The Crown: A Modern-Day Fairytale Romance

by Samantha Whiskey

  A simple shift in his hips and he sank inside me. I tore away from his mouth, gasping at the instant fire that licked my skin as he entered me. Damn the man filled every inch of my space, hitting every button I possessed. I rode him, slowly at first, then harder and harder.

  “God, Willa,” he said, holding onto my hips as I let myself go wild on him. “You’re gorgeous.”

  I threw my hair back, gripping his broad shoulders for leverage as I leaned back enough, rolling my hips at the perfect angle to hit the small bundle of nerves that was desperate for attention.

  Xander wrapped one strong arm around my lower back, freeing his other hand to explore my breasts, down the center of my tummy, and then to my clit. He rolled his fingers over the hypersensitive flesh, and I sparked. Combusted. Shuddered all around him.

  Before I had a second to breathe, before I had a second to come down, he lifted me with one arm and knocked the tray of food to the floor with the other. Situating me on the desk, he spread me out like I was the only thing he’d ever need for breakfast. I leaned backward, lowering myself until my spine was against the cool surface, and opened for him a bit more.

  He thrust home, the glorious man using my knees to steady his hands as he made a home inside me. Over and over again, he sank deeper and deeper until I was absolutely sure I couldn’t take an ounce more.

  “Xander,” I cried out, the gasp equal parts pleasure and exquisite pain.

  “Yes.” He growled, slipping an arm underneath my lower back, hefting me upward, somehow going deeper…so so deep. “You feel that, Willa?” His words were gruff, almost animalistic in their nature, and it buzzed my already over-firing senses.

  “Yes, Xander,” I keened. “God, yes.”

  “Come with me,” he demanded, and my eyes snapped to his.

  I’d already came twice. I wasn’t sure if I could handle another one. “Too much,” I gasped, lost between the rolling waves of pleasure and his unflinching determination to take me to the fucking moon.

  “You can,” he said, our gazes locked. “I want it all, Willa. All that you have.”

  His words rippled over my skin like warm honey and silk. I reached up, tangling my fingers in his hair to draw him closer. “You have me,” I said. “I’m yours.” The angle he pressed against me sent shocking tremors throughout my muscles, and I clenched tightly around him. I felt him harden inside me, his own release working its way to match mine. “I’ll always be yours,” I gasped as I exploded around him, my head falling back in a scream I couldn’t contain even if I’d tried.

  Xander shuddered, the muscles in his back tensing before relaxing completely. We panted, our slick chests pressing against each other with each breath we caught. He pushed some wild hair from my face and leaned his forehead against mine.

  “I’m yours, too,” he whispered. “You know that.”

  “I do,” I said, and a tear escaped down my cheek. I knew it. I knew there was no getting better than what we had.

  I just wished we were allowed to hang on to it a little longer.

  “Are you sure this is what I should wear to a State dinner?” I asked, running my hands over the sleek red dress.

  The neckline was modest enough to not show an ounce of cleavage, but there was a slit up my thigh that I was sure Xander’s mother would frown upon. Actually, I could show up in a full jumpsuit without an inch of skin in sight and she’d frown upon me. I had hoped after spending six weeks with Xander, and staying out of the paparazzi’s cameras for three weeks straight, she would’ve grown to accept me. Maybe even like me. But that was a bigger fantasy than the one I harbored that Xander and I would magically get more time.

  “You look divine,” he said, slipping on his suit jacket. We’d almost fallen into a routine of dressing for the evening together, something that was so natural and yet invigorating at the same time. I hated the flashes that burst behind my eyes—a lifetime of preparing for events together or slipping on sweats to do a Netflix and chill night. “Almost edible,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek since I’d just finished perfecting my lipstick to match the dress.

  A flush rushed over my skin at his nearness, his scent enveloping me—something that was now a mixture of the two of us since we were constantly together.

  “I’m sorry we have to do this,” he said. “I’d much rather stay in.”

  “We’ve been allowed several days of peaceful denial,” I said. “It’s time the prince went out in public again.” I adjusted his tie before placing my hand over the center of his chest. “I don’t mind.”

  “How’d I get so lucky?”

  “You almost died in a snowstorm.” I laughed. “I wouldn’t call it luck.”

  “I would,” he said with such seriousness the breath rushed from my lungs. Forcing away all thoughts of the giant neon expiration date quickly approaching us, I forced a grin and looped my arm through his, signaling him to lead the way because my words had failed me. I noticed his steps were a little lighter than they had been of late.

  “You’re in a good mood tonight.”

  “I’ve been working on something with the Prime Minister,” he admitted, smiling down at me as we walked down the hallway. “He’s told me he thinks we might be close to our goal, and I’m hoping to get the good news tonight.”

  “So secretive,” I teased.

  “You’ll be the first to know if it works, I promise.”

  Thirty minutes later a limo dropped us off at a gorgeous old building that looked straight out of ancient times. The architecture was rich in design with wide stones and deep vine flourishes. The interior was just as lavishly decorated, the ballroom exquisitely organized, much like the charity event had been. All luxury, no expenses spared, and every bit as intimidating. The room was wall to wall with important people—members of parliament, the oh-so-brash Prime Minister, the queen and the rest of the royal family, and all manner of other officials whose positions of power I’d never be able to understand.

  The deeper Xander led me into the room, the smaller I felt. Each set of eyes that sized me up as the crown-stealer they thought me to be, each sneer, or pitied look, made me want to shrink into the carpet and never look back.

  I straightened my spine, not allowing them to see the fear that threatened to cripple me. I was here for the incredible man who held my arm, not anyone else.

  Two flutes of champagne helped quell my nerves, and after an hour without making an ass of myself, I felt positively giddy.

  A group of men had surrounded Xander, as I stood dutifully at his side, and were talking in heated tones about the monarchists latest actions. I kept my jaw locked, and tried to manage that effortless smile and grace that Charlotte and Sophie constantly dawned. A man in a vibrant Lincoln green suit switched the conversation to the economy, and I prayed they couldn’t see my eyes glaze over.

  “What do you think, Ms. Collins?” the man asked as I delicately grabbed another flute from the waiter who checked on me.

  “Hmm?” I whirled around at the sound of my name, finding all the men’s eyes on me. “Oh.” I raised my glass. “The champagne is fantastic.” I took a quick sip.

  No one laughed.

  Well, then, hello awkward.

  I squared my shoulders, giving them my full attention. “I’m sorry, what do I think about…” I let the sentence hang there for a moment, letting him know I hadn’t heard whatever it was they’d been talking about.

  “About the deficit created by the protests on public property by the Anti-Monarchists?” He shifted his weight when I’d blinked at him a few times. “The percentage alone due to the destruction of certain private sectors will eat at the Crown’s bank for at least two years—I’d say a good twenty percent if the acts aren’t stopped soon.”

  I licked my lips, suddenly wishing they didn’t taste of champagne. Scratch that, even sober I was a nightmare with numbers. But this? He may as well have been speaking Japanese. I parted my lips, ready to give a quirky answer that might save my clear ignorance
, but he shook his head, chuckling.

  “Forgive me,” he said, pointing to Xander. “I forgot. He said you were a writer.”

  I bristled at the way he’d said the word like it was a laughable profession. I glanced up at Xander, who took a drink of his scotch, clearly annoyed with the man but not opting to say anything.

  “This must all sound like gibberish to you,” the man continued. “Utter nonsense, I suppose.”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. I would not be baited, not again, and definitely not when there was no one like Sophie or Charlotte to bail me out like last time. I composed myself with a slow breath and grinned. “Excuse me,” I said, removing myself from the equation.

  I had a fucking master’s degree in creative writing, and had earned over six-figures for the last five years in a row—not that was any of his damn business—but he acted as though I couldn’t tell the difference between toddler art and Monnet. I huffed, half shocked when Xander didn’t immediately follow me.

  So I hadn’t known anything about the state of Elleston’s economy, or the way the Anti-Monarchists’ protests were affecting it, that didn’t make me an idiot.

  No, it makes you not a queen.

  I should have asked Xander more about the state of the country, but he was always so stressed, and quiet, and when I did ask, he immediately changed the subject. It wasn’t that he thought I was stupid—I knew that...more like I was his break from that life. Like he could take off Prince Alexander’s crown at the door and just be Xander with me.

  I should have pushed.

  I leaned against the wall, turning with the hopes that Xander would be heading in my direction, ready to help me forget how stupid I felt without any merit.

  He wasn’t. He stood in his spot, dutifully, though he flashed me an apologetic look. Charlotte stood next to him, having joined the circle after she’d left, and looking elegant as hell in her baby blue dress. No amount of tension riddled her shoulders, no twists of fear in her eyes. She belonged there. She’d never be tripped up by political conversations, though, it didn’t seem anyone was trying to throw her off balance like they were me.

  Or maybe you’re simply out of balance here.

  The truth of the situation hit me like a hammer to the chest. I hadn’t felt this awful about myself since grade school. After being bullied for liking books more than parties, I’d vowed then and there to never give a damn about what people thought. And here I was, sulking in the corner and trying to mirror myself after a woman who couldn’t be more different than me. I didn’t fit here, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be part of a social circle that turned their noses down at people of the arts—writers and creators and anyone outside the political agenda.

  Fuck that.

  I sighed, anger boiling my blood.

  I wanted Xander, not Prince Alexander, and that had been our problem from the beginning. Our only problem, if I truly thought about it.

  “Strange, isn’t it?” Sophie came to stand next to me, her light blue dress nearly matching the shade of Charlotte’s.

  “What is?” I asked after cooling my internal rant. Sophie was the sweetest person I’d met at the palace—not a drop of malice in her body, and she didn’t deserve my mood.

  She nodded toward where Jameson had joined Xander’s circle, sliding in next to Charlotte. Sophie traced her finger around the rim of her champagne flute, looking utterly bored. That made two of us. At least I wasn’t alone in that. “How much happier she looks with Jameson. I mean, I know they fight like cats and dogs, but there’s always been something there.”

  I smiled, having seen the pair together often. I knew Jameson’s reputation, but I couldn’t help to notice exactly what Sophie did—that Charlotte’s smile was less restrained when he showed up.

  “You’d think it would’ve been him she was betrothed to, but no, it had to be Xander. And knowing they have to get married only a few weeks after they announce their betrothal...ugh.” Sophie shook her head and took another drink. “She’d be better for Jaime. Maybe make him get his head out of his—” she abruptly stopped herself, glancing at me. “Are you okay?”

  My stomach dropped to the floor, my heart clenching like the life was being squeezed out of it. “Charlotte?” I whispered. “She’s the one?”

  I had thought she was a family friend, a staple in the royal line up but not…oh, I really was an idiot. The perfect woman. Her grace and elegance and history. Of course, she was the one. Who else could’ve it been?

  “I thought Xander told—”

  “Sophie!” Brie’s excited voice cut her off, her high pitched tone alerting everyone in the room to her sudden appearance. “Oh my god you have to meet Marco. I picked him up in Monaco, and he is tastier than raspberry syrup on waffles.”

  “Brie,” Sophie whispered. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Oh hush, mom isn’t even near us.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Willa,” Brie said, nudging me. I blinked several times, my brain still trying to compute how I’d not known that the gorgeous, perfect Charlotte was the one meant to marry my boyfriend—Xander. She’d been so kind to me, so gracious, and I’d been...blind. “You can appreciate this, I’m sure,” Brie continued and whirled around, her hand raised toward a tall man sculpted from muscle with the blackest hair I’d ever seen and blue eyes I recognized. Hell, there were several thousand women readers who would recognize him.

  “Marco,” I said, shocked to see a familiar face at a function I felt was the farthest thing from my real life.

  “You know him?” Brie asked, eyeing me. I spotted Xander finally heading over, his brow furrowed.

  “Shayla!” Marco handed the two flutes he’d carried over to Brie, and instantly scooped me up in his arms, whirling us around in more of a spectacle than if Brie had decided to make out with him on stage.

  He’d had just as much infectious, friendly enthusiasm at the photo shoot. “How are you?” I asked once he set me down. “God, it’s been what, two years?”

  And four more Shayla Scotch books? I’d lost count. His cover shot was still my best selling Shayla book and for good reason. He was every woman’s fantasy, dark enough to be scary but charming enough to fall in love with.

  “Has it been that long?” He asked, his smile wide.

  Xander stopped at my side, his arm snaking around my hip, his free hand reaching out to shake Marco’s. Hello caveman.

  “You’re Brie’s brother,” he said, shaking it fast before dropping it. “She’s told me all about you. Thanks for inviting me to the party.”

  “I didn’t.” Xander’s voice was gruff as he eyed Brie who simply smirked. I had a feeling some rule had been broken, but hell, I wasn’t technically supposed to be here, either.

  Charlotte was. The simmer in my blood returned, but I tried to cool it with a breath. Now was not the time.

  Marco laughed with an edge of awkward mixed in before gesturing to the hand on my hip. “How did you meet Shayla?”

  I flinched, only now realizing he’d been calling me by my pen name instead of Willa.

  “You mean Willa?” Xander asked, like the two names were close enough for Marco to get mixed up.

  Marco waggled his eyebrows, terribly oblivious to the tension mounting in our small circle. “Oh, that’s right.” He shook his head. “I’m so used to the emails, and using Shayla.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to shrug it off.

  “Emails?” Brie asked, arching a brow. “Where did you two meet?”

  “On a photo shoot.” His eyes darted from Brie to me, and he took a step closer toward her. “For her book?” He said when no one responded with anything but blank stares.

  A laugh ripped from Xander’s chest, jolting me. “Right. Did you model for the illustrations for the Annie’s Alligator books?”

  Now Marco was laughing again, daring enough to playfully smack Xander’s shoulder. “I thought you said Jameson was the funny one, yeah?” He shook hi
s head at Brie. “You’re no fan that your lady writes erotica? There isn’t any shame in it. Shayla Scotch is a bestseller.”

  I clenched my eyes shut, never one to enjoy when my pen name was blatantly outed, let alone its selling status.

  A cold silence chilled our once laughing circle, and I swore Xander had turned to stone beside me.

  A masculine voice cleared his throat behind us, and I turned slowly to see the guy in the green suit. “Did I hear that correctly?” he asked.

  A muscle in Xander’s jaw flexed.

  “God, you guys act like writing sex is a crime. You need to get laid,” Marco said, slinging his arm around Brie. Her eyes darted between us all, an apologetic flash in her eyes when they met mine.

  “Right,” the man said, his voice drawling slowly.

  “Senator Lambert,” Xander said, a question in his voice.

  Oh my God. The guy was a senator. All the questions he’d been asking...they were clearly a test. One that I just failed miserably. Twice.

  “Your highness, you can tell Prime Minister McAllister that while his proposition had a certain level of merit, I simply can’t vote for it in good conscience. I’m quite sorry to disappoint the both of you.” With a stiff bow toward all three royals standing with us, Senator Lambert headed toward the nearest crowd of tux-wearing dinner guests.

  Their heads swung our direction, their eyes as wide as saucers.

  No need to guess what just happened there.

  “Xander?” I asked, my voice as shaky as my hand on his arm. He jerked away from my touch, a pattern clicking in his eyes as he put something together.

  My hand hovered where his arm had just been, and when he took two steps away from me, his face a mix of shame and regret and shock, I swore my heart broke.

  Xander

  I shut the door to our bedroom carefully, ignoring every instinct I had to slam it home. God, when had it become our room? Willa was not as careful with the bathroom door. I’m pretty sure the entire palace heard the wood crash.