Royal Engagement

by Chance Carter

  “Mr. Rittsman told me,” she explained. “He was very, very excited. He’s been telling everyone he sees, actually. He’s not a very good secret keeper.”

  Oh, that’s not good. “No,” I said. “I don’t think… I don’t think it’s the hormones. Even if it were, that doesn’t cancel out what I’m feeling—I still feel it.”

  “And what do you feel, dear?”

  “Like I’m just a tool to him,” I said. “Like he’s using me for his own gain.”

  “Oh, if you think that, you don’t really know the boy at all.” Aneta patted my shoulder. “Derek is the most selfless man I’ve ever known. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, sure, but never took a penny for granted. He doesn’t care for money, he cares for people. He cares for his family and his friends. He thinks with his heart, not his mind. He gets himself into trouble by being too considerate, never by being greedy.”

  “Yeah, but…” I stuttered, realizing Aneta was right. For the few days I’d been with Derek, I’d gotten to know him fairly well. I didn’t believe he was the sort of person I had accused him of being.

  And I didn’t give him a chance to explain himself. The tears welled up in my eyes again as I realized how impulsively and recklessly I had lashed out at him. It was as if I had been looking for something that would ruin the happiness that I had found.

  Aneta tapped my cheek. “It’s okay dear. Couples fight. It’s how they make up, though, that is what makes them stronger. I am sure that if you tell Derek what has you so upset, he will be quick to ease your concerns.”

  “Thank you,” I said to Aneta. I knew what I had to do. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, go on. Go talk to the boy.”

  I hurried up the stairs, hoping he was in his bedroom. I was still unsure what his motives were, but I owed him the chance to explain himself. He deserved that, after everything he had given me.

  He was out on the balcony, pacing, distraught and miserable. I watched him for a moment, before calling out to him. He swung toward me.

  “Amy,” he breathed, relieved to see me. He stopped, though, in the balcony doorway, uncertain. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I should have given you the chance to explain,” I said, my voice quiet. “I was hasty and I shouldn’t have been so angry. I’m willing to listen, now, if you still want to talk.”

  I went out onto the balcony with him and leaned against the ledge. Derek sat down on the chair.

  “I should have told you the whole truth,” he admitted. “You were right to be angry. I know how it must look. I’d be surprised if you’d reacted any other way. But you have to know, Amy, it’s a huge misunderstanding.”

  “Okay.” I swallowed, trying my best to maintain my composure.

  “I’m going to be completely honest with you. More honest than I’ve ever been with anyone, maybe even myself. You’ll probably laugh at me. It’s pitiful really.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” He shifted in the chair. “You already know that my father and I have never had a good relationship. I didn’t see him much when I was a kid. When I started working for him at the company, I was around him a lot more often, but that turned out badly. Everything I did seemed to be the wrong thing to him. He was never happy. Amy, I ignored all of my aspirations and dreams in life to follow in his footsteps. I wanted to do so much more. But I didn’t. I took over control of the firm after him, and I made sure I was damn good at it. And my father… he didn’t care. It still wasn’t good enough for him.”

  Listening to him, my heart started to ache. His sorrow was deep, genuine. All I could feel now was sympathy.

  “So,” Derek said, his eyes focused on something far away. “For a long time, I just dealt with it. One day, I thought, one day I’ll impress him. I just kept doing whatever I thought would make him happy. But then, he got sick. Really sick. Six-months-to-live sick. And I still hadn’t done enough. Quite the opposite—he seemed more and more disappointed in me every day. It exploded last week. He was so angry about my biggest shortcoming—my failure to produce an heir for the company. He thought he was punishing me by taking away the inheritance, but I didn’t care about that at all. I’ve made more than enough money on my own to sustain my lifestyle. I don’t need any more. The worst part was that he had given me such an impossible task to accomplish. There was no way that I could make him happy and earn his approval before—uh, you know.”

  I was beginning to understand.

  “That’s when I met you, Amy. I hadn’t been interested in dating, when suddenly you came along and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. After that great first night I came up with this plan. I didn’t tell you the whole truth because I didn’t want you to think it was about the money. But I was also… ashamed, I suppose, about this need I have to impress my father. And it might be a shitty thing to lie to him. I admit that. But I don’t know what else I can do. If he dies disappointed in me—I, I don’t know if I can handle that. I’ve dedicated my whole life to that man—trying to satisfy him, to make him proud of me—and I’m running out of time.”

  I stayed quiet for a while, mulling over his words.

  “You know, Derek,” I said, “I never met my father. He left my mom before I was born. My sister Abby has only fuzzy memories of him. From what she can remember, he was caring and affectionate. But one day, he just left. My mom was eight months pregnant with me.”

  “Shit, Amy. That’s rough.”

  “I’ve always blamed myself.”

  “No. You weren’t even born.”

  “Yeah. I know it’s irrational. But I can’t help but thinking that he didn’t want me, that he was so daunted by the idea of having another kid that he ran away. My family was really, really poor, and having another child was a strain on their relationship. In any case, I have no clue what happened to him, and I’ve always had these… these fantasies, I suppose you could call them. Of what it would have been like to have a father. Or what I would say to him if I found him. I don’t know if I would scream or cry or hug him and never let go. But, to be honest, I kind of think I might just look at him and feel nothing. It would be like looking at a stranger.”

  Derek stood up and took my hand, comforting me. I shook my head.

  “I’m not looking for any pity,” I said, shrugging. “I mean, I’m pretty used to it. I don’t even think about him that often. It doesn’t hurt like it used to. But being here, being with Walter, talking with him… it has given me a glimpse of what it’s like to have a father. And I love it. I love him.”

  I turned away from Derek. “In any case. I understand, Derek, now that you’ve explained it. Because, if my father was around, there is nothing in this world I wouldn’t try to do to impress him, to make him proud of me—because I’ve spent so much of my life believing that I am the one who drove him away. You’ve got your father, and you’re doing everything you can for him. That makes a lot of sense to me. I wish I had the chance to do the same thing for my dad, but helping you is the next best thing.”

  “I’m sorry about your father,” Derek said. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you. But this whole week, getting to know you, it has been incredible. It’s been so much more than fixing my relationship with my dad. It’s been about building the relationship I’ve started with you. You’re not just a pawn in a game I’m playing. You have become extremely important to me.”

  I studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. Nothing. He meant every word.

  I fell into his arms, embracing him as tightly as I could. He returned the gesture, squeezing me in his grip, making me feel safe again.

  “I’m curious about something,” I said.

  “About what, beautiful?”

  “You said you had other dreams, besides running the investment firm. If you could have done anything, what would you have done?”

  Derek blushed, shaking his head. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Derek Rittsman,” I sa
id, sitting up, “you definitely know. I can see it in your eyes. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  “It’s embarrassing,” he said, “and unrealistic.”

  “So? I told you my dream, and you helped me. You bought me a camera. So now it’s my turn. I’ll help you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Tell me!”

  “Fine!” He threw up his arms. “A painter. I wanted to be a painter.”

  Now, that took me by surprise. I laughed a bit. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I actually went to art school.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Well, for one thing, my father wouldn’t speak to me. And for another, I flunked out. It was a rough few years.”

  I grinned. “The things you find out about people. Wow. I never would have expected that. Do you still paint?”

  He nodded sheepishly. “Every now and then.”

  “Do you have any of your art here?”

  “I see where you are headed with this, Amy. No. Absolutely not. I never, ever show any of my drawings or paintings to anyone. They’re off limits.”

  “Please,” I cooed, kissing his cheek. “I want to see!”

  His lips twitched. “You will laugh. It’s not good. I’m not good.”

  “I doubt that you’re that bad. Come on.” I jumped up from his lap, tugging on his hand. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes. Now, show me the art.”

  “Well, it’s a room. An art room. I have a studio here.”

  “What? And you’ve been hiding it from me?”

  Derek chuckled. “If you want to look at it like that. There are a lot of rooms in this building.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Excuses. Lead the way, Picasso.”

  Chapter 16

  Derek

  I couldn’t believe I was about to show my art to Amy. I had never shown anyone this room—I’d even insisted that Aneta need not go in to clean it. Now here I was unlocking it, Amy giggling behind me. God, this woman, she could get me to do anything at the bat of an eye.

  She had forgiven me, and that was more than I could ever ask for. She listened to me, understood me, and even empathized with me. I wasn’t used to being so emotionally open with someone.

  “Remember, you promised you wouldn’t laugh,” I said, as I put my hand on the door knob. “And I warned you. I’m really quite a hack.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just let me in.”

  Sighing, I opened the door. Amy practically skipped in, bouncing with excitement.

  The room was chaotic. Canvases—some blank, some half-filled, and others complete were sitting here and there. There were paintbrushes, paint bottles, notebooks, pencils, and art tools strewn about, on tables, shelves, even on the floor. One wall consisted entirely of windows, rendering a fantastic view of the property, and giving the room ideal natural lighting.

  “Jesus. I thought you were an organized person,” Amy remarked, stepping over a collapsed easel.

  “In most parts of my life, I am. I guess this is where I… unleash everything.”

  “Interesting.”

  I watched nervously as Amy walked about the room, stopping at each and every one of the canvasses and studying it, as if she were the world’s most speculative art critic. Finally, she completed her tour around the room.

  “Well,” Amy said, her voice tight with amusement. I could tell by her eyes that she was restraining herself, trying not to laugh.

  “I know, I know,” I said. “It’s really bad. I told you I flunked out of art school. I couldn’t get the techniques down. I was the worst.”

  “Oh no, I like them,” she said. “They’re very modern. And modern art is in. Usually though, modern art turns me off. I just don’t get it. But I really, really like your work. It’s different.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m being serious! It’s not what I was expecting. But that’s the great thing about art, it’s all up to the artist. And you’re brilliant.”

  “They’re just strokes of paint. They don’t even look like anything.”

  “Yeah, and they don’t have to. It’s about how they feel. They’re emotional paintings.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s ridiculous. Maybe I’ll try sculpting.”

  “Actually, I think you’ve really got something here.” She lifted up one canvas, splashes of muddy orange and blobs of red on a midnight blue background. “This one is my favorite. It’s sensual, and secretive. It gets me in the mood, if you know what I mean. This painting is the aphrodisiac of art. It’s visual Viagra. This is some powerful stuff, Derek.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but it did raise my spirits. “Oh, yeah. You’re right on the money. I call it, ‘Sexual Sensations.’ It’s up for auction right now, if you want to place a bid.”

  “Oh, definitely. This painting is going right above my bed, and no one can do anything about it. Sixty-nine million dollars, in cash. Or… another kind of payment… if you know what I mean.”

  I laughed. “It’s all yours.”

  “Good.” Amy set it down by the door, and looked around the room. When she turned back to me, she had a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked, stepping toward her.

  “I want you to paint me,” she said, her voice provocative.

  “Yeah?”

  “I want you to paint me. Nude.”

  “Oh.” I was speechless for a moment, surprised. “Okay.”

  “And this one is going on my living room wall. It’s gonna be the first thing you see when you walk into my room, so it better be damn good.”

  “My first commission,” I said. “No pressure.”

  “You’ll do it?” She bounced on her toes in excitement.

  I laughed. “Of course I’ll do it, though I can’t promise it’ll be good. But I shall try.”

  As she undressed, I found everything I needed. A blank canvas, some paint and a palette, and my easel. By the time I was ready, Amy was lounging on the floor on a white sheet, naked and posed. She was reclining back, her legs spread casually, her body stretched, so that I got a very, very good view of her body.

  Her eyes flitted down to the quickly growing bulge in my pants, and she smirked, clearly pleased with herself.

  I carefully began mixing my colors, focusing on getting them right—and trying hard not to get distracted by her.

  Once I was satisfied with the palette, I looked back at her, my eyes scanning her, taking in every inch. God, she was perfect. I crouched down and reached out my hand to brush the hair back out of her face. She held my gaze, her eyes both innocent and alluring.

  I dipped the brush into the fleshy tone I’d created and pressed it against the canvas, keeping the strokes smooth and curvy, like her body.

  I had admired her body plenty of times before, but never so analytically. Studying her now, I realized how poised and proportional she was. She looked like a living, breathing Greek statue, like Aphrodite come to life. Fluid, elegant, real… I was captivated by her exquisite perfection.

  Her hair fell over her shoulders in soft curls, like the ocean on a starless night. Her eyes glittered like gemstones, temptation solidified. Her lips were a gateway, a Mona Lisa smile, inviting in its mystery. Her cheeks were cherry blossoms, her upturned nose blessed with freckles, like constellations in a summer sky.

  My eyes moved down her body. Her slender neck and graceful shoulders were reminiscent of a willow tree. Her breasts, perfectly sculpted and angled upward, her nipples flushed and pink. Her skin flowed smoothly down her wide hips, her curves voluptuous. Her thighs parted, revealing her female flesh, blossoming like the rarest flower. Her femininity was paradoxical, both vulnerable and enduring.

  I worked on the painting, paying more attention to detail than was usual for me. I was determined, for all my lack of skill or finesse, to make something that was even a fragment of her worth and beauty.


  I’d always been a messy painter, as the disorganized room reflected. I smeared the paint with my fingertips. I’d touched her, after all, memorized her body. Maybe I could translate that memory to paper.

  As I worked, she watched me with that unnerving gaze of hers, perfectly still as I reimagined her body onto the canvas.

  Almost two hours later, I was near satisfied. The canvas was filled with blooming colors.

  I set down my paintbrush and looked at Amy again, my mind returning from its free-flowing artistic state to reality. She looked relaxed, meditative. I stared at her, appreciating her all over again.

  She noticed that I had stopped, and shifted. “Done?”

  “Almost,” I said, kneeling beside her. I ran my thumb across her cheek, leaving a paint streak of brilliant viridian green in its path. Unable to resist her any longer, I leaned forward to kiss her.

  Immediately she responded, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling herself up onto my lap. I sat back, holding her, allowing her sweet taste to sink into me. I slid my tongue into her mouth, taking over as my hands dropped to squeeze her backside. In response, she rolled her hips on my lap.

  My teeth scraped her bottom lip, and I slapped her ass lightly, testing the waters. Amy jumped a little, and moaned, kissing me more intently. So I spanked her again, harder. She gasped, and squirmed, and begged for more.

  “Harder,” she whispered into my lips, so softly that I barely heard her.

  “Mm, you like that?” I lifted an eyebrow, my voice dropping. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”

  Amy didn’t hesitate a moment before slipping off of my lap, turning away and providing me with a perfect view of her ass. I chuckled when I noticed the colorful handprint left behind from my hands.

  I quickly undressed, throwing my clothes to the side before kneeling behind her. I began to massage her ass as I leaned to whisper in her ear.

  “Tell me if I get too rough, okay?” I said.

  She looked at me with a provocative ferocity that surprised me. “You won’t.”

  Smirking, I sat back, and admired her perfect, round cheeks before I drew my hand back. Every time my palm hit her ass, Amy gasped, arching her back and moaning my name. Each time, it came a little harder, which only seemed to arouse her more, until she was practically writhing with pleasure.