yearning.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Do you sell any clothes that might offer a little wintertime warmth?” she asked the very bored-looking store clerk with tat sleeves up both arms with a semi-shorn head and a thatch of green hair covering both of his eyes. He struggled to detach his line of vision from his smart phone, but finally mustered up the effort to point to a rack of pants and sweats toward the back of the store.

  “Perfect,” she said. “We’ll find something.” She started whipping through the rack, pulling off a few sweatshirts and a pair of jeans and some sweat pants. “What do you think?”

  Adrian studied the selection she held up. “A bit casual from what I normally wear, but I think these will do.”

  “In that case, fashion show time,” Emma said, pointing to the dressing room. She was fairly certain he’d never stepped foot into a broom closet with a burlap curtain, the only thing closing the distance between his unclad self and the rest of the world. If he wasn’t careful he’d expose his royal hiney to all the world — or at least her and Greenie McTatster over there.

  One by one, though, he emerged from his dressing room, showing Emma the threads.

  “Oooh,” she said, spinning her finger around. “Turn. Be a supermodel, strut your stuff, man!”

  Adrian shook his head and laughed, playing along faux-posing for her. She clapped so loud the clerk glared at her. She stuck out her tongue in defiance. After he’d returned to texting his punk rock band or whatever had him so glued to that phone.

  When Adrian came out in the skinny jeans and long-sleeved cotton T-shirt, Emma did a double-take.

  “Damn,” she muttered.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Oh, God. No. I’m sorry. There is decidedly nothing wrong.”

  “You don’t like these then?”

  “To the contrary,” she said. “I’m going to have to keep you hidden in the house because if any women get one look at you in that, they’re going to be elbowing me out of the way to get to you. As your protector, I feel an obligation to ensure your safety from rabid females. Not that there are many at the beach in December.” Thank goodness..

  “So America is full of aggressive females willing to accost a man in blue jeans?”

  “You’re not exactly a ‘man in blue jeans,’ Adrian. More like a shining example of eye candy at its finest.”

  “Eye candy?”

  “Yes. Eye candy. Think Gisele Bundchen, male version. With an especially nice ass.” Oh my God, did I really just say that to him?

  Adrian just smiled.

  “In that case, I’ll take these.”

  “In every color, I’d suggest," Emma said, cringing at her inability to self-edit in front of the guy. “In the meantime, just leave those on. And let’s grab you a North Face jacket, which will hide at least part of you from those overly assertive women.”

  “You mean those rabid females?”

  “I didn’t mean female rabbits, if that’s what you’re asking.” She gave him a teasing smirk.

  “Man, I almost forgot,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Those fancy shoes of yours are so not okay with your new duds. We’d best grab you a pair of Rainbows. I know it’s cold out, but you can get by with these.” She asked his shoe size and pulled a pair from the wall display. He looked leery about flip-flops, regardless of the season, but shrugged.

  He finally decided on a few tops and pants, paid for them and they departed.

  “I hesitate to share this with you, but now that I’ve got the outerwear, I still need something for underneath them,” Adrian said.

  She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Of course! How could I forget? That means a diversion to the big box store Caro and I call ‘WallyWorld’. Brace yourself for culture shock.”

  They made the fifteen-minute drive to the closest large town, and Emma grabbed his hand as they entered the store. “Okay, first off, you get a prize.”

  “A prize?”

  “Yep! A sticker. Just for being you.”

  As she spoke, a plump, gray-haired woman with thick-lensed glasses that enlarged her eyes to an unnatural proportion handed them each a smiley face sticker.

  “What do you think?” Emma asked. “Is it your lucky day or what?”

  Adrian thought about that for a minute, looking straight into Emma’s eyes. “All things considered, I’d say it most certainly is.” Emma glanced away, too terrified to be burned by such a heated glance. “Yeah, well, we’re keeping you far from that temptress Serena, so it has to be a lucky one.”

  They wandered the aisles, with Adrian marveling at the bizarre selection, the occasionally equally bizarre patrons, and the fact that you could buy anything from food to fertilizer to clothing to trash cans all in one place.

  “Overwhelming?”

  “You could say that. I’m glad I have you as my navigator. I don’t think anything about running away from my life prepared me for this place. I’d likely be curled up in a ball in the corner of the store without your guidance.” He smiled at her.

  “And now, not only do you have brand new sexy black boxer briefs and a toothbrush, but you’ve also got the knowledge of how to shop like regular folk. All good.” She linked arms with his as they left the store. “Next stop, groceries!”

  Once in the grocery store, they made the rounds and she grabbed essentials as they went. “Frozen pizza sound good?”

  “I couldn’t begin to answer that question. I’v
e never had it. You decide.”

  “It’ll make a decent lunch this week. We’ll grab some beer, some fruit, something for breakfast — you ever have French toast? How about steaks? We’ll grill out in the thirty-degree weather and pretend it’s July. Let me also find a couple of bottles of wine.” She continued talking to herself out loud as she gathered up the needed food items, and at the check-out she threw a copy of People in her cart. “A little light reading,” she said with a laugh, half-wondering if she’d find Adrian or any of his peeps within the folds of the magazine. From here on out she was going to have to pay closer attention to the royalty gossip therein.

  ~*~

  As they got in the car to return to the beach house, Emma’s stomach let out a loud growl. “In case there was any question as to whether I was a classy broad, I think that settles it,” she said. “But that does remind me…it’s past lunch time and a shrimp burger sounds scary good right now.”

  “Shrimp burger?”

  “Trust me, this will become your best friend,” she said. Ten minutes later they were turning into the dilapidated parking lot at the Big Oak Diner, a hole-in-the-wall take-out restaurant specializing in all things fried, but especially the holy grail of grease, the shrimp burger.

  “Want me to order for you?” Emma asked.

  Adrian shrugged. “When in Rome…”

  She ordered two shrimp burgers, a side of hush puppies, and two chocolate shakes, just to add to their clogged arteries. “You only live once, my friend,” she said to Adrian, handing her cash to the clerk.

  They both watched through the carryout window as their meal was prepared: a steamed bun topped with tartar sauce and coleslaw, followed by a mound of fried shrimp, and finished with a fat dollop of ketchup.

  “Not exactly the royal kitchens, eh?” she said, rubbing her hands together against the winter chill in the air.

  “I’ll let you know once I try this thing.” He reached out and rubbed her arms with his hands, willing her blood to warm her up more. His touch was remarkably toasty even through her winter coat.