Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals)

by Christi Barth

  “Doubtful.” The word popped out before she could stop herself. “I’ll take ‘most hated girlfriend’ for a thousand, please, Alex.”

  Christian and Elias gave her matching blank looks.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. There’s no Jeopardy here? A trivia-based game show?” Kelsey swiped a potato through the trough of cheese on the side of the plate and shook her head. “Good thing you introduced me to raclette, or I might cut and run back to America.”

  “They’re not throwing potatoes at you, so they’re obviously over the peacock thing. Therefore, this attention is good. I’m not hiding you, or how I feel about you, any longer. Now open up.” Christian waved a fork laden with cheese-drenched mushrooms in front of her lips. Her tongue nipped out to catch the grainy, delicious drip before closing around the bite.

  OMG.

  The way that cider tasted like autumn? So did this. Dark and funky and flavorful and fantastic. “This is my new obsession.”

  “I thought I was your new obsession,” Christian objected.

  “It’s your own fault. It was a massive strategic error in bringing me here, Your Highness,” Mallory deliberately teased to lighten the mood and draw it away from talk of the future. “You’ve been usurped in my affections. By cheese with all the fixings.”

  Everyone laughed. Christian raised his mug, waited until the rest were lifted in the air as well. “This is…great. The kind of night I never knew was missing from my life. Turns out it’s exactly what I needed. My favorite sister—for God’s sake, don’t tell Genny—my best friend, and my best girl. It feels right. Meant to be. Here’s to doing it many, many more times.”

  They clinked glasses and drank.

  “It’s funny,” Mallory mused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on a double date with Kelsey. This is a special occasion.”

  “Well, that’s why we’re doing it. To celebrate a special occasion.”

  Crap. Had she missed a traditional Moncriano holiday—and thus missed giving Kelsey the heads-up? “What? That it’s Thursday?”

  Christian beamed at her. “I heard that you had a successful doctor’s visit today. Your final follow-up from the shooting?”

  Wow.

  Talk about being blindsided. Mallory had deliberately not mentioned it to Christian. At all. Because of the whole living in the moment and enjoying him for as long as she could approach. There was no moment with him she wanted to waste wallowing in self-pity, for crying out loud.

  Sure, Kelsey knew about the appointment, thanks to her parents back in America being on high alert for it, but it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d blab about it.

  Good thing she’d only painted the visit in broad strokes to Kelsey. Because no, as expected, she hadn’t gotten a double thumbs-up from the doctor.

  Healed? Yes.

  Cleared to do any and every activity from vigorous sex (she’d abstained from mentioning that particular action had already been tested…repeatedly) to mountain climbing to ice skating.

  Apparently her doctor’s other patients had a much richer outdoor life than she did.

  The final and official news about her chances to ever bear children, however, had wiped the genial smile from the doctor’s face. There was, in fact, a lot of backpedaling and murmurs about how medicine isn’t an exact science and there are no guarantees (Really? Then maybe he shouldn’t guarantee her a healthy slide down a snowy mountain balanced on top of two thin plexiglass boards strapped to her feet!) and the miracle of life, was, just that. A miracle.

  And that it’d take a miracle for her to conceive and/or carry a child to term.

  Her personal team of doctors had said as much at every visit. She knew. She got it. Had actually spent the last few months coming to terms with the possibility.

  But today, she really knew.

  So the last thing she felt like doing was celebrating.

  It was the final nail in the coffin of what was burbling between her and Christian. As long as she’d been awaiting this final diagnosis, Mallory had allowed them to explore their feelings, their attraction, their love for each other.

  Because the fantasy was that it was at least possible his people would stop hating her. That he’d say to hell with tradition and choose her despite her lack of blue blood. And mostly, because she’d greedily wanted every possible second soaking up her prince.

  But there was nowhere in Fantasyland where he’d relinquish his expected role to produce an heir.

  As of today, she knew one of them was going to have to end it, far sooner than later. Mallory wasn’t at all sure she had the strength to be the one to do it.

  All she’d wanted out of tonight was a distraction from thinking about her trip to the doctor. Instead? She was stuck obfuscating, dancing around the truth, to the man she loved and the pseudo-sister she adored.

  “This visit today was just a formality. One last tick in the box to be sure I don’t sue anybody down the road for not giving me enough delightful internal ultrasounds. Your doctors are very thorough in their follow-up care. I would’ve been kicked to the curb months ago in America.”

  Kelsey dropped her head into her hands with a groan. “Please, don’t start in on the state of health care in America. One of the biggest joys of not living in Michigan anymore is not having to hear this same argument rehashed at the dinner table once a week.”

  That put a pang in Mallory’s heart. Kelsey had gotten so good, so…practiced at not referring to the Wishners by their names, or their previous titles of Mom and Dad. It was just another reminder of how everything had changed.

  Christian hooked his foot around the leg of Mallory’s chair and pulled her right over next to him. “I know you’ll never truly forget the trauma of the shooting. But I hope today means that you’ve turned a corner and can put it behind you for good.” He threw an arm around her shoulders and planted a long, lingering kiss on her lips.

  She’d be putting…a lot…behind her. Just not for good.

  No, it would be very, very, painfully bad when she had to put the wonderful prince in her rearview mirror.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Can we cancel this meeting on account of it being your birthday, Eli?” Christian asked, knotting his tie by feel, slouched in his desk chair. It was only nine in the morning, but Friday vibes had hit him hard. He had zero desire to work today.

  Elias plucked another apple muffin off the tray. They’d started sharing Friday breakfast to make up for not seeing each other all day, every day, now that Eli wasn’t his bodyguard.

  It wasn’t the same. But it helped.

  Christian needed these touchpoints with his friend. The palace was full of allies and sycophants, staff and guards. Elias was his reality check. The one who cut through the crap and didn’t give him a spare inch. Not to mention being able to have fun with him. Fun was a hard commodity to come by as an acting king, he’d recently learned.

  Snorting, Elias said, “Your meeting with the brand-new prime minister? I don’t think that would go over well. We’ve got the party all day tomorrow to play. Today we work. And tonight”—his friend’s smile turned wolfish—“well, you don’t want to know how Kelsey and I will celebrate tonight.”

  “Stop it. God. You persist in taunting me with the knowledge that you defile my little sister on a regular basis. It isn’t right.”

  “But it is fun.”

  “Good thing I know how much you love her, or I’d have to kick your ass,” Christian grumbled. But for all the shit he gave Elias, it was damned convenient to have his best friend in love with his sister. Their double date last night couldn’t have gone better.

  Life was looking up. He’d decided to not make a decision about what to do with his father until after the upcoming state dinner. That’d be the turning point, one way or the other. Which meant that the pressure of worrying about it was lifted from him for the next fe
w days. The weekend meant more time with Mallory, and Eli’s party was tomorrow.

  And there’d been omelets for breakfast. He might finally have a handle on this whole temporary king thing.

  Nothing could bring down his mood today.

  A footman knocked, then announced Prime Minister Franz Zupan. Christian stood to shake his hand after the beanpole of a man bowed.

  “Minister. Let me introduce you to Lord Elias Trebanti, Head of the Royal Protection Service training program.”

  That triggered another bow, for the new PM wasn’t a nobleman. It gave Christian a moment to share some side-eye with Eli about the minister’s freaking bow tie. Yellow and blue striped. Ugh. Who still wore those? He’d thought Zupan a strong, steady choice after the last PM almost engineered a coup. But boring and stuffy were now the words he’d use to describe the man.

  It probably boded well for Moncriano.

  Just not for their weekly meetings together.

  “Your Highness. My Lord.”

  Elias shook his hand. “Muffin? We’ve got extra. You should never pass up the chance to sample anything made by the palace’s pastry chef.”

  “No, thank you. I’d prefer to get on with the meeting.”

  Boring, but not about to waste Christian’s time. That was a point in his favor. “Fine. But I’ll warn you that if you’re here to discuss anything related to a possible abdication of King Julian, there will be no meeting. I’ve listened to everyone’s viewpoints. Multiple times.”

  “You haven’t heard mine yet,” Zupan said blandly.

  The man barely had a point.

  Christian stood to make his. “The members of the Privy Council were quite clear that you backed them. Frankly, if it is brought up again by you, or any member of Parliament, it’ll be interpreted as you assuming that I’m not smart enough to have absorbed the first twenty times you all harped on about the matter. I’m sure you don’t want to ask a dumb man to take over the throne…”

  Zupan’s oversize Adam’s apple bobbed above the stupid tie as he swallowed convulsively three times before answering. “Of course not, Your Highness.”

  “Good. So we’re done?”

  “Not in the least. I’m here on a separate matter entirely.”

  Thank God. Guess Zupan hadn’t deserved that rant after all. But it had felt damn good for Christian to get off of his chest.

  “I’m thrilled. Ready to collaborate.” Christian rubbed his hands together as he sat back down. “What issue are we tackling? Reallocating funds for that new navy ship? Those upcoming trade negotiations between Singapore and Australia?”

  “It is a…private matter.” Then Zupan slowly turned his head, like it was a chair caster swiveling, to look meaningfully at Elias.

  “Sir Elias is a trusted confidant to the House of Villani. You may speak freely in front of him.”

  “No, Your Highness, I’m afraid in this case I simply must insist on speaking only with you.”

  Elias raised his eyebrows nearly to the top of his super-short hairline. Then he quietly got up, gave Christian a perfunctory bow, and left without a word.

  Although Christian was sure he’d hear plenty of words about it later.

  “Well? What’s this confidential issue?”

  Zupan pulled a flash drive from his coat pocket and slid it across the desk.

  Christian hated drawn-out presentations. Which was not a good trait for a royal, he’d learned. Whatever drama Zupan wanted to wring from this moment, he wasn’t having it. “What’s on there?”

  “A list of the top fifteen potential brides, Your Highness. Full dossiers on each, compiled by our intelligence service. Top secret, of course. Eyes-only access.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake!

  “To think I backed your elevation to prime minister.” Christian used one finger to shoot the drive back across the desk. “I won’t go into all the ways this disappoints me. Infuriates me. Makes me want to grab my sword”—he jerked his chin to where it hung above the fireplace—“and go medieval on your ass. But I’ll just say no.”

  Zupan’s already thin lips pressed together and almost disappeared. Then he interlaced his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Your Highness, you need to choose a bride. It is imperative.”

  “In case you haven’t seen the extensive, exhaustive press coverage or heard the buzz around the capital, I’m already in a relationship. Lady Mallory has both my attention and my heart.”

  “I am aware. Which is why I brought you the list today. A list of appropriate women. This…development with Lady Mallory is most concerning. She’s all wrong for you.”

  This was outrageous. Both that he had the temerity to weigh in at all, and that he’d find Mallory lacking in any way. “You know that she’s not actually related to Princess Kelsey, right? Or didn’t you get thoroughly briefed on the royal family when you assumed your position?”

  “I am aware that she shares only affection, not blood, with the princess. She is, however, an American.” Zupan said the word with the same distaste he’d probably use to describe being served soup with a hair in it. “A commoner who knows nothing of our ways, or how to even be royal.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s learned more about being a princess—and faster—than Princess Kelsey. And there’s no knowledge requirement for becoming queen. It’s a pretty damn rarified skill set that you learn on the job.” Christian pointed at the silver-framed photo of his mother that sat on the fireplace mantel. “My own mother, may she rest in peace, was not from Moncriano. Yet she’s remembered as a wonderful, caring queen.”

  “Well, you see, the biggest impediment is that Lady Mallory is barren. Unable to bear children.”

  What?

  Swiftly, to shut him down, Christian said, “That’s none of your damn business.” He shot out of his chair, ready to throw the PM out of his office bodily, if necessary.

  The PM stood as well. Stood his ground. “Oh, but it is, Your Highness,” he insisted. “It is the business of the entire kingdom.”

  “The hell it is.”

  “Your job as king—no matter when you ascend the throne—is twofold: to lead the country, and to produce the next king.”

  He dared to remind Christian of his job? When the expectations of his role had been drummed into him from birth? When the responsibility of caring for the country was already weighing on him without even being king yet?

  Fuckwad.

  Christian yearned to punch him in his self-righteous smirking mouth. But that would turn this discussion into a public argument. It was important that this mean-spirited allegation not leave this room.

  “You can’t make up a vile rumor like that just because you don’t want to bend a knee to an American.”

  “It is not a rumor.” He put on a brave face, standing up to the acting king in his own damn palace. But Christian noted that Zupan’s feet shifted nervously on the thick navy swirled carpet. “I heard it directly from the royal physician.”

  Impossible. “If that’s true, then he won’t be the royal physician much longer. The privacy in a doctor-patient relationship is supposed to be paramount.”

  “Which should tell you how conflicted he was. Dr. Slovbado felt that, in this specific and highly unusual instance, the good of the country outweighed the privacy of one woman.”

  “Well, he’s wrong,” Christian stated flatly. But his mind was spinning. It had to be true for Slovbado to take such a drastic step.

  Did Mallory know? If so, why hadn’t she told him? They’d shared every other reason not to sleep together.

  He hated to think of the pain Mallory must’ve gone through alone. Was this why she’d steered Kelsey toward patronage of an orphan charity? Because she wanted to adopt?

  Zupan spoke, breaking into Christian’s spiraling thoughts. “He’s told no one else. Slovbado came to me in the strictest
confidence. It is why I asked Sir Elias to leave the room before broaching this matter with you.”

  Damn it. Now he’d have to thank the man who’d just blown his world apart. “I appreciate your discretion. See that it continues.”

  “Might we go over the list of potential brides?”

  “No.” Christian picked up the flash drive and dropped it behind his pocket square. “I will take it under advisement.”

  “Very good, Your Highness.” Zupan bowed very low, as if in apology, before hurrying out.

  The prime minister was wrong.

  Nothing was good about this.

  Suddenly, on top of deciding if he had to kick his own beloved father off the throne, Christian was faced with the very real choice between his country and the woman he loved. The woman he loved enough to truly consider fighting to keep by his side, despite her common blood. He hadn’t figured out the workaround for that yet, but he’d been letting the idea simmer.

  But this new information drove home the fact that his first act, if he did take the throne, would have to be securing the Villani line.

  Would he have to sacrifice his heart for the good of the country?

  Could he?

  …

  Theo clapped his hands together. When that didn’t work—probably because nobody was taking him seriously in that Yankees sweatshirt—he put his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. “Listen up! When this round of the Trebanti Birthday Heptathlon is complete, we’ll head over to the tent for some food. If we’re going to last all day, we need to keep a solid base in our bellies.”

  “But then we won’t get drunk as fast,” Marko objected, throwing an arm around Elias’s neck and giving him a noogie. “Aside from Elias. Now that he’s thirty, he wouldn’t be able to keep up anyway.”

  All their friends hooted and clapped.

  Christian didn’t laugh quite as loud since he’d already passed that milestone himself earlier in the year.

  Elias somehow reversed the hold and laid Marko out flat on the autumn-brown stubs of grass. Then, to rub it in, he put his booted foot on Marko’s chest. “I’ll be able to put you down in two seconds when I’m sixty. Remember that.”