Royally Wild (Crazy Royal Love Romantic Comedy Book 2)

by Melanie Summers

  Yes, in a couple of days, I’ll be on top of the world. In a couple of months, I’ll barely remember Will’s eye colour (brown like perfectly-brewed coffee), or the smell of him (sandalwood, leather, and fresh cocoa), or his smile, or the way he gets that dimple only on his right side when he finds something amusing. Anyway, obviously I know these things now, but very soon, poof! They’ll disappear.

  So, yes, I’m doing very well, thank you.

  My phone buzzes and Will’s face appears on the screen. Pain! I took that shot just off the coast of Rarotonga. His hair is all wet and sexy because he just climbed back on the yacht after going for a swim.

  Oh God! What do I do? Do I answer? What if he wants to yell at me for breaking his heart? No, I’m not going to pick up. Not after all those crisps. I’ll wind up begging him to get back together. I’ll ignore it.

  Stop ringing, phone! That’s enough. Go away.

  Oh, now it actually did stop ringing and his face disappeared. Good. But also bad, because he’s gone again, never to return.

  Hmm, except now, via text.

  Arabella, pick up the phone. I’m not calling to fight with you or to beg you to get back together. I need to talk business.

  The phone starts to buzz again, and I’m faced with two options: answer or decline.

  I hit answer, my heart bubbling up to my throat. Trying to sound casual, I say, “Hello.”

  “I just…wanted to let you know they didn’t include anything I told them not to,” he says, slurring his words slightly. “In case you didn’t watch. I was watching to make sure, but they didn’t do it.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Very—boozy smoothies.”

  “Sounds disgusting.”

  “It can be, but if you have enough of them, you won’t care anymore,” he says. “You want the recipe?”

  “Uh, no thank you.”

  There’s a long pause, then he says, “Listen, there’s something else but I can’t remember what it is…”

  You love me? You realize how wrong you were and want to start over?

  “Oh, now I remember. It’s about the World’s Surviving Best Greenland Challenge. I’m willing to pair up for that—strictly professional, that is. I’m pretty much over you already so we’d be fine by November fifteenth when fliming starts. Milfing. F-ilm-ing,” he says slowly, annunciating each syllable.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Will,” I say, my heart breaking to hear him like this. “And even if it were, we’re hosting the annual Order of Avonia gala that night.”

  “Righto,” he says, putting on a posh accent. “You have an important gala, so you’ll be all dressed up in a beautiful gown. You don’t want to go to Greenland, not with the likes of me anyway.”

  “It’s just best not to let ourselves get confused.”

  “Totally. Listen, remember that deal I made with the network so they won’t share that awful secret about your mum?”

  “Yes, obviously.”

  “Good, I thought you might. Anyway, do you want to tell them you’re not coming to Greenlandia or should I? Prolly best if you do it since you have powerful lawyers and all that in case they say we’re reneging on the deal.”

  “Sure, I’ll handle it first thing tomorrow.”

  “Terrific. So, that’s it then, I guess we don’t have any reason to talk again.”

  “Well, we’ll see each other at the finale after-show,” I say, closing my eyes as I realize how shitty that’s going to be.

  “Unless you can get yourself out of it,” he answers.

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “Are you sure? You’re very powerful with your power and your money and your kingdom.”

  Anger flares up, and I’m about to say something when he continues. “No matter, we’ll both be fine by then. Did I tell you I’m pretty much over you already?”

  Christ. He’s a total mess. “You did.”

  “Excellent, I wrote that one down on a little piece of paper so I wouldn’t forget. I can check that off now.”

  “I’m glad.”

  There’s another long pause in which I hear his breathing fall into a steady rhythm, almost like it does just before he falls asleep. I sit motionless and listen to it, wishing I could undo what’s been done. Suddenly, he speaks up. “So, if there’s nothing else then, I should go. I have to be up early. I wrote that down too in case I started getting all sappy or something.”

  “Smart thinking,” I say. “I don’t think there’s anything else.”

  “Okay then,” he says, “Thanks for calling.”

  I’m about to tell him he called me, but then I realize there’s really no point. “You’re welcome. Good night.”

  “Night, my sweet Belle.”

  Okay, that was awful. Breathe, Arabella, breathe.

  That was the worst of it. From here on out, onward and upward. No whining or complaining. Just chin up, get on with it. Be stoic. Suffer in silence. Leave my feelings at the door when I go out each morning.

  “Kira Taylor here.”

  “Kira, it’s Arabella,” I say, glad I was able to take the VP of Unscripted Television at ABN by surprise. If she’d known I was calling, she’d be ghosting me big time. “We need to talk.”

  “Listen, I didn’t know about that whole audio thing until after the show was edited, and by then, it was really too late to do anything about it, given the tight timeline,” she says quickly. “And in the end, it all worked out for the best since we’ve come to an arrangement that allowed us to remove the um…more sensitive things.”

  “You still tried to screw me over in a most hideous way,” I say, looking at the mirror on the wall of my office and giving myself a stern glare.

  “Yes, well, that’s show biz, right? It’s an all-out battle for ratings. When someone hands us a bombshell like that, it’s basically irresponsible not to use it, since our mandate is to protect the interests of the shareholders and all that…” Her voice trails off, and I know I’ve got her right where I want her—feeling guilty.

  I remain silent and let her squirm on the line a bit. She finally speaks up again. “And none of that matters to you, does it?”

  “Not even a bit.”

  “So, are you calling so I can apologize because I really am very sorry about what almost happened, and I assure you, no one will ever breathe a word. The only people who know are Victor Petty—you remember Victor, yes? My co-vice in Unscripted?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Dylan Sinclair, of course, who, although a total genius, I have to say, scares me a little.”

  “What about the editing staff and promotions?”

  “Them too, but they won’t say a word or they’ll be fired immediately,” she says. “Didn’t Will go over all this with you? You sound out of the loop.”

  “Yes, he did, but I wanted it straight from the horse’s mouth.” That was a subtle shot because Kira once told me she hates her front teeth on account of them being rather large. See? I can be nasty when necessary. “You need to know I’ll sue if any of that gets out. And I’ll win. And even if we lose, we have a deep reserve fund for legal proceedings so by the time we’re done with ABN, the entire network won’t exist.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “You know what else isn’t going to happen?” I ask, my heart pounding wildly. “Me participating in that survivor challenge show.”

  “Right. Because you never want to work with us again?”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “I trust it won’t be a problem if I drop out.” God, I’m a badass. I mime smoking a cigarette in the mirror, then say, “No repercussions for myself or my family?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Excellent.”

  “But, does this mean Will isn’t going to be part of the show either?” she asks. “Because his participation really is integral to the deal we made.”

  “Will’s still in.”

&n
bsp; “And you’re okay with that?” she asks.

  “Totally. I’d never get in the way of his career,” I say, not wanting to admit we’ve broken up.

  “That’s very mature and reasonable of you.”

  Aww, that was sort of sweet, wasn’t it? No! Stay strong. “That’s me. Both mature and reasonable, but also deadly serious about protecting my family.”

  “Duly noted.”

  From: Princess Arabella

  To: Arthur, Tessa, Father, Gran, Mrs. Chapman, Phillip Crawford

  To Whom It May Concern,

  Just a quick note to let you know that Mr. Banks and I have decided to part ways. I’m doing fine with this decision and would appreciate it if no one would bring it up. It’s for the best and I would prefer to swiftly move on.

  Best,

  Arabella

  There, that ought to do it. I’ll just send that email and I’ll never have to talk about it again. Perfect.

  Send.

  My phone rings. Tessa’s calling. I push the speaker-phone button and say, “I’m fine, I promise.”

  “Cut the crap,” she says. “It’s not possible to go from madly in love to utterly detached overnight.”

  “Maybe for some people, but when I make up my mind, it’s set. Now is there anything else you wish to discuss? Because I’m really quite busy today. The conference set me back on my correspondence.”

  “Fine. If that’s how you want to be, I’ll leave you to it,” Tessa says. “Just know that I’ll be here when you’re ready to fall apart.”

  “Won’t happen.”

  “Good God, you are so much more like your brother than I ever thought.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too, but I love you both anyway.”

  With that, she hangs up. I stare at my computer screen, knowing I’ll likely have a parade of concerned family members and the P.R. gurus trying to see me all day, which is exactly why I sent the notice when I did—because I’ll be in meetings from now until after five this evening. My hope is, by then, they’ll have forgotten about this and moved on with their lives so I can avoid that conversation.

  Ha! And here is my first appointment now. Oh, no it’s not. It’s Mrs. Chapman. I hope she doesn’t want to talk about my silly break up. She strides across the room, holding a file folder.

  “Oh, I hope you’re not going to bring up the email I just sent because I really don’t want to discuss it.”

  “I hadn’t planned on it,” she says.

  “Good, because I’ve written all I plan to say on the matter,” I say, taking the folder from her.

  And then, for some strange reason, I find myself telling her the entire story from start to finish (save the bit about my mum). I go on and on, even though I know I should stop, but she’s such a wise person that I’m hoping she’ll have some nugget of wisdom that will save me from my grief. Also, she can’t tell anyone on account of the NDA the staff had to sign.

  Finally, I end by saying, “So, it was very clear that, although he’s undoubtedly a good man, he’s not the right man for me. I truly need someone who sees me as more of an equal partner than what Will’s willing to do. Oh, that’s funny, I just said Will’s willing. Anyway…”

  Mrs. Chapman blinks at me a few times, then says, “The Minister of Education is here to discuss your participation in National Learning Day.”

  Oh fuck. “Brilliant, please send him in.”

  Okay, that’s it. Not another word about him.

  “…It’s been a week since we broke up. Well, if you want to get technical, it’s actually been eight days, six hours, and twelve minutes, but who’s counting? Ha ha. Certainly not me. And don’t worry, I’m not devastated at all. In fact, I feel very strong. Very strong indeed, knowing that I made the very best choice possible for the new me. We women have to learn to hear our own voices. Yes, that’s the secret to greatness. But just out of curiosity, do you think I made the right decision?”

  Yvonne, my maid, stares at me, her arms full of clean towels.

  Apparently, I’m not done just yet…

  She gives me a thoughtful look. “I…well, honestly, Your Highness, if you don’t mind me saying, it seems to me that, other than his unfortunate decision not to tell you what was going on, he did act as a very good partner in that he knew you were busy with something of vital importance, so he quickly changed his plans and took care of something on your behalf. Depending on how you look at it, he actually was viewing you as an equal because he was valuing what you were doing in Vienna. My boyfriend never would have stepped up like that, to be honest. He would’ve insisted that I come back and deal with it myself. But then, my job isn’t as important as what you’re doing for the United Nations, now is it?”

  “No, it’s absolutely vital, Yvonne. I probably don’t tell you often enough, but I appreciate you greatly.”

  “Thanks, Miss. I should get going though. My shift ended half an hour ago.”

  “Right. Sorry to have kept you.”

  “That’s all right,” she says, walking to the closet to deposit the towels. “Good luck with your decision.”

  “Thanks.”

  Well, bugger. Now I’m confused.

  28

  All by Myself…Don’t Wanna Be…

  Arabella

  How long does it take to feel human again after a breakup? I’m asking for a friend. Because, although I’m completely fine, she’s a hot mess. She spends her nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling whilst second-guessing her decision to break up with him. Poor pathetic thing—I’m so glad I’m not her.

  I mean, these haven’t exactly been the happiest of days, and I do find it the teensiest bit difficult to concentrate on work, even though I’ve packed my schedule so tight, there’s not even a second to think about you-know-who. It’s a good thing really, because it’s allowed me to keep it together during the day, head held high, as I race from thing to thing with a bright smile.

  But, honestly, as evening draws near, I find myself filled with an ever-increasing sense of dread, knowing I’ll be going back to my empty apartment where I’ll face another evening very much alone listening to Celine Dion. You may be saying to yourself, “why doesn’t she spend time with her Gran or her father or Arthur, Tessa, and the kids?”

  Simple really. I need to avoid my family since there is no way I’m going to fall apart in front of any of them, in spite of what Tessa said last week. I’ve set out to prove that a girl doesn’t have to dissolve into a blubbering mess every time she parts ways with a man. And with the exception of blabbing to Mrs. Chapman and Yvonne and, well, a few other staffers about the whole thing, I’m winning.

  If you call winning avoiding the people who love you most, which in this case, I do. Mostly.

  So, as you can tell, I’m doing really well, all told.

  Except for the empty nights alone. And the fact that now I not only have lingering feelings of missing Will, I also miss my family. And there are moments—fleeting as they may be—that I wish I could go back and change everything. Like right now. I’ve just finished eating a very dull meal of broiled chicken, Waldorf salad, and grilled asparagus while I scrolled through my Pinterest feed on my mobile.

  Now, I’m left tapping my fingers on my table while I stare around. Maybe it’s bedtime. Let’s see…nope. It’s only twenty to eight. A bit early for that. Last night I went to bed at seven and it was awful because that meant listening to the clock tick for over four hours before sleep finally came.

  You know what? Tonight I’m going to trust myself and go see Tessa and Arthur. It’s Thursday evening and I need something to distract me from turning on the telly. Because if I don’t, I’m definitely going to polish off a bottle of wine while I watch Princess in the Wild, which would lead to uncontrollable sobbing and puffy eyes tomorrow. No thank you.

  I walk to my bedroom and change out of my suit and into my cosiest pair of sweats, glancing out of the window to see the moon low in the sky. I feel a pang in my chest, thinking of
all the nights we lay out on the deck of the yacht, laughing and talking and just generally being deliriously happy. Oh, shut up, brain!

  Five minutes later, I find myself knocking on Arthur and Tessa’s door. It swings open a moment later, and my brother stands before me in jeans and a T-shirt, clearly settled in for the evening. “Arabella! I was wondering how long you were going to continue pretending you’re fine.”

  He steps aside to let me in, and there’s something about the smirk on his face that causes me to stiffen up.

  “I am fine,” I say. “I’ve just been very busy.”

  “Very busy telling everyone and their uncles’ dogs about your breakup?”

  My face turns red and I walk directly to the bar to pour myself a gin and tonic. “I’ve done no such thing,” I lie. “Why? What have you heard?”

  “I hear everything,” he says, following me into the living room, picking up scattered toys and loading up his arms. “Apparently, you’ve been polling the staff for their opinion on whether you should’ve dumped his arse or not.”

  “Not polling,” I say. “More like, seeking out new perspectives.”

  “Sure you were,” Arthur snorts as he drops the toys into a large wooden box, then he starts collecting some board books and stuffed animals. I watch him in this very simple domestic act, then glance around, realizing that this is what a happy home looks like—two people who love each other in spite of their differences and work together to give each other and their children the best life possible. My nose tickles with emotion, and I draw a deep breath to stuff those pesky feelings back down where they belong.

  “But seriously, Arabella,” Arthur says, “How are you? For real?”

  “Great. Honestly. I was a little upset at first, but overall, I’m very happy with my decision.” I take a quick swig of gin to help swallow my lie. “Yes, quite pleased indeed. We were utterly wrong for each other. As much as I hate to admit you were right about something, you may have been right about us.”