Her Accidental Prince - A Married by Mistake Romance

by Holly Rayner

  I look at Max. This part we did rehearse—and, luckily, it is very close to the truth.

  “It wasn’t much at all,” I say.

  “Exactly.” He nods and sips his brandy. “We had been talking about it for some time and then, last week, after meeting up in Copenhagen we decided, why not? We already knew we wished to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  “So there was no actual wedding,” Greta clarifies.

  “Certainly not,” Max says. “It was us running off to an all-night chapel.”

  He smiles at me, and it has such an intoxicating effect that I have to look away.

  It’s a bonus that I don’t have to fake being in love with Max, but it’s also a horrible circumstance. Loving someone you’re constantly around but can’t have is a recipe for disaster.

  “And it was only you two?” Otto asks.

  “Yes,” Max and I both answer.

  That we can remember.

  I look into my coffee. That’s starting to be another thing that’s hard to swallow. My memories of our marriage are still incredibly hazy. The most I can recall is that stupid red couch that was at the chapel.

  I feel robbed of something, not knowing exactly what it was like to marry Max.

  Then again, I remind myself, this whole setup is robbing me of a ton… and giving me a whole lot more. I should focus on being grateful.

  “I am rather happy to hear that,” Greta says. “That means we can have a proper wedding ceremony. One that will have the world holding their breath, waiting to see Prince Maximillian and his beautiful bride say their vows.”

  Before she’s even done talking, Max is shaking his head.

  “That sounds lavish for us,” he says. “A big church wedding, and the carriage ride through town… it’s not our style.”

  I look to King Otto and daintily clear my throat.

  “Actually,” I say, “it would be my honor to observe Stromhaer’s marriage customs. Let’s not be so hasty, Max.”

  Max arches his eyebrows, but Otto looks pleased.

  “It would help this situation very much,” he says. “The people of Stromhaer will already feel deprived, considering they have not been able to follow Maximillian’s courting of you.”

  I nod and sip my coffee. I’ve seen how it is with Britain’s royal family. People following you around everywhere, constantly taking your pictures. The press talking about what you ate, what you wore, how you smile, dissecting each move you make.

  No, thank you.

  Max promised me that I’d have some real freedom when it comes to this marriage, so I’m still hanging onto the belief that my life will never be under a microscope.

  “We can discuss it,” Max says slowly.

  Otto laughs. “Found yourself a wife with her own opinions, didn’t you?”

  Max inclines his head. “One of the many reasons I love her.”

  Otto claps him on the back, and when no one else is looking, Max winks at me.

  The conversation steers to less dangerous ground, like my family and what they do. I tell them all about Laura and Oscar, including his landscaping business and their kids Hallie and Jackson. Greta pushes to know more about my parents, so I fill them in there, detailing everything from my mom’s passing to my dad’s.

  “Which spurred my whole move to Europe,” I conclude. “I knew that the best way to honor my father was to follow my heart.”

  “You two sound alike already,” Otto says, gesturing between Max and me.

  “We have much in common,” Max says, looking at me over the rim of his glass as he takes a drink.

  My cheeks warm. We’ve been looking at each other an incredibly long time, but I can’t tear my gaze from his.

  What I decided about us stands true. Getting involved would make the business aspect too messy. It doesn’t matter how bad I want him.

  But what’s wrong with losing myself in the act for a bit here and there? Much like an actress becoming her character on stage. Surely that won’t do any harm.

  Greta starts questioning Sacha on how his friends are doing, and I adjust my skirt. I’ve had to go to the bathroom for a while now, but that’s something Max and I didn’t go over in our etiquette class.

  I catch his eye again and mouth the word, bathroom?

  He silently chuckles and nods.

  Relieved, I stand. “Your Majesty, if I may be excused for a minute…”

  He waves his hand. “Certainly… and you don’t have to call me ‘Your Majesty’ all the time.”

  I start to curtsy, but then realize I’m not helping myself here and stop. “Yes, sir.”

  “You have your act together, don’t you?” He chuckles.

  I smile demurely and, with clutch under my arm, cross the veranda to the French doors. Right inside, no doubt waiting for a summons, are two footmen.

  “Excuse me,” I say to one of them. “Where is the restroom?”

  “Right this way, Miss Moran.”

  He shows me into the hallway and around a corner.

  “It is there.” He points at a door ajar. “Anything else?”

  “Not right now, thank you.”

  He goes back to his post near the veranda, and I make my way down the hall. An oil painting catches my eye, though, and I stop to inspect it closer. It’s marvelous, nearly as tall as me, and is of several women in nineteenth-century dresses having a picnic.

  I glance down the hall in both directions to make sure I’m alone, then pull my phone from my clutch and snap a picture.

  Checking yet again to make sure there’s no one nearby, I text the picture to Laura. If I get lucky, maybe I’ll be able to take some more shots on my way out. It’s totally crass to be walking around with my phone’s camera flashing, but I can’t help it. I have to send her a little bit of something.

  Putting the phone back in my clutch, I go into the bathroom. The first part turns out to be a powder room with a dark green fainting couch and a big mirror in a golden frame.

  I go into the bathroom area, take care of business, and then spend way too much time sampling the different soaps, scrubs, and lotions set out next to the sink.

  Back in the powder room, I check my makeup and smooth my hair. The makeup and hair artists did an amazing job. On the rare occasions that I get dolled up, I tend to need touch-ups at least every couple hours, but somehow their work looks like it was done a minute ago. My lipstick is still where it needs to be, my skin isn’t shiny, and my mascara’s not running.

  Taking a deep breath, I nod at my reflection. “This is it. You did it. You’re almost in the clear.”

  The girl in the mirror smiles back, believing every word. And why shouldn’t she? Things seemed really bad at dinner for a while, but now it’s all going better than I ever expected.

  Max and I have done it.

  We make one heck of a team, I think, and smile.

  I know that tomorrow I’ll have to get real with myself about these feelings, but we haven’t left the palace yet, so I’m not killing this vibe right now.

  Taking my clutch, I step into the quiet hall.

  Quiet… but not empty.

  Sacha stands near the painting I inspected earlier, his hands in his pockets. He stares in my direction.

  Gulping hard, I walk my way to him. Even before I reach a comfortable talking distance, I can feel it: he’s here to intimidate me.

  If the circumstances were different, I would tell him to get lost. I don’t take threats or machismo well.

  But that’s Poppy out in the regular world, and this is Poppy in the palace. She has a lot more to lose.

  “Hello, Sacha,” I say slowly, pleasantly.

  His lips twitch, but whether they’re wanting to smile or frown, it’s not clear. They end up puckering.

  “How are you enjoying your time here?” he asks.

  “I’m having a wonderful time. Thank you.”

  Despite my best efforts to stop them, my fingers tighten on the clutch. I have a desperate desire to push p
ast Sacha and run down the hall. I need to find Max. He’s the only person in this place that makes me feel comfortable.

  Sacha blinks at me. “Max has never mentioned you before.”

  My shoulders draw back. “I know. We wanted to keep our relationship a secret. He explained the reasons to me, and I agreed.”

  Sacha folds his arms, continuing on as if I haven’t said anything. “He didn’t mention you to me at all. I saw him right after he returned from that Vermont wedding, and he told me it was uneventful.”

  I fake a chortle. “Well, I mean, it kind of was. It wasn’t too crazy of a wedding or anything.”

  I stop there, because if he decides to fact-check my account of the Vermont wedding against Max’s, we’re in trouble.

  “Yes, but if he had met a girl of interest, he would have told me.”

  I splay my hand. “I’m sorry, Sacha. I don’t know what to tell you. Max isn’t one to kiss and tell, I guess.”

  “Hm. Yes, well…” To finish off the sentence, he studies me.

  “I should get back out there. Excuse me.”

  I step around him. I can feel his gaze on me as I walk down the hall, and I fight the urge to move any faster.

  One of the footmen opens a door to the veranda for me, and I murmur my thanks.

  Otto, Greta, and Max are where I left them, but their drinks are considerably lower. Max is downing the rest of his as I approach, and I silently pray that he won’t have another. My skin’s crawling, and the only thing that will stop it will be getting out of the palace.

  “You’re back!” Max draws me into his chest and kisses me right on the lips.

  “Here I am,” I say faintly.

  Greta tilts her head and frowns. “Are you well, Poppy? You look ill.”

  I press my palm to my chest. “Oh, I’m fine, Your Majesty.”

  “Greta,” she corrects.

  “Yes, Greta. I suppose I am only a little tired.”

  There’s the sound of someone coming onto the veranda, and I know it’s Sacha, which makes me not want to glance over at him when everyone else does.

  “I should get her to bed,” Max says, rubbing my arm.

  “Yes,” Greta agrees. “We can talk more tomorrow. You will be here in the morning? You will come for breakfast?”

  Max hesitates, but he knows he can’t say no outright. “We will try to,” he says.

  Otto shakes Max’s hand, and I go to curtsy, but he waves that away.

  “Enough of that,” Otto says. “You are family now.”

  “Yes, Your…” I falter.

  “How about you use my formal address in public,” he says, “and in private you can call me by my first name.”

  Judging from the looks on his family’s faces, this is a big deal.

  I’m honored.

  And… slightly ashamed.

  Max’s parents genuinely like me, but they surely wouldn’t if they knew I’m lying to them.

  I questioned the morals of this charade before, but I never expected acting it out would make me feel so dirty.

  Tamping down the guilt for the time being, I say goodbye to everyone. Sacha is amiable, giving away no hints as to our conversation in the hall.

  Arm in arm, Max and I head into the palace. The place seems even bigger now that I’m ready to leave it and escape everyone’s gaze.

  “Did you have a nice night?” Max asks.

  We’re still in the palace, so I assume my answer has to be a fake one.

  “Wonderful,” I smile.

  “Good, good.” He runs his hand over mine.

  Two footmen open the massive front doors for us, and we walk to Henrik and the car in silence.

  Finally in the back of the car, the doors closed tight, we look at each other… and laugh.

  Because even though that was stressful, even though Sacha is suspicious, the king and queen believed us. We succeeded.

  Max hits the button to put up the divider between Henrik and us. It gives us a modicum of privacy. If we keep our voices down, he won’t be able to hear us.

  “We did it,” I say.

  “No,” Max says, adoration in his voice. He lifts my hand and kisses the top of it. “You did it. This is all thanks to you.”

  Sighing, I shake my head. “I know I got more than one thing wrong.”

  “It doesn’t matter. So much of your personality was on display, and they loved you.”

  “Do you feel bad at all?” I ask.

  He’s quiet for a moment as we ride in the direction of his cottage.

  “A bit,” he says. “It is not an ideal situation, but you met my father. Perhaps you now understand even better the pressure that he puts on me.”

  “Yeah,” I say with a whoosh of breath. “I think I do understand.”

  We ride in silence, and I look at the massive grounds passing by. I should mention Sacha, and I’m about to, but Max reaches over and touches my hand.

  “You told me to wait until the night was over to express my gratitude,” he says. “May I do that now?”

  My mouth’s gone dry. “Y-yes.”

  His face is only half visible in the poor lighting coming through the windows, but it’s enough to make me come undone. When Max touches me, my mind turns to mush and I lose all sense of time. There’s no past. No future. It’s only me and him, right here and now.

  “Then thank you, Poppy,” he says.

  “You’re welcome,” I say, almost breathlessly.

  I could mention so much. I could point out that, seeing as he’s paying me, I’m only doing my job. I could tell him that it took the two of us to pull the act off.

  But I don’t want to say anything, because this moment, right as it is, is perfect.

  So I let it be.

  Chapter 17

  Poppy

  At the front door of the cottage, Henrik opens my door first, but I hesitate.

  This isn’t where I’m staying. Shouldn’t I be going back to the hotel?

  Max reads my mind.

  “Henrik can take you back now if you wish,” he says, “or you can come in and have a celebratory drink with me… Personally, I’d prefer the latter.”

  My smile stretches ear to ear. “I would love that.”

  As Max lets us inside, Henrik drives off. I wonder briefly if he’s off work for the night.

  “What do you do when Henrik isn’t on the clock?” I ask, stepping into the cottage.

  “There are other drivers at the palace. There is always someone available.”

  “Even at three in the morning?”

  “Yes,” he says, totally blasé.

  Standing inside the cottage, the first thing I do is take a deep breath. It feels so good to be back here.

  Max laughs. “Happy?”

  “I’ll be better once I get these shoes off. You don’t mind if I…”

  “Go right ahead. You’re in a private space now. Make yourself comfortable.”

  I step out of the heels, and it’s heaven. Wiggling my toes, I take a seat on the couch. The dress isn’t exactly comfortable either, since it’s pretty tight around my torso, but that I can stand. I’m not done playing princess for the night.

  Max mixes two drinks at the corner bar. “I do not wish to go to the palace tomorrow morning,” he sighs.

  “I know,” I laugh. “But it will look bad if we don’t. And breakfast can’t be as bad as dinner, right?”

  His hesitation makes my stomach drop.

  “Oh, no,” I say. “Are we going to have to stay up all night so you can teach me breakfast etiquette?”

  Max chuckles and walks the drinks over to us. “No. Breakfast isn’t that complicated. There are fewer forks and spoons.”

  I accept my drink. “But let me guess. The same formalities still exist.”

  “As well as the same family dynamics.”

  I exhale heavily. “Man, you weren’t kidding. There were times when I thought you were being dramatic about your dad, but…”

  Max lifts his gla
ss. “To tonight.”

  “To tonight,” I repeat, clinking my glass against his.

  It’s not until the drink hits my tongue that I realize what he’s served us.

  “Rum and coke,” I say with a laugh.

  “How many did we have that night?” he asks with a grin.

  I roll my eyes. “God, I don’t know. I think I remember a few rounds at the beach bar.”

  “And then we went into town…”

  “And who knows what we had there,” I say.

  “I’m going to guess we continued with the rum and coke.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Since we only had crazy hangover headaches and weren’t vomiting or anything. You know what they say. Wine after liquor…”

  His expression is puzzled.

  “Never been sicker,” I finish.

  “Do they say that?” he asks.

  “It must be an American expression.”

  “Must be. Sometimes, I confess, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Hey.” I playfully push his shoulder. “Are you serious?”

  “Sometimes,” he says, pausing a sip to respond.

  “And you let me keep talking?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You have a beautiful voice, and you’re so animated when you speak. It’s quite a lovely thing to observe.”

  “Stop. You’re making me blush.” I hide my face in my drink.

  “And that’s another thing that’s beautiful about you.”

  I turn away from him, unsure of how to react. He’s flirting with me, but would he stop that if he knew I’m hopelessly in love with him?

  Max is an adventurer, always looking forward to moving on to the next place. I know what those kinds of people are like because I’m one of them. They don’t settle down easily.

  I never did.

  Ironically, Max has me thinking I might like to. With a guy like him in my life, I can’t see myself wanting for much more.

  Sipping slowly at my drink, I go to the window. The palace lights twinkle in the distance.

  “How many windows are there in the palace?” I ask, only because the silence is killing me. I need to say something.

  “One thousand, two hundred and three,” he says.

  I turn to gawk at him.