Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals)

by Christi Barth

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more Amara titles… Royal Bastard

  Heired Lines

  The Royal Bodyguard

  Some Like it Plaid

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Christi Barth. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Heather Howland

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover photography by Kad Anti, Levskaia Kseniia, and AUR art/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-68281-553-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  To my very own, better than any fairy-tale Prince Charming. I don’t need tiaras or maids or ball gowns or palaces (although they’d be nice)—I just need you.

  Forever.

  Chapter One

  Mallory Wishner crossed her fingers as she sidestepped a suit of armor and turned the corner. It was the third time today she’d gotten lost in Alcarsa Palace. At least it’d been down three different hallways, so the same footmen weren’t snidely rolling their eyes at her.

  Not that they would—openly. All the staff were unfailingly polite to her, as the sister of the princess who’d been missing for twenty-four years. They nodded, curtsied, and bowed to her as if she had an actual royal rank.

  She didn’t.

  Mallory was 100 percent All-American stock. She’d voted in every election, marched in her tiny Michigan hometown’s Memorial Day parade every year, and rolled her eyes at the rest of the world calling soccer “football.”

  But once they’d discovered, six months ago, that her sister Kelsey was actually 1) not in any way related to her and 2) the long-lost princess of Moncriano, everything had changed.

  They’d had to leave their fourth-floor Manhattan walk-up after only living in it for three exciting days. They’d flown to Europe on a private jet and been installed in this 715-room palace. Prince Christian, the heir to the throne, had kindly made Mallory a lady-in-waiting so she could be included in almost everything Kelsey did.

  And then, at the ceremony on the steps of Parliament officially welcoming Kelsey back as a full member of the House of Villani, an assassination attempt gone wrong had ended with a bullet in Mallory.

  After months of recuperation under her parents’ watchful eyes in Michigan, she’d come back to Moncriano. The shooting had meant she couldn’t start her new Manhattan job. Couldn’t afford a Manhattan apartment without Kelsey to split the rent with her. All her plans went poof the moment that bullet entered her body.

  Including her plans for an eventual family…

  But who was she to complain about a job that mostly sounded made up but consisted of hanging out with her sister? And living in an honest-to-goodness palace?

  A palace that she’d officially moved into two weeks ago, but still hadn’t learned her way around. A palace full of staff who mostly spoke English. But Mallory constantly worried about what they were saying about her in their own language. Were they royalists, thrilled to have their missing princess back—along with her hanger-on pseudo-sister? Or were they nationalists like the man who’d shot her, pissed as hell that an American would dare taint the seven-hundred-year reign of the House of Villani?

  So yes, maybe the footmen were mocking her. But that was waaay down on her list of things to worry about.

  With a rush of relief, she recognized the portrait of eighteenth century Queen Nicola on the wall. This was the right wing, with her room and Kelsey’s. The footman in his purple vest nodded at her before knocking on Kelsey’s door.

  Geez, even that was different. She’d spent her whole life first sharing a room with Kelsey and then just barging in whenever she felt like it. Not here. Alcarsa Palace might as well have been surrounded with a ten-foot-deep moat of protocol.

  It was Mallory’s job to stay on top of it all because Kelsey sucked at 1) respecting and 2) following protocol. From day one, she’d resisted her princess-hood. Pushed back hard against all the protocol she knew, and pretended to ignore what she didn’t. Mallory was the one who’d dived into it, determined to not let her sister embarrass herself.

  That meant pushing down her annoyance every single time she came to a door, waiting for the footman to knock, waiting for him to announce her presence to those within, and waiting for the royal okay to enter.

  Footmen. Why were they all men, anyway? There weren’t any gender-specific requirements to the job.

  She did not wait for him to open the tall, gilded door more than a crack before pushing inside. “I’m here.” Mallory waved a green velvet box in the air. “With the aquamarine-and-pearl earrings from the Royal Jewel Vault. There really ought to be a pneumatic tube system to get stuff from down there up to your room. It is a hike.”

  “Some people have treadmill desks in their office to get exercise while working. Instead, you get to wander around a palace filled with priceless antiques and artwork.” Kelsey looked up from where she sat in the middle of her canopied bed and raised one blond eyebrow. “I think you’ll live.”

  “Um, you’re the one who complained about having to wear these gorgeous earrings tonight.” Earrings that were more than a century old. Earrings previously worn by princesses and queens. Kelsey might not care about what she derisively called “princess perks,” but Mallory loved jewelry. Jewelry with a history? Just touching them gave her a thrill and a chill. “I think that gives me license to bitch about retrieving them.”

  With a glance at the gilt-and-porcelain clock on the mantel, Kelsey’s snide demeanor changed to one of sympathy. “Oh. You got lost again, didn’t you? That’s the real reason you’re complaining.”

  “I think my brain was still dazzled by everything I saw in the vault. I got turned around when I came out and ended up on the wrong floo
r by, ah, the green sitting room?”

  “That’s it. I’m getting Elias to get you a map. The Royal Protection Service must have schematics of this place they use.” Kelsey’s boyfriend used to be her bodyguard. Before love became one heck of a conflict of interest in his career. He still worked for the RPS, just training new recruits.

  After carefully setting the jewelry box on the corner of the bed, Mallory grabbed a pillow and thwapped Kelsey’s shoulder. Repeatedly. “They have maps? Why didn’t you give me one when I got here?”

  “Honestly, I didn’t think of it. I’ve always got someone escorting me. I’m sorry.” She scrambled off the bed to give Mallory a tight hug. “I forgot that you only get bodyguard protection when you leave the palace.”

  Yup. Because regular ladies-in-waiting didn’t get security. To the rest of them on the palace payroll to Princess Genevieve, Grand Duchess Mathilde, and Duchess Agathe, LIW was just a job.

  But for the non-blood-related sister of the princess who’d taken a bullet for the royal family, things were different. The guilt the House of Villani carried for her attack meant full protection when off palace grounds. Which wasn’t as awesome as it sounded. Not all the bodyguards were as scrumptiliciously hot as Elias.

  Putting the pillow back on top of the other seven with their pale lavender satin embroidered with golden peacocks, Mallory said, “Have him produce a map by morning and I’ll forgive you.”

  “Done.” Kelsey popped open the case and put on the earrings. “Do they look weird?”

  “They are stunningly beautiful.”

  “Exactly.” She hurried into the closet/dressing area, which was bigger than their entire Manhattan living room, to look in a mirror. “Do they look weird? Because I’m not in a fancy gown or anything?”

  Kelsey had come around to the idea that jewels and, yes, even tiaras were necessary in her new lifestyle. She had not, however, come around to the idea of wearing them every day.

  “Your stylist suggested this particular pair. I’m quite certain they’re appropriate.” Mallory watched her sister push her blond hair behind her ears. Then pull it forward to cover them. Then flick the delicate golden drops. “If you stop fiddling and fussing with them.”

  “The kids will think they’re weird.” Kelsey was on her way to a fundraiser for Moncriano Youth Services. Her job was to hang out with the kids and help them decorate sneakers. As a former graphic designer, Kelsey could whip their sketches into real designs on the computer by the end of the night. The gala guests would then bid on them for exorbitant amounts.

  Seriously, it seemed like more than half of Mallory’s job was coaxing Kelsey into doing all the things she didn’t want to do.

  Which was, hey, no different than her role as older sister and decades of prodding and pushing Kelsey into doing her chores. Or finishing her homework. Or writing college application essays instead of just creating logos and branding for her portfolio.

  With 200 percent more patience than she actually felt, Mallory calmly said, “You have to mix and mingle with the glitterati first. They’ll appreciate your earrings. Remember, you have cachet now. There are people who are attending just to say they rubbed shoulders with a princess. And they’ll spend more money in an attempt to impress you. If you look the part.”

  The mirror perfectly reflected the snarky side-eye Kelsey rolled at her. As well as reflecting the famous Villani violet eyes…that looked nothing like her own green eyes.

  Not to mention that standing next to her sister drove home that Mallory’s auburn hair and rounder cheeks bore zero shared resemblance. Really, it was a miracle their parents had kept the secret of the two sisters not actually being blood-related for so long.

  Kelsey elbowed her. “That sounds a lot like the speech you gave me two hours ago.”

  “Why should I reinvent the wheel? Sometimes efficiency is more important than innovation.”

  “Stop with the corporate speech. I’m going, I’m going.”

  Mallory did a quick zip around the room, picking up a wrap, a clutch, the iPad, and the phone. “Here you go. Remember, I’m only a text or a call away if you need me. Or, more importantly, if someone is wearing a really hideous outfit and you need me to snark about it on your behalf.”

  “I wish you could come with me.” Kelsey froze, mere steps from the door. She gave each of these official appearances the same combination of disdain and fear that used to mark the first day of a new school year. The fact that people looked up to her, wanted to just be in the room with her, still didn’t sit right at all. And that snowballed into the fear that they’d be let down once they did meet her. Disappointed in what was, until May, an average American woman.

  Gah. She wanted to be there to back up Kelsey. They’d always been an inseparable team. But Mallory forced lightness into her voice and a reassuring smile onto her lips. “This isn’t a huge event. No entourage needed, I promise, or you bet I’d be exactly one and a half steps behind and a little to your left.”

  “But what will you do tonight?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it?

  Another night holed up in her suite watching Netflix? She’d done enough of that recovering after her injury. If she went down to the family dining room, she’d be alone with Kelsey’s real family. Her aunt was nice, but her grandmother was downright scary. And even though it was just family, meals with them felt formal and forced.

  Life in a palace was definitely not the fairy-tale existence she’d always pictured.

  “If I told you, you’d be jealous. You might try and weasel your way out of going to have the awesomeness of hanging with me. So get out of here. Princess Kelsey won’t ever be late on my watch.” With a hug, she shooed her sister down the hallway.

  It was only a few steps farther—relatively— into her own suite of rooms. As soon as Mallory shut the door behind her, the quiet hit like a wall. The pale blue-tasseled canopy that matched the floor-to-ceiling drapes muffled all sound. It couldn’t be more different than the squawks and honks and yells that had punctuated their brief time in Manhattan.

  She might as well be in a damask, tasseled coffin.

  At least her hospital bed had the beeps of the IV and the pulse-ox monitor. Sheesh.

  This couldn’t be the sum total of her nights alone for the next six months. That was how long she’d promised Kelsey to stay and give living in this country a go. If she would’ve been brave enough to take on Manhattan? She could darn well take on the capital city of a European country the size of Maine.

  Mallory grabbed her cell phone off its charger and dialed the communications center for the Royal Protection Service. “Klaus, let’s blow this pop stand.”

  “I don’t understand, Miss Wishner. You want to blow something up? Unless it’s a balloon, we frown on that sort of thing.”

  Moncriano took in most of its income from tourism, so the citizens were amazingly fluent in English. Except for idioms. And pop-culture references. Which Mallory never remembered until she’d said something that sounded ridiculous when translated literally.

  “Ah, no. But I do want to leave the palace.”

  …

  Prince Christian Leopold Michael Victor prowled the circumference of his office like it were a kennel.

  There was an American movie—History of the World: Part I—Kelsey had made him watch. Mel Brooks as King Louis of France buried his face in the boobs of every woman at court. Then he’d look up and say, “It’s good to be the king.” Sure, King Louis lost his head to the guillotine, but before that, he’d had a good run.

  It was, however, not good to be the prince acting as king. Not now. Not here.

  In fact, it sucked giant monkey balls.

  “Does France still use their guillotines?” he mused. “I mean, scientifically? It does seem faster and more humane than hanging.” Moncriano had banned capital punishment over a century ago, so
he wasn’t exactly up to speed on the subject.

  “Your Highness? Do you mean that you want to borrow a guillotine from France? To display, perhaps?”

  Christian squeezed his eyes shut. Crap. The three people in the room hadn’t magically disappeared. Worse, they hung on his every damn word. When he’d just been a prince, they’d only hung on maybe every fourth word. But ever since he’d started covering for his absentee father?

  Well, he could evidently toss out a random guillotine reference and get an offer to have it appear.

  He dug his fingers into the base of his skull. Even though it was pointless. Right now, a jackhammer could go to town on his neck muscles and the headache still wouldn’t go away. Protocol-overload headaches tended to stick around.

  “No, ah, Sir Lionel.” Probably. Could be Sir Lorenzo. All of his father’s courtiers and advisors sort of blended together into a giant bowing and scraping Transformer. With another tip of the hat to Kelsey for turning him onto that action schlock-fest. “Thanks for being on the ball, but a rusty guillotine would probably set the wrong tone for the state dinner.”

  Crap squared.

  That was what they were discussing still, wasn’t it?

  Because before the state dinner meeting, there’d been one about the Harvest Festival. Another just around security for the state dinner. A meeting with envoys from three African tribes that wanted to hold their mediation in his neutral country. Two different foundations. Daily security briefing. Three speeches to review. And a draft itinerary for a trip to Australia that wouldn’t happen until spring.

  Christian wanted to pay attention. To give every meeting and suggestion due consideration. But he’d hit overload, oh, about seven weeks ago. Which had been one week into starting to take on his father’s duties.

  Because his father had gone AWOL.

  Not physically. He stayed in his suite here in the palace. Wouldn’t come out. Wouldn’t talk to even his children. Wouldn’t show up for a single official duty. All because—according to the court physician’s best guess—he was stuck in a sort of PTSD from having his missing daughter reappear after twenty-four years, and then almost losing her again to an assassination attempt only a few weeks later.