Royal Rebel: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Flings With Kings)

by Jessica Peterson

  She put a hand on my arm. “After my divorce, I didn’t think I deserved an excellent guy either. Luke made me feel like such shit about myself. But I’m telling you, Aly—we all deserve excellent. Not nice, or good, or even really good. Excellent. Don’t you dare settle for less.”

  My throat inexplicably tightened. I looked away. Watched as Philip scooped ice into a glass and filled it with water. The face of his watch caught the light as he moved, blinding me.

  “Nobody’s perfect,” I said, blinking.

  “Excellent is not the same thing as perfect. Of course nobody’s perfect. But I do believe people can be perfect for each other.”

  I looked at her from the corner of my eye. “Awfully deep thoughts for a Saturday night, Oprah.”

  Em sighed. “I love that woman.”

  “Me too. I miss her, you know? Like, being in the same country as her. There was something so comforting about that.”

  “Maybe we can convince her to buy a place in the U.K,” she said, grinning.

  “And maybe I can design it.”

  “I’ll have the Queen put in a good word,” she teased.

  Philip returned, pressing the water into my hand. He opened his mouth, clearly about to say something, when a commotion erupted by the set of doors that led out onto the terrace.

  Chapter Nine

  Aly

  “Bloody hell, she’s vomiting!” someone shouted.

  Another said, “This party’s just gone balls up.”

  “My foot! She honked on my foot!”

  My gut turned to ice. I didn’t like the sound of this. For one thing, people did not puke at my perfect party. And for another, the rug in this room was brand new and heinously expensive. I would know; I’d picked it out for my client and sent her the bill for eight thousand pounds. I’d promised her the house was in good hands. My professional reputation was on the line here.

  I moved quickly around Philip. I nearly vomited myself when I saw the scene of the crime. Rob held Francesca by the arm, while Jack held back her hair. She looked like a collapsed marionette, her legs crumpled, her arms dangling as puke dripped from her mouth onto a growing puddle on the rug. A beat later, the glass of red wine in her hand turned over, spilling everywhere. The cherry on this shit sundae.

  Red wine. That stuff did not come out easily. What was I going to tell my client? If I couldn’t get it out, I’d have to replace this carpet at my own cost. EP Designs was doing well, but replacing a four-figure item would be a big hit for us.

  The room had gone quiet. My heart thundered in my ears.

  “Is she okay?” I managed.

  Rob looked at me, his eyes wide. He looked embarrassed. Horribly so.

  Good. He deserved to feel like shit. It’s what he deserved for ruining this party I’d worked so hard on.

  “I’ll get her some water,” he said. “Aly, look, I’m really sorry—”

  “Don’t,” I spat. My hand shook with anger as I set my glass on the bar. “You take care of her. I’ll handle this.”

  Toeing off my heels, I hurried out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. The tightness in my throat, worse now, made it hard to breathe, but I didn’t stop. Together with one of the waitresses, I began opening cabinets to look for cleaning supplies. I had a few tricks up my sleeve for situations like this. But I’d never gotten vomit and red wine out of a custom made wool-and-silk carpet before. This would be a first. A miracle first.

  Grabbing club soda, several clean towels, and a canister of carpet cleaner if all else failed, I sprinted back to the drawing room. It was getting late, and the party had already started to thin out before the puke incident. But now the room was empty, save for Emily, Kit, and some of the wait staff. They offered to help, but I waved them away. This sort of mess called for a professional.

  I dropped to my knees and immediately got to work. I held my arm up to my nose against the stench of the vomit. Fucking Rob. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he’d brought a date just as irresponsible and immature as he was. Just when I was starting to think he might be an all right guy, he goes and does something like this. He knew how hard I’d worked on this party. Knew how much it meant to me to get it right.

  He clearly didn’t give a shit about anyone or anything except himself. He’d proved he was still the irresponsible fuckboy he’d been when we’d met. Probably a good thing I’d realized that before our emails—or my feelings for him—went too far.

  This party was supposed to be perfect. I’d wanted it to be perfect so badly. I worked so hard to make things perfect. But none of it seemed to matter.

  I scrubbed harder, taking my anger out on the rug.

  Em got on her knees beside me. “Let me help you,” she said.

  “No.” I elbowed her aside. “You shouldn’t be cleaning at your own engagement party. You guys go. I’ve got this.”

  “Aly—”

  “Go.” I glanced at her. Em’s eyes were kind, but they did nothing to soften my anger. I was so angry at Rob—at myself—for letting what should’ve been a classy get-together turn into a total circus. I somehow managed a smile. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

  “You sure?”

  I nodded. “I’m so, so sorry about this.”

  “Don’t be. What’s a party without a little puke? Thank you for being such a fabulous hostess. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

  I nodded again. I was worried if I spoke, I’d burst into tears.

  Kit offered to kill Rob, and Philip offered to help (with the clean up, not the killing). But I finally managed to shoo them all away. I didn’t want anyone here to witness the breakdown I felt coming. I glanced up just as they were leaving the room. Kit had his hand on the small of Em’s back. He was looking down at her, mouth curled into a small, private smile. She was biting her lip. Clearly reveling in the fact that she hung the moon in his sky.

  Could I ever look at Philip that way?

  Would I ever hang the moon in anyone’s sky?

  I shook my head. Focused on the rug.

  My fairy tale felt further away than ever.

  I poured more club soda on the rug and started scrubbing again. Tears pressed like hot thumbs against the backs of my eyes. My anger was still there. But so was something else, and I didn’t know what it was. Or maybe I just didn’t want to own it.

  Reaching for a fresh towel, I placed it on the rug and pounded the meat of my fist into it. Scrubbing wasn’t working, so I’d give blotting a try.

  Things were finally starting to line up for me. I was living abroad in a great city. Work was going well, minus this little mishap. Philip could very well be the missing piece I’d been waiting for.

  Why the tears then? This wasn’t about the vomit. I mean, the vomit definitely wasn’t helping. But this went deeper.

  I heard footsteps by the door. I assumed it was one of the waiters. Not wanting him to see me crying, I waved him away without looking up.

  “I can handle the rest,” I said, still scrubbing with my other hand. “Thanks though. You guys were great tonight.”

  “Aly.”

  A shiver darted up my spine. I froze. That voice.

  “Rob, I already told you I got this,” I said, keeping my gaze trained on the floor.

  I sensed him moving closer.

  “Aly.”

  “You should be with your date.”

  “Jane is looking after her. They’re in her car back to London.”

  His legs and feet appeared in the edge of my vision. The cinnamony scent of cigar wafted off him. My stomach dipped.

  “Cool.” I started blotting again. “You should go with them.”

  Rob fell to his knees beside me, the silky fabric of his suit trousers stretching across his thighs. He grabbed my wrist, stilling my hand. “Aly.”

  His fingers were careful and warm and dry on my skin. My eyes squeezed shut against a deluge of tears. The sensation was so sharp my face crumpled against it.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said
gently. “Bringing Francesca was a terrible fucking idea. I’m sorry. I was taken off guard by Petyon—”

  “Philip,” I said. “That joke’s getting old.”

  His thumb stroked my cheek as he caught the tear. My breath hitched. “I’ll clean this up.”

  “No, I—”

  “It’s my mess, Aly. Let me clean it up. If I can’t, I’ll replace the rug, no questions asked.”

  I opened my eyes. His were on my face. They were so blue and so earnest I swear my heart stopped beating for a minute.

  “Is that why you brought her?” I said. “Because I brought Philip?”

  Rob looked away. A pink flush crept its way up his neck. He scratched his scruff. “Maybe. Yes.”

  I blinked. What the hell did it mean, that Rob had been jealous enough—stupid enough—to do something like that?

  Silence, heavy and heated, pooled between us.

  I didn’t want Rob. Rob didn’t want me. No use exploring his confession, right? That road went nowhere. It was just another sign of his immaturity.

  “Rob, I wanted tonight to be perfect,” I said. “And you ruined that.”

  His eyes darkened. Surprisingly, I bought it—I bought his regret.

  “I know. I’m so very sorry, Aly. I mean to make it up to you.”

  I cocked a brow. “How do you plan on doing that? Thoughtfulness isn’t exactly your specialty.”

  “You’ll see,” he said.

  Chapter Ten

  Rob

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like such a knob head.

  I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen someone quite so distraught. Aly was wound tight, tension apparent in the stiffness of her shoulders and the way she fought her tears. Why? Why didn’t just let herself cry?

  And why was she this upset? Francesca making a scene and spewing puke everywhere was nothing to scoff at, sure. But I knew that wasn’t all Aly was upset about.

  “I don’t mean to make light of the situation, because I understand just how much work you put into tonight,” I said carefully. “But I’m relatively certain everyone very much enjoyed themselves, despite the bodily fluids incident.”

  “Rob. Someone said—and I quote—it ‘went balls up’.”

  I bit back a laugh. “Pretty sure whoever said that was joking. You did a wonderful job, Aly.”

  She swallowed, an audible sound. “Not good enough.”

  I looked at her. “You’re awfully hard on yourself, aren’t you?”

  That gave her pause. She fell back on her haunches, removing her wrist from my grasp. I hid my disappointment, clearing my throat into my fist.

  “I have high standards,” she said, shrugging. “That’s not a bad thing.”

  “It is when you make yourself miserable.”

  Aly shot me a glance. Her eyes were still wet. “I’m not—”

  “You’re crying. On the floor. After throwing your friends the loveliest party and spending the evening with your boytoy Philip.”

  A grin tugged at the corners of her lips. She fought that, too.

  I wish she’d stop doing that. Had to be exhausting, waging war against yourself all the time.

  “Seems to be an all right fellow,” I added. “Hair leaves something to be desired, though. What does he put in it to make it look so…lacquered?”

  This time Aly did laugh. “I appreciate you saying that. The all right part, not the hair part. He’s a good guy. It’s just…”

  My heart thumped in my ears as I waited for her to finish her thought. Just…that Philip was terrible in bed? That he was a complete and utter tosser and she actually didn’t like him at all?

  I was very much hoping for the latter.

  “Just what?”

  She shook her head, looking at her hands in her lap. She plucked at the material of her dress. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  I resisted the urge to reach for her. Wrap my fingers around hers to still them.

  This was usually the point in a conversation with a woman where I’d politely but quickly excuse myself. We were veering into dangerous territory here. Thoughts. Feelings. Confessions.

  But I’d already all but confessed to bringing Francesca as my plus-one because I was jealous of Philip. That line had been crossed. And Aly was still here, wasn’t she? We were both still here, her body inches from mine.

  I wanted to make her feel better. I wanted to know her better. Know why she tortured herself like this.

  I blamed my curiosity on guilt. It was the least I could do, wasn’t it, to listen to Aly after what had happened?

  I hated the thought of her being this upset on my account. I’d fallen down on her before, and I’d sworn I wouldn’t do it again. But I had. Twice now. And I felt like a proper dickhead about it.

  “You never answered my question, you know,” I said, doing my best to pass off the words as a nonchalant conversation starter. A harmless query I couldn’t care less if she answered. “About why you want to settle down so badly.”

  Aly drew a breath. Let it out. Looked past me, like she was thinking.

  “It’s time,” she said at last. “This is how things progress. My career is going well. I have a great little apartment in a great neighborhood. Finding the guy of my dreams is next.”

  I tilted my head. “You make it sound like just another box to check off.”

  “It’s not,” she said quickly. “I mean, it won’t be. Not after it happens. I’m just so ready for it to happen, you know? How am I supposed to feel if I’m stuck hooking up with random guys in bathrooms while some of my friends are on their first baby? Rob, they’re married. They’re mothers. They own their houses and drive Volvos.”

  “Hey.” I puckered my brow. I was teasing her, but I also didn’t love the idea that our hook-ups had made her feel somehow…less. Less than great. “I’m not a random guy.”

  Aly grinned. “I beg your pardon. Random royal.”

  “Better. Thank you.”

  I did not do monogamy. That’s how people got hurt. Probably why I didn’t really understand the pressure she put on herself to find it. But I sensed that pressure. Felt it radiating off her. It was real. Real enough to hurt.

  “There’s nothing wrong with taking your time,” I said. “Your friends may be mothers, but do they live abroad? Do they own their own companies?”

  “No.” She sniffed. I was relieved to see the tears that had gathered on the ledge of her bottom eyelids had dried up. “But there’s also nothing wrong with wanting a real relationship.”

  “Have you ever considered that maybe you want one for the wrong reasons?”

  She speared me with a look. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

  I adored it when she called me out. Challenged me.

  But I wasn’t smiling like I had at lunch a few weeks ago. Maybe because Aly calling me out on my shit made me actually think about that shit this time. Think about the fact that I made a fuck ton of assumptions about relationships when I’d never really had one.

  There was a reason for that, though. A good one.

  I wasn’t going there. Not tonight. Tonight was about Aly. Aly and emergency vomit clean up.

  I held up my hands. “Look, I fully admit I don’t have a ton of relationship experience. But I do have a lot experience with holes—”

  “This should be interesting.”

  “—and it sounds to me like you’re trying to shove a square peg into a round hole here. You can’t force these things, Aly. Otherwise you’ll end up settling for a situation that’s not right.”

  She searched my face. Her eyes looked full. Thoughtful. I wanted to know, quite badly, what she was thinking. Who she was thinking about.

  Aly was a good girl. A successful one. She knew who she was. Where she wanted to go. Is that why I’d never been able to satiate my appetite for her? Because she was exactly the type of girl I could not touch? The type of girl I could hurt the most?

  Damn it, though, there was something magnetic
about her. Her body, her laugh. Her hang ups. Even those had a pull on me.

  “Maybe,” she said at last.

  I blinked. Reminded myself she was answering her own question, not mine.

  “Think about it,” I said. “Do you really want to drive a Volvo?”

  She shrugged again. “The new ones are actually pretty nice.”

  “Are you really telling me you’d rather have a station wagon than live in the best city in the world?”

  Aly bit her bottom lip. Her eyes shone with the smile she was fighting.

  “Well, when you say it like that, no. Absolutely not. London is so great. Wish I had more time to explore it.”

  She yawned. It hit me again, harder this time—the guilt. She’d been here all day. As much as I wanted to continue this conversation, I wanted to get Aly home more. Girl was clearly knackered.

  “I’ve got a driver waiting outside,” I said. “Why don’t you grab your things and head home? I’ll finish up here.”

  Aly’s lips parted. “But how are you going to get back?”

  “Let me worry about that. I assume you took a cab here?”

  “I did.”

  “Save yourself the seventy pounds and take me up on this.” I looked at her. “Please, Aly. Please let me do something for you.”

  She shot me a look. “Why? So you can feel better about being a dick?”

  If I was being honest?

  “A little bit, yeah,” I said, trying on a grin. “But I also want to get you comfortable and in bed as quickly as possible. And no, I don’t mean that in the way I usually would. You’ve been working all day. You’re shattered, I can tell. Go home and put your feet up.”