by Tia Siren
My father is five-foot-ten and two hundred pounds of over-indulged fat. Even so, he still had the ability to make me feel like a little boy again just by giving me the look he was giving me now.
“Apologies, my King,” I said with a nod of respect. “But you can’t be serious. How am I supposed to find a wife so quickly?”
“You do what men in our family have done for centuries,” he said. He held out his hand and rolled his fingers into a fist. “You simply take the woman you want and make her your wife. She has no choice but to comply to your wishes.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “You can’t be serious. You truly expect me to kidnap a woman and force her to marry me?”
“It has been our way since your great-grandfather,” he said. “I took your mother, your grandfather took your grandmother, and so on and so on for generations.” He leaned in close and narrowed his eyes at me. “You are a future king of Kosnovia, Nikolay. It is your birthright to take any woman you desire, whether she desires you or not. Over time, she will accept her fate and come to love you for choosing her. Look at your mother and me. We have been married for nearly thirty years.”
“And according to her, she hated you for the first ten years because you stole her from her bed in the middle of the night and forced her to marry,” I said with a smile. “I’m not sure the old ways work in this modern age, father. If I were to kidnap a woman and force her to marry me… well, I’m just not sure that is a viable option in the twenty-first century. It’s certainly not something parliament would approve of.”
“The public is calling for our heads, Nikolay,” he said with a heavy sigh. He braced his hands on the marble railing and let his breath go out into the night. “We have very little time left.”
“You’re being overdramatic,” I said, giving him a dismissive wave. “This isn’t the eighteen-hundreds, father. And you’re not Marie-Antoinette.”
“I’m speaking figuratively,” he said. He closed his eyes and inhaled the cold night air. “Rebellion is in the air, my son. And nothing quells a rebellion like a royal marriage and a royal baby. The Brits have known this for years. Each time the public demands abdication, one of their lot gets married or has a baby and the public laps it up like kittens sucking their mother’s teat.”
“Father, please…”
He turned to face me. He put his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes. “You are our last hope, Nikolay. You must find a wife and produce an heir as quickly as possible. And it must be an American woman.”
I scoffed at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“If you take an American bride and produce an heir, the American people will flock to support our right to rule. The Americans are a shallow people. It’s all about reality television and the internet. Perhaps we could film your quest and put it on Facebook!”
I smiled. “How do you even know what Facebook is?”
“I’m old, but I’m not uninformed,” he said, looking at me with a smile beneath the thick moustache. He held up a finger. “Perhaps you could wed a Kardashian! Even an ugly one.”
“I don’t think there are any ugly Kardashians,” I said, smiling, rolling my eyes at him. After a moment, I let the smile fade away, then turned to face him.
I asked, “And if I don’t kidnap a wife and produce an heir while I’m in America?”
He shook his head as a tear came to his eye. “If you do not, then I’m afraid life as we know it will be lost forever.”
CHAPTER FOUR: Rebecca
“Storms getting worse, Becca Boo,” Carl said, nodding at the heavy snow that was coming down sideways outside the window.
“Then I reckon you’d better drink up and get home,” I said, setting Carl’s third mug of beer in front of him. I picked up a rag to dry my hands and glanced around the bar. Everyone had gone but Carl, who didn’t seem concerned in the least about the snow falling outside. I was concerned, not because I didn’t think Carl could make it home, but because I didn’t want to be snowed-in with him. I loved old Carl, but I didn’t want to have a sleep-over with him.
“Are those lights?” Carl asked, squinting at the window.
“What fool would be out on a night like this other than you?” I asked with a grin. I went to the window and cupped my hands over my eyes to peer out. My breath fogged the glass in front of my face. I wiped it off with the back of my hand.
Sure enough, a small car had pulled into the lot. It slid to a stop next to Carl’s truck. The door opened and a tall man wearing a leather jacket that was suited for much warmer weather emerged. He stomped through the snow, heading to the front door.
I beat him to the door. I tugged it open and moved aside so he could come in. He was preceded by a gust of wind that blew snow into the bar all the way to the pool table.
“Thank goodness you’re open,” he said, stumbling inside with his jacket pulled over his ears. I gave him the eye for a minute. He was wearing an expensive suit under the leather jacket. His pant legs were soaked to the knees.
“Hurry and get in here,” I said, pushing the door shut against the wind. He stomped his feet on the floor to get the snow off his shoes and shook the snow off his coat. He leaned forward and brushed the snowflakes from his hair, then looked up and smiled.
He was quite possibly the most handsome man I’d ever seen. He was tall and broad shouldered, with short blonde hair and brown eyes, and a smile so white it put the snow to shame.
I was a little dumbstruck. I didn’t say anything because my brain seemed to have momentarily disconnected itself from my lips. I just gave him a smile in return and handed him the rag to dry the snow from his face.
“Thank you, madam,” he said, giving me a little bow as he took the towel and dabbed it to his face. “I was afraid I was quite literally going to die out there. In a Ford Focus, no less.”
He spoke with an accent of some kind. Not exactly British. Russian maybe. European. Listen to me. What the heck did I know about accents. I’d barely been out of Snowcap, although I did binge-watch Downton Abbey last winter while the roads were closed.
“You are open, aren’t you?” He smiled again, this time with a hopeful look in his eyes. I felt my knees tremble and I didn’t think it was from the cold.
“Yes, of course,” I finally said, shaking my head in hopes that my brain would reconnect. It did. I nodded at the pegs on the wall and gestured toward the bar, where Carl sat watching us with a look of wonder on his craggy face.
“Hang your coat on a peg to dry and come sit at the bar,” I said. “I’ll get you something hot to drink.”
CHAPTER FIVE: Nick
The little car was sliding all over the road now. I had the wipers on high, but as fast as they cleared the snow from the windshield, it came right back.
I switched the headlights to low beam because the high beams were just reflecting off the blanket of snow that was falling. I leaned forward and clenched my fingers around the steering wheel. I was determined not to stop until I had to.
The headline “Kosnovian Prince Found Frozen to Death in Ford Focus” kept flashing through my mind.
Then I saw red and blue lights ahead. A police car, I thought. No, the lights are off the road and too high to be a car. I held my breath and struggled to keep the rear end of the car from fishtailing as I concentrated on reaching the lights and hopefully, safety.
Finally, I could see the lights more clearly. It was a lighted sign of some kind, hanging from a pole, swaying in the wind. As I got closer I read the words: “Snowcap Bar & Grill”.
“Please, please, please,” I sighed, hoping my sense of relief would not be fleeting. “Let them be open. And let them have heat.”
* * *
The little car slid to a stop next to an ancient snow plow that was sitting in the lot. I pushed open the car door with my shoulder and pulled my coat up over my ears to protect them from the bitter cold.
I put my head down and stumbled into the tiny bar. For just a moment, I thought I had died and g
one to Heaven, because I was greeted at the door by an angel with flowing blond hair and eyes the color emeralds.
She handed me a towel and I wiped the snow from my face. She gave me the most beautiful smile and invited me to sit at the bar while she got something hot for me to drink.
The only other person in the bar was an old man with a bushy white beard and a toothless smile. He gave me a moment to get situated on a wobbly stool, then picked up his drink and slid onto the bar stool next to me.
“I’m Carl,” he said, holding out a gnarled hand.
“I’m Nick,” I said, giving his hand a quick shake.
“What the heck are you doing out in this weather, Nick?”
“I’m on my way to an economic summit at the Overlook Lodge,” I said. “Am I anywhere close?”
He shook his head. “You’d still be about an hour away if the storm hadn’t hit,” he said, clicking his tongue as he nodded toward the window. “They closed the road an hour ago, so I’m afraid you’re out of luck. This is the end of the line for you.”
“I was afraid of that,” I said. I tugged my iPhone from inside my suit jacket and slid open the screen. “I’ll have to make other arrangements.”
“You won’t get cell service up here,” he said, shaking his head. “Especially not in this storm.”
“Carl’s right,” the blonde angel said as she set a mug of steaming hot coffee on the bar in front of me. I wrapped my fingers around the mug and let it thaw my frozen fingers. She nodded at the window, which was covered in frost and snow. “Cell reception up here is always spotty. You won’t get a call in or out tonight.”
“Is there another means of communication?” I asked. I picked up the mug and brought it to my lips. The steam rose from the cup and settled beneath my eyes.
“We have a phone in the back,” she said. “But the lines went down a couple of hours ago and probably won’t be back up till tomorrow or the next day. The best thing you can do is get back I your car and go back the way you came. The roads should still be passable in that direction for an hour or two.”
I took a careful sip of the coffee and pondered my plight. The coffee was thick as ink and tasted like it had been stewing in the pot all day, but it was hot and felt good sliding down my throat. I took a sip and gave her a sigh of approval.
She asked the old man if he needed anything. He said no, so she disappeared through a door behind the bar. There was a pass-through window in the wall between the bar and the kitchen. I could see her speaking to an old black man who was pulling on a parka and gloves. She said something to him, kissed him on the cheek, then let him out the back door.
The old man next to me must have caught me watching her because he bumped me with his boney elbow and gave me a grin. “She’s something else, ain’t she.”
I played dumb. “Is she?”
“She is,” he said, his head bobbing. “If I was sixty-years younger…”
I smiled at him. “What would you do?”
His thin shoulders went up and down as he gave me a sad look. “I would do what young fellows your age do,” he said. “If I could remember what that was.” He let go a cackle and slapped a hand on the bar.
“What’s her name?” I asked. I watched as she pulled glasses out of a dishwasher and stacked them on the counter.
“That’s Becca Boo,” he said quietly.
I gave him an amused look. “Pardon me?”
He grinned, sticking the tip of his tongue through the gap in his front teeth. “That’s just my nickname for her. Her name is Rebecca Monroe. She owns the place.”
“Becca Boo,” I said with a grin. “Interesting. Why do you call her that?”
“I don’t rightly remember,” the old man said. His smile melted into a frown. “Don’t go getting any ideas, boy,” he said, growling at me. “She’s been hurt enough by the likes of you.”
I frowned back. “By the likes of me? Exactly what does that mean?” I wanted to ask if she had had other Russian princes stumble in from the snow.
“By men,” he said, his bushy eyebrows hiding his eyes as he frowned.
I watched as she turned her back and stood on her tiptoes to stack the beer glasses on a high shelf. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans that fit her round ass like a glove. I heard the royal wolf in me growl. My father’s words echoed in my ears: Find the girl you want and take her. It is your right by birth.
I took a sip of the burnt coffee and glanced sideways at him. “I promise you, I have no intentions toward her. But I am curious. How has she been hurt by the likes of me?”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “She took up with this fella a few years back, Charlie something or other. Snuck off in the middle of the night and left town with him. Few weeks later she comes home all beat up. That was probably four or five years ago. She hasn’t given any man the time of day since, and trust me, plenty of men around here try.”
“In my country, when a man wants a woman he simply takes her and makes her his own,” I said nonchalantly.
“He takes her? You mean like kidnapping?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Where the hell are you from, son?”
“Little country called Kosnovia,” I said. “Near Russia.”
I noticed that he slid down the bar a bit at the word Russia. Ignorant old fool, still living the Cold War in his head.
The look in his eye made me smile. I said, “I am the crown Prince of Kosnovia, so it is my birthright to choose the woman I want and take her for my own, whether she comes willingly or not.”
He stared at me for a moment, as if he were trying to decide whether I was speaking the truth or just messing with him. I don’t know why I was telling the old man this, unless it was to make myself realize how insane the notion was.
Still, the more I watched Rebecca Monroe’s ass in those jeans, the more I wished that the old ways were still acceptable. I could see myself taking her, dominating her, making her mine.
He closed one eye and wagged a crooked finger at me. “Well, son, this is America, and we call that kidnapping. As much fun as that sounds, it’s a federal offense. You’ll go upstate for twenty years if you kidnap a woman around here.”
I smiled at him. “I’m just having fun with you, Carl. Can I buy you another beer?”
He picked up the mug and drained it dry, then set it on the bar and shook his head. “Three’s my limit. I gotta get home and get some sleep. Big day tomorrow with the snow plow.”
He nodded toward the window. “You need a ride somewhere?”
“No, I’m going to head back in the direction from which I came,” I said with a serious face. I stuck out my hand. “Nice to have met you, Carl.”
“You, too, prince,” he said, shaking my hand with his tongue sticking between the gap in his teeth. He went to the door and pulled on a green parka and shoved his hands into a pair of thick mittens.
“Don’t hang around here too long, your highness,” he said as he tugged the parka hood over his head. “A man unfamiliar with these parts can find himself in a world of hurt if he ain’t careful.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I said. I silently added, “You old fuck.”
He gave me a nod and went out the door. After a moment, the lights of his truck illuminated the frosty window. A moment later, his red tail lights disappeared on the road.
I turned back to the bar and picked up my cup. I could see Rebecca drying her hands on a towel. She was wearing a red flannel shirt knotted at the waist and a white t-shirt underneath. Her breasts were big and round and pushed against the material. I imagined my cock sliding between her cleavage.
I licked my lips like a starving man about to devour a feast as my father’s words echoed in my head. He was right. I was a fucking prince and if I wanted a woman – any woman – even an American -- she should be honored to have me take her.
Then it dawned on me: the true reason I was here in a shitty little bar sitting on a wobbly bar stool talking to a man with no front teeth.
It wasn’t a shitty agent in the travel office who had botched the flights and got me into New York six hours late. It wasn’t the woman with the sarcastic smile at Budget Rent-A-Car who said the Ford Focus was the best she could do. It wasn’t even the snow falling outside.
It was fate that brought me here.
Fate wanted the Rostov royal bloodline to continue.
History dictated it.
The future demanded it.
I would not disappoint my father. Nor would I be denied my birthright.
Before the night was through, Rebecca Monroe would be mine.
CHAPTER SIX: Rebecca
I could feel his eyes on my ass as I got on my tiptoes to put the glasses on the high shelf. It was purely for his benefit because the glasses were usually just left out on the counter to dry.
I turned to face him. I squeezed my big boobs between my arms as I dried my hands on a towel. It was a silly thing to do, but there was something about this man that intrigued me. I didn’t even know his name, but his dark eyes seemed to peer into my very soul.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t been near a man without a bar separating us for years. Or maybe it was because the winters in Snowcap are horrid, and like squirrels gathering nuts for the winter, maybe I needed a good fuck to see me through the coming months.
I rolled my eyes at myself. He was probably married. And would be gone in a few minutes. I’d end this night like I ended most nights; alone with nothing but my dirty romance novels and my pulsating shower head to satisfy my needs.
When I came out of the kitchen, Carl was gone. The handsome stranger was sitting at the bar still holding the coffee cup between his hands. The coffee was hours old, but he was drinking it like a trouper.
“Where’d Carl go?” I asked as I came around the bar to stand across from him. I made sure my back was straight so my boobs stuck out. I wasn’t a very good tease because I hadn’t gotten much practice.