My Bossy Protector: A Best Friend’s Brother Romance

by Charlize Starr

  Chapter Two - Tristan

  Meetings were always the worst part of the day, and this one was worse than usual. I was so bored I felt itchy like even my skin wanted no part of this. I sighed loudly, crossing my arms and scrolling through my phone as my event manager droned on, filling me in on details I was supposed to care about but didn’t.

  “The girls will then perform a dance,” the event manager said. “They will still not be able to see you.”

  “Thrilling,” I said dryly. I never cared for events, for engagements I had to keep, parties I had to attend, rooms full of people my parents had hand-selected. It was all so outdated, not my style. This festival only increased that feeling.

  “Sir, this festival will help you choose a bride. It is important to the future of the country,” the event planner said, giving me a pleading look. He was older, his face red and round. He was the third planner I’d spoken to this week about the festival. I’d given up trying to learn their names or figure out why they cared so much about whom I married.

  “I don’t need all this. I don’t have any trouble getting girls to dance for me all on my own,” I said. The whole thing was ridiculous, the idea that I needed an elaborate festival to get a girl to fall for me, like I couldn’t just walk through town and pick one, couldn’t go to a bar like a normal guy and come home with the prettiest girl there. I wasn’t actually allowed to do that, of course, but I’d done it more than once anyway. A prince can’t stay locked in a castle all the time.

  “This is for life, not a night,” the event planner said. He sounded reprimanding and I scowled at his tone and his words. I had no interest in a wife. Not right now, anyway. I had heard people say, while I was at bars pretending to fit in, that the festival was unfair and terrible. Beautiful girls who took university classes and didn’t care for royalty talked about the festival with disgust in their tone. I honestly didn’t blame them. In fact, I agreed.

  It wasn’t fucking fair to me either, though, something no one ever brought up. I didn’t want to get married. I did not feel at all ready. I would have preferred several more nights sneaking away to bars, several more dark dances with girls, several more early mornings leaving hotel beds. I certainly did not want to marry some girl based on the events of the festival. But I didn’t have a choice. The laws bound me, too.

  “Your job is to plan events, not make comments about my life,” I said, frowning. “Do it again and you won’t have a job anymore.”

  “Of course, sir, my apologies,” he said, bowing his head as he started to talk about the details again. I shook my head and went back to my phone, trying to ignore him.

  The Facebook messenger notification blinking at me made that much easier. I swallowed down a grin, keeping my face neutral as I opened the message from Christa, the fascinating woman I’d met months ago on the site. I’d never thought of myself as the kind of person to have any sort of online relationship, but she had caught my attention right away and held it tight. We’d been talking every day, and I’d found myself looking forward to it. She was intelligent, witty, kind, clever, and sexy. I was intrigued by everything about her.

  She knew me as Frederick, a fake profile I’d created mostly out of boredom one day. I didn’t even have the password for the official Prince Tristan of Ladoria account, as there was a social media manager for that. I had no idea the fake profile would lead me to Christa. Part of me thought I should break it off, stop this communication, especially now that I was about to get married to a stranger, but I couldn’t make myself say goodbye to her. We talked about everything, from ideas, books and philosophy, to the best restaurants in Ladoria, to sex.

  We talked about sex almost every day, actually. Christa had a way with words and had taken to telling me her fantasies. She would paint these gorgeous erotic pictures of the things she wanted, and I was hooked on them. Even thinking about them, about Christa, made me stiffen in my pants, turned on at the things she said, the things she wanted. Often, as she typed about the things she’d never experienced but wanted to, I would jerk off, touching myself while we talked, wanting so badly to be the one to do those things, to give her those fantasies.

  I shifted in my seat a little, opening her message.

  She had been selected for the festival. She’d received an invitation. Suddenly the itching in my skin was more a low pulsing in my veins. Excitement. Maybe this festival wasn’t such a waste of time. Maybe I could help her live out those fantasies after all.

  “Where is the list?” I asked, straightening up and looking at my event planner again after typing back to Christa. He startled, jumping, and frowned.

  “The list?” he asked. He’d probably been talking about something else. I didn’t care.

  “Of selected women. I want to read the list of names,” I said. He frowned and looked like he was maybe about to remind me that an hour ago I’d yelled at him that I didn’t give a fuck about the names on the list. Luckily for him, he seemed to decide against that and shook his head.

  “Of course,” he said, reaching into a large red folder and pulling out a list. It was handwritten, in scrawling ink, old-fashioned and ridiculous like everything about this. I grabbed it out of his hand impatiently and scanned the list of names.

  There was no Christa listed. I frowned, thinking. This must mean she had been using a fake profile, too. I felt even more intrigued by her than before. That I would be seeing the girl I’d fallen for over social media at the festival had my mind spinning.

  Suddenly, I found myself looking forward to something I’d been dreading for most of my life.

  Chapter Three - Ella

  I had only been to the palace one other time. I was seven and I’d won an essay contest about life in Ladoria. I’d been invited to the palace and there had been photographers and cupcakes and the queen herself had given me a plaque with my name on it. The pictures had been in the paper the next day, and everyone at school had talked about it for weeks.

  I remembered being nervous that morning, amazed by the palace, with its large rooms and floors so shiny I’d been able to see myself in them. Those nerves were nothing like the ones I was feeling now, on festival day. The rooms were still big, and the floors were still shiny, but I wasn’t a little girl anymore, and I wasn’t here for a plaque or a cupcake. I was here for the festival, and I thought I might throw up or pass out as I was ushered into a room filled with girls and dresses. A woman with a kind face and glasses perched on top of her head approached me and looked me up and down, consulting a clipboard. Her nametag said Rachel, and she seemed to be in charge.

  “Ella?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. Around me girls were being fitted in gowns by an array of servants, zipping them up and pulling them in.

  “Very pretty,” she said, taking me in, “slender, but not too skinny. Big eyes, a nice bone structure in your face. You need pale colors for your lovely skin tone and complexion. Greens and pinks will make you pop,” she finished, marking it down on her clipboard as I felt my cheeks flush.

  “Thank you,” I said. I wasn’t sure, but those things all sounded complimentary, so thanks seemed appropriate.

  “This is no time for modesty, dear,” Rachel said, waving a hand, “it is a time to show off. Sit here. Bethanne is going to bring you over dresses to try on. There is a pink one with gold trim, one of my favorites, and I do hope it fits you. The color has washed out some other girls, but on you? Perfect.”

  “Oh, I hope so too,” I said. I didn’t really hold much hopes for the dresses. None of the ones I could see being tried on looked like they were my style at all, but I didn’t want to disappoint her. I sat in the chair she had pointed to and found myself staring at my own face in the mirror. I frowned, trying to see the bone structure she had talked about, but only seeing the same things I always did. I was not unconfident in my looks, but I did not think of them as anything special, either. Around me, just as I’d suspected, were beautiful girls, running their hands over the curves being hugged and
highlighted by the dresses and smiling at themselves in the mirror.

  “Do you have anything lower cut?” a tall, willowy blonde asked one of the servants, pushing her cleavage up as she talked and tilting her head.

  “Any lower cut and they’ll fall out,” said a petite brunette from beside her as the servant left to get more dresses.

  “You’re just jealous I have more to work with,” the blonde said. “I hear Prince Tristan loves that.”

  “I’m not worried, I have ways to compete,” the other girl said, examining her own dress, running her fingers over the sequins running down the sides.

  “I don’t think your particular special skill with men is part of the festival,” the blonde said, “you can’t get on your knees in the middle of the stage.”

  I swallowed hard as I listened, feeling myself flush again.

  “But I can promise him I’d do it as soon as we’re alone, whenever he wants,” the brunette said, laughing and then making a face in the mirror with her lips and tongue, “like that.”

  “Trashy,” the blonde said, shaking her head.

  I knew I should probably agree, but mostly I envied the girl’s confidence, her ability to say what she wanted out loud like that.

  I’d imagined it. Many times. A strong hand in my hair, warm firm thighs, making a man groan as I took him in my mouth, tasting and sucking and letting--

  “Your dresses,” a voice said, snapping me out of my thoughts. I shook my head and stared at the pile that had been brought to me. I stood and reached out for them. The fabric felt nicer than anything I’d ever owned, and the colors were rich and saturated. None of them looked like anything I would ever wear.

  I allowed Bethanne to help me into the first one and frowned again, looking in the mirror. The green dress was so tight I could hardly breathe, and if it weren’t for the slit that went almost as high as my hip, I was sure I wouldn't be able to walk in it. I felt awkward and embarrassed in it. I shook my head.

  “Not this one,” I said, looking away from my own reflection. A few feet away, the blonde girl had on a new dress, low cut and vibrant against her skin. She looked effortlessly sexy, and I felt even more awkward in my own dress.

  The next three dresses were all the same. Tight and exposing, tops cut low and skirts cut high, fabric clinging to my chest and my ass like paint. I couldn’t imagine walking around in them, knowing behind the curtain, staring at me, was the crown prince.

  I stepped into another dress, feeling miserable and hardly paying attention.

  “I knew it,” a familiar voice said from behind me before I could even look at myself. Rachel, the woman with the kind face and the glasses was back, smiling at me.

  “This dress was made for you,” she said. I looked at myself in the mirror, hoping to see what she saw.

  I didn’t.

  The dress was tight, the pink fabric snug on my thighs, the little of them it covered anyway. It was low cut, and the gold trim she had mentioned plunged into my cleavage. I felt ridiculous and embarrassed.

  “You’d be a fool to not use this one,” Bethanne said, nodding, like she agreed. I frowned.

  “As I said, today is a day to show off, and this displays you perfectly,” Rachel said, marking something on her clipboard.

  “I’m not sure--” I began, tugging on the hemline.

  “It’s settled,” Rachel said, “trust me.”

  “I’ll get the bikinis now,” Bethanne said, turning to leave.

  My heart sank. I stared at myself in the mirror again. I didn’t know how I was ever going to do this. The sick feeling in my stomach was back.

  It was just a day, I told myself, one day. One day of embarrassment, and then the crown prince would pick one these other girls, and I could go back to my life and forget all about it.

  The thought did nothing to calm my stomach or my racing pulse.

  Chapter Four - Tristan

  The whole thing felt absurd. Sitting behind a curtain watching a parade of women. I felt a lingering, stabbing irritation about it. Even if the woman I’d met on social media, the fascinating woman I couldn’t shake from my thoughts, was here, it wouldn’t change the fact that this wasn’t the introduction I would have picked. I’d still rather meet a woman on my own than through all this ceremony, and I couldn’t help but think it would be more successful my way.

  The women who had walked past so far were not helping my mood. I wanted one of them to be the girl from Facebook, but everyone who walked past bored me, no matter how tight their dress, how much their hips swung when they danced, or how well their bikini showed their skin. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, what it was that made someone unforgettable, but none of them had it. Several of them made faces toward the curtains that I was sure were supposed to be for me. They all misjudged my hiding place, and the gestures only made me roll my eyes. I slouched back in my chair, considering calling for a strong drink.

  I wanted one of them to be the girl I knew as Christa, wanted to look at one of them and know. What would identify her, I wasn’t sure. I’d thought it about it the night before, though. I was supposed to be reading about an upcoming business merger that would benefit Ladoria. Instead, I’d stayed up, reading over conversations with Christa, imagining her being one of the girls today. I wanted to hear her voice, hear her say out loud the things she’d typed, wanted to see the face I felt sure was incredibly sexy, wanted to kiss her until she was breathless.

  The women in front of me were a sea of faces, each like the last. I didn’t think any of them could possibly be Christa. Twenty-three women so far, and I couldn’t remember a thing about any of them.

  I wasn’t holding out any hope for number twenty-four, Ella―until I saw her. As soon as she walked on stage, there was something about her that made me sit up. She was beautiful, for certain, but it wasn’t that. This girl had something else. There was intelligence in her eyes and a flush across her cheeks as she walked.

  She was clearly nervous, pulling on the hem of the pink dress she had on, crossing and uncrossing her arms. She danced like she wanted to get it over with, looking out past an imaginary audience, eyes far away from me. But I wanted her closer, wanted to know more about her. Everything she did, every movement, made me want to keep watching her. She almost seemed scared, frightened. It made me want to shut everything down, tell everyone to stop, to stop looking at her. It made me want to take her away somewhere safe and remote. It made me want to kiss her. Made me want to make her eyes get wide for better, more pleasurable reasons.

  I circled her name on the list and motioned for a servant.

  “I need a drink, make it whiskey,” I said, “and get the event planner.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, scurrying away with a quick nod. I leaned back again, hardly watching as two other women performed.

  “Is everything satisfactory?” the event planner said, coming up beside me, holding my drink. I took it out of his hand and took a long drink before answering.

  “No,” I said, “but I’ve made a decision.”

  “About a woman?” the planner asked, looking startled. His face was extra red, like maybe this was all very stressful for him. It was bullshit since I was the one who was supposed to be deciding their whole romantic future based on this day. If anyone should get to be stressed, it should be me.

  “Obviously,” I said, annoyed.

  “There are still twenty to go, you cannot decide yet,” he said, looking flustered. I took another long sip of my drink.

  “The rest of them are free to walk across the stage, but I’ve already chosen,” I said. Number twenty-four, Ella, was the most intriguing girl I’d seen all day. I wanted to get to know her, wanted her close to me. I wondered if she was Christa, if somehow, impossibly, I had known when I saw her, but even if she wasn’t, I wanted her.

  “Fifty are chosen for a reason, and with great care--” he started.

  “Number twenty-four,” I said, throwing the list at him and gulping down the rest of my dri
nk. The event planner opened his mouth, then shut it again quickly, like he thought better of whatever he was about to say. He walked away, nodding once.

  I motioned for another drink, impatient to meet Ella.

  Chapter Five - Ella

  The backroom was abuzz with excitement and whispers, but I felt miserable. I was sure I had made a fool of myself on stage and wanted to go home. The sooner I was out of these clothes and back into my own, the sooner I was home studying and talking to Frederick, the better. The festival had been humiliating. I felt sure that my nerves and inexperience showed when I walked, when I danced, in everything I had done.

  I had tried. I had no desire to be here or to marry the crown prince, but I hated not doing well at things. At anything. I’d always strived to be the best at school, in sports, and in music. There was a collection of ribbons on my bookshelf to prove it. I couldn’t stomach failing. So I’d tried. I’d thought of what Gretchen would do and I’d tried to walk confidently in my heels. But I couldn’t hold it. I knew I’d faltered and stumbled and probably looked absolutely atrocious.

  A few minutes after the last girl had walked, a loud voice called us all back in, as a group to the stage. It was time to announce the winner. I wanted it to be over with as fast as possible. I stood, staring at the floor, not really bothering to listen, until--

  “Crown Prince Tristan has chosen number twenty-four, Ella,” a man with a red face and worry lines around his eyes said.

  For a minute, I didn’t hear him. The words didn’t make any sense to me, and they sounded wrong in my head, like a puzzle I couldn’t figure out. When I did, everyone was staring at me. Some girls were hugging me excitedly and some were glaring at me. I felt hot all over and more than a little dizzy.

  “Me?” I said, still not really believing it.