“The same, Princess. Did your mother explain why I’m here?” I ask, needing to know how much she understands about the reason for my stay here in the Kaarsberg family castle.
She smiles wide and easily nods. Her dress is a soft blue that comes down modestly to the knee. Her shoes are the ballerina style Bogart hates. He thinks a woman should always be showing off her assets in the best light, especially if she’s on the prowl or expecting to score a mate. I don’t mind a ballet flat, mostly because I don’t care one way or the other, but I can’t say I don’t love a woman in heels. Every man does, and if they say otherwise . . . they’re lying.
This woman, however, doesn’t seem like the type to rock a sexy shoe. More a kitten heel or standard pump. Not to say she isn’t pretty, with her own style. She is. Very much so. Her hair is the same golden tone as her mother’s, eyes also blue, but not nearly as bright as her sister’s. She has a nice thin form, very much something you’d see on a model, the exact opposite of her bombshell sister, but definitely attractive.
“I want extraordinary.” Crown Prince Sven’s description of the woman he wants, namely Christina, comes back to the forefront of my mind.
“Yes, my mother explained that you are trying to assist the family with our little problem with my baby sister.” She blinks sweetly and goes over to the sideboard. “May I offer you a drink, Mr. Ellis?”
At this point, I could use one. “Sure.”
“What would you like?”
“Do you know how to make a gin and tonic?”
She tilts her head. “I’m well versed in many things, most of which will please my future husband. A good wife should know how to make her king a cocktail if he so desires one. Don’t you agree, Mr. Ellis?”
Interesting choice of words.
I lean back into the couch and make myself a bit more comfortable, my arm out along the couch back and my leg crossed, a foot resting on my opposite knee. I shrug. “I think it’s a lovely sentiment, but in my experience, the man should make his lady a cocktail.”
She mixes up my drink and serves it to me with a flourish.
“In the royal family, we have a difference of opinion on some things. Would I love for my king to make me a drink? Absolutely, but only if he wishes to do so. I would never expect it of a man with such responsibilities on his shoulders. It is my duty as his queen and partner in life to ensure he has everything he needs so that he can do the job to the best of his abilities.”
My king.
From my understanding, she’s a princess and can only have a “king” if she marries one. At this point, the only soon-to-be king available is Crown Prince Sven. She’s acting as if it’s set in stone that she will one day wed a king.
I frown. “I take it by this conversation that you would have no problem marrying Crown Prince Sven.”
She comes over to the couch and sits properly, her back straight, shoulders back, hands primly in her lap. There is not a hair on her head that’s out of place. Her makeup is natural and pristine. Hell, everything about her could have come out of a royal dictionary. It would be her picture next to the description of princess.
“Absolutely not. I’d be honored to marry the crown prince.” She smiles as if talking about marrying her sister’s mate is no big deal.
I purse my lips and sip my gin and tonic. She makes one helluva drink. The absolute ideal pairing of gin to tonic and squeeze of lime. “Excellent drink.”
She preens but doesn’t say anything or boast about her skills further.
Simple and proper at all times. I can see why everyone might think she’d be the ideal queen for Sven. Though the man I met earlier today seems passionate and genuine. This woman doesn’t exude passion the way her sister, Christina, does.
I focus on her eyes. She doesn’t flinch. Comfortable in her own skin, even with strangers in her presence.
“Tell me about your relationship with Princess Christina?”
She again smiles wide at the mention of her sister’s name. Weird. It’s as if there is absolutely no animosity between them. At least on Elizabeth’s side. “I have a beautiful relationship with my sister. We’re the best of friends.”
“And do you think that’s why she would choose you as the person to marry Sven instead of herself?”
She blinks once, twice, and then tilts her head. “Possibly. She knows I would take the role of queen very seriously and with great respect. I’ve been training for the day I’d become queen every day of my life.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Prior to the crown prince becoming the heir apparent, I was engaged to his brother, Enok. Together we were to wed and take over as king and queen when his father passed.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“You and Sven’s brother were engaged?”
Her eyes fill with tears. “Yes. We were to be wed in a glorious ceremony only a month after the horrible accident occurred.” She stands up abruptly and walks over to the window.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Enok?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and stares out the window. “Enok loved horses. Besides his kingdom, and me of course, they were his favorite thing in the world. He had many of them. His friends, along with Sven, would race them.” She took a calming breath. I could see her chest ripple with the emotion pouring through her limbs at the memory of what must be a very painful experience.
“We were all there. Christina, Mother, Father, the king and queen. Enjoying a lovely afternoon out in the summer palace. All of the horses are kept there. They have a small racing track where the men would ride the horses, race, perform jumps, etc.”
Her breath comes out shaky as I watch a tear fall down her cheek.
“You don’t have to continue, Princess . . .”
“No. I must. For you to understand.” She wipes at her cheek.
“Enok, Sven, and a few of the other friends and cousins were gallivanting around on the horses. They were riding in pairs, jumping, racing, and seeing who could beat the other’s time. Enok’s horse hit one of the poles hard enough to shift his weight, knocking into Sven’s horse. The two men went down. Sven broke his arm and a couple of ribs, falling to the ground and into the wooden beams. Enok wasn’t so lucky. Not only did his horse fall on top of him, Sven’s horse stepped on his neck. It was a freak accident, but that was all it took to end Enok’s life and my dream of marrying my king, my love.”
My head starts to pound, and my skin feels hot. I swallow around a suddenly dry throat. “Princess . . . I’m sorry for your loss.”
She wipes at her cheeks and turns to me. “It was months ago. I’m dealing with it the best way I know how. Focusing on the duty. The responsibility of a country ahead of me.”
“Then you want to be queen?”
“Absolutely. It’s all I’ve ever wanted . . . except for Enok. I would give anything to have him back.”
“Yet, you’re willing to marry his brother, have children with him?”
Her eyes turn hard, and she assumes a plastic expression. Almost as if she just put everything she said back into a box, locked it up, and threw away the key.
“I will do what my country needs and expects of me. It is my duty. My responsibility. My birthright.”
“Without sounding harsh, Princess . . . the crown prince is in love with your sister.”
“And I was in love with his brother. We’ve both lost a great deal with Enok’s passing. Together, I hope to build a loving relationship, but it is not a requirement. Many royals in history married whoever their parents picked out, or whichever country would give them the best peace treaty or riches. Even today, couples marry for less. At least with Sven, I know he cares for me. Loves me like a family member. It’s a start.”
“And your sister?”
The princess closes her eyes briefly, and when she opens them there’s a hardness, a resolve I hadn’t noticed before. “My sister understands her place. She was not trained for the responsibility of ruling
a country. She knows she’d fail. I am destined to marry the next monarch. Not Christina.”
“Who says?” I toss out, without realizing it may sound confrontational.
Her head snaps up. “The order of our birth. The family into which we were born. If you want to get spiritual . . . God himself. If he wanted her to be queen, she would have been born first. As that is not the case, the duty lies with me.”
I shift and set my drink on a coaster and stand, buttoning my suit jacket as I do. “There are three problems with your logic.”
She stands and faces off with me, a fierceness to her posture. “Please share your theories, Mr. Ellis.”
“One, the heir apparent can marry whoever he deems worthy.”
Her body jolts, and it’s as if she gets another inch or two taller right before my eyes. “Are you stating I’m not worthy?” Her voice is strong and direct.
I lift my hands in a gesture of compromise. “Not at all. Just making it clear that Sven does not have to choose anyone born into royalty. He can choose whoever he wants, or no one at all.”
“That’s absurd.”
I shrug. “Maybe, but it’s the truth. And while we’re on the truth, that brings me to the second problem. The crown prince doesn’t love you. He’s in love with Christina.”
“He’ll get over it. He’ll lead with responsibility, not love.”
I know my expression is skeptical at best. “I’m not so sure I’d put my money on that. You see, I visited the crown prince today, and his words to me were that if he couldn’t have Christina, he wouldn’t take a wife at all.”
Her eyes practically bug out of her pretty head while one of her hands covers her heart. “You can’t be serious.”
“Love is love. In my business, you can’t change that because of duty. And if there is no law requiring him to wed to be king, my money is on him going it alone.”
“He can’t do that . . . ,” she gasps, her eyes filling with tears once more.
“I’m afraid he can. Though don’t take my word for it. Ask your mother. Who is the third problem.”
She frowns, her eyebrows furrowed as she breathes.
“Your mother hired me to get Princess Christina to change her mind. It seems she knows that the crown prince is not going to go the route of duty.”
The princess spins around, her dress twirling around with her, shifting the air. “Please go.” Her voice is shaky when she speaks.
“I’m sorry, Princess, if I’ve overstepped . . .”
“No. You haven’t. I wrongly assumed that when my mother said she was bringing you here to tame Christina, it was so that she wouldn’t tarnish our good name, not because she wanted you to change my sister’s mind about marrying Sven. I mean . . . she’s been telling me I will be queen one day . . . my entire life. It’s what I was born to do. Without that . . . I have nothing.” She shakes her head and spins around. “Please go. I need to think.”
I take one step toward her, knowing that she’s hurting. I hate seeing a woman upset.
She lifts a hand, palm out in a “stop” motion. “Please . . . just . . . go. Thank you for coming today. I’ve . . . I learned a lot.”
I let out all the air in my lungs. “Princess . . . I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “No need. Thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Ellis.”
I turn around and take hold of the doorknob. “You know, I think you’d make a lovely queen, but more than that, I imagine you’ll be an excellent confidant for your sister. She needs you now more than ever. And in my book, nothing is more important than family.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” she whispers as I close the door.
I head toward my room with a heavy heart. This trip is becoming one big downer after another. Maybe Bo was right, and I should just cut my losses and head home. See Skyler.
Seeing her now would be a breath of fresh air, a balm to my battered soul.
Though something inside me is keeping me here. It’s as if I have to help them get it right. For all of them. Christina. Sven. Elizabeth. Both royal families.
As much as I hate to believe it, I think everyone needs a bit of help. If not me . . . then who?
5
Today bit the dust. I’m still dealing with the tired, dizzy feeling from the jet lag, not to mention my mind is whirling with all that I learned today.
Princess Elizabeth was set to marry Enok, the heir apparent a scant few months ago. He dies in a tragic accident, and she now believes she will marry his brother, who happens to be in love with her sister. This is some seriously Jerry Springer, the Royal Edition shit they’ve got going on. Then of course there’s Christina, who I know is hung up on the prince, but is pushing him and her sister together. Either she genuinely doesn’t want to be queen, or she’s making the ultimate sacrifice for her sister. Forgoing her own happiness with Sven in order to have her sister become the one thing she’s always wanted to be . . .
Queen.
I remove my clothes and flop onto the cloud of blankets in just my boxer briefs. I’m bone tired as I rub my hand over my face. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I grab it.
“Peaches” flashes on the display.
I grin and click the button to answer. “To what do I owe this extreme pleasure . . . ,” I murmur into the line.
“I did it!” she squeals into the phone. “And it’s all because of you, Parker! You sexy, sexy man!” Skyler laughs, and it fills my heart with much-appreciated joy.
“Well, I’ll agree to the sexy, sexy man part, but please, don’t be shy about telling me why you think I’m sexy.”
“Rick and I met at the studio and had our first run-through of a scene together.”
Rick. Ugh.
She carries on, “I’d been studying it nonstop, so I knew it forward and backward . . .”
“That’s my girl,” I encourage, loving the happiness she’s exuding.
“And guess what!” she continues excitedly.
“What? I’m on pins and needles,” I joke.
“I could act. Better than that . . . I was good, honey. So good the director clapped at the end of the scene and gushed about how much chemistry Rick and I have, and that we’re perfect together—”
“Chemistry?” I cut into her story, a queasy sensation rippling through my chest.
“Yes! It. Was. Amazing. I haven’t felt that good acting with a male costar in a long, long time, and it’s all because of you!”
Deep breaths, Park. It’s just acting. It’s her job.
Besides, I don’t have any official claim to her. She can do what she wants, regardless of what I may want her to do.
I shake my head and grind my teeth. “No, Peaches, it’s all because of you. You did the work. Put the time in to reboot your muse, bringing back your love of the craft. You set yourself up to live your truth.”
“Okay yes, but without your help, I don’t think I could have done it.” Her voice lowers into the sultry lilt that makes me hard.
My dick takes notice, and I cup my length over my underwear, giving it a nice firm hold, imagining it’s her hand instead.
I groan. “If that’s the truth, then how are you going to show me your appreciation a million miles away?”
She hums low in her throat. “Where are you now?”
“In bed. Wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs.” I add in the lack of clothing in the hopes that she’ll get the hint and get a little freaky with me via phone.
“Hmm, and is the sound of my voice making you ache?”
“Fuck yes!” I groan into the line, wanting more of her filthy mouth. She doesn’t talk dirty often, but when she does, it’s fucking stellar and makes me rock hard.
I can hear the sound of a door shutting and a shuffling of something. “What are you doing now?”
“Getting into bed.”
“Isn’t it early to be getting into bed right now?” I run my hand over my firm shaft, imagining she’s already removed her clothes and is lying naked on her bed, open,
ready for me like she would be if I were there in person.
“Never too early to get into bed when I’m with you,” she taunts, and I love every second of it.
I lick my lips, wishing it were her tongue doing it. “Is that right? And if I were in bed next to you, what would you do to me?” I want so badly for her to play along.
She sighs long and low. I know that sound. I remember it very clearly. It means she’s running her hands along her skin, but just barely. She loves a soft touch, a caress from just the tips of my fingers against her skin. Gives her goose bumps, everywhere.
“I’d straddle your thighs, so you couldn’t move them, pinning you down while I rubbed my lower half along your length.”
Sweet, sweet woman. “And . . .”
“I’d run my hands over your chest, flicking and pinching your nipples, making you crazy with the need for me to put my mouth on them. Can you do that for me now?” she demands.
I put her on speaker and place the phone on my stomach. “You’re on speaker.”
“Are you doing as I asked?”
“Hell yes! Keep talking. I’m so hard for you, Sky . . . damn, baby.”
She moans as I flick and pinch the flat brown disks hard enough that I cry out softly.
“Oooh, I hear you. When you moan, Parker, it’s like you’re calling out for me. It makes me wet . . .”
“Jesus, how wet?” I grate through my teeth.
“Soaked,” she murmurs, and I lose my mind, arching into the empty air. She’s driving me mad with her words.
“I’m running my hands over my breasts, pinching my nipples, pretending you’re licking and biting them in that flawless pinch-nip thing you do.”
I smile while shoving down my boxers to my knees, the phone on my belly teetering precariously but staying put. “Keep those hands moving, Peaches. I want you to feel how wet you are.”
“I will if you wrap your hand around your long, hard cock and pretend it’s my hand touching you. Gripping you tentatively at first, then running up the length, swirling my thumb around the silky top until you gift me with a little drop of heaven.”
International Guy: Paris, New York, Copenhagen (International Guy Volumes Book 1) Page 29