by Miranda King
* * * *
The Prince and the Pop Star
Copyright © 2016 by Miranda King
Book Layout: JT Formatting
Cover Art: Angela Waters
Trademark and Logo Designs: Modern Web Studios
Rich and Royal Romance® is a Registered Trademark.
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016959459
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please use the contact listed on mirandaking.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
The author claims no affiliation with Harvard University. Although the author recognizes there are many types of educational techniques, the Wellborn Collaboration Technique is fictionalized and not intended to be based off of any real, legitimate technique.
All trademarks and registered trademarks are owned by their respective companies and denoted by proper capitalization of that company and/or brand. The author claims no connection nor ownership and no infringement is intended.
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
True Royalty Series
More to Come:
(In no particular order)
The Diamond Family of Maravista
Almost My Prince—Sass’ story
My Forbidden Prince—Sass’ Engagement
Second Chance Princess—Michael’s story
No Ordinary Princess—Divina’s story
The Thorton Family of Summerland
The Prince and I—Adam and Emma’s story
The King and I—Adam and Emma’s Engagement
The Prince and the Pop Star—Logan’s story
Runaway Princess—Poppy’s story
The Prince and I available now:
http://a.co/1JDF0Fr
Almost My Prince available now:
http://a.co/d8ln7cO
For more information about Miranda King or her books or for pictures of various fashions mentioned in her books, please visit:
http://mirandaking.com/
Twitter: @mirandaromance
Title Page
Author's Note
Chapter One: A Royal Promise
Chapter Two: The Chewbacca Compromise
Chapter Three: The Three-Day Rule
Chapter Four: Out the Window
Chapter Five: Talk to Me
Chapter Six: Seeing Red
Chapter Seven: Plan Bo
Chapter Eight: Man-Cues
Chapter Nine: The Han Solo Connection
Epilogue: Poppy and The Golden Globes
Author's Note
Just for Fun
A few years ago, I trademarked my tagline Rich and Royal Romance® because I envisioned stories that blend the best of contemporary and historical romance.
The True Royalty series promises all the glamour, the gowns, and the gossip of royal families living in modern-day Europe, not as we know it, but as it might have been…
“Pop Princess Eden Knight to Visit the Troops on the Frontline.
Will Prince Logan Be Among Them?”
– headline from The Summerland Tattler
“I want to spend another weekend alone with you, but please don’t tell Dante…”
– Pop Star Eden Knight’s email to Prince Logan
“The Path to Paradise Begins in Hell.”
– Dante’s The Divine Comedy: Inferno
The average guy is easy to figure out. He needs nothing more than a good woman who warms his bed at night, a brother who watches his back, and a ball game playing on a big screen TV—the bigger, the better.
But a prince, well, there’s nothing easy about him. A man like that needs to fulfill his destiny, carve out a legacy, earn his people’s respect—
Thwack! “Wake up, Prince Charming.”
—or catch some damn sleep without being disturbed.
HRH Captain Logan Thorton, known to the world as Prince Logan of Summerland, pops open his eyes just enough to confirm it’s only Dante.
“Shut your sunny-side ass up, Dante.” Logan shifts his sore muscles on the flat cushions underneath him and the pleather sofa whines like a new recruit after a 10K run.
“I’m the one who drove all night so your sorry butt could sleep.” Logan shoves his hand past the rolled up magazine and slugs Dante’s camouflaged pant leg. “Stop hovering and let me grab some zzz’s before the General comes in.” He closes his eyes again and flips to his front side. The brown couch is as about as comfortable against his 6’3” body as a concrete brick.
Nothing on this base swanks of the palatial accommodations back home, as if Summerland Palace was even “home.” How could it be when Grandfather cast him off before he was even ten years old? Sending him to a strict religious boarding school with an authoritarian headmaster, who taught him that he was probably going to Hell, right before kicking him out.
And where did Grandpa ship him off to after that? A hardcore military academy. That place was his own personal hell until Dante and Dante’s brother, Milton, took Logan under their wings and taught him the meaning of family.
But he still doesn’t grasp the full meaning of what it’s like to have a steady home.
Home. That’s a place stuffed with more pink flowers and foo-foo potpourri and fluffy pillows than a man like him could handle. That’s a place stockpiled with all that is good, clean, and soft. That’s a place stashed far from the frontlines, protected from the likes of him.
No, Logan’s home isn’t filled with pink frilly things. Home is anywhere his gun is.
He checks that his weapon is where he left it, an arm’s length away on a glass coffee table. No need to open his eyes. That gun is as much a part of him as his own arm. He runs his fingers over the rounded metal rims. The familiar curves never leave his side, even within the security of the General’s briefing room.
Only Dante and Logan wait for the General, but this room could fit a dozen men at the conference table and half-a-dozen more with an assortment of furniture clustered around the General’s war desk. Maps and whiteboards frame the walls marked with words of varying shape and size and color. Black words. Green words. Red words. They all mean something, but not to Logan.
The General is the organizer. Logan’s the executioner.
Inside this war room, the General does his briefings on new assignments—and reprimands those who screw up.
Logan doesn’t screw up, ever. Screw ups happen by following orders instead of instinct.
“The General will be here any minute.” Dante whacks him across the shoulder with the rolled up magazine. “Ge
t up. Look alive.” As if what the General thought of Logan mattered. As if the General actually outranked Logan outside these four walls. As if Logan even cared. “And I expect any minute we’ll see Eden.”
That opens both of Logan’s eyes. He glances at his watch, but he doesn’t need to. He squints against the low sun beaming through the blinds. A convoy of diesel engines haul-ass on the street outside the window. The routine marching of troops back toward their barracks confirms what he already knows.
“Damn, it’s later than troops to Benghazi.” He swings his booted feet to the floor, but he doesn’t stand. Instead, he flexes his fingers in-and-out of a fist and stretches the muscles in his arms and chest. “What’s up with not waking me sooner?”
“Not even you can suck wind for 36 hours straight without sleep.” Dante stands over Logan like an ever-diligent older brother—by 2 hours.
They were born on the same day. Logan to a king. Dante to a farmer. But the military has a way of cutting through the crap of aristocracy.
“The General’s gonna rake our asses across the tarmac when he comes in. I hear he turns into a real Darth Vader when people screw up.” Dante glances for a second towards the door, as if he half-expects to see the General or even Darth Vader in the door way.
“Relax, will ya?” Logan doesn’t even bother to look at the door. The General tends to run behind on meetings. “If he turned into a real Darth Vader, he’d be nothing more than James Earl Jones, the same guy who reads the Bible to us on that audiobook we take on road trips.” Although that actor did have an incredibly deep, menacing voice on Star Wars.
“Still, what are we gonna tell him?”
“That we did what we had to do.”
“We disobeyed a direct order.”
“History doesn’t remember the people who followed orders”—Logan looks Dante straight in the eyes—“only the people who did the right thing.”
“Hoo-ah!” Dante chants the familiar military HUA, shorthand for Heard-Acknowledged-Understood. He nods his head before adding, “Captain.”
Logan catches the hitch in that last word and cracks a crooked smile. Dante’s envy over Logan’s higher rank clings to Dante like a toddler’s dirty diaper. “Cut the captain crap between us.”
“Not today. O-oh, no.”—Dante shakes his head—“Dealing with the General is all you.”
“Pucker factor too much for you?” Logan’s crooked smile does an encore.
“Nope, it’s more about me letting you ‘embrace the suck.’”
“You’re such a cake eater.” Logan laughs. “Just watch my six. I’ll deal with the General.” Logan rubs the back of his stiff neck. “Before Eden gets here, I’ve gotta shower.” He then tracks his fingers across his 5 o’clock shadow. “And shave again.”
“Aww, hell no!” Dante’s tone turns tart like he’s stuck a sour-apple candy into his mouth. “Skip. The. Shave.”
“Why are you mad-doggin’ over a shave? It’s not like I haven’t shaved twice in one day before.”
“E-x-a-c-t-l-y.” Dante bobs his head up and down. “You shave your Pretty Boy face twice in one day for only one reason.” He points a finger at Logan with all the fire-and-brimstone conviction of a Sunday morning TV evangelist. “You’re after a woman.”
“You’re wrong.” Not a woman—a wife.
Dante lobs the magazine over Logan’s gun to land on the opposite side of the coffee table. Magazine pages uncurl to the reveal the cover model. “Oh, really? You’re not after this woman?”
The magazine boasts the “Sexiest Woman on Earth: Eden Knight.” For three years in a row, Eden has nabbed the coveted SWOE title. He doesn’t need to look down at the table to see her latest cover—every pixel of that picture is burned into his brain.
She wears a pale pink string bikini that matches the subtle pink highlights in the blonde hair framing her face, and she reclines that golden body on a silky white sandy beach with the soft blue sky reflecting in her striking eyes.
Dante taps his finger on a scuffed corner of the magazine. “I found this in your knapsack.”
Logan has carried that cover of Eden for at least a month. Dante was bound to find it sooner or later. They share everything. No secrets between them, except for one—Eden.
“You have something you want to say about this?” In a rhythm to each word Dante says, he taps his finger against the magazine sitting on the table.
The tap-tap-taps reverberate against Logan’s chest like a Morse Code SOS. Each tap dings against his heart. Nothing could bail him out of this. Damn, he should’ve told Dante sooner about Eden.
“Why are you carrying around this picture of Eden?” More finger tapping by Dante. He missed his calling as a Sunday morning TV evangelist, and definitely wasted a God-given talent for interrogation à la Tom Cruise style in A Few Good Men.
Could Dante handle the truth? Yeah, when Logan is ready for all hell to break loose.
How did all of this spiral out of control with Eden anyway? It was just a harmless flirtation.
A harmless flirtation that evolved into emails and phone calls from the frontline. A harmless flirtation that should’ve fizzled, but instead exploded into this big bang within his heart, evolving it from dust and ashes into one of flesh and blood. A harmless flirtation that evolved into lie after lie to his best friend, one that would kick him in the balls when he found out.
“You’re going too deep with this right now, Dante. It’s a magazine—you know, like the kind people read.” It’s all Logan can think to say, even though it’s about as helpful as prodding a snake.
“So you’re telling me you picked this up to read the articles?” Dante picks up the magazine and flips through it. “Because when did you start getting interested in”— he reads from a random page—“‘The Hottest Fashion Trends for Spring’?”
“Yeah, green is the new ‘it’ color.” Logan plucks at his khaki uniform. “Personally, I think we set the trend last time we were in Paris.” He bet Dante wouldn’t scan enough of the article to call his bluff.
Dante flicks a page and slits his eyes. “Then how about”—his lips curl the way Satan’s tail must do when he snatches a sinner—“‘How to Get the Beach-Perfect Bikini Wax’?”
“I skipped that one.” Logan shrugs. “I already feel beach ready. But feel free to rip those pages out.”
“Be serious.” Dante tosses the magazine back on the table. “Tell me you don’t have a thing for Eden.”
That Logan couldn’t do. Guilt ignites in his brain, as much as he fights it, like he’s ten all over again when Grandfather caught him with a joint in his hand. Not that he ever smoked the stuff, but it sure got Grandfather’s attention. Hard to do as a second son, a mere “spare” to the throne.
Logan sure-as-all-hell’s-fire now had Dante’s attention, and Logan couldn’t help but do what he does best—add more fuel to the fire.
Logan curves his mouth into the devil’s own smile. “What makes you think Eden doesn’t have a thing for me?”
“Does… does she?” The rawness of Dante’s words would tempt even the devil to do the right thing.
“All right, the truth.” Logan shrugs, ready to shed his guilt and accept long overdue punishment for deceiving his best friend. “Eden and I talk… every day. Sometimes when you and I aren’t on a mission, we talk half-dozen times—or more.”
“She doesn’t even talk to me that much.”
“And….” Logan draws in a deep breath. “We spent a weekend together.”
“You did what?” Dante’s body flash-freezes, as if Hell has finally frozen over from a Logan-induced climate change.
Dante rubs his jaw, like he’s warming it up to speak. “So all those times I saw you emailing, it wasn’t to work things out with your family, was it? It was you pursuing Eden? And that supposed weekend home wasn’t to see your sister, was it?”
“Let me explain.” Logan stands and steps over to him.
“Back. Off.” Dante clenches his fists together
and his arms shake. “I want to knock you out so badly, Logan. I swear if you come any closer to me, I’ll do it.”
Logan holds out a hand to him. “I didn’t plan any of this. It was never my intention in any of this to hurt you. You have to understand that.”
“Here’s what I understand: You slept with Eden behind my back.” His voice carries the betrayal that one-third of the Angels must’ve felt once they realized Satan had tricked them out of Paradise and kicked them straight into Hell.
All Logan can do is nod to the charges—Judgment Day was bound to come.
His life’s sins are too long to tally. What’s one more to the list? Nothing could be as bad as how his father died. That man was a saint, and he’d still be around if it wasn’t for Logan.
The guilt nearly destroyed Logan, especially when he was younger. He’d lost hope in finding redemption a long time ago, when he was ten and the headmaster at that religious school deemed him a hopeless case.
Yet Eden came along. She made Logan believe he could be a better man, made him want to be a better man, made him feel like a better man.
She may just be his redemption.
“How long has this been going on with Eden?” Dante’s words echo like the knocks of a gavel.
“Since we saw her backstage after her concert last year.” Logan speaks as if he were a penitent in a confessional stall.
“That long, and you didn’t tell me.” Dante lowers his head and shoots the palms of his hands up to his temples. “You blindsided me, Brother—if I can even call you that anymore.”
“You are my brother. Even more than the ones who share my blood.” Logan shifts on his feet. “You deserved to know sooner about Eden. Hell, it happened so fast. She asked me back to her hotel room and I struggled with it before I said yes and—”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear the details.” Dante drops his hands to his sides and clenches his fists. “I’m not Oprah or Dr. Phil or even your damn friend right now.” He steps further back from Logan.