Oh, dear. That had to hurt. Maybe his fancy fucking camera had broken the fall.
She sped the rest of the way home, skidding into her flat’s car park and swinging recklessly into a parking space.
Well—three spaces. Horizontally. Whatever.
She hit the brakes, then flipped down the visor mirror, checking her reflection.
Still perfect. Good. Because there, loitering near the entrance of the car park, was a black, stretch Lincoln MKT. Gag.
Well. Hans had told her they’d be back.
With a sigh, Cherry got out of the car, striding over to the limo just as its door opened and Hans’s huge body emerged.
“Madam,” he said.
“Have you come to kidnap me? I have to warn you, my scream has been known to burst eardrums.”
His lips quirked, but he kept his gaze blank. He was all smooth professionalism and intimidating silence.
“Fine,” she sighed. “Be that way.” She slipped past him and climbed into the car.
He shut the door behind her.
“I’m glad to see you,” Ruben said.
Cherry closed her eyes, just for a second, as she reigned in the feelings that sentence had set off. There were many of them, bright and varied as a Bonfire Night sky, but the most pressing emotion was rage.
She was still angry, then. In case she’d been in any doubt.
When she opened her eyes again, he was frowning at her. He lounged against the limo’s leather seats, his right ankle crossed over his left knee, the fabric of his suit trousers pulling tight over powerful thighs. He wore no jacket, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to expose his forearms. For a moment, she considered allowing herself to enjoy the sight of those forearms—objectively, you know. Separating the art from the artist.
Then she pulled herself together and clutched her anger close, a burning barrier against the twisted attraction she still felt. Clearly, his looks did terrible things to her head. And she needed her mind clear for this conversation.
Cherry tore her gaze from his face and forced herself to speak. “I thought you said the press would leave me alone?”
“In Helgmøre,” he said, “there is an understanding between my brother—the king—and the media. The royal family are protected from certain invasions of privacy. That agreement does not, unfortunately, extend to the activities of the British press.”
“Great,” she said woodenly. “Perfect. Just what I need.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
She pursed her lips. Frankly, that wasn’t much of an apology. It had all the key parts: ‘I’m’ and ’sorry’. But she wanted something a bit more impactful. Something involving sky-writing and a grand band, perhaps. Just a few ideas. Maybe she should write him a list.
“Cherry,” he said, after her silence went on a little bit too long. “Are you going to talk to me?”
Before she could stop herself, she tutted. And then was utterly mortified. God, she sounded like her mother.
The corner of his lip tugged up into a smile. “I take it that’s a no.” At her blank stare, his smile faded. He sighed, sitting up straighter, planting both feet flat on the floor. “You’re right, obviously. Why should you talk to me?” His tongue snaked out to wet his full, lower lip. “And I have a lot to say. Do you mind if we drive?”
She shrugged. He reached over and pressed one of the buttons lined before the nearest blacked-out window. “Køre.”
The car slid into movement, so smooth she almost didn’t notice.
“Alright,” Ruben said, clasping his hands together. “I know you like to keep things to the point—“
“And yet,” you she murmured, “you continue to babble.”
He grinned. Apparently, he didn’t care what she said, as long as she spoke. “I do, don’t I? It’s natural, I’m afraid.”
She arched a brow. “Now you’re doing it on purpose.”
“What can I say?” His voice deepened, became darker, rich as molasses. “I seem to behave badly around you.”
Cherry swallowed, hard. She clamped her knees together and tried to forget the feeling of his hands tugging at her suspenders. Didn’t work. So she talked over the images crowding her brain. “Whatever you’re trying to say here, get on with it. Please. Before you bore me to death.”
For the first time that morning, his eyes captured hers and didn’t let go. His gaze was steady, impenetrable, unavoidable, as he gave her that devastating little half-smile. “Certainly. I’m here to make you an offer.”
Oh, dear. “An offer, as in…?”
“You have a problem,” he said, which was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. “I do too. My… indiscretion affects both of us, believe it or not.”
She snorted. “Not.”
But he watched her steadily, unsmiling. “I have no wish to draw attention to myself, Cherry. I had a bad experience, not so long ago, that left me with little desire to cause another…” His mouth twisted as he searched for the word. “Another scandal. So, yes, this affects me. I have a certain reputation, one that I cannot seem to escape and desperately want to. You can help me change the narrative. And, in return, I may be able to help you. Understand?”
Cherry rolled her lips inwards, her toes curling inside her shoes. In less than a day, she’d managed to forget how it felt to bear the full force of that intensity. But she forced herself to concentrate on what mattered; on the meaning behind his words, not the thread of steel in his voice or the aura of authority that twisted something in her chest.
“So what did you do?” She asked.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What did you do? To get this terrible reputation of yours?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nothing… immoral.”
“Well, you know, people rarely consider themselves to be immoral. Hitler thought of himself as a great guy. You know? So, I’d kind of like to know.”
She could practically hear him grinding his teeth. “It was… related to my sexual proclivities.” Then, when he saw the look on her face, he hurried to add, “Nothing like that. I didn’t hurt anyone. I don’t—“ He sighed. “Jesus, Cherry. I had sex. That’s what I did.”
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “You’re a man. You could fuck the Queen and they’d pat you on the back.”
“Well,” he said wryly, “my queen is also my sister-in-law. So perhaps not.”
“You know what I mean. The only time men get shit for sex is if they’re on some truly twisted shit, or they’re anything other laser straight.” She looked up to find him watching her with quiet amusement, and something in his eyes made her realise… “Oh. You—”
“I, what?” He demanded, one brow raised. “I fuck who I want, how I want? Correct. That’s what I did. Are we done?”
Cherry bit down on the inside of her cheek, suddenly feeling kind of… shit. “Yeah. Okay.”
He inclined his head, and his voice was soft when he murmured, “Good.” But his eyes skated away from hers again, and he seemed to reel himself in. The air between them no longer swelled with the force of his personality. Everything was still and quiet and utterly as it should be.
He reached for a case of black leather beside him, revealing that it was actually a huge folder. He slid open the silver clasp and pulled out a thick sheath of papers, half of which he gave to her.
“This is my offer,” he said. “You can study it at your leisure, but the long and short of it is—well. I’d like you to become my fiancée. For a year.
In the ensuing silence, Cherry became acutely aware of the low hum of the car’s engine, its smooth glide forward. She wondered, suddenly and pointlessly, where they were. Was the driver circling the block? Probably not. That would cause unnecessary attention. Maybe they were heading towards the city, where a car like this wouldn’t garner as much notice. Maybe—
“Cherry,” Ruben said gently. “Are you alright?”
Was she alright? Now she thought a
bout it, she was tapping her foot rather rapidly. And clenching her fists kind of tightly. Her nails must be carving some serious crescent moons into her palms right now. It would probably hurt, if her mind wasn’t too busy freaking the fuck out to notice minor things like pain.
“Cherry.” His hand came to settle on her shoulder again, squeezing this time. Hard enough to capture her attention, to drag her out of her own head.
She blinked at him. “Could you repeat yourself? Please?”
He swallowed. “I asked you to be my fiancée for a year.”
“I thought you did,” she nodded. “I really thought you did. But then I thought, why the fuck would you ask me to do that?”
“Well… there are, ah, several reasons…” He sat back in his seat, clearing his throat.
“Is this a joke?” She asked sharply. “Because it’s not very funny. I just had photographers crawling over my car like ants, and I am waiting, just waiting for a hysterical call from my mother—”
“It’s not a joke,” he interrupted. “I told you; I need your help.”
“Well, no, you didn’t say that at all. You said a load of mysterious, complicated shit that made no sense whatsoever—“
“Maybe you just weren’t listening.”
“And maybe you’re shit at explaining things.”
He smiled, sudden and unexpected. “You’re right. I am terrible at explaining things. I have no finesse.”
“Really? I would’ve said your problem was getting to the point.”
“Fine.” He held out his hands, as if in supplication. “The point is this: I need a fiancée—specifically, you—because of yesterday’s shit-show. And, yes, I realise it was mostly my fault.”
“Completely your fault.”
He winked at her. Actually winked at her. “Well, maybe. But I never take full responsibility if I can help it.”
“Wow. You really are a prince.”
“Yep. Now, I realise there’s not much in this deal for you—“
“There’s nothing in this deal for me.”
“—So I added a financial incentive.”
Cherry paused. She looked down at the paper in her hands. Then she flicked through, faster and faster, until she came to the part that mattered.
The number on the page made her brows shoot up. Then Ruben leant over and shook his head. “No, that’s not it. That’s how much I’m going to give you if you refuse.”
Her head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you don’t sign. That’s the amount I’m giving you anyway, you know, to make up for the probable media fall-out.” He shook his head, flicking forward another few pages. “But you forfeit that if you sign, and instead you get this.”
She blinked. “Isn’t that the same amount?”
“Monthly.”
Cherry stared. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Her mind ran through calculations in a split second. Maggie’s healthcare fees in the states—her blood transfusions, her antibiotics, her hydroxycarbamide—and the tuition fees that her scholarships didn’t cover…
Cherry could pay them. Easily.
No more debt. No more panic. Her whole family—her parents, her uncle and her aunts—could stop pouring all their money into Maggie’s education and healthcare, could stop hiding the way it gutted them all. And her sister could continue to live the life she deserved, without worrying about the limitations of her illness.
But it couldn’t be that easy. Could it?
She licked her lips, which felt suddenly dry. “I don’t know if an engagement with me would… would help you avoid a scandal. Or whatever it is you want.”
He crossed his arms, watching her with all the patience in the world. “And why not? Please, explain.”
“Well...” She floundered, awkward. What did he want her to do? Lay out all the things about herself that most of society found distasteful? Remind them all that she wasn’t considered princess material? Fuck that.
But then he pushed. “Tell me. What is it about you that’s so terrible?”
“Nothing,” she said immediately. “I’m fine. I’m great. Doesn’t mean everyone else sees me that way. You’re a prince, and I’m, you know, normal.” She winced. “No offence. Plus, I’m not really considered ladylike. Because…” She waved vaguely down at her body.
He followed the motion of her hand, his eyes cool and assessing as they travelled over her. Then he said, his voice bland, “I see no issue.”
She glared. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re annoying.”
“So I’m told. Really, stop worrying. I know how these things work.”
“Believe me,” she said grimly, “so do I.”
He sighed. “Cherry… People, generally speaking, are amoral, arse-licking hypocrites. If you’re some woman I kissed in an alley, they’ll despise you; once you’re a princess-to-be, they’ll discover boundless liberal sentiment. I’ll be a pioneer of the modern age. You see what they’re saying about your country’s royal family, don’t you?”
She set her jaw, refusing to allow that point. “But I’m not a princess-to-be. I haven’t agreed to this.”
“But you will,” he said softly. “If you weren’t going to, you’d have told me so already. Wouldn’t you?”
Cherry looked at the contract. She looked at her hands. She remembered her mother’s face two years ago, the day Maggie had received her acceptance letter from Harvard. She remembered the last time she’d stayed with her parents, over Christmas, when they’d refused to turn the central heating on. Acting like they didn’t need to.
When really they couldn’t.
She said, “How do I know this contract is real?”
“You know it’s real,” he said calmly. “But it’s just a draft of the contract we would sign, should you agree to this. I know you understand it.”
She pressed her lips together. She worked in HR; so yes, she could read a damned contract. But she relied on people assuming that she couldn’t. It was always easier to control a situation when no-one thought you were capable of doing so.
“Take a look,” he said, nodding towards the papers in her lap. “See if the whole arrangement is to your satisfaction.”
She flicked through, scanning each page with an ease born of practice. It wasn’t the kind of document she came across often, but that didn’t really matter. These things were all based on the same principles, and she knew those principles like the back of her hand.
It wasn’t tricky. There was no double-talk, nothing to suggest he was trying to confuse or manipulate her. Just basic terms, caveats, detailed specifics. They would remain engaged for a year, at which point she would leave him—interesting. During that year, she would be bound by the same obligations as he was, so far as royal duties went. Royal duties—wasn’t that a fucking trip? She’d spend most of her time in Helgmøre, but not all of it. She could visit with family whenever she wanted for up to two weeks at a time. She couldn’t tell anyone of their agreement, blah blah blah…
Cherry looked up. “You know you’ve forced me into this. You understand that, right?”
He looked stricken. “I—“
“You let me think you were just some guy. You kissed me knowing that something like this could happen. Then you opened your big mouth and made it happen. You have all the power in the fucking world compared to me, and I…” She huffed out a laugh. “I need money. Have you ever needed money?”
His face was solemn as he said, “No. I have never needed money.”
“Lucky fucking you.” She stared down at the contract. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Cherry—“
“But I’m going to. I’m going to lie to everyone I know, lie to the world.” Just the thought of it turned her stomach. “And you’re going to pay me. And in a year, I will walk away and do my best to pretend this never happened, even though everything about me will have changed. So just know that I will sign this contract, and I will fulfil my obligations, but… you and me? That’s not happe
ning. Not even a little bit. Not anymore.”
He swallowed, hard. Nodded. And said, “Yes. I understand. I do.”
“Good.” She slapped the contract into his lap. “So we’re going to Helgmøre, then?”
“As soon as possible, yes.”
“Crap.” Various problems sprang to mind, though they seemed mundane in light of what she’d just agreed to. “I’ll have to take Whiskey, obviously. God, I’ll have to quit my job. Rose will be scandalised. But I’ll never have to work with Chris again.” She smiled. “Hm. Silver linings, and all that…”
Ruben leaned forward, his brow furrowed as he asked, “Whiskey?”
Oh, right. “My cat,” Cherry explained.
Ruben sighed. “I see.”
Chapter 11
The private jet descended bit by bit, and Ruben kept his eyes on Cherry. She, despite her obvious disgust for him, did not look away. No; she stared him down like they were rival gunslingers in the wild west, and she was shooting to kill.
It might turn him on if it weren’t for the fact that she genuinely disliked him. And she had a damned good reason to.
As the plane circled his family’s little landing strip, Ruben fought the sense of dread that had been growing since the moment she’d agreed to this charade. It made no sense—she’d done exactly what he’d hoped she’d do. Exactly what he’d wanted her to do.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d smiled at him when they’d first met—just three days ago. He already knew that she’d never smile at him like that again.
This was probably the fastest he’d ever fucked something up. Dragging Cherry into his life felt like dragging a princess off to his lair. He was almost certainly the dragon in this fairytale.
When the plane finally landed, she collected herself with brisk efficiency. It had only been a two hour flight, but Ruben felt like… well, he felt like he’d stepped into a giant metal cage, crossed the world at an unnatural height and speed, and been dumped on the ground again. Cherry, however, looked like a slightly more casual version of her usual glamorous self. Her hair was a riot of curls and coils, her face was as perfect as ever, and her glare was colder than the January air that hit them when an air hostess opened the plane door.
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