Royally Screwed: A Reverse-Harem Royal Romance (Quick & Dirty Book 3) Page 8

  Jesus Christ. I’m sitting in front of my soon-to-be fiancée and her father, and I’m thinking about another woman.

  A commoner.

  I wince at my own bigoted thought. There is nothing common about Sophia.

  “Do we have an agreement?” the King of Monaco says, a wide smile on his face. He’s a handsome man with similar features to his daughter, except he is tanned and his blonde hair is going grey.

  I should just say yes. That’s what I came here for.

  “I need some time,” I find myself saying instead.

  The king frowns. I know instantly I’ve said the wrong thing.

  I force a smile, my most charming one, and say, “I just wish to look over the paperwork and details. Your daughter is very beautiful, and I’m sure we’ll make a good match.”

  “Very well,” the king says, rising to his feet, signaling the end of this conversation. “You are here until the end of the week, no? You have until then.”

  Chase is silent as he drives us back to the resort. But he keeps glancing over to me.

  “What?” I finally snap.

  “You need time?” Chase says.

  “Yes. And?”

  “This doesn’t happen to have anything to do with the woman you begrudgingly left in your bed, does it?”

  “No.”

  Chase lets out a snort. “This is the twentieth century, you know. You don’t have to marry another royal.”

  I growl. “Yes. I do. It’ll—”

  “Restore the royal name, bring respect to the crown, yada yada, yes I’ve heard it all before.” Chase shoots me another look. “But what about…love?”

  I bristle. “I don’t love Sophia. I barely know her.”

  “I know you don’t, Mr Sensitive, but you could, couldn’t you?”

  I say nothing. I don’t think about how it felt to pull Sophia into my arms. I don’t think about how it felt to find her naked body next to mine the next morning or how beautiful she looks asleep.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I have duties to my people. Responsibilities. I don’t have the luxury to indulge in silly things like love.”

  “So, Sophia…?”

  I stiffen at her name. “As she and I agreed. One week. No strings. At the end of it, I walk away.”

  I ignore the tiny voice inside of me that whispers that walking away from a woman like Sophia might be impossible.

  Sophia

  After Nicolai’s frosty attitude toward me that morning, I don’t expect to see or hear from Prince Grayson again.

  When I open my apartment door in the staff living area of the resort to the delivery of a large white box, I’m totally surprised. On the front of the box is a small envelope, a note written inside in a strong slanted script.

  Be ready at 7 p.m.

  G.

  Behind the note is an invitation…to a ball at the Chateau Eza in France, a thirty-minute drive west of Monaco.

  I should be angry that Grayson just assumed I would come. I should be furious that he didn’t ask but commanded as if I was one of his subjects. Instead a rush fills me, drowning the small voice inside me that tells me I’m going to get my heart broken.

  I’m going to a ball in a castle with an honest-to-God prince!

  I open the box and suck in a breath. Holy shit.

  I am going to a ball, in a castle, with a prince…wearing this dress…

  Grayson

  I fidget with my jacket as I stand in a corner of the chateau’s magnificent ballroom. For the last half an hour I’ve been making polite conversation with various members of the French and Monegasque elite until I couldn’t stand it anymore and ordered Chase and Nicolai to repel any incoming socialites.

  There’s a live orchestra playing a classical piece. I stare through the crowd, looking for a certain dark-haired lady. She should be here already.

  I wanted to arrive at the Chateau Eza with Sophia on my arm. But I had prior business obligations that I could not cancel. I sent a driver to pick her up and bring her here to meet me.

  Dammit. What if the driver got the instructions wrong? I should have backtracked and picked her up myself.

  What if she decided to refuse my invitation? Had other plans?

  I set my glass of scotch down, ready to go fetch her my damn self when the crowd parts. And there she is.

  Looking radiant in the silver gown I sent her. It fits her perfectly, swooping over her décolletage, nipping in at her waist and cascading over her beautiful curves, her hair piled in an elaborate updo on her head. She easily outshines any other woman in this ballroom. Hell, in this country.

  Nicolai stiffens beside me. “You invited her?”

  “Easy, Nicki,” Chase says in warning at my other side.

  “I wanted the company of someone considerably less boorish than you,” I say to Nicolai.

  I take a step towards her, but Nicolai grabs my arm. “You should not have invited her.”

  I grind my teeth. “Last time I checked, I do not answer to you.”

  His eyes soften a touch, but he does not let go of me, his grip firm. “I’m just…concerned. The arrangement—”

  “Let me remind you, I’ve done this before.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But what?”

  He glances over my shoulder to where I know she must be standing. “I don’t like the way you look at her.”

  “How do I look at her?”

  “Like…she’s different.”

  His words filter into me, deep down.

  She is different.

  I shove that thought aside. I am Prince Grayson. I don’t get attached. I’m not getting attached to Sophia Lauren. I’m practically engaged to the Princess of Monaco, for fuck’s sake.

  I tug my arm out of Nicolai’s grasp. “Remember your place.”

  He flinches.

  For a second, I regret pulling rank. Nicolai and Chase have always been more like friends to me. Brothers. They look out for me, would do anything for me. Especially Nicolai. He would throw himself in front of a bullet for me.

  I shove that guilt aside. I am his boss, after all. And I know what I’m doing.

  I brush down my jacket arm, dismissing Nicolai as I turn towards Sophia. At the sight of her, everything seems to fall away, my disagreement with my bodyguard, my duties, my rules.

  She turns, looking through the crowd, and I get a glimpse of the scandalously low back of that dress. My blood heats at the sight of her, a feeling close to possessiveness washing over me. I stride faster towards her, ready to claim her.

  Sophia

  I stand in the middle of a ballroom full of people I don’t know, searching for the man who invited me here. Where is he?

  I was surprised when Grayson didn’t show up himself to pick me up, even more surprised when he hadn’t sent either of his bodyguards.

  I brush down the gorgeous material of my silver Giorgio Armani gown and try to keep my chin up. I can see the judgmental eyes of all the rich folk around me, some curious to know who I was, others outright spiteful. At least I know I look the part in this dress worthy of a princess, even if they can tell that I don’t belong. If Grayson doesn’t show up in two minutes, I’m out of here.

  The crowd shifts to my right, capturing my attention. I turn to see Prince Grayson striding towards me, looking devastatingly handsome in a tailored suit. My breath catches at the sight of him, my heart squeezing as he reaches me. He scoops up my hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. Like I am a real princess.

  I feel like a princess. Standing in the castle ballroom with her prince.

  He’s not yours, Sophia. And you will never be a princess.

  “You look…stunning,” Grayson says.

  I feel my blush heating me up from my head to my toes. “Thank you. So do you. Look handsome, I mean.”

  I can hear the whispers of the people around us wondering why the prince is giving me his time and attention. But that all fades into the background. Because Grayson’s ey
es remain only on me.

  The music of the live orchestra strikes up a slow song. A Mendelssohn piece from his Songs Without Words. Both of our favourites.

  “Dance with me.”

  Before I can protest that I don’t know how to dance, Grayson pulls me into his arms, enclosing me in a circle of warmth, one strong arm around my waist, the other gripping my hand. I can do nothing but follow as he moves us onto the dance floor.

  It shouldn’t, but it feels so right in his arms. I feel safe and adored. The rest of the ballroom, everyone here, who we really are, falls away. It feels like the only two people who exist are us.

  It feels magical.

  “You can dance,” I say, then instantly feeling silly that I’ve stated such an obvious thing.

  “You can thank Ms Marple for that. My dance tutor when I was a boy,” he explains.

  Tutors. This man had tutors and waltzes and grew up in a palace and I…

  I tear my eyes away from him. Stupid, Sophia. Don’t get caught up in this. It’s not real.

  “What’s wrong?” he demands.

  “Nothing.”

  “Sophia…”

  I sigh. “You had tutors growing up. We moved around so much I didn’t even have a home. We just come from such different worlds. How do we…?”

  How can it work when a fish falls for a bird?

  Grayson presses me closer to him. I feel his lips brush against my forehead. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “I know what it’s like not to have a home.”

  His words surprise me. How could a prince who was given everything as a child not feel like he had a home?

  I let out a humourless laugh. “The Crown Prince Grayson knows what it’s like not to have a home? I doubt that very much.”

  “Just because I had a roof over my head—”

  “Not just a roof, a palace roof.”

  “Just because it’s a palace does not make it a home.”

  I flinched at his pain-soaked tone.

  “My mother died when I was very young,” he says, his voice more sombre than I’d ever heard it. “I never saw my father much. I was raised by an endless stream of tutors and nannies. Groomed to within an inch of my life to be the future crown prince. There was no other life destined for me. Affection, care, love…all these things were unnecessary in my upbringing.”

  I pull back to look at him and see a deep sadness in his eyes, a sadness that reflects my own. My heart squeezes.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say in a whisper.

  He shrugs, even though the pain is clear in his eyes. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m no longer a helpless child. I now have the power to get what I want.”

  “And what is it that you want?”

  Affection, care…love?

  His eyes search my face as if the answer might be right there. “I…I’m still trying to work that out.”

  “Well…” I say, a knot in my throat, “let me know if you do.”

  “Perhaps… Perhaps I’m starting to.”

  His gaze drops to my mouth and he leans in. I close my eyes, my mouth parting on an inhale, ready for his kiss.

  “Sir,” a familiar voice breaks through our private bubble.

  The world comes crashing in and suddenly I’m aware that we’re the only ones dancing. We’re surrounded by people—his kind of people—who are all staring at us.

  Nicolai is at the prince’s arm. I catch his eye and for one moment they narrow, accusation in them. I want to yell at Nicolai that this ball wasn’t my idea. I hadn’t orchestrated any of this. But I keep my mouth shut.

  “What?” Grayson snaps. “Can’t you see I’m dancing?”

  Nicolai leans in and whispers something into the prince’s ear. I watch as the prince’s face drains of colour. He drops his arms from around me and I feel the loss of them instantly.

  “I apologise, Sophia,” he says, turning to me. “I have something urgent I need to attend to.”

  “That’s okay,” I say, nodding. I know all about urgent matters working in the resort. “I can wait here.” I’d brave the snobby bunch and their stares for him.

  Grayson’s face screws up with regret. “I’m afraid I’ll have to get Chase to escort you back to the hotel.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment sends me crashing. The magic has burst, leaving me cold.

  Grayson bows his head at me. Then he turns on his heel and strides through the crowd, Nicolai at his side. No indication of when we’ll meet again.

  I feel Chase’s hand on my elbow. He’s appeared out of nowhere.

  “Do me the honour of escorting me back to the resort, my lady?” Chase says, his voice light and placating. He’s trying hard to soften the blow the prince just served me.

  I give him a small smile. “Sure.”

  I try to tell myself that it was for the best that our perfect moment—our perfect kiss—was interrupted. It was a reminder—a much-needed reminder—that no matter how magical, how passionate things were between us, the prince and I could never be anything real.

  Sophia

  The next morning, I wake up with a cold feeling across my chest. I’d stayed up late waiting for a knock on my door. Waiting for word from the prince to join him (and his bodyguards) in their suite.

  But he didn’t come.

  He didn’t send for me.

  My day gets worse when I head down to the staff dining hall. Most of the staff live on the resort grounds except for a few locals who travel in, some from across the border in the south of France. Monaco is just too expensive for most of us.

  “Oh my God. Did you hear about the ball at Chateau Eza last night?” Marie, the young receptionist, says as I walk up behind her with my bowl of cereal and fruit.

  Shit. I haven’t told anyone that I went out to the ball last night. Could they have found out? Already?

  “The Princess of Monaco was there,” Marie continues. “And apparently she looked so beautiful.”

  Thank God. They aren’t talking about me. I slide into a spare seat and get a few morning nods from around the table.

  “And Prince Grayson was there too.”

  A few of the girls around the table sigh.

  “He’s so hot,” one of them says. “So are his bodyguards. Yum!” She’s met with a chorus of agreement.

  Marie leans in. “Apparently the Princess Eden and Prince Grayson danced together.”

  I’m hit with a stab of pain in my gut. I shouldn’t be jealous. I shouldn’t hate that he danced with another woman, a princess, none the less.

  I conjure up an image of the Princess of Monaco, a blonde pixie-like, delicate-boned beauty. She’s the kind of woman that Grayson will end up with. I’m just the fling. One week, no strings, remember?

  I shake myself. What the hell would I do with a prince anyway? It’s not like Grayson and I have anything in common. It’s not like I have actual feelings for him. Right?

  I try to push these thoughts aside. But it’s no use. I’ve lost my appetite.

  I push my cereal away and return to my apartment. I refuse to mope around on my day off so I get ready for a full day out, one that will distract me from thoughts of a certain blue-eyed royal.

  Just as I’m slipping on my shoes, I hear a knock on my door. I groan and pray it’s not someone with an emergency that I need to tackle. The other staff here know that I turn my phone off on my days off, but occasionally, when something goes really wrong, they’ll come to my door begging for help.

  Sometimes I think I’m needed too much around here.

  I debate for a moment whether or not to pretend I’m not here. But the knocking intensifies.

  I swing open the door and start at the man standing there.

  Prince Grayson.

  Dressed as casually as I’ve ever seen him in grey slacks and a blue polo shirt that brings out his eyes. Still, he looks as royal and as handsome as he would wearing a robe and a crown.

  “Prince
Grayson,” I say with surprise.

  He winces slightly at the formal title. “Just Grayson. Please.”

  I peer out behind him looking for his two usual shadows. But I can’t see Nicolai or Chase. I grab Grayson by the arm and yank him inside my apartment before anyone can spot him here and start asking a bunch of questions.

  I shut the door behind him. And realise instantly that this may have been a bad idea.

  Me and the prince. In my apartment. Alone.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.

  “I hear it’s your day off.” He smiles at me, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks, making him seem very boyish. There’s an odd lightness to his mood today that I’ve not seen before. A kind of…recklessness.

  I nod. How did he know that?

  He’s been asking about me, I realise.

  “What a coincidence,” he says, “it’s my day off, too.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you get days off from being a prince?”

  “Not really.” He grins. “I snuck away from Chase and Nicolai. The poor lads are probably losing their minds trying to find me and making excuses to the meetings I had today.”

  I let out a laugh. “Is the prince feeling rebellious today?”

  “I just wanted to see what it’s like.”

  “What was what like?”

  His face turns serious. “To be…free.”

  The sadness in his tone almost crushes me. Suddenly I have a new appreciation for my anonymity. I have no real ties, no real responsibilities to anyone or anything except for myself. Even my job, which I love, I could still leave at a moment’s notice and find work somewhere else.

  How can I deny this man a chance at a taste of freedom?

  “Well, I had plans for my day off, but I can change them if you—”

  “No. Let’s do whatever you were going to do.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure?”