by Kim Karr
“Yes,” Julius mutters, his eyes lasering in on mine.
I give him a smile I wish I had to force. Too bad nothing is ever forced when it comes to him…absolutely nothing.
And I couldn’t hate that fact more.
THE OTHER HALF OF ME
3 Years Earlier
It was during our first alone date that I stopped pretending to want to be the person Prince Julius Monaco picked and actually wanted to be that person.
In fact, I’d even say he had me at hello.
It was right after that I knew Prince Rainer had hired me to do a job I couldn’t do. As soon as I could, I phoned to tell him so, but he wouldn’t have it. He threatened to expose me, and I threatened to expose him. In the end, I thought that was enough to shut him up. I thought that meant our deal was null and void.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Looking back, I think I wanted to believe it was that easy because capturing the bachelor’s heart didn’t seem natural at all, so something had to be.
Julius was that unequivocal bad boy who every girl wanted. He might have been a Prince, but he didn’t act like one. Sure, he was charming, but he was also a dirty talking flirt to the bitter end with eyes that could melt your panties off with one trance-worthy glance.
During the first few weeks, he’d managed to woo all of us, and not a single girl on the show wanted to be the one to leave. In fact, not even two weeks into filming, each of us thought we were the one. And too bad for us, he was pretending each of us was.
It wasn’t until Julius and I went on our second date that everything changed. Somehow, I knew I was the one he wanted. His kisses were steamier, his touches more erotic, his words more sincere. And just like that, I knew he’d stopped pretending to be falling in love with me and was doing just that.
Still, the show had rules. And one of those rules was that the bachelor wasn’t allowed to tell any of the contestants his true feelings.
Later, he’d break those rules for me in more than just one way. But at first, he followed protocol, courting all of the contestants with equal eagerness.
That didn’t last long.
It was week five when Julius and I got our second alone date. We were alone, off the coast of Ibiza, on a yacht the size of ten football fields, and it was dreamy.
When I first stepped on board, I thought it was a hoax. I thought that the date wasn’t going to be a date at all. I mean the space was wall-to-wall people, and loud, so very loud.
The thumping bass competed with a blend of different conversations from the staff and producers of the show, who were everywhere. As I looked around, I thought I’d been found out, and that they were going to expose me on camera.
Needing to talk to Julius before I was sent away, I grabbed one of the interns and yelled, perhaps a little too loudly, “Where is he?”
“Relax,” the cute girl with short blonde hair said as she rolled her eyes at me.
“What is all this?” I asked. “Am I going home?” I was frantic at that point.
She grabbed my elbow. “Just follow me,” she said with a laugh and led me up a winding staircase to the top floor where there was even a bigger crew. Okay, there were way too many people around to send me home. It would be a waste of money.
My shyness started to take root, and I broke through the crowd so that I could stand in the corner. There, I sipped on a bottle of water and waited for Julius, or rather I hoped I was waiting for Julius. I still wasn’t sure what was going on.
From where I stood, I had a view of the glistening water, calm and quiet, and it reminded me so much of the Vespa Isles that I actually missed the place I never thought I would.
Somehow, through all the noise, I could hear the saltwater gently lapping the sides of the yacht, and it relaxed me. A minute or two passed before I looked up. When I did, my stomach fluttered at the sight of the man with messy dark hair and playful eyes.
Dressed in jeans and a Polo shirt, he looked like a Ralph Lauren model. Prince Julius Monaco was good-looking with dirty charm—and seeing him so sexy, so hot, it was hard to remember he was a Prince at all.
As he strode toward me, the crowd parted. When he got close, he smiled and said, “Hey, Pretty Girl, what’s up?”
Those butterflies swarmed at the sound of his warm, caramel-like voice. I smiled when he hugged me and smiled even more when we sat beside each other at the bow of the boat, and the engine came to life.
Julius was such a cutie and had such a casual vibe, that I forgot all about the people who surrounded us.
Wine and cheese were placed on the table in front of us, and we spent the next hour chatting away. He asked me more about college and my family. I told him about my journalism classes (not a lie but not exactly the truth) and that I was the daughter of a rock and roll wanna be (the truth).
“I’m an only child,” he said, adding that he always wanted a brother.
Confession after confession, we told each other things that surprised both of us and forgot all about the cameras filming every moment.
After a very romantic candlelight dinner, the boat docked, and when the crew started breaking down the set, Julius and I escaped.
That night, I hadn’t dressed like the other women had on their dates with him. I wasn’t wearing a low-cut dress or heels. In fact, in my bohemian long white skirt, matching tank top, and chucks, I looked more like a yoga instructor than a bachelorette.
We held hands as we strode along the waterfront and stopped to kiss. To people passing by, we must have looked like a couple. All cute-girl-meets-cute-boy aside, we weren’t supposed to be alone like we were, but neither of us cared.
When it got super dark, he pushed me up against a wall in the shadows. “I want you,” he groaned in my ear.
“I won’t be one of many,” I told him between hot kisses.
His next admission changed everything. “You’re the one, Pretty Girl. The only one for me.”
My heart did a little flip, and I let him fuck me senseless. Sex with a candidate was against the rules, but when it was just us, there didn’t seem to be any rules that really mattered.
In fact, when I was alone in his arms, I thought nothing could tear us apart.
Not even the truth.
I was wrong.
So, very, very wrong.
THE LADY ISN’T A TRAMP
The Present
Alone in the hallway, Ophelia stares at me like I just might paint a giant scarlet A on her chest.
To be fair, even if I wanted to, it wouldn’t fit. The dress she’s wearing is much too revealing for that. “Did you get lost on your way to Satan’s Prom?”
In truth, she looks sinful and sexy and very grown-up. No longer the college student with funky red hair, jeans, chucks, and a nose hoop, she’s a movie-star vision I’m having a hard time looking away from.
She blinks, her lashes so thick, they shadow her cheeks with the movement. And they’re real, not the fake ones every chick around me lately seems to be wearing. “Only if you’re the guest of honor,” she quips back.
Yes, I guess she has grown up quite a lot in three years, but that doesn’t mean anything has changed. “I might have the horns, but the evil disposition has always belonged to you.”
“I thought we agreed on a plan to stall Raquel, so you can take your company public? Not one where you act like an ass.”
“Oh, right, pretend to be a couple.” I slap my forehead. “Wait, we already did that, or at least one of us did, and it didn’t work out that well for me, so I think I’ll pass this time around, ass or not.”
When she shakes her head and turns on her heels, those fuck-me heels, without a single word back, I have to admit; I’m flabbergasted.
“Where the hell are you going?” I sneer, after a moment, walking fast, but not so fast that it seems like I care. “We aren’t finished discussing this.”
“Clearly, we are.” She rounds the corner and gets lost in the sea of people before I can figure out w
hat the hell just happened.
Ever since she told me the truth about her duplicity, she’s begged me to listen to her, to understand why she did what she did and how sorry she is about it. The shit thing about it all is I do get it. I just can’t look past it.
My grandfather got the wool pulled over his eyes by a woman, and I refuse to allow that to happen to me.
She lied to meet me.
She says she fell in love with me, but I will always wonder if that is the next segment of her story.
No matter what she says, I can’t let it go.
I just can’t.
And yet, I hate watching her go.
I managed to get her out of my head for three years. This is a setback I can get over. One, I have to get over.
I don’t have time to try to play around with her. Not right now. Telling myself letting Ophelia walk away is for the best, I get my head out of my ass and greet our guests. I’ll find another way to stop Raquel.
When I’m bored out of my mind, and I can’t take another minute of the mindless small talk, I find a quiet spot and sip on my drink.
It’s not long before I’m called to duty, though. “Come over here,” my grandmother mouths, when she spots me leaning against the wall.
Knowing nothing good is going to come of this, I make my way toward her with dread filling my gut. “Do you need something?” I ask.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“What would that be, Grandmother?”
Her brows raise in a way that lets me know she doesn’t care for my sarcastic tone. Well, I don’t care for being told to help damsels in distress who are not damsels at all. “I’d like you to ask that woman from Wimbledon Life to come and meet me for tea tomorrow.”
“What? Why?” I ask, dumbfounded at the request.
Her lips purse. “If you must know, I had your father call over to the magazine she works for, and I found out she’s been assigned to cover the Crown for the entire summer season, so I’d like to get to know her.”
“You’ve never met with other reporters before. Why her?” I ask suspicion deep in my tone.
She can’t possibly know about our past, too, can she?
The clever woman that she is looks at me all innocent-like and says, “I’ve never been on the verge of making such an important announcement before, that’s why, and I’d like to make certain all the facts are known before I do.”
“Facts like what?”
“Well, for one, that all of my faculties are in order.”
I have to force myself not to say. “Oh, Grandmother, come on.”
“I’m serious,” she scolds.
And what can I say to that? Nothing except, “Can’t you use someone else for that?”
She shakes her head. “As you know, Pierre has left us.”
“I do know that, and I don’t understand why he hasn’t been replaced yet.”
“In due time, Julius. It isn’t that easy. I have to find the right person. Until then, I have no way to communicate properly with reporters, and I feel like I should keep my communication circle small and intimate, you know.”
Yes, I do know Grandmother.
The question is—do you?
However, this is not the place to ask her if she does, so I simply smile and agree to do her bidding before the night ends.
After thirty minutes of stalling by senselessly mingling among the guests, my cell rings. Although I know my grandmother will kill me if she sees me, I glance at the screen and notice it’s a lawyer from the legal team I’ve hired to help with the IPO and an old schoolmate.
“Parker, what’s up?”
“Hey, I wish I could say me, but I’ve been working my ass off on this IPO, and I’m really close to signing Nakamori.”
“How close?”
“Three weeks, four tops. That’s why I’m calling. I just need you to keep a lid on that bullshit your grandfather’s ex threatened to spill for a bit longer, and then I think we’ll be golden. The execs at Nakamori are really conservative, and we can’t afford to look anything but pristine.”
“I got it under control,” I tell him, knowing I don’t, but also knowing there’s one way I can.
“That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, I’ve got a brunette waiting for me at the bar downstairs, and I have to go. Later, man.”
“Later.” As I hang up the phone, I begin to search the room for the damsel I need, after all.
I spot her near the champagne fountain. She’s talking to Sir Arnold Raymond, a single chap from my Polo team who turned swinging the wooden mallet into a full-time job. He’s whispering something into Ophelia’s ear, and she’s laughing at whatever it is. The sight of their flirty interaction has me burning with a fit of jealousy I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Not even when I learned that my ex-girlfriend got back together with her first love did I feel an ounce of what I’m feeling right now.
With that strange feeling prickling my skin, I saunter over to them. “Raymond, good to see you.” I shake his hand. He practically pisses his pants, since I’ve never spoken to him in his life, unless you count calling him an asshole when he misses a goal, conversing.
“Yes, you too, Julius.”
That’s Prince Julius to you, prick.
Ophelia seems to be quivering in those fuck-me shoes. Even if she is trying to hide it, I can see it. I have to admit I find her attempted bravado anything but boring. Fun and games aren’t what I’m here for, though, and certainly not with her. Still, I will do what I have to in order to take Monaco Unlimited public. So, I might as well get this over with. Narrowing my eyes at her, I say, “I need a word.”
“What is it?” She’s deliberately trying to throw a wall up between us that isn’t going to work.
“Alone.” I turn on the charm, and while smiling at Arnie, I offer her my hand.
The vixen ignores my sham of a peace offering. “I don’t think I’ll be the one reporting on the Crown summer season, after all.”
I bend my head toward her and lower my voice. “I believe you will be, after all. And I need a word. Alone,” I repeat and stress the word this time.
With a sigh, she looks up at Arnie. “I’m so sorry, but work calls. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
He takes her hand and kisses it. “The pleasure was all mine.”
Steam is coming out of my ears at this point, and Arnie is lucky I don’t knock his lights out, right here.
When Ophelia starts walking, I pull up right behind her and place my hand on the small of her back. As usual, I feel that instant electricity, and I fucking hate it. “What the hell was that back there?” I bark, sliding my hand down to tap her ass.
Over her shoulder, she tosses, “What was that for?”
“For you shamelessly flirting with Arnie. Do you ever turn it off?”
“Go to hell,” she whisper shouts. Luckily, no one is paying any attention to us, since the night is more than halfway over, and most of the people are drunk.
Feeling out of control over what is happening, I grab her hand to take the lead. We fit like a lock and key—perfectly. I really hate how mine fits in hers like we were made for each other. “I’m already there, baby.”
Since we are now in public, she follows me without issue. “Yeah, well, I’m there, too.”
A bite of regret slices through me that I force myself to push aside. She did this to us, not me. Then again, there was never really an us; it was manufactured for a story.
Leading her into the Press Secretary’s office, I close the door and lock it, although I probably shouldn’t. Nothing good can come with us alone behind closed doors.
The room is empty, except for the giant cherry wood desk, oriental carpet, and floor to ceiling bookcases that don’t hold any books at the moment. Pierre really did clean out the place when he left.
“Take a seat,” I tell Ophelia. “We need to talk.”
She crosses her arms. “I think I’ll stand.”
“Suit your
self.”
Her foot taps the wood floor. “What is it, Julius? Have you changed your mind?”
I laugh at her. “I don’t change my mind about anything.”
“Fine. I’ll put it in a different way. Have you decided you want me to help you, but you just can’t get over yourself enough to ask?”
Looking at her, I honestly don’t know if I can do this and make it out unscathed. “Want,” I snicker. “No, I don’t want to do anything with you.”
Her jaw tightens, and her shoulders square. “Why do you insist on being so self-destructive?” she hisses, more hurt than angry.
“Destructive, me?” I glare at her like she’s lost her fucking mind. “I’m anything but. I’m just not interested in having to see your face every day.” I look her up and down in that dress she’s wearing. “Now, other parts of you, those I’m okay with.”
She turns another shade of red, one more vibrant than the one she did earlier.
“By the way,” I add, “thanks for the shag in the elevator. I appreciate you opening your legs for me when there was nothing for you to gain this time around.”
“Screw you, Julius.”
Feisty.
So fucking feisty.
And such a God damn turn on.
With adrenaline flowing thick through my veins, I slowly cross the room. “Yes, you’ve said and done that quite a few times.”
Lia, no damn it, Ophelia, takes a step back. Then another, and another still, until her tight ass is pressed against the desk, and she’s gripping the edge with her fingers. “Look, Julius, I get that I hurt you, and you want to hurt me back, but what you don’t get is that you’ve been doing that every day for almost three years.”
I stop inches from her. “What the hell are you even talking about?”
Her eyes cloud over. “I’m talking about how you started a relationship with Liz Laurent, not even three hot seconds after you broke up with me. A relationship that was plastered all over every paper for the world to see. For me to see. Every single day. Did you love her?”