Royal Mess

by Jenna Sutton

  Bile burns the back of my throat. “Could you be more specific?”

  “I’m the reason paparazzi are camped out in front of your apartment building.” He sighs. “Your life is in complete disarray because of me.”

  I stare at him, unable to believe what I’m hearing. “You can’t be serious. You are the reason I’m alive.” I angle my body toward him. “I have a life because of you. It might not be perfect right now, but I have one ... because of you.”

  I place my hand on top of his, where it’s resting on his thigh. “If not for you, I would be dead, Leo.”

  He turns his hand over so our palms align. “I can’t bear to think about that.”

  “You saved me, and I’m so grateful to you.” I stare into his dark eyes. “I’ve said this before: I’ll never be able to repay you for what you did for me.”

  His mouth tightens, and he slips his hand out from under mine. “I don’t—”

  Roche’s voice cuts him off. “Sir?”

  Leo takes a deep breath. I can tell he’s irritated by the interruption. When he closes his eyes, I get the feeling that he’s counting to ten.

  Finally, he says, “What is it, Roche?”

  “Shall I phone ahead and request that a suite be prepared for Miss Lulach?”

  “Yes.” Leo opens his eyes. “I want her in the Theia suite.”

  “I’ll take care of it, sir,” Roche replies.

  I wonder why Leo wants me in that particular suite. Before I can ask, he says, “Are you familiar with Greek mythology?”

  Baffled by the non sequitur, I reply, “Somewhat.”

  “The suites at Helios get their names from Greek mythology. Helios was the titan who drove the chariot of the sun across the sky each day. Theia was his mother.”

  I nod in understanding. “And what about your suite? What is it called?”

  “Only the guest suites have formal names. We recently refurbished the Theia suite. I think you’ll be quite comfortable there.”

  “Is it close to yours?”

  The question slips past my lips before I can catch it, and an embarrassed flush climbs from my chest to my cheeks.

  “Yes.”

  He directs his gaze toward the window, and I hear him whisper under his breath: Too close.

  LEO AND I GET BACK to Helios just after eight o’clock, and he takes me directly to the Theia suite. He wasn’t lying when he said it was close to his—it’s right across the hall.

  After giving me a brief tour, he shows me how to call the kitchen to request a dinner tray and tells me he’ll see me later, after he takes care of “several important tasks.” He leaves me standing in the middle of the living area, which is bigger than my entire two-bedroom apartment in Albee.

  The Theia suite is decorated in shades of gold, from the palest straw to the deepest amber. The wood floors are stained a honeyed hue and scattered with area rugs, all of which I’m sure are priceless heirlooms.

  Everything is lovely and inviting, yet I don’t feel entirely comfortable here. It’s too perfect, and I don’t have any belongings with me, not even a toothbrush or a change of clothing.

  I decide to deal with that inconvenience later. So much happened today it’s hard to take it all in, and saying I’m exhausted is a definite understatement.

  I consider calling down for dinner but choose to indulge in a soak in the massive bathtub first. I’m sticky and sore from my activities in the maze and the limo.

  I cross the living area and enter the bedroom, which boasts the largest, tallest bed I’ve ever seen. It’s piled high with pillows and a silky-looking duvet the color of gold bullion. I’m relieved to see a step stool at the base of the bed because I don’t think I could get on it without a running jump and maybe a handspring too.

  The en-suite bathroom is fit for royalty, which makes sense, given who lives here. When Leo showed it to me earlier, I had to swallow my gasp of awe.

  The walk-in shower is impressive, tiled with gold-veined white marble, but the sunken tub receives all my adoration. Created from the same marble, it could easily fit four people. Tonight, though, it’s a party of one.

  I do a little exploring and find several fluffy white towels, an equally fluffy white robe, and a bottle of bubble bath. What more could a girl ask for?

  A few minutes later, I’m neck deep in pear-scented bubbles. The hot water is doing its job, soothing my aching muscles and the tender flesh between my legs.

  I lean my head back against the rim of the tub and study the mural on the ceiling. It depicts a guy in a white toga with a sun-like halo around his head. He’s driving a gold chariot pulled by four winged horses.

  As I stare at the sun-gold Helios—I assume that’s who he is—I admit that I’m purposely distracting myself so I don’t think about Leo. I need to add “Have sex with a member of Alsania’s royal family” to my list of things I never expected to do but somehow ended up doing.

  The list is getting longer by the day. It includes things such as: “Have an allergic reaction to antibiotics” and “Undergo transplant surgery.” I should probably add “Be stalked by the paparazzi.”

  My life as I know it—my life as a nobody—is over. I will no longer be able to live a life of anonymity, but if that’s the price I have to pay to live ... to have a life ... I will pay it willingly.

  From now until the end of time, I’ll be known as the woman who got a piece of Prince Leo of Alsania’s liver. It will be the first thing that pops up when someone types my name into a search engine. My name will forever be connected to his.

  For me, my connection to Leo goes beyond names and essential organs. Even before the surgery, I felt an inexplicable connection to him.

  Would I have felt that way about him if we’d met under normal circumstances? Maybe. I really don’t know.

  The question is pointless though. Leo and I didn’t meet under normal circumstances like a charity auction, a museum exhibit, or a gourmet food festival. We met in a hospital. It wasn’t a “meet cute” like the ones you see in the movies. It was a “meet during liver failure,” which is decidedly not cute.

  My bath water is lukewarm now, and most of the bubbles have disappeared, leaving behind just a bit of foam. I narrow my eyes until I can see the small clock on the vanity. Realizing I’ve been in the tub for nearly two hours, I reluctantly step out and head to the shower to rinse off.

  After washing my hair, I dry off with one of the soft towels and comb my fingers through my hair. It’s going to be wild and frizzy without any product to control the curls.

  As I shrug on the oversized robe, I abruptly realize that I don’t have my antirejection medications with me. My chest tightens with a toxic mix of fear and anxiety. Missing a dose could cause serious problems with my transplant.

  I rush out of the bathroom and hurry into the living area, where I left my phone. I scoop it up, ready to call someone ... but who, exactly?

  No pharmacies are open this time of night. Even if they were, the average pharmacy doesn’t stock all my medication.

  My parents and Cassie have keys to my apartment, but it’s surrounded by paparazzi that would likely recognize them. They would have to push their way through the crowd and then drive all the way out to Helios. I really don’t want to impose on them like that, even though I know they’d be happy to do it.

  The only other solution is to ask Leo to send a member of his staff to my place. That’s probably the best course of action.

  It seems silly to send him a text when I could just walk across the hall and talk to him in person, but I’m wearing a robe and nothing else. Just as I start typing out a message, I hear a knock on the door.

  I hurry over to it. “Who is it?” I demand suspiciously.

  I asked out of habit, and now I feel ridiculous. I’m in the royal residence, probably the safest place in the entire country.

  Through the solid wooden door, I hear Leo’s muffled voice. “It’s just me, Tessa.”

  I smile a little, thinking of
the heir to Alsania’s throne describing himself as just me. There’s nothing just about Leo.

  I start to unlock the door but hesitate when I remember what I’m wearing ... or not wearing, rather. Then I shake my head in exasperation. He’s seen me at my worst—dressed in a hospital gown with greasy hair and jaundiced skin. Not to mention the fact that we had loud, mind-blowing sex earlier today.

  It’s a little too late for propriety, Tessa.

  I fling open the door. “Hi, Leo. What brings you by?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Leo

  Tessa is standing in the doorway to her suite wearing a white robe that’s far too large for her petite frame. Above the knotted belt, the panels of the robe gape, revealing the creamy skin of her cleavage and the inner curves of her breasts.

  Aware that I’m ogling her like a kid in a candy shop, I jerk my eyes up. She obviously just got out of the shower. A mass of wet curls frames her makeup-free face.

  “May I come in?” I ask. “I need to discuss a few things with you.”

  “Of course.”

  I close the door behind me and follow her into the living area. Glancing around, I see no sign of a dinner tray.

  “Have you eaten?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I decided to take a bubble bath instead.”

  An image suddenly pops into my head: Tessa in the bath with bubbles clinging to her peachy-pink nipples. I force myself to focus on what really matters—her well-being.

  “You need to eat something, Tessa.” I move to the phone and pick up the receiver. “What do you want?”

  Her eyes narrow. “You’re very dictatorial.”

  “So I’ve been told. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it before.” I wave the receiver. “What do you want to eat?”

  “I’m not in the mood for anything in particular.”

  Somehow I manage to swallow my growl of exasperation. While I’m on the phone with the kitchen, ordering a selection of sandwiches, crudités, and fruit salad, Tessa sits down on the sofa. I watch as she crisscrosses her legs and tucks the excess material of the robe between them. I suspect she’s not wearing any panties.

  I replace the receiver in the cradle and walk over to Tessa. I have a mental list of things I need to discuss with her, and I’m not sure which one I should start with.

  After leaving her in the Theia suite, I spent an hour and a half in my office and managed to check off the most critical items on my to-do list. I grabbed a sandwich and a quick shower before coming to see her.

  She sweeps her gaze over me, from head to toes and back again. “I’ve never seen you dressed so casually,” she says. “Except in the hospital.”

  I glance down at my black T-shirt, matching lounge pants, and leather slip-ons. I was so distracted earlier, anticipating this conversation, I pulled clothes from drawers without thought.

  “Is this a formal occasion?” I ask wryly. “Should I have worn a tuxedo?”

  She laughs softly. “I have no room to talk—I’m wearing a robe.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” I sit down in the armchair closest to her. “I think I’ve come up with a plan that will allow you to fill the orders you mentioned. Actually, I have a Plan A and a Plan B.”

  Her lips twitch, and I can tell she’s trying not to smile. “Of course you do.”

  “Plan A involves you creating the bouquets here at Helios. We can ship in the flowers and supplies you need to put them together.”

  A wide smile curves her mouth. “That’s perfect.” She tilts her head. “What’s Plan B?”

  “Farming out the work to another florist, probably the one our staff uses for special events.”

  She shakes her head emphatically. “I prefer Plan A.”

  “I thought you would. That’s why it’s Plan A.” I take a deep breath and meet her eyes. “Earlier today ... in the limo ... we didn’t use a condom.”

  Pink surges into her cheeks. “I know. We were irresponsible and reckless and—”

  “Stupid.”

  She flinches a little. “Yes. That too.”

  “I haven’t had sex since the surgery. Have you?”

  “No.”

  Unsurprised by her answer, I say, “So we’re both clean.” I scoot forward until I’m perched on the edge of the chair. “What about birth control? Are you using any?”

  Her eyes dart away from mine, and I know the answer to my question before she opens her mouth.

  “No,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had to stop taking the pill because it increases the risk of blood clots after transplant surgery.”

  “Where are you in your cycle?” I ask baldly.

  “I haven’t had a period in months—not since my liver started to fail.”

  Her answer doesn’t reassure me. Eggs could still be floating around inside her, just waiting for my sperm to swim along.

  While Tessa sits silently, lost in her thoughts, I take time to gather my own. I’m scared to death, but not for the reason you might expect.

  I’m not thinking about myself or how an unplanned pregnancy would impact my position as heir to Alsania’s throne. I’m scared for Tessa.

  I know women with transplanted livers can get pregnant and carry babies to term, but Tessa hasn’t completely recovered yet. Obviously, she’s well enough to have sex, but that doesn’t mean her body can handle a pregnancy right now.

  “I have Dr. Barchon’s personal number,” I say. “We can call him and ask—”

  “Leo.”

  I swivel my head to look at her. “Yes?”

  “I have his personal number too. I’d already planned to call him tomorrow morning.”

  “Call him now.”

  She slowly shakes her head. “It’s too late.”

  A knock sounds in the suite, and I rise from the chair. “I’m putting this conversation on pause,” I tell her before going to answer the door.

  I gather the dinner tray from one of the young guys who works the kitchen’s overnight shift and deposit it on the round dining table. Tessa wanders over, and I pull out a chair for her. As soon as she’s settled, I shake out the white cloth napkin and place it in her lap.

  After uncovering the food, I slide the plates in front of her. “Eat.”

  She looks up at me, little frown lines between her eyes. “I’m going to eat, not because you ordered me to but because I’m hungry.”

  I bite back a retort. I don’t care why she’s eating, so long as she does it.

  She picks up a sandwich, sniffs it, lifts the bread, inspects the ingredients, and returns it to the plate. She does the same to two more sandwiches before she finally takes a bite.

  I’m torn between amusement and annoyance. “Are you always so picky about your food?”

  My question makes her eyes narrow into slits. As soon as she swallows, she says, “I like to know what I’m eating. Is that a problem?”

  “I promise you won’t be poisoned at Helios. We have someone who tastes the food to make sure it’s safe.”

  “You do?” she asks, incredulity making her voice squeaky, like she inhaled helium.

  I huff out a laugh. “No. This isn’t Game of Thrones.” I tilt my head toward her plate. “You eat. I’ll call Dr. Barchon and tell him what happened.”

  She sets the sandwich back on the plate. “He gave us that number for emergencies only.”

  “This is an emergency.”

  “No, it’s not,” she snaps. “An emergency is me not having my antirejection meds.”

  I nod. “About that—”

  “Can you send someone to my apartment tonight to get them? I don’t want to miss a dose.”

  “I’ve already taken care of it.”

  Her lips part in obvious surprise. “What do you mean, you’ve already taken care of it?”

  Checking my watch, I say, “Your medication should be here in about five minutes.”

  “You sent someone to my apartment? How did they get in without a key?”

&n
bsp; “No. I called the minister of health and asked for a list of your medications. Then I called the CEO of Sorell Pharmaceuticals and asked him to deliver a month’s supply before midnight.”

  She blinks a few times. “Wow. Okay.”

  “I thought that would be less invasive than sending a stranger into your home and having him rummage through your medicine cabinet.”

  “So,” she says, drawing out the word, “while I was taking a bubble bath, you were taking care of ... me.”

  Instead of replying to her comment, I nudge the sandwich-stacked plate closer to her. “Eat. Please.”

  She stares at me for a few seconds before picking up the sandwich. I nibble on some strawberries while she polishes off two sandwiches and a handful of raw veggies.

  When she’s finished, I hold out the bowl of strawberries. “They’re summer-sweet, from our garden. Your taste buds are going to dance the tango.”

  She picks one of the largest strawberries. I watch her white teeth sink into the fruit, sending juice trickling over her bottom lip. She catches it with her tongue—the same tongue I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.

  My cock goes from soft to stiff in a split second. I look down, and sure enough, the thin material of my lounge pants is tented with my hard-on.

  Another knock sounds on the door, creating a bit of a quandary for me. I’m a gentleman, and a gentleman always answers the door ... unless he’s sporting a boner, which I am.

  To my relief, Tessa bounces out of her chair. “I’ll get it.”

  A minute or so later, five Helios employees enter the living area, loaded down with boxes and bags in a variety of sizes. They halt abruptly when they catch sight of me at the dining table.

  “Your Royal Highness,” they say in unison.

  “Good evening.” My erection has subsided enough for me to be able to stand. “Take everything to the bedroom.”

  They immediately follow my directive, and Tessa trails behind them. They reappear a short while later, red-faced and empty-handed, and I convey my thanks.

  I wait until I hear the door close before I join her in the bedroom. Rolling my lips inward, I evaluate the boxes and bags piled on the mattress and in little mounds around the room. It appears that I went a little overboard with my purchases.