Accidentally Royal_An Accidental Marriage Romance

by R. S. Lively

  “Oh? And what was that?” I ask. “Because it clearly wasn't the part about not wanting to see you again.”

  He gives me a smirk. “Yeah, I'm choosing to ignore that bit,” he says. “It was you telling me that I know nothing about your life.”

  “Great,” I say. “Thanks for the update. Now, if you'll excuse me –”

  “So, I did a little homework,” he says.

  “Homework?” I question. “Why would you do that, Carter?”

  He shrugs. “Because I want to get to know you again, Darby,” he says. “I know that you're not married. Don't have a boyfriend. I know you spend a lot of time at your studio and have had a number of successful shows. I also know that despite having enough money that would allow you to not work and focus on your own art, you love teaching – and judging by what I saw in that classroom, your students love having you as their teacher.”

  I feel a nervous tremor float through my body. “How long were you standing there?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Great, so you're stalking me now,” I say. “That's not creepy or anything.”

  “Darby, I really feel like running into you at the gala happened for a reason.”

  “Yeah, it was clearly to ruin my night.”

  He laughs softly. “I see your spirit hasn't dimmed in the last ten years.”

  “No, it hasn't,” I say. “But, my tolerance for bullshit has diminished drastically.”

  “Clearly,” he says.

  I let out a frustrated breath and fold my arms over my chest. “What do you want, Carter?”

  “I want to take you to dinner,” he says.

  My eyes widen, and I scoff at him. “You're not serious.”

  “Serious as the proverbial heart attack.”

  I glance up and down the hallway, concerned that my boss will happen by and see me standing out there with him.

  “I don't think so,” I say. “You should probably go now.”

  “Not until you agree to have dinner with me.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Then I'm not going anywhere.”

  “Carter, this is my job,” I hiss.

  “Then, you should probably agree to have dinner with me soon.”

  “Look, I have bigger things to worry about right now,” she says. “The last thing I need is to deal with your bullshit on top of it.”

  He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the wall beside my classroom door. “Not going anywhere,” he says.

  I let out an exasperated breath and stare at him. He looks back at me defiantly – though, there is a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. I shake my head and ruthlessly stifle the smile threatens to cross my face. There's something about his persistence that fills my heart with some small sense of happiness. It's frustrating as hell, but it's also kind of adorable at the same time.

  I know that smiling though, is only going to encourage him. And I have no intention of making anything easy on him. At all.

  “Fine,” I say. “You can stand out here in the hall all day for all I care. It's your time you're wasting.”

  He gives me a little wink and looks at his watch. “I've got nowhere to be,” he says. “That's the beauty of being the founder of my firm. I can do whatever I want.”

  “Yeah, best I recall, you were doing that before you owned some fancy financial firm anyway.”

  “True,” he replies. “But, now I have the kind of money that means I really can get away with it.”

  “You're frustrating as hell, you know that?”

  He nods. “I seem to recall that you used to like that about me.”

  I roll my eyes and open the classroom door, the chorus of my kid's voices teasing me, echoing into the hallway. Carter smirks and doesn't move an inch.

  “I'm going in now,” I say.

  “I see that.”

  “I'm not going to dinner with you.”

  “You said that.”

  “Which means you can leave now.”

  “Not going to do that,” he says. “Not until you change your mind and agree to have dinner with me.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  He shrugs. “Okay. See you after class, teach.”

  I roll my eyes and close the door, shutting him out. I fully expect that he's going to be gone the next time I open that door. Surely, he's not going to leave his company high and dry without him, just to get a date out of me. Would he?”

  “Ms. White?” Jenna says.

  “Yes, Jenna?”

  “He's really hot,” she says. “If you're not going to date him, will you give him my number?”

  The class erupts into laughter and I can't help but join in. My cheeks are burning with embarrassment, but I laugh right along with them all the same.

  “Nobody is dating him,” I say. “Especially you, Jenna. At least wait until you're legal.”

  “You should go out with him, Ms. White,” another student, Melissa calls out. “I mean, you do know who that is, don't you? It's Carter Bishop, the –”

  “I'm well aware of who he is,” I say.

  “Then you know he's loaded,” Melissa presses. “Why not go out with him just so he can buy you nice things? I would.”

  The class erupts into laughter again and all I can do is shake my head. “Okay, listen,” I say. “Enough about my dating life. Time to focus on your –”

  “Class is almost up, Ms. W,” Emilio says.

  I glance at the clock. “Shit,” I say. “Okay, clean up your areas, guys. And don't forget that you have homework due tomorrow.”

  They grumble but laugh – and of course, offer me all kinds of unsolicited advice about why I should date, Carter Bishop. If they only knew about our past together. If they only knew the heartbreak and pain he'd caused me. But, I can't share that with them. It's none of their business and it's entirely inappropriate anyway.

  The bell rings and they burst out into the hallway, leaving me there smiling and laughing to myself. It's the last class of the day, so I drift around the room, cleaning up what they left behind, as is the usual ritual. They're good kids, but they're still kids. Their idea of clean vastly differs from mine.

  I take my time, straightening up all the easels and folding up the drop cloths. I realize that I'm dragging my feet and taking more time than is probably necessary. Certainly, more time than I usually do. And it's because I'm afraid that Carter has made good on his word and is still in the hallway.

  I'm afraid because even though I wanted him to leave, there's some small part of me that hopes he didn't. That he's still out there waiting for me. As frustrating as he can be – as he is – I can't deny that seeing him put on the full court press like this is flattering. I can't deny that I like the attention – at least from him. I don't want to leave the room because there's some small part of me afraid that when I open the door, he won't be there.

  But then, that cold voice of logic that runs around in my brain tells me nothing good could come of seeing Carter. Nothing good could come of having dinner with him. I'd only be opening myself to even more heartache and suffering than before.

  Nothing good could come of getting involved with Carter Bishop again. Could it?

  I'm so lost in my own head that when the door opens, I jump and drop the bundle of supplies in my arms. Carter rushes over and picks them up as I stand there, gaping at him like a fool. By the time he straightens up, I think I've sufficiently composed myself.

  “Where can I put these?” he asks.

  I point to a table near the supply cabinet in the back. “Over there is fine,” I say. “Thank you.”

  I watch him walk to the table and give myself a swift mental kick in the head when I catch myself looking at his ass. Though, in my defense, the way they're framed in those expertly cut slacks, it showcases his very nice, very firm ass. Any woman would look and appreciate it.

  “I figured you would have left by now,” I say, doing my best to sound haughty and annoyed.


  He sets the things down on the table and turns to me, a small smirk on his face. “You know me better than that, Darby,” he says. “When I want something, I don't give up very easily.”

  “And what is it you want, Carter?”

  He steps closer to me I catch a subtle whiff of his cologne. It's a little musky, a lot manly, and seems very much like Carter. It's heady and intoxicating. I breathe deep and feel my eyes start to flutter, but then catch myself and clear my throat, putting on the sternest expression I can muster at that moment.

  Carter gives me a smile. If he noticed me swooning, he at least had the decency to avoid commenting on it.

  “Well, for starters, I want to take you to dinner,” he says. “After that, I guess we'll have to see.”

  “This really isn't a good idea.”

  “There's a lot of things that don't seem like good ideas that turn out to be great ones in hindsight,” he says.

  I laugh. “Yeah, I don't think this is one of them.”

  “You won't know until you try.”

  “I have tried,” I say. “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, and all that.”

  “That was the past, Darby,” he says. “And like I tried to explain before, it's not what it seemed like at the time. Not that it made your hurt any less –”

  “No, it didn't.”

  “I want to atone for that mistake,” he says. “Believe me, it was a big mistake. Worst mistake I've ever made in my life. And I'm sorry.”

  My heart churns right along with my stomach. My heart wants to believe him. Wants to rush straight back into his arms. My brain though – my brain knows how to hold a grudge.

  “I don't know, Carter.”

  “Do you need me to get down on my knees and beg for a chance here, Darby?”

  I laugh, the idea of him down on his knees too funny to not laugh at. But then, as I stand there giggling, he does just that. Carter Bishop falls to his knees before me. He clasps his hands together as if in prayer, his eyes seeming to beseech me.

  “Darby White,” he says. “I've made some terrible mistakes in my life. I've done very wrong by you. I'm begging you – literally begging you right now – for a chance to make good on those wrongs I've done.”

  I cover my mouth with my hands, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up and out of my throat. The actual image of Carter down on his knees is actually a lot funnier than the image that ran through my head a moment ago.

  “And you think taking me to dinner will right all those wrongs?” I ask.

  “It would be a start,” he replies. “An actual conversation might do wonders for us, if you give it a chance and keep an open heart – as well as an open mind.”

  “There is no us, Carter.”

  He shrugs. “No, not right now,” he says. “But, this is a crazy world and the only constant is change. That's the old saying, right?”

  “You are such an idiot,” I say and shake my head, though I can't seem to get the smile off my face. “Get off your knees.”

  “Not until you agree to have dinner with me,” he says. “And as I hope you now know, I tend to keep my word about things. You wouldn't want your kids coming into the classroom tomorrow to find me here down on my knees waiting for an answer, would you?”

  I honestly can't recall the last time I've laughed as hard or as genuinely as I am right now. Carter has always been able to make me laugh, and it feels equally as good and disturbing, that I feel myself falling back into it again so easily.

  “Fine. Dinner,” I say, shocked to hear the words falling out of my mouth, and then quickly add, “but, this is not a promise of anything. Nothing. I'm simply having dinner with you. Period.”

  Carter gets to his feet, a wide smile on his face. He looks like a man who'd just scored a major victory and was basking in the glow of that win. It unsettles me just a bit, because he has almost the same look in his eye that Mason gets when he's regaling me with his tales of his latest courtroom victory.

  This is no game and I'm not some prize to be won.

  “Great,” he says. “Then I'll pick you up at seven.”

  “Tonight?”

  “No time like the present.”

  “I can't,” I say. “I have – things to do. I have to resubmit a stock order and –”

  “You have to have time to eat too,” he says. “You need to learn to take time for yourself.”

  “Spoken like a man who has the money and luxury to afford the ability to be able to do that,” I say.

  He scoffs at me. “You're not hurting for money, Darby,” he says. “You don't even have to work if you don't want to. We both know that.”

  “I also have a responsibility to my kids,” I say. “I have a responsibility to making sure they have the tools they need to be successful.”

  “And they will,” he replies. “Trust me. They will. Now, I'll see you at seven.”

  Before I can rebut him again, he turns and walks across the room, pushing the door open, and disappearing through it. I'm left to stand there gaping like an idiot by the latest turn of events. Had I really just agreed to have dinner with Carter? What in the hell was I thinking?

  I look down at myself and realize that I need to get home and start getting ready. I may not know what in the hell I'm doing, but I'm going to make sure I look damn good doing it. If, for no other reason, then to rub it in Carter's face – show him what he can't have.

  Chapter Eleven

  Carter

  “Which color tie?”

  I'm standing in my walk-in closet, looking at my tie rack, suddenly perplexed by what is usually a very simple choice. I look at myself in the mirror, look at the dark blue slacks, blue button-down shirt, and the blue jacket sitting on a hangar and suddenly don't like anything I'm wearing.

  “Your suit looks fantastic,” Shelly says, as if reading my mind.

  “Don't you think the gray one –”

  “No,” she says. “That one is great. Christ, Carter, I've watched you put on three different suits. Are you turning into a woman on me?”

  I smile, but give her the finger. Shelly has been my personal assistant for years. She's great. Like Rupert, she's always willing to give me the unvarnished truth about anything and everything. She is no shrinking violet, that's for sure. It's one of the things I love and respect about her the most.

  Some guys like to surround themselves with nothing but yes men. And although I do need people who will do the job when and how I say to do it, I actually take great pains to surround myself with people who take no bullshit and will call me on my own.

  I feel like having dissenting voices in the room is how I keep my edge. I have people who continually challenge me, push me to do better, and help me refine my thinking. Although I'm damn good at what I do – I'd even go so far as to say I'm one of the best – I also know that I'm not infallible. I make mistakes. I let my ego get out in front of me sometimes. I'm human, it happens.

  Having contrary voices in the room with me though, helps me to mitigate some of those mistakes. I know a lot of guys in the industry like to claim all the credit themselves. They like to thump their chest and proclaim themselves gods and titans of the industry. But, the truth of the matter is, you're not going anywhere and you're not going to do shit without good people at your side. That's just a fact.

  I get a lot of the credit because my name is on the company letterhead, but I know without the people around me, I'd probably still be hustling the lines and making book in the back of Pops' shop.

  “Okay fine,” I say. “Blue suit. Blue shirt? Or is that too much blue?”

  Shelly sighs and turns me around. She looks me up and down. She'd come in to get my signature on a stack of papers, but I'd roped her into dressing duty. This is my second shot to make a good first impression on Darby and I don't want to blow it because I show up looking like I'd dressed in the dark. I want to look good for her. It's important to me.

  “White shirt, metallic green tie,” she says.


  “Green?”

  “The color brings out your eyes.”

  I take the tie off the rack, hold it up next to my face and nod. “Hey, I guess you're right.”

  Shelly laughs. “Jesus,” she says. “I never thought I'd live to see the day when playboy extraordinaire Carter Bishop lost his fucking head over a woman.”

  “I haven't lost my head.”

  She gives me a very pointed look, letting her eyes drift down to the pile of clothes on the ground at my feet.

  “Oh, really?” she asks.

  “Nothing wrong with wanting to look a little snappier than usual,” I say.

  “You always look snappy,” she says. “This – this is taking snappy to a whole new level. It's like ubersnappy or something.”

  I laugh and quickly change my shirt, dropping the blue one on the ground and put on one of my white dress shirts.

  “She must be special for you to be going to such extremes,” Shelly says.

  I can't keep the smile off my face. “Ever heard of the one that got away?”

  She smiles wide, looking genuinely pleased for me. “This the one that got away, huh?”

  “That's her.”

  “I will say, it will be nice to see you settle down a bit,” she says. “End the parade of bimbos that you roll through here all the time. Some of them are dumb as bricks. Most of them actually.”

  I shrug and laugh. “They're fun.”

  I finish dressing and turn around, holding my arms out for Shelly to inspect. She walks around, picks off a few pieces of lint, and the nods.

  “You look very pretty, sweetheart,” she says.

  I laugh. “Thanks.”

  She looks at her watch. “You better get going if you're going to pick her up at seven,” she says. “No woman likes a man who isn't punctual. And that goes double for the woman you're trying to impress after screwing the pooch the first time.”

  “You are fantastic, Shelly,” I say.

  “Yeah, I really am.”

  I dig into my wallet and push a few hundred dollars bills into her hand. “Take Chad out for dinner. On me,” I say. “Go. Have a good time.”

  “You really don't have to do that,” she says.

  “I know I don't, but I insist,” I say. “Thank you.”