Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals)

by Christi Barth

  Maybe. A little. “I’ve been busy.” Mallory tapped the stack under her arm of iPad, clipboard, and phone. “And I’m busy now. The gala is tonight, remember? Your gala?”

  “Don’t be snide. Of course I remember. I’ve got a to-do list a mile long for it as well. But we need to talk to you.”

  “No time.”

  “Make time,” Genny shot back. “We’ll help you with the preparations. I happen to excel at working through checklists. But not until you talk to us.”

  Mallory knew what they wanted to talk about. The breakup two nights ago. The epic end to her fairy-tale romance with a prince.

  But she’d talked to Kelsey about it plenty after the banquet. She’d gone through the gory details. They’d hugged. They’d cried. They’d eaten a leftover plate of petits fours and cream puffs from the banquet.

  And then Mallory had decided to leave Moncriano right after the gala.

  She was done talking. Had to be.

  Or she’d start crying. Again. Avoidance was her coping mechanism.

  If there was a rule against running in the palace, there was probably one about not crying in front of the footmen, too.

  Slowly, enunciating each word so there’d be no confusion, Mallory said, “If I stay busy, I don’t have to think about it. About him.”

  Genevieve pursed her lips. “That’s not a healthy or smart way to get over a breakup.”

  Easy enough to say as an objective observer. As the person wallowing in the depths of the misery, though, Mallory knew she had to white-knuckle her way through the next few days. Or she’d never make it.

  “But it’ll keep me going. Healthy and smart? That would mean acknowledging the pain. I…I don’t want to. I can’t.” Mallory’s hand fisted over her heart, pushing against the place where it felt like there were a gaping, empty hole. “I can barely handle what’s seeping through now without curling up on the floor and bawling.”

  “Oh, Mal, this is the absolute worst.” Kelsey moved as if to hug her. But for the first time in her life, Mallory backed away from the outstretched arm. Sympathy would shatter her fragile control.

  “Genevieve, since you offered to help, would you please ping your boyfriend? Remind Theo that I need to see the draft of his speech so I can time it? I don’t want it to be a flat announcement that he’s hosting the week-long winter camp for the orphans on his estate. It needs to be a speech that makes the attendees wonder why they didn’t make an equally generous offer, as well as why they haven’t already donated more money to help.”

  “You told him all that a week ago. And you emailed him. I’ll bet he’s got it under control,” Kelsey said drily.

  “Nothing wrong with triple-checking. After all, children are our future.”

  “Do not bust out into Whitney Houston. Do. Not.”

  “You can’t ‘own’ a song just because it’s your karaoke go-to. It isn’t like calling shotgun for the front seat for all eternity.” Which had stuck in her craw since Kelsey triumphantly did so at age nine.

  A thought occurred to her. “Ha! No more shotgun for you. Ever. Because of the whole chauffeur and bodyguard thing. You’re relegated to life in the back seat now.” For a moment, the day was brighter. Mallory reveled in her unexpected victory.

  Kelsey tugged everything out from under her arm and handed it to Genevieve. Then she took both of Mallory’s hands. “Mal. Stop.”

  Tears burned, threatening to escape. Mallory blinked furiously. “I can’t. I’m leaving in ten minutes for a final walk-through.”

  “Mallory Belinda Wishner, I command you to stop.” Kelsey hooked a thumb behind her to indicate Marko and Clara. “And if you don’t, I’ll get our security team to freaking hold you down while we talk. I’m that serious.”

  It was tempting to get snitty. To remind Kelsey that she was an American and didn’t have to follow the orders of a foreign princess. But that would only prolong this discussion. One that Mallory would give anything to avoid.

  She threw up her arms. “Why? Why do you want to make me pick over the hardest decision of my life?”

  “Because it isn’t chiseled on Mount Rushmore, for crying out loud. You can change your mind. Honestly, I think you should.”

  The heat of the anger burning through her evaporated her tears.

  There was undoubtedly a rule against screaming at royalty, too, but Mallory did not give a flying fuck. Was Kelsey really making this about her?

  She walked in a tight circle to fight off a string of expletives threatening to erupt. Then she yelled, “That’s what this is about? You’re not here to give me unconditional sympathy?”

  Genevieve handed off Mallory’s supplies to a footman, then reached out as if to comfort. “Of course we’re sympathetic—”

  Mallory jerked out of her reach. “You just want to change my mind because I’ve created an inconvenient situation for you two. Because things aren’t falling into place the way you want for triple dates and cozy couple brunches.”

  Kelsey didn’t rise to the bait and shout back. A look of utter pity softened her features. Softly, she said, “No. We want to change your mind because you are miserable. So is Christian.”

  Genevieve nodded her agreement. “If breaking up was the right choice, then one of you would be at peace about it.”

  Her red sneakers made no sound on the marble as Mallory did another circle. It was easier to collect her thoughts when not getting a quadruple shot of sad eyes from the princesses and their security team.

  No. Neither of them was doing a happy dance at suddenly being out of a relationship. There was no peace to be had. But she’d spell it out, one more time, to make clear to Kelsey why there was no option where she could be with Christian.

  Better yet, she’d have Genevieve do it for her. That ought to pack a stronger punch. Mallory tightened the sash on her red trench coat. She jerked her chin at the princess. “Did Kelsey tell you why I broke up with your brother?”

  “Because you can’t bear children? Yes. I’m so very sorry. Sorry to have that basic joy snatched away from you, and that it has vaster implications as well.”

  This softer, compassionate side to Genevieve was one Mallory hadn’t yet seen. It brought a lump to her throat as tears threatened once more at the unexpected kindness. “Kelsey’s new to all of this. But you’ve lived your entire life steeped in it. You’re fully aware of the weight of expectation pressing down on Christian to choose, not a royal-born bride, but a queen. Who must also be the mother of the next king.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell her all the ways I am not a suitable choice.”

  Kelsey put a hand on her sister’s arm. “Genevieve. You don’t have to—”

  Mallory cut her off with a harsh command. “Do it!” Then, realizing she’d just yelled at a princess, she put her hands to her cheeks and shook her head. “Please. So this can be put to bed, once and for all. So that I’m not repeatedly tormented by what-ifs.”

  Genevieve looked up and down the long hall. Then she took the other women by the hand and led them to the wide, curving bottom of the grand staircase. They sat, with Mallory leaning against the wall and Genny and Kelsey—consciously or unconsciously—a united front across from her, backs to the balustrade.

  Folding her hands in her lap, Genevieve began her recitation. “You lived as Kelsey’s sister your entire life. There’s no law against you dating her brother, as you are not actually related by blood to Christian, but it is a complicated optic. Weird, and some would say, icky. There’s a stigma and it’s hard to erase an impression, right or wrong.”

  Precisely. Facts didn’t always trump emotion, no matter how well you attempted to educate people. That was why so many people still refused to get flu shots every year, convinced the vaccine would give them the flu.

  Mallory nodded, eyes locked on Kelsey, watching to make sure that every word
sank in. “Go on.”

  “You’re both a commoner and an American. While we love collecting your tourism dollars, your countrymen do have a reputation for being…brash.”

  “Hey!” Kelsey protested. “We tell it like we see it. And those of us who are midwestern nice manage to wrap that in layers of smiles and cheek pats.”

  “Hush.” Genevieve laid a restraining hand on Kelsey’s thigh. “If Mallory feels this is a necessary exercise, you have to let me finish. And might I remind you that you no longer have American citizenship. There’s no need for you to rush to defend another country when you are a member of the ruling family of this one.”

  Ah, there was the snooty regal attitude that had put Mallory off when they first met. Of course, now she realized it was rooted in Genevieve’s bone-deep loyalty to her country, not snobbery.

  It still raised her hackles a bit. It clearly put off Kelsey, too. It was the perfect representation of how the nationalists in Moncriano would’ve reacted.

  Kelsey wasn’t done defending her ex-country. “I don’t need official papers. I am an American, to the core. I always will be. I can love America and Moncriano equally. Like a mother not choosing favorites with her children.”

  “Christian is Papa’s favorite.” Genevieve shrugged, seemingly not fazed.

  “I’m just stating, for the record, that America is not dumb or evil.”

  “I’m not personally railing on America. But the stereotype here in Moncriano is that Americans are dismissive of tradition. They are downright disrespectful to the very idea of monarchy, going all the way back to your Founding Fathers giving the finger to King George.”

  Mallory jabbed a finger at Genevieve. “Right there, that’s enough, isn’t it? Along with being a commoner? Enough to have a large section of the population be against me joining the House of Villani?”

  In a somber tone, Genevieve said simply, “Yes.”

  “Possibly,” Kelsey swiftly corrected.

  “Not to mention my killing your beloved symbolic peacock.”

  “Accidentally,” Kelsey added.

  Mallory loved that Kelsey was trying, so darned hard, to push aside the barriers. But when you added the inability to continue the line of succession, the barriers were simply too great.

  She curled her legs next to her, on a lower step, and tugged at her navy skirt to not accidentally flash the security detail. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was matter. To make a difference in the world, the same as Mom and Dad, who literally saved lives every single day.”

  Kelsey banded her arms around her knees. “A doctor is an unreasonably high bar to compare yourself to. Especially with your squeamishness about blood. A whole world of just lifesavers would be boring.”

  “I know that my contributions can’t stack up against being a healer. But I refuse to make a difference by being the catalyst that destroys Christian, that ruins his reign before it even begins.” And not popping out the next crown prince would absolutely ruin his kingdom. “I love him too much to hurt him like that.”

  “But if you love him—”

  Mallory held up a hand, exhausted from the conversation. “I have choices. Christian doesn’t. His entire reason for being is to rule this country. To make sure that he lives up to the expectations of his subjects. That’s hard enough—to be a larger than life figurehead, who is never allowed to have a single misstep. I will not add to his burden by clinging to a relationship that cannot happen.”

  Her words hung heavily in the air, like August humidity in Michigan. Then Genevieve asked, “Must you go home?”

  “Yes. When I was shot, when I lost my new job and had to give up our apartment, I thought I’d lost everything. The culmination of all the dreams I’d worked toward were instantly wiped away.” Mallory hitched in a breath, then turned to look at Kelsey. At the face she thought she knew as well as her own. Until discovering it belonged to someone with a whole second life that had nothing to do with her. “Coming back here, I even thought I’d lost you, for a while.”

  And oh, that had hurt the most.

  “We’re never fighting like that again,” Kelsey promised. “Been there, done that, burning the souvenir T-shirt.”

  “I lost my way. My sense of who I was without those dreams. I also found it again, here, with you. But losing Christian—I can’t recover from that. Not here, watching him choose a bride and get engaged. I love you to pieces, Kelsey. The way I love him, though…I’m shattered. I have to get away. Even though it hasn’t been the six months I promised you. I’ll make sure the gala goes smoothly. But then I have to leave.”

  Mallory pushed against the wall to stand, desperately wanting to escape back to the emotion-free frenzy of gala prep.

  Kelsey popped up, too. “I love you, Mallory. I don’t want you to stay here for my sake and feel tortured every time you see Christian.”

  “And you will see him,” Genevieve cautioned, unnecessarily. “There’s no switching coffee shops to avoid the ex in this scenario. Not since he’s family. And best friends with Kelsey’s boyfriend.”

  “Eventually, yes. Of course I’ll come back and visit.” God, she craved another second in his presence even more than she craved three shots of tequila to dull the pain. Which didn’t seem like a viable strategy to getting over him. “I just have to avoid Christian until I’m less raw and my heart scabs over. Which will be easier to do from the distance of another continent. I want to still be friends with your brother. I’ll just block off the part of me that loves him so desperately.”

  Standing, Genevieve traced a finger around the intricate curlicues carved into the top of the newel post. “I majored in international studies, not psychology. But even I can tell you that’s not a healthy strategy. Look at poor Papa. He tamped down his feelings for years. Now he’s broken. I mean, currently in for repairs. Serious, deep repairs.”

  That was a news flash. Mallory latched on to it as a glorious topic change. “King Julian is getting help?”

  “Yes. Finally. He left to seek treatment at a private facility in Switzerland. He faced up to how ill he was and is working to turn that around.”

  Getting help—and getting it outside of the palace—was such a good thing. For him and for his family. Christian must be over the moon. Mallory hated that she couldn’t share that with him. “Oh, that’s such a relief.”

  Kelsey held up both hands. “Fingers crossed.”

  Genevieve dipped her head. “Before you leave us, I need to apologize. I should’ve done it long before now. I mea-culpaed to Kelsey months ago, in your hospital room, as a matter of fact. But you deserve a direct apology as well.”

  “For what?” An apology was as unexpected as the news that Genevieve had been in her hospital room.

  “I wasn’t very nice to either of you when you first came to Moncriano. My behavior was downright rude, and without excuse.”

  Mallory wouldn’t disagree. But she would hold out a branch of truce. “We were trespassing on your territory. Ugly Americans tainting the royal brand. I get it. You were bitchy, but I understood where you were coming from.”

  “I’m sorry. You did nothing to deserve my sneers and snobbery. You’ll always be Kelsey’s sister of the heart. I hope you can become mine as well.”

  “I want that, too. That’s why I’ll be back. Someday. And for the persimmon cookies,” she joked. Except that made her think of that night with Christian in the throne room. A wave of sadness literally made Mallory sway, and she pressed her palms against the blue brocade wallpaper.

  “Oh. I almost forgot,” Genevieve said with such studied casualness it was quite clear no such forgetting had occurred. “There’s been a…development. That’s the other reason we were chasing you down. I didn’t want you to hear it from the stylist as you get dressed tonight.”

  “What?”

  Genevieve and Kelsey exchanged…significant looks. �
��Christian is now king.”

  There were too many emotions to process. So Mallory tackled the simple facts. “How?”

  “Papa abdicated before leaving to seek treatment. Christian held the papers until today to give him the chance to get away. We just came from his private swearing in with the prime minister.”

  Mallory clutched at the charm bracelet she hadn’t been able to take off.

  Her prince was officially gone now.

  Nothing but a memory.

  She truly had no reason to stay now.

  …

  The gift shop at Alcarsa Palace was a place Christian had, well, never been before today. Because the palace was his freaking home. And it was weird.

  Yes, they allowed ticketed tours through some of the major state rooms. The money all went to the upkeep of the treasures and antiquities that filled the palace. Occasionally he’d drop in and surprise a group of tourists. It was fun to give them the real royal experience, as the guides called it.

  Today…was not fun. He’d always avoided the gift shop because who really needed to see a baseball cap with their family home on it? Or worse, postcards all bearing the official portraits of his family?

  But that’s why he was down here. New king duty number thirteen—browse the gift shop so he could decide which tchotchkes he did or did not want his face on as king. He already knew he had to suck it up and be on the money and the stamps.

  Christian picked up a shot glass. It bore the flag of Moncriano. That was fine. But it’d definitely go on his “no king’s face” list. There were shelves of tea sets and cell phone cases, Christmas ornaments, pens, mixing bowls, lipstick holders, lotions—things for every room of the house, every hour of the day.

  He’d thought being acting king was a PITA. Turns out there was a metric shit ton of things he’d escaped doing until now that he didn’t even know about. Including a rundown of souvenirs to be personalized.

  He picked up a wooden honey dipper (stamped with Alcarsa Palace). Thought about how many giggles he could’ve coaxed out of Mallory if he’d slipped it in his pocket to show her over dinner…