by Rebel Fox
I can’t take that from her.
A long, hot shower does little to ease my nerves, and throughout the night, sleep robs me of the rest I desperately need. My mind won’t stop, and I can’t think with Ella’s warm body so close. Her scent is everywhere. On my pillows and sheets and my body.
At some point, her phone chimes from the purse she brought with her. And it chimes again. And then several more times.
With the intent of silencing the annoyance, I rifle through her purse until I find the offender. But when the messages pop up onto the screen, I can’t tamp down my irritation.
* * *
Emily:
How was the date with hot guy?
Did you bang, finally?
Dude looks like he’s loaded. I bet you did. Next thing you know you’ll be like one of those Beverly Hills wives or something. Wink wink.
* * *
I know from meeting her in the office that Emily is her assistant, and also her sister. The messages could be construed as a joke, but that isn’t the way I take them. My paranoia drives me to wonder if Ella knew who I was all along. Has she been playing me?
I glance at her across the room, a smirk playing across her face even in sleep. The joke is on me. The truth wouldn’t be difficult for her to discover. All she had to do was google me, if she didn’t already know.
But I have to give it to her, playing the naïve little lamb, seducing me and allowing me to take her virginity… that is something else. I really believed her.
I shake my head in disgust as I recall that she didn’t argue as I continued to fill her with my come. And why would she? She probably wanted me to think that she was pregnant, but all the while, hidden in her purse there was a morning after pill.
I take the packet in my hands and set it on the bedside table, giving her one last glance. When she wakes up, I will be gone, and it will be as if I never met her.
5
Ella
I wake up in a haze of bliss, sore and cozy in a bed that must have cost a fortune. In fact, when I open my eyes and look around the room, it occurs to me for the first time just how luxurious this entire room is. Room isn’t really the accurate word to describe it. Judging by the space, I can tell it must be a suite.
A million questions flood my mind about Aleks and who he really is. The truth is that I know very little about this man who took my virginity, and it makes me nervous. That feeling doesn’t go away when I search the parameters of the room and find no trace of him.
There aren’t clothes or shoes or even a suitcase to be found. Clutching the sheet across my naked body, I sit up and attempt to grasp at reason. He probably went to get some breakfast. Or maybe coffee. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, right?
But when I catch sight of the packet on the bedside table, my throat tightens.
It’s the morning after pill. Laid against the rich, dark wood in a not so subtle fashion. Shame burns inside of me, and I don’t want it to be true.
My stomach lurches as I reach for the packet with trembling fingers. There isn’t anything else. Not a note. Not a single piece of evidence that he was ever even here. This man who took my virtue and left me humiliated in a strange bed in an empty hotel room.
My purse is on the floor beside me, and I reach for it, my first instinct to call Em. But then I think twice of it. I’m a grown woman, and I made this decision myself. There is nothing she can say to soothe my mortification, and she wouldn’t anyway. If she were to hear how thoughtless and reckless I had been last night, she would tell me herself that I was a fool, only confirming my own thoughts.
Tears streak down my face as I glance at her messages. It looks like she’s been sending them all night.
* * *
Emily:
How was the date with hot guy?
Did you bang, finally?
Dude looks like he’s loaded. I bet you did. Next thing you know you’ll be like one of those Beverly Hills wives or something. Wink wink.
I hope you’re having fun. FYI I’m definitely not banging cute rich guys but sitting on the couch eating chocolates. Story of my life…
OMG!!! Have you seen the pictures? Is it true?! CALL YOUR SISTER!
* * *
Ignoring the dramatics of her last message, I make my way to the bathroom and turn on the shower. I need to cleanse the way that I feel from my body and soul right now, and Emily will just have to wait. I have no idea what she’s talking about anyway, but more than likely she’s upset because a Kardashian broke up with someone.
The heat of the shower does little to soothe my shame or my embarrassment. And no matter how I spin this, I just can’t make sense of it. My first gut instinct of Aleks was that he was an asshole, sure, but I honestly believed I was wrong after I heard his side of things.
He seemed so into me last night. He was attentive and sweet and possessive, and I can’t even recall just how many times he declared that I was his during our lovemaking. But now he’s gone, like I’m yesterday’s news. No second thought, no look back. He came into my life like a tornado and tore everything apart.
Now the only thing left to do is pick up the pieces.
Stepping out of the Peninsula Hotel, I reach for my sunglasses to block the bright light of day when I’m blinded by something else.
A flash temporarily shocks and blinds me, only to be followed by another, and then another. Confusion washes over me as a mob of paparazzi swarm me, shouting questions and taking my photo. I’m confounded by the case of mistaken identity until one of them actually says my name. My whole name. And when I look in his direction, he smiles and waves a newspaper at me.
“Can you tell me about your night with the Prince of Brighton?”
My limbs feel heavy and lifeless as I stare at the grainy photo splashed across the printed piece in his hands. And my uncertainty fades away as raw clarity sinks in.
The photo is undoubtedly me, tangled up in Alek’s arms last night in the alleyway before he swept me off to this hotel. I can’t feel my face. I can’t even move. But I know that I have to. I need to get in a cab and get far away from this, so I can process. That is what I need to do.
Before I can summon the will, a man appears in front of me, ushering me towards the curb.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“My name is Ricardo,” he answers. “I was hired by Aleksandr Taylor, who only recently became aware of your media exposure. I am to ensure that you make it home safely.”
The way he says my media exposure makes me angry all over again. Like this is my fault. And there are a million other things I would rather do than get into a car with a hired guard that has anything to do with Aleks, but the paparazzi are closing in on me.
“Please, just get in,” Ricardo pleads as he flashes me his credentials. “They will not leave you alone until we get of here.”
Exhaustion settles into me as I admit defeat and climb inside the car. Ricardo follows suit and locks the doors as he issues the driver to go. But the vultures don’t stop pounding on the windows and shouting out their questions until we are at least a good block down the street and I take my first real breath.
“What is your home address?” Ricardo asks.
I glance at him and consider the question. Do I want him to know where I live? Do I want any associates of Aleks to know where I live?
“How long have you worked for Aleks?” I ask.
“I haven’t,” he answers. “I was only contracted for this job. I work security here in Chicago, and it is my understanding that Mr. Taylor went back to Brighton this morning.”
I stare out the window. “Of course he did.”
“The driver needs to know where to drop you off,” Ricardo repeats.
I sigh and rattle off the address for my office, which is only a couple blocks from my apartment. Twenty minutes later, the car comes to a stop and Ricardo hands me a card.
“If you ever need my services again, here’s my information.”
“Th
anks,” I mutter.
“Have a nice day.”
I close the door behind me, and the car speeds off. But a commotion in front of my office building makes me pause. There in front of the glass doors is another mob of paparazzi, shouting questions at poor Harold the security guard who looks dumbfounded by all the ruckus.
Something will need to be done about that, but for right now, I have to get out of here before they catch sight of me again.
6
Aleks
My father slams down yet another newspaper with my face printed across the front page.
“Are you thoroughly satisfied with yourself?”
I stare numbly at the publication and refuse to mince words. “This was never my intention.”
“It wasn’t?” he laughs with disgust. “It was not your intention to go to America in search of a wife, despite my forbiddance to do so?”
“I have no desire to marry the princess of Sweden. On numerous occasions I have told you, and you have refused to listen.”
“Because I am the reigning Monarch,” he roars. “And it is up to me to decide what is best for you!”
My jaw tightens, and my throat itches for a drink. Certainly, there are worse conundrums to have I’m sure than being born into royalty, but at the present moment it doesn’t feel like it. I don’t like being my father’s puppet. He is clinging to ancient history while he expects me to rule in a modern society.
I have nothing but respect for him and what he has done for Brighton, but his practices are outdated, and this is something I refuse to bend on. We will need to come to some sort of a compromise eventually.
“Regardless,” my father sighs as he takes a seat at his desk. “The princess of Sweden surely won’t have you now that she’s witnessed you canoodling some American in a dark alley way. I will be hard pressed to find a princess who will take you after this.”
“So, there is only one option then. You will need to leave it up to me.”
He snorts. “If I were to leave it up to you, you’d continue to make a mockery of the family name. I won’t allow it.”
I rub my temples and eye the liquor decanting on the bar behind him. “What will it be father? What would you like for me to do to smooth over this blunder?”
He drums his fingers against the sturdy wood of his desk and meets my gaze. “I’ve already spoken to my advisors this morning, and it seems they believe there is only one solution. While I am not pleased with it, I am inclined to agree.”
“What is it?” I press.
“You will find this American girl and court her publicly for the next two months. After that, depending on the public reception of your squeaky-clean image, I will determine whether it will be appropriate at that time for you to marry her.”
My face heats as I imagine the idea of facing Ella again. Of courting her. Allowing her into my orbit only for her to destroy me.
“No.” I stand up. “It isn’t possible.”
“Why not?” my father arches a brow in my direction.
“I don’t even know who she is. It was a one-night fling. Nothing more.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Father scoffs. “Her name is printed all over the papers. You know exactly who she is.”
“Yes.” I grit my teeth. “And she is a gold digger.”
My father shrugs, his decision final. “You’ve made your bed Aleksandr. Now it’s time that you lie in it.”
7
Ella
“I feel like Chinese,” Emily says. “Do you want to try that new place down the street? I heard it’s delish.”
“No,” I mumble from my cocoon on the sofa. “But we can order in.”
Emily groans. “We’ve ordered in the last five times I’ve been over, Ella. This is getting ridiculous. How long has it been since you’ve even left this apartment?”
I shrug. “Who needs to leave when you can have everything delivered?”
“Thirty-one days,” Em says.
I blink at her in question.
“That’s how long it’s been since you left this apartment,” she clarifies. “I counted.”
“You are such a stalker,” I groan.
“I’m not a stalker,” she gripes. “I’m your sister, and this isn’t healthy. The paparazzi are pretty much gone now, so I don’t get what the big deal is. Why won’t you even come back to work?”
“Because,” I snap. “How can I sell the idea of love when I feel like this? I would be the absolute worst matchmaker in the history of ever right now.”
“So, you put yourself out there and things didn’t go according to plan,” Em answers. “It isn’t ideal, I will give you that. But it’s time to dust yourself off and get back to the business of living.”
She isn’t going to let this go, and even though I’m terrified to admit the truth, I know that I’ll have to eventually anyway. I might as well bite the bullet and get it over with now.
“Em,” I interrupt her as she’s about to offload more of her motivational tough love speech. “The thing is, I was reckless that night. And while I’m hurt and humiliated and ashamed of everything that happened, there’s something else that I haven’t told you.”
She comes to sit beside me, her face serious. “What is it?”
I release a huge breath and just force the words out. “I’m pregnant.”
Emily slaps a hand over her mouth to stifle her squeal, but it does little good. A moment later, she’s up and wearing my carpet thin with her nervous pacing.
“Oh my God,” she murmurs. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this. You got knocked up by the Prince of Brighton. This is so nuts. You’re having a royal baby. I just can’t even wrap my head around that.”
I toss a throw pillow at her. “Is that really all you can think about right now?”
She pauses to look at me, apologetic. “Right. I’m sorry. It’s just surreal. But you’re right. This is serious. Like very serious. What are you going to do about it?”
I fidget with the tattered edge of my favorite throw blanket. “I’m keeping it, obviously.”
Emily tries to contain her excitement but fails miserably. “I’m going to be an Auntie! This is the best day ever!”
“Except for the glaring fact that I’ll be raising this baby alone,” I mutter.
“No you won’t,” she assures me. “I’ll help you.”
I know she will, but it isn’t the same. Emily and I came from a broken home, and that isn’t what I wanted or pictured for my kids.
“Have you thought about telling him?” she asks.
“And how exactly would I do that?” I laugh. “Just look up his number in the white pages? I’m sure he has a direct line.”
She smirks. “Hey, you never know.”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. He made it perfectly clear what he wanted when he snuck out of the hotel room that night. As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t need to know, and I’ll be just fine if I never see his face or hear his name again.”
Emily nods, but for a fleeting moment, she looks sad at the thought. And it makes me sad too. But I’ve already cried too many tears for that asshole, and I refuse to shed another.
“So, Chinese?” Em asks. “I’ll call and order.”
I nod, grateful that she’s here with me.
8
Aleks
“This is the place?” I ask as the driver pulls up to the curb.
“It’s perfect,” my advisor Charles notes from his place beside me. “The public loves a rags-to- riches story.”
The building is a skyrise, and while it’s not as luxurious as our usual standards, I wouldn’t call it a dump either. Everything I’ve learned about Ella over the last month suggests that she is financially secure on her own. Her matchmaking business is not only successful, but worth much more than I originally would have estimated.
Which has only left me with more puzzling questions about her true character. I suppose for some women, there can never be too much money.
; But even though I’ve been forced to bend and accommodate my father’s will, I haven’t come unprepared. I’ve spent the entirety of the last month planning and learning every detail of Ella’s life, no matter how small and insignificant they might seem.
I have come prepared for battle with an armor that even her devious charm won’t be able to penetrate. In my briefcase, there is a writing pad stuffed with notes upon notes of her life, along with any potential weak points should she attempt to screw me over.
This fiery little American may think she has outsmarted me, but she has no idea who she’s dealing with. It is with this knowledge that I accept my current circumstances and prepare to face them with a sense of urgency.
I try to ignore the twitching of my dick as I imagine facing her again. That blonde hair. Those curves. Those beautiful doe shaped eyes. My father was certainly right about one thing. The media will love the devious little beauty.
“Are you ready?” Charles asks.
I nod, adjusting my tie and buttoning my blazer.
“Just remember.” He winks. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
The first knock goes unanswered, and as I stand awkwardly out of place in the hallway, I wonder again if I have the right address. But it’s a foolish notion when I know that my father left no stone unturned in search of my American princess.
I knock again and then ring the bell for good measure. I can’t imagine the apartment being so big that she isn’t able to hear me. And I know she isn’t at work. According to my sources, she hasn’t left her residence in weeks.