by Amelia Wilde
That’s where I run into a guy named Christian, who’s giving the free weights a run for their money. He’s a typical American, loud and blonde and built, but after a few minutes of conversation, he lowers his voice.
“I’m a member of a club called the Purple Swan—it’s a good time and the food is top-notch. If you’re in town tonight, you should come out with my friends and me. I have a feeling you’d fit in with our crowd.”
For a heart-stopping moment, I think he must have heard of me somehow. Almost nobody has heard of Saintland, so I had been fairly certain I could remain anonymous in a city as large as New York City, a place with more than eight million people, according to the Internet. That’s twice the entire population of Saintland.
Then I remember that I paid $750 for a weeklong membership at the gym. It’s not royalty he’s talking about. It’s money.
“Fine by me,” I say, smiling. This will be a perfect opportunity to get my mind off Jessica and—if Christian’s friends are anything like him—easily make some connections in the United States. It’s a win-win. “What time? What’s the address?”
Christian grabs his phone off a shelf recessed into the wall of the gym where members can charge their phones while they work out—there’s clearly no fear of thievery in this place—and swipes a few times at the screen. “What’s your number? Also, I didn’t catch your full name…”
“Put me in there as Alec,” I say, pretending to be selecting a set of weights.
“Number?”
I rattle off my new phone number. I worked on memorizing it while I was in the air.
“I’m texting you the directions now. Mention my name at the door, although if I’m right about you, you could probably afford the membership.”
I laugh, not confirming or denying it, but I’m a royal prince of Saintland. Of course I could afford the membership.
At 7:00, Christian sends me a text.
Purple Swan. 8:30. Black tie. I’ll be there with some female company
Well. That will certainly be interesting. Is Christian hiding a woman that could be Jessica’s match? I’m dying to find out.
I take a cab to the Swan, arriving there a little after 8:30. The doorman ushers me in as soon as I drop Christian’s name and guides me through the lobby. He hands me off to a uniformed member of the wait staff, and I follow him through a wide hallway and into a massive space. For the first time since arriving in New York, I’m in a space that almost competes with the Great Hall in Saintland.
There are multiple tiers filling the cavernous space, each filled with tables covered in fine linen tablecloths, spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy. In the back of the room, there is a raised platform where a live band plays, the volume still relatively low at this early hour. Several couples are already dancing on the polished hardwood dance floor located in front of the band area.
As the waiter guides me across the room, I catch sight of Christian sitting at one of the round tables. He’s seated with six other people and there is one open chair for me. He laughs at someone’s joke, but upon glimpsing me following the waiter across the floor, he stands up and waves in my direction.
A woman with shining auburn hair spilling down her back sits facing away from me, next to the available seat at the table. I’m ten feet away from the table when she turns to look in my direction.
When her gaze meets mine, the faint smile on her face shifts into a look of shock, her mouth forming a round ‘O’, her eyes wide.
It’s Jessica.
11
Jessica
The moment I see him coming toward the table at the Swan, something inside me shifts.
It’s been a long time since I made the break from my parents’ conservative Christian views, two years since what happened with Michael taught me to rely on myself, to lead a life of my own choosing and not to depend on anyone else. So, I’m well past the point of relying on or believing in divine intervention.
But when our eyes meet as he approaches the table, a thousand-watt smile playing across his lips, it’s like the entire world stops moving for a single heartbeat. When it starts spinning again, it’s going in the opposite direction.
My heart hammers inside my chest.
What are the chances?
What are the chances?
I never asked Christian how he met my date-of-the-week, and even if I did, how could it possibly explain the infinitesimally small odds that Alec and I are working against? New York City is jam-packed with handsome men. Christian has more connections than anyone I’ve ever met—he has an easy charm about him that makes you feel like you’re his new best friend—but how did these two ever come across each other?
I make a mental inventory of everything I know about Alec, and aside from an intimate knowledge of the ridges and dips of his body, the answer is—because of my own rules, Jesus Christ—almost nothing. He has a nice apartment, it’s clean with new furniture and has recently been renovated by the looks of it, but it isn’t the kind of thing that would connect him to Christian, one of the richest men in the city aside from Jax Hunter.
Too late, I realize that my mouth is still hanging open, so I snap it shut as Alec reaches the table, sliding smoothly into the seat next to me.
Christian has noticed and is already laughing at my stricken expression.
“I take it you’re impressed with your date for the evening, Jess?” I narrow my eyes at him, speechless, flabbergasted. At this, Christian’s laughter doubles and the rest of our group grins indulgently. When he finally gets ahold of himself, dabbing the corners of his eyes with his napkin, he reaches a hand across the table for Alec to shake.
“I’m sorry, Alec, that wasn’t polite. But my friend Jess here looked like she’d seen the ghost of a male model coming to be her date for the night.”
Alec cuts his eyes toward me, still smiling, an ember of excitement burning in the center of his green eyes. “Don’t be too hard on her. We’ve actually met before…once or twice.”
Christian’s eyes go wide, and he drops back into his seat more heavily than I think he intended. “Really?” He looks from me to Alec and back to me again.
I find my voice, and I can’t resist.
“How did you two meet each other?” I ask, my voice going high with my disbelief.
“At the gym,” Christian says immediately, and the three words set the wheels spinning in my mind. Christian’s gym is without a doubt the most expensive fitness club in New York City. He’s taken me as a guest a couple of times, and the place is no joke. If Alec is a member, he’s got some serious personal capital.
We have never once discussed money. Why would we? That’s in the same category as “last names” and “identifying details.”
I took him with me to the Bystander. My cheeks go hot with shame before I can stop myself from caring who notices. It is pointless to make comparisons between the kinds of places I frequent when left to my own devices and the kinds of places where my friends have memberships. Holy shit. He’s probably got enough money to afford a membership at the Swan, and I took him to the Bystander like a scraping-by grad student.
I turn toward him, shaking my head, taking him in, totally ignoring Christian’s eyes on us. I want to say something witty, something sarcastic, something to show him that he doesn’t have any effect on me, that this is just a hilarious coincidence.
But we both know it’s not.
Alec looks back into my eyes, his green irises glinting in the candlelight. Then he grins at me, a half-smile that sends a jolt of lust screaming down my spine and straight between my legs. He reaches out, takes my hand in his, and kisses the back of it like a royal courtier from the movies, and breathes into my ear in that to-die-for accent I could listen to forever and dominates my dreams, “I think this is a sign, Jessica0607.”
The next morning I wake up slowly, becoming aware in increments of the bed, the covers, the room.
It’s still early. The light streaming through Alec’s bedroom windows is soft and ye
llow, indicating it’s another perfect midsummer morning.
It’s coming on the heels of a night so hot I’m surprised the sheets aren’t scorched.
I stretch, the sheets sliding over my bare skin. They feel soft—a high thread count, no doubt—and I relish the silky sensation against me.
Alec’s hand joins the sheets on the flat expanse of my stomach, and I turn my head to look into his face, flushed with sleep, eyes already glittering.
“I don’t think I can ignore this any longer,” I murmur, and he nods against his pillow.
“What do you think?” he asks, the cocky swagger filtering through his voice even now. “Should we trade last names? No…too dangerous.”
“Why?” I say, giggling. He’s playing with me. I know, deep down, that we’re going to tell each other everything. “Do you have a dark and mysterious past?”
An expression I can’t place flashes across his face, and I wonder if I’ve hit a nerve.
But almost as fast as it disappeared, the smile is back. His hands are around my waist, pulling me, lifting me up so I’m straddling him, the perfection of his chest the perfect resting place for my hands.
“You start,” he says.
“Jessica Reeves.”
“Jessica Reeves.” He turns my name over in his mouth, tasting it. “I suppose it’s my turn. My full, unabridged name is—”
He’s interrupted by a furious pounding on the front door of the apartment.
Alec sits upright, startled, and I throw my arms around his neck. It can’t be later than 6:45. Who is trying to break his door down at this hour?
Another barrage of knocks shatters the silence of the apartment. “Prince—” A voice shouts, but I must be mistaking the word. Then there’s another shout. “Alec! Alec! Open up. Now!”
12
Alec
I roll Jessica off me as gently as I can and launch myself out of bed as Nate resumes pounding on the door like a madman. She stumbles out after me and starts searching for her clothes, our bodies colliding as I fumble for something, anything, I can wear to answer the door and to tell Nate to get out of here. I grasp her by the shoulders and press her down so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You stay here,” I say, leaning over to kiss her jawline. “I’ll tell whoever it is to go the hell away.”
She gives me a smile, but there’s a rustle of fabric as I move toward the door, pulling on a pair of boxers as I go.
What in God’s name could Nate possibly need at this hour?
I sprint through the apartment, a strange combination of fury and relief competing in my chest. I’m pissed at him for interrupting my idyllic moment, but when I opened my mouth to tell Jessica my name, I didn’t have anything prepared. Where was the conversation going to go? I hadn’t decided whether or not to lie to her and try to drag out this trip as long as possible—because after last night, it’s all I want in the world—or tell her the truth and break her heart?
Saved by the bodyguard. Screwed by the bodyguard. Can’t it ever be one or the other?
The moment I pull open the front door of the apartment, Nate barrels in, his face red. His phone is out of his pocket in an instant. He swipes the screen once, taps once, and then holds it to his cheek.
“I have him,” he says in a terse tone, then shoves it back into his pocket, turns back to turn the deadbolt on the door, and only then meets my eyes.
“What. The. Fuck?” I say to him, my voice deadly. “I’m fairly sure that I was clear about—”
“All that’s done, your highness.” He cuts me off, his voice clipped and tense. “We need to go. Right now. Do you need help with your things?”
I hold both hands up, shaking my head. “What are you talking about, Nate? There’s no reason to—”
He takes me by the elbow and yanks me over toward the picture window in the apartment’s living area. It looks out over the street below. “Hey!” I try to protest. “Don’t manhandle—”
“Look.”
He jabs his fingers pointing down to the sidewalk below, and I see why he felt it necessary to lay hands on my royal person despite the possible penalties, the first of which would be me, backhanding his foolish head.
The sidewalk below us is crawling with media and paparazzi.
I look across at Nate, brow furrowed in confusion. It’s not the first time I’ve come across that kind of crowd—as royalty, we’re in front of cameras quite often—but those were always scheduled appearances in Saintland. This is something else. “What are they doing here?”
“They’re here for you.”
“You’re sure?” This city has to be crawling with people who are far more famous than I am. Doesn’t that actor Matt Damon live here?
“Yes. They’ve been trying to get in the lobby for an hour so they can get pictures of you with the girl.”
“The girl?”
“Yes. Jessica.” Nate doesn’t have time for my irritation. “It appears that when you ended your date with Emmaline so hastily, you caused a bit of an international incident.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Why would she—”
“Listen to me, your highness. We can discuss the details later. What you need to know right now is that the gossip sites know you’re here. The regular media has also latched on to this story, and they’re all waiting outside. It’s becoming a more pressing security issue with every moment that passes. We. Have. To. Go.”
“I need a few minutes.”
“You can say goodbye to her from the car.”
“Do I need to repeat myself?” I spit at him, my confusion turning to anger.
“Your highness—”
“Your highness?”
We both spin around to see Jessica standing at the edge of the room, her back to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Her face is a mask of confusion as she looks from me to Nate, then back to me again.
“Your highness?” she repeats, her voice rising another octave.
Well, that’s blown wide open.
“Jess, I—”
She narrows her eyes, crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Is this a joke? If it is, tell me right now.”
I step toward her, reaching for her, and she leans toward my touch. “It’s a long story.”
“Then tell it. All that in the club, no names—” She waves one hand in the air dismissively. “I think we both know that’s over now.” The look in her eyes is half-hopeful, half-terrified, and I realize she’s waiting for me to do the logical thing, the expected thing, and end it now.
“Your highness, we—”
I silence Nate with the raise of a hand.
“It’s time to go, Jessica.”
Her shoulders sag an inch before she straightens her back. She gives a sharp nod and her chin quivers slightly before I speak again.
“Come with me.”
She lets out a short burst of laughter and her forehead wrinkles with disbelief. “Go with you where?”
I suck in a deep breath. There’s no way she’s going to agree to this. She probably hasn’t even heard of Saintland, unlike the media hounds outside.
“Listen,” I begin, keeping my voice even despite the rising pressure I feel to get out of here. “I know this may sound a little farfetched to you, but in my home country of Saintland, which occupies an area of land formerly—” I stop myself. “In Saintland, I am second in line to the throne.
My heart is in my throat. All I know is that in this moment I can’t leave things unfinished with her. If I go back to Saintland now, I may never get another opportunity like this, and even if I do, a woman like Jessica will have found a replacement by then. I can’t find adequate words to convey to her how badly I need to continue this conversation with her, until we find out where what we have together leads…or how badly I need one more night with her in my bed.
“If you come with me now, we can sort all of this out. And if we decide…no matter what we decide, you’re free to come back whenever you’d like.
But right now I must go.”
She looks into my eyes, and the room is so still that I can feel my heart thudding in my chest.
Her lips part.
I prepare for a crushing blow. My heart feels like it’s about to combust.
She takes one deep breath, and then gives her answer.
“I’ll come with you.”
13
Jessica
The sheer adrenaline fueling our actions over the next couple of hours makes it nearly impossible for me to think. We spend them hustling through the building in last night’s dress, racing across town in a town car driven at breakneck speeds by Alec’s bodyguard and driver Nate, hastily scrambling up to my apartment to find an outfit suitable for air travel—”Get a few things, Jessica—we can buy anything you need in Saintland”—, making several phone calls to the Saintland equivalent of the State Department to sort out a last-minute Visa for me, and sprinting through customs to catch the only outgoing flight of the day.
It’s not until we reach cruising altitude, Alec holding my hand in first class, that I catch my breath.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says into my hair, and I lean my head against his shoulder, breathing in his masculine scent that I’ve come to love.
I’m quiet as he flips through the in-flight movie selections, but my mind is racing.
Holy shit, holy shit. What have I done?
Start at the beginning, I tell myself sternly. You’ve bought yourself some time to think, and that time is right now.
Memories of the first time I saw Alec flicker in front of my eyes. His out-of-this-world body, the confidence he exudes in every movement, the way he zeroed in on me from across the room and hasn’t looked away since. More than that, the way I felt is what has made such an impact. It doesn’t make sense—we’re still almost total strangers—but I recognized something in him almost immediately that makes my heart race, filling with unspoken promises and possibilities for the future.