The Royal Treatment: A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy, Book 1

by Melanie Summers

  The truth is none of that matters. There’s no point in trying to fix what has been broken beyond repair because whatever we were to each other was built on lies and bad intentions, which means it was nothing from the start.

  But even if we had been honest with each other, and even if we could trust each other, you and I could never have a future together. It became crystal clear tonight that I don’t belong in your world, and I never have.

  Don’t worry, you’ll still get what you want from me. I told you the other night that I wanted to help you, and I will keep my word.

  You win,

  Tessa

  Oh, fuckity-fuck-fuck.

  “Arthur, get up!” The shrill sound of my sister’s voice wakes me from a dead sleep.

  I open my eyes just in time for her to throw open the curtains and let the sun burn the corneas off my eyeballs. “Ahh! Shit.”

  “The parade is starting in fifteen minutes. Vincent has come by three times already to wake you.” She whips off my covers, then screams and turns around. “Why are you naked?!”

  “I sleep in the nude.” I gather a sheet around me. “Why the hell are you tearing off my covers, anyway?”

  “I just told you! You are meant to be outside in your morning suit right now, looking more like a crown prince and less like a vagabond.”

  “Can you dial back the shrill by about ten points? I have a splitting headache.”

  “Get. Up!” Her heels click across the floor. “The entire country is waiting for us. You will not keep them waiting if you know what’s good for you.”

  Exactly twenty-three minutes later, I climb into the gold and black open-air carriage, dressed in my ridiculous grey penguin suit and top hat. My father and grandmother sit across from me, and I sit next to Arabella, facing backwards as the horses begin to jostle us around for the unbearably long trek around the city. Grandmother is in a yellow dress with a large feathered matching hat that is so bright it’s like sitting across from the sun. Arabella is in a white dress with pink flowers and a tiny hat that looks like it belongs on a Chihuahua.

  I burst out laughing. “Nice hat. Did your maid shrink it in the dryer?”

  Arabella sighs. “So glad you could join us. It wouldn’t be a parade without your snarky commentary.”

  “Finally up, I see?” my father sneers.

  “Who plans a bloody parade at ten in the morning the night after a ball?” I grumble.

  “Well, maybe if you didn’t get piss drunk and stay up all night, you would’ve had an easier time getting up at a respectable hour,” Arabella says.

  “You didn’t seem drunk at the ball,” my grandmother says.

  “I wasn’t. That was after.”

  “Why would you and Tessa start drinking so late at night?” she asks.

  “She’s gone.” I take a flask out of my pocket. “I was drinking alone.” I tip up the flask and let the liquid burn down my throat. I feel like I could vomit, but if I can keep it down, a little pick me up is exactly what the doctor ordered. Okay, so, I’m not a doctor, but I did play one once in a fun little role-play thing with the Duchess of Funsville, so I figure I’m qualified to prescribe alcohol to fill the gaping hole in my soul.

  “Put that away, you bloody idiot,” my dad says, leaning forward to take it from me. I raise my hand so it’s out of his reach and glare at him. Oh, it’s good to be tall.

  “I’ll have it finished by the time we leave the palace gates.” I tip it back and let the rest pour down my throat until the flask is empty.

  “What do you mean she was gone?” my grandmother asks.

  “Just that.”

  “Good. So the girl can take a hint,” my father says.

  My gaze hardens. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  Arabella swats at me with her hand. “Put that away. We’re about to cross the river.”

  I tuck the flask back in my pocket and hear the thrum of the television news helicopter that will follow us for the next three torturous hours. Oh, Christ. Where is a lone shooter when I need one? “No answer, Father?”

  “I simply paid her the kindness of ensuring she was being realistic about the future.”

  As soon as we cross the river, the sound of people cheering joins the slapping of the helicopter blades. As if on cue, we all turn to look out the carriage and begin to smile and wave at the crowd.

  None of us move our mouths, but we manage to hold an entire conversation through our teeth.

  My father waves as he says, “Don’t I get a thank you? I was doing your dirty work for you. I saw you with Brooke and knew you’d want to rid yourself of the blogger woman as quickly as possible.”

  “We’ve been over this before. I have no interest in marrying Brooke.”

  “Tell me you’re not actually considering that little idiot to be queen.”

  I grin at a group of children waving miniature paper versions of our family’s flag. “You’re a total son of a bitch. No offence, Grandmother.”

  “None taken, darling.”

  “I may be a son of a bitch, but that’s better than being an utter disappointment.”

  “Ha!” my grandmother says. “If anyone in this carriage is a disappointment, it’s you, Winston. A bitter one.”

  “Shut up, you old bat.”

  “Don’t speak to Gran that way!”

  “I’ll speak to her any way I like. I’m the bloody king.”

  “Not for long.” My voice comes out sounding like Professor Snape. If I weren’t so filled with rage, I’d find this almost amusing.

  “What is that supposed to mean? Planning a regicide, are we?” he asks as he points at a little boy in the crowd and pretends to laugh.

  “If I am, believe me, you won’t know until it’s too late.” Neck getting sore. Smile and wave to the opposite side now.

  “I could have you locked away for saying such things.”

  “Then do it. I’m sure the company would be an improvement. No offence, Arabella, Grandmother.”

  “None taken. Winston, did you really chase that lovely girl away?”

  “What lovely girl? You can’t be referring to that dumb bitch of a reporter.”

  “Say it again and I swear to God, I’ll punch your face right here.” I don’t know why I’m defending the woman who ran out on me last night, but somehow, I can’t stop myself.

  My father snorts. “I honestly can’t decide whether to hope for victory or defeat at the referendum. Victory will mean putting an absolute moron in charge when I die.”

  “Stop it. The both of you. You should both be ashamed of yourselves,” Arabella hisses, her face frozen in a wide smile. “Neither of you deserve to rule so much as a sand castle, let alone a real kingdom.”

  My father lets out a strangled laugh. “Oh, and do you think you’d do a better job? With all your experience hosting tea parties and weeping over stray dogs?”

  “I would do better than a man who gets caught evading his taxes, then flits about to get his jollies with women from every corner of the globe.”

  “The earth is round, dear,” Grandmum says.

  “I know that. It’s an expression.”

  “What did you say to her?” I growl at my father.

  Arabella thinks I’m referring to her. “I said, it’s an expression, which it is. I know the earth is round. I’m the one who called it a globe!”

  “I meant father.” The booze is kicking in finally, numbing my rage, but also my self-control. Hmm, not sure if this will be a good thing or a bad thing. “What did you tell Tessa?”

  “I merely told her that you would require a more suitable woman as your wife, which you will.”

  Before I can respond, the carriage stops in front of the Abbey. Two footmen hurry around to open the half-doors for us and help the ladies down so we can shake hands with the people, and accept flowers and cards. I seize the opportunity to hop over the barricades and stride straight into a pub on the corner with a crowd, as well as my security team, in tow.
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  “I’d like to buy a round for the house!” I call to the bartender, which earns me a cheer as I make my way up to the bar.

  “I’ll have a pint of Sheepshagger Gold, please.” I take off my hat and lean my elbow on the bar. “Oh, can you make it fast? I’m in the middle of a parade,” I say to the man behind the bar.

  He gives me a shrug as he pulls on the tap. “I can pour fast, but I’m afraid drinking it down is the bit that takes all the time.” He slides the glass to me.

  “Leave that to me.” I turn to the crowd. “Here’s to our eight hundredth birthday! Even if I never sit my royal arse down on the throne, may we have another eight hundred more.” I gulp down the beer in one go, which seems to be worthy of even more reverence than buying everyone a round.

  I set down the glass and turn to the other patrons, who are all lining up to get their free drink. “All right. That’s me. I have to get back to the parade.”

  Turning to Ollie, I mutter, “Forgot my wallet. Can you pay the man, and I’ll square up with you later?”

  Ollie, who already has his credit card out, just nods. We’ve been through this before.

  Getting out is a lot harder than walking in. I am stopped every few feet to sign autographs and pose for photos. I make an arse of myself, doing the hang loose sign and making funny faces for the cameras. Give the people what they want, right? Know your audience, and all that bullshit.

  When I get back to the carriage, my family sits waiting and glaring openly. I hop in and sit down. “Oh, don’t look so sour, I was just doing some PR. You should try it sometime, Father. You know, actually spend a few minutes with the people of your nation. If you had bothered to do it even a little, we wouldn’t be about to have all our stuff thrown out on the lawn.”

  “Is that what your little peasant girl told you?” my father asks.

  Grandmum takes her turn now. “Oh, do shut up! The pair of you are like a couple of children badly in need of a smacked bottom!”

  I open my mouth to speak, but she silences me with a finger pointed in my face. “Not one more word out of your bratty mouth. If the two of you want to go a round when we’re back inside the castle walls, you have my blessing, but not here. Not when the vote is only weeks away. You will conduct yourselves with a sense of decorum, or I’ll slap those stupid hats right off your heads.”

  When she’s done, she turns and smiles out at the crowd, and resumes her dainty waving, as though we’ve just been chatting about the weather. God, I love that woman.

  Thirty-Four

  So This Is Rock Bottom…

  Tessa

  I wake to the sound of the hairdryer down the hall. Oh, that’s horribly loud. I open my eyes to find that I’m on the couch. My own couch. All at once, the events of the night before come tumbling down on me, crushing my heart and causing my stomach to lurch. The necklace, the dancing, the slippers, the lies, Brooke, the King, the running away, the champagne. “Oh, bollocks.”

  I slowly sit up and pull off the quilt to find I am still in my ballgown. The boning is digging into my sides and back, reminding me never to go to a ball again. My ribs needn’t worry, however, because my aching heart will make sure I never make such a mistake again.

  “Good morning, Cinderella.” Nikki crosses the room and gives me a sympathetic smile.

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost noon. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or just let you sleep.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to be.” I catch a whiff of myself and recoil. “Except maybe the shower.”

  I watch as she walks to the sink. She comes back with a glass of water and a bottle of Advil. “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  She sits on the armchair. “So, spill it first or shower first?”

  “Shower,” I say, nodding firmly. Then my shoulders drop and I start to sob. Loud, pitiful, soul-shaking sobs.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Nikki plants herself next to me and puts her arm around my shoulder while I succumb to my sadness. “You fell hard, didn’t you?”

  “So hard. I’m such an idiot.” I sob and sniffle. “He was just using me the whole time.”

  “What an arsehole.” She pats my back as I cry. “What? Did he tell you last night after the ball or something?”

  I sniffle. “It was all a lie. Sipping wine at sunset, his feelings for me. All of it. He doesn’t even like Jelly Babies!”

  “I’m not following, hon.”

  “I know because I’m not making any sense. I’m too stupid to make sense!” I dissolve into tears while Nikki holds me.

  “That’s not true, sweetie. You’re one of the smartest people I know. You just have terrible taste in men. No arsehole radar at all.”

  I nod. “You’re right. You’re always right. And you’re such a good friend to help me when I stink so badly.”

  “Yes, I am,” she says. “Tell you what. You go shower, I’ll make you some tea and toast, and then you tell me everything.”

  I nod. “Okay.” I stand and walk across the room. “Can you make my decisions for a while? I don’t think I can be trusted.”

  “Sure, honey. First decision is that you go shower.”

  When I get to my tiny bathroom, I take a moment to look around. I’m home where it’s safe. No horrible princes who pretend to be in love with me. No fancy lady doctors. No nasty kings. I stare at myself in the mirror. Most of my eye makeup is mashed down onto my cheeks, and my skin is basically just a bunch of blotchy red patches.

  The sight of it makes me cry pitifully.

  Forty-five minutes later, I emerge in sweats and a hoodie. My hair drips onto my shoulders as I wander slowly back to the kitchen. Nikki is watching the news. There he is. Arthur walking out of a pub with a top hat and a huge grin. He looks devastatingly handsome. And happy. “Why he is so fucking happy? And why is he wearing that hat?”

  “Shit.” Nikki quickly shuts off the television. “Your toast is ready.”

  “Turn that back on.”

  “No.”

  “I’m serious, Nik, turn it back on! I want to see what he’s doing.”

  “Remember you put me in charge of your life for now? First rule is no stalking, which in your case includes the news, unfortunately.”

  “What was he doing? Why isn’t he at home in bed, crying his eyes out because I’m gone?”

  “Second rule is that you can’t spend all your time trying to figure out why he isn’t devastated, because the only reasonable explanation is that he’s a total son of a bitch who doesn’t deserve you.”

  “But he’s so wonderful.” My face twitches and I’m about to cry again. Oh, yes, here it goes…

  I’m ashamed to say that things went downhill from there. The rest of the afternoon and evening was pretty much a repeat of the same conversation over and over. So much for ‘having a bit of fun and getting out before things get serious.’ So much for ‘maybe there is a good man for me, after all.’ So much for true love does exist and my knight in shining armor actually wears a crown on special occasions. So much for incredible orgasms and melt-in-your-mouth blueberry scones. Oh, God, I forgot about the scones. I will miss them so…

  I keep my phone off and don’t turn on my computer for the next two days. Mostly because as soon as Nikki leaves (she’s going to stay at Dr. McPerfect’s for a while), I break out the wine and spend the next forty-eight hours watching ABNC with the shades drawn, just in case I can get a glimpse of his gorgeous face again. And I do, because apparently, now that we’re through, he’s turned into quite the man about the town. He’s at everything, smiling and laughing and joking with everyone who comes near him.

  Each image is a dagger to my heart, even with the numbing effect of the wine. I’m now a disgusting mess, sweating out alcohol from my pores and eating handfuls of cereal straight from the carton at each meal. I sigh to myself. “At least things can’t get any worse, right, Chester?”

  Chester moves his gills to reassure me that it’s all going to be okay.

 
“He’s been dubbed the ‘The PR Prince,’” Veronica Platt says into the camera. “The new, improved, fully accessible future monarch has vowed to be the eyes, ears, and voice of the people. He recently set up a Twitter account and has started posting pics on Instagram, but the past few days, he’s making appearances in the most surprising places. Giles Bigly has more on this.”

  “Thank you, Veronica. Yes, Prince Arthur has done an about-face, and quite frankly, it’s about time. Since the ball, he’s launched an all-out war on anti-royal sentiments, pulling out all the stops to prove that the monarchy belongs in Avonia.”

  I sit and watch as Arthur plucks a baby out of an adoring fan’s arms. Even the baby adores him, laughing as he holds her up and makes little goo-goo sounds.

  “I hate that baby,” I tell Chester, who swims in is bowl as though to agree. “Oh, yes, she is a smug baby. You’re exactly right.”

  The buzz of my intercom startles me, and I spill my wine on my hoodie. And yes, it is the same hoodie I’ve been wearing for two full days and nights. What? It’s very comforting. I ignore the buzzing and go back to hating babies, but whoever is at the door is very persistent.

  I get up and walk over to the intercom, press the button, and bark, “Go away.”

  The buzzing starts up again. I press the button again. “What?!”

  “I have flowers for a Ms. Tessa Sharpe.”

  “From whom?”

  “It doesn’t say, miss.”

  My heart skips a beat. Arthur! “Come up.”

  I open the door and wait impatiently for the lift door to open. When it does, I see a man in a suit walking toward me. He’s holding the bouquet and a large yellow envelope. The envelope should set off alarm bells in my head, but I’m too focused on the flowers to notice.

  “Tessa Sharpe?” he says.

  “Yes.” I smile. “I don’t remember seeing you around the palace? Are you new?”

  He gives me a confused look for a second, then hands me the flowers and the envelope. “You’ve been served.”