Prince Not So Charming: A Royal Love Story

by Tawny Taylor

  Poor bastard. He wasn’t going to get what he thought he had coming to him. Jenna could see that.

  “Babe,” he said. “I paid the tab. Come on. Let’s go.”

  “I can’t go now,” Mikki told him. “My friend.”

  “She’ll be fine.” Romeo looked at Jenna. “You’ll be fine, right?”

  “No, she won’t,” Mikki shouted. “She was dumped. By a fucking prince. She isn’t fine.”

  Mikki didn’t have the facts right, she hadn’t been dumped by anyone, but who cared?

  “You said you would let me drive you home,” Romeo growled. “Let’s go.”

  Mikki tightened her hold on Jenna. “I can’t.”

  “I said, let’s. Go. Now.”

  “Piss off.” Mikki jerked up her chin. “You can’t order me around. I’m not going anywhere with you. Get lost.”

  “Bitch!” Romeo shouted, face turning ugly red.

  “Yeah, whatever. You’re probably married, anyway.” Mikki turned her full attention back to Jenna. “I’m ready to take off. Come on.”

  Together, the two friends set themselves upright on wobbly legs and, arms flopped over each others’ shoulders, staggered out of the bar. Outside it was dark and quiet. And probably cold. But the alcohol dulled their senses. Mikki pointed at her car, safe and sound in the parking lot. “I’ll come back for the car tomorrow.” She gave Jenna a shitfaced smile. “So much for alcohol. Tomorrow, we resort to Plan C.”

  “Plan C?” Jenna repeated.

  “Tomorrow. Till then, let’s have a good drunk-cry. That always makes me feel better.” Mikki’s ankle gave and the world swooped sideways.

  Something slammed Jenna’s shoulder.

  Oh, damn. That was the ground.

  What the hell? Now was as good a time as any to have that drunk cry.

  The tears started flowing.

  19

  Jenna

  Some bastard was jackhammering her skull.

  Jenna swung an arm, hoping to stop the assault. Her hand smacked her head.

  Memories of last night broke through the haze.

  There was alcohol. Lots of it. Too much.

  Crying. Too much of that too.

  And a long, looooong walk.

  Followed by binging on greasy Taco Bell, picked up along the way.

  She combed her hand through her hair, shoving it out of her face.

  Her fingers raked strings of shredded lettuce from her hair. Ick. She was sleeping with wilted lettuce in her hair. And her mouth felt like she’d spent all night licking someone’s cat. Not to mention the throbbing in her head.

  That was it! She was never going to drink again.

  Ever.

  No, really. She meant it this time.

  For one thing, it didn’t even work.

  Instead of helping her forget about Rafe, the alcohol had just turned her into a sobbing, taco-noshing train wreck. She could live without that. So could her hips.

  She heard a moan. It was coming from Mikki’s room. Or maybe the bathroom.

  Mikki wasn’t doing any better than she was.

  Moving cautiously, to try to keep her head from moving too fast, she slowly crept to the bathroom. The door was closed.

  Another moan.

  “Are you okay?” Jenna said to the door.

  “I’m dying.”

  “Any chance I can get in there to pee?” Jenna asked.

  The door swung open.

  Wow. Mikki looked awful. Her hair looked like it had been whipped with a mixer. And the deep purple shadows under her eyes made her look like she’d lost a fistfight.

  “We have to stop doing this to ourselves,” Jenna mumbled as she yanked down her pants and plopped onto the toilet.

  “Yes.” Fully clothed, in last night’s ho dress, minus the shoes, Mikki climbed into the bathtub and reclined back. It was empty, except for Mikki. She closed her eyes. “I need coffee.”

  Jenna finished up on the toilet. “I’ll make it in a minute. I need to brush my teeth first.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Once Jenna had brushed away the dead-cat-taste from her breath she felt a little more human. She headed to the kitchen to switch on the coffeepot.

  Filter. Check.

  Water. Check.

  Coffee.

  Coffee?

  “Where’s the coffee?” Jenna called out.

  “Shit!” came the response from the bathroom.

  No coffee? Jenna wanted to cry. Again. “Really?”

  “I forgot.”

  “Really?” Jenna repeated as she stared at the empty pot.

  Now she was going to have to venture out there.

  In the cold.

  With a first class hangover.

  Grumbling to herself, she marched back to her room and threw on the first pair of pants and shirt she found, gathered her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head, and looped her purse over her shoulder.

  She stepped outside and was blinded.

  Sunlight. Ahhhh! Too bright!

  Unable to see, she squinted at the sidewalk.

  Shoes. She saw men’s boots. Coming her way.

  She shifted to the right to let them, and their owner, pass.

  But they didn’t.

  Did she recognize those boots? No, not really. They were generic men’s winter boots. Black.

  “Excuse me, miss?” the boot’s owner said.

  Great. She looked like death, and she had to actually interact with a human being. She lifted her head. “Yes?”

  “Are you Jenna McCall?” the stranger asked.

  This confused her. And because she was confused, she didn’t answer. She stared.

  Did she know this guy?

  Had he followed her from the bar?

  Oh God, did she do something stupid last night and black out?

  “I um…” she stammered.

  He whipped out a camera and snapped a handful of shots of her face then did a one-eighty and dashed toward the parking lot.

  “What the hell?” Confused and still semi-blind because of the bright sunlight, she rounded the corner, following the crazy man with the camera.

  The parking lot was packed with cars and trucks. Someone must’ve had a party. One hell of a party, if all the guests were still there.

  She slogged toward her car, which looked like it might be blocked-in by party guests who were illegally double and, in some cases, triple-parked. Sure enough, the closer she got, the more obvious it was that her car wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Crap!” She glared at the stupid blue Mercedes behind her car.

  Just then a flurry of activity, of people clamoring from all those cars and trucks, caught her unexpectedly. Her muddy brain could not register what was happening for several seconds. People charged at her, hands loaded with photography gear. Questions struck her like machine gun fire, too fast and too furious to respond.

  Caught like a doe in the headlights of a speeding truck, she stood frozen in place, unable to move.

  What the hell was going on? Why were these people taking pictures?

  Her gaze bounced around like a rubber ball, never staying focused on one person long enough to register who they were or what they looked like. Faces. She saw faces. Lots of them. Most of them hidden behind massive camera lenses.

  Two words cut through the din.

  Two words. That was all it took.

  She understood.

  “Prince Raphael.”

  She yanked the neck of her shirt up to cover as much of her face as she could and high-tailed it out of there, crashing through the apartment building’s front door before she took a single breath.

  Oh my God!

  She’d just been photographed by dozens of paparazzi!

  She!

  A nobody.

  Outside of her crappy, old apartment.

  Hung over.

  And looking like death.

  She could just read the headlines now: Ugly, Poor Girl Bribes Prince to Date Her.r />
  Mortified, she stomped back into her apartment.

  “That was quick,” Mikki grumbled as she staggered down the hall. Her eyes were the shade of stop signs. “Thank god! I need caffeine. I feel like death.”

  “I didn’t get to the store.”

  “Why? Is it snowing? Was your car plowed in?”

  “Nothing like that.” Jenna ran to the wide living room window. The blinds were open! She frantically fumbled with them to get the shut. “I was assaulted by a freaking horde of photographers.”

  Mikki didn’t laugh. “You know, if you didn’t feel like going, you don’t have to make up stupid excuses.”

  “No, really.” She grabbed her half-drunk friend and dragged her down the hall to the bedroom, which happened to have a window overlooking the parking lot. “Take a look.” She lifted one louver of the cheap blinds blocking the view.

  Mikki bent over and peered through the opening. “All I see are cars.”

  “A lot more than normal.”

  She shrugged. “Not so much. It’s the weekend.”

  A cellphone rang, and both girls spun around.

  They both used the same cell service. And neither had bothered to set up custom ring tones.

  Whose phone was it? And who would be calling either of them so early on a Sunday morning?

  Jenna checked her nightstand. Her phone was dark and quiet.

  “It has to be my mother,” Mikki said, giving Jenna a worried frown. She crashed into the doorframe on the way out of Jenna’s bedroom.

  Jenna followed, on slightly steadier feet.

  “Yes, Mother. Yes. No.” Mikki’s eyeballs bulged.

  Jenna crept into the room and sat beside her best friend.

  From the sound of it, this was bad. Horrible. A huge catastrophe. It wasn’t so much what Mikki was saying, but the pallor of her skin—the shade of a cadaver’s.

  Somehow the word had gotten out.

  Jenna had been pegged the prince’s lover.

  What did that mean to Pacello Personnel? To Mikki? Rafe?

  To her?

  20

  Rafael

  Rafe slammed his fist onto his desk, causing everything on it to rattle.

  Who had sold him out? Who?

  The usual suspects—the servants whose tongues never stopped wagging—had been left at home where they could do no damage. And, as far as visitors, there’d only been his brothers and Nichole.

  Oh, and Adri.

  Would she?

  He recalled her threat, “You’ll regret what you’ve done! Sooner than you think.”

  That bitch. It had to have been her.

  He glared at the glossy page.

  Jenna. Damn. Caught in a firestorm she hadn’t seen coming. She didn’t deserve this. Clearly, it wasn’t a situation she’d ever faced before.

  She looked a wreck. The bastard who’d published the story had made sure to choose the most hideous photo, no doubt. To make her look worse and the so-called match that much more unexpected.

  He should have warned her. But never had any of his affairs gained so much press attention. And hell, this one hadn’t even been an affair!

  Unfortunately the timing couldn’t be worse.

  “My Lord,” Simon, the butler, greeted, “His Grace awaits you in the library.”

  With any luck his father hadn’t seen the American tabloids. The king wasn’t one to pay much attention to them. Then again, his sons didn’t appear on their pages. The one and only time one of them had, he’d known about it immediately. One of his advisors had informed him, no doubt.

  Which was probably the case today.

  Rafe had his suspicions what that would mean in regard to the other news he had for his father. Good news. The very best he’d been in a position to deliver in a long time. If ever.

  It seemed that fate just wasn’t willing to let him make a good impression on the king, no matter how hard he tried.

  Years of hard work.

  Down the drain.

  All because of her.

  He gazed at the photo again.

  No, it wasn’t Jenna’s fault. She’d done nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

  He’d screwed up.

  And once again he would regret it.

  Aware he would probably earn the king’s disrespect yet again, he straightened his tie and resolved to work harder.

  There would never be a next time. Another woman, or another unpleasant situation to spoil things.

  No. By God, he would see respect in that man’s eyes one day. He wouldn’t rest until he did.

  21

  Jenna

  “I have a meeting with Mother in one hour,” Mikki grumbled the instant she ended the call. She flopped back on the bed. “She’s going to fire me. I know it.”

  This was terrible! The absolute worst thing that could happen! And all because of a few stolen kisses. Jenna felt sick. And not because of her hangover. She should have expected the press would be on the hunt for a juicy story. What was she thinking?

  “I’ll go with you. I’ll apologize. I’ll take the blame. It was my fault. All mine. I talked you into—”

  “It won’t help,” Mikki interrupted, hauling herself upright. She blinked in slow motion. “Crap. My head is going to explode.”

  “I feel awful. This is my fault. I’ll come with you.”

  Mikki raised her hand. “No. I mean it. Stay here. Stay out of the spotlight. I don’t want this situation to get any worse.”

  “I get it now.” Jenna inhaled deep and blew out the air in a loud huff. “I need to hide.”

  “More or less, yes.” Mikki wobbled to her closet and cringed as she opened the door. The loud screech of the little wheels operating the door probably felt like razor blades slicing through her brains. She tossed a blouse and skirt on her bed then tottered to the bathroom.

  Meanwhile, Jenna went back to her room to upgrade her appearance a bit. Not that she had anywhere special to go. But it seemed that she needed to be prepared for photographers popping out from the woodwork any time she peered outside.

  Oh, the joy. She was hounded by paparazzi like a celebrity. And she didn’t even get the benefits of a celebrity.

  Like the money.

  Or the man.

  Once her roomie abandoned the bathroom, Jenna did a more thorough job with her makeup and hair. Despite what Mikki wanted, she was going to have to go out. At the very least they needed coffee.

  She shrugged on a hoodie and flipped the hood up, stomped into a pair of boots, zipped into a heavy winter parka, and skipped down the stairs to the exit. But this time she took the back door, slipping into the green space between buildings. Mike’s Market was two blocks away, an easy walk. So she opted to forgo her car and go on foot, hoping to avoid any hounds who might still be waiting in the parking lot.

  Not long after, she breathed a sigh of relief. No one had sprung upon her, camera shutters clicking. She ducked into the dark, cramped market, gathered a few essentials, and made it to the checkout unrecognized.

  “It’s you!”

  So much for making it out of the store unrecognized.

  Jenna donned a clueless look and handed the star-struck cashier her debit card to pay. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

  The girl looked at the card. “Jenna McCall! It’s you! The girl from the papers! I read the article about you. It’s a real life Cinderella story! Ohmygod! Can I take your picture?”

  Jenna’s face burned.

  Cinderella story? Not exactly. The prince hadn’t fallen hopelessly in love with her. He wasn’t on a hunt for her now, hoping to make her his princess. No, he’d sent her packing because he needed to marry a girl who was already a princess.

  “Pleeeeease!” the cashier begged, cell phone in hand.

  “That whole thing is overblown,” Jenna explained acquiescing with a nod and grabbing one copy of every gossip paper on the rack. “Please add these to my order.”

  “I’m going to post this on Instagr
am,” the girl jabbered as she dashed around the counter to stand beside Jenna. They smiled, heads tipped toward each other, as her super-fan took at least five hundred shots. Finally, the customer behind her cleared his throat, putting an end to the photo shoot.

  “I apologize, sir,” Jenna said, giving him an apologetic smile.

  He did not smile back. Clearly he needed coffee more than Jenna did.

  Jenna poked the buttons on the little debit pad and waited anxiously for the cashier to finish up her sale. Then she grabbed her stuff and hurried out before anyone else recognized her.

  Thankfully, she made it home safely, dashed upstairs, locked herself in her apartment and immediately started the coffee.

  Okay, it was time to face the “facts.”

  It was time to see what had been written about her.

  She flopped onto the couch with her papers on her lap and read the headline of the first one, “Mystery Girl Wins Heart of Prince!”

  That one didn’t sound too bad. Satisfied there wouldn’t be anything too embarrassing in that one, she set it aside to skim the others.

  The second, third and fourth weren’t so bad either.

  But then there was the fifth, which claimed to have exclusive information. “Gold-digging American throws herself at Prince!”

  That wasn’t fair! She hadn’t thrown herself at anyone.

  Oh, yeah. Maybe she had.

  Kind of.

  But not because she was a gold digger. She was no gold digger! She didn’t want any money, other than her salary. If Rafe had been a mechanic, working on her car, she would have flirted with him. He was gorgeous.

  Her heart thumping a little harder and a little faster than normal, she flipped the paper open to the article.

  Wow. Whoever this… Joseph Ryan… was, he’d done his homework. He knew everything about her. Where she lived. Where she’d gone to school. The fact that she was currently… erm, between jobs… and looking for full-time employment.

  Her cell phone rang, and she jumped like a startled cat.

  There was something extremely unsettling about learning the whole world knew almost everything there was to know about her—with the exception of her blood type.

  No, that was in there too.