The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  “You’re her sister, her twin even, don’t you have any ideas?” I ask with maybe a little too much harshness because Ethan steps in.

  “Hey, easy there, dude,” he warns me.

  “I’m sorry,” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen and I’m honestly not trying to be rude to Cassie, you or anyone for that matter. I’m just in shock right now.”

  “It’s okay.” Cassie meets my gaze and her expression is thankfully softer now.

  “Should you go after her?” I throw out there to the universe and see where it lands.

  “I don’t think so.” Cassie shakes her head and takes a sip of her water at the table. “I know my sister, and she probably wants to be alone right now to think things over.”

  “Why did you ask me to chase after her then?” I ask with confusion.

  “I don’t know,” Cassie chuckles. “I guess in the heat of the moment, it was my gut reaction.”

  “That makes sense,” I nod.

  Then, a horrific thought pelts me right in the brain.

  “Wait…” I inflect with dread.

  “What?” Cassie raises her eyebrows and looks at Ethan, then me.

  “Will Chloe be upset if I don’t follow her? Will she find it offensive?”

  I look to Cassie for answers, and Ethan for that matter because what the hell do I have to lose?

  You see, as if it’s not raw and blatantly obvious, I’m actually terrible when it comes to relationships with women. Pleasing them in bed is one thing; being emotionally involved with them is another beast entirely.

  I might have swagger on the surface, but gauging their emotions is my worst sport ever no matter how many times I’ve had encounters with women. It’s always easier to impress them than keep them interested, long enough to invest on feelings.

  Let’s just say I’m not going to make the Olympic team when it comes to reading women’s thought processes any time soon.

  “I don’t know how to approach her,” I whisper with regret.

  Ethan stands up and slaps my back.

  “Just give it some time man.”

  I blow out a puff of air. Aside from what he said, I really don’t have much idea what to do.

  “Good idea.” I nod at him as if he’s onto a deep and profound secret that I’m just beginning to realize myself. Which maybe is really the case.

  “I think we’re going to go.” Cassie winces as she stares awkwardly at me. “Good luck, Aaron.”

  “Thanks.” I give her a polite smile and shake Ethan’s extended hand.

  “Are you heading back to your room?” He asks.

  “No,” I shake my head deliberately. “I think I’m going to cool off my own thoughts for a while. I might head to the bar and drink myself into oblivion,” I joke. Now that I think of it, that might just be a good idea after all.

  “Just remember to sleep on your side then.” Ethan slaps my back again and he and Cassie leave the bar.

  Fuck, no way is Chloe going back to our room. I’m alone for the night. Not exactly the way I planned things to work out or the outcome I desire, but hey, when life throws you lemons make lemonade.

  Or in my case, go right to the bar and order a lemon drop shot. That should solve my problems, albeit only momentarily. But I’ve gotta figure this shit out, because I’ve finally found the one woman who I don’t want to let go, and I just fucking ran her off.

  36

  Chloe

  I can’t fucking believe this.

  I mean, is this for real? Because it can’t really be happening right now.

  I trip as I make my way outside. I’m being clumsy on my feet because I’m freaking out over the news that Aaron is really Ms. Winters.

  What the hell? How did he become Ms. Winters in the first place? And how did I miss that? She was in my fucking face the whole time and I had no clue.

  I regain my balance before I completely bust my ass in the heavy snow. I trod my way back through the dense white powder, carefully taking my steps so that I don’t slip again. My goal is to make it back to my hotel room in the tower across from the bar, but as I walk, I begin to wonder if this is really the best course of action to take right now.

  Aaron is really Ms. Fucking Winters?

  Let me retrace my steps here, metaphorically, of course because there’s no way I’m going back there.

  Think about that nightmare dream. You know, we all have it from time to time. The one where you wake up naked in a room full of people? Well, let that stew for a moment or two. Think about how that feels…in the dream specifically.

  Now magnify it by, like, a million.

  That’s how it feels right now for me, and how it felt when I was back at the bar and realized that Ethan and Cassie were approaching the same exact table.

  To recap, when I first saw Cassie walking towards Ethan, my initial gut instinct was to stand up and panic. Also, run from the place. Get as far away as possible. Then, my cheeks flushed with heat when I had my ‘oh shit what is fucking happening?’ moment.

  At first, confusion hit me like a ton of bricks.

  Maybe Cassie forgot something and needed to talk to Ethan real quick. I mean, it wasn’t an entirely implausible scenario. I wouldn’t put it past Cassie either. She can be quite forgetful at times.

  So at first, naturally, I gave them—and myself for that matter—the benefit of the doubt. If I wanted this plan to work out, I had to remain patient.

  It’s when I spotted Aaron approaching the table that I knew something was desperately wrong.

  Why was he there? I thought he had to get some work done?

  This just wasn’t adding up…

  I was even willing to entertain the thought that he finished his work early and wanted to wander around, coincidentally, but things were already not making sense. But he was heading for Cassie and Ethan’s table. Where Cassie and Ethan were sitting, looking very confused.

  That’s when the burning heat scorched my skin and I began to put two and two together.

  I realized Aaron must have been in on this mix up.

  Shit, I was totally cringing inside. No, no, no, this really couldn’t be happening.

  Okay, I was already pinching myself hard but I wasn’t not waking up. Why was I not fucking waking up?

  Why, Aaron?

  I didn’t know if I should run from the room and pretend like I had no idea what was happening here.

  But of course that wouldn’t have worked.

  Cassie and Ethan were so fucking bewildered in that moment. And fuck, so was I

  My cover was blown so I figured may as well do my best to cover my tracks and explain the truth, right?

  Wrong!

  That’s when I decided I was totally going to bail. Run, run for it, Chloe.

  So, this is it then, huh? I guess Aaron is Ms. Winters and of course I’m Mr. fucking BadBoy.

  Now everyone knows, it’s out in the open. This should be a fantastic revelation, right?

  No.

  Aaron is Ms. Winters.

  That means all this time, I’ve been talking to him and not realizing who he really was, but the same goes for him with me. From the look on his face, I don’t think he had a clue about this either.

  I can’t believe every time I asked him about his job he was so aloof and unapproachable. He was probably trying to keep it a secret. Like I do with mine.

  Maybe for future reference, I should take notes on how to not let guys be vague when explaining their careers to me. Okay, I’ve been vague about my job too. Fine. But still…

  How could I have been so stupid?

  Now as I make my way blindly across the resort, each step my feet make in the plush snow is a link to embarrassment, a walk of shame.

  I need to dig my head out of my ass and take a deep breath to calm the fuck down, but inside my mind there’s a shitstorm happening and I can’t turn it off. Calm the fuck down, Chloe.

  I need to sort my thoughts. Focus. Focus.

  Fir
st things first.

  Aaron lied to me.

  I don’t take lying lightly.

  I’m angry at myself though, too, for falling into the trap. I should have seen it coming. I was too focused on Aaron, on his magic cock, on his fancy words, on the chase…on the ideas that took hold in my mind earlier tonight when I learned about Ben.

  But wait a minute, he’s not chasing after me. That means he’s not begging for forgiveness either.

  Should I also add that to the list of reasons to throw him in the dog house?

  Oh, don’t worry, he isn’t getting out of the dog house any time soon. In fact, I might lock that shit up forever.

  I know I’ll have to end up having the dreaded conversation with him, but for now, I just want to bury my head in the snow like an ostrich.

  Just kidding, I don’t even think those types of birds live in cold climates. Not to mention, I would probably freeze to death and die if I put my head in the snow for an even five minutes.

  Now that’s an idea. Suddenly it doesn’t seem as horrible as having to face all this turmoil right now.

  The more I walk (mainly to maintain body heat at this point because I’m cold as shit out here), the more I realize that all this makes perfect fucking sense.

  Finding Aaron at the supposed “first date” location.

  I shake my head at the damn irony. We were actually on a date, both us and our alter-egos. Then the more than coincidental cinnamon rolls. Then Ms. Winters being here in Reykjavik.

  I’m reeling here, trying to regain not only physical balance through the thick snow, but emotional balance as well.

  I trusted Aaron and thought he was a decent guy.

  Is what he did so terrible? And I did lie too…didn’t I?

  See, here I go again, trying to rationalize my thought processes. My subconscious doesn’t want to hate Aaron for lying. My body doesn’t want to either. And my heart? No, it sure as fuck doesn’t. But it’s somehow managing to ache pretty fucking badly.

  So, you can see my tormenting conflict here.

  Yep, it’s quite the doozy.

  I come to a pond with a little fountain in the middle. Of course, both the pond and the fountain are frozen over in the cold weather, and I can’t help but think about how ironic it is that the display in front of me mirrors the way I feel inside.

  Icy, cold and yet crying out for help in a way.

  I’m surprised that Cassie isn’t running after me by now, either. Where are all these people? It seriously can’t just be the cold keeping them away. Why aren’t they chasing me down?

  Hmm…Cassie knows me too well, and probably wants to give me some space to digest tonight’s developments. Must be it.

  So much for being in a romantic country in a sexy setting, huh?

  Then another gnawing thought rams the back of my mind.

  How am I ever going to get over this?

  I run past the frozen fountain and make it to the lobby where my hotel suite is.

  I shiver as I try to thaw my body. Snow plops off my shoes and becomes a wet and soggy mess on the floor. I glance around and notice the front desk clerk giving me a pitiful gaze.

  “Sorry about the snow,” I apologize and give her a sheepish glance.

  I try to kick the remainder of the snow off my shoes and onto the mat just outside the lobby doors.

  There’s a fire crackling inside by the front desk where a couch and a few tables are placed.

  It looks cozy and serene, and now I want nothing more than to just lock myself in my hotel room and pull the covers up over my head. Hide under my covers. Real mature.

  “Have a good night,” I bid the clerk behind the desk a farewell as I trek to the elevator.

  Now, I’m utterly exhausted. I lean against the back of the elevator car and blow out an exasperating puff of air. I want to shriek, but it’s so damn quiet in this place, I’m afraid I might send off alarm bells.

  The last thing I need right now is the fire department coming to rescue me. I need a different kind of saving, and it begins internally.

  When I finally get to my hotel room, I open the door and lock it shut behind me, using the little latch to keep the world out too.

  I walk to the little kitchen and contemplate whisking myself up a hot beverage of some sort. One with alcohol—in fact, lots of alcohol sounds perfect right now. But I’ve already been drinking quite substantially even before the great reveal and think that it’s probably best if I stay off grandpa’s cough syrup even just for tonight.

  I make my way to the bathroom, but I can’t look at my reflection. I’m not there yet to where I can face myself after all this shit.

  Drama and misery love company though, so after a few brief moments I finally make eye contact with Mr. BadBoy—otherwise known as me.

  Mr. BadBoy. Ms. Winters. Ugh.

  “What the hell happened out there tonight?” I ask myself as if I’m addressing a baseball team who’s just lost the season.

  I shrug and chuckle bitterly. What else can I do? I walk to the bed and numbly peel the layers of clothing from my body, intricately removing them piece by piece.

  This is going to get better, right?

  Maybe a good night’s sleep and a fresh outlook when the dawn breaks will help me see clearer.

  Well, a girl can dream. If she can sleep with that hollow ache in her chest, that is.

  37

  Aaron

  I see big, white snowflakes starting to flurry like crazy through the windows by the bar. I’m in the most beautiful fucking place in the world, and I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do now.

  Is there even a supposed to in this fucked up situation?

  The bartender makes eye contact with me, probably sensing it’s the right moment. Of course. From the way I must be looking right now, sadly installed in a lone spot at a hotel bar, it can’t be too hard for him to guess that any fucking moment is probably the right one.

  “What else will you be having tonight, my friend?” He thinks I’m in it for the long haul, too. I can’t be wearing my heart on my sleeve that fucking much—not that I care right now.

  “Whiskey,” I tell him, letting him fill in the gaps because I’ve got a lot more on my mind tonight than my drink order.

  “May I recommend a young malt from right here in Iceland? It’s kind of a whiskey. They distill it just outside of town.”

  The consequences are coming hard and fast for me tonight. I didn’t ask for ‘kind of a whiskey,’ but that’s what I get for not being exact.

  “Just pour me a double from that bottle of Glenlivet 12 I see up there. Neat. There’s enough ice and water outside, I don’t need to drink it too.”

  This gets a laugh from the bartender. He must not think I’m that much of a fucking sad sack.

  I’m just not normally a ‘sit at the bar and think’ type of guy, but the way things unraveled so fucking fast, I need to be that guy right now. I’ve got no other choice, especially after the bartender presents me with a glass of scotch on a wood coaster. It’s a very heavy pour, more than even the double I ordered.

  I sip my whisky, trying to assess what I know for sure.

  It’s my fault. That’s something I know. I saw it in Chloe’s face, and her eyes.

  I felt it, and I’m still feeling it now. I fucked up, whether I meant to or not.

  And no, I didn’t mean to. It’s not like I knew what was really going on with Thebadboys.net, and Mr. BadBoy, and Chloe. I still don’t, so it’s not like I intentionally misled Chloe.

  Fuck, I can’t say that. Misleading people is part of what I do, it’s part of what a lot of people do on Thebadboys.net. It’s kind of the beating fucking heart of the whole thing.

  I hear the room emptying out behind me. People leaving tables to go off and do whatever they’re going to do on this snowy night in Reykjavik—they’re probably just going back to their rooms and suites, their hot tubs and fireplaces, doing the same types of things I’m supposed to be doing...


  There it is again: supposed to. Who the fuck am I to say what’s supposed to happen, especially when it involves other people?

  Like the way everything is supposed to work out for me, since it always has in the past. Well, those assumptions need to go out the fucking window when it’s not just me, but someone else. Someone who I can’t stop thinking about, even right now.

  I always knew there was something about Chloe, from the very fucking start, and I never denied that. What I never did was make the connection with what a senior editor at the Times once told me back in the day when I was going to be a journalist, before I started Thebadboys.net.

  This was someone at the top of their field, a long, illustrious career and all that shit. In short, someone you’d think could lay some profound insight on you that could instantly change your life if they wanted.

  Without naming any names, I’ll tell you what she told me over lunch one day:

  “When you get seriously involved with someone, the most important thing to remember is to always be honest about everything, no matter how small. If you stray from that, they will find out.”

  Doesn’t sound that profound, does it? That’s what I thought at the time. And it’s not like I think in terms of getting ‘seriously involved’ with someone. I mean, come the fuck on.

  Yet I’m thinking about that now, halfway through my double scotch, since I did stray from that with Chloe. I had those same fucking thoughts earlier tonight when I finally told her about my son.

  When we were first getting on the plane, she said she wanted to have a ‘serious discussion’ about how I make my living. It was lighthearted, because she just found out I have a private fucking jet, but she asked me.

  And I told her the truth: I own a business.

  I was planning to reveal the rest of it in time. I mean, if you’re on a date with someone and they ask what you do for a living, you can just say ‘I work in a bank’ or ‘I’m in advertising’ or whatever. It’s not like you need to start spouting every fucking detail right of the bat.

  That’s not lying, right?

  Saying that you own a ‘small company’ when you actually own Thebadboys.net, on the other hand, is totally fucking lying and I’m totally fucking guilty.