Royally Wild (Crazy Royal Love Romantic Comedy Book 2)

by Melanie Summers

  “Doubt it,” she says with the phoniest apologetic face I’ve ever seen.

  “They’ll sue you.”

  “They’ll lose,” Dylan says. “The contract you and Arabella signed is absolutely clad in titanium, never to be undone.”

  “Come on, Dylan, you’re a better person than this,” I say, even though she’s not and she probably knows it. “Don’t you feel the least bit bad about what you’re about to do? They’re going to suffer for the rest of their lives because this thing will get played over and over forever. Even little James and Flora are never going to get out from under this. It’s the kind of story that never dies.”

  “There’s a price for fame, Will. Paris Hilton—sex tape, but now a successful businesswoman,” she says. “Same with Kim. In fact, her entire family hitched their star to her booty, and look at how amazingly it’s all turning out for them. Kylie’s a freaking billionaire, Will. A billionaire. Think of what you could do with a billion dollars! You could save all the elephants and bees or whatever you’re worried about saving. You could buy a small country and turn it into an enormous obstacle course. Trust me, compared to what some people go through for fame, you’re getting off easy. John Wayne Bobbitt had to have his penis thrown in a ditch to get famous. This is peanuts compared to that.”

  “Jesus, Dylan! I don’t want to be a billionaire.” I throw my hands up in the air. “You’re about to permanently ruin the life of the woman I love. Permanently. Forever. Never to be undone. I cannot stand by and let this happen.”

  She makes a clicking sound, then says, “But the thing is, it already happened.”

  Every hair on my body stands on end and anger rushes through my veins. “I’ll stop doing any more promotions.”

  “We’ll sue you.”

  “I’ll…I’ll tell everyone what you’re doing, and no one will ever want to work with you again.”

  “That’ll only make me bigger. Wealthy desperate people will always be in need of someone who’s willing to get her hands dirty.”

  Bugger, she’s right. I sigh, then lower my voice. “I’ll do anything.”

  Oh, that seems to have worked because she’s tapping her chin with her finger while she stares at me. “Anything?”

  “Anything. Name it.”

  A slow smile spreads across her face, causing my stomach to turn to stone. I’ve just made a deal with the devil, haven’t I?

  21

  Apricot Jam, Dragon-Slaying Virgins, and Painful Pep Talks

  Arabella

  “Somebody better be dead,” Gran says into the phone. “Because there’s no other acceptable reason to call me at this ungodly hour.”

  “It’s nearly 8 a.m.,” I say, staring out the window of my hotel room into Am Hof Square.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sorry, I just really needed to talk to you. It seems like the entire world is falling apart and I feel very much alone.”

  “That’s because you got used to all that regular shagging,” Gran says, “And now that you haven’t had it for a while, you’re upset. Buy a vibrator and a dirty book. You’ll be fine.”

  “Gran!” I say, wondering why I bothered to call her in the first place. “I wish just once you could sound like a regular grandmother—the kind who bakes bread and comforts her grandchildren when they’re having a rough go.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, if you wanted that, you really should’ve been born into a different family. Hang on for a minute. Now that I’m up, I’m famished.” I hear her ring her bell, then start her breakfast order—steel cut oats with berries and Earl Grey tea. Since her heart attack, she starts all but one morning a month this way.

  I look out at the Mariensäule, a statue of the Virgin Mary set on a tall pillar in the centre of the square. Under her feet is a dragon with an arrow through his back. I sigh, wondering how she managed to vanquish her dragon.

  Oh, Arabella, dramatic much?

  Turning from the window, I glance at my untouched meal of palatschinken, which are, in my humble opinion, the world’s most amazing crepe-like pancakes. They’re filled with apricot jam that’s been infused with Viennese brandy. I also ordered a side of apfelradln, which are fried apple rings, going all-in on carbs and icing sugar in an attempt to lift my spirits.

  Gran clears her throat and comes back on the line with me. “All right, since you’ve already started my day on the wrong foot, you might as well tell me what’s up your tush.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I say sarcastically. “Honestly, I don’t even know where to start. There are just so many things going wrong. Will and I haven’t seen each other in close to two weeks and we’ve had a huge row—”

  “—Tessa told me how our Arthur lent a hand in that. Tosser.”

  “Right? He got me all worked up and I said the most awful things when I spoke with Will, and even though he says he forgives me and our conversations since have been quite lovely, I really won’t know if we’re truly okay until I see him face-to-face. He was supposed to come here, but he went to Valcourt instead and I have no idea why. He said it was unavoidable, but I honestly don’t know what could be so bloody important. And I hate myself for even worrying about it because there are so many more important things in this world to focus on, like poverty and disease and violence, not ‘is my boyfriend mad at me?’” I say, taking a deep breath and continuing my rant. “Plus, I’m surrounded by all these amazing women which only serves to highlight the fact that I’ve never really done anything of consequence my entire life. Literally nothing that any other person couldn’t have just slid into my place and done. And I’m supposed to have turned into this brave champion of women’s rights, but the truth is, no matter what I did in my fleeting moment of courage in the jungle, I’m still the same old unremarkable me. So, what should I do?”

  There’s a long pause, then Gran says, “Oh, are you done? I stopped listening somewhere around the word boyfriend.”

  “Seriously, Gran?”

  “No, not really, but good God, can you ever go on with the whining. That might be the one area in which you do have extraordinary talents.”

  “Forget it,” I say, with a sigh. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Oh, fine,” she says, reluctantly. “I’ll try to help. First off, you’re not unremarkable. It was a very unkind thing of me to say and I only half meant it.”

  “No, don’t backtrack now,” I say. “You were absolutely correct about me. “

  “Come now, you’re being too hard on yourself, which is my job. If you keep this up, you’ll put me out of business.”

  A tiny smile escapes my lips.

  “Now, one issue at a time. Let’s start with the least important thing and work our way from there.”

  “Which is?”

  “Your love life,” Gran says. “Before you allow yourself to be all upset about your young man not rushing to you for make-up sex, you need to decide if he’s worth the trouble, because as far as I can tell, he’s creating a considerable amount of it.”

  “Of course he’s worth it!” Now, I’m mad.

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? Because we’re in love.”

  “But, why? I’m not trying to be difficult. Being a royal and being happy are generally not compatible. You need to be one hundred percent certain that he is a man with whom you can go the distance—and let me tell you, the distance is really bloody far, especially if you both live to be as old as me.”

  Sitting down on the window seat, I trace the statue on the glass with my fingertip. “He’s it for me, Gran, even though being with him is going to be ridiculously difficult. He just gets me, you know? And when he looks at me, it’s like the rest of the world disappears. And I never feel as alive or as content as I do when we’re together.”

  “Not a bad start, but a lot of that wears off.”

  “Great, thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see me. I think for a few seconds, then say, “He’s the first person to believe I’m strong.”
>
  “Poppycock. I’ve always known that.”

  “Okay then, he’s the first man who’s ever believed in me. Like, really believed I’m capable of tackling anything, no matter how hard,” I answer. “It’s intoxicating to have someone with that kind of faith in you—someone who offers you freedom and excitement. And it’s not only the adventure stuff—we also have so much fun together. We laugh and joke around and I can be myself, Gran. Not anyone else’s version of me but the person I really am. So, yes, he’s worth the trouble.”

  “That’s a shame, really,” she says. “It would’ve been so much easier if you’d fallen for, say, an accountant, or a doctor. But since you’ve gone and fallen for exactly the wrong sort of man, the two of you need to sit down and talk. Set up some rules for your relationship, including, but not limited to, ignoring other people’s opinions about your relationship, except mine, obviously—”

  “Obviously.”

  “And having a maximum number of days apart that you won’t go over for anything,” she says. “And never underestimate the power of the media to tear two people apart—it’s their favourite pastime and the very best way to sell ad space. Start with that and go from there. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you,” I say, relief sweeping over me, before quickly being washed away by worry again.

  “Now, let’s move onto your conference, at which you’re clearly failing spectacularly.”

  “Yes, let’s,” I say, glad that no one can see I’m pulling a pouty face. “It’s the last day, and I really must come up with something, anything at all really, to prove I belong. I thought that when I was finally presented with something truly important to do with my life, I’d be so good at it. But I’m awful. I freeze up when it’s my turn to contribute. Oh, God, maybe it was a bit of a stretch for me to think I could take on something like this.”

  “Rubbish,” Gran says. “You’re every bit as intelligent and brave as you let yourself be. The problem with you is that you tend to stop short of the point where your potential is just picking up.”

  “Exactly. So, how do I stop that?”

  “You just have to say, fuck it.”

  My shoulders drop. “Oh, is that the secret to life?”

  “A happy one, yes,” Gran says. “Now, you dig into those crepes and apfelradlns while I talk.”

  “I’m having a bowl of porridge and some berries,” I lie, sitting down at the table.

  “Sure you are,” she says, “And I haven’t been with another man since your grandfather died. Now, shut up so I can tell you what your biggest problem is. Your entire existence revolves around the fear that you might offend somebody or that— gasp—somebody won’t like you, which leaves very little room in your life for doing anything of consequence. And that’s precisely what’s stopping you from having anything of value to say. You’re terrified of being criticized by those women who you think have more of a right to an opinion than you do.”

  I hear a slurping sound, which means she’s testing her tea to see if it’s her preferred temperature. “The truth is, you do know the experience of being a woman. You face it every single day, in the way that your father and Arthur and the senior advisors treat you like a child, trying to protect you from anything bad that could ever possibly come to fruition, in spite of many years of me telling them to stop. You’re so busy listening to them that you’ve never made room to hear your own voice.”

  I pick up my fork and knife, and slice into one of the pancakes, letting some of the jam ooze out the sides while she talks.

  “Stop worrying so bloody much about what anyone else thinks of you or you’ll wind up doing the same banal thing that countless generations of women have done—stay in your safe zone, trying to never offend anyone. Now, you can carry on doing that, or you can go out and live a great, big, juicy life filled with adventure and fun and celebration and laughter. But none of that can happen unless you let go of the need for approval. Are you with me so far?”

  “Barely keeping up, but I’m there.”

  “Good enough. Start with today. If you want to end this conference on a high note, stop worrying about what those other women in the room think of you. You can’t change who you are or what type of upbringing you’ve had any more than someone who was born in a slum in Calcutta could. There is a fiery woman inside you dying to get out. You need to let her.”

  “Okay, okay,” I say, nodding enthusiastically, even though she can’t see it. “I am going to do exactly what you said Gran, thank you.”

  “No, for God’s sake, Arabella!” Gran barks. “Did you not hear a word of the tremendous speech I just made?”

  “Of course I did. I was listening very carefully and I intend to take your advice.”

  She lets out a frustrated growl. “If you actually understood what I meant, you would’ve told me to fuck off and mind my own business because you could sort this out for yourself.”

  I burst out laughing. “I could never say something like that to you.”

  “I’m serious. Tell me to fuck off or to bloody well shut up and let you be.”

  “No, I couldn’t—”

  “Sure you can, and quite frankly, you should. I can be quite awful to you at times.”

  “All right, fine. Stop being so nasty, Gran,” I say, feeling terrified and exhilarated at the same time.

  “Watch yourself, child,” she answers sternly. “I won’t put up with any cheek from the likes of you.”

  “But you—”

  “I know what I said, but I changed my mind. Be a hardass with everyone else in the world. Just not with me. Now, you eat your pancakes and go be incredible. Or don’t. If you’d rather not, don’t be incredible today. Sit there like a very pretty dummy and wait for the entire conference to be over, then come rushing back to your boyfriend, like the very good girl you are.”

  22

  When You’re Going to Jump the Gun, Make Sure You Bring Friends…

  Will

  “This you want to sign?” Dwight takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. It’s late in the evening and we’re sitting at his kitchen table. He’s just finished reading over the twenty-two-page contract drawn up by the lawyers at ABN. “This absolute rubbish contract? When you turned down the deal of a lifetime literally three days ago?”

  I give him a firm nod, even though my gut has been churning since yesterday morning in Dylan’s office. “Definitely.”

  “You’re the worst client I’ve ever had,” he says, but I can see in his eyes he doesn’t mean it. “Bar none. No one is as excruciating as you.” He drums his fingers on the table and sighs. “These people don’t play nice, Will. Look what they were going to do to Arabella. And now you’re tying yourself to them—exclusively, I might add, which almost certainly means lost opportunities—for three years. That’s a lifetime in this business.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I say, my muscles tensing up at the thought of what I’m doing.

  “Exactly my point. Any time you’re strong-armed into a deal, you’re not going to be the one to come out on top,” he says. “And in this case, they’re absolutely taking advantage of the situation to lock you in for a pittance compared to what they should be paying.”

  I brush aside his words, knowing that facing the truth of what I’m doing will only make things much worse. “I can’t let myself worry about any of that. Not with what’s at stake.”

  He picks up the contract and thumbs through it again, shaking his head. “It’s very admirable of you to want to shoulder the burden on this one, but I can’t help but think if you just talk to Arabella—”

  Holding up one hand, I say, “I’m not changing my mind. This is my chance to step up and do what needs to be done. And after the way I took off on her when Kenneth came along, I don’t care if they asked me to sign a thirty-year contract, I’d do it if it would save her and her family from permanent public humiliation.”

  “What if we go to one of the staffers at the palace? Or Prince Arthur? T
hey might have some way to make this go away.” Dwight stands and swipes his mug off the table, then walks over to the counter to refill it with more tea. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but those royals actually have a fair bit of clout.”

  I manage a wry grin before shaking my head. “They dislike me enough as it is, Dwight, but at least I have a chance to win them over eventually. If I make them responsible for this mess for my own profit, they’ll have every reason to hate me forever.”

  Returning to the table, Dwight sits back down across from me. “This is going to suck hard. You’re selling your soul to the world’s most evil, not to mention irritating, television producer. You’re aware of that?”

  “I am.”

  “The promotional schedule alone will be god-awful. Have you even looked at what they’ve got you doing over the next three weeks?”

  Shrugging, I say, “Small price to pay.”

  “Speaking of pay, what they’re offering is a disgrace.”

  “You’ve already mentioned that,” I say, pulling the contract toward me. “But in all fairness, this World’s Best Survivor Challenge they’re proposing comes with a hell of a nice prize.”

  It’s rather exciting actually – it’s a competition of all the top adventurers in the world and the purse is a cool million. The best part is that they want Arabella and me to compete as a team.

  “If you win, which is a gigantic if,” Dwight says, concern written all over his face. “As your agent, I feel obligated to tell you that there is no way out of this non-compete clause.”

  “And as my friend?”

  He stares at me for a moment, then says, “As your friend, I say you’re doing the right thing for the right reasons, and if she doesn’t propose to you after all this, she doesn’t know what an amazing person she’s got.”

  I smile at him and click the pen, then start to sign before I can change my mind. My heart pounds in my chest as I go through each page one by one, initialling as needed. When I finish, I say, “I knew you loved me.”