Isabelle paled. “W-What do you mean?”
“A reporter caught the two of you…doing indecent things in a car. With no regard to your status as a princess about to embark on a marriage that would benefit your country.” The older woman leveled a stare at Gordon that made him feel about six inches tall. “They went live with the story. It’s all over Linton, and Maldeva, too.”
“No,” Isabelle said, her voice broken. “This can’t be happening.”
“Oh, it’s happening.” The older woman came around the side of the bed, picked up Isabelle’s robe, then tossed it on the bed. “Get dressed. We need to discuss much with the ambassador.”
Isabelle nodded slowly, her face pale and her eyes hauntingly empty. “I’ll be right there.”
They all filed out of the room, leaving Gordon and Isabelle alone. Gordon reached out to grab her hand, but Isabelle hopped out of the bed too fast.
“I can’t believe I did this. I ruined everything. Brought disgrace to my people. To my parents.” She paced back and forth. “I’m a shadow upon my family’s good name.”
Her panicked words sent a knife of guilt piercing through his heart. He’d done this to her. This was all his fault. He ruined everything he touched…even her. “Isabelle, stop.”
“I can’t!”
He got out of bed and stepped in front of her. “You’re not a bad person. If anyone is, it’s me. I’m the one who should have known better than to…” He broke off, unable to finish that thought. “You got caught by some dipshit with a camera, doing something that millions of other people in the world do on a daily basis, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.”
She glowered at him. “Millions of other people are not princesses.”
“You’re right.” He held his hands out, frustration coursing through his veins. “But even princesses have sex. You think Prince Harry and Kate Middleton did in vitro, or do you think they bumped nasty’s and made a baby the old-fashioned way?”
She swiped her hand through the air. “That’s different. They’re married. And they weren’t caught on camera in a car, for God’s sakes.”
“I refuse to feel ashamed because we had sex.” He stomped into his pants. “I know this sucks, PR-wise, but we didn’t do anything wrong. You’re single. I’m single. We fucked. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is, though.” She tossed her robe aside, went to her luggage, and rifled through it before pulling out a lavender dress. “In my world, it really is.”
“Look, I’m not going to pretend to understand your world. I don’t.” He swallowed hard, the guilt at how horrible she felt—how horrible he’d made her feel—choking him. “But even so, I want to help you. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
She clasped her bra. “There’s nothing you can do, Gordon. Nothing at all.”
He stood there, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, and watched her as she slid into a pair of satin panties. He felt so fucking helpless. “It’s my fault that we got caught, and if I ever find the little fucker who’d sold the footage, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.” He hesitated, his throat getting tight at the words he wanted to say but wasn’t sure if he could. “But I refuse to regret what we did. And I won’t apologize, either. I refuse to regret you. I think you’re an amazing person, and I care about you. And I’m here to help you. I want to help you. Let me help you.”
She stopped, the dress in her hands, and bit down on her lower lip. “I think you’re special, too. I really do.”
He closed the distance between them, capturing her face between his hands. Kissing her gently, he tried to show her without words just how much she meant to him. Just how extraordinary she was. When he pulled back, he locked gazes with her. Her glistening pink lips were tempting, but they needed to focus. He needed to help her…
No matter how ridiculous he thought it might be that everyone was all up in airs about a fuck. “Whatever those people out there need me to do, I’ll do it.”
And he meant every word.
She smiled at him. “That’s very sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that. This is my problem, not yours.”
“No.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then went in search of his shirt. It was a hell of a lot harder to let go of her than he thought it would be. “It’s ours.”
“I don’t care what anyone says. You’re a prince.” She rose on tiptoes and kissed him again. “A true prince.”
His heart pounded against his ribs, the guilt subsiding a little bit at her words. Around her, he almost felt like a real fucking prince, which was stupid as hell. He’d never be one. “I don’t know about any of that shit, but let’s get dressed so we can brush our teeth and get out there before all those people waiting for you have a conniption.”
Her lips twitched into a small smile. “Okay.”
Progress, no matter how tiny it might be. She no longer looked as if she was about to burst into tears, if nothing else. That was the most he could ask for, considering the circumstances. They finished dressing, brushed their teeth, and freshened up in under five minutes. They walked to the bedroom door.
Isabelle’s steps slowed the closer they got.
“Hey.” Gordon reached out and caught her hand. “You okay?”
She looked at him, her green eyes somber and clear. “I think so.”
“Let’s go out there, then. Get this over with. I’ll be at your side the whole time.”
She nodded once. “Open the door.”
He did, and he found two out of the three people who’d woken them up, sitting on the couch. His lips twitched. If they knew what their beloved princess had been doing on that exact couch only hours before, they wouldn’t look so damn regal. “Good morning…again.”
“Sit,” the ambassador said, rifling through papers. “Both of you.”
Isabelle looked at Gordon, her fingers tightening on his. “Can we excuse Gordon, please? This mess isn’t his.”
“To the contrary, it very much is,” the ambassador said, not even looking up from the file he was rummaging through. “He stays.”
“I told you I’m not leaving you,” Gordon said, frowning down at Isabelle before turning to the other two occupants in the room. The older woman held a MacBook on her lap, pointed at them, and the ambassador drank a coffee with a trembling hand. “Though I refuse to apologize for this…for what we did…whatever you need from me, I’ll do it. I’m not walking away from this as if I didn’t have a part in the whole…situation. Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it.”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” a quiet voice said. It sounded muffled through technology. “Because we’re going to require a lot from you, young man.”
Isabelle paled. “D-Dad?”
Shit, the king of Maldeva was listening? Should he bow? Sit? Stand until invited to sit? Fuck if he knew. He wasn’t exactly up to date on royal customs and expectations.
“I’m here, too,” a feminine voice said. “Sit down, Isabelle. Princesses don’t dawdle with their mouths hanging open wide enough to catch flies. You look ridiculous.”
Her mother, obviously.
Isabelle dropped his hand and sat immediately, her head lowered from the webcam video the older woman had so obviously set up. “Yes, Mother. Sorry.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Gordon frowned at the computer, then sat beside Isabelle. “You look beautiful, like always, Belle.”
Isabelle peeked at him, shook her head, then lowered it again.
She didn’t make a peep.
“Your admiration of our daughter is to be commended, Mr. Waybrook,” her father said. “I only wish you had admired her enough to keep her from this scandal in the first place, before you sought out your carnal pleasures in public. That might be conventional behavior where you’re from, but it isn’t acceptable here. Especially not from the future ruler of our country.”
Gordon flinched. “I’m sorry for that. I truly am.”
“Noted,” her father said.
Gordon almost wished he could see his face, so he knew exactly who he spoke to. “Are you truly willing to do whatever it takes to fix this? For Isabelle?”
“For her, I’d do anything, yes. She’s come to mean a lot to me, in a very short time.” He lifted his chin. “But I’d like to go on the record in saying this whole thing is ridiculous. She’s a grown woman. I’m a grown man. There was a consensual night or two between us. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“If she wasn’t a princess on the verge of a marriage, I might agree.” Her father’s voice hardened with every word spoken. “But she’s not average, like you.”
“Father,” Isabelle hissed, her cheeks flushing with color. “Don’t insult him.”
“It’s not an insult. It’s the truth,” her father argued.
“Enough,” the ambassador said. “We’re wasting time when we should be plotting how best to make this look good to the people.”
“There’s only one way for us to make this work,” the older woman said, looking at Gordon with a tinge of disgust on her face. “No matter how much I might wish otherwise.”
“Hold on,” Gordon said, holding his hand up. “I know who’s on the computer, even if I can’t see them. But can everyone else please introduce themselves and tell me your job? I feel the need to know who you all are before I obey your every whim.”
“You’ve already seen me, but I’ll play along. I’m the ambassador of Maldeva, and I need to save her from certain ruin,” the fat, bald headed man with the file said. “Before it’s too late.”
“I’m what you American’s call a PR person, and my name’s Mary,” the older woman said, her lip curled up so high it almost touched her black hair. “It’s my job to protect her image and help come up with the best possible spin on this whole thing.”
Gordon nodded. “I’m Gordon, and I was a Marine before I became a private security agent at Shillings Agency—where you hired me to watch over your daughter.”
“We should have specified how closely we wished you to watch over her,” the mother said, a touch of irony in her voice. “And we should have requested a photo of you. One look, and I would have vetoed your hiring. This was a disaster waiting to happen.”
Gordon laughed. “Fair enough, your majesty.”
“Enough,” the ambassador said. “Prince George is quite obviously out of the picture, as one would expect.”
Isabelle flinched. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Gordon couldn’t deny the surge of relief he felt at the man giving up on the idea of marrying his Isabelle. “It’s his loss.”
Mary looked as if she was ready to kill him.
The ambassador sighed. “I don’t suppose you come from a rich family with a secret noble background…do you?”
Gordon snorted. “No. I’m pureblood American. My mom was a teacher, and my dad was a CEO. They’re both dead.”
“But you were an officer in the military?” her father asked from the computer. “Correct?”
“Yes.” Gordon drummed his fingers on his knee. “But I’m out now. I got out after I got shot in the shoulder.”
“In the battle that killed your team,” her father said.
His grip tightened on his knees. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” her mother said. And she actually sounded as if she was. “That must have been hard.”
“Thank you. It was.” He paused. “It is.”
“We can still spin him as a decorated officer of the American military,” Mary interrupted, watching the royal couple. “It’s not a prince, but it’s better than nothing. Also, I did some digging on his background. He got the Purple Heart for his bravery over there. He carried a dead Marine to safety.”
Gordon stiffened. “He’s right here and can speak for himself.”
“Calm yourself, boy,” the ambassador said, waving a hand. “You’ll have to get used to this if you’re truly willing to help.”
Gordon hesitated. “I am…”
“Good.” Her father cleared his throat. “So, a heroic American military officer swept Princess Isabelle off her feet, and they had a whirlwind romance that would rival a romantic movie’s plot. Romantic dinners. Boat rides in the moonlight. Sweet kisses under arched bridges in the sunset.”
Mary nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”
“Unbelievable,” Gordon said, laughing under his breath. “What’s next? We fell in love and eloped without telling anyone?”
The room fell silent.
Three pairs of eyes stared at him.
“Wait.” His palms started to sweat, and he swallowed past his dry throat. “You can’t be serious.”
Mary finally cracked a smile. And it was in the face of his panic that she finally showed a sense of humor. “Well, actually…”
Triple fucking shit.
Chapter Eleven
Isabelle snapped her head up, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears she almost didn’t hear Mary’s reply. As soon as Gordon had made the joke about them eloping, she’d gone into panic mode. It hadn’t even occurred to her that her team might be toying with that notion. Not at all.
But then Gordon had joked about it…
And she’d realized that’s exactly what they wanted him to do. Marry her, all because of a fun sex session in a car. It was insane. And so unfair to Gordon. They’d had a fling. A fun, harmless—mostly—couple of nights together.
He shouldn’t have to marry her because of them.
“No.” She stood up, fisting her hands at her hips. “This is ridiculous. He’s not going to marry me because you asked him to.”
Gordon rubbed his jaw.
“And upon that, you’re crazy for thinking I’d be willing to marry someone because we had sex. It’s…it’s…bonkers! We were just having fun. People do that.” She put her hands on her hips. “Everyone does it.”
Princesses don’t—she cut the rule off mid-sentence.
Enough about what she should and shouldn’t do.
She was done. D. O. N. E.
Mary pressed her lips together. “You’re a princess. You have a name, and an image, to uphold. What would the people say if they knew you were just ‘having fun?’”
“They’d say ‘good for her!’” she snapped. “God knows there are enough uptight royal snobs out there. It’s time the world had a change of pace.”
“Sit. Down,” her father said, his tone brokering no room for argument. “Now.”
God, she hated it when he took that darn King tone with her.
She sat, still not looking at Gordon. He’d been suspiciously quiet. Maybe he was in shock. She certainly was. “This isn’t right.”
“Then you should have thought of the possible consequences before you did what you did,” her father said. “Enough whining and babbling. Mr. Waybrook—are you willing to marry her, or not?”
Her heart lurched. She didn’t want to hear him laugh and turn her down. Because some weird, crazy part of her would be hurt. Which was stupid. Obviously, he didn’t want to marry her. They barely knew each other. All they’d wanted was some fun. Not this.
Never this.
“Don’t answer that,” she hissed, her shoulders so tense it almost hurt.
Gordon cleared his throat. “Well, uh, I—”
“Don’t say another word.” She glowered at Gordon. What the hell was he doing? He should have walked out of here as soon as the word “marriage” got thrown out there. Helplessness had never sat well with her, and right now, she felt more than helpless. She felt as if they were taking advantage of a good man, and he was just going to let them. “Let me talk to Prince George. I bet I can get him to change his mind. He liked me.”
Gordon stiffened beside her. “No.”
“What?” She blinked at him. He watched her with narrow eyes and flared nostrils. He looked like he was about to explode. Literally. Her heart sped up. “Why not? You can’t possibly…”
He flexed his jaw. “Are you res
isting so much because you want to marry a real prince? Are you ashamed of falling for a lowly American?”
“No. God, no.” Shaking her head, she reached out and grabbed his hands. “I would never think that way, and especially not about you. But I refuse to trap you into this marriage. That’s not what you signed on for when you kissed me that first time.”
His lips twitched. “Not exactly, no.”
“One night. Remember?”
“I remember.”
She squeezed his hands. “You don’t have to deal with this mess. Only I do. You can walk out that door right now, and no one would blame you. Just do it. Walk away.”
He pressed his mouth into a tight line. “Sorry, but I can’t do that. That’s not the kind of guy I am, and you should know that about me.” He turned back to their audience. “I have questions.”
“No,” she said, her heart twisting. “Gordon, don’t.”
He ignored her, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
“All right.” The ambassador cracked his knuckles. “Ask away.”
“I’m not saying I agree to any of this, but if I did… Can she even marry an American?” he asked, gesturing toward Isabelle. “I thought royalty had to marry royalty.”
“In some countries, that’s true, yes.”
Gordon cocked a brow. “But not in yours?”
“No. She can marry anyone she wants. We simply wanted it to be a prince with money and military to back him up. However…” her mother said, drifting off.
She latched onto that last piece of information. “I can still marry a prince. There has to be a prince out there that doesn’t care if I was caught in someone’s car, even if I can’t change George’s mind.” She dropped Gordon’s hand and stood so she could pace back and forth. “There’s a way to fix this that doesn’t involve me marrying Gordon. I can—”
Her father made an annoyed sound. “Sit—”
“Down,” Gordon finished, his voice hard. Without waiting for her to obey, he turned back to the screen. “Would we have to live there, if I agreed?”
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