The Rock Star's Prince (The Royal Wedding Book 2)

by Merry Farmer

  Hoss roared with way more laughter than the situation warranted. The woman who must have been the queen’s sister made a miserable sound.

  The young woman standing on the other side of the queen laughed as well and said, “It’s all right. You’re wonderful.”

  “You’re too kind,” Emma told her, then turned to the queen. She had what felt like twenty layers of make-up, glitter, and rhinestones on her face, but she was certain everyone could see her blushing all the same. “I am genuinely sorry.”

  “It’s quite all right,” the queen said, gracious, but with a hint of distaste. “I think we’ve all worn gowns that don’t get along with our shoes from time to time. Isn’t that right, Marina?” She glanced to her sister.

  Emma’s embarrassment grew. The queen had noticed why she tripped. Which meant she might be able to see through the glitz and the glamor to tell that Emma was completely out of her depth every time she put on Fuchsia. But it was her mystery man’s reaction she worried about the most.

  Only, he didn’t appear to have noticed the flub at all. He was still studying the jet and the members of Fuchsia’s entourage as they deplaned.

  The man who had introduced the queen cleared his throat and continued. “I am Crown Prince Aleksander, this is my aunt, Her Royal Highness, Princess Marina.”

  “How do you do?” Emma tried to drop into a curtsy, which must have looked painfully clumsy.

  “My brothers, Prince Arne, Prince Kristoff, Prince Mikael, Prince Viggo, and Prince Johannes.”

  Emma barely heard any of the names after Arne. That was him, the man she’d passed the time with at Heathrow. Prince Arne of Aegiria. No wonder he hadn’t gone out of his way to figure out who she was, if he even had a clue to begin with. As a prince, he must have been the sort who was thrilled when he wasn’t recognized. Just like she was.

  But no sooner did she take his hand in greeting than she was forced to move on and shake Prince Kristoff’s hand, and then the others. There wasn’t so much as a flash of recognition in Prince Arne’s eyes as he took her hand, and as soon as she’d moved on, he’d gone back to staring at the jet.

  Well, she thought to herself, trying to force her attention back to the meetings at hand, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about breaking her contract and revealing who she was.

  “And these very special people over here,” Prince Alek continued, “are Dr. William Hayes and his daughter, Cassandra.”

  Emma did her best to stay in character as she moved to meet the man she wasn’t supposed to know was engaged to the queen. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted Dr. Hayes and his daughter with her widest Fuchsia smile. “It’s always nice to meet other Americans abroad.”

  “Yeah,” Hoss interrupted behind her. “We’re the only folks that make any sense over here in this crazy place.” He followed his comment with a raucous belly laugh.

  Emma wanted to sink into the tarmac with embarrassment, but she had to soldier on. “You’ve got a beautiful country here. I was mesmerized looking at it from the air.”

  “It’s even better from the ground,” Prince Alek said.

  “Surely we can arrange for you to take a tour at some point,” Queen Viktoria said. “Before our very special concert on Friday.” She sent a fond look to Dr. Hayes, who gazed back at her as though the sun rose and set by her command.

  Emma’s heart squeezed in her chest. She loved seeing love stories like that. It reminded her of her parents, although her Mom and Dad were about as far from European royalty as anyone could get. All the same, watching Queen Viktoria and Dr. Hayes exchange looks gave her hope that the trip wouldn’t be as much of a disaster as the first meeting had been.

  Those hopes teetered when Hoss clapped his hands together and said, “Right. Let’s get this royal show on the road. Where’s Fuchsia’s fans? We signed on for a photo opportunity, and we plan to get everything we deserve out of the whole thing.”

  “Right this way, ma’am.” One of the black-suited men who had been hovering at the edge of the gathering stepped forward, gesturing for Fuchsia to follow him.

  As Emma let herself be led off toward the cluster of reporters who had been snapping pictures since she appeared in the jet door, she glanced over her shoulder at Prince Arne. He was still watching the jet’s door, only now he wore a puzzled frown. Deep down inside, Emma wanted to stop everything to go back to him and have a private word. She wasn’t allowed to reveal who she was, but if Prince Arne figured it out, and if he kept his mouth shut about it, that was a whole other kettle of fish.

  “Let’s get a pic with Fuchsia and the royal family,” one of the reporters called out.

  The rest agreed, and Emma was redirected back toward the royal family. She felt like an empty bottle tossed on stormy seas, but she went along with it, all the while sneaking peeks Prince Arne.

  They all posed for pictures for what felt like forever. Things like that were tedious at the best of times, but when it was suggested that Fuchsia pose with each of the princes individually, Emma saw her chance.

  She smiled and waved her way through most of the pictures, but as soon as she was standing next to Prince Arne, she said, “I hear you met my…assistant, Emma, at Heathrow.”

  “Emma,” Prince Arne said as though finally discovering the answer to a crossword-puzzle clue. They both faced forward, smiling for the clicking cameras, but Prince Arne went on to say, “Where is she? Didn’t she come with you?”

  Emma’s picture-perfect smile turned into something of a wince. “She, uh, has a bunch of stuff to organize on the jet.” She hated lying. Especially to a prince. Especially to the first man she’d felt something for in ages. She turned to face him.

  Prince Arne was a second behind her, but turned her way eventually. For the barest fraction of a second, a spark of familiarity filled his eyes.

  “Actually,” she whispered, “I’m—”

  “Fuchsia! Sweetheart!” Hoss came stomping toward her, his grin as fake as his rhinestones. “We need to hurry things up here.”

  Blast the man. Emma wasn’t sure how he did it. Maybe her posture changed or maybe he just watched her with an eagle eye, but Hoss always knew when she was tempted to break character.

  “Everybody stand back,” he said. “My star here is tired. She needs her beauty rest.” He laughed as obnoxiously as possible, but there was nothing but deadly seriousness in his eyes.

  “Um,” Emma turned back to Prince Arne, fully in character again, but blushing on the inside, “Emma wanted me to give you her phone number. Do you have a pen?”

  “I’ve got my phone,” Prince Arne answered eagerly, taking the sleek, black phone she’d seen him using at Heathrow out of his back pocket. “Ready.”

  Emma rattled off her number to him as fast as she could. “I’ll let her know you have it,” she added as Hoss gestured for her to move on.

  By the time they finished up with the photos, a limo had pulled onto the tarmac. As soon as the last shutter had clicked, Hoss whisked Emma away from the reporters and the royal family. That caused more of a fuss as Emma tried to give the royal family the goodbyes they deserved. She barely managed to save face before Hoss practically tossed her over his shoulder and carted her to the limo.

  “I don’t like the way you were looking at them,” he said once he had her safely ensconced in the luxurious limo.

  “Relax, Hoss. I’m not going to do anything that would jeopardize my contract. I know better than that,” she said.

  “Yeah, you do,” Hoss replied with a wink that was as condescending as it was clueless. He backed away, making space for Tracy, Beth, and two bodyguards to climb into the limo with her, then stuck his head in once more. “This gig will boost our European profile,” he reminded her. “We don’t want to see that messed up with any big revelations that might lead to litigation.”

  “Hoss,” Emma sighed. “I said I wasn’t going to do anything.”

  “I know you’re tired,” he said in reply. “Why don’t you tak
e this week to relax a little.”

  “Sure, Hoss.”

  He smiled at her one last time before shutting the limo door and motioning for the driver to head out.

  No sooner had the limo rolled forward when Tracy said, “Emma, your phone is ringing.”

  “Hello?” she answered it in her normal voice, her heart thudding against her ribs.

  “Emma? It is Emma, isn’t it?”

  The thudding turned into a burst of joy. “Is this Prince Arne?” She glanced to Tracy, who’s brow shot up.

  “It is,” Prince Arne said. “But you can just all me Arne.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “Are you still at the airport? In the jet maybe?”

  A twist of anxiety took some of the excitement out of Emma’s joy. “No, I left while you all were taking photos,” she lied, hating every word.

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “I was hoping to see you again.”

  “Me too,” she admitted.

  He paused, then said. “Do you think you’d be free for dinner tonight?”

  Emma’s brow shot up. “Yes,” she answered before she could think better of it.

  “Great. Are you staying at the same hotel as Fuchsia? I could come pick you up later if you are.”

  “I am,” Emma said, her mind already racing for ways to make the whole thing work.

  “How does eight o’clock sound?”

  She pulled her phone away from her ear to look at the time. It was already past six. She’d have to haul ass if she wanted to pull this off.

  “Eight is fine,” she said.

  “Fantastic. I’ll see you then.”

  “See you,” she said, her head spinning, and ended the call.

  “How soon until we get to the hotel?” she asked Tracy.

  “Um, not more than fifteen minutes, I think.”

  “Good,” Emma breathed, then whispered, “Because I’ve got a date with a prince.”

  3

  The limo took Emma around to the back entrance of what she was assured was Solrighavn’s finest hotel. She waited anxiously as Tracy jumped out to make sure everything was ready with the room.

  “Everything’s ready,” Tracy announced when she returned.

  Emma climbed out of the car, her bodyguards and Beth behind her, and made a bee-line for the door. “Good, because I’ve got about an hour to de-Fuchsia and re-Emma before the prince gets here.”

  Tracy giggled as they reached the elevator that would take them straight to one of the executive suites on the top floor of the hotel. “Man, I’d love to have your life. Private jets, fancy costumes, dating princes.”

  Emma laughed. “You’re welcome to it.”

  The elevator doors slid open with a nondescript ding, and Emma and her whole entourage piled in.

  The suite Hoss had booked for Fuchsia was amazing, complete with a stunning view of the harbor. As the capital city of Aegiria, Solrighavn had that old-world, European charm that made something in Emma’s heart sing. She was just a simple girl from the Midwest, but her DNA was firmly European, and from the very first time Fuchsia had toured abroad, she’d felt a pull to Europe that was cellular.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to sit and enjoy the view. As picky and time-consuming as it was to get into Fuchsia-mode, it was just as complicated to get out of it. She sat on one of the chairs in the dining area while Beth picked rhinestones off her face, then removed her wig, then applied industrial-strength make-up remover. It took both Beth and Tracy to help her climb out of her glitzy costume without popping any seams. Even then, she had to jump into the shower and scrub herself within an inch of her life to remove every trace of glitter, glue, and make-up.

  “This is so surreal,” Emma said to Tracy when the process was almost done. They stood together at the long sink and counter in the bathroom, Emma blow-drying her hair and Tracy running her fingers through her own, checking herself out in the mirror.

  “What, dating a prince?” Tracy asked.

  Satisfied her hair was good enough, Emma turned off the dryer. “No, the fact that I met him at Heathrow as me, met him again at the airport as Fuchsia, and now I’m going out with him as Emma.”

  “It does sort of sound like one of those sit-coms where the girl is dating two guys at once.”

  “Or in this case, I’m trying to be two people seeing one prince.” She checked her reflection, debating putting on a touch of normal make-up. But after the layers of goo that were Fuchsia, she couldn’t stand the feel of it.

  Tracy shrugged. “Why don’t you just tell him who you are and get it over with?”

  Emma turned to her with a flat look. “Can you imagine the fit that Hoss would have if I broke my contract and revealed my secret identity?”

  “So now you’re a superhero?” Tracy snorted.

  “In reverse,” Emma said with a sigh. “I’d so much rather just be Clark Kent.”

  “So?” Tracy crossed her arms and leaned one hip against the counter. “Why not break your contract and face the consequences?”

  “I don’t have five million dollars’ worth of consequences lying around to break it with.” Emma decided she looked good enough, and time was ticking. She headed out to the main part of the suite.

  Tracy followed her with a whistle. “Five million dollars? Is that really how much the penalty is?”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder at her friend. “That’s just a start. I also forfeit any rights to Fuchsia’s royalties, image, merchandise, her entire brand if I spill the beans.”

  “Damn girl. Why’d you sign a contract like that?” Tracy headed to the counter in the kitchen area to pick up her purse and the one she’d put together for Emma during her shower.

  Emma laughed ironically. “I was young and stupid. The production company offered me more cash than I’d ever seen in my life, and the prospect of lifting my family out of their working-class grind was too much to resist.”

  “You should have hired a better lawyer right from the start,” Tracy told her as they headed for the door.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Emma sighed in reply.

  The bodyguards waved to her as they left the suite. They only had orders to protect Fuchsia, which was a small perk of keeping her real identity an iron-clad secret. And while she had a feeling Hoss probably had her followed when she was herself just to make sure she stuck to their deal, she was endlessly grateful to have that one remaining shred of anonymity left in her life.

  “What are you going to do while I’m out?” Emma asked as they rode the elevator down to the lobby.

  Tracy shrugged. “I dunno. I think I’ll do some looking around. My journalistic spidey-sense has been tingling about this place since you got the call to perform.”

  “Really?” Emma had known being a PA was just a side-job to Tracy’s real career of investigative reporter, which was what she’d been doing before Emma hired her, against Hoss’s wishes. But Tracy had been inches away from uncovering the truth of who Emma was, and giving her a job that positioned her deep within the entertainment industry, thus giving her a wealth of material to sell some hard-hitting stories, had seemed like a better way to silence her than bribe money. And in the end, Tracy had become one of the best friends Emma had had in a long time.

  “Yeah,” Tracy went on. “I can’t explain it. I just feel like there’s a story here.”

  “Let me know what it is if you find it,” Emma said.

  Anything else she would have added vanished from her thoughts as they turned a corner and reached the hotel’s front door just as Prince Arne walked through the entrance. He’d been hot at Heathrow, but in the last hour and a half he’d cleaned up even more. He now wore an impeccable black suit that highlighted his dark hair and tanned skin, and a blue tie that brought out the gray in his eyes. He’d shaved, and his hair was perfectly combed. The sight of him sent shivers down Emma’s spine that pooled in the best possible spot.

  “Emma,” he greeted her with a smile, nodding to Tracy as well. “Y
ou look great.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing about you, Your Highness.”

  He made a modest sound and shook his head. “Call me Arne. That’s what all my friends call me.” He reached her and offered his arm.

  Emma took it, sending Tracy a victorious look. She felt like a princess as he swept her toward the door. “Don’t wait up,” Emma told Tracy with a grin.

  “I should say the same to you. You don’t know where I’ll end up tonight,” Tracy replied.

  Emma laughed, then blushed as she glanced sideways to Arne. “Tracy is my….” She stopped, mouth open. She couldn’t very well admit Tracy was her assistant. That would come too close to revealing who she was. And judging by the way Arne looked at her, he still didn’t have a clue. “My friend,” she finished.

  “I see.” His smile widened, and a mischievous spark lit his eyes. “I remember her from Heathrow.”

  “You do?”

  He didn’t have a chance to answer. They passed through the hotel doors to find a sleek, silver sports car—one of the handmade Italian types that Emma knew nothing about, except that they were exclusive. Arne held the door for her, then walked around to hop into the driver’s seat.

  “You’re a prince and you drive your own car?”

  He laughed. “I’m a prince, so I get to drive this car,” he clarified. “Besides, we’re not going far. Just down to the marina.”

  “That sounds delightful. I saw it from the window, and I was impressed.”

  “Solrig Bay is one of the finest features of Aegiria,” he explained as he put the car in gear and headed out to the road. “As the myth goes, after a fierce battle, the Norse god of the sea, Aegir, lay down to rest in the sunniest, warmest spot he could find. ‘Solrig’ means ‘sunny’. When his nap was over, he got up to go about his business, but forgot his helmet. The helmet promptly turned into fertile land, which was eagerly colonized by the Danes. Solrig Bay is supposedly one of the eye-holes of the helmet, and Måneskin Harbor, which is just over that ridge there—” He pointed to the line of low hills that rose to the west. “—is the other eye-hole. The ridge is supposedly the nose-plate.”