Royal Affair

by Marquita Valentine

  Royal Affair is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2017 by Marquita Valentine

  Excerpt from Walk of Shame by Lauren Layne copyright © 2017 by Lauren LeDonne

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Walk of Shame by Lauren Lane. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Ebook ISBN 9780399594731

  Cover design: Makeready Designs

  Cover photographs: ponomarencko/depositphotos (cover image), Nataly Lukhanina/Shutterstock (tiara on shoe)

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1_r1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue: Charlotte

  Chapter 1: Charlotte

  Chapter 2: Brooks

  Chapter 3: Charlotte

  Chapter 4: Brooks

  Chapter 5: Charlotte

  Chapter 6: Brooks

  Chapter 7: Charlotte

  Chapter 8: Brooks

  Chapter 9: Charlotte

  Chapter 10: Brooks

  Chapter 11: Charlotte

  Chapter 12: Brooks

  Chapter 13: Charlotte

  Chapter 14: Brooks

  Chapter 15: Charlotte

  Chapter 16: Brooks

  Chapter 17: Charlotte

  Chapter 18: Brooks

  Chapter 19: Charlotte

  Chapter 20: Brooks

  Chapter 21: Charlotte

  Chapter 22: Brooks

  Chapter 23: Charlotte

  Chapter 24: Brooks

  Epilogue: Charlotte

  Theo

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Marquita Valentine

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Walk of Shame

  Prologue

  Charlotte

  Have you ever been so locked up in your own world that you feel like there’s no way out?

  That’s me in a nutshell.

  When my family’s secret was revealed and the Scandalous Sinclairs were exposed, I thought I could simply enjoy a normal life. A real life, with real friends that I could call my squad, or be part of their squad—I’m not picky—and do such brilliant things with them on weekend and holidays.

  You know, like a regular woman would.

  Unfortunately, I’m a princess.

  Worse, I’m the spare princess and, unlike my male counterpart only an ocean away, I am not allowed any sort of freedom.

  No, you may not post on Instagram.

  No, you may not open a Facebook account.

  Or use that Snapchat filter.

  Or discuss your opinion on anything on a blog.

  You get the gist of it, but I did it all anyway…under a pseudonym. I’m not that rebellious.

  I am, however, a prisoner in a lovely, gilded cage. Really, I shouldn’t complain. My twin sister has it much, much harder since she is queen, or rather will be queen once her coronation is approved by Parliament. All she has to do is marry a suitable king consort.

  While all I have to do is maintain a smooth course, not make ripples, and stay away from people who would rather sell anything about us to the paparazzi than become our true friends.

  Since we were forced to flee into exile at such a young age, none of us really made new friends. My brothers and sister were my only friends. Private tutors at home saw to that.

  Actually, my panic attacks saw to that.

  I’ve outgrown those, thankfully. Okay, so at nearly twenty-seven years old, I’ve mostly outgrown them.

  With a sigh, I lightly tap my fingers along my keyboard and stare at the blank page in front of me. I wrangled an invitation from my brother Theo to come work at Sinclair Enterprises, assuring him that I would know just what to do to revitalize our marketing department.

  I lied.

  I’ve no bloody clue as to how to market ocean Internet connection repair services or software that goes along with it. From a cursory look, there isn’t a group on Facebook about it…but there are far more interesting pages.

  Pages I have to remind myself that I’m not allowed to view at work—and not because they’re naughty.

  Oh, no.

  It’s all due to a man, the most unsuitable man in existence for a princess like me. Which is why I have to forget that he exists and write up copy for a marketing campaign.

  See, this is what loneliness and boredom do to a woman, I remind myself. Should have taken Della’s advice and gone to the children’s wing of St. Claire Hospital to volunteer my services.

  Except I can’t forget that he exists.

  Glancing around, I dig through my purse and snag my mobile, pulling it out and clicking on my Instagram account. The first image that pops up in my feed is on him, post-workout. His chest is glistening and his abs…his abs are divine. I trace a finger over them, then move up to his broad shoulders. He’s so fit, so sexy, and that smile—that cocky, confident, million-watt smile.

  How can anyone resist him?

  I sigh dreamily and start to tap out a comment. After all, it’s my duty as a follower of his to let him know how much I appreciate his efforts to keep himself healthy.

  Theo steps into the office, looking particularly harried. While my brother’s reputation hasn’t been the best, in the last few months he’s turned quite serious, which means he’s more likely to notice my sneaky ways.

  Fumbling with my mobile, I attempt to swipe the screen and shove it into my purse at the same time…with success. I sit up straighter and give him an innocent smile.

  “Will you be done in time to get ready for tonight’s charity ball?” he asks.

  I nod. “It never takes me very long.” And no one comes to see me, anyway.

  “It takes every woman very long.”

  “And every brother named Theo.”

  “Touché.” He grins, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “However, I won’t be in attendance this evening and I’d consider it a personal favor if you were to man my station instead of simply making an appearance.”

  My skin prickles at the thought of all those people in attendance. “But the punch bowl is always near the center of the ballroom,” I protest.

  “Have them move it.”

  I tilt my head to one side, pursing my lips. “As if I have final say.”

  “You’re a royal. You always have final say,” he reminds me.

  “Not against Della.” While my sister-in-law wasn’t born into a royal family, she’s always been like a second mother to me, which means I respect her greatly—even if I find the things she likes and says to be rather odd.

  He rolls his eyes. “Against everyone except Imogen.”

  “I don’t like using my ranking to get my way.”

  “Yes, it’s rather boring of you.”

  I gasp. “So you’d be fine if I started acting more like you, missing balls because I have a hot date?”

  “God, no. But I can’t help if I’m popular with the female population.”

  Called it. He has a date with some unsuitable woman. “Double standard.”

  Theo executes a perfect bow. “At your service.”

  “Men,” I huff. “I swear, if I were of a
mind to have you locked in the dungeon at the royal palace, I would.”

  “So you’ll stand in for me.”

  I stand up. “Naturally.”

  He crosses the room and kisses my forehead. “Thanks, Char.”

  “You owe me, Theo.” I give him a serious look. “One day I will need you and no matter what, you must support me.”

  His eyes twinkle. “Planning to overthrow your sister?”

  Tilting my head to one side, I purse my lips. “You know me better than that.”

  “I do, which is why you’re my favorite youngest sister.” He cocks his head to one side, like a little boy about to get in trouble. “Still…a good old-fashioned uprising would move you up at least one spot on my list.”

  “Shoo. Leave before I change my mind and order you to the ball,” I tell him.

  He sketches a bow and leaves, but not before calling out, “I fully expect a report on how scandalously you behaved, Char.”

  With a shake of my head, I mutter, “Expect all you want, but this wallflower will remain scandal-free.”

  Chapter 1

  Charlotte

  The ballroom is decorated to look like an enchanted forest, complete with tall trees, chandeliers dripping with crystals, and flowers. Fairy lights are wrapped around anything and everything that is stationary.

  However, my favorite part is the mural of a maiden in a tower that my brother had commissioned just for the ball. She’s gazing out her window, waiting for her rescuer to come. Over the hill on his white horse, he’s galloping toward her.

  A nod to Rapunzel, one of my favorite fairy tales. Although I adored Tangled, the Disney version, so much that I watched it at least a million times. My crush on Flynn Rider is only eclipsed by my crush on a certain journalist with a penchant for exposing my family’s secrets.

  But it is better to long and lust for a man I will never have, and therefore never be hurt by…unlike the supposed Prince Charming I dated before.

  I scan the room again, keeping my smile bright and friendly, but not too friendly. I don’t want to actually have to carry on conversations longer than, “Would you care for some punch?” Or “The restrooms are to your left.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, a movement catches my attention. My pulse begins to pound, although I can’t see anything due to the crush of people at the entrance.

  The crowd thins out and I see…

  Oh dear.

  He’s here.

  At my house.

  In our ballroom.

  My breath catches at the sight of him striding confidently into the ballroom, exactly like a man assured of his place in the world. I can’t tear my eyes away. He’s so fit, so handsome in his tux.

  And he knows it.

  He doesn’t care because he’s so used to it. He revels in the attention.

  I can’t help but stare at him.

  I shouldn’t stare.

  I know I shouldn’t, not to mention that it’s terribly rude, but I literally can’t help myself. Seriously, I should put myself in the corner and face the wall. Close my eyes tight and promise to never Google images of him again.

  Never look at his picture again.

  Never gaze upon his face in public…or private.

  Or drool over his Instagram when he shares pictures of himself wearing custom-made suits that emphasize how fit he is.

  Or the way his blue eyes gleam with self-assured victory right before he strikes his opponent in a debate—

  Holy crap.

  He’s coming this way.

  He’s heading my way.

  Don’t slip is my chanted mantra as I attempt to run in high heels to the punch bowl—the station I should have been manning all along—and begin ladling the pungent liquid into crystal glasses the size of teacups.

  I will my traitor of a heart to stop beating so hard and loud while I glance up every so often to see how close he is. But it doesn’t bother to listen.

  Which is reason number 506 that I wouldn’t make a good queen.

  “How are you this evening?” His voice, low and without the southern accent I know he should have, washes over me.

  I slosh punch over the rim and onto my hand. “Fine. Thank you.” My voice stays mostly neutral, but even I can hear the slight rise in pitch. “Punch?” I hold out a glass.

  His fingers brush against mine and my knees shake, not with fear, though. Not even close.

  “Spiked?”

  “Not unless you consider sherbet to be particularly uninhibiting,” I reply.

  “Depends on what’s in it,” he says.

  “Milk, sugar, sweetened fruit juice, and—” I stop, realizing that is not what he meant at all. “The drink is nonalcoholic. However, you are welcome to an assortment of adult beverages at the bar on the left side of the ballroom.”

  “Is there a reason why you won’t look at me?”

  “No.” I force my chin up, thinking I should be fine when I finally see him this close. Our gazes collide and my world crumbles beneath me.

  His eyes are blue with brown circling the irises and fringed with heavy, dark lashes. My eyes drift down his face, taking in his straight nose, high cheekbones, and full lips, then back up again to his gleaming, light hair. He’s wearing it very conservatively tonight, like he’s trying to hide who he really is.

  Only I know exactly who he is.

  Brooks Walker, the man who exposed our family’s secrets to the entire world.

  “You’re a horrible liar.” He takes a sip of the punch. “I’m interested in the reason, good or bad. I can take it.”

  “Actually…I wanted to make sure I didn’t spill more punch. It will take loads of bleach to get out the mess I made.”

  His mouth parts in obvious surprise, then he licks his full bottom lip and I can’t help but stare.

  I want to kiss his lips. Want to feel them on my skin, in every place that I’ve touched and pretended that it is Brooks’s mouth touching me, exploring me…making me come undone.

  A betrayal of my family, to be sure, with the way Brooks destroyed our privacy, but I can’t seem to help myself.

  My cheeks start to heat and he smiles knowingly, revealing his white, straight teeth. “Who would have thought the queen does laundry.”

  In a flash, my desire for him dries up like a shallow puddle of water in the middle of summer. He thinks I’m Imogen. Now I’m faced with the decision of playing along or setting him straight.

  Honestly, it grates on my nerves that anyone confuses us. We’re fraternal twins for goodness’ sake. Yes, I will concede that we do look identical; but Imogen and I don’t dress the same, don’t wear our hair or makeup the same and—I frown.

  Will I ever be the sibling who’s not a royal wallflower?

  “Touchy subject. I get it.” He winks at me, then leans in. “I was only teasing, Charlotte. I know who you are. Those pretty hazel eyes have been haunting me for years.”

  He thinks my eyes are pretty. Wait, he’s been thinking of me for years? Don’t dwell on that. He tried to get you to think that he mistook you for your sister.

  “It wasn’t very kind of you,” I say primly, instead of satisfying my curiosity.

  Curiosity killed the queen. Literally, it killed one of my ancestors because she fell into a well and drowned. She was curious of its depth but didn’t factor in that her skirts would pull her under.

  “What I wouldn’t give to know what you’re thinking about right now,” he says in his very charming way.

  “Drowning.”

  “Me or,”—he jerks his thumb over his shoulder—“the guy who keeps requesting the DJ play the greatest hits of Pennykeep? All three of them.”

  I try to not smile, try to not be charmed, but I am so weak when it comes to this man. A man I hardly know except by reputation, his news site, and social media posts.

  “Both.”

  He sucks in air through his teeth. “Ouch.”

  “If you knew I wasn’t Imogen, why did you come talk to me? Your s
ite low on scandals?”

  He laughs, loudly, uncaring that he’s gotten the attention of my oldest brother, Colin. Colin’s eyes narrow and he starts to head our way, but his wife, Della, holds him back. Not literally, of course. With only a glance.

  A dreamy sigh escapes me. What I wouldn’t do for a love like that.

  “I thought you were the nice royal.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “You make nice sound like an insult.”

  He shrugs, his broad shoulders lifting his fitted tux jacket. “In my world nice gets your ass handed to you.”

  “Perhaps you should consider relocating to a different planet.”

  “Would you come with me, help me become a better man?” His voice drops into a deeper, even sexier octave. “Teach me the error of my ways?”

  Yes. Yes. Yes. “No,” I scoff. “A woman couldn’t change you and that’s not what you mean.”

  His blue eyes gleam. “Such a shame. I thought you’d like a challenge.”

  “Like it’s a challenge to sleep with you,” I blurt and want to die, but I won’t and not in front of him. I tip up my chin and dare him to say something unkind.

  His brows rise. “Do tell how you came to that conclusion.”

  This time my cheeks heat to levels that I can’t hide. “I’ve seen the images you post. You’re not exactly private or modest.”

  “There’s no such thing as privacy, and modesty is overrated.”

  “Only because those things make it more difficult for people like you,” I counter. My nerves are tingling, and not just with desire for this man. I feel alive while talking to him. He doesn’t care who I am, or that no one talks to me like this…or at all, for that matter, at these events. The media doesn’t call me the Royal Wallflower for nothing.

  His hot gaze slides over me, making my nipples hard, my breasts heavy, and my panties damp. “Would you like to get out of here?”

  My head is nodding before I can say no.