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

by Melanie Summers

  “Not against her. In our favour.” My heart drops. I really don’t want to do this, but all’s fair in love and war, right? Although, this is low, even for us. “Damien, I’d like to make sure that no one finds out about any of this.”

  “No one will. I’ll see to it.” He stands. “It would render her completely useless to us.”

  He leaves, and I sit staring at everything I need to both win her over and screw her over. I should be elated, but somehow having it in my hand makes me sick. Ruining her life like that, for my own gain. Although, I really shouldn’t feel bad, since she has been trying to ruin mine for years now.

  I gather up the papers and walk over to my bookshelf and pull out one of the books. The bookcase immediately slides open revealing a hidden—wait, you didn’t actually buy that, did you? God, you watch too many movies.

  I put the envelope in a desk drawer and lock it, then pocket the key.

  Fourteen

  A Day in the Life

  Tessa

  Blog Post – March 18th

  Tessa here. It’s already been a week since I’ve moved into the palace, and I have to admit I may have been the slightest bit wrong about the Royal Family lazing about all day. I’ve been shadowing Prince Arthur for seven days now, and he keeps a schedule one could only describe as grueling. I’ve documented yesterday for you:

  6:00 am – Workout

  7:00 am – Shower & eat breakfast while being briefed on the day’s events.

  7:45 am – Meetings (Hour after hour of poring through requests for philanthropy from new charities, planning sessions for various political and charitable events, reading over the day’s speeches and making adjustments, signing congratulatory certificates for anyone celebrating special anniversaries, birthdays or other achievements. Prince Arthur is signing on behalf of his father who is away at the current time.)

  11:43 am – Break to change into suit for luncheon.

  12:00 pm – Greet guest for luncheon honouring the Ladies’ Auxiliary Association.

  12:13 pm – Speech thanking women for their hard work and dedication.

  12:17 pm – Attempt to eat lunch while being interrupted repeatedly with requests for signatures/photos. (He handled this graciously, I have to say.)

  1:00 pm – Wrap up and attempt to leave luncheon while being stopped by those who didn’t interrupt his meal.

  1:02 pm – Travel to naval academy via limo while preparing speech for graduating class.

  1:35 pm – Arrive at naval base. Greet graduates individually. Pose for photos.

  1:55 pm – Speech

  2:05 pm – Travel back to palace while making congratulatory phone call to Prince Harry on the occasion of his engagement.

  2:38 pm – Arrive at palace, go straight to office to prepare for meeting with Zumundan ambassador regarding trade issue with neighbouring nation of Kalubizi. (I was not able to sit in on this, but they both left laughing at 3:05 pm, so I’m guessing he did his job.)

  3:10 pm – After seeing ambassador to his limo, Prince Arthur was given 12 minutes of free time, which he used to check in on his sister, who is preparing for big charity event.

  3:22 pm – Prep for tea honouring Avonia’s recipients of the Writers’ Guild awards. More speech adjustments and time to freshen up.

  4:00 pm – Greeting authors. More photos. Speech. Tea. More photos.

  5:30 pm – Back to office to be briefed on local and world news.

  6:00 pm – Back to his apartment to get ready for dinner with Kalubizian ambassador and his wife to open discussions about trade with Zamunda.

  7:00 pm – Dressed in tuxedo, Prince Arthur greets guests and spends next two and a half hours socializing and approaching trade issue.

  9:35 pm – Sees guests to limo.

  9:38 pm – Quick debriefing on tomorrow’s events by senior adviser.

  10:00 pm – Day is done.

  Now, I may have been wrong about how much they do in a day, but I stand by my opinion that what they do accomplish is not at all necessary, for the most part, for the functioning of this great country. Would the new graduates of the Naval Academy still graduate were it not for the Prince showing up to salute them? Yes, they would.

  Could the Ladies’ Auxiliary Association still have a lunch and toast their own success? Yes, they could.

  Could a member of our government hold meetings with the Kalubizian and Zamundan ambassadors to work out a trade deal? You bet they could.

  So, while decidedly not lazy, I still find that the Royals are basically unnecessary.

  Stay tuned because on Thursday at 10 am will be the LIVE interview with Prince Arthur himself. He’ll be facing the five most popular questions from you, so PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE post some tough questions (and vote for them) so we can hold his royal tootsies to the fire.

  Once I’ve posted, I take another look at the questions for this Thursday’s “Ask Me Anything.” They have gotten so laughable now that I cannot see how I’ll maintain any dignity at all by asking them.

  I pick up my phone and call Nikki.

  When she answers, she says, “Did you call the Shock Jogger people back yet? They sent a registered letter. I had to sign for it.”

  My stomach lurches. “Not yet. It’s on my list. But that’s not why I called. I called because I need your advice.”

  “You want to shag the Prince, but you’re not sure if you should?”

  “No! I’m having a crisis of my journalistic integrity.”

  “Not as exciting, but tell me anyway,” she says.

  “It’s the ‘Ask Me Anything’ questions. They’re all written by Arthur groupies. What kind of underwear, what’s his favourite meal, is he seeing anyone… they’re all crap. Unfortunately, those are the only ones that are being upvoted.”

  “Ah, so your attempt at allowing the people to have an unvetted voice has come back to bite you in the arse.”

  “And hard. I’ll look like a giant idiot asking these things. I won’t be taken seriously at all. But if I don’t ask their questions, I won’t be the voice of the people.”

  I hear a splashing sound. “Are you in the tub again?”

  “Yes. I had a grief headache. Matthew Crawley just died. But don’t worry. I really will replace the wallpaper before you get back,” she says. “Okay, here’s what I’d say. Are you in this to be taken seriously, or are you in it to make money? Because if it’s money, mission accomplished. Your hits must be off-the-charts amazing in the last week.”

  “Can’t I want both?”

  “You can want both, but you’re not necessarily in a position to get both. Not right now, at least. I mean, the Shock Jogger video is now making the talk show rounds without you. I’d say being taken seriously is a good six months off. Maybe a year.”

  “Shit. You’re right.” I sigh. “Hey, how’s your nose?”

  “Dr. Perfect says it’s healing nicely.”

  “How is that going, by the way?”

  “Orgasmicly.”

  “Remind me to buy new sheets when this is all over.”

  “Yeah, you probably should. Maybe a new couch, too.”

  Today, Arthur and I attend the christening of a naval ship, the ANS Viceroy. Who knew royals really did that? Certainly not me. Anyway, since Avonia has only three ships, this is a pretty big deal. The Prime Minister is even here to make a speech.

  Arthur, who is a commander and captain, is dressed in his Royal Navy ceremonial dress uniform, and I have to say I died a little when I saw him in it. The white hat with the gold trim, the black jacket with gold shoulder boards, the standing collar, the matching black pants and shiniest shoes I think I’ve ever seen. Add to that his dazzling blue eyes and those dimples that pop when he looks at me. It’s all I can do not to actually bite my knuckles.

  There’s not a cloud in the sky as we step out of the limo. I’m happy to feel the sun on my face and breathe in the salt air. To be honest, it’s a bit of a relief to be able to step away from Prince Arthur, since the entire ride f
rom the palace was a frustrating exercise in not gawking or appearing at all impressed.

  He is immediately swept up into a tide of people, and I take a moment to walk down the pier to look at the North Sea.

  “Ms. Sharpe?”

  I turn and am face-to-face with the Prime Minister himself. “Oh, hello, sir.” I smile, even though the hairs on the back of my neck rise for some strange reason.

  “What a great day for our nation.” He nods toward the new ship.

  “Yes, very impressive.”

  “I’m quite a fan of yours.”

  “Oh, the Shock Jogger video?”

  “No, no. That looked entirely awful. Nothing funny about that, if you ask me.” He shakes his head. “I’m a fan of your Royal Watchdog work. You’re very insightful, and I’m not just saying that because you happen to share my opinion on everything you’ve written about them.”

  “Thank you. That’s high praise, coming from you.” I smile politely, but inside, alarm bells are going off in my head.

  “Well, I mean it. It’s about time someone in Avonia started to question the sanity of a nation choosing their leaders based on being lucky enough to fall out of the right vagina. I mean if anyone’s going to be a ruler until he dies, it should at least be someone we elected in the first place, shouldn’t it?”

  What? Did he just say that bit about the right vagina? “I’ve never quite thought of it that way.”

  “Just a little joke. I hope I didn’t offend you. My wife’s always telling me not to make jokes because people often think I’m serious.”

  “Oh, no. That’s… fine. I get it.” I nod in a ‘well, thanks for stopping by to chat, but I really should be going’ sort of way.

  He doesn’t take the hint. “I’m guessing it was quite a dilemma to go live with them, knowing you were moving in with the very people you’ve been attacking for years now.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “What made you decide to take the Prince of Laziness up on his offer?”

  He’s using my own words, but they feel like acid to my ears when they spill from his mouth.

  “My flat was being fumigated, so I figured I might as well.” I laugh at my own joke, and he goes along with it.

  “But other than that, I’m sure you were hoping to get something out of this whole thing? Book deal? A position at one of the big papers, perhaps?”

  “One can dream.” A gust of wind tugs at the hem of my skirt, and I put my hand down to hold it in place.

  “You’re a very brave young woman to go live among the enemy. I’m sure you could use a powerful friend.”

  “I’ve been just fine, sir. Everyone has been very kind to me, actually.”

  “Call me Jack.” He glances down at my lips, then back to my eyes. Eww! “I think we could help each other out, Tessa. You are in a unique position to help the anti-royal movement. And I’m in a unique position to help you in return.”

  “What do you mean?” Quid pro quo, Clarice.

  “It just so happens that I’m on the hunt for a new speech writer. Someone with your talents and political savvy would definitely be at the top of my list.” His upper lip twitches as he speaks. “Or perhaps if that isn’t your thing, you’d like to be set up with a nice, cushy job at ABNC or back at The Daily Times. There’s a lot more security in the mainstream media than you can get as a blogger.”

  “That’s a most generous offer, sir.” My mind is spinning, trying to understand what he really wants. The fact that he brought up the idea of me going ‘back’ to the newspaper means he’s been looking into my past, which is more than a little alarming. “I hope you won’t mind me asking what I would have to do to earn your friendship?”

  “Just keep fighting the good fight as you’ve been doing.” He takes a tissue out of his pocket and blows his nose. “And if you happen to find anything of particular interest, you could let me have a look at it first.”

  Ah, here we go. “Were I to do that, what exactly would you gain?”

  Giving me an intense gaze, he says, “When launching an attack, a good general knows that timing is every bit as important as aim.”

  Slippery answer. My stomach churns, and I feel hot and dizzy all of a sudden. “I’m surprised you’re planning to launch an attack. They seemed to be so solidly on your side during the election.”

  His lips curve up in a smile. “You know, Ms. Sharpe, there was once an ancient Chinese military strategist, Sun Tzu, who said keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

  Oh, dear Lord, our prime minister is a total schmuck. “Wise words indeed, sir.”

  “Yes, Sun Tzu was quite the philosopher. You should read his work some time. The Royal Family has been leeching off our nation for far too long. It’s long past time to put a stop to it, and since their approval ratings are at an all-time low, I’d say our timing couldn’t be better, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Before I can respond, a woman in a grey suit taps the Prime Minister on the shoulder. “We’re just about to start the speeches, sir.”

  He gives me a broad smile and a little nod. “It was a pleasure to speak with you, Tessa. I’ll be in touch.”

  I watch as he walks away, my legs numb and my heart hammering against my ribs. I have a terrible feeling that he’s planning to eat some liver with fava beans. Mine, Arthur’s, King Winston’s. I don’t think he cares, as long as he gets fed.

  It is late in the evening, and I cannot sleep. Instead, my conversation with the Prime Minister rolls around in my head and causes my stomach to churn, even though I have no idea why. We’re on the same side, and I’ve just been offered everything I’ve ever wanted—serving as a speech writer to the prime minister’s office would certainly bring with it a great deal of respect. Or… having a second chance as a real journalist and a steady paycheck. Yet, I can’t help feeling like it would all come at a cost that I’m not willing to pay.

  I consider telling Arthur about our conversation, but then think better of it. As much as I don’t think I can trust Jack Janssen, I can’t trust Arthur, either. The two of us are playing a dangerous game and have been literally flirting with disaster this entire time. The smart move would be to stay quiet and say nothing until I better understand the rules.

  Fifteen

  The World Keeps Spinning

  Arthur

  It’s Friday morning. I have just finished a meeting that Tessa could not attend, and I’m glad she wasn’t in there. It was a very long and tedious discussion on the third wave of invitations for the upcoming ball. Having received R.S.V.P.s from the second set to go out, we now choose from the ‘third string’ guests. It’s all entirely self-serving, political and, at times, quite petty.

  We actually spent twenty minutes debating whether or not to invite the Count of Dunningham and his new wife, since his first wife will be attending as her sister’s plus one (her sister is second string). According to Damien, this will put us over the recommended limit of divorced couples in which both parties will be in attendance. Apparently, the maximum number is one-point-four percent of the total guest list. Any more than that, and you increase your risk of an ‘undesirable scene’ by sixteen percent. He has some type of algorithm he uses that also takes into account age of new wife and length of time since divorce. In this case, they’ve only been divorced for a year, and new wife is thirty-two, while first wife is fifty-six, putting them at a category five risk of causing a scene.

  It was for that very reason that I pushed so hard to invite them. I insisted on the basis of length of time both parties have had a relationship with our family, when in reality, both the former countess and the new one seem rather scrappy, and it would really liven things up if a good cat fight broke out. Horrible of me, I know.

  Damien knew my underlying motives. That vein in his neck was pulsing again—it’s because he can’t prove it, but he both knows the real reason, and he knows that I know that he knows and can’t say as much. It’s rather delightful. And petty, as I mentioned before, but p
lease don’t hold it against me—I really am starved for entertainment. If Tessa knew this type of thing went on, it would only confirm for her that we have no business leading so much as a Girl Scout troop, let alone an entire kingdom.

  After checking with Mavis, the maid assigned to Tessa’s room, I find Tessa in the solarium, reading a book. She’s curled up in one of the puffy armchairs, and something about the sight of her there makes me feel calm, for reasons that I cannot explain.

  “This was my mother’s favourite spot,” I say as I sit down on the chair opposite Tessa and take a deep breath of the humid air.

  Tessa looks up and smiles at me.

  “Or so I’m told. Apparently, she had those chairs and the couch brought in. My father thought she was mad to want to sit among a bunch of dirty plants. But I think she was right.” I pat the arms of the chair with both hands. “This is the perfect place to hide from the world.”

  “That it is.”

  “Do you know that these plants have come from all over the world? Some as far as the very westernmost part of South America. They’ve been tended to for generations right here in this building.”

  “I didn’t realize that.” She closes her book and looks around for a minute. For once, she looks mildly impressed.

  I point to a palm that has stretched all the way to the glass ceiling. “I had a nanny who used to measure me to that tree right there and tell me if I ate all my greens, I would one day be as tall. Bloody liar.”

  Tessa laughs. “My mum used to tell me that if I ate all my greens, I’d get my breasts quicker.” She turns bright red as soon as she says it, then starts babbling, which I’ve noticed is what happens when she’s embarrassed. It’s rather adorable.

  “Not sure why Mum said that actually. It’s an odd thing to tell a girl. I mean, why would you even want to have breasts early? It just makes you the center of attention for a bunch of pre-pubescent boys who can’t help but stare. Not that I had any breasts at all ’til I was sixteen. Flat as a board until then. And tall. Too tall. I also had to wear a retainer that made me lisp and spit when I talked. And I had bad acne.”