Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance

by Kristen Proby

  I stared at my brother. The rage monster inside my head jumped to her feet and flipped on the ass-whooping switch as I extended the baton. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. You need to get out. If he sees you, he’ll bolt.”

  “I’m better than that. No one saw me come in here, and no one will see me leave.”

  “You’re such a pompous asshole. You think you are so goddamn perfect that you can stroll in to my apartment and tell me what to do?”

  “Someone needs to. You’re lucky I didn’t take this to Dad. He gives you some bullshit assignment and you ditch it to come after the prince? He’s going to kill you. But I’ll cover for you. You need to pack up your shit and come home. As soon as you do and you’re out of here, I’ll call in a guard to come and babysit the prince.”

  There had been many times I’d been jealous of my brother, many times I wished he was kinder to me. There was only one time that I’d felt betrayed by him, and only once, in this moment, did I hate him. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not the town idiot?”

  He shook his head. “Not for a moment.”

  I spread my arms and then started to walk toward him, the baton still extended. He narrowed his gaze at my weapon, and then his brows furrowed for a moment as if he wasn’t sure if I would get physical with him. “You think I magically happened upon the prince? You think it was luck I got an apartment right next to his?”

  “Yep, pure luck. And it’s no secret Ariel is a wizard with a computer. If she accessed classified files to deduce where he might be, she’s in a lot of trouble. But you can protect her. All you have to do is pack up and go home.”

  “Oh, sure. I’ll just pack up. I’ll just abandon the work I’ve been doing here for the last month. I’ll just stop and go home and let you call in a guard and take the credit.”

  “You think that’s what this is about? I’m trying to keep you safe. I’m trying to protect your reputation. Can you imagine what this would do to your career when everyone finds out that you’re boning the guy?”

  I couldn’t help it. I feinted to my left so he would think I was going that way, and then I delivered a straight right jab, hitting him directly in the nose. His yowl of pain gave me a kind of satisfaction I hadn’t ever felt.

  “You fucking hit me!”

  I held on to my baton. “And I will do it again. If you ever insult me like that again, I swear to God, I will maim that pretty face of yours. Never mind that you look just like my father, I will end you.”

  He glowered at me as he shifted onto the balls of his feet. “You got off a lucky hit, little sister. You won’t catch me off my guard again.”

  “You know what? I’ve been feeling bad for you for weeks now. I was wondering what it was like to walk around with a secret like yours. It’s the only reason I didn’t tell Mom and Dad, because I was worried about you. I was protecting you. You betray me, and I’m worried about you … like an idiot. There’s something seriously wrong with me. But then you show up here and suggest that somehow I’m here playing at Royal Guard. Did you for once think that Dad knows exactly where I am?”

  He frowned at that. “There’s no way anyone in their right mind would have sent you after His Royal Highness. You’re the worst at this job.”

  “You know, for years I’ve laughed it off when people poked fun at me. But you know what? I’m actually pretty good at this.” Now all you have to do is keep believing that. “I was assigned this job, you shit. I’m not playing. I’m protecting the prince. And here’s the kicker, asshole: I wasn’t assigned by Dad.”

  He glowered at me and still held his pose. “What? You’re suggesting the king himself sent you here?”

  I didn’t respond. I just squared my shoulders and glared. “You can get out now. Go back to your boyfriend. Leave me the fuck alone. I’m not leaving this assignment unless King Cassius himself calls me off. You can feel free to attempt to call a Royal Guard, but I know for a fact that it has to go through Dad. You will not be the one taking credit for finding Sebastian. Your career will not propel for it. This has nothing to do with you. It’s your turn to go home.” I turned from him, walked toward the door, and opened it. “Now get out. Oh, and if you ever suggest that I’m sleeping my way through doing my job, I really will fuck up that pretty face.”

  He looked like he maybe didn’t want to leave. His brows furrowed in confusion. When he stepped by me, his scowl remained in place. “You’re playing with fire here. You don’t have what it takes, and you’re going to get hurt. I’m trying to prevent that from happening. Why can’t you see that?”

  “The only person who has hurt me in the last several months was you. Go.”

  My brother stalked out of my apartment. Childishly, I slammed the door behind him and then sank to the floor, letting the tears flow freely.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sebastian

  She’d been quiet today. I didn’t know what had prompted me to ask Len to come over for a photography lesson, but when I found her on her balcony yesterday, she looked sad. Distraught.

  Something was bugging her, and I couldn’t help trying to fix it.

  I knew better than to develop feelings for this girl. I knew better. Once the press got a hold of this—whatever it was—it would be over. “Pussy got your tongue?”

  She started coughing on the gulp of water she’d taken from her water bottle. “Oh my God, did you really say that to me?”

  I grinned. At least she was acting more like herself now. “What? Pussy means cat.”

  She rolled her eyes. “More like pussies got your tongue.”

  Oh God, I really wished she hadn’t said that, because now I kept picturing what my tongue might do to her.

  Get a grip man.

  “That’s not even a fair assessment. You’ve never even seen me around many girls. I live a quiet life. I work, I take pictures, and that’s about it.”

  She slid me a sidelong glance as if she knew better than that, as if she had knowledge of what I’d been like before. “Something tells me that this quiet existence of yours is relatively new. Besides, I saw you at the club with Lucas. I got the impression that women hang all over you a lot. I also got the impression that you were used to that.”

  She wasn’t wrong. “Yeah, okay. So maybe the assessment is a little accurate, but I haven’t really been like that for a while. You know, I just have a different focus.”

  She turned to me as we set up the lighting. “Why is that? Why did you stop … playing the field, so to speak?”

  “About six months or so ago, I had some major family drama. I think I told you about it. Basically, my family didn’t really understand me and they were trying to control me. I wasn’t really down for letting that happen. I was pissed off for a while, but part of me understood where they were coming from, you know? I hadn’t really given them an opportunity to see something different about me.” He shrugged. “I hadn’t really given myself the opportunity either, and I had other things to focus on. So I kinda focused on work and stepped back from the women.”

  “Wow. I didn’t even think guys as good looking as you bothered to do the introspection thing.”

  I put a hand over my heart. “Ouch.” I could see the light dancing in her eyes. That was how I knew she was kidding. Or maybe I just hoped she was kidding. “You wound me right here.”

  “But hey, I said you were good-looking.”

  I flashed her a grin. “I do have a mirror.”

  “So humble.” Then she was laughing.

  God I loved that sound. That shit is making you crazy. I needed to change the subject.

  “So how are things going with your boyfriend anyway?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Um, actually, we broke up.”

  Those simple words hammered against the confines of my chest.

  They’d broken up. Why? How? When? The when was extremely important. “Oh, you didn’t say anything.”

  She shrugged. “It’s new. I’m not really sure how I
feel about the whole thing.”

  “You didn’t want to break up?”

  “Oh, I did, especially after I caught him cheating. But I guess in my head I kept thinking that he was really the only guy in the world who would want to go out with Calamity Jane here.”

  “Well, I find you endearing.”

  “Yeah, but can you believe it? I broke up with him, and he said no.”

  I frowned. “What did he mean no?”

  “I don’t know, honestly. I told him we needed to stop seeing each other, and he was all, ‘No.’” She shrugged. “I was really clear and firm that I didn’t just need time away from him. I didn’t just need to figure myself out, but rather I just didn’t want to see him anymore. A large part is the fact he cheated, and then he gave me some bullshit excuse for that. I can’t believe I’ve wasted so much time with him.”

  “How long were you together?” I prayed for her to say weeks—months even. It was easier to get over shorter term relationships.

  “Just a little over a year. And even through that whole year, I knew he wasn’t the right guy. But I kept going out with him anyway because he looked good on paper. Honestly, the whole thing was my fault.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  She changed the subject quickly. “Okay, photography instructor, show me all the things. I want to learn about studio lighting and studio shots.”

  “Well, the best thing about a studio shot is they can be honest. There’s not a lot of extra stuff going on. There’s no interference. You control the environment.”

  “Control the environment. I like the sound of that.

  “Okay, so the first lesson is don’t be afraid of the camera.” Sebastian handed me the beautiful Hasselblad camera. He was right. I was afraid of it. “It’s a really nice camera.” I had no idea how much it cost, but it looked expensive.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, it is. But it’s a tool. So as long as you’re careful and don’t juggle it, we’ll be okay.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Okay, handle the camera with care.”

  He gave me a wide grin that was just a hint on the side of dirty. “You know, like a guy’s balls. You don’t squeeze too hard. Be gentle. Nice even.”

  My mouth unhinged and I stared at him.

  His laugh was booming and echoed off the walls. “You should see your face.”

  “Are you always this outrageous?”

  “Sometimes. I know it makes you crazy, so that helps. Well, come on over here. I’ll be your subject. All you have to do is shoot me.”

  He moved over some blank canvas background that was pulled down. It was stark white. He pulled a stool over and planted himself in the middle of it. Then I realized with startling fear, I had no idea what to do. If he was a model and I had my paints, I would capture the shadow, the light … I would know exactly what to do. This was not my medium. I flushed. “Um, I don’t really know what to do right now.”

  “That little button over there, click it and point the camera in my general direction. Easy. Then, you look at the photo you’ve taken. Make your adjustments for focus, light, and the subject.” He winked.

  I could do this. I was just going to shoot the crown prince. Simple. It’s not hard at all. I snapped a shot. I looked down. No. That was fuzzy. I adjusted the camera, and focused it tighter on his face. I clicked again. Much better. Then I moved a little, adjusting the light, kind of like I would move my easel to cater to what I needed. I started to get the hang of it the more photos I took. He was a good subject and teacher all at once.

  “Just like with your models, you want to make yourself comfortable. Relax. People tend to get real tense when they know they are being photographed. Even though they think they’re relaxed, there’s always something that gives them away, something that takes away from it being candid. That is why a lot of photographers use music or tell models to bring a friend who will talk to them, make them laugh, so you can capture real moments of who they are.”

  “Okay, so why don’t you talk to me so you’ll be more relaxed?”

  “I am relaxed.”

  I laughed. “Are you sure about that?”

  “You got any ideas on how to relax me?” His voice was low, warm … suggestive.

  Holy shit. “I, uh, I don’t know. With you, there seems to be a part of you that’s always holding back I guess?”

  That made it worse. He stiffened. “No. What you see is what you get.”

  I giggled and clicked again. Then I turned the display over so he could see it. “You tell me. Do you look relaxed?”

  He chuckled. “Okay, I guess not. Let me turn on some music.” He turned on the speaker and a woman sang, “I am an endangered species.” The sound clearly had African elements, and blues, and a little bit of a rock ’n roll feel. It was awesome. It made me certainly feel a lot looser. As she sang about not singing a victim’s song, I snapped photos of Sebastian who danced a little on the stool. He gave me genuine smiles and flirty winks.

  This is not real. I tried to tell myself all the things that would remind me not to fall for him, but they weren’t working. The more he talked to me, the more he pulled me in. He talked mostly about photography, capturing just the right shot, how it felt, and his excitement about his opening. It was easy. So easy.

  “I’ve been talking for a while now. Aren’t you supposed to tell me about yourself?”

  I shook my head. “No, I am not the subject. You are the subject.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough. Isn’t this the part where you, as the photographer, are supposed to tell me to make love to the camera?”

  I coughed a little as I imagined saying the words ‘make love’ anywhere near Sebastian. Yeah, that wasn’t a good idea because then I would just go ahead and remember the other night. My hand slipping into my panties, touching myself, thinking about him, pretending my fingers were his. A flush crept up my neck. Not okay. “You wish.”

  He shrugged. “Fair enough. Then I’m going to make you talk. Why don’t you tell me about your boyfriend?”

  I lowered the camera for an instant. “What do you want to know?”

  “It shouldn’t be this hard for you to talk about your boyfriend. I mean, you had to have met him somewhere. I’m sure there’s some sappy girl reason as to why you fell for him?”

  “Nope. All I can think about is how he cheated on me with someone close to me. I walked in on it.” At least that much was the truth.

  His brow creased. “Wait, this was recent?”

  I nodded. “It happened before I moved, really. I thought distance and all that would help … give me some clarity. All it did was make me realize that I shouldn’t be holding on to someone who treats me like shit.”

  He nodded. “Amen. I’m sorry he hurt you. And I’m sorry this friend of yours hurt you too. That’s fucked up.”

  “Yeah, it is fucked up. I’m still pretty angry about it. It’s not even really about the guy because, at the end of the day, I think deep down I knew he wasn’t right for me.”

  “How did you know that?”

  Somehow this conversation felt too intimate. It was the closest to who I really was that I’d shown him. It was hard to be that raw. “I don’t know. It was easy, I guess. He knew my family. I knew his family. It felt like on paper, we were supposed to be together, right?”

  He nodded. “I could see that.”

  “Except I don’t even think he really ever liked me. He would never actually put me down or anything. It was more that I always felt like maybe I was a consolation prize or he liked me despite who I was. It’s intangible. I can’t really put my finger on it. But he never put me first. And I think that maybe I liked his family a lot more than I liked him.”

  He shook his head. “You should be with someone who wants to put you on a pedestal.”

  I snapped another shot. He was natural now. Loose. Relaxed. He watched me intensely, eyes slightly narrowing, as if waiting, watching to see my response and how I was reacting to this conversation.

&
nbsp; “He must have had one hell of a family.”

  “He does. They’re lovely. But I can’t date someone’s family. I can’t stay with someone for that.”

  “No, you sure can’t. So what now? Am I going to find you on Tinder or something?”

  A giggle escaped. “Um, I think I’m going to leave the guys alone for a while. After this last time, perhaps I’m a little gun-shy.”

  “You shouldn’t let that asshole stop you from living your life. Not all guys are assholes. Not all guys lie to you.”

  “Yeah. This is the part where I should say ‘I know,’ but I don’t actually believe you.”

  His lips tipped into a smirk. “That’s okay. You’ll believe me one day.”

  His voice dropped an octave. It was low, rumbly, and made me want to cuddle up to his side. But I didn’t do that. Instead, I snapped another shot. He checked my every movement across the section of his apartment that we’d set up for the studio shoot.

  The tension swirled around us as if trying to concentrate. Somehow this felt intimate. I felt vulnerable. Naked. “You’re watching me. It’s making me nervous.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I’m sure you’re doing a great job.” The music changed again to some upbeat song by the latest pop princess, but it was low … sexual in a way.

  “You make a really good model. I’m sure dozens of artists have volunteered to paint you before.”

  He shook his head. “Not that I can recall. Why, are you offering?”

  I grinned. “I usually do nudes.” Why did I say that? It wasn’t true. Because you’re hoping he’ll volunteer as tribute.

  He shrugged then reached behind his back and pulled his shirt up, tugged it free, and tossed it aside. “How is this for nude?”