The Prince's Devious Proposal

by Rayner, Holly

  “I did try it once,” Naomi said. “But it’s such a quiet song, it’s just not a good fit for a big concert venue. The Desert Flowers—that’s the band I toured with back in the day—asked me not to play it again. They said it was a buzzkill.”

  “That’s tragic,” Petr said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe they would stifle you that way!”

  “Their intentions were good,” Naomi said. “We were all friends. They wanted to see me do well. They just didn’t think I could hold an audience’s attention with a song like that.”

  “Well, it always held my attention,” Petr said, giving her a wink.

  The bartender came over at that moment with an uncorked bottle of champagne and two flutes. “As you requested, sir,” he said to Petr. “The finest champagne in the house.”

  Naomi was floored. “You didn’t have to do that!”

  “Of course I did,” Petr said. “I’m fulfilling a dream today. I want to mark the occasion with something special.”

  The bartender carefully poured out two glasses of the champagne and left the bottle at the table with them.

  Petr picked up his glass. “To new friends and new adventures,” he said.

  Naomi nodded. “To new adventures.”

  She had not intended to get drunk that night. She had not even intended to stay out for very long. She had thought she would go back home after a single drink.

  Instead, she found herself allowing Petr to refill her glass over and over, laughing as he told her stories about the first few weeks after he had moved to Los Angeles from Europe.

  “So much open space,” he said. “It was not at all what I was used to. Such wide roads. And every home had such a big, sweeping lawn. How could there be so much land?”

  “Not every home has a big yard,” Naomi said, laughing. “Mine doesn’t.”

  “Where do you live?”

  She described her condo, with its tiny sculpted lawn.

  Petr laughed. “Well, that’s still a big yard,” he said. “If you had grown up in my hometown, your front door would have opened right onto the sidewalk. You would be surrounded by businesses. There would be a store on the corner to sell you your groceries.”

  “I’d like to see that,” Naomi said wistfully.

  “Did your travels as a musician ever take you to Europe?”

  “No, I’ve never been out of the country,” she admitted. “We toured all over the States, so I’ve been to plenty of places and seen plenty of things. But nothing overseas.”

  “Then you’re missing out,” he told her. “Everyone should travel the world. Maybe that’s what the next phase of your life is meant to be, now that you’ve left your music career behind. Maybe you’re going to explore the world.”

  She laughed. “For now, I think I’m just going to keep selling travel packages.”

  He shook his head. “Stop selling them. Buy one.”

  “Too expensive for me,” she admitted.

  He glanced at her empty cosmopolitan glass. “Would you like another one of those?”

  “Oh, that would be fabulous. It really is delicious.” She really shouldn’t, and yet it was so much fun to feel like someone special. This was what every night on tour had felt like. She’d been important. She had been someone who said things that touched other people.

  And I’m still that person. That’s what Petr sees.

  He took their glasses and disappeared into the crowd.

  She sat waiting for his return, kicking her foot against the leg of her chair. It seemed to be taking an inordinately long time. The bar wasn’t that crowded. What was going on?

  Then she heard a familiar voice speaking over a microphone. “Can everyone hear me?”

  Petr. What was he doing?

  She caught sight of him. He was standing beside the piano, looking out at the room. “I’d like to dedicate a song to a friend of mine,” he said. “She doesn’t believe this song can be performed live, but I think we can show her she’s wrong. What do you say?”

  The room broke into applause. Naomi’s cheeks flamed. Was he really going to do this?

  The pianist played the opening notes of “Perihelion.”

  Yep. Apparently he was.

  How does the pianist even know this song? she thought wildly.

  Petr’s voice came in. He was not a strong singer, but he was able to carry the melody well enough, and for the first time since she had written the song, Naomi allowed herself to sit back and just listen to it.

  It was a song about being so deeply, dazzlingly, blindingly in love that you were unable to see the object of your affections clearly. Naomi had written it about her first teenage crush and had set the words to music shortly after writing “Starlight Boy.” Now, listening to Petr perform it live, she felt absolutely captivated.

  The pianist fumbled once or twice, and Naomi thought Petr must have given him the track on the CD to listen to quickly before he had started his performance. That was the only way to explain the fact that he knew how to play the song. He must have learned it quickly, by ear. She was deeply impressed.

  When the song drew to a close, the whole bar burst into applause. Petr took a bow before hopping down from the piano podium and making his way through the crowd back to their table.

  “What did you think?” he asked her, his eyes wide in expectation.

  “I…I thought you were getting drinks.” It was all she could manage.

  Petr held up a hand, and a moment later a bartender appeared with a fresh drink for each of them.

  “Okay,” Naomi said. “I guess you took care of that too.”

  “But the song,” Petr said. “I was right, wasn’t I? It does work live.”

  “Yes,” she said, realizing she needed to say more. “It went really well. Everybody loved it.”

  She couldn’t articulate to him what it had felt like to sit and listen to a handsome man sing her words to her. That was a wholly unique experience. Even in the days when her fans had been numerous, she had never experienced anything remotely like it.

  But she wished she could tell him. She wished she could express how special it had been, and how much it had meant to her. She wished there was some way to let him know.

  They finished their second drinks. By the time her glass was empty, Naomi felt pleasantly dizzy, wrapped in a comfortable fog. The night had been more enjoyable than she ever could have imagined, and she was very glad that she had convinced herself to follow up on the mysterious message. It was like going on vacation, stepping out of her dull life this way. It was like a journey to the happiest time in her life.

  She allowed Petr to walk her home, something she ordinarily wouldn’t have done. She didn’t like letting her fans have her home address. It was common knowledge that doing so was inviting stalkers and other unpleasant people to get in contact.

  But this didn’t really feel like a meeting with a fan anymore. It felt like Petr was a completely different kind of admirer.

  She had told herself again and again that tonight was not a date. But as they came to a stop outside the front door of her condo, she found herself reevaluating that assessment.

  Perhaps it had been a date after all.

  “Will I have the chance to see you again?” Petr asked, confirming her thoughts. That wasn’t something a fan would ask. That was a question a man would ask after a date.

  And Naomi found herself wanting to say yes.

  “You have my number now,” she told him. “Next time, you can give me a call.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” he said. “Tonight was very special.”

  “It really was,” Naomi said. “I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it as much as I did. Thank you, Petr.”

  “Thank you,” he said, embracing her briefly. He let her go, lifted a hand in farewell, and turned and walked away.

  Naomi let herself inside and tossed her purse down on the table, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water in hopes of forestalling any potential hangover.

&
nbsp; It wasn’t until she had brushed her teeth and changed out of her dress into her pajamas that she realized the extent to which the night had been all about her.

  He didn’t even tell me what country he comes from, she realized. He just said “Europe.”

  Oh well. It didn’t matter. She would get her chance to ask him all the questions she wanted the answers to when they met up again.

  A thrill of excitement ran through her as she got into bed, thinking about another date with Petr. Naomi felt alive when she was with him. And the fact that he was devastatingly handsome didn’t hurt either.

  Chapter 4

  Her phone rang three days later.

  Naomi recognized the number before she answered it. She hadn’t allowed herself to program Petr’s number into her phone—that had felt too much like setting herself up for disappointment—but she hadn’t been able to help herself from memorizing the number. The moment it flashed on the screen, her heart skipped a beat.

  Finally, she managed to answer, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “Hello?”

  “Is this the beautiful and talented Naomi West?” his familiar, accented voice asked. “How are you? It’s Petr.”

  She hadn’t stopped thinking about him, but she forced herself to sound casual as she responded. “It’s nice to hear from you. How have you been?”

  “Great!” Petr said. “I’ve been thinking about you, to tell you the truth. I was hoping you would join me for another fun evening.”

  “What were you thinking?” Naomi asked, pacing around her living room to try and calm her excitement.

  “How about dinner?” he suggested. “I’d love to take you to the Lobster Claw.”

  Her heart beat faster. The lobster claw was a fine-dining establishment. Her parents had taken her there a few times in her youth—Naomi’s family had been wealthy—but she hadn’t been able to afford it since she’d become an adult. It was incredibly pricey.

  And incredibly delicious.

  Petr seemed to hear her hesitation. “Dinner would be on me, of course,” he said.

  “I can’t let you do that,” she protested. “You paid for drinks the other night.”

  “Of course you can let me,” he said. “I won’t miss the money. And it’s a pleasure to pay when the company is so exquisite.”

  She was charmed. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have been at all comfortable letting someone treat her to something so expensive, but she had to admit he was swaying her. “Well…that sounds like a terrific idea.”

  “Wonderful!” Petr said. “May I pick you up at your house at seven?”

  “Yes, that works great. I’ll be ready,” Naomi said, feeling a bit overwhelmed at how quickly the plan had come together.

  She spent the rest of the day trying on clothes from her old touring days, struggling to find an outfit that would feel appropriate for an evening out. Many of the dresses were a little too casual for this occasion. There were things you could wear onstage at a concert that you just couldn’t wear to a formal dinner.

  She finally settled on a black sheath dress. She had worn it with a lot of chunky jewelry when she had performed in it, but tonight she settled for simple stud earrings and a silver drop chain necklace. She put her hair up in a knot high at the back of her head and went to the window to wait for Petr’s arrival.

  She had only been waiting for a few minutes when a black luxury car pulled up outside the condo. The door opened and Petr got out.

  Naomi’s eyes widened. He was dressed in a tailored suit that fit his body perfectly. Clearly, he kept himself in shape.

  And that car was nice.

  I guess he really can afford to take me to the Lobster Claw, she thought, hurrying out to meet him.

  He grinned as she approached. “You look wonderful,” he said, then kissed her hand. “Ready to go?”

  Naomi gave a quick intake of breath at the gesture. “Ready,” she whispered.

  She got into the car as Petr held the door for her. Then he got in and pulled away from the curb.

  “I love this car,” she said belatedly. “But you really didn’t have to drive.”

  “The Lobster Claw is all the way on the other side of town,” he pointed out. “We couldn’t have walked there.”

  “Right,” she said. “But I could have gotten a cab or something.”

  “I like picking you up. Then I get to spend more time with you,” he said and reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Do you own a car?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I try not to drive it on the weekends. I save it for work. Gas is so expensive, and I try to do my part for the environment.”

  “That’s very conscientious,” he said. “And us carpooling helps with that.”

  “True enough,” she said with a small smile.

  They had light conversation during the car ride. Something about Petr made her feel at ease. At one point she described growing up with wealthy parents, something she usually didn’t talk about.

  “My parents were socialites,” she said, “always taking themselves off to fancy galas and parties. They’d come home in knockout clothes, tipsy and happy, but they’d still take the time to put me and my sister to bed.”

  Petr laughed at that and said, “Sounds like growing up was an adventure at your house.”

  And naturally, the topic of her career came up again. Petr insisted that she was a success because she recorded an album with a hit song.

  “It’s thanks to my parents that I was able to get started in music. They produced my album,” Naomi said.

  Petr nodded. “They might have given you your start, but your success is your own.”

  She grinned. “Thanks for saying that,” she said. “A lot of people, when they find out my parents produced my album, assume that my music couldn’t have been any good.”

  “Of course it was good!” Petr said. “You had a hit song.”

  “Right, but I only had one hit song,” Naomi said. “And I never recorded a second album. I couldn’t follow my own act.”

  “Why is that?” Petr asked. “What happened after the tour? Did you just stop writing?”

  Naomi hesitated. This was something she didn’t like to talk about very much. Petr was easy to talk to, but maybe it was time to change the subject.

  Fortunately, she was spared answering for the moment by their arrival at the restaurant. Petr pulled up to the valet stand, gave his keys to the driver, and led Naomi inside, his hand resting on the small of her back as he guided her. Her skin heated up where his hand was, a thrill going through her at his touch. He had made a reservation, and a smiling hostess showed them to their table and set two menus in front of them.

  “Order anything,” Petr said.

  Naomi nodded, having already decided on the seafood salad. “Tell me about your family,” she suggested. “Where are you from?”

  He grinned at her across the table. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

  What on earth did that mean? “Of course I’ll believe you,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I’m not saying you don’t trust me or anything,” he said. “It’s just a little bit hard to believe.”

  “Harder to believe than the fact that I used to have a singing career?”

  “Definitely harder than that.”

  “Try me,” she suggested.

  “All right,” he said. “Do an internet search for my name.”

  “What do you mean? Are you somebody famous?” She felt foolish, suddenly. Should she have known who he was all along?

  “Just search it,” he said.

  “How do you spell your last name?”

  He spelled it for her, and she typed it into her phone. “If this is your way of telling me you’re a wanted criminal or something, I should warn you that I can scream very loudly.”

  “I’m not a criminal,” he said. “I like how creative you’re being, though. I can see why you’re an artist by trade.”

  The search results
returned, and Naomi clicked the first link.

  “Prince Petr Agridis spotted on palace lawn.”

  “Prince?” she asked, looking up at him. She felt as if her mind was struggling to catch up with the words on the screen.

  “Technically,” he said.

  “What does that mean? Technically?”

  “Oh, it’s complicated,” he said.

  She showed him the picture. “Is this your palace?”

  “That’s the royal palace of Sovra,” he said. “I don’t live there now.”

  “I guess you must not be an active prince if you’re living in Los Angeles.”

  “I don’t have royal duties,” he agreed.

  “But you’re really royalty? You’re not making this up to mess with me or something?”

  “No, it’s true,” he said. “Of course, Sovra’s a pretty small country. It’s not that powerful a position.”

  “It’s still royalty.” She marveled. “I had no idea. I was trying to place your accent.”

  “Sovran,” he said. “Like me.”

  Naomi’s eyes went wide. “A prince sang my song!” She shook her head. “I can’t believe it! I thought you were just some fan!”

  Petr grinned. “I am a fan!” he protested. “This doesn’t change anything. And, you know, you’re still a lot more impressive than I am. I didn’t do anything to become a prince. I was just born to the right parents. But you—”

  “My parents produced my album,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah, but it’s still full of amazing music,” he said. “Your parents didn’t write ‘Starlight Boy’ or ‘Perihelion,’ did they?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I did that on my own.”

  “Exactly,” he said with a tone of satisfaction.

  “What was it like?” she asked, feeling awed.

  “What was what like?”

  “Living in a palace,” she said. “Growing up as a member of the royal family. It must have been amazing. I can’t even imagine.”

  “It probably wasn’t as exciting as whatever you’re picturing,” he said.