by Susan Stoker
“This place is gorgeous,” I whisper. “I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave.”
“Stockholm syndrome,” he says with a completely straight face.
I’d elbow him in the ribs, but I don’t want to get beheaded for assaulting a prince. Theo and I spent all night researching as much as we can about royal protocol. We only got through several centuries worth, but I’m confident we can get through this royal audience without a major gaffe, like starting a war.
I hope.
The guide leaves us in a room with vaulted ceilings and polished parquet floors.
“Nervous?” I whisper.
He answers with a huff that could be ‘yes’ or ‘no.’
“You’ll be fine. You look so handsome.” And he does.
The doors open. We both turn as an entourage enters, led by a steely-haired woman with dark eyes.
“Grandmother,” he bows.
“Theodore,” she says in perfect English, with a slight British accent, and offers her cheek. He kisses it lightly. There’s no hug or warm greetings, but it’s okay. It’s a start.
Theo steps aside and draws me forward. “Allow me to present my media specialist and the smartest woman I know. Vesper Smith, my girlfriend.”
The queen raises an eyebrow, looking like her grandson, except for a poker face that would make Miss Mavery proud.
“How do you do,” I curtsey to the queen.
Her eyes narrow.
This is it. The next words out of her mouth will either accept me or make it clear I’m not welcome.
Theo’s hand tightens around mine. I’m not going to let you go, he told me. Nothing matters, as long as we’re together.
“So this is the woman who brought my grandson back to me.”
“Yes, grandmother. I wouldn’t be here without Vesper. She convinced me we should meet and have a relationship. I’d like to try.”
“It has been too long. Far too long, and entirely my fault. When your mother left, I listened to my advisors. They told me to cut her off, to retain the respect of the realm. I did so, and it was a balm for my hurt pride.” Her voice drops. “What I wouldn’t give to go back and do it differently.”
“Grandmother,” Theo says in a gentle tone he’d started to use more and more.
“There’s nothing for it. We must make amends while we can. Life is very short. You look so much like your mother.” Theo takes the queen’s hand and squeezes it. Are there tears glittering in the monarch’s eyes?
The queen clears her throat, becoming imposingly regal once more, but Theo keeps his tender expression.
“As for swaying public opinion, maybe your girlfriend will have some ideas about that.”
“I’m sure she does,” Theo says. “She’s brilliant.”
Queen and prince turn to me, with matching smiles.
Ms. Mavery, if you could see me now.
Epilogue
Two years later…
“We’re going to be late,” I say, breathless.
“I don’t care. I never did stand on ceremony.” Theo grips my hand tighter.
We rush past the paintings of solemn Swedish kings. After two years of regular visits to the palace, I can name almost all of them now.
“In here.” Theo pulls me into an alcove. Gold leaf glitters in the wallpaper, but it’s pretty modestly decorated overall. At least there aren’t nymphs romping. Not that there need be. Theo has made it his life’s mission to chase me down each and every hall after hours and have his way with me. I still get a thrill whenever I see an original Klimt hanging in the Gold room. Theo did things to me under the famous painting that would make a porn star blush.
My dress twitches up. I whirl and smack his hand. “Not now. There are people around. Tourists!”
“Not today. They cleared the place out for the wedding. I’ve always wanted to do you here.”
He kisses me, and I forget why I was arguing. While he distracts me with lips and tongue, he backs me against a divan.
“Right here,” he growls, ripping off his tie. He turns me around and ties my hands behind my back. Heat bursts between my legs.
“Bend over.” He tips me forward over the couch arm and tosses up the skirts of my dress.
“Fuck, is this for me?” He plays with the straps of my garter belt.
“No, it’s for Anderson Cooper.”
SMACK! His hand lands on my ass.
“Bad, bad girl. Pandering to the press again.”
“You know it.” I wriggle my bottom at him.
He teases me with the tip of his cock until I’m begging for it.
“You want this?”
“Mmm, yes.”
“You sure? You gonna be a bad girl?”
“I’m your bad girl. But if you don’t fuck me soon, we really are going to be late.”
He spanks me a few more times, then thrusts inside.
Afterwards, I stand in front of a giant, gold framed mirror and fuss with my hair. With my golden braid and blue dress, I look like an ice princess.
We asked for a small wedding. Small turns out to be four hundred people, with another few thousand in attendance in the streets, waiting to see us. I scandalized everyone when I refused to wear white, but the queen backed down her disapproval when Theo threatened to show up shirtless.
We’re not a typical royal couple, and I like it that way.
Theo stands beside me, straightening his tie. “I checked the news before I came,” he says. “You’re more popular than I am.”
“Don’t you forget it.” I swat his arm.
“Careful, Mrs. Kensington,” he says.
“You can’t call me that,” I protest. “Not yet. First you have to marry me.”
“I’ll call you whatever I want.” He grips my bottom, hard and kisses me.
“You’re looking quite handsome today, Prince Theo.”
“And you look like a goddess.”
“Maybe you need glasses.”
“Maybe.” He grins. We both know his corrective eye surgery went off without a hitch a year ago. “But I don’t need to see to know how beautiful you are.”
I flush.
He offers his arm. “Come on. Let’s make you a princess.”
~The End~
About Lee Savino
Lee Savino has plans to take over the world, but most days can’t find her keys or her phone, so she just stays home and writes smexy (smart + sexy) romance. She loves chocolate, lives in yoga pants, and looks great in hats.
For tons of crazy fun, join her Goddess Group on Facebook or visit www.leesavino.com to sign up for her mailing list and get a free book.
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Mafia Princess by Natasha Knight
A Note from Natasha:
Mafia Princess is the short story of Gregorio Santa Maria, one of the Benedetti cousins, as mentioned in Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance. Mafia Princess is told entirely in Gregorio’s point of view. His brother, Giovanni Santa Maria, Boss of the Santa Maria family, will have his own story to tell soon. I hope you enjoy this glimpse into their lives.
Chapter One
I’m not a goddamned babysitter. Yet, that’s exactly what I feel like when the SUV comes to a stop in the parking lot of the old warehouse. Music vibrates the ground beneath my feet the moment I step out, adjusting the cuffs of my shirt.
“I’m too old for this shit,” I tell Enzo, my driver, bodyguard, and friend.
He chuckles, pocketing the keys and eyeing the two girls coming around the corner, both dressed minimally. The look they give us might be considered seductive if they weren’t so obviously drunk. Enzo gives them a grin. “Never too old for that shit there,” he says to me.
The second SUV pulls in beside us, and three more men step out. I don’t expect trouble, but I always come prepared. I don’t know if she’s got anyone tailing her, and if it’s a rival family, I don’t want to be caught short.
The three soldiers walk behind Enzo and me. We
get to the door where two men stand sentry. One gets off his stool with a look on his face that tells me he’s about to stop us, but his friend drops a hand on his shoulder, halting him, and whispers something. The first man clears his throat and steps back, nodding.
“Mr. Santa Maria,” one acknowledges in greeting.
“Evening, boys,” I say, taking a few bills out of my wallet and handing them to the one who recognized me. “Keep the drunks from puking on my SUV, will you?”
He takes it. “You got it, boss.”
Boss. Respect. It’s what my family has earned. It wasn’t always that way, but when my brother and I took over the Santa Maria family half a year ago; well, I guess you could say we made an impression.
With a nod, I enter, Enzo close behind me, the others splitting up to check the perimeter of the building. A deep base beats and my heart pounds in time to it. We stop and take in the scene. A fog machine breathes heavily onto the dance floor, and neon strobe lights in every color of the fucking rainbow illuminate the two-hundred or so sweaty bodies gyrating to techno music.
I take one turn around the spacious old warehouse with Enzo flanking me. We pass three bars along the way. It’s not hard to spot her. She stands out. And by the time I do, two of the three soldiers I brought have rejoined us.
“Let’s have some fun, boys,” I say, nodding to the bartender, pointing to what I want. She brings over four crystal shot glasses and the bottle of Casa Dragones. She pours, and I take mine, leaning my back against the bar. I swallow the tequila, my eyes locked on a still unsuspecting Allegra Antonino, who’s dancing with two men I don’t much like the look of. Who’ve got their fucking hands all over her.
Enzo knows me well. He gives the order, and two soldiers move into position to block any attempt she may make to run, although, from the look of her, she’s in no shape to run. Enzo and I drink another shot, and I straighten, crack my neck, and head toward the trio.
I join them, dancing, looking her over in her too little, too tight, white dress. I’m pretty sure her father wouldn’t approve. Hell, I wouldn’t let her leave the house in it if she were mine.
But she’s not mine. And it’s fucking disrespectful to her father, considering he’s been lying in a coma in a hospital bed for the last year and a half. Her half-brother, Arturo Antonino, took over for his old man. His family is still holding on to hope, I guess. Personally, if I became a vegetable, I’d hope my brother would have the sense to pull the plug.
She meets my gaze, and, still dancing, still with one man’s hands on her hips, lowering dangerously close to her ass, she rakes her gaze over me and bites her lip. I’m not sure she’s conscious of the move, but I don’t care. I like it.
She’s pretty. I knew she was from the photo Arturo sent. But she looks different in person. The obedient little private boarding school girl is gone. This version of Allegra is nothing like the picture. It’s not even just her looks. It’s the sultry air about her. The one that promises something hot. Hot and dirty.
And after seeing the photo, dirty wasn’t what I expected from this Mafia Princess.
I step closer, close enough that I put my hands on her waist, then lower to the swell of her hips. I drag her close. The two dancing with her don’t like this. In fact, they’re pissed. But I don’t give a fuck about them. My men will take care of them. I’m only interested in the girl right now. And since I’m tasked as the babysitter here, I decide I’m going to have a little fun with her.
Allegra runs her hands over my biceps before setting them on my shoulders, feeling the muscle there as she moves closer. I smile down at her. Last time I saw her, she’d been what…twelve? Thirteen? A kid. An awkward-looking kid, at that, with too-big eyes and a too-big mouth.
But she’s all grown up now. And everything is just right.
I cup her ass as the music changes, seeing if she’ll let me. She does and doesn’t at once, raising her arms in the air and swaying, turning her body around so that I catch her hips again. I think she’s looking for the two she was dancing with. I don’t know. All I know is she’s pressing her ass against me, and she’s rocking her hips, and it’s fucking making my dick hard.
But maybe she’s not as drunk as I thought because she stops dancing and cocks her head to the side. She’s spotted Enzo standing nearby. She glances back at me, then at him again.
Her body stiffens.
She knows.
When she tries to dance away, I tighten my grip and lean in to whisper at the back of her neck.
“Ready to go, sweetheart?” I ask.
She shakes her head, long chestnut hair tickles my nose as her hands close over mine and she shoves. Or tries to. “Get off me.” She might have screamed it, but it’s no louder than a whisper given the volume of the music pulsing off the walls.
I spin her around, and she really gets a look at me, blinking bright blue eyes fast, trying to clear the fuzz of too much liquor.
“Because I’m ready,” I say, continuing as if we’re having a casual conversation. As if we know each other and she didn’t just tell me to get off her.
She squints and places her hands flat on my chest. I’ve still got her in a tight grip. She can’t budge me, although she’s trying, and it’s kind of cute.
“I’m not leaving with you,” she says, suddenly sounding very sober, maybe realizing the danger of her situation. But she’s lucky I found her first. Before her family’s enemies did. Because she does have enemies. Her half-brother has made some mistakes. Mistakes that could cost her.
“Yes, you are.”
“You don’t know who I am,” she tries, and I practically have to drag her along.
“I know exactly who you are, Allegra.”
When I say her name, she stops. Her face drains of color. Panicked, she closes her hands over mine to try once again to free herself. “Let me go, or I’ll scream.”
“I prefer you don’t. It’s fucking noisy enough in here, and I’m getting a headache.” I shift my grip to one of her arms as I navigate us off the dance floor. That only makes her more nervous, and since we’re getting more attention than I want, I press her up against the wall, the only thing between us the tiny little purse she’s got strapped across her body. I lean into her, my face so close to hers it looks like we’re about to make out.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” I say in her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to say because her knee is suddenly colliding with my balls.
I let out a groan and double over, but I don’t let go. Enzo is immediately by my side, as are the others.
She looks at them in full panic now. I hold her against the wall by her shoulders as I bite back the pain.
“Boss?” Enzo’s reaching into his pocket.
“Not in here,” I say. I don’t want to carry an unconscious girl out of the club. That will draw attention I don’t need no matter how high or drunk everyone in this place is.
I give her one more chance, bringing my face so close our noses touch. “I told you I’m not going to hurt you. You’re in Santa Maria territory, and your brother asked me to pick you up.” She stops at the mention of her brother, but it doesn’t give her the reassurance I thought it would.
“Half-brother,” she clarifies.
Like I give a fuck. “Pardon me. Half-brother.”
I knew going in that she wouldn’t come willingly. Allegra Antonino ran away from home. I don’t know why, and I don’t care. I figure it’s to cut loose a little. Typical with girls like her. Spoiled, sheltered little daddy’s girls. But even as I think it, I get the feeling that’s not her. That’s not my problem, though. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I repeat once more. “But we are getting out of here. How we do that is up to you.”
“Get your hands off me. I told you, I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know you.”
“What do you want, a business card?”
“Fuck you.”
I shake
my head with an exhale. I already know how this is going to go. “All right then,” I say, nodding to Enzo who discreetly hands me the still capped syringe. I truly don’t have any intention of using it, but letting her see it gives me the desired result.
She shifts her gaze from the needle up to me. Her eyes go huge, and she tries once more to free herself.
“I can give you something to make this easier, but you’ll have the mother of all headaches in the morning so I’d rather not.”
“Just let me go! Please!”
I ignore her plea and pull the cap off with my teeth. She’s looking around for help. Help that won’t come.
“But if you need it to relax…” I say, letting my words trail off. I lean in closer and look her over from her pretty little face to the nipples of her tits pressing against her dress. My dick will get hard if I concentrate on those though, and she’s not for me, so that can’t happen. “Do you need it to relax, Allegra?” I ask, giving her one last chance.
I hear her swallow, even with all this noise. She shakes her head no, the pulse at her neck telling me her heart is going a hundred miles a minute.
“Good girl,” I say, recapping the syringe and tucking it into my shirt pocket. I turn her and take hold of her hand like she’s my girlfriend, intertwining my fingers with hers. We walk toward the exit. When the doors open, and we step outside, she shudders.
“I need my coat,” she says, looking up at me. “It’s inside.”
She’s pretty. Really fucking pretty. And she’d be prettier if she wasn’t wearing all that makeup, which combined with the dress, makes her look like a tramp.
“You’ll be fine. We’re just going over there,” I say, pointing to the SUV Enzo’s already driving toward us. I’m trying to keep her calm, at least, until I get her into it.
She shakes her head, resisting.
“I’ll buy you a new one.” I roll my eyes and wrap an arm around her waist to pull her close as the warehouse doors open, and a large group stumbles out. When she opens her mouth to scream or ask for help or whatever it is she thinks she’ll do, I close mine over hers, one hand cupping the back of her head.