by Virna DePaul
She did care about him.
“Why are you smiling at your drink?” Heath sidled up to Kyle. Heath, Alec, and Kyle had arrived in Salasia the night before after a ten-hour flight. They’d arrived at the airport and had been driven in a limo to a fancy hotel within the Salasian capital. Kyle had been disappointed that they didn’t get to stay in the palace—enabling him to find Arabella’s room for his own purposes—but he would make do.
“Just enjoying watching people dance,” he replied.
Heath gave him a knowing look. “Sure. Since when do you care about charity balls? And since when do you dance? Never thought of you as a guy who waltzes, Young.”
Kyle hadn’t either, but once, a long time ago, he’d taken lessons to impress a girl and the steps had just stuck. “I’m surprised Camille didn’t come with you,” Kyle said, wanting to change the subject.
“I offered and she wanted to, but there’s Emma to think of, you know.” Emma was Camille’s young daughter. Spunky and opinionated, the little girl loved football as much as any red-blooded American. Heath smiled, obviously thinking about Camille and Emma, and Kyle rolled his eyes at his friend’s lovestruck expression.
“You guys make me want to barf.” He said it half-heartedly, but part of him wished for the same thing Heath had: a woman he loved, a family. Stability. Love.
Heath shrugged. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“What about Colleen? I asked Alec why she didn’t come, if it was because of the pregnancy, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it.”
Heath winced. “Yeah, tread lightly there. I think there’s trouble. More than usual, I mean.”
Kyle frowned. “Too bad. I was hoping things would work out. In spite of…”
“In spite of the fact we all know she got pregnant to trap him?” Heath shrugged. “Alec’s doing what he thinks is right but we all know she’s not the one for him. I just hope he can figure out how to do right by his kid and still not chain himself to Colleen for the rest of his life. But love’s complicated, right?”
“Right,” Kyle echoed. Despite his concerns for Alec, he automatically turned his attention back to Arabella dancing with the count. He couldn’t compete with a guy like that, probably raised with a silver spoon in his mouth. Kyle had never even seen a silver spoon until he’d been old enough to move out of Villa West Trailer Park.
He sighed. Arabella deserved the best, and Kyle knew deep down inside that he wasn’t. Sure, he was rich now, a famous football player, but he didn’t come with a pedigree. He didn’t wear stuffy suits or sit on thrones. He could never be that guy, while Arabella could never not be that kind of woman.
When the song ended, to his surprise, Arabella and the count walked in their direction, stopping in front of him, Heath, and Alec. “Introduce me to your friends,” the count asked Bella, nodding toward the trio of football players.
Bella sighed.
It must be so hard for her to introduce her two separate worlds to each other.
“Frederic, this is Heath Dawson, Alec LeBrun, and Kyle Young. All of them play for the Savannah Bootleggers. Gentlemen, please meet Count Frederic of Salasia.”
Bella rattled off the names without hesitation, and Kyle wondered if he should bow like the count was doing. Instead, he extended a hand, which Frederic shook graciously. “Pleasure to meet you,” Kyle said, pumping the man’s hand. “You’ve known Bella for a long time?”
Frederic seemed confused for a moment. He looked at Bella. “You mean Her Royal Highness, Arabella of Salasia? Why, yes.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle watched Bella bite her lip. Well, he wasn’t some European nobleman, was he? He didn’t believe in titles, and he was going to stick with first names like any normal person.
“I’ve known the Salasian royal family all my life, and I’ve known Princess Arabella since she was a child.” Frederic eyed Kyle, as if trying to take his measure. “How did you meet her, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
Before he could reply, Arabella jumped in. “We met at a Bootleggers football game. Isn’t it a funny coincidence that they are now here in Salasia?”
“Indeed, indeed…” Frederic seemed to try and be a good sport, and Kyle felt bad for the dude. He could tell that he was uncomfortable, as he should be. But why did Bella seem uncomfortable? Was she ashamed it might look like she’d gone slumming with an American like him? If only the count here knew just how far she’d gone.
But with everyone watching his every expression, Kyle forced himself to stay calm and not say something he’d regret later on. “I was buying nachos. She was buying a T-shirt. We ended up talking,” Kyle said with a fake smile.
Frederic turned to her. “A T-shirt? How quaint.”
She forced a laugh. “Even I step out of gowns every so often, Frederic. Besides, you know the Bootleggers are my favorite team.”
“Are they? I hadn’t realized.”
Kyle wanted to punch the guy. He was so polite, so put together, but he didn’t know Bella like he did. He didn’t even know she liked football? What a dork. And she was thinking of marrying this guy?
After a while, Bella’s parents glided up to them and asked to be introduced. Arabella’s mother, Elisabetta, glided up to her daughter, touching her arm, in the oddest, most protective way, as if she needed to restrain Bella from doing anything stupid.
“Introduce us to your friends?” Elisabetta’s aristocratic nose pointed upward. She looked like she’d smelled something rank, and Kyle once again fought his feelings of inadequacy.
Bella glanced at her mother, then at her father—who seemed more interested in his glass of champagne than anything else. She introduced the trio of football players, her voice tripping over Kyle’s name slightly.
Good, Kyle thought. I know you aren’t over me like you want me to think.
“Have you ever visited our country?” Elisabetta asked. Kyle couldn’t help but think of a vicious bird who would happily peck out his eyeballs if given half a chance.
“None of us have ever been here, but you have a beautiful country, Your Highness,” Alec said smoothly. “Thank you for inviting us to be a part of this event.”
“Well, how could we have said no to American football players? Such a quaint sport. It’s not all that popular here in Europe, you know.” Elisabetta smiled at her own misguided joke.
Bella shifted, refusing to meet Kyle’s eyes. He’d never felt more insecure in this woman’s presence, like the trailer park trash he’d been as a kid: worthless, poor, and only worth a girl’s attention if she wanted to go slumming for a bit.
No, he was being way too paranoid.
“Arabella says she met Mr. Young while she visited New York.” Frederic attempted to make conversation, but he only received a scowl from Elisabetta for his efforts. Apparently, she was aware of her daughter’s behavior and didn’t approve.
“Arabella—Her Royal Highness—knows more about football than a lot of people I know,” Kyle interjected. “She’d make a savvy coach, I can tell you that.”
Arabella finally caught his gaze, and she beamed. The smile made his heart expand, and he couldn’t help but wonder: maybe she wanted to get out of this place as much as he hated being in it. How could she survive with a mother like this? The father seemed like a cool ol’ dude, but that woman? And this potential fiancé who seemed alright but was dull as dirt? Damn, his Bella had too much passion and sparkle to wither away under their watchful gazes.
No wonder she’d felt so pressured to leave that day, to go back to the hotel and then home.
“Oh, yes, we all know how much our daughter loves that sport. The bloodier, the better.” Her father chuckled, sipping the last of his champagne. “As a child, she’d scream and shout whenever a player got tackled to the ground, and if someone had broken a bone? She’d talk about it for days.”
Heath and Alec laughed, while Elisabetta looked like she wanted to strangle her husband. Arabella kept her gaze on Kyle, though. He so wished
he could ask her to run away with him. Take her from this prison and let her experience life again. With him. The joy she’d shown when she’d been with him in New York City was completely absent now. Didn’t the fact that he’d gotten her to smile and laugh mean something, more than jewels and thrones and bloodlines?
“Count Frederic is an accomplished polo player, you know. He’s won the cup within his division twice, isn’t that right? No one in Salasia can ride a horse as skillfully as the count,” Elisabetta fawned.
Frederic coughed uncomfortably. “I do enjoy a bit of polo,” he admitted, “but these days there’s not much time for such things.”
“Such a gentlemanly sport,” Elisabetta continued, ignoring the count entirely and looking at her daughter. “Much more suitable for my daughter. Nothing so barbaric as American football.”
“Really, Mother? You insult our guests,” Bella finally said. Kyle’s spirits lifted a bit higher. It was about time she put the ol’ windbag in her place.
“Well, ma’am, it’s definitely not the nicest sport. It’s got its pros and cons, like anything else,” Heath said with a shrug.
Bella glanced away again, clenching her wine glass in her hand. Should he ask her to dance again? Just to get her away from this group of people? He was about to move, but Frederic beat him to it. Bowing over her hand, he asked, “May I have this dance?”
Kyle could do nothing but watch Frederic take Bella to the floor, as she spun circles dutifully with a miserable expression on her face. Frederic whispered to her, but she only murmured and glanced away.
“What are you going to do about this?” Heath asked over his shoulder.
Do about this? What could he possibly do? He was rooted between a rock and a hard place. “I don’t know,” he finally replied.
“I can tell you one thing,” Heath whispered near him. “I’ve never seen that girl look as happy as when she was with us, playing football and having a drink. Right now? She looks like she’d get the hell out of here if she could.”
Heath was right. He knew it. But what did he expect him to do, throw Bella over his shoulder and whisk her away? This was her life, like it or not, the life she’d been raised to live.
The princess and the football player. From two different worlds. They could never make whatever they had work. Or maybe he was only telling himself that. But as he looked at Arabella’s lonely expression, he knew he couldn’t let her go without at least trying.
He’d never be able to live with himself otherwise.
When she was finished with the dance, Kyle watched Bella hurry out of the ballroom. Assuming she needed some fresh air, he followed her. She paused at a balcony, taking in deep breaths, unaware that he was behind her. Her pretty neck was graceful, pale, and slim. Her dark hair looped and coiled atop her head, and her jewels glittered in the low light. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until everything here was forgotten and the feelings they’d experienced in NYC were restored.
He approached her slowly. “Your Highness.”
She whirled around. “Kyle. You scared me.”
As he walked toward her, her look grew wary and anxious, as though worried someone might be watching. He didn’t dare touch her. Instead, he kept his hands at his sides, even though every atom in his body wanted to hold her. “You look stunning.” She did. Like a porcelain doll for only the worthiest little girl.
They stood there, a million unsaid words between them, gazing at each other. Two people who should have had nothing in common but were completely right for each other. He wanted to reach a hand out to her, but she beat him to it. She took his hands, entangling their fingers, and looked up at him.
“Kyle, oh God, Kyle. Take me away from here. Take me anywhere. Take me with you. Please. If I stay here another day without you, I’m going to go crazy.”
Her words seemed to come straight from a dream. He’d imagined her asking him this very request so many times, but he’d never expected it would ever happen. Now she was begging him to take her away, to run away into the night and never look back. He could do that, but he feared he’d never recover if she left him again.
“Is that what you really want? Just say the word.”
His heart pounded inside his chest. He pulled her into his arms, and leaning down, captured her mouth, kissing her with everything he had. Who cared if anyone was watching? Who cared if her mother and that poor count guy found out the truth? It’d be better this way. She moaned low in her throat, a noise that drove him crazy. His hands slid down her back, as he inhaled her feminine scent. He grew so hard, it was painful and he’d have given anything to lean her over this balcony and take her right then and there.
Their kiss was desperate and hot at first, then they slowed down until it was sweet, tender and perfect. Kyle kissed her one last time before pulling away, knowing she had to return to the ballroom.
“Yes, it’s what I want. Please. Take me away from here.” She was breathless and flushed.
He cupped her cheek. “I thought you’d never ask, Duchess.”
Chapter Eleven
As she’d imagined it a million times, Kyle took her by the hand and led her out of the palace while Arabella could barely catch her breath. Was she really doing this—again? Not only sneaking out from under Royce’s nose, but her parents’ noses, too? But seeing Kyle’s broad, strong back, feeling his wide hands, remembering how he had kissed her, she knew she’d made the right decision. The thought of going back to Frederic and her parents after seeing Kyle again made her heart sink into her toes. She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.
“Your Highness!”
She stiffened at the familiar voice. Of all the people to find her sneaking off… Slowly, she turned and faced her bodyguard. Kyle did the same, ready to defend her. “It’s okay,” she told him. “I’ll take care of this.” Instead, he slipped his warm hand into hers.
“Royce,” she said. “Listen to me…” How could she explain that this was her decision? That nobody could stop her, not even him.
Royce shook his head, his expression strained and his mouth flattened into a thin line. “Come back inside. Your parents are waiting for you.” He walked forward and began to take her elbow, but she shrugged off his touch.
“I won’t.” She stepped away.
“Watch it, man,” Kyle said in a low voice, and she just knew he could tear Royce apart if given the chance.
Arabella touched him briefly before turning back to Royce. “I know you’re just doing your job. I understand. But I also know you think I’m some impetuous little girl.” Stepping toward Royce, she added, “I’m not a little girl. I know my own mind. And my own mind is telling me that if I stay one more moment in that ballroom, in this palace, I will lose my last bit of sanity. My happiness will evaporate, all because I want to please my parents and the people of Salasia.” Her eyes filled with tears. She’d never vocalized her feelings so outwardly, and now, suddenly, she’d never felt them so strongly. “How can I do what they want for me when it breaks my heart? How, Royce?”
Royce seemed stunned by her tears. “Your Highness, I’m sure your parents would never force you to do something that would make you unhappy.”
“You underestimate them, Royce.” She smiled through her tears, and when she heard Kyle snort, she almost elbowed him. “They think they know what’s best for me. But only I know what’s best for me, because I’m not a child anymore and haven’t been for a long time. Do you understand? This is a matter of life and death for me. I know it sounds dramatic, but my heart won’t allow me to stay here, so I can’t let you stop me.”
Royce remained silent, and she was sure he was about to call for backup. Maybe have Kyle arrested and turn this into an even worse disaster. With a pounding heart, she waited for his answer. For a moment, she considered running off without his reply, just booking it.
“Let’s go, Arabella,” Kyle said next to her. Clearly, he felt they should just run, too.
“I don’t understand it.
I never will,” he said slowly. “But I won’t be a part of hurting you, either. You may not believe it, but I do care about you, Your Highness. I—and everyone else in Salasia—want you to be happy.”
Arabella’s tears flowed even more freely. Kyle took her arm. “We need to go,” he said in her ear, wiping a tear away with his thumb.
She nodded, but before she ran off with Kyle, she turned and threw her arms around Royce. “Thank you,” she said into his wide chest. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”
Royce stood stoically like he was made of stone, but he patted her on the back before she pulled away. “Actually, I do,” he said.
Picking up the hem of her dress, Arabella began to run. She had never run so fast nor come so close to stumbling.
“I forgot you run faster than me,” Kyle said with a loud laugh, catching up to her.
As they passed the tall, golden lit windows of the ballroom, she spotted everyone inside having a great time, too filled with champagne to notice that the princess was escaping. She could even see her parents, completely at ease thinking Royce was with her.
As they rounded a corner, she felt Kyle slow down and saw where he’d taken her. To a bike. A motorcycle, to be more precise. The dull silver metal gleamed in the light. How could she ride something like that, let alone wearing a gown like this? “Umm…what is this?”
“What does it look like, Duchess? Get on.” He straddled the bike with a big grin.
“Are we really doing this?” She laughed nervously. “Where did this come from?”
He handed her a helmet, which she strapped on. “We really are doing this, and this is what I drove here on. Surprised?” He pecked her on the lips, and then started the bike. The engine rumbled underneath them.
“Completely,” she mumbled against his neck, wrapping her arms around his waist.
The feeling of the wind against her face, her arms around Kyle, the palace turning into a tiny twinkle in the distance…nothing could compare to it. Arabella felt free for the first time since she’d been in New York, and it was all because of this man and his motorcycle. She hugged him tighter, feeling his fingers lace with hers below his heart.