Once Upon a Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  She could fall in love with a guy like that.

  When they got back to the hotel room, he insisted on dragging her into his room. Not for sex, he told her, but just so they could sleep together. She’d half-fallen asleep before she’d even taken her pants off, and had drowsily flicked in and out of consciousness as Griffin removed her sneakers and jeans, and then crawled into bed next to her.

  She could have sworn he’d said, “You are an exceedingly wonderful woman, Maylee,” just as she’d drifted off to sleep, but it might have been her imagination.

  ***

  The next morning was a flurry of activity. They’d woken up earlier than usual, as Griffin had to be at the palace early for a wedding breakfast. Then, he’d have to change into his full regalia, attend the ceremony at the tiny church in the heart of Bellissime, and then endure hours of photographs before he could finally escape. There was a wedding reception that evening because Luke’s family was American and insisted on it, but Her Royal Highness Sybilla-Louise had been appalled at the thought of spending more time in the company of Americans, so she would not be attending. Neither would the queen, who was ancient and had an early bedtime.

  Griffin figured that since they would not be attending, it would be safe for him to skip out on things. He’d buy his cousin Alex a nice wedding present to make up for it, maybe a chateau in the Noire Valley. He knew she rather liked the place.

  But first, he had to get through the day, and it was going to be long and tedious, and he told Maylee so repeatedly while she tried to fix his tie.

  She slapped him lightly on the chest. “Hold still, Your Royal Fussiness.”

  “Actually, my correct title would be Viscount Fussiness, or Lord Fussiness,” he corrected, and couldn’t resist running the backs of his fingers over the curve of her breast as she leaned over him. “I’m not a royal highness in title any longer.”

  Maylee wiggled away and gave his tie one last pat. “You’re all fancy now, Lord Fussiness,” she told him, but there was a smile in her voice. “And it could be worse. You could have to wear one of these ridiculous little hats.” She pointed at the powder blue feathered-and-netted confection in her pale curls.

  “It’s called a fascinator,” he told her. “Everyone will be wearing one. It’s polite.”

  “It looks like a quail got netted and slapped on a plate,” she grumbled. “And then smacked onto my head.”

  He chuckled, because it did look a bit like that. “If I have to wear ridiculous clothes for this wedding, you do, too.”

  “Yes, but I’m not in the wedding,” she teased, adjusting the tiny decorative net on her fascinator. “I’m merely a lowly servant who has no duties except to wait on you hand and foot.”

  “A delectable, enchanting servant,” he corrected, unable to stop himself from leaning in to kiss her neck. “With a rather lovely pair of breasts that I can’t seem to stop touching.” He reached into her modest neckline and placed a hand over her breast, delighted that her nipple hardened at his touch.

  “Now you listen to me, Lord Naughty,” she said breathlessly, and squirmed away from his hand, though she turned and snuggled up against his chest. Her fingers touched his freshly shaven chin and the slight cleft there. “If you behave yourself today, I was just thinking that we might make ample use of this lovely hotel room while you have it.”

  His cock immediately hardened in his pants. “Oh?”

  “Yep.” Her eyes flashed desire at him, and she lightly traced his jawline with her nails. “Think the hotel has a box of condoms we could snatch up?”

  “I can’t send to the hotel for condoms,” he said hoarsely. “It’d be in every Bellissime scandal rag in the morning.”

  She gave a mock pout that fascinated him, her pink lower lip gleaming and plump. “Then I guess we don’t get to have much fun tonight, do we? What a shame, because I was so looking forward to it—”

  Unable to stop himself, Griffin leaned in and kissed the hell out of that sultry little mouth. Her stupid fascinator banged against his glasses, but he didn’t care. Once his lips touched hers, Maylee’s mouth was open and warm and willing, and her tongue met his with equal desire. By the time he pulled her away, she was staring up at him with a dazed look that made him want to throw her onto the bed and fuck the hell out of her, wedding be damned.

  Griffin glanced over at the clock. Blast. He had to be at the royal palace within the hour. “This fucking wedding is killing me.”

  She gave him a soft, sultry giggle and straightened his tie. “How about I have the driver drop you off at the palace and then I have him swing me around to the pharmacy to pick up some condoms?” Her fingers smoothed down his jacket, and then slid all the way down the front of his pants to cup his already aching erection. “Extra-large, I’m guessing?”

  “You know how to flatter a man.” Griffin reluctantly removed her hand, even though he wanted to shove against it over and over until he came. “And that sounds like a lovely plan, darling. Hellish breakfast, even more hellish wedding, then fucking until dawn.”

  “Until dawn?” She gave him an impressed look. “Perhaps I should buy two boxes of condoms, then.”

  “Not necessary,” he told her.

  “Not much stamina in the royal pole, milord?” she said in the worst copy of a British accent he’d ever heard. It was downright adorable.

  He leaned in and brushed his lips against her ear. “I figure if we run out, I can just spend the rest of the evening tonguing that rather charming little pussy of yours.”

  Her sucked-in breath was extremely gratifying to hear. She whimpered. “I might need to change my panties before we go to the palace.”

  “Poor baby,” he said with zero sympathy, his own cock throbbing for release. As she hurried into the other room, he sat on the edge of the bed and began to count backward from one hundred.

  When that didn’t work, he did it again.

  Tonight was going to be worth every day of this ridiculous running around, he decided.

  ***

  A short time later, they headed down to the bottom floor of the hotel. The manager met them as they emerged from the elevator, a worried frown on his face.

  “Lord Montagne Verdi, there are quite a few photographers at the front of the building. I’ve arranged to have an unmarked sedan parked at the back of the hotel, and your driver is awaiting you there. If you’ll please follow me, I’ll lead you there.”

  “Damn paparazzi,” Griffin said, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. “Very well.”

  Maylee juggled his newly dry-cleaned ceremonial jacket in her other arm, moving to Griffin’s side. “It’ll all be over with soon, Griff,” she murmured.

  He shot her a look just as the manager did, but said nothing, and for a moment, she wondered what she’d done wrong. It was just nerves, she decided. Griffin hated parading around people. He was likely to get all stiff and prickly today. She would just have to ignore it and tease him about it later.

  Despite going down the back hallways of the hotel, there were still too many people lingering about. It seemed that all of the staff had turned out that day and were finding excuses to travel down the hall at the same time they were. All eyes were on Griffin, and because she was with him, Maylee. She felt stupid in her silly fascinator hat, as well as uncomfortable and out of place. Were these people looking at her and judging her because her hair was in the curls that Griffin frowned upon so much? Was her dress tucked into the back of her pantyhose? She surreptitiously felt her butt, but everything seemed okay on that end. She was just nervous.

  Maylee looked at Griffin and he seemed equally tense. Poor man. Her heart swelled with affection for him, and she knew that starchy, I-loathe-everything-and-everyone look on his face masked his own unease. Sidling a bit closer as they walked down the long hall, she brushed her hand against his and attempted to take his fingers in her own.

  His hand brushed off hers.

  Maybe he hadn’t noticed her attempt to take his hand? She strode a
little closer to him and deliberately took his hand into hers.

  He pulled away and looked over at her with a frown. “Not today, Maylee.”

  She blinked in surprise. “What do you mean, not today?”

  He shifted, walking a little faster as if trying to remain out of her grasp. “Today, I am Viscount Montagne Verdi, and I do not hold hands.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Her cheeks burned with mortification and she avoided the gaze of the people watching them.

  How utterly humiliating.

  He didn’t notice her discomfort, and he said nothing. He wasn’t even looking at her. Maylee was confused, but she figured it must just be nerves.

  That was what it had to be, right? He wouldn’t be cruel to her again, not after how close they’d gotten? Not after their wonderful day yesterday? He’d cuddled her and held her hand as they’d toured the dig in Spain. What was different today?

  They were silent as they got into the car and drove toward the palace. The streets were crammed with people, street barricades and police officers lining the way. Bellissime flags were everywhere, and Maylee began to get caught up in the excitement of the day. They were about to see a royal wedding. Heck, she was going to see it firsthand!

  Well, almost. She’d actually be waiting in the back with the rest of the staff, but that was okay, too.

  The crush of people near the gates of the palace was overwhelming, and the driver’s car slowed to a crawl. “My goodness,” Maylee murmured. “Everyone’s so excited.”

  “It’s not every day a princess marries an actor,” Griffin said in a dry voice.

  “I suppose not.” She gave him a curious look, wondering at his mood. He sounded a bit more like his unpleasant old self.

  When they got to the front doors of the palace, a guard came down the steps and the chauffeur got out of the car to come to Griffin’s door. To Maylee’s surprise, Griffin leaned over and gave her a quick, fierce kiss on the lips. “You’ll go and get the condoms?”

  “I’ll go,” she agreed, and laughed at the look of pleasure on his face. That was more like the man she knew. His hurtful action earlier had to simply be nerves. “See you soon.”

  And then he was gone. As he appeared from the car, she could hear the roar of the crowd grow larger and larger, and he paused to straighten his jacket, giving a faint wave before heading inside. Even if Griffin didn’t like the crowds, they liked him. What wasn’t to like, Maylee mused to herself, waiting for the driver to get back at the wheel. He was young, handsome, incredibly wealthy, and titled. And reclusive. It was a fairy tale in the making.

  “Where to, miss?” the driver said once he got back into the car.

  “A pharmacy,” she said, ignoring the blush on her cheeks. “And then we’ll head back to the palace, but to the servant’s entrance.” She wasn’t allowed through the front doors.

  “Very well, madam.”

  The drive to the pharmacy took longer than she imagined, thanks to the crowds. It was hard not to get excited by their enthusiasm. Everywhere she saw pictures of Alex’s elegant face, her engagement portrait with Luke, Bellissime flags, and little girls wearing wedding veils. This was a fairy tale day for everyone involved, it seemed, and it was so fun to be part of it.

  The driver eventually pulled up to a corner building. “Pharmacy, madam.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be just a moment,” she told him, and got out of the car before he could get her door for her. She hurried inside, feeling conspicuous with her hat and dress. Inside, the pharmacy was quaint, the shelves short and loosely filled with an assortment of items. There seemed to be more souvenirs at the front than actual pharmaceuticals, she thought wryly to herself, but went up and down the meager aisles, searching for condoms. It felt a little embarrassing to be buying only condoms, so she grabbed a box and then headed to the souvenir stands. She’d already purchased most of the postcards and tiny flags and a commemorative mug, but today, the stands were full of newspapers and magazines, all proudly headlining the marriage of the beloved Crown Princess Alexandra to American actor Luke Houston. One paper had an enormous picture of Luke and Alex kissing at the ball, and underneath the headline was the subhead Updates On All of the Royal Family!

  Curious if Griffin was there, she picked up the thick paper and then headed to the counter. The clerk gave her a curious look, but said nothing. He rang her up and Maylee paid with Griffin’s business card that he’d given her a few days before. Then, she headed back out to the sedan.

  “Back to the palace,” she announced, tucking the box of condoms into the seat next to her. When the sedan crawled out onto the crowded streets again, she picked up the newspaper and began to flip through it. There were pictures of Alex and Luke in various stages of life, which were charming. After the first ten pages of photos dedicated to Luke and the princess, the paper began to include other members of the royal family. Several pages were dedicated to the queen herself, then her children. There was Alex’s mother, a distant-seeming woman. There was the widowed HRH Sybilla-Louise, looking just as regal and incredibly unpleasant as usual. Next came the grandchildren of the queen, and Maylee paused at a man who seemed a lot like Griffin. George, Duke of Calcaire, the paper read, eldest son of HRH Sybilla-Louise. That must have been Griffin’s older brother. He didn’t look pleasant either, she decided. No wonder Griffin never wanted to spend time with his family. She looked at the pictures of George with his wife, a timid-seeming blonde with a child at her side. One page was entirely devoted to George’s notorious philandering, and Maylee felt sorry for his poor wife, who had to endure public humiliation.

  But that’s not the only royal who can’t keep it in his pants, the bottom of the page proclaimed with a big red arrow indicating that the reader should turn the page. Obligingly, Maylee did so, curious.

  And stopped, stunned.

  There was Griffin.

  Griffin, unsmiling and staring ahead at the camera, at his mother’s side in an official palace photo. Another photo of Griffin, blurry and grainy, sitting with her on the park bench and sharing ice-cream cones and kissing. Someone had been following them that day.

  But the worst was a picture of Griffin at the ball, standing with a tall, beautiful woman in a low-cut dress. She was leaning in to touch Griffin’s face as Griffin was smiling at her.

  He was smiling at her. At this strange, beautiful woman. The caption of the photo read, Viscount Montagne Verdi cozies up with Her Royal Highness Princess Heloise of Saxe-Gallia. Will he finally make an honest woman out of her?

  The caption under her picture with Griffin, of that innocent day on the park bench sharing gelatos? Lord Verdi sows some wild oats with one of his American mistresses.

  Maylee felt as if she’d been slapped in the face.

  One of?

  Her gaze flicked back to the picture of Griffin with the princess. Make an honest woman out of her? Her? Trembling, Maylee folded the newspaper and brought it closer so it was easy to read despite the blur of tears in her eyes.

  Old friends Lord Verdi and HRH Heloise snuggle at the princess’s wedding ball. Rumor has it that the viscount returned to Bellissime specifically to request her hand in marriage, and sources say that the two have never been closer. The viscount’s family has reportedly been pushing for a match between the two royals, as it would connect the house of Bellissime with the royal house of Saxe-Gallia in a much anticipated union. The two have been friends since childhood. “It’s only a matter of time,” says a close confidant of the pair. “Mark my words. He’ll marry her when he’s ready to settle down.”

  She dropped the newspaper onto the seat, repulsed. She’d been flirting with the man, undressing and showering with him. Sleeping in his bed. Kissing him. Hell, she’d gone out to buy condoms today, and all the while, he was flirting with a royal princess who he intended on marrying? Who was Maylee to him if she wasn’t his girlfriend?

  With a sick lurch in her stomach, she remembered her attempt to hold his hand that morning. He’d turned her away
. Not right now.

  She understood what that meant. Not in public.

  Not where others can see us.

  Not if he was going to marry a princess.

  He didn’t want to be seen with her if she was just a convenient fuck.

  Maylee burst into tears.

  “Madam?” The driver looked back in the rearview mirror at her. “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, sure,” she said, and only cried harder. She felt so stupid. She felt . . . crushed. She’d really thought they had something, that she’d seen who the real Griffin was underneath that starchy exterior, but now she wondered if he’d only changed because he’d wanted someone to fuck before he proposed to a princess.

  It hurt so much.

  “Here, take this,” the driver said, and Maylee looked up to see him passing her a small box of Kleenex through the glass partition to the back seat.

  “Thank you,” she blubbered, and took the box from him. She mopped at her face, wincing at the mascara streaks appearing on the tissue. She’d have to fix her makeup before heading back to the palace. Her stomach dropped at the thought, and she dragged out a tiny mirror.

  Maylee stared at her reflection for a long moment, and then ripped the fascinator out of her hair and tossed it on the floorboards of the car.

  “Do you need a few minutes before we go back to the palace, madam?”

  She wiped at her face again and thought, staring out the tinted window at all the gloriously happy people lining the streets, waiting for the fairy tale wedding to pass by. What a joke. Maylee balled up the tissue and tossed it down, then grabbed another, stuffing a few more into her small handbag. She’d probably need handfuls of them if she was going to try and make it through the day.

  The blue cover of her passport stared back at her, sticking out of her purse. Maylee paused and stared at it. She always kept her ID and her passport on her at all times. She thought of the items back in her room. Some jeans, some souvenirs, and several outfits that Griffin had bought her because she was too embarrassing to be seen in public with . . . or to hold hands with.