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

by Merry Farmer

  “That’s fascinating,” Emma said, glancing around in awe. “I know so little about this part of the world.”

  “Where are you from?” he asked, turning onto a street that sloped down toward the harbor. “I mean, America, obviously. But it’s such a big country, and every part of it that I’ve been to is so different it could be a whole different country.”

  Emma’s gut clenched at the thought of telling him something as simple as where she was from, so she took the out he gave her. “What parts of America have you traveled to?”

  With only the slightest hesitation, he answered, “I travel to New York fairly frequently for arts events, but I’ve spent a fair amount of time in San Francisco, some time in Chicago, and I’ve been to Florida, Atlanta, parts of Texas, and Maine.”

  “Wow. You’ve almost traveled more than I have.” At least more than she had before surrendering her life to Fuchsia.

  He sent a quick smile her way before making another turn. “So where are you from again?”

  Heat rose to Emma’s face. She was right back where she started. “Near Springfield, Illinois,” she answered, then scrambled to think of another way to steer the conversation in a different direction.

  “Before moving to Philadelphia to attend Curtis?” he asked.

  “Yep.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “So obviously you must have traveled to Philly too, since you mentioned you’ve heard the Curtis Symphony Orchestra in concert.”

  “I have.” He smiled. “I love those—what are they called—cheesesteak sandwiches they have.”

  “Oh my gosh, me too,” Emma laughed. “Philly has some amazing foods. Did you get a chance to eat at Federal Donuts while you were there?”

  “No, what’s that?”

  “Only the best donuts in the entire world.”

  Emma breathed an inward sigh of relief as they spent the rest of the drive talking about Philly’s finest spots for food and drinks. The conversation convinced her that she might just be able to pull the whole dating a prince without giving away who she really was thing after all. She could talk about food until the cows came home, which proved extra handy when they reached the discreet, yet lavish, restaurant that stood on the end of a pier looking out over the crystal-blue waters of Solrig Bay.

  “This place is lovely,” she said as Arne escorted her through the front door and straight to a table nestled in a secluded alcove. “I guess you have to call ahead for a place like this.”

  “It helps if your family governs the land on which the restaurant sits,” Arne added with a whisper as he pulled out a chair to help her sit.

  Emma’s cheeks glowed pink, both with the gesture and with the wonder of sitting across a beautifully decorated table from real royalty with an astounding view just to her left. As Fuchsia, she had a world of luxury open to her, but the character didn’t allow her to take advantage of any of it. She could count the number of times Emma Sands had had an experience like the one she was having now on one hand and still have fingers left over.

  They ordered, and as soon as their server brought wine, Arne leaned back in his chair, studying her with a thoughtful look. “So how long have you been wrapped up with Fuchsia?”

  She almost snorted wine at the way he asked the question. “It feels like ages now,” she answered.

  “And what exactly do you do for her? How many assistants does she have?”

  Again, Emma was ready to thank the sea god Aegir for Arne half-answering his own question and giving her a way to keep her secret at the same time.

  “She has a whole crew of assistants, stylists, bodyguards, and whatnot who follow her wherever she goes. Keeping up appearances is a full-time job in the music industry these days. No one is just an act anymore, they’re an entire brand, a mini-industry.”

  Even that was saying too much, but Arne merely hummed in response. “Do you ever get time off?”

  The way he looked at her as he asked made Emma blush down to her toes. The unmistakable zing of sexual attraction combined with the fact that she found him charming and intelligent sent a delicious buzz through her.

  “You know what they say,” she said over the top of her wine glass as she prepared to take another sip. “No rest for the wicked.” She arched an eyebrow as she took a sip.

  “None at all,” he answered, just as flirty. He had the most gorgeous eyes. They were grey and almond-shaped. The spark of intelligence behind them was matched by the smoldering fire of desire.

  Nothing, not the thrill of taking the stage or the swell of applause from ten thousand screaming fans, was as exciting as having an intelligent man look at her and want her.

  Their food arrived a short time later, putting a gourmet dent in the sparks flying between them.

  “This is the most delicious salmon I think I’ve ever had,” she commented, then paused to savor a bite.

  “It’s an Aegirian delicacy,” Arne explained. “We’ve always been an agrarian and fishing nation, which means we’re amazing in the kitchen.” The way he said it hinted that there was another room Aegirians were equally amazing in.

  “I read something recently about the trouble fisherman in the North and Baltic Seas are having,” she went on, remembering the article Tracy had insisted she read on the way from Newark to Heathrow. “Is it really true that the native fish population could be gone by 2048?”

  Arne’s expression grew serious. “Unfortunately, it’s a possibility. Unless we do something about it. Between overfishing and illegal oil-drilling, the fish population has real problems.”

  Emma blinked. “How can you have an illegal oil-drill? Aren’t those things, uh, big?”

  “So is the sea,” Arne said with a wry grin. “The vastness of the ocean can hide all sorts of secrets.”

  Even though she was ninety percent sure he was just flirting, a shiver of wariness passed down Emma’s spine. Maybe he did have a clue who she really was after all. Hoss would have a fit it he blurted it out.

  She set her fork down and met his eyes across the table. “So, um, I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page about…secrets.”

  “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow as if intrigued.

  “Yeah.” She drew the syllable out, not sure how to approach the truth. “I gathered from that phone conversation that this concert is important to you,” she began, not sure how she would finish.

  “You know about that, then?” He blinked. “I don’t remember telling anyone.”

  It was Emma’s turn to feel out of her depth. “Tell anyone what?”

  “About the real reason for the concert.”

  An awkward silence fell at the table. It was only broken when Arne burst into a laugh and shook his head.

  “You were going to say something else, weren’t you?”

  “Possibly, but now you have me intrigued.”

  “All right.” He leaned toward her across the table. She mirrored him, leaning close enough that only inches separated their faces. “There is a secret behind this concert.”

  Emma’s skin prickled, but in spite of the danger of having her alter-ego revealed, all she could look at were his lips, and all she could think about was how nice it would be if he kissed her.

  “My mother and Dr. Hayes will be announcing their engagement at the end of the concert,” he whispered.

  Emma flinched. That wasn’t what she’d expected. She smiled all the same. “That’s lovely. Your mother and Dr. Hayes. Of course.” She paused. “They looked lovely together at the airport.”

  Arne’s brow furrowed slightly. “Did you see them? I thought you were too busy with Fuchsia’s arrangements and things.”

  Emma fought to keep the color off her face, but it was a losing battle. She sat back, reaching for her wine. “I stole a peek from the jet,” she said. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was far from being the gospel truth.

  “The public doesn’t know about it yet,” Arne said, resuming his normal posture. “I’ll admit, I had my reservations about the whole thing
at first, but simply put, I love my family. I want to give Mother a means of making the announcement that’s worthy of her. And I want all Aegirian families to see how important love is.”

  “That might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” Emma sighed.

  “Which is why we’re planning to ask Fuchsia to help with the announcement after she finishes her set.” He paused. “You don’t think she’ll mind, do you?”

  Emma prolonged her sip of wine, then said, “No, I don’t think she will.”

  “She seemed a bit….” He shrugged. “High maintenance and showy when I met her. Like the kind of woman who doesn’t like being ordered around. The last thing I need is for someone like her to throw a celebrity hissy-fit when I’m hoping to use the concert as a way to instill values in the young people watching.”

  A stab of anger hit Emma square in the gut. “Not all celebrities are like that,” she said, tighter than she meant to be. “And I have it on good authority that Fuchsia cares about children too.”

  Arne’s eyebrows lifted, then his expression softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Obviously you like your boss.”

  Her mind flew straight to Hoss, even though that wasn’t close to what he meant. “There’s a lot more to Fuchsia than meets the eye,” she said, still thinking of Hoss. Specifically, how he’d wring her neck if she revealed too much. “But I don’t want to talk about work. I’m here to get to know you and your beautiful city. Can you tell me more about it?”

  “I can tell you our entire history, with social commentary,” he laughed, his eyes back to smoldering. “Do you really want to know all that?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “I’ve never been here before. Honestly, I didn’t even know about it, and I consider myself fairly well-educated.”

  “We were a principality of Norway up until the thirteenth century,” Arne explained, settling into what felt like a sexy professor mode, “when Magnus Haraldsson was granted the island as payment for services to the crown. Of course, he then set himself up as king and declared independence. Good old King Haakon IV Haakonsson didn’t care much for that and sent a fleet to oust Magnus, but the people of the island loved their new ruler and banded together to defend their turf.”

  “Successfully, I gather,” Emma said.

  “Very successfully.”

  They spent the rest of the evening talking about Arne’s ancestors and the amazing things they’d done to build up the Kingdom of Aegiria. Emma found it remarkable that there was still a place in the world that was legitimately ruled by a monarchy, but from the sound of things, Arne’s grandfather had modernized the kingdom’s form of government, giving a lot more participation to its citizens at all levels.

  Mostly, though, she was just happy to listen to Arne talk. He was so different from every guy she’d ever known, especially in the last few years, since Fuchsia’s career had taken off. He wasn’t interested in getting her to spill insider secrets from the music business, and while he did have a distinct air of wanting to get into her pants, it wasn’t in order to add her as a celebrity notch on his bedpost, or any of the other, slimy reasons men usually hit on her. And dangerous as it was, as the evening came to an end and Arne walked her back out to his car, she found herself wracking her brain for ways to invite him up to her hotel room without causing an international incident.

  “Well, I had a lovely time,” she finally said once they’d returned to the hotel and he’d walked her inside. No matter which way she looked at it, though, the lobby was where the night had to end. Even there, she spotted two of Fuchsia’s bodyguards, three people who could have been reporters, and a young woman with her phone pointed at them and a look of awe on her face. Although it took her a second to realize Arne was her intended target. All the same, she didn’t want him to end up in the papers with headlines like “Prince Has Secret Rendezvous with Mystery Woman”.

  Arne must have noticed their observers too. “Let me walk you to the elevator,” he said with a twinkle in his eye and a hint of mischief in his voice.

  Emma grinned like a lunatic as he took her arm and escorted her to the express elevator at the end of the lobby. People were definitely watching them, which made slipping into the elevator and pushing the button to get the doors to close that much more exciting.

  As soon as the elevator began swooshing up, Arne pressed the stop button.

  “I’d like to see you again,” he said with a heated smile.

  “I’d like that too,” Emma answered before she could second-guess herself.

  His smile widened, then turned sheepish. “This might sound silly, but I’m supposed to attend a student concert at the Aegirian Institute of Music tomorrow night. Would you like to come with me?”

  Emma’s heart swelled with happiness. “That sounds fantastic.”

  “Can I pick you up at six, then?”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t looked at Fuchsia’s schedule for the next day. Sneaking out as herself once was one thing, but pulling the same stunt again, especially if Hoss had some kind of appearance or press event planned for her, was another entirely. “I have to see if I’m needed for work,” she said carefully.

  “You have my number,” he said, then slid closer, sliding his hands over her waist. “Use it.”

  He leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers. The heat of his kiss went to her head faster than the wine that she tasted on his lips. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around him, thrilling at the strong, lean muscles of his torso. Her senses went wild as he nibbled on her lower lip and ran his tongue along hers. She responded just as sensually, letting her hand drop lower on his back than it should have. He responded with a feather-light brush of his hand against her breast.

  An instant later, he stepped back, taking a deep breath. “I think we’d better stop there,” he said, his voice rough, reaching back to press the button that sent the elevator rocketing up again.

  The swooping sensation in Emma’s gut was from far more than the elevator. “Probably best,” she gasped.

  Their eyes met, and without hesitation, they swayed back into an embrace. But their lips had only brushed before the elevator doors slid open with a ding like ice water poured down her back.

  “I really do need to go,” she said, breathless, stepping backward into the hall. “Jet lag and all.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” he answered, fire in his eyes. The elevator dinged again, and the doors started to slide shut. “Call me,” he managed to say before they clicked together.

  Emma let out a breath and sagged against the opposite wall. Her knees felt like butter and her girly bits like lava. It was the most amazing and most inconvenient thing that possibly could have happened to her.

  4

  Arne tossed the morning paper aside with an irritated huff and rubbed his hands over his face. The euphoria of his date with Emma had carried him through an overheated, restless night and into a beautiful dawn. He’d lay in bed, gazing out the massive picture window of his flat on the waterfront—he could have had a suite in the palace, like some of his other brothers, but he liked the independence of the bay-side residence—imagining what it would be like to have Emma curled up under the sheets with him. He wasn’t the kind of guy who sought to get a woman in bed right off the bat, so the heat of his feelings surprised him. And his feelings were red hot. He’d had to get up and take a colder than usual shower to push his brain into a place where he could concentrate on work.

  But seeing the headline in the morning paper and reading the subsequent story chilled him to the bone in a hurry.

  The headline read, “What Is The Royal Family Thinking?” A full-color picture of Fuchsia tripping and dragging the queen down with her splashed beneath the headline. The article went on to talk about the faux pas the Americans had made and how conservative, Aegirian values were being undermined by the influx of flashy, American culture. The article ended with the statement, “Prince Arne, as Minister of Culture, has let the entire nation down
by allowing these barbarians through our defenses, and should be ashamed of himself for eschewing fine, Aegirian talent in favor of these foreign hacks.” Worst of all, it wasn’t the only article criticizing America and the royal family.

  Arne muttered a curse under his breath and went to fix himself a second cup of coffee. He put it in a thermal travel mug, knowing that there was no time to sit and enjoy it. He wanted nothing more than to lounge on his balcony, daydreaming of Emma and all the places he might take her on their second date. The concert was only three days away, and after that she’d be leaving with the rest of Fuchsia’s crew, so their time together was severely limited.

  His frown deepened. Yet another reason to dislike that overblown, overproduced rock star. The faster he was rid of her and her crew the better…except for Emma. Maybe he could convince her to quit her job and stay behind for a while.

  He laughed to himself and shook his head as he took the elevator down to the garage where his Bugatti Veyron was parked. It was ridiculous to think that a woman would drop her job and her life to see where things might go with a guy she’d had a couple dates with. That didn’t stop him from musing about the possibilities as he pulled out of the high-security garage and drove through the streets of Solrighavn toward the arena, nor did it stop him from thinking about how amazing a kisser Emma was. Her body had felt so right against his. Everything about her was perfection.

  For the second time in as many hours, his fantasies were squashed by reality as he parked his car in the arena’s VIP garage and stepped out of the elevator into the chaos of work. Where he expected to find the arena’s staff busy building the stage and setting up Fuchsia’s equipment, he found an empty stage, piles of girders and wires strewn through the arena floor, and a bare fraction of the workers who should have been setting things up.

  On top of that, somewhere near the stage, Fuchsia’s horrible manager—only Americans would name their child “Hoss”—was shouting up a storm. “Who is responsible for this? I’ve never seen incompetence like this before. Is everyone in Europe this dense, or is it just this backwards, nobody of a nation whose name I can’t even remember?”