Dirty Prince

by Vanessa Waltz

  We told you. We said it over and over that this was a stupid idea. You’ve been putting yourself in harm’s way ever since Ben—

  I cut it off as a swift pain hits my chest.

  There’s no way I can explain this in an email.

  To: Mike_Walker@gmail.com

  From: Daisy_Walker@gmail.com

  Subject: I’m fine!

  Hi, Dad,

  Sorry to worry you guys. I did run into a little bit of trouble, but I’m fine now. I can’t explain everything, but I promise to call as soon as possible. Love, Daisy.

  I click the Send button, hoping it’ll be enough for now. I debate whether I should return the phone back to his nightstand, but I decide it’s useless.

  “Ready for the ball, love?”

  The mere sound of his voice grates my ears. Prince Liam stands near the head of the room, dressed in a black suit and tie, every strand of his hair neatly gelled to the side. His cocksure grin falters when he takes in my appearance.

  I stare at myself in the wall-length mirror, hardly recognizing the girl in the navy-blue wrap dress that ends just above my knees. Marcia also called in a stylist, who gave me a trim and massaged fifteen different hair-styling oils through my hair before blow-drying it. My hair is softer than goose down, and it shines like black ink.

  Liam’s gaze trails down my neck to the diving neckline, where he has a nice view of my tits.

  “You’re so predictable.”

  His playful eyes snap back up, strangely intense, and then he approaches me until I feel the heat from his skin.

  “You look fucking hot. This dress will look amazing on the floor later.”

  The heat blazes from his throat too. He touches my neck.

  “Thanks,” I hear myself say, completely ignoring the comment about my dress.

  My stomach tenses when his hand wraps around mine and lifts it. Looking unusually solemn, he digs for something in his pocket and produces a giant sapphire ring. It’s square, set in platinum with hundreds of diamonds encrusted around the sapphire’s border.

  “This was my mum’s. Please don’t lose it.”

  I gape at it. “Liam, I can’t. I shouldn’t wear it.”

  “You’re my fiancée. You must.” He slides it on my ring finger, and as he does I feel a leap in my chest. I know the feeling is fake, but still. It’s a beautiful ring.

  “I can’t wait to bring you out there.”

  For a moment his smile makes me glow until I think about the crowd waiting for me outside. He folds his arm around mine, leading me toward the door.

  “I can’t do this, Liam. I’m not a princess—I can’t even curtsy.”

  He laughs. “Ah, fuck. That will be a problem when you meet the king. Just do your best, love. People will find it endearing. You’ll be the lovable but extremely ignorant Yankee.”

  “You are seriously the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

  Liam pulls me close to his side. “You’ll have to ease up on the insults at the ball, love.”

  Luv.

  “Only if you ease up on that goddamn word.”

  “Never.” He digs his phone out of his pocket, and his Instagram flashes on the screen. “We should take a selfie.”

  “What? Why?”

  He thumbs through the screen. “My followers will find it extremely odd if I get suddenly married without ever taking a picture of my girl.”

  “God forbid your followers get suspicious of our marriage.”

  My face scowls at me as Liam aims his phone at us. Then suddenly his husky voice is in my ear. “Kiss me for the camera.”

  “We don’t need to kiss.”

  “Embrace your inner goddess, or whatever the fuck you Americans call it.”

  Did he read Fifty Shades?

  He touches the back of my neck, as he grazes his lips over my cheek. God, it’s like a live wire to my skin the way my body responds to him. I feel his hand, so warmth against my back. His fingertips drag over me in tantalizing circles, and I turn into his arms. My skin flares with heat when his lips press against my neck. Once. Twice.

  Desire ripples over my body like a lover’s hands, palming every curve. My body responds as though he is groping my tits, squeezing. It’s almost like a finger sinking into my pussy, and my breath catches at the shock of it. I’m not supposed to feel—I’m not supposed to want him.

  He takes my jaw, his breath gusting over my lips. My heart feels like it’s bursting, literally leaping out of my chest. I can’t. I can’t. His taste billows over my tongue, and then his lips crash over mine. Every movement seems to last a century. I suck in breath, but he digs his fingers in my hair, crushing me against him.

  Before I know what I’m doing, my hands fly to his neck and I’m ruining his princely hair, and grinding my hips against his as I kiss him back. It feels way too fucking good. Then his hand falls and he grabs my ass. That feels good too.

  What about Ben?

  Just like that, desire turns to ash in my mouth. Liam’s chest strains against my palm as I push him back, breaking the kiss. He’s breathing hard.

  “I could fuck you right now. You are unbelievably sexy.”

  A smile twitches across his face as I notice the growing hardness against my thigh. God, it would be so easy to give in. Turn around, bend over, and let him enter me. Guilt’s tendrils wrap around my heart, squeezing slightly.

  “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Yes you did. You’re sexually frustrated and you’ve been pent-up for days. And I’m ridiculously hot.”

  He takes my hand, invading my space, and places it over a hard mound. I wrap my fingers around it instinctively and feel a jump. Oh Christ. He’s making me touch his cock.

  “I’m ready for you. Let me fuck the shit out of you. I want you while you’re wearing this dress.”

  I imagine him flipping the dress over my back, peeling my underwear down my thighs, and that swift, hard pressure between my legs making me gasp.

  “We have a ball to get to.”

  He grins. “Afterward, then.”

  “No.”

  Liam rolls his eyes at me as he raises his phone again. My hands are wrapped around his neck in the photo. Our lips are locked together. Jesus, I’m practically mauling him.

  “That won’t do for the Instagram, but I’m saving it. Let’s take another one. Please try to control yourself this time.”

  “Dick.”

  “Not now, darling. Later.”

  He kisses me again, holding the camera high. I try to ignore the heat burning through his lips and the disappointment when he breaks the kiss to look at the photo.

  “Better. All right. Let’s go.”

  I wonder what my classmates will make of that Instagram post.

  The doors open for us as Liam takes a few steps forward, towing me along. I clutch his arm for dear life as my heels catch on the cracks in the stone steps. The guards follow us noisily as we descend the stairs onto the landing. My heart jackknifes into my chest as they escort us into the palace up a wide staircase I could spend ages staring at. It’s carpeted in a rich, dark blue with a lighter blue, intricate pattern. The stairs are carved into what look like branches, snarling in circles, painted in gold leaf. The rail itself is a deep brown, smooth to the touch. The walls are covered in white paneling with subtle golden borders. It’s beautiful.

  At the top, a set of open white doors lead into a wide room with a giant chandelier that looks like it could squash twenty people.

  “I know you’re excited to be so close to me, but there’s no need to crush my arm.”

  Ass. “I’m nervous.”

  Nervous is an understatement. Completely out of my fucking league is probably more accurate.

  “It’s just a little party. There will be drinks, dancing—ah. You can’t dance, can you?”

  “No!”

  “Well, the tabloids will have a field day after this.”

  “You’re really not helping with my anxiety.”

 
Laughing, he turns his head and whispers, “Every time you feel overwhelmed, just imagine us snogging in my room.”

  “You’re such a—”

  “Brother!”

  As we reach the top of the staircase, an attractive, blond man wearing a suit just like Liam’s gives me a toothy grin and practically elbows Liam out of the way to introduce himself.

  “Hi, I’m Lucian, Liam’s younger brother.”

  “One of my many brothers.”

  Wow. They look so different. Lucian is stockier than Liam, with wider shoulders and a deeper chest, and his head is a wave of carefully groomed blond curls. He has the air of a guy who spends a lot of time outside, and who would probably have a deeper tan if he lived somewhere sunny.

  “I’m Daisy.”

  He does a double take when he grabs my hand, his eyes widening at the sapphire engagement ring.

  “Is that Mum’s ring?”

  “Yes, it is,” Liam says in a bit of a warning tone.

  He regards it for a moment, surprised, and then he shakes my hand, beaming. “Any girl who manages to win my brother’s heart must be a fabulous woman. I’m delighted to meet you, Daisy. Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you. It’s very nice to meet you too.”

  “All right, that’s enough,” Liam says, scowling. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Wow. Crabby.” Liam’s younger brother winks at me as my fiancé practically yanks me away.

  “What’s your deal?” I hiss at him.

  “Lucian is an utter ass. You’d be better off avoiding him.”

  Because you’re such a peach?

  The room is filled with beautifully dressed guests who bow and curtsy at Liam as we walk inside.

  “Your Highness.”

  “My prince, my lady.”

  I’m no lady!

  Liam inclines his head in the general direction of the waves of people bowing to him. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I have no idea, so I smile and nod to the rest of them. The ballroom becomes an echo of “my prince” and “Your Highness” with the occasional “my lady” thrown in. Every eye follows us to the center of the room, where the king stands, his malevolent gazes fixed on me. I’m trembling like a goddamn leaf, holding on to Liam for dear life as he calmly approaches his father. He bows to the king, and then I realize I’m supposed to do something. I’ve never curtsied in my life, but I grab my dress with both hands and cross my ankles, bending awkwardly at my knees as I bow my head. Judging by the scandalized looks the women in the crowd give me, I know I’ve completely failed.

  Only Liam’s warmth at my side keeps me from sprinting right back where I came from.

  “We welcome you to Harronvale Palace!”

  Cheers follow Liam’s enthusiastic welcome and quickly die down when he lifts his arms.

  “I would like to thank you all for attending my engagement party. We have a wonderful evening planned full of dancing, entertainment, and food. If you take photos at this event, please use the hashtag princeliam, and be sure to follow me on Instagram.”

  He must be joking. No one is that conceited, right? Jesus Christ, he’s pimping out his social media platforms.

  “Lastly, I am thrilled to introduce you all to my lovely wife-to-be, Miss Daisy Walker from Berkeley.”

  A ripple of confusion runs through the crowd as I watch guests whisper to each other, no doubt wondering where the fuck Berkeley is.

  “Berkeley, California.”

  Mic-drop.

  Confusion rapidly shifts into masks of unbridled rage as they work out that California is in America, that their lovely, perfect prince chose some random girl from America instead of one of them.

  “Thank you for coming and please enjoy the party.”

  There’s no applause. At least not for a few seconds, and even then it’s scattered and dispassionate. Liam beams at them, and then he turns around to face his very irate father.

  “Dad, meet my fiancée.”

  Behind me, I can hear the sharp whispering from the guest, all of it indistinctly angry. I watch as a girl my age absentmindedly grabs a pastry from a tray held by a waiter. It crumbles in her fist as she sends a hateful glare in my direction.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?”

  Liam looks at his father, feigned surprise all over his face. “I don’t understand your question.”

  For a moment the king’s eyes flare out and burn like two small suns. His veined hand lashes out, grabbing Liam’s shirt collar in a vise grip.

  “You will not make a mockery of this family. My guards will escort the prisoner back to her cell, and then I will flay the skin from your back for this embarrassment!”

  “Father, this is not a prank. I was given one month to find a suitable bride, and I found one.”

  “Do you honestly expect me to believe that? I will never allow one of my sons to marry an American,” he says with a nasty glare at me.

  “The deal was that I had to get married within a month—”

  “To a bride of my choosing!”

  “No,” Liam says in a louder voice. “You said I could choose whomever I wanted. I followed your instructions to the letter. Perhaps you should’ve been more specific.”

  “I will never approve of this union.”

  “I do not need it.” With a smirk, he pulls his phone out of his pants pocket and shows him the Instagram post of us kissing. “Within half an hour I already have five hundred shares of this photo.”

  I gape at it. Damn.

  “What’s this rubbish?”

  “That ‘rubbish,’ Dad, is going to make Anglefell relevant again. If you throw her in jail after the world has seen this photo, you become the coldhearted bastard who separated Romeo and Juliet.”

  “She gained entry to Anglefell illegally.”

  “To be with me.”

  The king takes a step forward, his foul teeth gnashed in a grisly smile. “If you think I give a rat’s fart about some teenagers shitting their thoughts on the Internets—”

  “It’s the only way we stay connected with the rest of the world. Like it or not, we need it, and we need this. We don’t need yet another foreigner sentenced to hard labor, and endless articles condemning our human rights violations.”

  King Jonathan glares at me, hatred etched in every line on his face. “If you claim to care about this country as much as you say you do—”

  “I do.”

  “Then you will take this role seriously. If she is to be your princess, she must act like one,” he spits out. Then he glares at me, leaning in. “Step one toe out of line, and I’ll make sure you both never see the light of day.”

  Screw you, asshole!

  My face burns as he turns away and brushes past us, walking straight out of the ballroom. The wave of bowing and curtsying ripples.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s just a little pissy because I won.”

  “He just threatened me!”

  “He threatens everyone. I doubt he gets through breakfast without promising someone’s death. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To dance.”

  “What? Hell no! You know I can’t dance.”

  He laughs off my concern and grabs my hand, pulling me to the dance floor. My palm slips, and he reaches forward to get a more secure grip.

  “Just pretend you’re at prom.”

  “I never went to my prom!”

  He makes a face. “Seriously?”

  The crowd applauds as we take our places in the middle of the dance floor, and I place my hand numbly on Liam’s waist.

  “Darling, your hand goes up here.”

  He takes my hand from his waist and places it on his shoulder.

  A girl watching me nudges her friend, and they let out volley of unkind laughter. I must look like a complete joke to them. Laugh it up, bitches. I try to ignore the sea of hostile, pretty faces glaring in my direction, and look at my dance partner instead.

  Damn, that was a mistake.
/>
  Liam’s right about one thing: he’s hot, and it bugs me more than I’d like to admit. He’s got the perfect skin, high cheekbones, soft, pillowy lips, and the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen. His hand burns through my dress when he takes my waist. The warmth glows all the way to my toes, and he closes his eye in a wink that sends another pleasant shiver down my spine. Then he reaches in his pocket for his phone with a devious grin. He scrolls through his music list and jabs the screen with his thumb. A rich R&B voice blasts from the speakers. Is that… “Diamonds” by Rihanna?

  The prince takes my hand, and we revolve on the spot like a couple of kids at prom. The wall of spectators blurs as he twirls me in his arms, and I stumble to keep from falling. His lips mouth the lyrics to the music, and it’s all I can do keep myself from exploding with laughter.

  “Rihanna? Really?”

  “I’m a fan.”

  I burst out laughing, glad the speakers drown out our conversation. “Are you even allowed to play American music?”

  “I could give a shit about my father’s many prejudices.”

  Somehow, I find the fact the Prince of Anglefell is an avid Rihanna fan the most surprising out of everything I’ve learned. I bend my neck into his chest, hopefully hiding my face from the crowd, and he wraps his arm more tightly around my waist.

  “We Fell in Love” is the next song on his playlist, and then the rest of the crowd reluctantly moves onto the dance floor to awkwardly dance to Rihanna. It’s the most hysterical thing I’ve ever seen. I give up completely on trying to keep a poker face, and Liam laughs with me. Well, he might be a jerk, but at least he has a sense of humor.

  “What happens after this?”

  “I’ll tell you what happens after this,” he says in a gritty voice I don’t trust at all. “I take you back to my room to finish what you started.”

  The kiss in his room. As soon as I remember the way his lips felt on mine, heat curls through my skin.

  “I’ll take that beautiful dress off your body, and then I’ll run my tongue over every curve.”

  I shudder, almost closing my eyes at the image of Liam half-dressed, crawling over my nakedness, his wicked tongue making circles over my breast.