Royally Wild (Crazy Royal Love Romantic Comedy Book 2)

by Melanie Summers

  “Excellent,” he says, picking up a large blue stuffed bear and holding it on his hip like he does one of his kids. He crosses the room with it and sets it on a toddler-sized rocking chair, then pats it on the head. “In that case, you probably won’t mind if we watch your show.”

  “Is that tonight?” I ask. “I completely forgot about it.”

  “Wow, impressive,” he says, walking over to the coffee table to pick up the remote. He stares at me while he turns on the television, clearly thinking we’re in a game of emotional chicken and I’m about to lose. Well, not today, Arthur. Not today.

  “Throw it on if you want to,” I say with a shrug.

  “I think I will,” he says, pressing buttons on the remote until he gets to ABN.

  “Where’s Tessa? I was hoping she’d be here.”

  “She’s down at the gym with Xavier doing a last-minute workout before our trip.”

  “Oh, I forgot that is this weekend.”

  “She certainly hasn’t. The poor woman—getting absolutely lambasted by the media at every turn.”

  “Bastards,” we both say at the same time.

  Arthur grabs a beer from the bar fridge and sits down on the couch. I pick the same spot on the loveseat that I chose when we watched episode one here in this very room. The theme song starts up, and when we get to the bit where they show lots of clips of Will without his shirt on, I lean over and pick up a copy of Parenting magazine off the coffee table and start flipping through it casually. “What’s happening with you these days?”

  “Same old, same old. Running a kingdom, blah blah blah,” Arthur says. Muting the commercial, he adds, “I got a strange call today from a man named Dwight Anderson.”

  I freeze in place, staring at an ad for diaper rash cream, then force my voice to sound bored. “Will’s agent? Whatever did he want?”

  “Oh, are you sure you even want to hear this? I mean, since you don’t care and all…”

  “Well, I have no personal interest in it, but if one of Will’s people is bothering you, I’ll put a stop to it.”

  “That’s all right, I didn’t mind, really. Interesting fellow with quite a sad tale of a devastated young man camped on his couch, drinking a disgusting-sounding concoction called ‘boozy smoothies’ every night until he passes out.”

  I swallow hard, then say, “Well, I’m sure it’s only temporary. He’ll move on soon.”

  “He told me what Will did to save our family.”

  “Don’t sound too impressed,” I say, glancing up at the television, only to see Will’s perfect face and get shot in the heart like that dragon under the Virgin Mary’s feet. I’m the dragon, aren’t I? “He didn’t do anything that won’t help his own career immensely.”

  “Arabella, he did the right thing. He stepped up when you needed him to. And as much as I hate to admit it, he may have saved our family from irreparable harm—harm that you would’ve been responsible for, by the way.”

  “I didn’t come here to be lectured.”

  “I know that. You came to pretend everything’s fine and try to fool me into thinking you’ve never been happier.”

  I open my mouth to object, but Arthur holds up his hand. “Don’t even bother. Unfortunately for you, you’re far too much like me for your own good. It appears as though you suffer from the family affliction of an abundance of pride mixed with an inability to admit when you’re wrong.”

  “I certainly do not. That is such a man thing to say—assuming you know my mind better than I do.”

  “It most certainly is not,” Arthur says. “I’m merely returning the favour that you did for me when Tessa and I broke up and I was too pigheaded to apologize.”

  Dexter wanders over to me and sticks his snout in my lap, knocking the magazine out of my hands. I reward him for his pushy behavior with some scratches under his whiskery chin.

  “It’s not the same,” I say. “When you two broke up, it was because Tessa didn’t believe she could ever fit into our world and you weren’t exactly making her feel welcome. I called it off with Will because the thing that made us so right for each other turned out to be a lie. I mistakenly thought he believed me to be strong and capable, but the truth is, he never did. Or, if he did at one point, he stopped believing it. Either way, the result’s the same.”

  On the screen, the clip of some bonobos hiding from the rain in a tree plays, bringing me right back to that moment when he handed the camera over to me for the first time and told me to narrate. I remember how I froze up at first, and he told me to pretend I was talking to my gran, describing what I was seeing, and how that simple instruction freed me of my fear of messing it up.

  “It’s hard being a man in the new world,” Arthur says, having a sip of beer.

  “Oh boo-hoo,” I say. “I feel so sorry for you.”

  “I’m serious. We have an innate need to protect the ones we love, and that’s hard to shut off. And if you can’t manage to turn it off, you wind up sending a message you don’t intend. I suspect that that was the case with Will.”

  “Oh, so you’re suddenly a big fan of his?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but I would say I’m immensely grateful for what he did for this family, and I understand why he did it.”

  “Maybe you should date him then.”

  “Ha ha,” he says. “But truthfully, Arabella, his heart was in the right place, and what he did has definitely won me over—which is not an easy feat.”

  “And he lost me in the process,” I say. “Also difficult to do.”

  I stare up at the screen, watching as we mug for the camera in our lean-to, my heart squeezing at those happy, carefree faces. How was that me? “At this point, it doesn’t matter if he was worth it or not. I’ve pushed him away, and it’s too late to go back.”

  “Yup, I suppose that’s true,” he says with a sigh. “Nothing you can do now. It’s not like you could call, text, or email to ask him to meet you somewhere to talk.”

  “Not doing it,” I say.

  “Probably best not to—you’d have to apologize and be honest. Messy business, that.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then, you’d have all that happiness to deal with, possibly for the rest of your life.”

  “Sounds horrid.”

  “Oh, it is,” Arthur says. “Believe me. It can be a little much sometimes. I mean, there are literally moments when my heart is so full of love, it feels like it might burst. You don’t want that.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Excellent, then carry on.”

  “I fully intend to.”

  “Good show.”

  “Shut up.”

  29

  The Lonest of the Lone Wolves…

  Will

  Well, I guess that’s it then. I told myself if she didn’t call by the time we showed up to film the finale after-show, that I’d give up on her. And since Dwight and I just pulled up in front of the studio, it really is over. He parks the car, then takes the key out of the ignition, but instead of getting out, he leans back and looks at me. “You okay?”

  “I will be once I get this over with.” I stare out the window at the brick wall in front of us. There’s a sign posted on it that says visitor. Although, it’s referring to who can park their car here, it seems very appropriate for the moment, considering I was no more than a visitor in her life. Oh, wow, that was both pathetic and dramatic.

  Dwight sighs. “I wish I could tell you that you didn’t have to do this, but you do.”

  “I’ll be fine, so long as I can get through taping without embarrassing myself by….” I stop myself before I say begging her to come back. Luckily, Dwight doesn’t finish my sentence for me. At least, not out loud.

  I tap my fist on my knee a few times, trying to distract myself from the tsunami of emotions I know is about to bear down on me. “Could you do me a favour, Dwight?”

  “Anything for my favourite client.”

  “Oh darn, I thought you were going to s
ay your favourite roommate,” I say with a slight grin.

  “Not a chance,” he says. “Now, what do you need?”

  “Can you stay with me in the dressing room before the show? Last time they had us in a shared green-room, and since we haven’t made it public yet that we’re not together anymore, I’m pretty sure that’s going to happen again.”

  “Sure thing,” he says with a nod. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

  We open our doors, and before we get out, I say, “Hey, I’m sorry you had to deal with me while I was temporarily pathetic.”

  “That’s all right,” Dwight says. “It actually made me feel slightly better about my own foibles.”

  “Glad I could help,” I say with a little chuckle. “You’ve been a good friend to me.”

  “It’s been an honour,” he says. “Not one that I want to repeat…but still.”

  We get out of the car and start toward the studio doors. I find myself moving slowly for reasons I don’t care to analyze. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that she hasn’t called yet. Really, it’s probably because I have to steel myself for the evening ahead. “How long do you think this whole thing will take?”

  “About three hours. Maybe three and a half, I suppose, if you end up chatting backstage after, which I would definitely suggest since all the bigwigs are going to be here.”

  “Right, brilliant.” Maybe she’ll leave. She’s good at that.

  Three hours, then Arabella and I will be out of each other’s lives forever. And after that, I can get back to lone-wolfing it. “The truth is, I’m better off without her.”

  “Absolutely,” Dwight says, sounding utterly unconvincing.

  I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans to shield them from the chilly fall air. It nips at my nose and makes me long for the warmth of home. “I think I’ll head back to Paradise Bay when this is over. I can really focus on working out and preparing for the survivor challenge there.”

  “I’ll see if I can make that happen for you, but I’m pretty sure Dylan has you booked up until almost the last day before you go to Greenland.”

  We reach the door, and I stop to tie my dress shoe, even though the laces aren’t technically undone.

  Come on, Belle. Just pick up the phone and call me.

  Nope. Still nothing. “Yeah, I’m definitely better off without her, don’t you think?”

  “You already said that,” Dwight says gently. He turns to me. “Go in there tonight with an open mind. You never know what could happen.”

  “As much as I’d like to have an open mind, I don’t think my heart can take it.” It was over when she left me at the beach house. “It’s for the best. Really, it is. We’re just too different.”

  He reaches for the door handle and gives it a tug, saying, “Then why haven’t you taken the ring back yet?”

  With that, he walks inside before I can say anything, leaving that thought hanging in the wind.

  “We’ve got about twenty minutes until show time,” the assistant director says as she leads us down the hall. Bellford stands just off to the side of the room we shared last time, and thankfully, he gives me a quick nod, then stares past me, his face expressionless. My heart lurches at the sight of him because it means she’s really here.

  “Your dressing room is fully stocked with beverages and hors d’oeuvres, but if you need anything else, just let me know. My name is Rainy. Pick up the phone, hit three, and you’ll get me.”

  “Thank you, Rainy,” I say, giving her a broad smile.

  “Princess Arabella is already in there,” she says. “But I suppose you already knew that.”

  “Right, of course I did.”

  My palms start to feel clammy as Rainy opens the door, and I glance over my shoulder to make sure Dwight is with me, only to see him going back the way we came in. He turns and gives me a thumbs-up. That wanker.

  I walk in, expecting to see Arabella sitting at the makeup table or perhaps on the couch, but she’s nowhere. The door closes behind me, and I realize I’m alone so I let out a long exhale, leaning with both hands on the back of an armchair. “Just get through this and whatever you do, do not try to get her to come back.”

  I hear a flushing sound and realize that she must be in the loo. Oh great, she probably heard me. If she did, it’ll be considerably more difficult for me to pretend I’m not as pitiful as I am. A fuzzy memory of me calling her my sweet Belle on the phone creeps forward in my brain, causing my face and neck to feel flushed.

  The door to the loo opens and Arabella starts to walk out, then stops in her tracks when she sees me. “Hello,” she says softly.

  “Hey,” I say, sounding stiffer than I’d like. I’m supposed to be the happy-go-lucky, everything rolls off my back guy. “How’ve you been?”

  “Really well, thank you,” she says, tilting her head and using that tone she does when she’s greeting someone new. Polite. Detached. Beautiful. “You?”

  “Busy. Lots of promotional stuff going on every day… and I’ve been working out pretty hard for the survivor challenge show next month, so...” So what? Finish your sentence, you tit!

  “I’m glad we’re able to have a moment alone,” she says.

  My heart speeds up, but then she continues with, “I suppose we should decide how we’re going to play this.”

  And my heart is crushed again. “Oh right, because we haven’t made it public yet that we’re both back on the market.”

  She stiffens slightly at the ‘back on the market.’ “Precisely.”

  “I think we should just be honest,” I say, fidgeting with the button on my suit jacket. “Pretending never works out. You end up getting caught anyway because the truth has a way of getting out.”

  “Agreed,” she says. “Although some secrets can be kept longer than others.”

  A tiny flicker of hope appears in my chest, and I search her face for meaning. It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about her family’s secret, not ours. “You’re referring to the audio recordings.”

  “Yes,” she says, her face filling with emotion. “I realized I never did properly thank you for what you did for my family, and that was wrong of me.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Don’t worry about it? That’s all you have to say? How about “Too little too late, Your Highness,” or some other snippy thing that lets her know she hurt me.

  “I do worry about it. It was a big sacrifice you made, and I…think about it a lot.”

  And you’re still in love with me and you want to get back together. Say that. “It’s a great career move for me, honestly.”

  “Anyway, you’re right. We should be honest if they ask us about our relationship status. We can give them the whole ‘we’ve parted ways amicably and we wish each other well, but our lives are taking us in different directions at the moment.’”

  “Sounds like utter bullshit, but I imagine it’s the classy way to go, isn’t it?” I ask with a slight grin.

  She laughs, and for a second my whole world lights up, then her face grows serious again. “I realized I still have that sweater of yours that I borrowed.”

  I nod. “You mean when we went to that Yoda Guy exhibit in St. Maarten?”

  She smiles and nods. “Remember that woman with the I May Be Wrong but I Doubt It shirt?”

  “God, she hated me.”

  At the same time, we both say, “You’re not meant to touch the swords!”

  We laugh at the memory, and everything feels perfect for a second, followed by the most excruciating pain.

  When the moment passes, Arabella clears her throat. “Anyway, I’ll have someone return it to Dwight’s…I mean, if you’re still staying there?”

  “At the moment, yes.” I stare a little too long and feel my resolve slipping. Fucking Dwight ditching me like that. “Keep the sweater,” I say, managing a grin. “If you don’t, I’ll feel like I have to return the yacht.”

  Arabella busts out laughing and shakes her head. “You owe me nothi
ng.”

  There’s a knock at the door and Dylan comes barging in, wearing a headset and carrying her iPad and a Monster Energy drink in one hand. “Here are my stars!”

  She makes a beeline for Arabella and tries to go in for a one-armed hug, but gets cut off by a palm out.

  “Don’t even,” Arabella says in a warning tone. “Not after what you tried to do to my family.”

  “I get it, believe me,” Dylan says. “You’re a fighter, and I threatened to hurt your family. Of course you would react like that. It makes nothing but sense for you to be upset with me.”

  “Precisely. Now, say what you came in here to say and get out because you and I are done.”

  “I wasn’t going to stick around anyway,” Dylan says. “There is just so much to do when you’re running a production this big. You have no idea. Anyway, super excited about tonight, although now that I’m in here, I have to say, your energy is not what we’re looking for.” Dylan wrinkles up her nose. “I need happy faces. I need excitement. I need the two of you being proud of yourselves and proud of each other, and I need Will to be absolutely incredibly excited about the world’s best challenge coming up.” She sings that last part. “You really have to sell it, Will, because the network is spending a fortune on it.”

  Arabella and I exchange a look of irritation which Dylan seems to catch because she falters slightly, then says, “Anyhoo, I gotta get back out there. I just wanted to make sure my two stars were all lined up.”

  She pokes me on the chest with one finger and says, “Especially you. Because you are the biggest star in the night sky. And by that, I mean primetime.”

  With that, she rushes out the door, leaving a waft of strong fruity perfume lingering in the air.

  “I thought you were going to punch her there for a minute,” I say

  “You know that’s not my style,” she says with a grin. “I’m more of a ‘shove her in the face’ type of girl.”

  Do not do it, idiot. Do not even think about saying it. She’s the one that broke up with you and not the other way around. She’s the unreasonable ender of things, and your only job tonight is to protect what’s left of your heart. “How are things at the UN?”