Washed Up Royal

by Karr, Kim

  Love. It’s nothing we’ve discussed, especially since in the royal circles it isn’t necessarily part of the equation.

  Royals don’t love—they do.

  When he stands up and uses that seersucker to wipe his mouth, all I can do is smile and wonder who’s really grooming who here.

  POOR THING

  The Alexandria Gossiper

  Breaking Royal Watch News

  Also found on royalgirl.net

  THE PRINCESS IS NOWHERE IN SIGHT

  By Ophelia Heart

  Hey Royal Lovers!

  O here! And I’m sad to say my watch has been very uneventful. Princess Victoria Caroline Blanchette has vanished into thin air. And after nearly four weeks, there’s still no word on where she’s gone.

  “Victoria was naughty as a child. She would often defy me with a sidelong look, so this is no surprise.” Sir Isaac Brantley reassures us, “She’s gone to sulk about her situation and once she’s done licking her wounds, she’ll be back.”

  While noting that this behavior only started at age seven, after the death of her mother, Her Royal Highness’s uncle goes on to tell us that even the King himself could not always control her. “By her tweens” he tells us, “Victoria excelled at being witty and sharp. She would dawdle while dressing and seemed pleased to know she kept us waiting. And it appears it is a habit she’s never lost.”

  So the Princess was a rule breaker. Who knew?

  “King Stephen Edward Blanchette did his best to control her,” he continues. “Always telling her Princesses don’t do this and Princesses don’t do that. Sadly, I don’t think any of those lessons ever sunk in.”

  And there you have it…Princess Victoria is having a sulk over having to follow the rules. Or perhaps having an uncle with such unkind things to say has sent her fleeing?

  Poor thing.

  ANCHORS AWEIGH

  Sailing toward the marina’s sapphire-blue water at a leisurely three-knot clip, I glance over at Tori beside me.

  The breeze ruffles her hair and her body is tan from days in the sun. Over the sound of the water and the flapping sail, I say, “Let’s cancel tonight.”

  She leans back to glance up at the canvas as it cracks against the wind. “We can’t, and you know it.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I do.”

  Throwing her head back in laughter, her cheeks are rosy with champagne and revelry. The diamond charm I gave her around her neck sparkles, and for a second her bikini top reveals a hint of soft cleavage not typically there.

  I lick my lips, still finding it hard to believe that this girl is the Princess of Alexandria and that when I marry her, I’ll be the King of Alexandria and she the Queen.

  The weeks have passed by in the blink of an eye. Tori and I are spending more and more time alone on The Navigator.

  Reading (not the news). Fucking.

  Talking (not about the news). Fucking.

  Playing cards. And yes, fucking.

  We don’t sleep here. It isn’t safe for her, and wherever we are, Dante is always within sight. Today he’s on the stern looking out over the horizon.

  After successfully teaching me how to properly comport myself in public, as if I were a rogue and not a Prince before this, I think my lessons are finally complete.

  I had to draw the line at tight riding pants, but I breezed through the how to kiss babies part, at least.

  Tonight Tori is hosting a small party at the Montgomery’s with those who know who she is as the guests. The guestlist includes the men she has interviewed and those she didn’t get to, and their plus ones.

  She says it isn’t a test, but I know it is.

  Not that I care.

  Hell, I now have excellent posture, in case I hadn’t before. My back is straight, my shoulders slightly back, and my head tilted up at all times when I’m in public.

  I also make eye contact while speaking and avoid crossing my arms. No matter the bloke, I understand I’m to initiate a conversation or a handshake before they get the chance.

  Fuck.

  Right?

  And let’s not forget that I’ve mastered the royal wave. The key is not being too ferocious. As if I would.

  I motion for her to take the wheel. “Tell me Spencer Lexington declined.”

  Taking the helm, as if it is the most natural thing, her head shakes and that gorgeous dark hair is all I can see. “He’s coming and so is your cousin and his sister.”

  “Oh fuck, Truman hates him even more than me, and he isn’t obligated to keep his cool.”

  After I bring down the mainsail, I turn both engines on. “I got this,” I tell her, but she doesn’t let go of the wheel.

  Standing in front of me in her short shorts and bikini top, she leans back against my swim trunks and that current of electricity I always feel around her jolts through me. “Why do you dislike Spencer so much, anyway?” she asks.

  My palms graze the surface of her arms from the caps of her shoulders down to her steady hands on the wheel. “He was on my team representing the Vespa Isles in the Rolex Cup along with Truman, and let’s just say, things went a little sideways.”

  She laces our fingers together. “What do you mean, sideways?”

  Leaning down, I plant a soft kiss at the side of her neck, right over her pulse point that I can see is thrumming madly. “He went after Truman’s girl, but in Spencer’s defense, she didn’t know she was Truman’s girl.”

  Her giggle is infectious. “So you had a row over something ridiculous and you’re all still angry about it?”

  I release a content breath and hook my chin over her shoulder to stare out at the water one last time as we pull into the harbor. “That pretty much sums it up.”

  “Such a boy thing,” she laughs, kissing my cheek.

  With my gut in a knot, I tell her what I’ve avoided all day. “Truman told me someone tweeted a picture of my boat yesterday and we’re both in it.”

  “Oh no,” she says.

  “They didn’t mention you by name.”

  Pulling in a breath, she gives me the wheel, going for her phone tucked in the console. After she taps the screen, she reads aloud.

  TWITTER

  @Adrien Laurent I think you’re beautiful and want to marry you. Can I live on your boat with you and your new girlfriend? She’s hot but not as hot as me.

  Meet me for drinks @Adrien Laurent at the yacht club. I want to offer you a spot on my racing team. And bring your new hot piece of ass. Do you share?

  New chick @Adrien Laurent? Share the news, we’re dying to know.

  Have you recovered from nearly drowning @Adrien Laurent? Hope the new chick you’re yachting with knows how to give CPR. By the way, she’s hot.

  Not wanting to hear anymore, I cut her off by shouting, “Dante, grab the lines.”

  “You know,” she smarts, “he’s not part of your crew.”

  I pat her on the ass. “He likes helping, and besides, I get to stay close to you this way.”

  She shakes her head. “Did you see someone called you beautiful?”

  Clouds start to form overhead warning of an incoming storm. “I did. And did you see, they called you hot.”

  Her cheeks flame and not from the weather. “Princesses should never be called hot.”

  I pluck her phone and shove it in my pocket. “Well you are, so get over it. And you really need to delete that app from your phone.”

  “You told me to have Rachel make me an account?”

  “Yes, for the public only. Not for you to read all the trash.”

  She laughs. “You really are too much.”

  “Hey!”

  “Hello!”

  Voices from the dock have me turning around, and sure enough, Tori’s crew is waiting for us. Probably to retrieve us and keep us on schedule.

  Tori gets all excited when she sees them and jumps up on the helm seat to wave both of her arms.

  After steering us close enough, I kill the engines and Dante jumps off to tie us up.r />
  Scanning the area, I spot a black SUV with tinted windows. Motherfucker. A paparazzo?

  I hope not.

  Just in case, I should move this along. Grabbing Tori by the thighs, I hoist her over my shoulder. She kicks and screams but can’t stop laughing as I step onto the dock. “You shouldn’t stand on the captain’s chair,” I chide.

  Once she’s on her bare feet, she goes to her toes and takes my baseball hat off putting it on her own head. “And why not?”

  Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “Because it’s comparable to standing on the throne.”

  “Oh.” Her face is one of complete horror and I laugh.

  “Kidding, Sweet Thing. Kidding.”

  “Are you ready for tonight?” Ava asks, stepping in between us.

  She’s the most down to earth and crazy at the same time girl I’ve ever met. She’s also a dead ringer for Tori, so having her around as a decoy when the world discovers she’s here and the shit hits the fan seems beneficial.

  I glance back at the black SUV.

  And the shit is going to hit the fan…

  Sooner rather than later.

  COUPS

  The Alexandria Gossiper

  Royal Watch Breaking News

  Also found on royalgirl.com

  Could it be a Takeover?

  By Ophelia Heart

  People of Alexandria, hear this!

  O here, and I have some troubling news…

  King Rutherford of Eastwood has been spotted meeting with Sir Isaac Brantley numerous times over the past few days. Rumors are swirling that perhaps he is going to make a move to take over as Alexandria’s Head of State and join the two adjacent countries.

  The Eastwood Palace absolutely denies this and Sir Isaac Brantley calls it rubbage. He insists that with the Princess out of touch, he has no authority to make any such moves. But what other possible reason could there be for their continued talks?

  They couldn’t possibly be discussing a possible military coup, now could they?

  Dare I say—maybe?

  DID SOMEONE SAY PUNCH?

  The air is thick with tension, especially when I spot him heading up the stairs.

  His tall, wide shouldered frame practically spans the width the staircase or maybe that’s just because to me Adrien is so much larger than life.

  There’s just something about him that draws my eye every time I see him—his height, his heavy lustful gaze, or perhaps his infectious smile when he sees me.

  I tilt my head in question, wondering where he’s going. His stare is hot on me, and he motions with his fingers to his ear that he has to take a call. A call I know to be from his mother because she has been phoning him for days and he has yet to respond.

  He’s wearing Armani, and it has to be the sexiest black tuxedo I have ever seen in my life. It fits his body like a glove and makes his rear-end look like two perfect melons. Delicious.

  All cocktail parties require formal attire, and this small one is no different. However, since neither Adrien or I had anything appropriate with us in the States, Ava made quick work of purchasing the clothing while remaining hush-hush.

  I’m in a form-fitting white halter-style jeweled gown with sea shells rimming the hem. It’s lovely and light and perfect for this time of year.

  If I had it with me, I’d add my flashing diamond tiara but since I do not, Ava kept my hairstyle simple, wild, and free.

  Besides, I’m her for the night, and tiaras aren’t typically worn at cocktail parties in the states.

  Still, I haven’t dressed up like this since my father took ill more than a year ago, and tonight I feel like the princess that I am, even without the coiffed hair.

  The party is in full swing. Pâté is being served. Champagne glasses are being refilled. Music is playing softly.

  Everyone thinks it’s just another party of the season at the Montgomery household. Those who know who I am, will keep it to themselves per their NDA’s and because they know how important it is to me to remain anonymous. The others are just here for fun. No questions are needed when fun is involved I’ve come to discover.

  How grand for me.

  The guests are in the ballroom and the character of this room is one of grandeur, a regal-like feeling that speaks volumes to ancestry. There’s also a certain lightheartedness about it. It’s as if you can almost feel the breeze of past dancers twirling by.

  Much to my delight, the Queen of Casanovia is not planning on remodeling this room. The ornate decoration of the superb ceiling with the Montgomery crest incorporates all the importance the family still carries today, and I think the King probably drew the line there.

  Heading to the kitchen for a quick cup of water after drinking a glass of champagne too quickly, I’m detained a bit by security asking approval to allow Prince Rainer to enter.

  He has decided to join us, although he was not invited. I allow him entrance to prevent a scene and because he is Prince Julius’s family.

  Avoiding him, I quickly make my way back to the ballroom, where Truman is standing near one of the eight busts sculpted during the gilded age itself. Turns out, he’s the life of the party. He has a story about everything. And I think Rachel has a crush on him, although she’d never admit it. Not that any woman wouldn’t be crushing on him. He’s very good looking but also very arrogant.

  Then again, what royal with the title Prince before their name isn’t?

  I walk over toward him to hear the tale he’s weaving. He’s in a black suit, black tie, and although his dark hair is already slicked back, he runs a hand a through it as he speaks. “Even after we capsized, we still raced the hydrofoil to victory in the world championship last year,” he’s telling Rachel and Ava, who are both very impressed.

  His sister, Elizabeth Taylor Laurent is equally charming and equally gorgeous. However, she is not one bit impressed.

  Looking nothing like the Laurent men, she gives her endless mane of ribbon-straight golden-blond hair an artful toss and shifts her killer body expertly. The strip of purple in her hair is a shade darker than her violet dress, which is also killer. “Oh, Truman, please stop boasting. You won because you took Adrien’s dingy, and it was well designed for speed above all else.”

  Truman raises his glass and points his finger. “That dingy is a well-bred pedigree yacht, my dear sister, made of super light, super strong material called Cuban Fiber, and yes that is most definitely why we were able to recover.”

  Prince Julius Monaco from Wimberly enters the ballroom after having a smoke out on the covered terrace and draws Elizabeth’s attention right away. “If you’ll excuse me,” she says.

  Truman takes her arm. “Stay away from him, my dear sister. He’s trouble.”

  “Oh, Truman, relax,” she scolds and waltzes past the wall of half mirrors to reach him.

  Julius and Rainer pass each other and both give each other the dirtiest of looks. Guess they aren’t on speaking terms and I didn’t have to allow him access after all.

  Spencer isn’t here. He had to cancel at the last minute. Turns out he got a call to fill in for someone who took ill at the Grand Prix Monaco.

  Across the room, Adrien has come back downstairs and is beside the window watching the rain hit the sea. Beneath the lights of the chandelier his dark hair gleams and his eyes look so blue, they’re electric.

  He has a day’s growth of stubble, but I’ve come to discover he always does. Just as I’ve come to accept that primal look completely suits him.

  Prince Rainer is in close proximity, and since I told Adrien all about that interview, I think I should probably diffuse any possible situation that could erupt by occupying Adrien’s attention.

  As I excuse myself from the group, Adrien spots me and smiles at me and I go breathless. His smile is so contagious and it comes so easily. He cocks a finger, beckoning me to his side. Like minds.

  Approaching him, my stomach twists up around my throat and those butterflies go with it.

  “I f
eel like I haven’t seen you all evening,” he tells me when I’m standing before him.

  After kissing me on the forehead, his hand slides over my back, coming to rest on the skin bared by my low-cut dress. The material hits just above my bum and is much more provocative than anything I’ve worn in past years. Ava had to talk me into wearing it. “That’s because I’m socializing and you’re over here staring out to sea,” I respond.

  “I’m thinking, actually.”

  “Oh really,” I run a hand over his very smart lapel. “About what?”

  “Sir,” William asks, “may I refill your whiskey?”

  Adrien hands it to him. “Please.”

  After William leaves us, Adrien refocuses on me.

  “Now, what were you thinking about?” I prompt.

  His eyes smolder when he looks at me. “About you and me ruling Alexandria as King and Queen.”

  “And what do you see in our future?”

  His smile is like dynamite. Explosive. Dirty. Packed with a bang. And I wonder what that filthy mouth of his is going to say. But instead of dirty talking, he turns serious and says, “How I hope we’re not too late to stop King Rutherford from destroying the harmony of the Vespa Isles with this gambling venture.”

  “I hope so as well. I wish I could move up the coronation ceremony to give us more power, but I’m afraid Parliament is very rigid about such details. I’ll see what I can do though.”

  He gives me an appreciative nod.

  “And,” I wink, “I like the way King and Queen of Alexandria sounds.”

  “Did you say King and Queen of Alexandria?”

  I turn to find Prince Rainer a few feet away from us and obviously with honed-in listening skills.

  “Be nice,” I murmur. “Remember royal protocol.”