Royally Arranged (Bad Boy Royals Book 3)

by Nora Flite

  “I don’t want everyone to know,” my father said. “Not yet.”

  Glen lifted an eyebrow. “Fine. But those involved with the funeral will need this info. Otherwise you won’t be allowed in to see his body.”

  His body. That phrase made me swallow. I saw my father tense, his fingers curling at his hips. Maverick gathered himself, standing to his full height. “How did he die?”

  “Of course,” Glen mumbled, “you wouldn’t know. He grew ill around three years ago. But last year was when his health rapidly declined.”

  “He was only fifty-six,” my father said solemnly.

  Glen tossed a fleeting look at me. “Youth doesn’t protect us from death. Hester had bone cancer. It’s amazing he made it this long.”

  “He was a fighter,” Maverick said. He lifted his chin high, his tone clean and clear, and I recognized it as his way of signaling that the subject was changed. “Give me a rundown of the country on the whole. Maurine looked busy when we arrived, how are the farther, more rural areas?”

  “It’s not good,” Glen said flatly. “Hester and Austere have been bleeding Torino dry between high taxes and personal loans. The farmers are furious, food is far too expensive to grow, and almost no one can afford to purchase it.”

  They talked with their heads together. If forty years had passed, it wasn’t obvious. These two conversed as comfortably as any friends. The longer they spoke intensely about Torino and the pieces of it I didn’t know, the more I sensed that I didn’t belong here. They weren’t including me because I had nothing to contribute.

  “If you’re going to discuss corn and cows,” I said, backing toward the door, “I think I’ll get the CliffsNotes later.”

  Glen folded his arms over his massive chest. “Not interested in the place your ancestors lived and breathed?”

  My father’s scowl pulled his jaw tight. “It’s fine. Hawthorne was never one for political lessons. Or lessons of any kind, honestly.”

  His dig pricked at my pride. But I’d been down this road over and over before. Dad didn’t care if I learned anything about Torino; he just wanted to make me listen to him talk. That was his way. He needed to be the voice of knowledge . . . of authority. That was how we’d spent my youth: him dictating, and me enduring. As a child I’d been perfect at zipping my mouth and tuning in to his every syllable. I was convinced that if I gave him the ear he wanted, he would reward me with love.

  Back then, I was too naive to know the most important lesson he’d eventually teach me.

  How replaceable I was.

  - CHAPTER FOUR -

  HAWTHORNE

  Everything smelled like clean salt.

  Torino was a very beautiful coastal country. Our hotel was situated in the center of the main city, and still it didn’t take much walking before I saw the white tips of boats on the horizon. When I followed the natural slope of the streets toward the water, I turned onto an area that was open enough for me to glimpse the castle in the distance.

  It spiraled up toward the clouds like it had every right to be part of the sky. The tiles were a rich blue, the stone polished and white. That’s where Dad grew up. Where I would have, too, if he’d stayed here. Picturing myself running around the city . . . swimming in the sparkling ocean below the statues carved into the cliffside . . . it was appealing. Who wouldn’t want to grow up in such a place?

  As lovely as it all was, the people didn’t seem so happy.

  Many grim faces eyed me as I walked down the streets. I was astounded by the amount of homeless people crouched in the shadows of buildings. There were whispers about whether the country would get better or worse with the king dead.

  “Not like the queen will do anything,” a wrinkled man confided to another as they leaned on a stone wall I was following. “Haven’t even seen her face in a year.”

  I wanted to listen more, but I couldn’t do it without being obvious. If I find a spot to sit by a busy corner, I’ll overhear things for sure. Plus I was getting hungry after exploring for so long, the day was getting away from me. And everything around here smelled amazing.

  The predominant language of Torino was English; however, I caught a bit of French here and there. The first café I spotted was called Gull’s Boulangerie. This whole area was saturated by a Parisian feel. It made me like it even more.

  “Help! Stop him! Someone, stop him!”

  The beat of my heart went erratic. Twisting, I watched as an older lady pointed after a man who was rushing away in broad daylight. He had a very purple purse clutched in his grip. “Help!” she screamed again. “Thief!”

  Say what you will about my lax attitude; I’d never stand idly by while someone literally screamed for help in my face. My shoes pounded on the cobblestones as I closed in on the purse snatcher. I didn’t see the young woman who caught up with him first, not until she slammed into his shoulder, sending him sprawling to the ground. She straddled his back, one hand in his hair, the other squeezing at the wrist that clutched the stolen purse.

  Her shoulder-length hair covered her face as she leaned in to brace herself and hold the man down. It created a cinnamon curtain, allowing only a hint of her soft features. Through her creamy-looking tight blouse, I could see lean muscles in her arms flexing. Her breasts swelled up and down with her rapid breathing. Her poise screamed Don’t mess with me.

  I can’t lie. It was crazy sexy.

  “Police!” she shouted, whiskey-colored eyes darting around at the crowd. “Get the police!”

  Everyone acted at once. It shook me out of my daze; jumping forward, I helped grapple with the struggling man just as two officers in dark gray uniforms stormed onto the scene. “What happened here?” The one who asked was portly, too much stubble frosting his flabby neck.

  The young woman stepped away, letting the police take over. “He stole her purse,” she said, pointing at the older lady, who had finally caught up to us. Breathing heavily, the other woman nodded to the cops.

  Together the police scooped the man up. I folded my arms, amazed at how quickly it was all resolved. But then, my attention was really on the woman who’d tackled the thief in the first place. Now that we were standing, I could see that she was shorter than I—and shorter than the other men who’d stood around and done nothing while someone yelled for help.

  She faced me. It made me stand more upright, like my heart had pumped a wave of air that inflated my limbs. I already liked her for her bravery, but I was startled by her simple, clean prettiness. Not a sexpot, and not girly pink, but with a comfortable-in-her-own-skin kind of style.

  I was liking Torino better by the second.

  “Ah,” she hissed, bending down to inspect the scrape on her left leg.

  “Here,” I said, helping her sit in a chair at one of the Gull’s outdoor tables. “I’ll be right back. Get a coffee or an espresso or whatever you like.”

  She started to argue; I was already hurrying across the street. I’d noticed the small chemist’s shop earlier. It was, as I’d hoped, much like a pharmacy in the States. I worked quickly to buy what I needed, grateful that the store took my credit card. I’d traveled abroad before, but I was usually more prepared—I’d have grabbed some local currency from the hotel if I hadn’t been so eager to get away from my dad.

  The woman watched me as I jogged back to where she was sitting. “Hi again,” I chuckled. I’d only bought one thing; I pulled it from my back pocket. Peeling off the plastic backing, I pressed the adhesive bandage onto her knee. My fingertips connected with her skin; it was smooth as buttercream. Touching her sent a spark down to my lower belly.

  Blinking, she wiggled her leg and bent to look closer. “Is that the Hulk?”

  I grinned wide. “One superhero deserves another.”

  She was fixated on the blue-and-green bandage. But it was like she wasn’t really seeing it. It went on like that for a bit: her staring quietly, me kneeling by her shoes. I didn’t mind being so close to her. Finally her pink lips curled into a soft
smile. “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “You’re wrong,” she whispered, meeting my eyes. I froze under her seriousness. “You helped me when you didn’t have to. That’s no small thing.”

  Tiny piano keys tapped one by one through my chest. I knew this tune—I was no stranger to desire. Standing, I dusted my jeans off. “I’m Thorne, by the way.”

  “Nova,” she said, watching me like she was paranoid about something.

  I flashed my most winning smile. “Nova. Nice name.” I scanned the bare table. “You didn’t get that coffee, huh?”

  She was still studying me, as if I were the most interesting creature on the planet. Then she crossed her legs, a hint of her smile coming back to roost. “You were so quick I had no time.”

  “Guess we’ll have to fix that.”

  “Guess we will.” She laughed without a flicker of self-consciousness. “After all that action, I could use a stiffer drink.”

  “I think they only serve coffee and tea here,” I said, pointing at the chalkboard sign by the door. “Know a good place with some hard alcohol, where a cute guy and a cuter girl can get to know each other better?”

  I expected her to blush, but instead she looked down the road. “I . . . do.”

  “Lead on.” I gestured at her knee. “Or I can carry you, if you like.” I’d certainly like it.

  That time she did flush pink. Her teeth bit down on her bottom lip softly, and the sight made my jeans painfully tight. “I’m fine. I can walk.”

  Her injury didn’t slow her down. Together we strolled the cobbled lane, heading up a steep slope until we came to a little building with an outdoor balcony. “What a view,” I murmured, shading my eyes and staring out at the blue waves.

  “Right?” She sat down at the tiny table. It was so small that when I joined her, our legs accidentally touched. Nova didn’t pull away. Smiling, she played with the saltshaker. “I’ve always loved Torino.”

  “Do you live here?”

  “Oh no.” She set the saltshaker down and pulled her hands into her lap. “I just travel here most summers.”

  “It’s my first time,” I said. “It’s nicer than I imagined.”

  “What did you imagine?”

  Stretching my arm over the back of my chair, I regarded the ocean. The boats rocking gently in the docks resembled white flower petals in a puddle. It was picturesque. Quiet. Nothing like the tragedy my father’s cautionary words had conjured up over the years.

  He’d told me little about Torino, or about his bad blood with his brother. But I’d known that our heritage was dangerous . . . that I was meant to keep my royalty a secret. I’d also known he used his history as a way to leverage power and favors. He’d certainly used it to help my mother’s family agree to give him whatever he needed so he could grow his own empire.

  All the whispers I’d picked up while he confided in my older brother, like I wasn’t able to hear, like I wasn’t even there—they’d made being royalty sound like a curse.

  “Thorne?”

  Blinking, I realized I’d been stewing in my thoughts too long. “Sorry,” I chuckled. “Think I’m still adjusting to the time zone change.”

  Nova was staring at me with her eyes wide and glassy. I knew that look. I hated that look.

  “I’m fine,” I said quickly, motioning for the waiter to come over. “Let’s get those drinks we talked about.”

  Taking the little paper menu, I ordered myself a grilled cheese—and marveled at the price, even if it was easy for me to afford—as well as a stiff whiskey on ice. Nova didn’t even read the menu, she handed it back and asked for a glass of Moscato and their soup of the day. The drinks came quickly. “Here,” I said, lifting my glass up. “Cheers to strangers becoming friends.” She grimaced, confusing me. “Uh, you okay?”

  Nova shook herself, sending her hair tumbling so it caught the light. The strands glowed like molten gold with the sun behind her. “I’m fine, really.” Her glass went up, every hint that she’d been shocked going away. “To new friends.”

  Clinking my glass against hers, I took a quick sip. It burned perfectly going down. As I placed my drink on the table, I spotted something in the street nearby: a police car, different from the ones in the States, but universally recognizable. It wasn’t the same cops as earlier, but it made me think about the altercation. “What will happen to him?” I asked.

  “The pickpocket?” Her chin tucked lower. “Torino has severe laws. He’ll be charged a fine, then locked up for five years.”

  I clutched my glass tighter. “All that because he snatched a purse?”

  “It’s the law.”

  “Still seems extreme to me.”

  Nova tipped her glass up, sipping. “All right, how would you do it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “You talk like you know how to run this country. So what would the punishment be for the man that was arrested today?”

  “I’m not the kind of person who knows how to run anything, believe me.”

  “I don’t. Believe you, I mean.” She twirled her glass and finished it off. Her cheeks looked like candy apples. “You give off this . . . natural authority.”

  My grin hurt my face. “Go on.”

  She held my wicked stare for a heartbeat. I was shooting mental pictures at Nova that were quite dirty and very authoritative. She sat up like she’d been pricked in the ass with a fork. Had my filthy thoughts penetrated her imagination? “Just tell me how you’d punish him,” she insisted.

  Under the table, I slid my shoe against her ankle. I loved how her breath quickened at my touch. “Nova,” I said thickly, feeling the alcohol . . . and our chemistry, “you’re really hung up on punishments. If all you want is for me to spank you, we can go somewhere and take care of that.”

  The candy apples in her cheeks melted until her whole throat was glowing. “That—” she started to sputter. “I’m asking you a serious question, Thorne.”

  “I’d rather drink more and take it easy. This is the kind of conversation I was trying to avoid when I went out this morning.” Her head tilted, sending her reddish hair tumbling beautifully over her shoulder. I knew she was going to ask what I was referring to. And I didn’t want to explain because, so far, I’d avoided all talk about the funeral, or who I was, or why I was really here. “Fine,” I said hurriedly. “Okay. Give me a second and I’ll answer.”

  Nova seemed pleased. The waiter arrived with her soup, and she plucked a piece of bread out of the basket, then dipped and chewed patiently.

  I stared at my sandwich as it was set down. How unfair it was that I couldn’t will it to transform into an entire bottle of whiskey, then I’d be drunk and not answering deep questions about morality. Life would be simpler if you could wish away your problems. Furrowing my brow, I lifted my eyes. “It would depend on why he stole the purse.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Hefting the sandwich in my hands, I said, “If he had a family to feed. If he himself was starving. A man who steals for greed should be punished, but . . . a man stealing to help others shouldn’t be thrown in a cell to rot.”

  Nova was half smiling. “How noble of you. You’d be the Robin Hood of kings if you made the laws here.”

  Heat rocketed up my neck. “Well, I don’t. And I wouldn’t want to. Someone else can handle all that work.”

  She made a small, soft sound. The kind I wanted to hear in private . . . and over and over again. Her hands crossed under her chin. In her tight white top, she melded with the clouds behind her. She could have been a figurehead on a ship, inspiring men to adventure, or leading them home to their warm beds.

  We stayed like that for a while. I ate quietly, enjoying the fresh air, and perhaps the first silence in my life that didn’t feel uncomfortable. Nova made this too easy. I didn’t mind, it was refreshing . . . different.

  “See that?” she said, pointing at one of the boats. “That’s the Sandpiper, one of the oldest
ships around. It doesn’t go out anymore, but it’s full of really great artifacts, maps, preserved history. You’ll have to check it out.”

  I chuckled. “I’ve seen boats. I live by the ocean back home.”

  “Yes,” she said defensively. “But not that boat. So you will.”

  My chuckle became a helpless laugh. “And what else will I see while I’m here?”

  Nova cupped her own cheeks. “The castle rose gardens are famous! Oh, and then there’s this set of statues on the far side of town, been there for a hundred years!”

  There were stars in her eyes. Her energy was contagious. “You really do love this place,” I whispered. “Well, I hope you’ll show me everything you can before we part ways.”

  She froze, like she realized where we were and who we were: people who’d only met an hour ago. People who knew nothing of each other; I didn’t even know where she lived. Just that it wasn’t here.

  Nova considered me long and hard. The stars in her eyes had been replaced by something that burned hotter, brighter—impossibly so—as she said, “Come with me.”

  We slid carefully along a rough path that curled around the cliffs on the far edge of the city. The sharp wall of the cliff on our right rose, then lowered. I could glimpse the purple crest of the waves where they brushed the lowering sun. Every minute with Nova blew by faster than seemed fair.

  She’d clearly been this way many times; her glittering flats dodged holes and patches of sand. In her confidence she moved too fast. “Watch it!” I said, catching her by her elbow when her heel went out from under her.

  Bracing herself in my arms, Nova gaped up at me. “Sorry. I lost my balance.”

  Gently, lingering with my fingers wrapped around her upper arms, I steadied her. The narrow path pushed our bodies ever closer. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll take any chance to catch a pretty girl that I can get.”

  Her laugh echoed, bouncing off the rocks. “Come on, we’re almost there.”