Royal Marriage Market

by Heather Lyons

  The driver opens the car door so Elsa can slide in. Her eyes briefly flick toward me and then back at Mat.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he’s saying.

  The door shuts, leaving us surrounded by darkened windows. “You are too far away.” She pats the seat next to her. “I see no black eyes, so I take it your evening with Charlotte did not end in a pillow fight?”

  The car pulls away from the curb as I make my way toward her. “Alas, no. She spent the better part on the phone with her husband.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I spoke with my brother. My mother is . . . displeased that I am not in the country at the moment.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I hope you will never forget that the Grand Duchess is nothing like her public persona.”

  Worry flashes in the cobalt of her eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter, though. She can rage about it all she wants, but . . . I’m done with her manipulations. I’m right where I want to be.”

  As I say this, Elsa’s regarding me as if I am the only man in the entire world, and it’s got me drunk on too many emotions to pinpoint precisely. I love you, I want to tell her as I lean in toward her gorgeous face. I love you. I adore you. I don’t want to live without you.

  But I don’t say any of these things. Right now, the sentiments are too strong to form coherent sentences, so I kiss her instead. Softly at first, like our first kiss in California, and I’m immediately under her spell, because her mouth is hot and inviting and a black hole I can’t navigate away from.

  Her hands grip my shoulders, urging me closer. The car slows, no doubt at a light, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m reminded how there are only so many lights between here and the hotel. I wish I could say it matters to me, that I’m concerned about propriety or decency or even the risk of us being caught. But the windows surrounding us are dark, as is the one raised in between us and the driver, and the need I feel for Elsa is too powerful to resist.

  I pull her onto my lap, easing her legs around my waist on the seat. Our kiss deepens, my tongue tracing hers until she groans into my mouth. Bloody hell, it’s a gorgeous sound, and one that makes me hard and hot.

  I want her. Here. In this car.

  As if she can hear me, Elsa leans back and unbuttons her coatdress. My mouth goes dry, my dick turns to stone.

  There’s only a lacey bra and barely there panties on underneath.

  “You went to dinner in just a coat?” I slide the soft wool off her shoulders before tracing the length of her arms on my path to cup her breasts. “What happened to the dress I helped you into?”

  Dazzling, wonderful laughter spills out of her, leaving me even more drunk on happiness. “As you agreed to pick me up, I decided the dress was unnecessary. I changed out of it shortly before I left. Didn’t you see it hanging in the bedroom?”

  I press a kiss against the base of her throat and suck gently; her head tips back so long hair can spill across the fingers deftly unlatching the clasp of her bra. I gently tug it off, dropping it onto the seat next to me.

  Damn, I love her breasts.

  I bend down and swirl the tip of my tongue around a nipple; she moans quietly, fingers tightening on my shoulders. I rock her against me, reveling in the feel of my dick against the tiny scrap of silk she’s still wearing. My teeth graze the hardened bud before I reclaim her mouth again for a scorching kiss that has me desperate to be inside her.

  She tugs my t-shirt up and over my head, tossing it behind her.

  I hook my fingers under the sides of her panties. She leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Tear them.”

  I live to serve this woman.

  Her gasp enflames me. I trace the line along the inner leg, from hip to where she’s already wet for me. Another gasp falls out of Elsa when my fingers circle the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs, yet another when I slide a finger deep inside her.

  The car slows down again. I don’t care the reason why, because she’s rocking against my hand, her head thrown back, and I think I’d be okay with the world exploding around us as long as I could see her like this.

  She fumbles with the button and zipper to my jeans, words hoarse, a siren’s call I can’t refuse. “I need you. Now.”

  I slide my fingers from her as she pulls my rock hard dick out. I fold back the sides of my jeans, shoving them down as far as I can before she drops right on top of me.

  And then she rides me, just like she’d wanted to last night. I’m lost to anything but her as the car speeds on, living and dying for every thrust and groan.

  chapter 56

  Elsa

  “That,” I tell Christian as I lean down to kiss him, “was another first for me. Car sex, I mean.”

  A car horn blares outside. I jump and then giggle. I’m giggling—and it is utterly delightful to do so.

  Hands cup the side of my face. “Me, too,” he murmurs.

  I look down at his sweaty, gorgeous face. “You’ve never had sex in a car before? I find that . . . surprising.”

  He shifts, reminding me he’s still snug and warm inside me. “Not a moving car. So yes, this was a first for me, too.”

  Another horn blares as we slow to a stop. We cannot be far from the hotel now.

  I reach over and reclaim my bra. “Is moving car sex far better than parked car sex?”

  He brushes my hands away when I attempt to fasten my bra in order to do the job himself. “Oh, most assuredly.” One hand curves around my back so he can lean us forward and grab my coat and shirt.

  I slowly tug his t-shirt back over his head, smoothing the soft cotton beneath my fingers. “I’m glad.”

  He doesn’t say anything as he gently slides my arms into those of the coat before buttoning it. The car lurches forward; I reluctantly climb off of his lap to allow him to tug up his jeans. I am the one to button and zip him up, though.

  He tells me, “I like sharing firsts with you, Els.”

  I lean forward to kiss him. “Me, too.”

  “Actually,” he whispers against my mouth, “if it were possible, all my firsts from here on out would be with you.”

  I’m desperate to tell him this is my fervent wish, too, how I have never experienced anything like what I feel for him before, but the moment his tongue touches mine, I am lost once more.

  chapter 57

  Christian

  The She-Wolf, according to Lukas, is fuming at her inability to find me. “Shite, bro, if you come home, be prepared to be locked down. Do we even have dungeons? Because I’m sure that’s exactly where she’d put you. The She-Wolf is convinced that this is another Isabellegate.”

  Elsa is asleep in the other room, but a call from Parker shortly after her eyes closed has kept me wide-awake.

  Kim was willing to talk to me.

  While the actual conversation was short, I laid things out as plainly as I could for her. She cried quietly, but was angry, too.

  “I hate Mat’s fucking family,” she told me, and I flinched in her vehemence. She’s a good girl, a nice one (despite my teasing Elsa over what a pitiful word nice is), and it isn’t fair that her life, already riddled with upheavals, was even further upended because she had the wherewithal to fall in love with someone of royal blood.

  “Are you willing to come to Paris?” I asked her.

  She hesitated, unsure about what Mat would think. But then, the steely resolve I’d seen before in her character came to the forefront.

  “I’ll be there as soon as possible, Christian.”

  And now, here I am, fielding a phone call from my brother, discussing another royal family worth loathing.

  “Did you give her the letter?” I ask. I’d left one, just in case.

  “Hell no! Does it make me the worst son on the planet to admit I’ve withheld it because watching her squirm is a favorite pastime?”

  “You’re the one who’s currently facing the fir
ing squad,” I point out. “Not me.”

  “Only because you’re in bloody France instead of Aiboland. The moment your feet touch our rocky soil, you’re going to be in front of the firing squad and then the gallows and then you’ll probably be dismembered, so the She-Wolf can have you sewn back up into a puppet she can control. It will be Rasputin all over again. How much longer do you think this trip will take? Because I don’t know how long I can hold her back before the hounds are set loose.”

  “Don’t you mean wolves? Also, Rasputin never was hung or dismembered.”

  “Bloody history nerd. My point stands, Chris. The She-Wolf is out for your blood. Now, answer the damn question.”

  “If I’m lucky, the biggest issue will be resolved by nightfall. Or, at least, be partially resolved.”

  He scoffs, but wishes me luck. It’s appreciated, because I damn well need all the luck I can get.

  Charlotte left for the airport to fetch Parker and Kim, leaving Elsa and me to confront Mat. As the woman I love answers the door, I’m reminded of a time the Chambéry prince and I went sailing with friends one late summer afternoon in New England. It was a smashing time, with lots of cold beers drank and precious few prying eyes. We weren’t royals on that boat. We were just mates having a good time.

  I hope we can make it through this as mates, too.

  He isn’t too surprised to see me once Elsa leads him to the sitting area of the suite. A hand is extended in greeting; I take it easily. When he says, “Despite everything, it’s good to see you,” I believe him.

  Elsa sits next to me on the couch; Mat chooses a chair across from us. I regret that it comes across so much like an interrogation, but as my brother pointed out, time is of the essence. I ask my old friend, “What’s going on?”

  Something that sounds too close to a laugh but doesn’t have enough humor in it falls out of him. “I know you and Lukas believe you’ve got the leg up on having the world’s worst mother,” he tells me, “but let me assure you, I have you beat. My parents . . .” He shakes his head. Releases a hard breath. “Let’s just say they didn’t take kindly to discovering their only son was keen to spend his life with what they dubbed ghetto trash. Nor did they find the idea of their bloodline being eventually sullied by children conceived with a woman who is nothing more than a mutt in their eyes acceptable.”

  “Jesus.” And then, outraged such judgments could be made about a person before even meeting them, I say, “Fuck them. They don’t know shite about Kim.”

  “I said the very same thing, and they followed up with a tidy threat of their own, promising they would make Kim’s life and those of her family a living hell if I didn’t leave her and marry somebody of their own choosing. Someone who will help regain the Chambéry glory.”

  The color drains from Elsa’s face. For all of Prince Gustav’s threats, at least she’s never had to hear this one.

  “After my family lost power, they became . . . let’s say, friendly with those whose careers weren’t always aboveboard. That relationship has carried over the years and has proved mutually beneficial in ways I won’t bore you with, but it’s enough to say that, whenever the Chambérys have a problem they need dealt with, these associates are called in.”

  Puzzle pieces slide in place. Kim is under surveillance because of the Chambérys.

  “Does Kim know?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I simply told her that they disapproved. I didn’t want to worry her—she already has too much on her shoulders, thanks to her own family.”

  I kiss the back of Els’ hand before standing up. “I think this calls for some drinks. I’m afraid we’re limited here, though. Is scotch okay?”

  Mat nods. Elsa urges him to continue.

  “See, when my parents discovered I was dating someone they hadn’t vetted, they were enraged. I was told to end our relationship immediately; I balked. The enforcers my family utilizes far too often were sent in to rough up one of Kim’s brothers.”

  I nearly drop the heavy glass I’m holding.

  To Elsa, he says, “Her family is too closely associated with violence themselves, so for this to happen, on their territory, no less, was intensely frightening.”

  The woman I love is horrified. I am, too.

  “Before I could even wrap my head around what was happening, somebody was sent after Kim, too.” He swallows hard. “She spent a few days in the hospital, believing she was targeted by a rival gang rather than the mafia.”

  I hand Mat the scotch, unsure of what even to say at this point.

  “I was assured that the next time my parents’ associates were sent out, they would not be so generous.” He takes a large swallow of the amber liquid, wincing as it goes down. “I believed them. Although I broke up with her, I gave one of her brothers money to get her somewhere safe.” He leans back in the chair, defeat coloring his face. “That was five months ago.”

  “Have you talked to her?” Elsa asks softly. “Seen her since then?”

  “I can’t risk it.” Bitterness rolls off him in waves. “I didn’t even get to see her after the attack, except for photos left in my office. So you see, Elsa, I know this isn’t exactly ideal, but I will not be the one to call things off between us. The Chambérys have decreed I’m to marry into the Vasas. If I don’t, I can’t even bear to consider what could happen to Kim.”

  Christ. And I thought I had it bad with the She-Wolf.

  Just then, a knock sounds on the door. Elsa flashes a meaningful look before going to answer it. I’m suddenly second guessing my decision to bring Kim to Paris. What if she was followed? What if the goons sent to watch her report her actions back to the Chambérys?

  But then the woman in question rounds the corner, belly large and beautiful, trailed by Charlotte and a clearly weary Parker. Mat slowly stands up, eyes wide, hands visibly shaking as he takes her in.

  It is painfully clear he had no idea she was pregnant.

  “What . . .” He swallows, staring at her protruding stomach. “How . . .” And then he’s across the room, his arms around her shoulders before anything else can be said. She’s weeping, so is he, and if I’m not mistaken, so are Elsa and Charlotte.

  Bloody hell, I’m feeling a little misty-eyed myself.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Mat’s asking Kim.

  “At least now I won’t have to knee him in the bollocks,” Elsa muses before we give the two some well deserved privacy.

  chapter 58

  Elsa

  “I can’t accept these,” Mat says.

  What utter ridiculousness. Turning to Kim, I take hold of her hand. “It’s not nearly enough, but it is a start.”

  Dark, curly hair swishes around her shoulders as she stares at the emerald earrings in her hand. But she is clearly more intelligent than Mat, because her fingers curl around the gemstones. “Thank you.”

  For the last hour, we discussed in detail what to do with our incredibly complex situation. The Grand Duchess of Aiboland desires a way to share in the profits of Vattenguldia’s shipping registries. My parents require liquid cash—lots of it. The Chambérys covet land and a throne. None have ever asked what it is we, the heirs and children, want. But now that we are all together in an exquisite suite in Paris, the lot of us decide to finally take control of our own destinies.

  First up, Christian and I will help Mat and Kim go into hiding. It’s not ideal, but they’ll be together, which is what they both say they want. Parker claims that, thanks to our private investigator’s reports, he was able to find a way into her building that evaded notice—better yet, they were able to depart the same way. Kim placed a call to her family, using Charlotte’s cell, begging them to go into hiding immediately. Neither Christian nor I have large amounts of cash on our persons, but I have the emerald earrings to start with. Spiteful as it may be in the moment, I would really rather Mat and Kim have the money than my parents.

  Parker and Charlotte fall in strategic mode, arr
anging flights and accommodations for the parents-to-be. It will not be easy; the Chambérys are still influential in France and Italy, and New York is obviously out as it would be one of the first places combed over in a search for a missing prince.

  None of us have all the answers yet—just the determination behind what is right.

  “You know,” Christian murmurs as alternate destinations are discussed, “perhaps we ought to start a new club. The RRAS.”

  I tap my chin as I consider this. “The Royal Reluctantly Amorous Society?”

  He laughs before he kisses the space just below my ear. “I’m disappointed in you. The Royal Runaway Society.”

  “Runaway is a singular word, you know. It would be the RRS.”

  His arms wrap around me, and while they are warm and comfortable and nice, they are a far cry from brotherly, thank goodness. “Semantics.”

  “First Isabelle, now Mat.” I chuckle against his shirt. “Running away has become an epidemic amongst the younger royals of Europe.”

  Minutes later, Mat meanders over to where we are, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You’re going to get your way, Your Highness. We will not be married after all.”

  My smile challenges the speed of light. “I do so like getting my way.”

  Kim joins us; their hands clasp together, like magnets that cannot resist one another. He is tender when he urges her to sit down and rest, only to have her remind him women have been having babies since the dawn of mankind, and she’ll sit when she’s on the plane. Besides, she argues, she’s a doctor and would know more than a math geek like him.

  Christian was right. I like this Kim.

  Mat asks me, faint lines marring his brow, “Will Prince Gustav and Princess Sofia be upset to not get their share of the Chambéry fortune?”

  Undoubtedly. But that should not matter in the least to Mat. “They made their bed, and now they must lie on it. The moment you two leave Paris, I will schedule a nice, long talk with Their Serene Highnesses about just such a thing.”