42
Alexandra
"Your little stunt was poorly considered, to say the least," my father says, his tone disappointed. His disappointment is nothing new, though. He's perpetually disappointed in me. I've always been the daughter who is too abrasive and too abrupt, who never does anything the way protocol and propriety dictates it should be done. "Your mother would be turning in her grave."
I'm more than aware that confessing to sleeping with my bodyguard was a social misstep – the actual sleeping with my bodyguard was one as well, although when it comes to these matters within the royal family, it's not really of concern until it's public. Still, I immediately bristle at my father's invocation of my dead mother to lecture me on how I should feel with regard to his marrying another woman. "Would she?" I ask coldly. "Or would she be more upset by your marriage to the Ice Queen?"
"Alexandra!" he bellows, his voice booming through the office and probably through the entire wing of the palace. Calling Sofia the Ice Queen probably crosses a line.
That's another line I've crossed.
"I shouldn't have called her that," I admit begrudgingly. At least not out loud, anyway. Despite how eager my father is to shove his marriage to Sofia Kensington down my throat, I don't need to be best friends with her. I have no idea what my father sees in Sofia, and that's doubly true after the woman brought Belle's cheating ex-fiancé to the charity event and tried to break up Belle and Albie. Sofia is nothing like my mother was, not at all.
"Was there something else?" I ask, my voice cracking. "Or can we skip the lecture on how I should be best friends with my new stepmother?"
My father looks at me angrily, and I feel small standing here with my fists clenched. I'm acting small, that's for sure. I'm well aware of that fact.
"You know why I called you here, so stop trying to get away from that fact. I called you in here to discuss the bodyguard situation."
I bark out a laugh. "I'm not discussing my sex life with my father, thank you very much. Not even if you are the King of Protrovia."
"I didn't pull that information out of you, Alexandra," he starts. "You do recall walking into our suite and volunteering that information – needlessly, I might add, and heedless of consequences or protocol."
"Well, the next time I announce I'm screwing my bodyguard, I'll make sure to check the handbook on royal etiquette," I reply sarcastically. "Should I notify you by sending a letter on royal stationary next time?"
"Alexandra!" my father yells. "That is quite enough."
"I'm not even interested in him at all," I lie. "I was only trying to keep you from flipping out over Albie and Belle."
"This wouldn't be an attempt to keep him from being fired?"
My chest tightens at the prospect of Max being fired, especially over a stupid outburst of mine. I steel my jaw. "I couldn't care less if he's fired or not," I casually declare. "Fire him if you wish. I'm sure it won't be too hard to find a new bodyguard for me."
We both know that replacing Max would be a very difficult task.
My father studies me, and I have to avert my gaze, hoping my attempt to feign disinterest is remotely plausible. "You're treading a thin line, Alexandra," he warns. "Fraternization with your security staff will not be tolerated."
"You're joking, right?" I ask. "You do realize that Albie and Belle just declared their undying love for each other – publicly."
"What your brother does is none of your concern," he bellows. "And Isabella is now a royal by marriage – not a commoner, and not a palace employee. I won't permit a relationship with someone who is."
I bristle. If there's anything I hate, it's anyone – even the king – telling me what to do. "You won't permit it?"
My father's expression darkens. "Don't test me on this, Alexandra. I've tolerated more than my share of rebellious behavior from you, but this is a line you won't cross."
"Or what??" I'm getting more irritated by the second.
My father's face reddens. "It's treason," he bellows, and even the distant hum of activity outside of this room stops.
I choke back a laugh. My father might be a lot of things, but he's not an absolute tyrant. The idea of Max's behavior being treasonous is completely insane. "This isn't the eighteenth century," I point out. "You can't have someone charged with treason because they sleep with your daughter!"
"Your bodyguard would be deported, banished from Protrovia," he threatens next, all bluster and bravado.
"Try that," I threaten. "And you would see me banish myself from Protrovia as well."
Then he breaks out the big guns. "You know your mother would never approve. She would consider it beneath you."
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again, because I know he's not wrong. My mother was a traditionalist, a royal through-and-through. Kind, loving, and generous – but always aware of propriety. He's right about her disapproval, but still, that's a low blow even coming from my father.
"Well then, it's a good thing I'm not with my bodyguard," I say, swallowing hard. I blink back tears that spring to my eyes for some inexplicable reason I don't understand, and clench my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my skin. "Like I told you a minute ago."
My father gives me a long, hard look. "Good. Because I'd hate to think that you were foolish enough to destroy his life because of something ill-considered and transitory."
I grit my teeth. "Don't worry," I tell him. "I'm not going to inflict my transitory, ill-considered self on anyone, much less my bodyguard. Am I dismissed, Your Majesty?"
My father turns his back toward me. "Go," he orders.
43
Max
I'm waiting by Alexandra's bedroom door when she returns from meeting with her father. Every part of me is dreading saying the words I have to say to her. My chest is tight and I force myself to meet her gaze as she walks down the hall.
I think she knows what I'm going to say because she's avoiding making eye contact with me as much as I am with her right now. But I accompany her into her room anyway, where I close the door and stand just inside it with my hand on the doorknob.
Rip it off. Like a bandage, I tell myself, but Alexandra speaks first.
She exhales, the sound heavy in the room. "I didn't think through what I said when I said it. I was trying to help Albie and I was … well, I didn't foresee the consequences of what I was saying, exactly."
I force a harsh tone in my voice that I don't feel, not in the least. But I remind myself that it's better if she's angry at me than if she's left unprotected by me. "Well, isn't that just fucking typical of you."
"Excuse me?? I'm sorry, I –" she stammers, her brow furrowing. "It wasn't the smartest thing ever, but it also wasn't malicious –"
Oh, God, Alexandra. Stop being reasonable and nice. Don't make this harder than it is.
The way she's looking at me right now, her expression a mixture of confusion and hurt and the faintest beginning of indignation, hits me like a fist to the gut. It takes every ounce of strength I possess not to rush to her and put my lips against hers and explain that the entire thing is ridiculous, that of course I don't care that she told her father she was screwing me. Hell, I'd be honored if she shouted it from the fucking rooftops.
Don't be weak.
Tear off the bandage. It's for her own good.
"Of course it wasn't the smartest thing ever," I say angrily. "You impulsively revealed that you were screwing me! Did you ever think of asking me if I wanted that information to be made public?"
A flush rises to her cheeks. "I didn't – why wouldn't you – I mean, you're not embarrassed by what happened, are you?"
Embarrassed?? Are you out of your fucking mind? Why in the world would I be embarrassed about sleeping with you?
I scowl at her, even as it kills me inside to say what I'm about to say. Taking a deep breath, I spit out the words as fast as I can, machine-gun style: "The Trainwreck Princess. Slutty Princess Alexandra. A Royal Mess. That's what everyone calls you
behind your back, you know, not just in the tabloids. You tell me, sweetheart – should I be embarrassed?"
Her expression falls. Her jaw clenches tight and her eyes begin to redden around the edges. My stomach seizes and I taste acid in my throat.
Bury the knife. Don't show weakness.
"I mean, don't get me wrong," I tell her coldly. "You were definitely a good fuck – legendary, even. But, really, you didn't think this was going to be anything except screwing, did you? Did you think you were going to confess to Daddy that you were sleeping with me and that I would decide I wanted to be your boyfriend?"
Don't let me talk to you that way. Don't let me call you a good fuck and walk out of here.
Punch me, for fuck's sake. Slap me across the face. Scream.
Do something other than stand here looking at me the way you're looking at me.
"Get out of my room right now," she says, her voice low. I wish that her eyes were filled with hate and anger because it would make this moment a million times easier. But they're not.
Instead, all I see in them is pain. Princess Alexandra, Miss I-Don't-Do-Love-Or-Feelings, is hurt.
I hurt her.
I tell myself that all of this is designed to keep her safe. She might hate me, but at least she'll be safe.
"Go!" she yells, pointing at the door. She turns away. I want to run to her, but I don't. When she speaks, her voice cracks. "Just go."
* * *
A fist flies against my bunkroom door, the pounding echoing loudly through the silence in my room. Once, twice, three times. "Calm the fuck down," I curse under my breath, yanking open the door.
Prince Albert's hands go straight to my shirt, and he slams me against my bedroom wall. I let him, my hands going up in a gesture of surrender. I don't protest at first because hell, if I were him, I'd have already laid into me. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he shouts.
"Back off, Al," I reply darkly. Using his nickname from Afghanistan is beyond inappropriate, especially now, but I don't care because I'm finished being appropriate. I give him my one and only warning. He might have cause to hit me, but I'm also not going to stand here and take it, either.
"My sister fucking hates you," he growls, but he lets go of me. "She won't tell me what the hell you said to her."
"That's between your sister and I," I spit.
"I just came back with Belle and found out that my sister doesn't want to talk to you or about you!" he bursts out, then stops, his eyes going to the board on my wall. "Wait. What the fuck is all of this …?"
"You need to leave," I tell him, but he's already near the wall, taking it all in –the photographs and the map of Protrovia stuck with pins detailing dates and locations of the movement of the cult threatening Alexandra.
"This is fucking crazy," he says softly. "It's like an obsession…"
"It's a security thing," I say, shrugging dismissively. "It's not important."
"Oh, piss off, Max," he mutters. "This is that shit my father told me about, that religious cult."
I exhale heavily. "Yeah. I'm just … monitoring things."
He looks away from the wall, directing his gaze back at me. "Alex doesn't know about any of this," he says.
"And it stays that way," I tell him. "Your father was clear that she's not to know. He expressly forbade any deviation from her normal routine. He doesn't want to worry her."
"A bunch of crackpots think my sister is having the devil's baby, and my father doesn't want to alter her routine?"
I shrug as nonchalantly as possible, pretending I have no personal investment in this. "King's orders."
He's silent, his eyes searching mine, and then a look of understanding crosses his face. "You broke up with her. That's why she hates you."
"There was nothing to break up," I lie. That's the truth, though, isn't it? There wasn't anything between us, nothing that was ever defined anyway. For all I know, to her it was just sex and that's it, nothing more.
That's what I tell myself.
"It has something to do with this," he continues slowly as he puts everything together. "Let me guess. The only reason you're here is because my father said he'd deport you unless you broke things off with Alex, and you're staying as her bodyguard so you can protect her."
"Leave it alone, Al," I warn him again, angrier this time. While the princess was infuriating enough early on that I thought about arranging my own deportation, I'd never even consider it now that I know about a threat to her safety.
I won't do anything that gets in the way of my ability to protect that girl. That means nothing crosses the line – no more unprofessional behavior. The only thing I'm focused on is keeping her safe.
He shakes his head and exhales, running his hand through his hair before he sits down on my bed. "You know that Alex has had a thing for you since you got here," he goes on. "And I've never seen her really interested in anyone. I mean, not like this."
I stand there, my arms crossed over my chest as I give him a "so what?" look.
Prince Albert sighs. "Fine. I get it. You don't want to talk about my sister just as much as she doesn't want to talk about you. But you don't think this group is really a threat, do you?"
"This isn't the first time your sister has gotten death threats," I tell him. It's just the first time I've been kept completely in of the dark by the head of security when it comes to a credible threat to her safety. It's the first time I've been briefed by the king instead of by my direct supervisor. "There's someone in royal security whose job it is to screen the royal family's mail. All day long, they open letters that detail how much people want you and your entire family murdered."
"That's comforting," Albert says drolly.
"They're mostly from lunatics who don't have anything better to do with their time and want to send old-fashioned mail instead of posting comments on hate websites the way normal crazy people do."
Albert isn't amused by my attempt at levity. "If my father is concerned enough about it to talk to you directly – and to keep Alex out of it – then it's a serious threat."
I give Prince Albert a hard look. "You know me. I won't let anything happen to your sister."
"I know you won't let anything happen to her," Albert notes, grinning. "Because you know my father would turn the royal interrogators loose on you."
He's half-joking, but we both know if anything happened to that girl, I'd never be able to live with myself.
44
Alexandra
"I'm so glad you decided to still do the opening!" Charlotte screams, her voice nearly carried away entirely by the din of the music in the club. The bass thumps so loudly that I can feel it in my chest. "Finn is around here somewhere, too! I think he went out for a smoke break – or to hook up with a girl or something. You know him."
When she thrusts champagne into my hand, I down the glass immediately. Then I chase it with a shot of vodka, because what the hell else am I going to do when the guy I was in like with – the only guy I've ever been in like with – said he was embarrassed to be outed as screwing Princess Train Wreck?
I'm going to go out to the club with my friends and be the biggest damned train wreck that Protrovia has ever seen.
"Of course I'd still come to the opening!" I yell brightly, forcing the hugest grin on my face, despite the knot in the middle of my stomach that developed when I walked out of my bedroom door and saw Max in the hallway earlier tonight.
It's no good if the princess who's supposed to be the biggest party girl in the kingdom looks like she's not having a fabulous time. So I take another shot, and then another, prompting Charlotte to put her hand on my arm and tell me to slow down.
"Weren't you just on some kind of super big health kick? You probably have zero alcohol tolerance now, and you need to have a tolerance tonight because you have to party with me until dawn, baby!"
I laugh off her concern. "I think I can handle myself, Char."
She doesn’t have a clue why I'm pounding shots like t
his is my eighteenth birthday and the first time I've tasted alcohol. The past few days have been completely fucked. Not only was Max a complete dick, but I've also been forced to stay under his watchful eye, even after I insisted on him being reassigned.
Even though Max has backed way the hell off (he seemed to know better than to protest when I decided to come out to Charlotte's nightclub opening), I'm still forced to see him anytime I leave the room. It's like a special kind of torture I've had to endure for my mistake in blurting out that I was screwing him.
The thing that sucks the most is that I very nearly used the other word – the like word – in reference to him. At least I only confessed to fucking him, because if I'd have confessed to liking him, I'd have been a thousand times more mortified when he said what he said later.
As it is, I'm mortified enough already.
But not heartbroken, because Princess Train Wreck doesn't do heartbroken. She shakes that shit off and puts on her hottest dress and her highest heels and goes out with her friends and parties all damned night. And she definitely doesn't think about the way her bodyguard looks right now, tense and angry and brooding and sexy where he stands on the other side of the VIP area.
Not that she keeps sneaking glances at him, because that would be pathetic after what happened, and she does not do pathetic.
"Okay, then, more champagne!" Charlotte declares, pouring me another glass.
"Keep it coming," I say, already half-tipsy. "I have a reputation to maintain!"
Charlotte grins. "Your brother was the one making all the headlines," she agrees. "You've been too quiet! Oh, we need more champagne!" She waves her fingers, gesturing at one of the attendants waiting on us here in the uber-VIP section of her club. We're sitting on a white sofa in the middle of a glassed-in platform set ten feet off the ground for maximum visibility. At this point in my consumption of booze, sitting is good. Sitting is perfect. I can sit here all night.
Her Bodyguard (Raunchy Royals Book 2) Page 28