Reluctantly Royal

by Gillian Archer

  I jerked my head in a nod to indicate that I heard my brother. I knew all this. I’d sat at the same table night after night and heard a variation of the lecture my entire life. It didn’t make the impotent anger I felt disappear. This wasn’t the life I was supposed to be living.

  “Look, the real reason I called you to dinner was to ask you to take my place at the Global Gaming Expo at the end of the month. I’ll be busy with press conferences and negotiating wedding plans with Belgium, so I need you to attend in my place and give the keynote speech. It’s already written and been approved by the council.” Bastien smirked. “Think of it as a last hurrah before you settle down.”

  My jaw clenched again as I glared at my brother. I really wanted to tell him what I thought of his last remark, but what was the point? I was the spare. I had to toe the line with the ruling monarch. But he really knew how to push my buttons. And the fact that he thought my attending some boring conference was an equivalent exchange for my freedom was laughable. I wasn’t changing my mind. He couldn’t force me into any marriage against my will.

  But one thing I’d learned during my time in the armed forces was the importance of retreat. So I let him think I was playing along for now.

  I nodded tightly. “Have your assistant send the details to my assistant.”

  “Already done.”

  “Fantastic.” I walked over to the place where my chair had landed earlier and dragged it back to the table. “I guess all that’s left is to have a drink in honor of your pending doom—I mean, your pending nuptials.”

  Bastien toasted me with his wineglass. “And while you’re at the conference, try not to get caught doing anything…embarrassing. Let’s leave the scandalous photos to our British cousins.”

  Now sitting, I lifted my wineglass and toasted my brother’s loathsome advice. Like I’d ever go bowling, let alone bowling naked.

  My brother was an ass, but at least I was getting out of here for a few days, even if only to attend some ungodly dull conference.

  Chapter 2

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  MCCARRAN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, LAS VEGAS, NEVADA, USA

  My brother always had a perverse sense of humor.

  Somehow when he said he was sending me to a conference on gambling, Las Vegas was the last location I’d thought of. Conference and keynote speech had me picturing some boring banquet hall, not the sparkle and promise of Sin City.

  I had ten whole days in Las Vegas. I could really do some damage here. Maybe my brother wasn’t such a prat after all.

  My anticipation fed me through the eleven-hour flight—right up until my assistant, Aristide, leaned across the aisle with a piece of paper in his outstretched hand.

  “Here’s the updated itinerary, Your Highness.”

  I clenched my jaw at the title he insisted on calling me. Ten months and he still couldn’t bring himself to call me Prince Lucien or, heaven forbid, Luc. Hell, I’d settle for monsieur like most of the security team call me. But Aristide was such a pedantic prig; I don’t know why I kept him around. He’d been Julien’s assistant, and I’d had hopes that it would make the transition easier—except Aristide had proved anything but easy. I had suspicions he was spying for Bastien and reporting every tiny infraction back to the palace.

  Knowing there was very little on the itinerary, I was tempted to ignore it, but that was probably why Aristide had gone to the trouble of printing this one out. I accepted the paper with a muttered “Merci,” and was halfway to tossing it onto the unoccupied seat next to me when the amount of text on the page caught my attention.

  C’est pas possible. The bastard had scheduled every minute of every day here, right down to my allowable jet lag breaks. It literally said Jet lag break tomorrow from eight to ten A.M.

  Fuck that.

  I’d agreed to come to the conference and give the keynote speech. Not meet with six, seven, eight hoteliers and three different delegations from gaming companies. I didn’t know a damn thing about gaming or managing a hotel. What the hell would I have to talk to them about? I was a soldier—a pilot, really. Despite the past ten months of charity galas and ribbon-cutting ceremonies, I didn’t have anything to do with the planning or gaming commissions.

  I waved the piece of paper at Aristide. “What is this?”

  “The itinerary for our trip, Your Highness.” Aristide stared back at me with a blank face.

  “I know that. Why is it so long? And why am I meeting with hoteliers and gaming companies? I’m here for the conference, not to glad-hand every person in Las Vegas.”

  Aristide’s lip curled, and I just knew he was holding back his disdain when he spoke. “This is the itinerary Prince Sébastien’s office approved. I emailed it to you last week. You didn’t reply.”

  Because I hadn’t read the damn thing. Merde. I scrubbed a hand at my temple and the headache that was building. “Fix it.”

  Aristide blinked. “What do you mean ‘fix it’?”

  “I mean fix it. I’m not doing any of these sit-downs. Make the usual apologies. Tell them whatever you have to, but I’m not doing any of it. I agreed to the keynote speech, and that’s it.”

  “But Your Highness—”

  I leaned across the aisle and glared at Aristide. “That’s. It.”

  Someone clearing their throat above me broke my staring contest with my assistant. I looked over at my favorite bodyguard and the closest thing I had to a friend, Dimitri Vasin, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a blank expression on his face.

  “The flight crews announced we may disembark when you’re ready, monsieur. Security is standing by, and our end of the terminal has been secured.”

  “I’m ready now.” I held out the itinerary until Aristide reached across the aisle and took it back. After another narrow-eyed look at my assistant, I stood and gestured toward the front of the plane. “Let’s go.”

  I followed Dimitri down the center aisle of the plane and across the jet bridge. Two steps off the plane my entourage of one multiplied to four as my security team surrounded me. We walked down a narrow, enclosed hallway to Customs and Immigration. A jittery woman in a blue uniform stamped my passport and didn’t even look me in the eyes before we were waved through to the concourse. As Dimitri said, this end of the terminal was deserted; we followed members of the local police force past the slot machines and tacky gift shops to a side exit where our motorcade waited.

  Dimitri opened the rear door of the black Escalade parked at the curb, and I climbed in. He shut the door and walked around to the other side, taking the seat next to me while the rest of the security team either got in the front or went to the other SUV parked in front of ours. My driver waited for the police escort, and then we were off.

  “We should be at the Commonwealth Hotel in about ten minutes, monsieur.” Dimitri’s voice tore me from my thoughts of wily assistants and itineraries. “We’ll go through the service entrance in the rear and take the private elevator straight to your suite.”

  Like Aristide, my security team was always very thorough. Between the two, every minute of my life was planned down to the second. Where we’d enter the building, when I could take a piss break, which member of state I was to speak with next. It was efficient. And agonizing.

  Don’t get me wrong—military life wasn’t much different, but even in my old life I was allowed downtime. A vacation now and then. The glittering façade of the famous Las Vegas Strip sparkled all around me, broadcasting the kind of fun and revelry I hadn’t been able to feel in almost a year. What I wouldn’t give to be one of those carefree idiots who were just here to lose money, have a good time, and hopefully get laid.

  If Bastien had his way, that would never again be me.

  Despite the mild October weather, the air inside the SUV was stifling.

  And it didn’t get much better inside the hot kitchen we had to walk through after we entered through the rear of the hotel. A series of tight, no-frills hallways that the regular tourists
would never see were equally suffocating. For a brief moment, we passed a hallway that lead to the casino floor, and the chiming of slot machines and shouts from the table games mocked me. It felt like a siren’s call screaming for my attention, reminding me of my last visit to Las Vegas.

  I’d been drafted to come participate in some war games at Nellis Air Force Base, located only miles from the Strip. But that trip had been so different from this one. I’d been one of the guys. A regular solider. Hell, I don’t think most of the men I’d met even knew that I was a European prince. I was just Lieutenant Luc Greiner. Pilot. Soldier.

  But that was then. And this was now.

  As if to highlight my thought, we passed a contingent of lifts, where the regular people waited to ride one of eight elevators up to one of the sixty floors. My security retinue pressed against me to prevent anyone getting close, and in the process drew the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

  “Oooooh! Who is it? I can’t see!”

  “I think it’s Machine Gun Kelly.”

  “No, he’s not tall enough. MGK is like six six and plastered with tattoos. I think it’s Scott Eastwood. You know, the actor? Look at his scruffy beard. It’s totally Scott Eastwood. Oh, God, he’s so hot. I loved him in that one movie…”

  Dimitri smirked at me as we walked farther down to the elevator marked PRIVATE ACCESS ONLY. We paused as another bodyguard whipped out a black card with Commonwealth Hotel emblazoned on the top and shoved it in the card slot. While we waited for the elevator to appear, Dimitri leaned toward me and said, sotto voce, “I guess you’re still anonymous in some places, monsieur.”

  I smirked back at him and shook my head. That was why Dimitri was my favorite. Despite the differences in our stations, he never resisted the opportunity to jerk my chain.

  The guards in front of me moved toward the elevator as the numbers grew smaller. The elevator doors opened to reveal an empty car. As I took a step toward it, I saw a blur in my peripheral. Dimitri had a woman pinned against the wall. I hadn’t even seen her approach us.

  “Ouch! Let me go. I just want an autograph! Scott? Scott! I love you! I want to have your babies!”

  Dimitri laughed as the other members of my security team hustled me onto the empty elevator. “I think a baby is a little more than an autograph.”

  “No! Wait. If you just let me meet him, you’ll see. We had a connection. He looked at me back there.”

  “Ma’am, I can guarantee you he never even saw you.” Whatever else Dimitri said was muffled by the closing elevator doors.

  None of the other members of my security team said a word as the elevator carried us to the top level and my penthouse suite. The floor was deserted when the elevator doors opened, and a few steps off, I saw why. My suite was one of only six doors on the entire level. Like always, I stayed in the hallway with two of my bodyguards while the third did a sweep of the suite. It must’ve been huge, because while we were waiting, the elevator made another trip. Dimitri popped out and joined us in the hallway.

  “Everything taken care of in the lobby?” Nicolas, the senior member of the security team, asked Dimitri.

  “Oui, monsieur,” Dimitri replied respectfully. “Security arrived and escorted His Highness’s, uh, fan away.”

  Dimitri’s eyes met mine; his were full of mirth. Like he knew how much it irked me that that woman thought I was a Hollywood actor when it was actually the opposite.

  I didn’t need recognition. What I wanted was to be just a regular person again. I’d enjoyed a relatively anonymous existence in France for a few years, and I missed it now. Don’t misunderstand me; there are definite perks to this life—I didn’t have to screw around with baggage claim at the airport, I could get anything I wanted without even lifting a finger half the time—but it was all so lonely. Everyone wanted a piece of me because of my title. I’d never simply be Lieutenant Greiner again.

  Once we finally got the all clear, I passed through the ornate double doors and made straight for the glittering bar only steps from the doorway. Being so moody and emotional definitely called for a drink. Opening the fridge, I saw it had been stocked with all my favorites—Carlsberg beer, Perrier sparkling water, strawberries, and a whole shelf of Krug. Since I was feeling nostalgic, I grabbed a bottle of Carlsberg, popped off the cap, and took a few swallows before I turned and faced the room. Make that rooms.

  It might as well have been an apartment. Across from me was a two-piece bath, and the opposite wall opened into a hallway that no doubt led to more than one bedroom. But the huge room in front of me was impressive. Several clusters of sofas broke up the enormous ballroom-sized space. All leather and shiny and no doubt brand-new, probably in honor of my visit. A large crystal chandelier hung in the center and rivaled any at the palace back home. And an honest-to-God bowling lane was set up on the far wall, just past the toilet.

  But none of that captured my attention longer than a glance. No, it was the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the wall spanning the entire suite. With my beer hanging loosely from my hand, I crossed the suite to the windows and gazed at the sparkling lights showcased in the distance. I had a panoramic view of the famous Bellagio dancing waters fountain show—just sixty-something floors down.

  In the distance, I heard a phone ring in the suite, but I ignored it. One of the guys would no doubt answer it. Instead I pushed open the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the balcony. After the stifling air of the plane, the airport, and the press of bodies to get through the hotel and into the tiny elevator, the feel of the cool breeze against my face was almost orgasmic.

  Almost.

  Merde, how long had it been? I couldn’t even remember. When I first got the news of the deaths in my family, I’d been passed out next to a brunette flight attendant I’d hooked up with only hours before. I couldn’t even remember her name. Had there been anyone since then? I searched my memory but between the pain, the endless ceremonies, and processions, I came up blank.

  It couldn’t have been almost a year. I would’ve known if I’d been celibate that long. Wouldn’t I?

  “Monsieur?” Nicolas poked his head out the balcony doors and drew my attention away from my sad self-reflection.

  I took a few pulls from my beer, then answered. “Yes.”

  “The owner of the hotel would like to meet with you if you’re available.”

  I closed my eyes with a muttered curse. I didn’t think Nicolas had been on the plane for my little rant with Aristide. Plus, it had to be at least ten o’clock at night, if not eleven. What the hell was the guy doing here if he owned the damned hotel?

  “It’s late. Please give my excuses and have Aristide schedule something for later in the week if he’s available.”

  “Oui, monsieur. Also, the head chef of their Michelin-starred restaurant is on hand to make any of your favorites. I’m told his bouillabaisse is renowned across the country.”

  I chuckled before I took another pull from my beer. Somehow I didn’t see myself ordering my favorite shellfish dish so far away from the ocean.

  I looked down at the crowds of people standing along the sidewalk, waiting for the next fountain show. Lovers with their arms wrapped around each other. Groups of guys and girls out to find some fun. All regular, normal people. I wanted to be one of them. Just a guy and not a prat everyone kowtowed to.

  Even here in Las Vegas, thousands of kilometers away from Monaco, the specter of the palace hovered over me, putting distance between me and the rest of society. Whether it was sixty floors up or walking through the casino floor with four bodyguards, I was always apart.

  “Monsieur? The bouillabaisse?” For the second time that night, Nicolas’s voice drew me out of my morose thoughts.

  It was time to put an end to my sulking.

  “Not tonight. Round up the boys. We’re going out.”

  Chapter 3

  JUKE JOINT BAR & GRILL

  LAS VEGAS, NEVADA, USA

  She was laughing like a loon the first t
ime I saw her. Her head thrown back, her long blond hair trailing down her shoulders, the most alluring laughter flowing from her perfect mouth.

  I had to have her.

  She was the embodiment of everything I wasn’t. A carefree twenty-something with nothing more to worry about other than waking up on time tomorrow for work or school. Most of the women in my social sphere were so concerned with appearances they wouldn’t dare move their lips wider than their practiced smiles—their faces almost frozen in exaggerated pouts. But this woman didn’t seem to care that when she smiled her nose scrunched up and her eyes creased with wrinkles. She enjoyed life.

  “What do you think of the brunette?” I asked in French to Dimitri. Somehow our group of five men had managed to enter the bar without drawing any undue attention—mostly because I made the guys dress the part and leave their conspicuous suits behind. It also didn’t hurt that my other three guards had taken up spots across the room.

  Dimitri surveyed the table I’d asked about. His eyes passed over both women, lingering on the brunette friend, before he shook his head. “Not your usual type, but then again this isn’t your usual hangout, so what do I know?”

  “Not for me. You.”

  Dimitri snorted into his glass of Perrier sparkling water. “I’m on the clock, monsieur.”

  I twisted my chin until my neck cracked. “What did I say about calling me that tonight?”

  “Je vous demande pardon, monsieur.”

  I grunted in reply, but it was hard to accept his apology when he continued to address me as monsieur.

  It had been my choice to come to this particular bar tonight, despite Dimitri’s protests. He’d tried to talk me into a VIP space at some club on the Strip, somewhere he’d be able to control the room, only letting in “appropriate people.” It reminded me too much of my conversation with my brother, only this time I’d literally be behind a Plexiglas cage. No, I wanted to pretend for a night that I was a regular Joe, a faceless guy in the crowd, like the last time I’d visited Las Vegas, before palace protocol had invaded every aspect of my life as the spare.