by Nicole Snow
Jesus. For the first time since I've gotten here, I feel like I'm about to pass out.
I can't handle this. I wonder what I've done to deserve it, standing here in a castle with this Prince, this infamous playboy. Yes, the man saves my life and possibly dad's one day, and then talks to me about rams fucking the next.
The elevator door opens, and I step inside another hallway with Prince Playboy. He taps his perfectly polished toe the whole way up. I'm too busy grabbing the golden banister around the edges so I don't pass out, feeling the blood drop to my stomach as the elevator carries us up what feels like more than a dozen stories.
I look at him, my eyes burning in disbelief. He looks so good, so ordinary here, in his lair.
He's all suit and tie again. Everything clinging to his strong, thick, angular body so custom and expensive I wouldn't be surprised if his shoelaces cost a thousand dollars.
He stops in front of a door with gold trim, pulls a key from his pocket, and unlocks it. Then we're in a round room flanked with circular windows, a fireplace, and a view that would make heaven itself jealous.
“Take a seat,” he says, moving to a small cabinet in the corner. “Before I offer you a drink, I'd like to come clean. I lied about the flight, love. Don't worry about dear old dad. My men are making sure he's on a jet to Mexico as we speak.”
“Mexico?!” I choke on the word, feeling my chest tightening. “You're kidding me. Please tell me that's what's going on here. This is all some strange, elaborate joke...right?”
He turns around with that hateful fucking smirk on his face again, carrying a bottle that looks like crystal wrapped around some amber liquid, plus two glasses.
“I did what I needed to get you here. You can forgive me later, babe,” he says, so fucking sure that I will. Then he sets everything on the little black walnut coffee table between us, popping the cap.
Slowly, he fills our glasses. “The finest bourbon in Europe. Something like fifteen thousand euros a bottle. It's a very special day, and the drinks should match the mood.”
It rolls like gold over the perfectly round scoop of ice in each glass. He slides mine over to me, and I grip it tight, letting the cold numb my hands. I can't promise I won't hurl the heavy glass at his face, first chance I get.
If I'm going to hurt this royal asshole for what he's done to me, I'd might as well do it in style. Picturing him with a knot rising on his damnably handsome head almost makes me smile.
“What's wrong with you?” I say through clenched teeth. “Really. I want you to explain what's going on here, and I mean now. I'm going to call the embassy if you don't. I'll tell them you've taken me hostage.”
“Hey, no need to get ugly.” He frowns, pulling away the glass he's just taken a long sip from. “Yes, I suppose you need answers, don't you? It's only fair. How do I say this delicately?”
He turns his head. Both of us know full well that delicate isn't in this man's makeup.
“Fuck,” he says, making me blink. I still haven't gotten used to hearing a Prince drop the F-bomb like he's one of the frat boys on campus. “How do I put this?”
“What?” I ask quietly, feeling my heart slow to a patter, bringing my drink to my lips with the hope it'll steel my nerves. “What is it?”
“I need you to marry me, Erin Warwick.”
Oh.
Oh, Jesus!
Just like that, it's out. An answer that only invites a thousand more questions, if only it didn't completely stop my heart.
I shouldn't be sipping this whiskey, or bourbon, or whatever the hell it is. The sting in my throat causes me to cough, and turns the world upside down.
I can't see straight. Can't stand up. Can't even breathe.
Prince Silas' strong arms wrapping around me is the last thing I sense before I completely black out.
It hits me in the face. Just a cold, crisp bite to the nose, bringing me back to life.
Gasping for air, I jerk up in his arms, and feel the water dripping off me. No, it's more than that. He has an ice cube on my head, gently positioned in his lap, of all places.
We're on the couch. It takes him a minute to see me blink before he moves, realizing I'm awake.
“Perhaps I ought to work on softening my delivery after all,” he says. I'm too weak and confused to be bothered by the smirk on his face.
This can't be real life, can it?
“You were out for five minutes. I was going to call a medic. These blackouts must run in the blood, though I know your poor father has more reason than you do to lose it.”
I sit up, hearing the heavy ice slip off my head and hit the floor like a baseball. “Fuck you. You said you'd give me an answer, asshole. You've only left me wondering. I need to go. My flight...”
“Whoa!” Prince Silas gets up and stands in front of me. He's too big, too fast, and too damned imposing to maneuver around. “Let's talk this out. I'm only asking for three years, love. Not a whole bloody lifetime.”
“Three years of what?!”
“Marriage, of course.” He narrows his eyes. “Maybe I should get that medic after all, so we're sure you didn't bang your head...”
Marriage. That word again. As ludicrous as it is heavy.
“Why – for the love of God – why would you want to marry me? This is insane,” I tell him, trying to push past him again.
It's hopeless, I know. But I'm going to faint a second time if I don't keep moving, trying to make myself believe this isn't just a twisted nightmare.
“Because I know everything about you, Erin, and I've got all the leverage in the world,” he says softly, grabbing my wrists and pulling me against his chest. “That's the funny thing about being a Prince – I have an obscene degree of control over everyone's life except my own. And let me tell you, I have my issues. You're the answer to about ninety-nine of them.”
“You're insane,” I tell him, finding my new favorite word. My eyes scan the table for that glass.
Just my luck that I spilled what was left of my drink when I blacked out. Otherwise, I'd have thrown it in his face and followed it up with a resounding slap, right across that five o'clock shadow he wears, dangerously close to my skin.
I'm sweating, flushed with heat. It's not just the alcohol or the fainting spell.
Wait. No.
This is already fucked up enough. You can't be turned on right now, I tell myself, shaking my head.
“Yes, yes, I know what it sounds like,” Prince Asshole says, thankfully mistaking my gesture. “Believe me, Miss Warwick, it's nothing but business. I'm making you an offer. Proposal, I should say, but getting down on one knee and shoving a million dollar ring on your finger is only going to send mixed messages.”
“Let. Go.” He releases me, and I stumble back, throwing one hand out when he approaches, thinking I'm going to fall over again. “I need some fresh air.”
He gently leads me over to a huge private balcony door. A soft ocean breeze caresses my face the instant the door opens. We step outside, and I've never been so grateful for sweet oxygen.
“I know your father's very sick,” he say softly, helping me over to a big lounging chair. “I also happen to know your family doesn't have the resources to give him the chance he deserves. I can do that. As a show of good faith, that's the reason he's off to Mexico on one of my planes – they can do marvelous things there doctors aren't allowed to do in our slow, but civilized countries. He needs the very best, something experimental.”
My head is still reeling. It takes me a full minute with him hovering over me, eyeballing me, before I can bring myself to speak.
“And that's what you'll give me if I...marry you?” God. It scorches my tongue just to say it.
“Certainly, that's the major benefit. I'm also offering you a two million dollar stipend and all expenses paid for, while we're together. Far more than any glorified actress has ever earned. You'll sign a prenup overseen by the best lawyers in the kingdom, of course, and I may ask you to do something when our time
comes to an end that turns your name in this country to fucking mud.”
“Oh.” My hands clench the edges of the chair, tightening in disbelief. “So, not only am I supposed to marry you, but you're asking me to piss off several million people?”
“Only for the tabloids.” Prince Silas frowns, waves his hand, as if it's no worse than asking me to do the dishes. “I can't have you going down like my late mother, you see. The people would never understand the divorce, if they love you. Especially after all the years my father had his flings behind her beloved back.”
It makes a sick kind of sense, knowing the history I've read about his family.
Jesus, though. I'm not really considering this...am I?
“I still don't understand why you want this, Your Highness. There must be something very important on the line for you to go to these extremes...”
“Our kingdom's entire future hangs on it. My family line continuing to rule, anyway. I have a certain...obligation.” The word sounds poisonous. He turns away from me, his hands behind his back, staring across the high rising tops of the capital below like a god.
Up here, I suppose he is, in all but name only. His head turns, and he stares at me coolly.
“Believe me, this is the last thing in the world I ever wanted to consider. You've read the trash on the internet and on the supermarket shelves. I'm not the kind of man who's content to pair up with a plain, inbred princess several countries over. I'm not ready to settle down. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
This isn't making sense. I don't understand how he's going to sell this fake marriage to the media, even if I decide to go along with this temporary insanity to save dad's life.
Dad. He's the only thing that gives me pause. If it were just money, I'd already be gone, on the fastest plane home to LA.
“I don't understand, Prince. I can't.”
“Let me break it down for you,” he says, coming closer, sitting on the edge of the chaise next to me. “I need a wife to smile and look pretty for the cameras. You're beautiful enough to be a princess, love.”
Bastard. He tells me with all his infinite charm, like it's really true. My face instantly overheats, and I wish I had one of those big, round ice cubes to calm the flush.
Worse, he isn't done talking.
“You're also a foreigner, without any investment in landing me for real, or ruining a royal name you don't own by taking my ring in all my infamy. You, Erin, won't make a fuss. You'll turn the other cheek when I stagger in from the club with too many drinks in my blood. Leave me to my parties. Look away when I disappear with other girls to fuck. You're a living, breathing gag for the playboy bullshit that's followed me like a plague. You'll be my human shield when I live like the man I am, and pretend I'm someone I'm not. Hell, we both will. That's all this is, Erin. Make believe.”
“Insane,” I tell him again, shaking my head. “This is nuts, and so are you. Everything about it.”
“It's perfect, love. And so are you. My pretend princess. The American girl who came stumbling into my arms. Love at first sight. Those fucking jackals in the press will be so busy dogging their new Cinderella, they won't look at me when I'm balls deep in my next mistress, doing what I do best.”
I'm not going to call him insane for the hundredth time. Doesn't change the fact that he is.
“Can I go? I need time to think about this.”
“Of course. Take the whole day. My valet, Victor, will help you find your room and unwind. It's not quite as nice as mine up here, but it's still a damned good view.”
I stand up, making sure I'm able to walk without having a relapse into unconsciousness. Thankfully, I can. Once I'm steady on my legs, I beat it, running back inside his castle penthouse and heading for the gold trim door as fast as my heels will carry me.
I'm supposed to be rushing home to comfort dad.
Instead, I might be taking the biggest risk ever, one I couldn't have imagined just a few hours ago. Whatever it takes to save him.
There's a sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach as the tall, older man in the neat suit takes me several rooms down the long hallway.
I can't avoid what's coming next. I'm going to have to sit down and think.
Think hard and serious about staying in this crazy place, with Prince Asshole, a lot longer than I'd ever imagined.
I'm dialing the number I've been given to reach my dad. The long table in my ridiculously oversized dining room looks like something from a mafia film.
Sitting at the edge, I rest my hands on the tabloids I've asked for. Reams upon reams of them, every issue about Prince Silas Bearington and his disgusting, unbelievable, sexist antics.
Prince Scandal. Prince Hung. The Prince I'm about to marry, if I stomach going through with this.
“It's me. How're you feeling?” I say over the line, as soon as I hear him grunt a hello.
“Better. Whatever they've got here to take the edge off the pain, it's better than the crap on that damned island.” Dad pauses. “Always wanted to vacation in Mexico, you know. Just didn't think it'd happen like this.”
“You're in good hands,” I tell him, unsure if I really believe it.
“Yeah, I am. They've got a lot of high tech stuff here. It's a classy place. The doctors talk like they know exactly what they're doing. Remember that story I did a few years back about the rich and powerful going abroad for special treatments? Really hits home now.”
I smile. It's the first time I've heard him talk about work since the nightmare started.
“I remember, dad. Maybe you'll do a follow-up when all this is over.”
“Maybe.” He doesn't say it very enthusiastically.
Still, it's more than enough to make me beam, the very idea that he's thinking about something besides death and early retirement.
“Turns out I got more than the scoop I came to Saint Moore for,” he says quietly. “The Prince is pretty decent after all. I regret hammering him before I had my fit.”
Ugh. This isn't what I'd expected to hear.
He doesn't have a clue how wrong he is. If he knew anything about the crude, calculating proposal Prince Asshole just dropped in my lap, he'd know decent ought to be last on the list of words to describe him.
I don't have the heart to say anything about it. Besides dad thinking I'd gone crazy myself, I'd risk ruining his brightening spirits, and that could easily be deadly.
“So, you're happy with your care so far? I know it was all kind of sudden.”
“Right. You'll see for yourself when you show up here. Or are you still planning on jetting back to LA? It'd be nice to have somebody checking in on the condo besides Wilson across the hall.”
Shit. I haven't begun to think about how I'm going to tell him I'm not coming back to North America anytime soon if I sign onto this ludicrous proposal.
“I think I'm going to be staying here on the island just a little while longer,” I say cautiously, wracking my brain.
“Huh? Whoa, honey, wait a minute...I see what's going on here.”
Does he? I hold my breath, feeling my eyelids flutter as they pinch shut.
“That meeting with the Prince, you staying behind, sending me here alone on a private goddamned jet...congratulations, Erin. Seriously.”
“What?”
“Congrats. You must've landed something amazing over there with the palace. I know, I know, you're too modest. Only have myself to blame for bringing you up that way. You don't have to tell me the little details until you're ready. I'm so happy for you, honey. You're gonna leave me in the dust before you're thirty. Everybody'll be tuning in to see the Erin Warwick report.”
I'm laughing. He thinks it's because I've been caught red handed, bursting with pride.
I wish. Laughing is the only thing I can do to avoid crying hysterically.
“Let's leave off here. Lord knows we can both use some good news after everything that's gone down.”
“You're right,” I say, grabbing my belly. It won't stop twitchin
g, heavy with the guilt and ten ton stress my father has no clue about, pressing down on me.
“I've got to go. They want to run a few more tests this afternoon. I'll check in again when I know something more, Erin. You take some time to settle in. If you wind up meeting with the Prince or the Queen, I want to hear everything.”
“You will,” I promise. Another sharp pang stabs me below the breast because I honestly don't know what I'm promising anymore.
I don't even believe myself.
“Love you, baby.”
The line goes dead. I hang up, throwing my phone across the table. My elbows hit the dirty tabloids laid out beneath me, wrinkling Prince Sicko's smug, sexy face.
God. Before I'd picked up the phone, I'd secretly hoped for a small miracle.
Dad could've said something to make me re-think this. Anything to put the brakes on this twisted ride I'm about to sign up for to save his life.
If the universe were kind, he would've already had his tests, and the doctors would've told us his cancer had mysteriously gone into remission.
But that isn't going to happen. Not unless I marry – yes, marry – the playboy Prince, the tease, the last man on Earth who should've been born to royal blood.
Running my hands over my face, I wait for my temples to stop throbbing. After another minute, they do.
The weight inside me shifts, settles. I'm making peace.
I think I'm ready.
I'm going to do this. I just need to swallow my pride, pretend it's just another job, and brace myself for the public eye.
It's worth dad's life. I'll humiliate myself a thousand times over to keep him from dying young.
Though in this case, I doubt I'll ever get the chance to do it alone. Prince Silas will be more than happy to embarrass both of us if he doesn't give me a heat stroke first from all the blushing, teasing, red hot agony he's bound to bring, too.
When I stand up and press the intercom on the wall to his valet, asking for an audience with the Prince, I want to believe I'm doing something noble.
