by Lexi Whitlow
He walks me out into the night, and I can feel that the temperature has dropped. Stars are coming up on the horizon, and the moon casts an eerie glow over everything.
“Matthias, we need to talk.”
He looks at me and nods, and we walk back to the hotel.
Chapter Eleven
Matthias
“I shouldn’t have left my phone there. I don’t want you to be concerned with any of this, Mallory.” Her eyes are wide. It’s not concern I see when I look into them. It’s fear—and I think that fear revolves around me. With another girl, it might not matter that much. I’d send her on her way and tell her we had a fine time, but I need to deal with my family now. Goodbye. As simple as that.
“I didn’t mean—I didn’t want to look at it. The message that came through—”
I scrolled back through the messages to see what my mother sent, and this time, my father too. One message after the next, outlining the plan they have in place. They’ll relieve me of my marital duties if I only come home, marry this girl, and consent to get her pregnant as soon as possible. Then I can be an absentee prince until my father draws his last breath. It would be acceptable if it weren’t for the last part—ruling the kingdom isn’t in my plans, and it never will be. The marriage part would perhaps be acceptable, yes. Disgusting—certainly. Morally reprehensible—perhaps. After all, there’s another person involved—whatever girl with royal blood they forced this same idea on. She’s there too. She’s, in fact, an essential part of the plan.
I shake my head. “It’s not what it seems.”
“Do you have some pregnant wife in another country?” Her eyes grow even wider when she says this.
I laugh, but the sound is dark when it comes out of my mouth. That’s what my mother is planning for me, yes. A princess, locked in a tower. Almost too cliché for words. “No, I don’t. I’m not married.” I stop for a second and think of what to tell her. I settle on a half-truth, one that keeps her next to me until she leaves. “My parents come from a powerful family. They’re a little—old school. Is that what the American expression is?”
She gives me a half smile and nods. “I guess so.”
“They want me to come home and enter an arranged marriage. Some girl they picked who agreed to it because of the money our family has. The buildings and corporations they own, that sort of thing. It’s not hard to find someone like that. This is just the most recent one they’ve found. The most recent time they’ve done this—exactly this.”
“And that’s not something you want?”
“No. It’s not.”
Her face is pale and thoughtful. “You don’t want to be married. That’s not you.”
It hasn’t been. Not the way they want me to do it, if at all. “No, not really.”
“It’s trips and dinners and buying expensive things—that’s you?” She cocks her head to the side. It’s an odd question, really. With an odd answer.
“No, that’s not me either. I’m usually alone. And I don’t often see the same women. I keep my body clean, my life clean, my travels clean. And I’m not often with any one person.”
The look in her eyes tells me exactly what she thinks of what I’ve just said. I should have learned by now that any woman—no matter how short a time she’s in a man’s life—wants to hear that she doesn’t fit the mold. That she’s not the same. That if circumstances were different, I’d never leave her.
That she’s special.
And isn’t she? Mallory is. I sit there in our quiet hotel room, as sure of this as I ever have been of anything. I’d be deluding myself to say that she’s not in the least bit different from all the other women I’ve met and kissed and taken to my bed over the years I’ve lived out of my parents’ palace.
I took her here, didn’t I? I unwittingly involved her in a part of my life that’s turning out to be something of a mess. For a moment, I feel disgusted. I know how my mother and father are—and if they knew that the distraction that brought me to Brussels was a woman, they’d do anything to take her away from me. To punish me, to make a point.
Have her arrested, taken, or worse.
“I know that,” she says after a long pause. “And it seems like I’ve stepped into the middle of something you need to deal with alone.”
“These things can wait, at least for a few days.”
“We’re safe?”
“Safe and sound. I might move us to a different part of the city so I don’t have to talk to my family. But trust me, this can be dealt with when I get home.”
She nods. “To Amsterdam. That’s your home, isn’t it?”
“Such as it is. I grew up somewhere else.” I stop myself before telling her exactly where. Matthias is a common enough name in this part of Western Europe, but there are rumors and stories about the prince who left the North Islands nine years ago and hasn’t been home but once. His name is Matthias, too. And I don’t want her making those connections. Somehow, it doesn’t feel right for her to know. Not right now. Not ever, since she’s leaving so soon.
“And we’ll stay here for three more days, and I’ll leave from Amsterdam. Just like we planned.” Her voice is soft and small, and I want to do something to assure her that doesn’t have to be the plan. She could come with me to Asia, or we could go back to America and travel, keeping on like this for as long as we wanted. The thought is more than appealing—it sparks something inside of me that I’ve never felt. An opening in my chest, a piece of me lighting up that didn’t exist before.
But I’m a reasonable man, and a practical one. I need to face my family, get out of the marriage, and leave Mallory to her studies. That’s her dream, and running from a man’s insane family isn’t part of what she wants.
“Yes. To remain on the safe side, we might leave from here. I can take you as far as Paris, and you can go where you choose from there. Paris—or is it Rome?”
She takes out her phone and checks her email, looking through what might be letters from different places. I don’t lean over to check what she’s looking at. It’s not my style, even though there’s a piece—a large piece if I’m being honest—that wants to know.
“I haven’t decided,” she says, clicking off her phone and tossing it on the bed. “I’m leaning towards Rome. And there’s one place in Florence too. Another in Gibraltar.”
“You must be very talented. So many choices. I have to say I’m jealous.”
“Why would you be?” She kicks back on the bed, and I watch her take a deep breath. She’s trying to relax her body. And I sit back, attempting to do the same. “You drop handfuls of money everywhere we go, like it’s nothing. Women come out of the woodwork at every restaurant and pub, at every store. Have you slept with them all?” I open my mouth, but she puts up her hand. “I wouldn’t blame you. You should. That’s your style. I’m better off in one place, doing one thing. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ll get married either. I hope you sort it all out, the thing with your family.”
She doesn’t comment on how it’s strange, a man tangled up with arranged weddings and the promise to make an heir in 2016. She just lies back, hands behind her head, and she closes her eyes. I go to her, lying next to her in bed for a while and kicking off my shoes. I have half a mind to rip her pink dress away and lose myself in her body, but exhaustion sweeps over me. There’s plenty of time left for that sort of thing, and for now, I just lie next to her, my hand on top of hers until we’re both sleeping.
When we wake in the morning, she’s still wearing the dress. She climbs on top of me and pulls it off, shushing me when I begin to speak. Instead of talking, she unbuckles me and slips my length inside of her as she undoes the buttons of my shirt and places her hands against my chest. She looks down at me, eyes rolling back in her head as she comes, shaking against my cock. When she tightens against me, I come inside of her, fingers gripping hard against her waist until they leave bruises.
The marks are temporary, but for now, the bruises make her mine. That t
ype of tattoo will fade with time, and she’ll forget who I am.
I enjoy it now, because it’s what we have.
Chapter Twelve
Matthias
Things don’t change after that—not as much as they should. Our time in Brussels is filled with walking through galleries and museums, going to restaurants at night, and Matthias, pushing me further than I’ve ever been before, physically and emotionally. I keep my mouth shut when I think about my desire for him—a want that might extend past this trip. This isn’t how I had thought my trip in Europe would end.
Feelings fade with time, I tell myself. I can remember this, but that doesn’t mean I take Matthias with me. Only in memory.
On the last day in Brussels, I wake before Matthias in the apartment he rented. It’s in a different section of the city than the hotel, and that alone reminds me that I’m with a man who has his own demons to face. I’m a distraction. He might never use that word, but I have no illusions—he’ll forget me when I’m gone.
I watch him as he sleeps, naked, next to me. My body tightens with the now ever-present need I feel when I’m near him.
Down girl. You’ll need to retrain yourself. Matthias isn’t coming with you, and no matter what he says, he won’t be visiting you again.
Instead of looking at him longer, I break myself away and pick up my phone, scrolling through the letters I’ve received from fashion design schools all over Europe. There’s one email from an old acquaintance of mine, Emilie. I click it open, and she asks if I’ll be at Studio Berçot in the fall. If so, she’d like to rent an apartment together. She has a place she knows in Paris, and that’s somewhere I go.
Will I be? It’s one of the things I’ve been stalling on all summer. It was a decision I’d been looking forward to for the past four years, and now none of it seems to matter.
Paris. It’s beautiful this time of year. It’s beautiful all year—and Studio Berçot has a reputation that equals or surpasses any of the other schools. I’d planned to spend this week researching and writing to professors, making a final decision with care. Lying next to Matthias, it seems that Studio Berçot is as good a place as any.
I get up and send an email from my laptop to the Studio, notifying them that I accept. It’s up to the wire for every school I’ve been accepted to—and this is the last day for the Studio. After that, I email Emilie. It’s better to have a place to live than not—and it saves me the trouble when I know I’ll be focusing on getting Matthias out of my mind.
I make a note on my calendar to renew my birth control when I get to my new home. There’s enough that’s complicated right now—I don’t need another thing I never planned.
The thought wrenches my gut for some reason. I look back to Matthias, and he stirs in his sleep, turning to me and opening his eyes. “You’re naked and typing away at your computer. It’s a vision I like to wake up to.” He makes his fingers into a square and pretends to take a picture of me.
I smile and close my laptop. Everything is sent. My tickets to Paris are bought and finalized, and I won’t need to make any plans from there. Things are settled, save for the man looking at me. “Unfortunately, this is the last day.”
“It doesn’t have to be. You gave me your number, remember? After I deal with my family and tell them to fuck off once and for all, I can come to you. You said yesterday you were thinking of Rome?”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. My heart drops. I’ve imagined it, of course. He could come to me, and we’d repeat these days again. But even as he says it, I know it’s not a reality—or even a promise.
“Still not quite decided,” I say. “But maybe somewhere around there. I’m making sure to get to Paris first. There are schools there, and I need to—I need to look at them.”
I stumble over my words, but Matthias doesn’t seem to notice. He reaches his hand toward me, beckoning me back to the bed. I fall in with him, and his hands travel over me, his lips meeting one breast and then the other, until the soaring exhilaration of being in his arms takes over, and I no longer feel the heavy guilt of lying to him. I kept my truth for myself, and it makes no difference. There won’t be a call. Maybe a few text messages, a sentence or two to tease me and distract me from my studies.
“Mal,” he moans as his lips travel the length of my body and down my thigh. “You smell so sweet. Not as sweet as you taste.” Before his lips journey to my sex, he looks up at me, his brows slightly furrowed. He spreads my legs apart with exquisite, purposeful slowness. “I’ll just look forward to having this again.”
I don’t respond, but I watch him as he lowers his mouth between my legs. I should tell him. That I want this, too. It would be normal—to share with him that his lips meeting my flesh is everything I never knew I wanted. He’s taken me, made me into a different person.
I’m grateful for it, I think, as he pulls my clit into his mouth and sucks it gently, tongue swirling over its tip. Arching my hips to meet him, bringing my hands to my breasts, I whimper and sigh, letting the growing wave wash over me. Just as I’m about to come, he moves lower, pressing his tongue inside of me before moving to my clit again. The tide sinks and rises to a higher crest, my core growing tight as he brings me to the edge and backs away again. When I come, his tongue is flicking over me with attention to my every movement, my every desire. My hips move against his face, and I cry out his name. In that moment, I almost tell him I love him, but I feel like I hallucinated the words, like they couldn’t possibly be real.
I was just testing them out, deep in my head.
For a moment, when he pulls away, I wonder if I accidentally said them, or if he could somehow hear what I was thinking. Instead, he smiles and kisses me, and I taste myself on his lips. He cups one breast and then the other as his tongue meets mine, and I want him inside of me again. I find myself throwing one leg over his torso, begging in his ear for him to take me again, to fill me.
But he shakes his head. “On the train. Like you promised. I’ll have you once and then again. And I don’t care who sees us.”
The thought, heady and hot, stays with me as I allow Matthias to dress me. He selects the short skirt he bought for me, and he refuses to let me put on panties or even the bra we bought at the shop in Brussels. I’m bare beneath the silky blue shirt he selects, my nipples growing stiff as we walk out into the cool morning air with our bags.
He gives me a look and brings one hand to my neck, letting his fingers roam over my skin. “I could fuck you right here if I wanted to,” he whispers. “And you’d let me. That’s how much you’ve changed, my innocent little American girl. So far from home.”
His hand falls to my waist and then wanders over my hip, stopping at the short hem of my skirt. I grow wet again under his touch, but I don’t feel shame. Instead, I lean forward and kiss him again, pressing into him and taking pleasure at the feeling of his cock growing hard against my thigh. “Take me to the train. You can have me there.” I look up into his eyes. “Promise me you will.”
“My pleasure, princess. I’ll fuck you senseless.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the station. A few eyes linger on my breasts, and Matthias puts his arm around my waist possessively.
We walk onto the train and into our semi-private car, hoping that no one else comes by.
Chapter Thirteen
Matthias
She sits down next to me, the beautiful girl I met in Amsterdam. Instead of days, it feels like weeks ago now. Maybe months. I’ve never been with a woman more compatible with me, her body responsive to every touch, her round, pink cheeks and distant, deep-set eyes betraying every emotion. There’s more to us than just this week. It’s become clear to me, as it is to her. She won’t say it, but I can read what she’s feeling when she looks at me.
I’ll come and find her when she’s in school, convince her that I mean what I say. She doubts me now, but I’m a man who’s true to my promises. I’ve just never made a promise to a woman before—and that’s because I’ve n
ever met a woman quite like her before.
“My trip is almost over. Or I guess it is, for real now. I’ll be in school this time next week.” She doesn’t say that she won’t see me again. She’s made it clear enough that she thinks I won’t deliver, that I’ll forget everything about her.
‘There’s another one around the corner.”
“Another one—another one of what?”
“Another time to see you, lieverd. You’ll tell me when you decide, send me an address when you find one. I’ll step down from my family—”
“What do you mean, ‘step down’?” She looks at me skeptically, as she should. Yet another slip-up. I’m running out of reasons to keep the truth from her, but it seems now that she might not want me the same way if she knew. My medieval family, trying to force me to do something that will take me away from my life forever.
And now, perhaps, I want Mallory to be part of that life.
If she ever knew. If they ever knew. She could well be in danger.
The train begins to reach full speed, and I put my arm tighter around her. I’d die if they did something to her. When I return, I think, I’ll find a way to tell her. And I’ll find a way to keep her safe, her identity hidden. Maybe if I abdicate once and for all—if they let me—they won’t even care.
“It’s just an expression. What I mean is I can’t do what they want, and I won’t.”
“Get married? Have a family?” She looks to the window as she speaks, her voice fading as the rush of the train surrounds us.
“I’d do that with the right person. Somewhere down the line.”
She doesn’t respond, leaning her head against my shoulder as we pass through green hillsides. “You owe me for my train ticket from Amsterdam. This wasn’t the plan.” She turns to me and gives me a half-smile.
“I’ll pay you back when I see you again.”
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”
“What? That I’ll pay you back? I will.”
She moves so that she’s on my lap, her legs spread across mine. I groan slightly. The edge of her thigh presses against my cock, and it’s all I can do to think or say any words. I’m growing hard.