Dashing: A Royal Cinderella Billionaire Story

by Brooks, Sophie

  Cara stepped in between us, her posture straight. In a loud, official voice, she said, “I’m pleased to announce the arrival of His Royal Highness, Prince Nickolaus of Falkenberg. Prince Nickolaus, may I present to you the one, the only… Frankie-The-Fairy-Godmother.”

  “My liege,” Frankie said, holding his hand to his heart and bowing low.

  It looked like it was going to be an interesting morning.

  29

  Nico

  “So what kind of look are we going for?”

  Though Frankie was hovering over my chair and looking critically at me in the mirror, he wasn’t talking to me. I’d quickly come to realize that he and Cara had their own mode of theater talk that was, at times, as incomprehensible as the twins’ chatter when they were just learning to speak.

  “It doesn’t matter as long as he’s not recognizable,” Cara said.

  “Shall we make him ugly?”

  Before I could voice my objection, Cara laughed. “Like that would be possible.”

  “Touché,” Frankie said, and I grinned, realizing that Cara had just paid me a compliment of sorts. “Okay, so we’ll go for a tourist-chic look.”

  “Sounds good,” Cara said. “I want to wear a wig.”

  “I’ve got some fabulous ones,” Frankie said.

  That reminded me of something. “Thank you so much for that wig and dress you sent my daughter. She absolutely loves it.”

  “You’re welcome, Your Majesticness,” Frankie said, bowing low again. “Now shush and let the grown-ups talk.”

  Cara giggled and winked at me before conferring with Frankie in a low whisper. She was having such fun.

  I wondered if she was aware she was testing me.

  Frankie seemed to know. He’d been doing everything in his power to shock me. Not in a mean way—it was more like he was wanted to make sure I was good enough for his friend. That was somehow both irritating and endearing.

  Perhaps Cara didn’t realize she was unconsciously testing my ability to go with the flow, but that was all right. I was determined to pass with flying colors anyway.

  A small, furry creature landed on my head. Before I could push it off, Frankie shifted it away from my eyes, and I saw it was a black wig. “How about this one, Cara? We could get you a matching one. You could pretend to be brother and sister. I’m getting a real Luke-and-Leia-after-they-kiss vibe from you two.”

  Cara emerged from a side room. “We definitely don’t want to be brother and sister, Frankie.” She was toying with a white curly wig that seemed to be from Victorian times. Like that wouldn’t stand out around town. To my relief, she tossed it onto a table.

  Frankie was undaunted. “All right, you’ll be a married couple. Even better—newlyweds! I have just the ring. You can pretend you’re here on your honeymoon. Your name will be Bianca.” He studied Cara carefully. “I think Bianca should have a bigger nose, so we’ll need a prosthetic.”

  Frankie whirled around, his hawk-like eyes focusing on me. “And for you… let’s call you King Richard the First. By all accounts, he was a good-looking chap.”

  “That might not be the best name for attracting less attention,” Cara pointed out.

  “Oh, right. Okay… how about Dante Eduardo?”

  “Just Dante,” I said quickly before the suggestions could get any weirder.

  “Perfect,” Frankie proclaimed. “So, we’ve got Dante and Bianca honeymooning in London. They’ll need hip but cheap clothes, as they’ve spent all their money the plane tickets over here. And the hotels—god, this city is the worst for hotel prices. Be sure to discuss that loudly at lunch, it’ll sound authentic.”

  Frankie put his hands on the armrests of my chair, leaning in to study me. “Do you think Dante needs a prosthetic nose, too?”

  Cara examined me, too. “No, I like his nose.”

  “A prosthetic chin?”

  “Nope.”

  “A prosthetic penis?”

  “What would he do with a prosthetic penis?”

  “Who am I to presume to know the ways of royalty?”

  The whole exchange made me want to either laugh or run screaming from the building, but I kept a neutral, even bored smile on my face. Cara had entered my world of royal traditions and protocols with dignity and class. I was determined to do the same now that I was in her world.

  Frankie turned his razor-sharp gaze to my hair. “Am I allowed to cut this?”

  “No,” Cara said at the same time I did.

  “Guess we’ll stick with a wig, then.” He sounded disappointed.

  Cara spoke up. “What about facial hair?”

  “Yes, that’s perfect. Were you thinking Chris Evans in Infinity War or Chris Hemsworth in Age of Ultron?”

  “Like you even need to ask,” Cara scoffed.

  “Or we could go with a sexy little goatee,” Frankie added.

  The gleam of desire in Cara’s eyes prompted me to speak up. “Let’s do that one.”

  Twenty minutes later, my fake wig was in place, making it appear that I had nearly black hair that fell almost to my shoulders. I kept having to push strands out of my eyes. The goatee felt strange, but not uncomfortable. To my surprise, it actually looked pretty good—maybe I should grow one for real someday.

  I reached up to stroke it and Frankie batted my hand away. “Hold still, Most Highest-of-Highnesses.” He began outlining my eyes with a brown pencil, something that severely tested my vow to show Cara I could be cool around her theater friend.

  Cara was behind a small screened-off area, changing her clothes, but she seemed to sense my concern. “Don’t worry, Frankie will blend it all in. You won’t even know it’s there.”

  “Yes, you will, because you’ll look hotter,” Frankie added. Then he winked at me. “Not that you don’t look hot already, but it’s always good to take it up a notch, isn’t it? Or several notches. I have to admit, that goatee makes you look pretty damn kissable.”

  Cara giggled. “Hands off, he’s mine.”

  “Alas… back to a life of kissing frogs.”

  Both Frankie and I looked up as Cara emerged. My goatee-covered jaw dropped as I stared at her. She’d gone for the total opposite of her normal look. Her wig was a caramel color with loose waves cascading over her shoulders.

  Her black skirt was tight and short. A few inches of creamy thigh were visible above each high-heeled, black thigh-high boot.

  But it was her shirt that drew my eye the most. It was skin tight and cut quite low. She must’ve done some kind of female magic because her cleavage was far more pronounced than I’d ever seen it. She looked totally different but it was undeniable that my body was reacting to the novelty. I could see why some people enjoyed role-playing.

  “You look fabulous,” Frankie crowed.

  “What can I say?” Cara asked, blinking her enormous fake eyelashes. “Bianca’s a bit of a tramp.”

  “Bianca’s confident in her own sexuality,” Frankie corrected. “And I’m almost done here, so why don’t you find some clothes for Prince Charming?”

  Frankie’s words barely registered—my eyes were glued to the enticing sight of Cara walking away, her pert ass swaying from side to side under her tight skirt.

  “She’s quite a girl, isn’t she?” Frankie asked.

  “She sure is.”

  “Just FYI, I have theater friends all over the world. If you hurt her, we’ll mobilize, sashay across Europe, and wipe your country off the map.”

  “Duly noted,” I said.

  * * *

  “You two look amazing—much better than when you came in.”

  Cara laughed. “Thank you, Frankie. For everything. We’ll leave it all at the front desk for you tomorrow night.”

  “Thank you, my dear, but you should buy yourself some clothes like that while you’re here. They look good on you.”

  “That’s first on our agenda,” Cara said, winking at me. I think she knew how ridiculous I felt. They’d dressed me in black jeans and boots. Except
for being a bit tight, that part was okay. But the long-sleeve gray shirt Cara had picked out fit me like my own skin. Tighter, in fact. When I’d pulled it over my head and tugged it down to my waist, Frankie had remarked that he could count my abs through it.

  The jacket was the worst though. It was made out of a synthetic material possibly from another planet. It was shiny, and slightly puffy, and quilted. The overall effect in the mirror was one of those strange outfits you saw on fashion models—the kind that made you think: who the hell buys that stuff? Apparently, the answer was Frankie’s theater.

  However, once Frankie marched us up to a floor-length mirror, I had to admit that though we looked nothing like ourselves, we were a good fit. We looked like fashion-conscious, trend-chasing yuppies, but we still looked good together. Oddly, it looked as if we’d somehow switched eyeballs. Thanks to contacts, mine were bright blue. Hers were a tawny gold, not exactly like my natural hazel color, but not too far removed.

  Cara looked up at me as she squeezed my arm in hers. She didn’t seem all that stable on the stiletto heels of her boots so she kept hanging onto me, pressing her rather astonishing cleavage against me in the process.

  That part I was definitely okay with.

  She gave Frankie a hug and was about to totter out the door when Frankie said, “Wait.”

  “What?” Cara asked, holding onto my hand for support.

  “I almost forgot the rings! You can’t be newlyweds without rings.”

  Crap, I’d forgotten about that part of our fake personas. Cara smiled and held out her hand, but I was suddenly a little uncomfortable.

  Frankie put a humongous and obviously fake diamond onto Cara’s left ring finger. “Do you, Cara, promise to take this handsome man and to never, ever let him wear Dad jeans?”

  “I do,” Cara said, smirking up at me.

  Frankie produced a thick copper band which he held out to me. “Do you, Your Royalness, promise to take this lovely young woman and treat her the way she deserves including but not limited to, meals in five-star restaurants, frequent massages, and regularly scheduled pay raises?”

  “I do,” I said. But when Frankie offered me the ring, I suddenly balked. I’d worn a wedding ring before, for real. Even though I knew this was all in good fun, it still gave me pause.

  Cara was instantly attuned to my mood. “You don’t have to, Nico.”

  “No, you don’t,” Frankie said, and with a flourish of his hand, the ring vanished. “William and Harry don’t wear them. Hey, did you go to their weddings?”

  “No. I believe my mother was invited to Prince William’s, though.”

  “Good thing I wasn’t invited, I would’ve cried the whole time.” Frankie engulfed us in his arms and ushered us toward the door. “Okay, you two kids go and enjoy your honeymoon… don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Since it seemed unlikely there was anything Frankie wouldn't do, that sounded like a very vague request.

  Still, I liked it. I had a gorgeous young woman on my arm in one of the most exciting cities in the world.

  The weekend was definitely looking up.

  30

  Cara

  “This is so good, it’s decadent.” I took another bite of tikka masala. “Why don’t they serve Indian food at your palace?”

  “Oddly enough, most of the Falkenberg chefs haven’t studied Indian cuisine.”

  “Well, they should. Technically Falkenberg is closer to India than London.” Taking my cue from him, I lowered my voice when I said the name of his country, but no one was paying us any attention. We were eating in a casual restaurant that was loud, crowded, and anonymous. We sat on stools at a counter-height table, so pressed in on all sides that our legs were nearly touching.

  “I may look into it. You’re right, it’s delicious.”

  “Good things happen when you venture out amongst the commoners.”

  “You don’t look very common today,” Nico said with a wink. Though he’d made a valiant effort, his eyes kept returning to my chest. Frankie had found me a push-up bra made with what seemed to be some sort of advanced space-aged technology. Whatever it was, it made my regular B-cups into so much more.

  I didn’t mind him looking—it would’ve been completely hypocritical if I had, because I was practically drooling over him. He’d always been handsome, but in a classy way. When he’d worn his uniform when Autumn visited, he’d looked like a fairy-tale prince. Like the perfect man of every woman’s dreams.

  But today… I’m not sure what it was, perhaps the shaggy hair, or the intensity of his temporarily blue eyes… or maybe it was the fact that his tight shirt outlined every sculpted muscle in his body. Though not quite as tight as his shirt, his jeans were revealing as well. It was pretty obvious that the prince was sporting a king-size package under the denim.

  On a normal day, he looked handsome and hot. Today, he looked sexy, dangerous, and very hot.

  I wasn’t the only one who thought so, either. The waitress who’d taken our order had fawned all over him. I saw other women and men sneak peeks, too. It would be ironic if we attracted photographers not because they knew who we were but because Nico looked as good as a rock star.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “You,” I said, not even blushing. I wasn’t Cara today, I was Bianca here on her honeymoon with her hot-as-hell husband. I intended to act the part.

  “What about me?”

  “About how brave you were, letting Frankie give you a makeover.” I batted my fake eyelashes to show him he was my hero. “What did you think of him?”

  Nico grinned. “He’s quite the character—and he’s fiercely loyal to you.” He chuckled and shook his head.

  “What?”

  “I’d pay damn good money to see him and my mother within ten feet of each other.”

  That thought made me laugh so hard that I started choking. Nico patted me on the back as I gulped water and tried to stop. When my coughing subsided, his hand was still under my jacket, rubbing circles. His large palm felt warm on my skin.

  Gradually the circles lengthened until his fingers grazed the material of my skirt. I turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

  “Can you blame me?” he said, giving my ass a little squeeze. “I’m on my honeymoon.”

  I held my hand up, watching the way the light played off the fake diamond. “You’re forgiven, then.” I pushed my ass backwards against his hand, and he smirked.

  However, it was too crowded to continue in that vein for long. There were so many people squeezing past us looking for a table that he might accidentally grope the wrong person.

  When we were done, Nico fished a black leather wallet out of the tight back pocket of his jeans. It dawned on me that I’d never seen him do anything like that before. It wasn’t like he had to whip out his wallet in his castle.

  For some reason, that little detail, him paying for our meal, made me feel like I was on a date. In a way, I suppose I was. It was our first time being out in the world together. Our first chance to dine without his children, friends, or staff. Somehow, it felt like a first date with someone I already knew intimately. It was an exciting combination.

  We spent the afternoon doing touristy things, and no one bothered us. We walked through Tate Gallery and along the river. Nico kept his arm around me the whole time, in part because I kept wobbling on my tall heels. Like my eyelashes and my enhanced cleavage, my occasional stumbles were somewhat less than authentic. I could walk pretty well in the thigh-high boots—I just liked feeling his body to mine.

  Nico bought a waffle covered in strawberries and cream from a food truck and we shared it sitting side-by-side on a bench overlooking the River Thames. In the early evening, we bought souvenirs for the twins and found a lovely little bookstore to peruse.

  When it was dark, Nico guided me through the crowds as we made our way back to the hotel. There was nothing quite like walking in London in the night. The crowds were even bigger than in the daytime, but I
liked it. It made me feel like Nico and I were a part of something special. No one knew he was a prince. No one knew I was a Californian trying to deal with feelings for a complicated man.

  Our disguises were so good that we were able to walk right up to the front door of the hotel, though I did see a man with a camera leaning against a car. Nico nudged me and pointed out two more paparazzi as we passed by without slowing. We didn’t stop, in fact, until we stepped out of the elevator at the top of the building. Thompson and two of his men were there. It immediately became clear that they had no problem recognizing us—and that they were pissed.

  “Sir, that was inadvisable.” Frustration radiated from the man but he kept himself in check. “You hired us to make sure you and Miss Andrews stayed safe.”

  “Clearly, we did,” Nico said.

  “But sir—”

  “And may I remind you that last night, when we did things your way, we were mobbed by photographers. Today we were not.”

  Thompson bristled. “Sir, I can assure you that we provide the best possible—”

  “Hon, why are they calling you sir?” I giggled as I kissed Nico on the cheek. “It’s not like you’re some kind of royalty.” I turned to Thompson. “I’m Bianca, and this is Dante. We’re visiting from the states. We got married last week and hopped on the first flight out here. It’s an amazing city, isn’t it, Dante?”

  Nico smiled down at me. “Indeed it is, Bianca. We had an incredible day.”

  “We sure did!” I chirped, gesturing widely with my left hand, showing off the ring.

  Thompson wasn’t amused. “If you could be serious for a moment, sir, we must discuss—”

  “Actually, now’s not a good time,” Nico said, and he steered us past Thompson to the door of his suite. He turned back to the head of security and winked. “You see—it’s our honeymoon.”