by Casey, Ember
“Well,” I say, glancing at Sophia. “You ready for this?”
She nods and smiles, but I can tell she’s nervous. I look at Nicholas next, and he’s frowning at the crowd outside the windows.
“I hope you’re prepared, Nicky,” I say. “Things are about to get crazy.”
He scowls at me.
When the driver opens the door, the shouting intensifies. The paparazzi crowd forward, trying to get the best shot. Some of them start yelling questions—mostly asking about the sex tape.
I move toward the door, but Nicholas blocks my way with his arm.
“I’ll go first,” he says.
I lean back. “Suit yourself.”
He climbs out of the limousine, and for a few seconds, I’m left alone with Sophia. This might be the only time we have alone all evening.
I take her hand in mine and squeeze it.
“We’ve got this,” I assure her quietly. “If we don’t want them to talk about the video, we’ll just have to give them something else to talk about.”
She nods, visibly steeling herself. “I’m ready.”
In response, I pull her fully into my arms and kiss her.
At the edge of my awareness, I hear the excitement coursing through the crowd of reporters, hear the clicking of cameras multiply. But my attention is quickly consumed by the feeling of Sophia’s lips against mine, by the heat that rushes through my body at her touch. Part of me wants nothing more than to pull the limousine door shut, order the driver to take us somewhere private, and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist for a little while.
But then I remember Sophia’s face when she saw the news footage about the sex tape. We can’t run away from this. We have to face it head on, or it will only get worse.
I break away, and though my mouth begs for hers, we have a show to put on for our audience. Besides—when I glance at the door, I find Nicholas frowning impatiently at us.
I step out of the limousine, and then help Sophia out after me.
“Just stay behind me,” I murmur softly to her. Already the reporters are pressing in, shoving microphones in our faces, the bright bulbs in their fancy cameras flashing in our eyes. I lace my fingers through Sophia’s and pull her after me through the throng.
“No questions,” I announce to the paparazzi. “We’re just trying to have a nice dinner.”
That doesn’t keep them from shouting questions at us, but at least now they know we have no intention of answering them. Somehow, we make it to the restaurant door. Nicholas looks slightly flustered.
“It’s ridiculous what the press can get away with in this country,” he says.
“It’s like that in other countries, too,” Sophia says. “I remember Leo once had reporters break into a resort where he was staying, trying to get a picture of him with whatever supermodel he was dating at the time. You’ve just lucked out because all your siblings cause bigger scandals than you do.”
“I try not to cause any scandals,” he says, shooting another glance at the crowd of reporters outside. “For good reason.”
The maître d’ rushes forward.
“Your Highnesses, Mr. Donovan,” he says. “Your table is right this way. Right next to the window, as requested.”
Ol’ Nicky doesn’t look too excited about that, but he seems to know what he’s in for at this point—what the point of staging a romantic dinner if the paparazzi can’t see us?
“Remember,” I tell him quietly as we follow the maître d’, “Sophia and I need to behave like we’re madly in love. Don’t blow our cover by shouting at us to stop touching.”
“And you would do well not to push your luck with me,” he replies. “I know what must be done, but if you cross any lines—”
“Go ahead, murder me in front of all those cameras,” I say with a grin. “You’ll get your very own scandal for killing a rock star.”
“Can you two try to get along? At least for the next two hours?” Sophia says sweetly. “Seriously, this is a nice restaurant. It would be wonderful if the pair of you weren’t behaving like children.”
“I’m not behaving like a child,” I insist.
We reach our table, and I nearly trip over my own feet trying to get to Sophia’s chair before the maître d’ does.
“Your Highness,” I say with all the charm I can muster. I reach out and take her hand, bringing her fingers to my lips. I don’t have to look toward the window to know that the paparazzi are eating this right up. My lips brush against her knuckles. I remember kissing her hand like this the very first time we met, only a few days ago.
Then I guide her to her seat, pushing the chair in behind her as she sits down.
“Thank you,” she says softly, and I’d like to think at least part of her response is genuine.
I move to take the seat beside her, but Nicholas is already there. Instead, I end up in the chair across from her. Not nearly as close as I’d like to be, but probably better for a photo op.
“May I have them bring you something to drink?” the maître d’ asks.
Before I can even open my mouth, Nicholas is speaking.
“We’ll take a bottle of your finest merlot,” he says.
I try not to make a face as the maître d’ hurries away to fulfill the request. I’m acutely aware that there’s an entire crowd of people outside watching my every expression.
“I’m not particularly a fan of merlot,” I say, trying to maintain my smile. I tend to prefer hard liquor. Or cold beer.
“Frankly, neither am I,” Nicholas says. “But you’re the one who keeps reminding us that we have to put on a show. They expect us to order a nice bottle of wine, so we will.”
I’m not sure this guy understands how all this works—the paparazzi couldn’t care less about what we’re drinking. They’re here for some juicy drama. But arguing with Nicky will accomplish the opposite of what we want, so I let it go.
And this is why I don’t date, I think to myself. How do people deal with this bullshit on a regular basis?
I lift my gaze, my eyes falling on Sophia. She’s looking down at her menu, chewing on her bottom lip as she contemplates the food options. And it hits me.
That’s why people do it, I think. For a view like that. To be able to gaze across the table at a beautiful woman. I don’t know how, but being here with her, putting up with all of this—the paparazzi, the grumpy brother, all of it—makes it seem worth it, for once.
She must feel me staring, because she glances up at me. I smile, and she smiles back, and for a moment I feel warm from the inside out.
Definitely worth it, I tell myself. At least for now. Nicholas clears his throat beside us, and I wonder how he can consider this inappropriate—we aren’t even touching!
It’s going to be a long meal, that’s for sure. But yes—definitely worth it.
Sophia
Something about the way Pax stares at me makes my heart skip a few beats.
This is all a show, I remind myself. A way for him to get the publicity he wants for his album. Of course, the show for me is to try to repair some of the damage done by that stupid sex tape.
And for some reason, the combination of thinking about what happened between us last night and the way he’s staring at me now makes my cheeks burn.
I lift my menu, not really reading it at all, to try to hide my embarrassment from both Pax and my brother. It’s hard to get a full breath in—now seems like a most inopportune time to be having a panic attack, particularly with the paparazzi still snapping photos of us through the window.
The waiter returns to the table, and I set down my menu as he pours our wine.
The man turns to me. “What would you like tonight?”
He’s barely even uttered the words when my brother cuts in. “We’ll both start with the scallops. My sister will have the Lobster Thermidor, while I’ll have a New York strip, rare.” Nicholas grabs my menu, sets it on top of his and hands both of them to the waiter without another word.
Pax glares at my brother. “I guess I’ll have the scallops and a New York strip, too.” He practically shoves his menu at the poor waiter, his gaze still narrowed at my brother. “And my date can choose whatever she likes—”
“She likes lobster,” Nicholas says, eyeing his glass of wine before he glances up at the waiter. “That will be all.”
“Very…well.” The poor waiter’s voice echoes the discomfort at our table. He gives me a helpless shake of his head before he turns and walks away.
Pax reaches across the table, pulling my hand into his. “Have I told you how lovely you look this evening?”
Nicholas clears his throat, but Pax doesn’t even blink.
My face burns even hotter. “Thank you.” My words barely come out as a whisper. I’m not usually like this—I don’t get embarrassed very easily at all.
“That dress is—”
“I believe I said no touching.” Nicholas stares straight ahead, not looking at either of us.
Pax responds by wrapping his other hand around mine. “I believe, if there’s no touching, not a fucking soul is going to buy that this is a date.”
“It isn’t a date,” my brother growls under his breath. “It’s a photo opportunity.” He shakes his head, finally turning to look at Pax. “And as soon as it’s over, my sister and I will be going to a hotel.”
“Maybe you should let your sister decide where she wants to sleep tonight.” Pax smiles at me. “I think she might have something else to say about it—”
“If you so much as insinuate that you’re going to do a single thing to my sister, I’ll have your balls on a platter before our appetizer is served.”
“Enough.” I’m not sure why I thought having Nicholas here was ever going to be a good idea. I suppose the thought of having my family nearby to support me was good in theory. But I don’t think my brother can be objective—at all. Perhaps if I do need someone from my family with me, Victoria would be a better choice. A more understanding one, at any rate.
My gaze slides between the two men, though I can’t help but focus on what Pax’s touch is doing to my body. “I don’t want to hear any more of it tonight. From either of you.”
Pax seems to think this is a victory for himself—he grins at my brother. “See, Nicky Ol’ Boy? She wants—”
“I said that was enough.” I’m careful to keep the smile on my face—I’m all too aware of the photographers just outside the window beside me. I’m certain they can’t hear us, but they’ll be able to read our expressions.
Pax’s smile falls, and he seems content to be holding my hand in front of my brother for a moment.
I let out a long breath. “So, Pax.” I put on a plastic smile, glancing out the window before I turn my gaze to my date. “What do you like to do when you aren’t writing music?”
He blinks at me a few times, his smile falling. “What do I like to…do?”
My brother doesn’t even look at him as he speaks under his breath, loud enough only for our table to hear. “She means besides fucking women.”
Pax’s nostrils flare, and he squeezes my hand almost involuntarily. “I…do…other things.” He works his jaw, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine. “I like to hike. What do you like to…do, Sophia?” He glares at my brother as he asks the question.
“I—”
“She’s a fine flutist.” Nick’s gaze snaps to Pax. “Not that you would care about such things. She’s also quite a gifted chess player.”
“I don’t think that…” I shake my head, looking across the table at Pax. “I like to hike sometimes. In the spring, I love walking through the gardens at our palace. And we have some lovely hiking trails just outside town—”
“You haven’t been hiking in years. Not unless we’re counting hiking through the shopping districts in Paris or New York.”
I feel like my brother has driven a knife into my chest, and I feel a different sort of heat creep into my cheeks. “That’s a little low, Nick.”
He turns to me with a wry smile. “Right. Because on a date, you have to make the other person believe you have something in common, is that it?” His gaze turns from mine to Pax. “Believe me, you have nothing in common.”
“You play the flute?” Pax ignores my brother’s comment. “So you’re a musician, too.”
“I…I haven’t played for a few years.” And to be honest, I only played because my father insisted—something about princesses needing to have certain skills. I never did understand why I needed to learn to play music at all, and I never really enjoyed it. It was always more of a duty—the same way my brothers all had to learn to fence. “I also can play the piano.”
“Don’t let her fool you. She was very good at it.” Nick is still staring at Pax. “But she plays classical music. Not the pop garbage you play.”
Pax’s nostrils flare again, and he works his jaw for a moment. “I don’t play…pop music.”
Nicholas chuckles—it’s obvious he knows he’s struck a chord. “Right.”
“You should listen to it, Nick.” I look over at my brother. “The new album. It’s…amazing. Definitely not pop—”
“I’ll never debase myself by listening to any of that trash. Pop music is…pointless. Part of popular culture that’s here one day and gone the next. It’s the basis of the term pop, isn’t it Patrick?”
Pax visibly bristles at the use of his full name. “How did you—?”
“Know your name?” Nick smiles as he cocks his head. “You don’t think I came to this dinner without a full briefing, did you?”
“My family…” I give Pax a weak smile. “They can be very…thorough.”
Pax lifts my hand, staring at my fingers for a moment before he kisses my knuckles. “Thorough is good.”
Nick growls under his breath. “No kissing.”
“Oh?” Pax looks over at him with a smile, kissing the back of my hand again. “You don’t like that, Nicky Ol’ Boy?” He kisses my fingers one by one. “What about this?”
I see what he’s about to do before he does it, and I slide my hand from his before he can take one of my fingers into his mouth. “As delightful as this is, I think you both need to stop now.” I take a long drink from my wine glass. I don’t usually drink at all, but under the circumstances, a bit of alcohol might take the edge off of this most uncomfortable situation.
I give another smile to the photographers outside, trying to remind the men at my table why we’re here in the first place.
There’s an awkward silence at the table until the scallops finally arrive.
After we’ve all begun to eat, my brother is the first to speak. “This food is disgusting.”
“This place isn’t about the food. It’s about the exposure.” Pax washes his bite of the appetizer down with a swig from his wine glass. “Something you’d know if you’d been very thorough.”
Nick glares at Pax as he pushes his plate away. “I’m certain you could have picked a restaurant that has both atmosphere and fine food.”
“But not the windows that face the sidewalk.” Pax motions with his head to the paparazzi gathered outside. “Trust me, this kind of place isn’t my style, even if the food was good.”
Pax smiles at me for a long moment. “In fact…” He stands, walking around my brother to my chair. He’s grinning toward the window as he spins me around and lifts me up. “Let’s give them something to write about.”
Then he slides his arms around my waist, his hand sliding to my ass. He pulls me against him—hard—and his lips crash down on mine.
Pax
Mm, I forgot how good she tastes. Sweet and a little spicy. Heat rushes through my body, just like it does every time our lips meet, and my cock doesn’t seem to care that we’re in the middle of a restaurant. It immediately stands at attention.
But I don’t get to enjoy the kiss for very long. I hear the scrape of chair legs against the floor, and suddenly I’m being yanked back by my collar. Ol’ Nicky is on his feet,
gripping the neck of my shirt so tightly it hurts, and if looks could kill, I’m pretty sure I’d be chopped up into a million bloody pieces by now.
Then Sophia is there, a hand on either of our chests, trying to push us apart.
“Put him down, Nick,” she says. And then, more quietly, “You’re ruining everything.”
“Yeah, I think you’re missing the point of what we’re trying to do here,” I tell him, a little breathlessly.
Cursing under his breath, he releases me, but it’s too late—I’m sure the paparazzi outside already got more than enough shots of our little scene. Within an hour, those pictures will be all over the internet, and by morning, they’ll be popping up at newsstands at supermarkets. Mick will probably be happy about the extra publicity this’ll bring, but this isn’t what I wanted.
I look down at Sophia, knowing she’s probably realized the same thing by now. I start to give her some words of sympathy, but she cuts me off.
“This is as much your fault as it is his,” she says. “You were egging him on.”
“I was just trying to put on a show for the cameras.”
“You both have spent the whole night being pig-headed idiots,” she says. “And I’m stuck in the middle of it.” She glances out the window at the paparazzi, and then turns her back on them.
“I think this dinner is over,” she says. “We’ve given them more than enough ammunition already. I think we should call our car back.”
“On it,” I say, pulling out my phone. As much I hate to cut our dinner short, Sophia is right—there’s no way we’re going to make this better by staying, especially considering the way her brother is still glaring at me.
The maître d’ is standing just beyond him, looking uncomfortable and unsure of himself. When I catch his eye, he steps forward.
“Your Highnesses,” he says. “Mr. Donovan… Might I be of some assistance?”
“We’re leaving,” Nicholas says. “We’ll take the check.”
