DOUBLE PRINCES: A Twin Step Royal Romance (With BONUS Book His Tight Little Brat)

by Cassandra Dee

“Not business,” rasped Halson. “Just a friend. Meet us at Sant Ambroes tomorrow night for a drink,” he said, referring to a bar nearby. Although we were instantly recognizable, the staff at Sant Ambroes was famously discreet and we could probably get a room in the back without too much fanfare.

  But I frowned. Why all the secrecy? After all, a drink wasn’t a huge commitment.

  “Sure,” grunted Hayden. “We’ll be there.”

  And Halson smiled for the first time, his teeth almost fluorescent in the dim light.

  “You’ll love her,” he rasped. “I just know it.” And with that, he limped down the hall.

  Hayden and I looked at each other again, shrugging. It was just a drink, right? No harm done.

  But those were famous last words.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Summer

  I was stunned. We’d been chauffeured to the airport and if it wasn’t my imagination, the same plane that had flown me out of Slovania was waiting for us here in a private hangar.

  I scrutinized the logo again. Could it be? Was it the same heraldic lion on a fancy-looking crest? I scolded myself, shaking my head. You’re dreaming girl, I reprimanded myself.

  But even the stewardess looked familiar, greeting us at the top of the stairs.

  “Hello,” she said, her tones dulcet, smiling warmly. “Welcome aboard Royal Air Force One.”

  “Aren’t you?” I asked, looking at her quizzically, my head cocked.

  “Aren’t I what?” she asked, looking me directly in the eye.

  And I just shook my head again, not finishing the question. My mom, of course, was completely oblivious to the exchange, brushing by me into the cabin, a big floppy hat on her head, dozens of bags in her hands.

  “Come on Summer, let loose, let’s get going!” she cried. “It’s going to be so fun!”

  And I had to laugh. My mom was like a little kid on the plane, bouncing around the cabin before plunking down onto one of the spacious white seats, buckling herself in all the while ordering up a flute of champagne.

  “Bring on the bubbly!” she cried, her voice excited. “Let’s party it up!”

  I sighed, playing chaperone already.

  “Mom, don’t you think you should tone it down?” I warned. “We don’t want to be soused when we get there and make a bad impression on the royal family.”

  “Oh please Summer, take that stick out of your butt,” my mom pouted. “It’s an all-expenses paid trip to meet my new boyfriend and all you can talk about is ‘toning it down.’ I haven’t even gotten started yet!” she exclaimed, downing another glass of bubbly.

  And that’s what I’m afraid of, I thought silently. But fortunately the seatbelt light came on and I turned to strap myself in.

  “Let’s go, high-ho!” squealed Candace. “Halson, here I come love!”

  Unfortunately, the rest of the flight was like that, proclamation after proclamation of my mom’s excitement, her adoration for her new guy, the exploits we were going to have in Slovania City, even her new dye job.

  “Summer, how do I look?” she asked, whipping off her hat.

  And I had to gasp. Because my mom had been blonde before but now she was positively platinum, her hair touseled and sexy in big barrel curls, her eyes cornflower blue and positively doe-like with their long lashes. I was a mouse compared to my own mother, people probably thought I was the ugly friend to Candace’s Marilyn Monroe.

  “Mom, you look great,” I said hesitantly. “But you looked amazing before. Why the change?”

  “Nature can always be improved on,” she said airily. “You should think about dyeing your hair too. Maybe there’s a salon at the hotel that you can use for a make-over.”

  I fingered my brown curls ruefully. I get my looks from my dad and was all curves and jiggles, unlike Candace’s sleek, slender lines.

  “Maybe,” I said doubtfully. “But blonde would never work on me, my skin’s the wrong tone.”

  “Tone, schmone,” Candace brushed off. “Just try it, platinum does wonders for everyone.”

  I shook my head. She didn’t get it, life was different for middling brunettes like me, we could never pull off a head of white-blonde hair, it would make me look fake and weird.

  But at that moment the stewardess happened by with a tray of warm hand towels.

  “Ms. Miller, if you like, we have a mini-salon on board. I’d be happy to show you our spa services,” she said with a warm smile.

  Holy cow. This was the fanciest flight I’d ever been on, bar none. What else did they have on-flight? A swimming pool? Tennis courts?

  “Come on Mom,” I said, “let’s check it out. Doesn’t some pampering sound good?”

  But by now, Candace had collapsed into a heap in her seat and was snoring ever so softly, a tendril of platinum hair vibrating with every breath. I sighed and shook my head. Better she slept off the champagne now than later.

  So with tentative steps, I followed the stewardess towards the back of the plane, where a discreet door was tucked into the oak paneling.

  “This way,” she said, pressing a hidden latch, and I was whisked into what looked like was a full-service salon. There was a chair with a mirror in front, complete with a tub for a foot soak and glam lights for make-up application.

  “Wow,” I breathed. “All this for me?”

  The stewardess merely smiled and gestured to a man who’d appeared out of thin air.

  “Henri will help you,” she said, swallowing the “H” with a characteristic Slovanian accent. “Please enjoy,” she said, bowing once before letting herself out of the room.

  I turned and surveyed the scene. Again, I’m not a fancy person and can’t afford pampering most of the time. Sure, I’ve had manicures and pedicures before, but mostly I do them myself to save money, and my hair? Well, the last time I’d been to the hairdresser was ages back and my curls were wild, of all different lengths and totally unbalanced. A cut was desperately needed.

  Henri seemed to think the same. The small man was already circling me, studying my head thoughtfully while poking and pulling at my strands.

  “Chérie, when was the last time you took care of this?” he said, waving his arms theatrically in the general direction of my head.

  “Um, maybe six months ago?” I hazarded a guess, growing red. I must have been the ugliest client he’d ever had, Henri was used to grooming princesses aboard the royal plane.

  “Well, you are a diamond in the rough,” he proclaimed majestically. “Good bones, good shape, but ma chérie, you’ve done nothing with it! Why ever not? Don’t you want to find a man?”

  I blushed again. How to explain that despite my latest escapade, I was actually really inexperienced? Sure, there’d been a couple guys here and there but they were already fading from memory in comparison to the handsome twin doctors.

  I flushed again before stuttering.

  “Um, I’m not sure,” I said hesitantly, “maybe you could help me?”

  “Cherie, I do more than help,” Henri said majestically. “I transform!”

  And with that, he got to work. I was hustled into the chair and an assistant appeared out of nowhere with a rolling cart full of goodies.

  “We start with your face first, no?” Henri asked, spinning me around so that I couldn’t see the big mirror. He whipped out a palette of brushes and the largest make-up kit I’d ever seen and immediately began dabbing away at my features, using colors that I didn’t think would work.

  “Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully, when he whipped out a hot pink blush, the color positively electric.

  But Henri pooh-poohed my hesitance.

  “This goes on like air,” he proclaimed with a queenly sniff. “You’ll love it, you’ll see!”

  And chastised, I submitted to his ministrations. It was really nice, to be honest. There seemed to be a million different little brushes that he daubed with pigment before applying to my cheeks, not to mention the creams, gels and lotions skillfully applied to my skin. Meanwhile
, the assistant started brushing highlights on my hair.

  “Not too blonde!” I exclaimed, looking at the green goo in a little colored pot. “Not like my mom!”

  Henri sniffed again.

  “Cherie, you are a thousand times more beautiful than your mother. She is the woman sitting outside no? The one snoring like a baby elephant? That is her? Don’t worry, you will outshine her like Aphrodite outshining mere mortals.”

  And I had to smile. Okay, the flattery had gone overboard, Candace would always be more beautiful than me, but I appreciated it. It felt nice to think that someone might prefer brown hair, brown eyes, and a curvy figure to a blonde glamazon. Wishful thinking of course, but right now I was letting myself dream.

  So with a big sigh, I sank into the experience, the pampering, the sheer luxury of the makeover. Closing my eyes, bliss rolled in waves as warm water jets splashed on, massaging my feet, cool compresses pressed to my temples as the fussing continued.

  I admit, I’d almost fallen asleep when a gentle shake on my shoulder woke me.

  “Mademoiselle?” asked the assistant timidly. She was a tiny girl, just a slip of a thing, utterly overshadowed by her flamboyant boss. But she’d done a thorough job with the highlights, painstakingly dividing my hair into tiny sections before brushing on the dye for a natural effect.

  “Thank you, Amelie,” I said kindly. “I’m sure I look great.”

  And with that, Henri swung the chair around, showing off the new me.

  I gasped. I knew that Henri was a professional, but “maestro” and “virtuoso” weren’t enough to describe his skill. My totally average features were now sculpted, contoured so that my nose looked smaller, elegant even, my cheeks delicately rounded. My hair had been blown out so that it fell in graceful waves around my face, framing the heart shape so that my eyes were luminous, my lips a perfect cupid’s bow.

  “Holy,” I gasped, my voice trailing off.

  “You like?” smiled Henri. “I told you, my magic makes women into princesses!”

  “Henri,” I gaped, “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you, thank you, thank you, this is so amazing! Any chance you could do this again?” I asked wistfully.

  “Of course mademoiselle, you can always find me at the palace,” he said, with a slight bow from the waist. “But first, let Amelie help you select something to wear.”

  Something to wear? There was a closet full of clothes on the plane as well? This flight should have been re-named “The Magic Airmobile,” as far as I was concerned.

  And Amelie flicked a switch, highlighting a large armoire in the corner. It was oaken, heavy, totally out of place in the sleek, modern environs of the G5.

  But there was a reason for the heavy wooden furniture. Because as Amelie struggled with the doors, finally creaking them open, a vast treasure trove of clothes was revealed. This wasn’t stuff that you could store in plastic boxes. The finest satins, the softest silks, even real furs greeted my eye. This was stuff that could be showcased at the Met’s annual Costume Gala. There must have been everything a woman could want, from the finest, most delicate lingerie, to evening gowns, cocktail dresses, heck, even a wedding gown delicately packed in the back.

  “Is this really?” I gasped, afraid even to touch the clothes. They were priceless, beyond the reach of mere mortals.

  “Yes, mademoiselle, please,” said Amelie, gesturing to the selection.

  And mesmerized, I moved forward to finger some of the fabrics. Wow, Himalayan elk cashmere, and was that a Chanel bag I saw in the corner? But the sight snapped me back to my senses.

  “I can’t,” I said softly, stepping back regretfully. “Sorry, I can’t.”

  Henri frowned.

  “What do you mean? Why ever not? The royal family offers the finest to their guests.”

  I nodded, understanding the mix-up.

  “Sorry, I mean that this isn’t me,” I said simply, gesturing to the lavish couture collection. “I’m a simple girl, working class really. I don’t think I’ve ever bought an item of clothing that cost more than a hundred bucks,” I added ruefully. “So I’d feel out of place wearing things like this. I’d probably spill something on it as soon as I put it on,” I said with a wry smile.

  “Mademoiselle, do not spill on these gowns, they cost five figures,” gasped Henri, his eyes shocked. I laughed gently. These dresses were probably his babies, he’d die if they were soiled with anything as commonplace as food.

  But it only proved my point.

  “Henri, thank you so much, but I can’t,” I said firmly. “I can’t take from this collection, the royal family is too generous and besides, where would I wear this? We’re just visiting Slovania City for a weekend, we’ll be walking around seeing the sights. Sure, Mom said we’d be meeting Prince Halson, but she assured me it’d be casual, at a bar somewhere.”

  Henri frowned.

  “A beautiful girl like you needs clothes for all facets of her life,” he proclaimed. “Take something, you never know when you’ll need it,” he hinted darkly.

  I guess he was referring to my generally disheveled appearance, the simple jeans and t-shirt I was wearing now.

  “No Henri, I can’t,” I said firmly. “I appreciate the hair and make-up do-over, I look better than I ever have in my whole life, but the clothes are too much. I can’t.”

  And with a sigh, Henri gave up.

  “As you wish, Mademoiselle,” he said, bowing at the waist, and with a gentle click, Amelie closed the doors of the armoire. It was like seeing a mirage vanish, the display disappearing into thin air.

  “Thank you for respecting my wishes,” I said, nodding at them both. “If you don’t mind, I’ll join my mom again?”

  And Henri and Amelie both nodded, showing me the door back to the main cabin.

  “Madame, we hope to see you again,” murmured Amelie as I brushed by her on my way out.

  I smiled at the young girl.

  “I hope so too,” I said before proceeding into the brightly lit space. But it was unlikely. I was a guest of the royal family for two days only and we wouldn’t be crossing paths again.

  So with a sigh, I made my way back to my seat. Candace was snoring lightly, slumped over to the right. Well, hopefully she’d wake up on her own before we landed and down some water before meeting up with her new boyfriend. I was sure he didn’t want to see his beloved red-eyed and hungover.

  And me? That was an open question. Propping my chin in my hand, I looked out the porthole at gauzy clouds, the sky a clear azure.

  “Hello again Slovania,” I whispered softly. I wanted to feel excited, elated even at this all-expenses paid trip. But oddly, a wave of longing washed over my soul. Where were Holt and Hayden right now? My memories of the country were inevitably intertwined with the twins but I had little hope of seeing then again. They hadn’t replied to my emails, my efforts to reach out.

  But was that so unexpected? Hayden and Holt were handsome, virile professionals living full lives. And let’s face it, they were eligible alpha males, women probably flung themselves at them non-stop, desperate for attention.

  In contrast, I was an unsophisticated college girl, almost like a camp counselor who’d merely distracted them during their service abroad. Our little fling had been nothing but that, a brief encounter already forgotten.

  So I stared at the gauzy clouds with a twinge of sadness. The twins were my one and onlys, but it seemed that they’d already forgotten me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hayden

  I tapped my foot impatiently at the bar. Halson had asked us to be here at eight sharp, but there was no one in sight.

  “Monsieur, more wine?” asked a server courteously.

  “Naw, no thanks,” I ground out. “Hold up,” I said. “You guys do Moscow Mules here?” Upon her nod, I placed an order. “Then let’s do it.”

  “Slow, brother,” remarked Holt. “You need all that vodka?”

  “Damn straight,” I said. “Where is he anywa
ys?” I asked, indicating Halson, surveying the space.

  We were in a private room at Sant Ambroes, our big bro having rented out the back space. It’s pretty normal actually. When we go out in Slovania we often request a private space otherwise the mobs throng us, well-wishers and haters alike. It’s part of being royal I guess.

  And the venue was nice. The restaurant is named after Saint Ambrose, the patron bishop of Milan, and the kitchen served the best Milanese fair east of Italy, complete with hand-picked tomatoes and creamy, delicate bufala mozzarella.

  “How much do you think this cost?” remarked my twin, looking around. I could see why he was asking. Uncharacteristically, Halson had ordered fresh flowers so the room was overflowing with blooms, the scent heady and vibrant. Plus, he’d booked caterers, white-clad staff milling around with trays of tiny appetizers.

  “I thought it was just going to be the four of us,” I shrugged, tossing back my drink. “Me, you, him, and his new girlfriend.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” mused my twin. “I wonder what this is all about?”

  That was when Halson finally appeared. I have to admit, our brother looked better than usual. Although he’s a handsome man, he hardly gets any sun so often looks sallow, his skin yellowish and slightly jaundiced. But Halson had put on a made-to-order suit and the dark navy color gave him a healthy cast, the custom tailoring beefing up his spindly frame.

  “Brothers,” he said almost in a whisper. “Glad you could make it.”

  “No prob,” I grunted, “are Mom and Dad coming? Why all the decorations?”

  Halson swallowed visibly.

  “No, they’re not coming,” he rasped. “My intended doesn’t need to meet them.”

  That word caught my ear. Now I’m no expert when it comes to romance but the word “intended” has a certain meaning in royal circles – namely, as was the equivalent of “fiancée.”

  “What do you mean ‘my intended,’?” interrupted Holt. “Don’t you mean something like ‘my girl,’ or ‘my girlfriend,’ not ‘my intended’?”

  Halson coughed uncomfortably, and red crept over his collar.