“Then you should shut the door. Otherwise I’ll be incredibly tempted.”
He laughed and slammed the door shut.
Note to self/Lucy: this is Elizabeth’s problem—not yours.
I strolled around his gigantic bedroom suite. The furniture was rugged and masculine. I ran my hand across a wooden bureau; I didn’t think this was from Ikea. French doors opened onto a terrace. The view was to-die-for.
I moved to his bed. It was king-sized, again with thick, rugged, hewn wooden posts. There were a few framed photos on his nightstand. I sat down gingerly on the bed and leaned in to take a look. His mom and dad were in one picture. He wore a cap and gown and beamed as he hugged his Nana; had to be his college graduation. There was a photo of him on the soccer field kicking a goal as his mates screamed in joy and jumped up in the air around him.
Tucked behind all the pictures, almost as it had been shoved into hiding, was a picture of him kissing some girl’s cheek. I leaned in to get a better view when my bad foot, that I thought was completely healed, twisted and I winced. It started throbbing. I hope I hadn’t strained it again. I kicked off my shoe, lay back on Cristoph’s bed for a moment, lifted my leg into the air and grunted as I massaged my foot.
Which was the exact moment he came out of the bathroom. “Darling!” He said. “I was hoping we’d fool around a bit tonight, but you seem to have started without me!”
“Huh?” I glanced up at him and then I think my eyes did flip-flops. He was naked except for board shorts that matched one of my floral bikini bottoms. Holy crap, he was the spitting image of a Greek God—tanned and chiseled. His body was filled with lean, ripped muscles. Fortunately, or unfortunately for me, the bulge in his board shorts grew to overwhelming proportions in mere seconds as he strode toward the bed and leaped on top of me.
“Elizabeth!” He said. And then stopped talking as he kissed me thoroughly, his teeth nibbling my lower lip, his tongue darting inside my mouth. One hand bunched my hair, while the other caressed my face, my shoulders and pulled my top up.
Let’s get something straight. It’s not like I meant to kiss him back, but mother of God, holy hell, when a hot prince is kissing you—it’s not like you have a lot of time to decide to have a discussion with your body about the most prudent course of action.
“Oh good God, Elizabeth, after all these years—it’s you and me together at last. I can’t tell you how excited I am.”
I could tell him how excited he was by the heat as well as the pressure from his massive erection grinding into my pelvis. I remembered when Esmeralda shared the rumors that Cristoph was known for his “Big Tusk.” This was the moment I surmised the rumor was true.
If I was back in Chicago and Cristoph was the Johnny’s Pizzeria Delivery Guy, I would seriously be tempted to give this a go. Like—he was model gorgeous, thoughtful, sweet, hot and would probably set the sheets on fire. However, we weren’t in Chicago, I was crazy about his brother and I was also under strict orders not to allow Cristoph to get me in the sack. But just like during a Green Bay Packer vs. The Chicago Bears playoff game, this was a very strong sack attempt.
“Ah, yes, my sweets,” I said as he trailed kisses down my now naked belly, headed south toward my, I-must-admit, somewhat excited private girlie parts. “But really, shouldn’t we wait for our wedding night, when this will be so much more special?”
“I think it’s pretty damn special right now.” He unzipped my pants with his teeth as I started to breathe a little heavy.
“Oh sweetie-kins, I’m absolutely parched. Do you think you could get me a little more of that yummy champagne before we continue on?” I asked.
“Are you sure? Maybe you’d like that champagne afterward?” He kissed my stomach, his mouth moist and warm on my skin.
You can’t do this, Lucy. Think about Nick. Think about Nick.
I moaned.
Ack! No! Do not think about Nick!
“No, like seriously, Cristoph, best fiancé ever. I need it now. And a Pellegrino please. And some chocolate. I fear I’m getting lightheaded just like that day on the tarmac.” I waved one hand in front of my face dramatically and tried to appear weak.
He rolled off me. “God, Elizabeth. You’re killing me. But there’s no way I could take seeing you pass out again.” He shuffled away awkwardly.
I grabbed my cell from my purse and frantically texted Esmeralda: “911! BIG TUSK!” I pulled my shirt back down below my bra. Pulled my pants back up over my panties, zipped them, attempted to stand up, got caught and twisted in the sheets and I flopped with a loud thud onto the expensive oriental carpet. “Crap!” I said.
“What was that, darling?”
“Fat,” I said. “I have to fit in that beautiful gown in just a few days when I marry you. So nothing too calorie rich for me, Cristoph. I don’t want to get fat.”
“Oh, Elizabeth.” Cristoph entered the room, carrying a tray filled with chocolate bars, another bottle of champagne and a Pellegrino. “Where are you? Are we playing hide and seek?” He put the tray down on the bureau. “Marco?”
When there was a knock on the door. “Prince Cristoph! It is I, Royal Guard Fingerlachen reporting.”
“I told you not to interrupt me Fingerlachen!” Cristoph said.
“I know your grace. But Lady Elizabeth’s Ladies-in-Waiting are here and need to see her for an emergency bridal situation.”
“Tell them to go away. Lady Elizabeth and I are indisposed until the morning,” Cristoph said.
“They say they won’t take no for an answer, Prince—”
There were loud kicking sounds as the wooden door broke from its hinges and fell into the room. “Ack!” I screamed.
The Ladies Joan Brady, Cheryl Cavitt Carlson and Esmeralda Ilona Castile Hapsburg the Fourth strode into the room.
“Chocolate!” Cheryl said and helped herself. “Yum!”
“I’ve never seen you in your undies before, Cristoph,” Joan said. “You could totally do one of those David Beckham undie ads.”
“You all must leave now!” Cristoph declared.
“No cousin. You’re forgetting the bride’s most important night before her wedding. Her Bachelorette Party, dude.” She grabbed my arm. “Get up,” she hissed.
“I’m trying,” I said as we both untwisted the sheets wrapped like knotted shoelaces around my ankles. “Oh Cristoph, I’m so sorry,” I said. “We were having such a delightful time.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he said, sat back on his bed and dropped his forehead into his hands.
The Ladies escorted me out of the room as I turned and waved goodbye to him. “You’re the best, Cristoph!” I threw him a kiss. “I’ll be back soon. I just know it!”
Chapter 29
The disco ball glittered over the dance floor as strobe lights flashed on and off. A female DJ with multi-colored pink, blue and purple dreads sat in a booth high above the floor and spun a combination of hits from the 70s on upward.
Club Centralaski was packed with partiers. It was loud. It was decadent. Its customers wore everything from couture to jeans and T-shirts. No one seemed to care as everyone danced with everyone else and the vast majority seemed to be having a good time.
“Have we time travelled to the 70s?” I hollered over the music.
“No,” Joan said. “Someplace much more fun.”
“I know you all mean well, but I’m not sure I’m up for a wild party tonight. I’m getting married in two days, and frankly, I’m pooped,” I said. “I think I’ll call it an early night and get some rest.”
“Chill out, Lady Billingsley.” Esmeralda said. “You’ll be a princess in no time and will have plenty of time to extend your pinkie finger at tea parties.”
The Ladies had secured a four-top table adjacent to the dance floor. It was piled high with glasses and plates of munchies. A sweaty bottle of champagne rested in a silver bucket next to where Esmeralda and Joan sat. Cheryl was already enjoying her free night out as she dance
d to the rock-and-roll stylings of “Sweet Home Alabama” with a buff, half-naked man, dressed only in jeans, boots and a cowboy hat.
I glanced around at the crowd. For the most part everyone looked normal—except for us. We wore stretch bands on our heads featuring reflective tinted visors that covered our entire faces. Esmeralda’s visor was orange, Cheryl’s was blue, Joan’s was green—most likely to accent her red hair—and mine was obviously pink.
“Why do we have to wear these stupid visors?” I awkwardly sipped my champagne from a straw.
“Because, my darling princess to be,” Esmeralda said and sucked down her margarita with a straw, “even though this is your last-minute Bachelorette Party, we still can’t allow anyone to identify you, snap pictures and sell them to the press. It wouldn’t be good for your new, proper image.”
Cheryl made her way off the stage, fanned her cleavage and plunked down in her chair. “Phew! That guy knew how to dance, man. My hips haven’t moved like that since I gave birth. I tipped him ten euros. Do you think that’s enough?”
“Why in the hell are you tipping a guy who asked you to dance?” I asked. “And why did you all bring me to a place where we have to wear disguises?”
“Because how many times do you get married, Elizabeth?” Joan asked. “Once, twice. Maybe three times tops?”
“If you’re super fortunate, four,” Esmeralda said.
“This is your first Bachelorette Party,” Cheryl said, pulled back her visor and chugged a lager. “And even though it’s totally last minute and small—we, your Ladies, needed to do it right. And so tonight, we wear visors.” She snapped hers back down.
“It totally worked for that chick who was dating the ancient, billionaire American sports team owner during that disgusting scandal,” Joan said. “She was papped all over Los Angeles with her visor on.”
The DJ took the mic. “Welcome Ladies and Gentleman to Club Centralaski and Throwback Thursday’s special fun night. We’ve got a great show for you. Let’s start the festivities with Lord Byron of Naughty-ham Palace performing to “Wild Thing” by the Troggs.”
All the lights in the place were cut except for the strobes. A hush fell over the crowd. A few women screamed.
“Oh my God!” I said, as the first chords of “Wild Thing” played rough and ragged from the speakers. “This is like my favorite song ever! What kind of performance do you think this Lord is going to do? Is he a musician? A magician?”
A handsome, buff guy sauntered onto the stage wearing a tuxedo and carrying a small chair. He bowed to the audience. Stood back up, shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of the seat. There were a few cheers.
He stretched his shoulders wide and took off his tie. Tossed it into the audience. The woman who caught it screamed. He winked at her. Dropped to the dance floor, did a couple of push-ups. Popped back up, stared at the crowd as he smiled and ripped off his shirt. He swung it around his head a few times, his chest smooth, his six-pack abs rock hard and defined. “So you want it—Ladies?” he asked as “Wild Thing” kept playing.
“Oh yes, your Lord,” a girl said. “We want it bad!”
He tossed her his shirt, clasped his hands behind his head, flexed his chest muscles, did a few pelvic thrusts and grinds. Then brought his hands back down and slowly unzipped his trousers.
“This is no magic act. You all brought me to a strip club!” I said.
“You haven’t seen the magic yet,” Joan said.
“Chill out, Billingsley,” Esmeralda said. “Have another cocktail.”
“I fear there are more cocks around here than tails,” I said.
When the male stripper turned around, shook his butt and smiled over his shoulder at the screaming crowd. And then somehow, magically, shimmied off his trousers and hung them on the back of the chair.
“Hah!” Cheryl said. “Lord Naughty-ham clearly proved you wrong on that one.”
“It’s two days before my wedding. Strippers? What if someone discovers I’m here, snaps a picture and it ends up on a gossip rag?”
“Hence the visors. Come on, Elizabeth! Lighten up. Have some fun.” Joan giggled and stuffed a couple of euros down the front Lord Naughty-ham’s G-string as he waggled his package in front of her.
When thankfully my phone buzzed. I pulled it from my clutch, swiped my finger across the screen and read the new text:
Dear Elizabet,
* * *
I am so sorry to interrupt your super fun night with your Ladies, but it is so very very important that I speak with you immediately. Somethinzs wrong with Royal Nana. Please meet me back at my place ASAT. You are a peach!
* * *
Love,
* * *
Prince Cristoph Edward George of Fredonia
I was a little shocked that basic spelling skills had eluded Prince Cristoph, but this text gave me the perfect excuse to leave my Bachelorette Party.
“Oh hey, Ladies! So sorry, but there’s something going on with Royal Nana and I’ve got to go. But stay! You’re having fun. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. I’ll text you if there’s cause for worry.”
“But I just paid Lord Naughty-ham forty euros to give you a lap-dance!” Joan pouted.
“Then be a good and loyal soldier for our beloved country, Lady Joan Brady, and take that bullet for me. I order you.” I waved my hand at her like it was a royal scepter.
She giggled, clutched her stomach and tipped over onto Cheryl’s lap.
“No-no Joan!” Cheryl pushed her upright. “You need to sit up straight. I’m not the one giving you the lap-dance… he is.” She pointed to Lord Naughty-ham.
“Crap,” Esmeralda said. “I’d ask Larry to drive you, but his palace guard union requires that he only work eight to ten hour shifts. He already left. I thought we’d share a cab ride home.”
“I’m fine.” I stood up from the table. “I can call a cab. Stay. Have fun. I love you all.” I threw them a kiss.
I think the drive from Cristoph’s townhouse to the Club Centralaski took all of five minutes. So I decided to skip the cab line and walked the streets of Sauerhausen back toward his place.
The capital was pretty quiet this time of night. It felt great to stride down city streets. I hadn’t exercised in days. I was dying to break into a run, but feared that might grab someone’s attention. So I stuck with my quick pace. Eventually I spotted a trashcan and ditched my pink visor.
The temperature dropped quickly during nighttime in Fredonia. I shivered, and wished I’d brought a coat. Just a few minutes later I arrived at Cristoph’s townhouse.
A fine mist hovered in the air as I knocked on his front door. But there was no answer. I hit the doorbell three times. I wouldn’t have bothered if we were talking wedding plans. But the text specifically said something important was up with Royal Nana. And even though she was feisty, overly opinionated and nearly broke my foot, I cared about her.
Finally, Royal Guard Fingerlachen unbolted the door, peeked out and rubbed his eyes. “Lady Billingsley?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
“Prince Cristoph texted me. He needs to see me immediately.” I said and elbowed my way inside.
Fingerlachen looked upstairs somewhat nervously. “Oh, I don’t know Lady. I do believe Prince Cristoph is sleeping.”
“No offense Fingerlachen, but if he was asleep, why did he text me?” I held out my phone in front of his face. “It’s about Royal Nana. I am not going to sit on my toucas and do nothing if something is happening with Royal Nana.” I raced up the stairs and ran through the living room.
“Seriously, Lady Billingsley.” Fingerlachen followed me. “I can pretty much guarantee Cristoph is sawing wood right now.”
“I need to know if she’s all right.” I bounded up the next flight of stairs, two steps at a time, to the bedroom floor.
“I don’t think you want to wake him,” Fingerlachen said.
I strode down the hallway leading to the master suite as I heard a few bangs and some
moans. Perhaps he was watching late-night porn. I threw the door open to his room. “I came as soon as I got your text. What’s up with Royal Nana? Please tell me she’s okay?”
And that’s when I caught Cristoph and his big tusk banging Ivanka, the scantily-clad brunette bimbo that Nick had brought to his family’s engagement party. Ivanka—who Cristoph insisted he used to be involved with, but apparently was still involved with.
“You’ve got to be kidding me? You’re screwing a bimbo when there’s something wrong with your grandmother? Are you heartless?”
“What are you talking about? My grandmother’s fine!”
“Are you an asshole? Are you, are you…”
“It’s nothing!” Cristoph said. “It’s just a farewell roll in the hay.” He rolled off her and pulled a sheet over them.
“That’s not what you told me,” Ivanka pouted.
I twisted my bunion ring from my finger. “I know what you are,” I said. “You’re fucking single—that’s what you are.” I pitched the ring at him. It bounced off his chest and Ivanka leaped high in the air and caught it.
“No!” Cristoph said.
“Happy?” I said. “I hope you are all very happy together.”
“Elizabeth, no,” Cristoph said. “No. This was a one time mistake. It won’t happen again. I would never risk our marriage for Ivanka.”
But Ivanka had already put the engagement ring on her fourth finger and was holding it up in the air and admiring it. “You promised me, Cristoph. You said if it didn’t work out with Elizabeth, I would be your girl. I could be the next Princess of Fredonia.”
“Enjoy your fancy ring and your fancy engagement ceremonies. I’m out of here.” I ran out of the room, raced down two flights of stairs and out the door.
Chapter 30
Part-time Princess Page 20
