The Prince and the Player

by Tia Louise

  I’m sick of this shit. “You’d better get to your business before you run out of time.”

  “My business won’t take long to explain. We’ve time for a little polite conversation.”

  “I’m not known for being polite.”

  “Or for being honest,” he grins, “but I won’t hold it against you.”

  “You took a chance. Too bad it didn’t pay off for you.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” His eyes move to my sister, and then back to me. “I’ve got other things in mind.”

  Scooting closer to her, I lower my brow. “You and every other straight man on the planet. Take a hike, Frenchie. She’s not interested.”

  He leans his head back and laughs loudly. “What did you call me?”

  “I’ll call you worse than that if you try to put your pampered hands on my sister.”

  The cloth handkerchief is back out, and he’s dabbing his eyes as he shakes his head. “You’re mistaken, Miss Wilder, it’s you I want.”

  My heart lurches, and I speak before I realize. “Me?”

  “We got off on the wrong foot.” He holds both hands up. “I only meant to say I admire your work. I have a proposition for you that will make that thousand-dollar chip look like… how do you say? Chicken feed?”

  We’ve slowed to a crawl, and the waves rock the small boat roughly. I study his expression. All the humor is gone. He’s serious.

  I frown, but he rises from his seat with a flourish. “I have a job for you that would eclipse all others. If you’re successful, you’ll never work again for the rest of your life.” His eyebrow cocks. “Unless you get bored and simply want to.”

  So many questions jam together in my brain, I don’t know which to ask first.

  Ava’s hand tightens on my arm. “What is your proposition?” she says.

  The man winks and does a little point at her. “I see you have a head for business, Miss…”

  “You can call me Ava.”

  “He’s not calling you anything.” I grab the reins on the conversation. “I don’t like your looks.”

  “Not a problem,” he says, waving a hand. “I’m not the one you’ll be interacting with. Does the name Rowan Westringham Tate mean anything to you?”

  Ava and I shake our heads no. “Who is he?” she asks.

  “He’s the crown prince of Monagasco, and believe me, women do like his looks, very much. Some men as well, from what I understand—”

  “What about him?” I’m impatient.

  For the first time, I see anger fire in our host’s eyes. “I have a score to settle with his royal highness.” Reginald’s jaw clenches, and he levels his gaze on me in a way that makes my insides squirm. “I confess I never saw you coming, but you are perfect. You’re the answer to my prayers.”

  “Your twisted prayers, I’ll bet.”

  “Hear me out.” He returns to his seat facing me. “Last night you demonstrated your skill with playing a part all the way to the end. You showed you don’t crack under pressure, and you’re quick on your feet.”

  “What’s your point?” Flattery has never distracted me from the bottom line.

  “The way royal succession works in our country, when the parliament decides the heir is ready to take the throne, they propose a formal referendum upon which the people vote.” He leans back, and I don’t like the darkness in his eyes. “I have a plan to expose the crown prince of Monagasco for the immature, selfish… careless leader he is. A leader who jeopardizes the future of our country.”

  “Is that so?” I say, shifting uncomfortably.

  “He won’t listen to his advisors. He threw out the cabinet. The only way to break him is to show him he’s a fool—to demonstrate it for the entire country to see.”

  I don’t like the sound of this. “I don’t have a dog in your fight. Why do you need me?”

  “It’s very simple, actually.” He straightens, the menacing expression gone. “You will pose as the heir of Lux Benedict, a colleague of mine who I’ve recently established as a Texas oil baron.”

  “Hang on…” I’m following his words closely. “Is your friend really a Texas oil baron?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And you think that’s going to work?”

  “Again, you’d be surprised what money can do. As Benedict’s niece, I’ll escort you to Monagasco on a holiday—Ava can be your sister or your friend, whatever makes you comfortable. While there, you just happen to cross paths with the dashing future king. You fall in love, he proposes, makes a grand public engagement, and Voilà! You’re free to leave. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  My mouth has dropped open. Ava’s hand is still on my arm, but she’s not talking either.

  Reginald grins. “Did you never dream of being a princess when you were a little girl?”

  “No.” I glance over my shoulder, and my eyes meet Ava’s. “I dreamed of finding us a safe place to sleep, of no one catching us stealing food or breaking into boathouses when it rained. I dreamed of a place where we didn’t have to be afraid…”

  “Of course, your experience was different.”

  “We learned to cope in ways most people never do.”

  My words seem to invigorate him. “Which is why you must say yes to me now.” He scoots forward slightly and takes my hand. “You’ll be pampered, treated to the finest clothes, food, wine… You’ll stay in the most luxurious suites, and visit the most beautiful beaches in Europe.”

  Sliding my hand out of his, I scoot back. “And in the meantime I help you humiliate some guy I don’t even know in front of his entire country?”

  “It’s to save the country.”

  My eyes flicker up, over his shoulder, and I see Miguel in the distance. Perfect timing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester—”

  “Call me Reggie.”

  “I’m sorry, Reggie, but that’s not who I am. You’ve got the wrong girl.” Ava makes a noise like a puppy behind me. “Find someone else to play your game. We’re not interested.”

  He leans back, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

  I pause and study his disappointed expression. “Come to what?”

  “You owe me money, Miss Wilder. I was hoping you’d agree to help me without the need for coercion. However, if you choose to be difficult, I’m afraid you’ll force my hand.”

  My fists tighten, and I’m ready for a fight. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He rises, and to my dismay, without my heels on, my face only reaches the middle of his chest. I’m like a petulant child.

  “Last night at the roulette table, I took pictures of you activating your bracelet. I’d hate to turn them over to the gambling commission. I also requested the security footage from the coatroom, which shows your sister trading out my thousand-dollar plaque for the fifty-dollar chip, which makes her your accomplice.”

  He reaches down to straighten first his left cuff then his right. “Third-degree Grand Theft is a felony in Florida with the penalty of five years in prison, not to mention your unforgettable faces blasted to every casino security team across the U.S.”

  As he speaks, I slowly sink back into the seat beside my sister. My stomach sinks further, through the bottom of the boat all the way to the ocean floor. We’re trapped like rats.

  “But there now,” he smiles. “Let’s not fight. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I want you to help me, and in return, I help you. It’s a win-win, yes? What do you say?”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I can’t shake the bad feeling twisting my guts. “You said we’d be set for life. How can I trust you’ll keep your word?”

  “Of course, I almost forgot.” He hastily reaches inside his coat and pulls out a slim wallet. Opening it, he retrieves a black card. “Ten thousand dollars is on this card, prepaid. All you have to do is register it to your name and set up a password. It is yours free and clear.”

  Now I really can’t breathe. “What is that
?”

  “Your first payment.” He smiles, and I see in his eyes he knows he’s got me. “You’ll get another ten as soon as you reach Monagasco, and I’ll reload the card as needed. You only need to text me.”

  Ava’s nails bite into my arm. I can feel her breathing quickly behind me, and I know her eyes are fixed on that piece of black plastic just like mine. One word rattles around in my head: Freedom.

  “We don’t have passports… visas…” It’s my last ditch attempt at saying no.

  “I’ll have ambassador’s visas made up for the both of you. You’re my personal guests.”

  The smallest nudge comes from behind, and I know I’m making a deal with the devil, a deal I’m going to regret. Still, like an out-of-body experience, my arm rises, and I take the card from Sir Reginald’s fingers.

  We’re in.

  “Very good,” Reggie nods, lifting his chin to signal the captain. “Let’s get to Bal Harbour. We have quite a bit of shopping to do.”

  Unwelcome Guest

  Rowan

  Reaching down, I take my mother’s hand to assist her out of the shiny black Mercedes town car. A strobe of camera flashes explodes around us making it difficult to see her foot wrapped in a strappy silver heel as it clears the curb. My mother is as accustomed to such events as I am, and she exits the vehicle with practiced grace.

  It’s been two weeks since my royal indiscretion was plastered across the front page of every blog and cheap tabloid on the continent, and in that time I’ve performed nonstop penance.

  I’ve been photographed at two charity auctions—the first for a children’s home in Romania, shaking hands with the chief architect. The second was at a benefit for the rail workers’ union. I donned a hard hat and stood beside men I equaled in height but didn’t match in sheer brawn.

  Behind closed doors, I’ve met with two entrepreneurial startups. I’ve chatted with an American tech billionaire on possibly locating one of his clean-energy electric storage facilities in the northern hills of Monagasco. It’s so risky and new I’ve only discussed it with Cal, but it’s the closest I’ve gotten to revolutionizing our economic basis and moving us away from oil dependence.

  Tonight I’m at the royal gala benefitting the Monagasco Red Cross. The annual event draws celebrities and dignitaries from all over the world, and once it’s over, they filter into the streets and the casinos to flood the town’s coffers with high-end tourist dollars. As we walk slowly toward the Royal Sporting Club, my mother leans on my arm.

  “Make the most of this night,” she says through her smile. “Look at all the eligible young ladies in attendance. Many are daughters of our allies.”

  Her words cause the muscles in my neck to tighten. Glancing up, I notice the Earl of Bishopsworth standing near the entrance with his daughter Graceland at his side. Speaking to him is the Duke of Westingroot. My throat goes dry when I see his eldest daughter Lara on his arm. Lara… The reason I’m in this fucking mess.

  I don’t have time to dwell on it. Beside them is another earl or baron whose name I don’t recall… along with what appears to be his daughter, and the pairs continue into the Club.

  I lean into my mother’s ear and speak through clenched teeth. “What have you done?”

  She smiles and nods to an old crone who arches an eyebrow at me. My smile clenches harder. As if what I did was so blasted unheard of. So I allowed an overzealous courtier to suck my dick. So sue me. It isn’t the first time something like that has happened.

  Straightening, my mother speaks softly through her smile. “I simply put out the word the crown prince is ready to marry.”

  It takes all my strength not to explode. We’ve made it to the entrance, and the duke is waiting.

  “Rowan,” he says heartily, gripping my shoulder in one hand as he shakes my hand with the other. “It’s good to see you keeping with tradition. You remember my daughter Lara?”

  All too well… “Yes, of course,” I say, nodding my head while focusing on her mouth. Indeed, that was a superior hummer.

  Lara lifts the side of her blue dress and bows her blonde head as she curtseys. “His royal highness and I took riding classes together in Nice,” she says, glancing up at me with a knowing grin.

  “You were a far better rider than I was,” I say, giving her a brief smile in response.

  I’m not a dick, even if these ancient assholes are royally pissing me off. I really liked Lara that summer. Our memories of being fifteen, riding along the shore, and passing the time together in the twilight hours of Nice are what preceded her dropping to her knees. We’d both had a little too much alcohol that night.

  “Perhaps you’d like to dance,” her father says in an encouraging tone.

  “Ah, yes… Right after I see Mother in.” I use my mother’s arm to push us through the entrance.

  It’s a shitty thing to do. Lara’s a pretty girl, we’ve had some fun times, but nothing puts me off wanting a woman like having her shoved down my throat.

  “Oh!” Mother squawks like a hen, but I guide her around the corner into a narrow hall.

  “What is this? Some kind of reverse Cinderella scheme?”

  She straightens her dress as if I’ve offended her. “Actually, it’s a very straightforward Cinderella scheme.”

  “Jesus!” I couldn’t be more humiliated. My fists tighten at my sides as I pace the small space. I wonder how far back it would set me in my PR efforts if I walk out on this charity gala. “So what did you do? Put a link on the royal website? Send out a royal text alert?”

  “Of course not,” she sniffs. “I wouldn’t even know how to do such a thing. I simply called a few of my friends, your great aunts…”

  Striding back to where she stands, I pause to control the volume of my voice. “I would appreciate being allowed to control my personal life.”

  “I’d be happy to allow that, darling, if you hadn’t already lost control of your personal life.”

  “I have not lost control of anything.”

  “Hello? What’s happening back here?” Cal enters the narrow space all smiles and decked out in his navy Carabiniers jacket.

  “MacCallum, would you please escort me to the ballroom. Your brother needs to collect himself, and I have guests to welcome.”

  “I’d be honored, Madame.” He gives me a wink and extends an elbow to our mother, who takes his arm and slowly follows him out to the evening’s festivities.

  I almost laugh at the irony. The Carabiniers are a small division of soldiers charged with defending my person against attack. How appropriate he should lead my chief attacker away.

  For a moment, I consider my fate. I’ve lost my father, I’ve lost one of my most trusted senior advisors in Reggie, I’ve lost my racing, and now it appears these old women are attempting to force me to marry.

  My mind travels to when the king was still alive. What would he tell me to do in a situation like this? How can I best serve my country? It only takes a moment for me to know the answer. Be the king.

  Straightening my shoulders, I tamp down my anger and find the control switch. Stepping out into the dark hallway I walk to the ballroom. The entire place is filled with ladies and gentleman in formal attire.

  Blue and red lights alternate in the tall windows around the room, illuminating crystal chandeliers. A DJ is in the far left corner, and white-clothed tables of hors d’oeuvres line the walls. I’m surrounded by the glittering eyes of scores of young ladies breathless at the thought of being the future Queen of Monagasco.

  My eyes roam the various couples when a young lady in an olive-green silk dress approaches. “Hello, there,” she says with a smile.

  I smile in return. “How do you do.”

  “My name’s Felicity,” she says bluntly. “I’m the Baron of Rothingham’s daughter.”

  “How do you do, Miss Rothingham?”

  “You can call me Felicity, and I’m all right, I guess. Mum says we’re supposed to be here putting on a show for you or something. It se
ems rather stupid to me.”

  “Seems rather stupid to me as well,” I agree in a low voice.

  Felicity doesn’t miss a beat. “When I was sixteen, my parents didn’t think I was showing enough interest in boys, so they threw me a grand ball.” She leans back and gives me a squint. “When I walked in, I expect my face looked exactly like yours does now.”

  Her manner causes my insides to relax slightly. “How is that?”

  “Irritated…” she pauses to think. “And quite a bit embarrassed.”

  “I’m not embarrassed. I’m the crown prince.” I sound more defensive than I feel, and we’re quiet a moment.

  “I’m also Lara Westingroot’s cousin,” she continues, “and possibly one of three people who know whose mouth your royal wank was in in all those Internet pics.”

  Explaining myself to a near stranger is not something I intend to do. We’re standing at the edge of the dance floor, and all eyes are fixed upon us.

  “Shall we dance?” I say, motioning to the floor.

  “I suppose we have to now.”

  The music starts, and we turn to face each other. My hand is on her waist and hers is on my shoulder. Our other hands clasp at the side, and I study Felicity’s light brown hair styled down to the side in a ponytail. Her makeup is simple powder on her nose as far as I can tell and her lips are glossy nude. Still, her appearance is pleasant. Her eyes are the same olive drab as her dress, but I feel oddly at ease with her.

  “What’s your game, Felicity?”

  “I suppose I’m trying to figure out yours. You didn’t tell who the girl in the photo was, which makes me want to like you.”

  “You’re one of the few,” I say, looking around at the scowling old bitties watching us.

  “At the same time, you haven’t spoken to her since, which makes me think you’re a dick.”

  My jaw tightens, and I don’t smile. Lara and I had been having a pleasant time that night. However I felt for her at fifteen, my feelings didn’t stand the test of time, and I found our connection dwindled no matter how much we drank. Dropping to her knees felt more like a last-ditch effort to forge some kind of bond.