Washed Up Royal Page 7

  With careful, brutally honest eyes, I check my own reflection in the glass of the drawing-room window. The teal-toned silk jumpsuit is flattering. Ava has done my hair and makeup, and it looks rather nice, very modern, at a lot like her. Silver glints at my ears, my throat, my wrists. Assured I still look like every bit the royal that I am, I prepare myself to meet the man who could very well end up being my husband.

  Ava rushes in, a Cherry Coke in one hand, and a bottle of perfume in the other. “Bachelor number one is here and he has a hulking bodyguard with him, what should we do with his tag along?”

  I twist from where I’m standing in the formal sitting room. “Nothing. He’ll stand outside the door as is proper protocol.”

  She brushes past the sofa, and her curling dark hair bounces over her shoulders. “No. No. No. How can you relax and get to know each other when you know someone is lurking outside and listening to your every word?”

  The fragrant air smells of the roses and lilies that fill the room and I breathe it in. “It will be fine. I do it all the time.”

  Stopping beside me near the window, she sets the can of Cherry Coke down and sprays the bottle in her hand all over me. “I can try to distract him.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Making sure you don’t smell like flowers.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s so old-fashioned. You want to smell fresh.” She lifts the clear bottle with the light-green liquid. “And this is fresh.”

  Breathing in the new decadent scent of faraway waters and orange blossoms casts the most intoxicating spell on me. It evokes the image of private exchanges and insider moments where fantasies come true.

  Of my soccer player and I in the sheets.

  I cast that memory aside. Perhaps one of my new suitors will give me those same goose bumps and butterflies?

  Convincing myself they will, I nod in agreement. I always wear Chanel Number 5, but Tom Ford’s, I squint my eyes at the name scrolled across the bottle, “Fucking Fabulous,” could be my new scent. Although the title isn’t suitable for a press release, not by a long shot, it does describe last night perfectly.

  “Princess?”

  I blink away the image of him pushing into me and the erotic look on his face when he did. “Yes, perhaps distracting the bodyguard could be a good idea.” In truth, I really don’t care either way.

  She twists her lip. “Princess?” she asks again.

  Still distracted myself, I respond, “Yes?”

  “Never mind,” she says, “I’m going to run,” and then she escapes out the entrance.

  Hmmm…

  Voices echo in the corridor and I smooth my hands down the silk on my thighs before I step toward the tufted sofa. This room has not been redecorated yet, and two lovely John Singer Sargent paintings are hanging on either side of the fireplace that I stare at as I pass. The older men with their crowns look so much like Maximus, it’s eerie. He really would have been the most perfect King.

  The steady cadence of footsteps in the foyer announces the approach of Prince Rainer. Light streams through the tall windows in lovely beams, and it glitters on the gold and silver tapestries, and also off my prospective husband’s white collar.

  White collar, as in the religious kind.

  What on earth was Rachel thinking when she offered him an interview?

  Shock has me tripping over my heels as I step toward him. On my way to greet him, I allow my gaze to raise to find a man who is most definitely easy on the eyes. Clean cut, light-brown hair cropped close to his scalp, absolutely no hint of a beard, and a very trim physique.

  A man the people of Alexandria could fall in love with, I think, and know that’s why Rachel chose him.

  Classically handsome, he’s wearing a short-sleeved black shirt and black trousers, and yes, the white collar.

  Very slowly, I curtsey. “Hello,” I greet him.

  He bows low. “Princess.”

  As I suspected, the bodyguard must be waiting in the foyer because the Prince is alone. “Hello, I’m Rainer.” He holds out his hand and I take it. The shake is firm and brief, and awkward. Still, it’s sturdy enough to learn to wave properly. “I’m Victoria.”

  He laughs and I can see he has nice white teeth. Straight. That’s good for smiling in public. “Yes, I know.”

  “Of course, you do. How silly of me.”

  The giant elephant in the room has to be addressed before we move this interlude forward, so I point to his collar. “I think there must be some misunderstanding about what I’m looking for,” I tell him, worried that although he fits the bill for husband material, he can’t actually become one.

  His hand goes to his collar and his grin is wide. “No, not at all. I’m Episcopalian, not Roman Catholic. I haven’t taken a vow of chastity.”

  My stomach knots and then falls to my feet. Sex. He’s thinking of sex. Oh, God. I was speaking of marriage, only. With the suddenness of this whole fiasco, I hadn’t really thought ahead to bedding my husband or procreating to produce an heir, for that matter. “Should I call you Father instead of Prince?” I ask, trying to veer off that topic of conversation.

  He seems to ponder my question for a second. “Oh, no. I mean, you don’t have to.”

  My head tilts in question and I feel my forced smile holding for longer than it should. “Would you prefer it, though?”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle with what I really don’t want to believe is lust. “There are times I might require it.”

  For half a breath, I think I’ve misunderstood the sexual innuendo behind his words. However, the way his mouth slowly lift tells me I absolutely have not, and dread instantly fills my belly. He wants sex for more than procreating and I’m not sure how I feel about that—with him. “Shall we sit?” I ask in suggestion, really hoping this kinky man of the cloth stops with the sex talk.

  “Yes, that would please me.”

  Please him.

  Again with the suggestion. Where is William with our refreshments? I need an interruption.

  Thank goodness there’s decent conversation once we’ve sat. The weather. The state of our countries. How we both feel widespread legalized gambling will destroy the goodness of the Vespa Isles. The position even, and what I require from his role. Never once do we mention the prominence of his collar again, or sex. Still, his remark lingers in my thoughts and causes my head to pound.

  When a distant knock sounds, I feel nothing but relief. Yet, it’s only temporary, long enough for drinks to be poured and the announcement that dinner will be served shortly.

  After taking a slow sip of his wine, Prince Rainer lowers his glass and licks his lips. “I understand what you require from me, and I am more than willing to succumb. Now, shall we discuss what I require from you?”

  The skin at the back of my neck prickles in alarm. “Your requirements? Of me?” I ask, and as I’m about to inform him the position is one of such prestige, he should be honored to receive the invitation and not require anything in return, he cuts me off. “Yes, I prefer women who don’t have any soft limits. I find them boring.”

  Ava’s voice alerts me she’s outside the room. Gripping my own glass tightly, I blink, trifled by what I believe he might be referring to. “My soft what?” I ask, hoping I misunderstood or that perhaps I even heard him incorrectly.

  There is ample space between us but he lessens the distance when he moves closer. “Your soft limits, Princess. You know, the things that make you feel nervous or uncomfortable during sex. Maybe, due to your young age, it’s anal or flogging, but I could help you ease your worry if so.”

  Controlling my blush is very difficult. “Perhaps we’re getting ahead of things a bit.”

  The Prince’s expression turns dark as he reaches out to touch my cheek and then slides his hand down to my jaw. “Princess Victoria, listen to me. This marriage must be a two-way street. You want a husband and I want,” he pauses, and his eyes scan over my chest in a way that makes me feel di
rty, and not the good kind. “If I may be frank, your body.”

  Feeling very uncomfortable with the way he is touching me, I wish I had my own bodyguard around to call in. Since I don’t, I settle on gripping my glass tightly, knowing if I have to, I can drop it to the ground as a means of distraction and then run to Ava.

  As his fingers glide down to my neck, he adds, “Don’t get me wrong, I understand we must have hard limits, it’s the soft ones I wish for you to abandon. Be opened minded. You know what I mean?”

  I say nothing.

  Absolutely.

  Nothing.

  “And don’t worry about hard limits, either. Permanent damage or scarring will be off-limits. There will be absolutely nothing we do that will cause brows to rise in the public eye. However, if you are willing, I do rather like piss and scat play, face slapping, breathing games. Oh,” he goes on, his voice full of an excitement that makes me feel he might very well be truly deranged, “and humiliation in private really gets me off.”

  My eyes feel like they’re bugging out of my head. This man can’t be serious. I’m a Princess, and a soon-to-be Queen, and he wants me to pee on him? Or wait, does he want to pee on me? Does it really matter? Regardless of what I am, I am in no way willing to do either. Ever. I’m not looking for a BDSM relationship. I’m looking for a man to sit beside me on the throne.

  Beside me.

  Not on me.

  “The idea of calling the Queen a slut rather entices me,” he says, his voice dipping to super-creep level. And then I notice the way his eyes drift to his groin, and my eyes mistakenly follow. When I notice the hardness between his legs and feel his fingers tighten around my neck, a new brand of fear sweeps through me like a cold fire, and when it collects in the back of my throat, I fear I might be sick right here.

  “Although if you’d prefer whore to slut, I can be accommodating,” he goes on to say, obviously just realizing I haven’t responded to him.

  Practically jumping to my feet, I try to keep my cool when I glare down at him. “I’m very sorry, however, I’m going to have to call it a night.”

  “But we haven’t even had dinner yet.”

  “I know, and I apologize. The trip to the States was grueling and I’m afraid it’s catching up with me. I’m suddenly not feeling very well.”

  Slowly rising to his own feet, he places the back of his hand over my forehead and his white collar is even more prominent when he does. “You don’t seem warm but jetlag can be difficult to manage. I’ll arrange another meeting with your private secretary to finish our discussion, and perhaps next time we can meet somewhere,” he glances around. “A little more…private.”

  Already starting to walk toward the large six-panel door that seems to be holding me captive, I glance over my shoulder to respond. Even though I am certain my father would have this man brought to the gallows for even thinking about the treacherous acts he wants to commit with me, I remain the polite princess I was raised to be. “Yes, well, I’ll certainly ask Rachel to contact you should I require any further information before making my decision.”

  The Prince’s hulking bodyguard is just outside the door, and poor Ava is doing her best to distract him, but he seems as uninterested in her as I am in his boss.

  “Is everything okay, Princess?” she asks as I breeze by her.

  Twisting around to speak to her, I bring the back of my hand to my forehead the way Prince Rainer had done moments ago. “I’m feeling a little ill and I’m afraid I’m going to have to end the evening prematurely.”

  “Oh, no, let me get William to show your guests out and I’ll come up and check on you.”

  “Thank you, Ava, I would appreciate that,” I tell her and rush away before Prince Rainer makes his exit.

  The curving grand staircase with its giant landing is within reach, but I skip it and head down to the Drawing Room, where I know I can find Rachel.

  With the door open, I stalk right in, slamming it behind me. “That was a complete disaster.”

  She’s at her desk reading something on her phone when she jumps to her feet and glances at her watch. “Princess, your interview isn’t scheduled to come to an end for another couple of hours. You’re supposed to have dinner and then drinks on the veranda.”

  Flopping on the velvet fuchsia settee near the window, I kick my slides off and then let my knees hang off the end. “I ended it early. How could you not warn me that his profession is philosophy of religion?”

  Removing her reading glasses, her eyes widen in surprise. “I’m sorry, Princess, but did I misunderstand you? I thought you wanted to be left in the dark because you said it was the best way for you to approach these interviews.”

  I get up on my elbows and sigh. “No, you didn’t misunderstand me. And in truth, I could get past the collar, it’s his other fetishes I would never be okay with.”

  “Oh.”

  “Right!”

  “Well, I have to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Prince Maximus has been spotted with a woman.”

  “Well, we are both unattached now, and he’s free to do as he pleases.”

  “That’s not all.

  “What then?”

  “She was topless, and the press think the woman is you.”

  I bolt upright. “What? Oh my God! You must call him and tell him to set the record straight immediately. My uncle will have me thrown out of the monarchy for such treachery.”

  “Yes, I’ve already informed him of the news and asked if he could make a public appearance with her, where her face is shown instead of her breasts.”

  Falling back on my elbows, I sigh.

  Just then the door swings open and for a moment I think Prince Rainer has come to make his claim on me. I wonder just how fast and far I can run in my bare feet, but thank goodness it’s Ava standing there instead. “They’re gone,” she announces, wheeling in a tray full of food.

  “What on earth are you doing, Ava?” Rachel asks, pointing to the cart.

  “I ran into William about to serve dinner in the dining room and hijacked this when he turned away.”

  “Great, I’m famished,” I say, sitting all the way up again.

  Ava gives her sister a look and then lifts one of the silver domes. “Green beans.” She snuffs her nose and drops the lid back onto the white gold-rimmed bowl.

  William comes running in before she can move onto the next dish. “Oh, Miss Ava, please allow me. Do you wish to dine in here tonight?”

  “Yes, William, I think we do.”

  “Should I set up out on the veranda?”

  “Yes, please.”

  William nods but first mixes us each a gin and Dubonnet cocktail. The drink is the King of Casanova’s favorite and served to every guest both before lunch and before dinner.

  Watching with keen eyes, Ava licks her lips when William measures the two-parts Dubonnet to the one-part gin and shakes and stirs before adding two cubes of ice and a lemon slice.

  After handing us each a full glass, he leaves the bottle of sweet fortified wine apéritif along with the gin on the coffee table and wheels the cart out the double doors and onto the veranda.

  When William returns, he bows. “Anything else, Your Royal Highness?”

  Getting to my feet, my stomach rumbles when the scent of lamb and roasted potatoes hits my senses. “I think that will do, William. Thank you.”

  He nods and pushes the empty cart out of the room. Without a word to the girls, I head out onto the veranda and sit on a high-backed yellow chair at the table.

  Once we’re alone, and only after we’ve eaten a good deal, do I dare tell the girls about my experience with Prince Rainer.

  We’ve moved back to the Drawing Room and are all lobbing on the sofa when I tell them the final part, the part about him wanting to humiliate me.

  “What a jerk,” Ava says. “I can’t believe he thought that was acceptable. Especially when he knows you’re a Princess! I mean, I get it if h
e was talking to me and had those inclinations but asking a royal to be a submissive? No. Just no.”

  “Do you think that was what he wanted?” I ask.

  “Yes, absolutely,” Rachel interjects.

  The cloak of humiliation has long passed and what is left is sheer animosity. I will not be offering him the position. “Who knows what he was thinking,” I say wearily. “But I wasn’t going to hang around and listen to anymore.”

  “And you shouldn’t have to!” Ava exclaims, pulling her phone from the table in front of us and scrolling through it. “Especially after you already found Mr. Dashing yesterday.”

  Adrien. I might sigh out loud just thinking about him. I shake it off. He was a one-night stand. I must remember that. Saddened, I yawn and get to my feet. “I’m going to go to bed. I really am exhausted.” The jetlag I feigned earlier must really be catching up with me.

  “Can I ask you something?” It’s Ava speaking and she’s glancing up from her screen.

  “Sure,” I respond, gathering up my shoes.

  Her eyes gleam with light that I should know by now means it’s something she shouldn’t be asking. “So, was the guy you had sex with last night that good in bed?”

  “Ava!” Rachel scolds. “I already told you she doesn’t want to talk about him.”

  “Well excuse me, but she has that far-off look in her eyes that tells me she can’t forget him, and I want to hear all about it.”

  I sigh and remember the taste of his skin on my lips. “If you must know, he was the best sex of my life,” I tell them both in a mournful voice.

  Now Ava sighs, all dreamy-like. “I can’t wait to experience that.”

  “It’s a double-edged sword,” I tell her, “Now, I can’t forget him and I don’t even know his last name.”

  Rachel clears her throat, breaking out of her own daze. “Remember, Princess, the definition of one-night stand is one night.”

  “Yes, I recall,” I say and then start for my room. “Besides, I must marry a royal, so it doesn’t really matter. Good night.”

  “Oh, Princess, one more thing,” Rachel calls.

  Hating the tone in her voice, I turn back to face her anyway. “Yes.”

  “We have a whirlwind next few days. Tomorrow I have three more candidates lined up. One for breakfast, one for lunch, and one for dinner.”