The Royal Treatment: A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy, Book 1

by Melanie Summers

  “I doubt that very much. You’re many things, but dull isn’t one of them.”

  “Really? You, who has called me a ridiculous man-child, thinks I may have more than one brain cell rattling away in my head?” That’s better. Remind yourself who she is. Don’t get sucked in by her smile.

  She blushes. “I never said you were stupid.”

  “Only lazy.”

  She lifts her chin and purses her lips. Oh, those are nice lips.

  “Isn’t that the word for an adult who doesn’t do any actual work?”

  “What if that adult is still learning his trade?” My words have the effect I was hoping for. She looks confused for a moment because she was gearing up for a fight, and I’m not giving her one. And upper hand back to me! Score one for Arthur. Finally.

  “Shall we?” I hold out my hand to the right and follow her toward the private residences. She walks with her head swiveling quickly from side-to-side, checking out the tapestries and paintings of my dead relatives that line the walls. Her shoes click along the marble floor, and when I glance down at them, I realize they are not sexy kitten heels at all, but rather are shoes my grandmum would wear. How very odd for a young woman. And even more surprising that I am turned on right now. Perhaps I should consider finding a therapist.

  I stop in front of a set of white double doors. “I suspect you’ll want to see this.”

  I leave her suitcase and open both doors, leading her into the library. This is a little move I picked up from Beauty and the Beast—the Disney version, not the horrid nineties TV series. Works every time. Why do chicks dig books so much? Books and horses. I’ll never understand it.

  Her mouth drops open as she takes in the two-storey room, filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

  “This is bigger than my entire apartment.”

  “Some of these books are over two hundred years old. Original editions. You’re welcome to read anything you like.” I gesture at the shelves with one hand and smile at her. She’s looking around, but where are the wide eyes? Where’s the mouth agape? Where is the adoring gaze? She looks… unimpressed. Almost offended, actually. “Not a reader, I take it?”

  “On the contrary. I love to read.” She shrugs. “It just seems such a shame to hide all these wonderful books where so few people will ever have access to them.”

  Huh. Well, that was an unexpected flop. I’ve just managed to prove we are every bit as selfish as she thought. I watch as she pulls a title off the shelf and thumbs through it for a second. I’m both irritated by her reaction and attracted to her at the same time. On the one hand, I am absolutely hating this ‘holier than thou’ business, and on the other hand, I want to impress the skirt right off her.

  I wonder what Sun Tzu (or Michael Corleone, for that matter) would have said about the war raging in my body right now? I want to hate her, but I also want to do very naughty things to her. Right now. On that puffy leather chair over there, for instance, or up against the wall. Ladies love that almost as much as horses for some reason. Oh, stop that! Idiot. Your parents were right to worry that you were a dullard.

  A squealing sound from the doorway interrupts my thoughts. Dexter comes snorting and snuffing his way into the library. Dexter will save the day!

  “Dexter, meet Ms. Sharpe.”

  He trots his big spotted body over to me and rubs his snout on my pant leg. I crouch and give him a good scratch behind his ears. His handler—well, babysitter, really—Troy, chases him into the room.

  “There you are, Dexter!” He spots me and straightens up. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t know you had company. He just took off on me. Must’ve heard you come in.”

  “Not to worry, Troy. I’ll take him from here.”

  “I’ll be in Dexter’s room if you need me.”

  I look up at Tessa, and she has an unreadable expression on her face as she stares at Dex. “Do you like pigs?”

  “I don’t know. It’s really more a question of will he like me?”

  “He will.” I stand and walk toward her, Dexter at my heels. “Come say hello, Dex.”

  He sits in front of Tessa and looks up at her, like the well-mannered ungulate that he is. She bends down slightly and pats him tentatively on the head. When Dexter doesn’t bite off her hand, she strokes him behind his ears, then crouches down so she can pet him with both hands.

  “What a surprisingly sweet pig.”

  “Just like his owner.”

  She looks up at me and laughs, which causes Dexter to get excited and lick her right in the mouth. “Oh! God! Gross!” she sputters.

  “Sorry about that.” I take her hand and help her to her feet. “He tends to get a little too affectionate with the ladies.”

  “Just like his owner, as I understand.”

  I find myself blushing, which is something I don’t think I’ve done since I was a teenager. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room so you can wash the pig spit off your face.”

  “And disinfect the inside of my mouth.” We walk side-by-side to the hall, Dexter trying to nudge his way between us.

  “No need. He’s really quite a clean animal.”

  “And, yet, I still find myself wanting a bottle of Listerine.”

  I laugh, and am yet again shocked by the fact that I could have any fun at all with this awful harpy. But somehow, I can’t help it. If I’m not careful, she’s going to end up convincing me to dissolve the monarchy myself.

  Eight

  Crazy Hot Leech

  Tessa

  “I should have taken your advice and become a fashion blogger,” I say to Nikki. We’re on the phone while I stand in front of the closet, trying desperately to figure out what to wear to a dinner with the Crown Prince, the Princess Dowager (his grandmum), and his sister, Princess Arabella. I lasted almost three hours without calling Nikki to tell her everything—all about the tour, the library, the horribly embarrassing limo ride, and the rather cold woman named Mavis who has been assigned to ‘care for my every need whilst I am a guest of the Prince.’ Mavis had my things catalogued and unpacked so fast my head was spinning. Catalogued. Each item, in the order of when it came out of my luggage.

  “Go with your little black dress. It’s a classic.”

  I swipe the other clothes away from it so I can consider it. “You think? What if the ladies have elbow-length gloves?”

  “What if they’re in jeans?”

  I’m briefly hopeful. “Do you think they might all be casual?”

  “Oh yeah, sure. They’re probably going to order in some pizza and swill beer from cans. Just throw on some pajamas and your bunny slippers.” I hear the bath water sloshing in the background, and I am suddenly so homesick. I want to be in my tub, not here among people who probably would rather do anything than have dinner with the likes of me.

  “Go with the black dress. It’s sexy but respectable at the same time.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not really going for sexy. I need to be professional,” I say.

  “You fancy him!” Nikki’s tone has gone from slightly bored to top-of-roller-coaster excited.

  “Do not.”

  “You so do. I can hear it in your voice,” she says. “I knew it!”

  I scoff. “He’s a leech on society. Why would I be interested in that?”

  “Because that particular leech is crazy hot, richer than sin, and a complete charmer. He charmed the hell out of you already, didn’t he?”

  There’s a huge smile on her face, I just know it.

  “No. Not possible.” Totally possible, but since I’m desperately trying to fight it, I must not admit it. “What about the tan pantsuit with the pinstripes?”

  “To dinner? With the Royal Family?”

  My stomach twists again at the thought. “Good point.”

  I grab the black dress off the rack and toss it on the bed.

  Before I dress for dinner, I check my text messages and voicemails that I’ve been ignoring since yesterday.

  Bram: Oh, my God! That was t
he funniest fucking video I’ve ever seen. You must be so fucking embarrassed. What the fuck is going on with you and the Prince?

  Mum (voicemail): Tessa, call me immediately. Your father and I are quite worried. I read in Weekly World News that you can have your hair shocked right out of your body. Do you still have your hair, darling?

  Mum (2nd voicemail): Tessa, why aren’t you answering? I hope you haven’t locked yourself in the bathroom like you did when you got your period during maths class. It didn’t help anything then, and it won’t now. You need to call me back straight away. The neighbours won’t stop ringing about you. That horrid video and the Prince’s invitation in one day? I don’t know what’s going on with you. When did you start swearing like a sail—”

  Text from Noah: Ring me back now. Isa is calling me every ten minutes to find out what the hell is going on with you and the Royal Family. Plus, I want to make fun of you for that shocking video. Best. Video. Ever. Holy fuck. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life.

  Facebook Message from Royal Watchdog’s number one fan, KingSlayer99: Tessa, well done, you brave, beautiful woman. Finally breaching the wall of the castle of thieves. Give the Prince of Laziness a throat punch from me.

  Email from Daniel Fitzwilliam, owner of Wellbits, makers of the Shock Jogger: Ms. Sharpe, please contact me immediately. We need to find a suitable way to mitigate the damage done by your video to our product launch.

  Dad (voicemail): “Tessa? Where are you? Your mum has gone off her nut waiting for you to ring. You better not be living at the palace without telling your mother. I’ll never hear the end of it. How’s Nikki? Is her nose all right? I can’t believe you threw that electric prod thingy at her. That looked very painful. I really should have spent more time working on your throw.”

  Text from Finn: Bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Thanks for being such a monumental dork. BTW, what’s this shit about you going to live at the palace?

  Text from Lars: From now on, call me before you do anything. Ever. Let’s start with this bit of advice: Probably don’t hook yourself up to a cattle prod when you’re going to get all sweaty, you dumb arse. You’ve screwed up all my classes today because one of my students put it together that you’re my sister, and I’ve spent the entire day answering questions about you. Also, Nina wants to know if she can visit you at the palace if you go.

  Shit.

  At exactly seven o’clock, there is a light rap on the door to my suite. I take a deep breath as I walk across my luxurious new digs. “Don’t fuck up. Don’t fuck up.”

  I open the door, and there he is. Prince Charming himself, dressed in a black dinner jacket, grey slacks and a tie. He gives me the once over, making me feel naked for a second, but then the smile he gives me makes me feel like I might not mind being naked in front of him. After all, it’s nice to be appreciated.

  “Good evening, Ms. Sharpe. You’re looking rather fetching this evening.”

  “Your Highness.” I tilt my head, and my body naturally does a little curtsy that I wasn’t expecting. I must be coming down with something because I suddenly feel all flushed again.

  “I thought I’d help you find your way to the dining room.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind.” As long as you aren’t escorting me to the dungeon to chop off my head.

  “Thank you for joining us.”

  We fall in step together down the long hall with only the sound of our shoes clicking on the floor. I have never in my life been so hyper-aware of my proximity to a man as I am now. He is mere inches from me, my shoulder practically rubbing against his arm as we move.

  “I thought I should give you a heads up. My grandmother, Princess Dowager Florence, doesn’t know why you’re really here.”

  Uh-oh. “Why not?”

  “I thought it would be easier to keep her out of the loop. She’s rather guarded with the press, and I don’t think you’d get to know the real her if she knew who you were.”

  “Okay…”

  He stops and turns to me. I do the same. His expression is suddenly very serious. “I want you to see her the way she can be when we’re among friends. She’s a wonderful woman. Very caring and funny as all hell.”

  “Really? That’s not what people say about her.”

  “She has good reason for how she’s been.” He turns away and continues down the hall.

  I rush my next few steps to catch up, confused about what exactly is happening and how I’m supposed to play it. “Who does she think I am?”

  “An old friend from college. You live in New York but are here for a holiday for a couple of months.”

  “I don’t like lying to people, Your Highness.” Unless it’s my parents about dinner plans. That I don’t mind.

  He glances down at me and says, “Arthur.”

  “What?” We stop in front of the elevator.

  “Call me Arthur, or she’ll know something’s up.”

  “I don’t like this. I have no respect for liars.” Oh, I know I’m being a hypocrite, but please don’t hold it against me. All’s fair in love and war. Well, in war, anyway…

  The elevator doors open, and he touches the small of my back to encourage me to get on. I try to ignore the sparkly tingles going up my spine and concentrate on how pissed I am. “Did you hear me just now? I don’t want to lie to the Princess Dowager.”

  “I don’t either, but this is an unusually delicate situation. She’s very old.”

  Ha! I’ve caught him talking out of both sides of his mouth. “Which is it? Is she old, or is she going to hate me if she knows the truth?”

  “Both. She’s very delicate and she would hate you.”

  “She’s delicate. Arabella’s delicate. I’m starting to notice a theme.”

  “And what would that be?” He raises one eyebrow, looking amused again.

  “I’m starting to think you’re a bit of a chauvinist who doesn’t think women can handle much more than a weak tea and some light conversation.”

  “On the contrary, women can be every bit as tough as men. Tougher even. It just so happens that my sister isn’t, and my grandmother is getting so old we really won’t have time for her to warm up to you once she knows who you are.”

  “That’s no excuse.” I scoff. “If she can’t be decent to me knowing who I really am, then that’s how the story will go out. The people deserve the truth about your family. After all, we are paying for your life. We should know what we’re getting for our money.”

  He stiffens for the briefest instant, then seems to catch himself and smiles patiently. “You know, Ms. Sharpe, we are public servants in the truest of forms. My family has dedicated our lives, our very lineage, to this great nation. We provide jobs for over twelve hundred people. Honourable careers that pay well. Not to mention the two thousand-plus charitable organizations that rely on us for fundraising each year.”

  “Yes, thank you.” I give him a sarcastic look. “I’ve read the brochure. Didn’t really convince me.”

  We arrive on the first floor and the doors open. I throw back my shoulders and walk out of the lift, forgetting that I have no idea where I’m going. I take a guess and turn to the left, but a light cough from the Prince has me spinning on my heel. “This way?”

  “Yes.” He tries to hide his smirk. “Listen. I think we’ve both taken a wrong turn. I shouldn’t have assumed that you would be comfortable lying to my grandmother.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” I point my finger in the air and wag it to increase my sassiness. “And my wrong turn would be?”

  “Just now, when you got off the lift. If you’d kept going, you’d have ended up in the garage.”

  His tone is light, and I have to fight not to smile.

  “Hardly the same thing.”

  “You’re correct. Your transgression would have had much worse consequences. It reeks of grease and cigarette smoke in there.”

  His attempt at being wry doesn’t work. I continue to glower.

 
The Prince’s lips press together in a slight grimace. “Okay, Ms. Sharpe, I’m about to confirm a rumor for you, and I’m going to rely on your decency that you will not report it. My grandmum isn’t well. Having a reporter among us would put undue stress on her, and I’d just as soon spare her that.”

  His eyes glisten and I almost think he’s about to tear up, but then he clears his throat and sets his jaw, and it’s business as usual. I follow him, moving slower as I digest this news.

  Stopping in front of a set of imposing double doors, Arthur turns to me. “So, what shall we tell her?”

  I’m about to cave, aren’t I? Damn. “Which school did we go to? I forgot.”

  He gives me a grateful smile. “Oxford.”

  “Right.”

  I’m so thrown by this bombshell that I forget to be nervous as we walk into the dimly-lit dining hall. My heels dip into a carpet so plush it feels as though I might sink into it up to my knees. It absorbs the sound of the classical music that surrounds us even though I can’t see any musicians or speakers. The walls are painted a muted red and are adorned by gold crown-mouldings and sconces that hold flickering candles. A small table is set for four with so many dishes and cutlery at each place, that I’m pretty sure I’ll have no idea how to use most of it. I’m going to fuck this up, aren’t I?

  At the far end of the room, Princess Arabella and the Princess Dowager stand, sipping cocktails as we walk toward them. Arabella stops mid-sentence, her gaze drawing attention to us that I’d just as soon avoid. I wring my hands nervously as her face falls and she blinks slowly in my direction. My pace tapers off, but Arthur’s hand is on my back again, gently nudging me forward.

  “Arabella, you remember Tessa,” Arthur says, a slight warning tone in his voice.

  “Of course.” She glares at me with such disdain that I feel like I’ve just shrunk two feet in height.

  “Grandmum, good evening. You’re looking well.” Arthur leaves my side and gives the Princess Dowager a kiss on each cheek. “I’d like to introduce you to Tessa Sharpe. She’s an old friend from Oxford.”