Royally Deep

by Virna DePaul

“We’ll see each other again, right, Duchess?”

  The hopeful look in Kyle’s eyes was killing her. Her heart broke. She wrapped her arms around Kyle’s neck and shook her head. As much as she’d enjoyed this dream of a day, real life was calling her back home. “I’m going home tomorrow to Salasia,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine I’ll return anytime soon.”

  He thought about that for a moment, and she hoped that he wouldn’t make it any harder by begging her to stay. But Kyle simply nodded and took her hand. “Then at least let me take you back to your hotel.”

  Gently, she pulled away, needing to put distance between them. Kyle looked so forlorn, though, that she wanted to throw herself into his arms and never let go. Forget Royce, forget Salasia. What was there for her except her family? How would she ever know what was meant to be if she always did what she was told to do? Yes, she’d known from the beginning that this could never go beyond a night together, but why did she have to follow the rules?

  Sadly, she knew the answer to that—because she was a princess.

  With a sigh, she said, “I need to go on my own. There are…complications. Things I can’t explain. I’m sorry.” She couldn’t let Royce see him, either, especially not if he’d already called the police to come find her.

  “Then I’ll ask for one last thing before you go.”

  “What is that?”

  “A kiss, Duchess—one last kiss. Then you can walk out of my life forever.”

  Tears formed in her eyes. God, why did this have to be so hard? He cupped her face, and as they stood outside the stadium where Arabella had ended the best day of her life, he pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss wasn’t like last night’s, which had been electric and erotic. This was a kiss of parting, a kiss that made her want to sob in agony. He kissed her gently, his mouth soft and sweet against her own.

  Then, he let his fingers slip out of her trembling hands. “Goodbye, Bella. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that. So she just nodded and walked off in the direction of the nearest subway station. When she was far enough from Kyle, she got out her phone and finally called Royce, ignoring the angry tone in his voice. He hadn’t just said goodbye to the sweetest man he’d ever met. He hadn’t just had the most triumphant day ever. So, he needed to just shut up and listen. “I’ll be there soon. No, I don’t need a car. I’ll take the subway.” And with that, she hung up. If she had to go back to the real world, she would do it her way.

  And if her bodyguard noticed that her face was tear-streaked when she arrived at Park Plaza twenty minutes later, he didn’t say anything about it.

  * * *

  It took hours to calm everyone down—Royce, her parents, what felt like the entire Salasian government—before Arabella finally put her foot down and said they were all being ridiculous. “If you’d let me live my life,” she told everyone on speakerphone, “this wouldn’t have happened!”

  It wasn’t worth discussing any further. She was safe now—she’d always been safe—and was returning to Salasia tomorrow. Lecturing her about her behavior wasn’t going to change anything. Royce, for his part, had been genuinely concerned. He seemed like he’d lost weight from sheer anxiety, and she felt guilty about that. He’d only been trying to do his job, and she nearly cost him it.

  When Arabella awoke the next morning, she stared at the alarm clock in the dim room. The sun had only just risen, and she’d have to catch her flight in a few hours. But exhaustion made her head fuzzy and her body heavy. Couldn’t she stay in bed all day and catch another flight tomorrow? But at the thought of her family’s reaction to that change in plans, she groaned. She had to face the music: go home and try to smooth things over. Find an excuse as to why she’d run off, as she couldn’t very well tell her mother she’d been in bed with the delicious Kyle Young the night before.

  Or could she? What was so wrong about it?

  She couldn’t help but smile at that. Yes, she’d been naughty, but she’d also had a great time, the time of her life. She’d have those memories of their night—and day—together for the rest of her life. It’d been so worth it.

  After showering and dressing, she ate breakfast in her room, Royce standing in the doorway like a cranky shadow. That was when a knock sounded on the hotel door. She looked at Royce, who raised an eyebrow. Who would be calling so early? “Are you expecting anyone?” she asked Royce.

  “No, are you?”

  “No.” Her heart pounded. Kyle must’ve found her. Did he know she was a princess?

  When Royce opened the door, though, it wasn’t Kyle, but instead family friend and NY Knights manager, Jacques York. A distinguished older man with silver hair, he beamed good humor and had a perpetual smile on his face. “Your Highness,” he said in his resonant voice, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. Jacques York’s infectious good-naturedness would make anyone smile. “Not at all, Mr. York. Please, join me, will you?”

  “I would love to, but I’m on the run. Business never sleeps.” He kissed her cheeks on both sides. He did, however, take a cup of coffee from the attending waiter. “Thank you, sir. No, I’m here to tell you to wait on returning to Salasia. You were returning today, were you not?”

  Arabella nodded. “My flight leaves this afternoon.”

  “Well, cancel it, because I’ve booked you the most marvelous gig. I know you told me you wanted to perform here in the States, and there’s a game today at the stadium that needs a singer for the National Anthem. Their scheduled singer came down with strep throat, poor thing, and I thought, ‘I know who would be perfect for that!’ The man who takes care of these things knows me and trusts my judgment, and he told me to come get you.”

  Arabella stared at him, shocked. “You booked me a job?” she croaked. “Singing the National Anthem?” Arabella nearly fainted.

  “Well, yes, darling, unless you want to sing the Salasian Anthem, but I don’t think that will go over as well. Most singers have the American one in their repertoire these days, I assume. You do know it, don’t you?”

  It just so happened she did! Her morning exhaustion flooded away, and excitement took its place. She’d done a number of singing gigs, but nothing as big as this! And to sing here in the United States! It was a dream come true, and here was Jacques York, handing it to her without even realizing the enormity of it.

  “I can’t believe it. Thank you so much, Mr. York.” She jumped to her feet and attacked the man with a hug.

  “Oh! My pleasure, Your Highness.” He patted her back gently until she pried herself off. “Now, they’ll need you for a sound check and whatever else within the next hour, so make yourself beautiful and hustle down there.” He finished off his coffee and stood. “I’m afraid I’ll have to be off, but it was lovely seeing you. I’ll call and give them the good news you’ve accepted.”

  She stood as well. “It was lovely seeing you as well. Give my love to Mrs. York.”

  Once he was gone, Arabella sat down, staring at her plate. She would be singing today. The American National Anthem! At a football game! She couldn’t believe it. To be able to have the two things she loved most collide together like this during the same trip was more than she could’ve ever hoped for. And to stay in America for another day was only the icing on the cake!

  Her parents couldn’t chastise her for fulfilling an obligation to a family friend, now could they? Suddenly, her heart stopped—would Kyle be there? She doubted it, as the Bootleggers wouldn’t be playing today, so she couldn’t imagine he’d attend. Sadness filled her at the thought, but it was better this way. She’d already told him she was leaving, so what would he think if he saw her again today?

  She pushed thoughts of Kyle aside, letting giddiness sweep through her as she thought about singing in front of such a large audience. She could barely finish the food on her plate, she was so excited.

  “Your Highness, what shall we do about your flight toda
y?” Royce asked from the corner of the room.

  “Call Bates and have him rebook it for tomorrow.” Standing, she added with a wide grin, “I have to get dressed. We’re going to another football game, Royce. And I have to look my absolute best.”

  Before skipping to her room, she noted the look of defeat on his face, and she secretly reveled in another triumph. Like it or not, fate would keep her in America for one more day. Who knew what else it had in store for her?

  Chapter Six

  Kyle slammed his laptop shut in frustration. He’d Googled, he’d searched, he’d looked on practically every social media account that included the name “Bella” in it, but no luck. He couldn’t find a trace of his Bella on the Internet, which was extremely strange in this day and age. He couldn’t even find a last name. Without a last name, how was he going to find her? Without a last name, all he had were internet images of a sparkly vampire’s wife.

  He rubbed his temples. Now back at his hotel, he’d barely slept the night before, after Bella had left him in the dust with nothing so much as a number to call her. Normally, he’d have assumed any woman who didn’t give him a way to contact her hated his guts (though Kyle couldn’t remember a time that had actually happened). But he’d felt the way Bella had kissed him. He’d seen the way she’d looked at him. She’d wanted to stay longer, but something beyond her control was keeping her away from him. The mystery of it all had kept him up at night, and this morning—afternoon—he’d gotten up grumpy and tired.

  Now, after consuming a few cups of coffee and scouring the Internet, he was just perplexed. What kind of a woman didn’t leave any trace online? Even if she were a celebrity in Europe, he should’ve been able to find at least one photo of her. It was his fault for not insisting she give him something to go on. It was his fault she was gone.

  Don’t beat yourself up, dude, he told himself. If she was meant to be with him, she’d come back one day.

  His phone sounded, and he picked it up to read a text message: I need to talk to you.

  Reading the name above the message—Gary Young—Kyle was tempted to ignore it and not ruin his day. But his dad was not only relentless, but wily, in the worst possible way.

  Gary Young had worked on the railroad when Kyle had been a young child, but after a serious back injury, he’d become addicted to pills and alcohol, and turned angry and violent. Kyle’s mom, Nancy, had taken the brunt of the abuse, and Kyle had seen her arms covered in bruises and her face marred from Gary’s slaps and punches. She’d protected her son as much as possible, though, and Kyle felt both immense gratitude to her and immense hatred for himself as a result. As a child, he’d stood by, cowering in corners, while his dad had stormed and raged. It didn’t matter that Kyle had stood in front of his mother when he’d gotten big enough. That he’d begged her to leave her husband, especially when he’d made it big and could afford to keep his mother comfortable. She hadn’t wanted to leave. She’d refused to. Until five years ago, when she’d passed away from cancer, finally free of her abusive husband.

  Kyle’s guilt, on the other hand, was alive and well. And ironically, it was probably what still kept him tied to his father. That, and some iota of love that had managed to survive based on the memory of what his father had been like before he’d been injured. A decent man. One who’d been rough, yes, but one who had never hurt Kyle or his mother.

  Kyle couldn’t understand how that love still existed, but it did. At least to the degree that he couldn’t seem to abandon his father entirely.

  And his father? Well, while Kyle preferred to keep his sordid family history out of the news, Gary tried to capitalize on it as much as possible. Every so often, he threatened Kyle with talking to the press, generally when he was low on money and needed his son to replenish his bank account. And because Kyle couldn’t see any way out of it—after all, his father had supported them for most of his childhood, abusive or not, and Kyle couldn’t help thinking he was the most to blame for not helping his mother when he should have—he transferred a lump sum to his dad and usually went out afterward to drink until the cows came home.

  Seeing the text message, Kyle assumed his dad was out of cash, but hadn’t he given him some only a few weeks prior? Had he burnt through it already? A headache threatened, and Kyle almost deleted the text when another one followed. Call me now.

  Kyle sighed. Giving in, he called his dad, gritting his teeth the entire time. “What do you want?”

  “Son!” Gary yelled on the other end. “You awake?”

  “I am now,” Kyle replied. “What do you want?”

  “Hey, is that any way to greet your old man now? The one who put a roof over your head and fed and clothed you?”

  “Mom fed and clothed me. The roof you gave us was a trailer that leaked every other day. So, what do you want?”

  Gary huffed, probably trying to find a comfortable spot on the recliner he’d bought with Kyle’s money. “I’m needing some funds. Called the bank and they’re holding onto a check for some reason, and they told me I had nothing in there! Funny how that happens.”

  Kyle tapped a pen against the desk in irritation. “Yeah, funny. How much you need?”

  “Five thousand,” Gary said, no longer messing around. “And not a penny less.”

  That was code for “I’ll talk to the press if you give me anything less than $5,000.” Kyle made a note and said tensely, “I’ll have my assistant wire you money this afternoon. Is there anything else?”

  He heard more shifting and could just imagine his dad scratching his ass in his chair, probably with an obese dog sitting on his feet. Despite his love of money, Gary Young hadn’t moved out of the trailer Kyle had grown up in and preferred to spend the money on booze, women, gambling—the works.

  “Not that I can think of, but I’ll let you know,” Gary finally replied.

  “I’m sure you will. See ya.”

  Kyle hung up before his father could rope him into a longer conversation. Every time he demanded money and Kyle gave in, he felt like a doormat. But if he could prevent his dad from blabbing and giving some seedy tell-all interview, he’d do it. His career was the most important thing in his life, and a scandal—not so much that he’d grown up poor, but that his father was an alcoholic, a schemer, a manipulator, an abuser that Kyle had allowed to hit his mother—could destroy his chances of living the type of life he wanted, free from the past. Judged only for himself and his own actions and merit.

  An hour later, he went downstairs and met up with Heath and Alec, who were also going to the game today. They’d be spectators this time, something Kyle hadn’t done in forever. But thinking of Knights Stadium made him think of Bella and their game last night, how she’d won the winning touchdown and totally taken his heart down in the process.

  “Your lady not with you?” Heath asked when they got into the car outside their hotel.

  “She had to go home,” Kyle replied, hoping his dour tone was enough to communicate he didn’t want to talk about it.

  Heath and Alec looked at each other and shrugged.

  The trio arrived at the stadium and they were promptly escorted to a private box, where they were served drinks and fancy hors d’oeuvres, although Kyle wished they’d brought in something less frou-frou, like pizza or nachos. Even though the Bootleggers were one of the NY Knights’ biggest rivals, the owners liked to wine and dine visiting teams as well.

  Kyle tried to occupy himself with dreams of nachos instead of tiny stuffed cremini mushrooms, but no matter what, thoughts of Bella took their place. He had to admit, he hadn’t been this hung up on a girl in…well, ever. He’d had many enjoyable nights with plenty of women, sometimes at the same time. Usually, these women eventually disappeared, and Kyle would hardly notice, so focused on his career.

  But now, all he could think about was Bella looking innocent and sexy at the same time. Bella blushing when he whispered dirty things into her pretty ear. Bella looking up at him with mouth parted, as he pounded into he
r. Thinking about Bella and their lovemaking two nights ago and yesterday morning, Kyle had to shift in his seat, or else show everyone the hardness in his pants.

  “Who are you betting on?” Alec asked.

  Kyle stared at Alec for a moment, trying to understand the question. Betting, who, what was happening? Oh, football. They were talking about football—of course, they were talking about football. Who was playing again? “Denver,” he said without considering his answer.

  Alec looked like he’d just told him the sky was red. “They’ve won one game this season, dude,” he said, giving him an odd look.

  Kyle shrugged. “I like to root for the underdogs.”

  “Huh. You feelin’ okay, man? You’ve been off since that girl of yours disappeared.”

  “I’m fine. Might’ve drunk too much this week is all.”

  Alec tried gazing the truth out of him, but Kyle refused to squirm. Just because he was hung up on a girl didn’t mean everyone had to know about it.

  The announcer began talking, and Kyle breathed an inward sigh of the relief for the distraction. Heath came over with a mountain of food on his plate, taking a few tiny appetizers and shoving them into his mouth, as they listened to the game begin.

  “Now, please stand and welcome royalty into our midst! Princess Arabella of Salasia will be singing our National Anthem. Let’s give her a big New York welcome!”

  Salasia? Princess Arabella? Kyle sat up straighter.

  Funny. He’d never heard of that country before, and now in the same week, he’d heard it twice. What were the odds that another woman whose name sounded like Bella would also be from Salasia, and would not only be here in New York City but within his circle? He marveled at the strangeness of coincidence as he watched a young woman walk onto the field, wearing a pretty pink suit and crazy big hat that she somehow managed to pull off with ease.

  Heath slapped his back. “I think you already gave her a big welcome. Huh, buddy?”

  Wait, what? Kyle didn’t give two shits about royalty in Europe, but he’d seen enough photos of Kate Middleton to recognize the same kind of suit and hat. He squinted, gazing down at the princess, and then he looked up at the jumbotron above the stadium.