by Jessica Ashe
“No, no, no,” Sophia said softly. She hadn’t accepted the news yet. That made two of us.
“What do we know about this man?” the woman asked.
“Not a lot. We know that his name is George Whittemore, and he’s the son of Mary Whittemore. He has a sister and a nephew.”
“Well, whoever this man is, his life will never be the same again after tonight.”
Yeah, no shit Sherlock.
I grabbed the remote from a stunned looking Sophia and switched off the television.
“You’re a prince,” she said quietly. “You’re a fucking prince.”
“You can call me Prince Charming if you like,” I joked. I tried to smile, but it felt forced and awkward. I probably looked more creepy than comforting.
“I… I have to get out of here.”
“No,” I said quickly, grabbing her arm before she could move. “You can’t leave. I mean, you can obviously, but you shouldn’t. The press might already be out there.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Okay then, just stay because I want you to.”
“How can you be so calm about this?” she asked. “I don’t even understand what’s happening. I take it you already knew?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I’ve known for a while. I thought I had another day or two before the information leaked. Figured I had time to—”
“Screw some more women?”
“Get my affairs in order.”
“You’re not dying,” she snapped. “You’re inheriting a fortune. You’re going to be… no, I can’t even say it. It’s too fucking crazy.”
You’re telling me. A year ago, I was still grieving for my mother’s death. Then I found out my father wasn’t some drunk my mum had shacked up with for a few months before I was born. He’d been someone entirely different and he’d died recently. People made quite a big fuss about it, what with him being the King and all.
“Just stay the night,” I pleaded.
“How will that help? There’ll be even more reporters out there in the morning.”
“It’ll help me. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“You’re going to be able to sleep after all this?”
I laughed. “No, I guess not. I’ll lay there tossing and turning, while you sleep in my bed.”
“You think I’m going to be able to sleep after all this?”
Sophia sighed loudly, but then laughed. “Ellie is going to love all this. I’ve hooked up with a Prince after all.”
“I really didn’t intend for things to go down like this.”
“No, I can tell. Your shirt’s on inside out, by the way.”
“See—I really did just intend to screw you tonight. I was honest.”
“You’re a noble man, Prince Whittemore. The country is lucky to have you.”
I couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not, but I didn’t really care. “Just stay the night, please. I want to talk to you about something in the morning.”
“I am kind of tired,” she said reluctantly. “But you’re sleeping on the sofa.”
“Sure you don’t want to see the crown jewels?” I joked.
“I’m an American. It’s probably illegal for me to touch them.” She walked over to the bedroom, but stopped in the doorway and turned back to face me. “Goodnight, milord.” Sophia gave a mock curtsy, which just meant her skirt rode even further up her backside. God, what I wouldn’t give to get a go on that.
Was it too late now? If I could just convince Sophia to go along with my plan, I might not have to become a prince at all.
Sophia was my last hope. It all hinged on her now.
Shame I only met her this morning.
I’d spent most of the night staring at my phone. Emails, texts, and phone calls flooded in, but the only one I opened was the one from Harry. I’d reached out to him a few weeks ago when I knew the news was going to be made public, but he hadn’t believed me. He did now.
Harry was an old friend from college, who’d turned a bad attitude and poor grades into a decent PR career. He was going to come in use over the coming days, weeks, and months.
I sat up on the sofa as I heard the toilet flush from my on-suite, followed by the tap running, and then Sophia walking out of my bedroom. She’d slipped back into the revealing top and short skirt from last night, and looked every bit as sexy, even without the make-up.
“Hi,” I said groggily. I’d barely slept, and every time I did, I quickly woke up to nightmares of being crowned king in front of an audience of millions.
“Hi,” she replied softly.
At least she didn’t sound mad. That was a start.
“Fancy a cup of tea?”
“I’m going to need coffee,” she replied. “Or don’t you have any?”
“Only instant, I’m afraid.”
“Tea it is, then.”
I pushed myself up off the sofa and boiled the kettle, while the two of us stood awkwardly in the kitchen. Was I really going to ask her? I barely knew her. But I knew Alisa well enough, and look how that turned out. This was the perfect solution really. I just had to convince Sophia it was worth giving up her life for.
I let the tea brew for a few minutes, then threw the tea bags in the bin and added some milk, before handing it over to Sophia.
“You do make a great cup of tea,” she admitted, after taking a sip. “But what is it with you Brits and instant coffee? When you’re king, can you declare it illegal?”
“I was hoping you might have forgotten about all that.”
“The whole ‘you being a prince’ thing? No, that’s still front and center of my mind right now.” Sophia looked around the apartment as if it were somehow different to the place she’d come back to last night. “It’s quiet,” she remarked. “We haven’t been overrun by reporters yet, then?”
“No, thank God. My address hasn’t leaked publicly, and I’m using a fake name to rent this place. It’s only a matter of time though.”
“I haven’t heard from the girls yet, which either means they didn’t recognize you from that picture, or they haven’t seen the news yet. More likely the latter knowing them. They tend to sleep in late after a heavy night.”
“I’ve switched my phone off now. Might as well enjoy my last few moments of peace and quiet.”
I sat down on the sofa, but Sophia made a point of sitting on the armchair instead. She crossed her legs, revealing those delicious thighs again. Already I could feel my erection resurfacing in my boxers, reminding me that I hadn’t gotten any last night. This situation was stressful enough as it was, without the added pressure from down there.
“You know, some people would think this was good news,” Sophia said. “Being a prince might not be a bad life.”
“And some people would do anything to shag a prince, and yet you made me sleep on the sofa.”
“Fair point. It would have been cool to go home and tell everyone I ‘shagged’ the future king of England.”
“There’s still time.”
The slight pause before she responded gave me hope, but in the end she shook her head. “Nope. It can’t happen. I should never have even come back here.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Even though you didn’t—how do you say it—get your end away?”
I laughed as Sophia attempted an English accent again. “Oh I do love that accent. And yes, I’m still glad you’re here. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about actually.”
“What’s that?” Sophia took a sip of her tea. With hindsight, I probably should have waited until she’d swallowed her drink before popping the question.
“I was wondering whether you would marry me?”
Chapter Nine
Sophia
I choked back the mouthful of tea, and laughed nervously. It seemed like an appropriate response. “You… Did you just… What?”
“I want you to marry me,” George said sincerely, as if the suggestion weren’t just a
stupid joke. He sounded deadly serious. “I’ll get a ring.”
“You think the lack of a ring is the problem here?” I asked. I liked a big diamond as much as the next girl, but it would have to be damn big to blind me to the strangeness of this situation.
“I haven’t explained, have I? Shit, sorry, my mind’s all over the place right now.”
And now so is mine.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I had been minding my own business working in the café and dreaming about meeting a charming Englishman like the ones I’d seen on television. Then Ellie told me to serve George, and the rest was history. In George’s case, it literally would go down in the history books.
I had a story to make me the envy of all my friends. Except I’d never be able to tell them. I couldn’t say yes—obviously—and I wasn’t about to go spreading tales about the new prince proposing to me. The most exciting thing to ever happen to me, and I’d have to take the story to my grave.
“You’re confused,” I said to George. “And clearly very sleep-deprived. Perhaps I should leave.”
“No,” George said quickly. “Give me a chance to explain. I want you to marry me.”
“Yeah, I gathered that much when you proposed.”
“Right, but not because we love each other or anything. I just want us to get married, and then split up soon after.”
My heart sank with disappointment when he admitted he wasn’t in love with me. I knew it was stupid; I wasn’t in love with him either. It was a gut reaction to hearing the words spoken aloud by a crush. That’s all he was. A handsome crush, who was about to be a prince. Or already was a prince. I didn’t know how it worked. The details didn’t seem important.
“Then why get married?” I asked.
“I need the money. I have an inheritance locked up in a trust and I don’t get to claim it until I get married.”
“But you’re a prince now. You won’t need money any more.”
“I plan to abdicate. Give up all the titles and the bullshit that goes with it. But I can only do that if I have another source of money.”
“Some people work for a living,” I said. “Have you thought about that?”
“I need serious money. Millions.”
“What for?”
George paused before answering. He liked to think he could read body language, but two could play at that game. He looked embarrassed; whatever the reason, he didn’t want to tell me.
“I’m broke,” he said eventually. “Nearly, anyway. If I don’t get my hands on that inheritance soon, I’m going to be in real trouble.”
At least he was being honest with me. That still didn’t mean I could go along with this plan. I had far too much going on in my life right now, namely school, paying for school, and all this visa crap hanging over me like—
The visa. If George and I got married, I’d be able to stay in the country easily. I wouldn’t have to go back to America. I wouldn’t have to face the grief I’d get from my mom, and the looks I’d get from my former friends.
God, this could be so perfect.
But I’d be marrying a prince. I’d had enough drama with my last engagement. I wanted a quiet life now, and I wouldn’t get that if we were engaged.
“No,” I said firmly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. It’s too huge.”
“I’d pay you. And you could get a visa to stay here permanently. You’d do well out of the arrangement. Trust me, I stand to inherit a lot of money.”
“I’m not all that keen to prostitute myself out.”
“You’d be more like a high-class escort,” George replied. I thought it was a joke, but you never could tell with the English. “Look, it doesn’t have to be anything seedy. You can still go to classes as normal. The only difference being that we would have to live together for a bit.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“You know, I really wish you hadn’t picked up on the sarcasm thing.”
I shook my head again, harder this time, as if I might be able to shake it so hard I could turn back time twenty-four hours.
The proposal had been stupid, but the even stupider thing was I was actually considering it. Living here would be a hell of a lot better than living on campus, and if I got my visa, I’d be able to stay here and never go back to America. I’d sure as hell never have to see Stan again.
But Stan was also the reason I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be engaged again. Not now, maybe not ever.
“No. No, I can’t. You’re a great guy. A really great guy. You’ll find someone else to take you up on your offer.”
“There’s no time. Once I get pulled into the royal bullshit, I’ll be trapped. If I’m already married, they might actually let me live a normal life.”
“There has to be someone else.”
“There was, but it didn’t end well. Besides, I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”
“Why?”’
“I like you. You’re funny, clever, beautiful, annoying. All attributes I look for in a woman. Look, you don’t have to decide now, but I would need an answer soon. Will you think about it?”
I already was thinking about it. Why was I thinking about it? I must be crazy. This was such a bad idea. Even Ellie would say this is too far, and that girl liked to throw caution to the wind.
“I’ll think about it,” I promised. “But don’t get your hopes up.”
“Thank you. You would be doing me a huge favor.”
“Yeah, no shit. I should get out of here, before the press find out where you live.”
“I’ll call one of the security guys from downstairs.”
A man came up to escort me down to a cab. He needn’t have bothered. It was still early, and apparently people liked to sleep in on Saturday mornings because the apartment and the streets were deserted.
I couldn’t get engaged again. That was madness. But this wouldn’t be a real engagement or a real marriage. We would just pretend to be a couple for a few months, and then call it off. I did need the money. Maybe not quite as much as George, but it would help me make a fresh start. That’s what this entire trip had been about after all. Get my head straight and make a clean break. The visa would be icing on the cake.
I needed to talk to Ellie before I did something stupid. My phone vibrated in my purse. Speak of the devil.
“Are you going to do it?” Ellie asked.
“No, of course not. That would be crazy. Wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, just a bit.”
“Completely,” Dani agreed. “Nuts.”
They’d said just what I expected, but I was still disappointed to hear it. In the hour it had taken me to get home, have a shower, and get dressed, I’d warmed up to the idea a bit. It didn’t have to be such a big deal. People got married and divorced all the time, and the wedding could just be a small civil ceremony. No one would ever have to know the sordid details. No one except Ellie and Dani I suppose. And we wouldn’t be the first people in history just to get married for a visa. People did in the US all the time.
“I told him no,” I explained.
“What? Why?” Dani asked incredulously.
“Because… I just… weren’t you listening to anything I just said?”
“Yeah, I heard. A prince just fucking proposed to you. A lush prince at that.”
“Lush is good, right?” I asked Ellie, who often served as my Welsh to American translator. Ellie nodded.
“But you just said it was nuts.”
“It is,” Dani agreed. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it.”
I sighed loudly, and suppressed a smile. That was much more what I wanted to hear. “What about you?” I asked Ellie. “Do you think it’s ‘good crazy’ or ‘bad crazy?’
“I usually serve as the voice of reason next to Dani, but…”
“But?”
“But he’s a fucking prince,” Ellie said, so loudly that my neighbors could probably hear through the thin walls. “I still can’t believe I spoke to him last
night, and that’s saying nothing of you spending the evening riding his dick.”
“We never had sex,” I said. The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. Now I was in trouble.
“You didn’t sleep with him?” Dani somehow managed to reach a volume even louder than Ellie. Good job most of the floor was probably sleeping off a hangover.
“Finding out I was kissing a prince came as a bit of a shock believe it or not. What would you have done?”
“I’d have dropped to my knees and had my lips around his dick quicker than you could say ‘God save the King.’”
“And I’d have played with his balls,” Ellie added helpfully.
“Look,” Dani said seriously. “If you don’t want to do this, I know one pussy that would be more than happy to ride some royal cock.”
“No,” I said quickly, as a pang of jealousy hit me in the gut. I couldn’t imagine George with Dani or Ellie. I didn’t want to think of him with any other women, come to think of it. “It has to be me.”
“Why?” Dani asked.
“Uh, something about me being American, and how it will be easier to get out of the Royal family side of things.”
“This is fate,” Ellie said. “You have to do it. And him. Most of all, you have to do him.”
‘Yep,” Dani agreed. “Give him one from us.”
“I’m still not doing it,” I insisted.
“What are we missing here?” Ellie asked. “You like him right?”
“Yeah, sure. I barely know him, but he seems nice.”
“And he’s hot,” Dani added.
“He’s easy on the eyes,” I admitted, thinking back to the few glimpses of his chest I’d seen last night through the open buttons. If we got engaged, we wouldn’t have to sleep together, but I couldn’t imagine a scenario where I’d be able to resist. Last night, his hand on my thigh had been enough to get me dripping between the legs. What would I do if I saw him get undressed or come out of the shower with only a towel around his waist?
I’d probably drop to my knees and get my lips around his dick quicker than you could say ‘God save the King.’