by Ava Walsh
“I was going to ask you to marry me.”
My eyes widen. “What?” I eye the velvet box once more. “W-why?”
He looks at me as if I’ve lost all sense. “Because I love you, Lindsay. I fell in love with you, okay? I think I did when you approached me at your graduation three years ago.” I’m gawking at him at this point. His lips twitch. “Yeah, I was just as surprised at the discovery too.”
I blink rapidly. Ethan is in love with me? Well, hallelujah, because I love him too. “I love you, too. I always have.”
Ethan gives me the full intensity of his stare. This time, there is nothing sexual about it. What I would give to know what he’s thinking right now. Is he condemning me? Planning to take me to court and sue for full custody of his child? My mind is racing, and I’m on the verge of panic. “Please don’t take her from me, Ethan. I’ve already given up so much in my life.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?”
“If you’re contemplating taking Casey from me, please don’t. We’ll work something out. You can see her whenever you like.”
He lets out a laugh, taking me by surprise. “Take her from you? I’m planning to take away the both of you.”
Huh? “I- I don’t understand.”
He moves toward me, and I instinctively take a retreating step back. “I have a family. I’m not leaving you or Casey. You’re both coming back to Texas with me.”
My heart jumps excitedly, but I’m a bit apprehensive. “We can’t just uproot our lives, Ethan.”
“What’s here for either of you, Lindsay? If you come with me, Casey will have everything she’ll ever want and need and so will you. You’ll be able to go to the best art school in the country if you wish. I’ll take care of both you. I’ll pay for your mother to visit anytime she wants.
Wow. I honestly thought things would go much worse. He’s offering to take Casey and me with him. I didn’t see it coming. I’m starting to feel a little bit like Cinderella, and I hate that damn fairy tale. “Ethan, I don’t know what to say. This is all so-”
“Just say yes. And say yes to marrying me.”
“That’s not a very romantic proposal,” I murmur.
Ethan swallows a grin. “Give me a break, here. I’m still in shock. I’ll wine and dine you later and pop the question again. How about that?”
I can’t help but smile, elated that he still wants me in every way and incredibly relieved that I’ve been forgiven. “I don’t care about wining and dining. I’ll marry you.”
He lets out a long breath. “Good. Let’s go get Casey now. I need to meet her. I don’t want to waste another minute.”
“Of course. Let’s go.” I move toward the door, but Ethan snags my wrist, pulling me back.
“You’re forgetting something.” He reaches for the box on the table and opens it, revealing an intricately designed ring with a solitary stone. It’s the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen. My breath hitches in my chest. This is really happening. My dreams are starting to become reality.
“I love you, Lindsay. You have no idea how much you have changed me. You make me a better version of myself.”
A face splitting smile spreads across my face. “You never needed any improvement. You’ve always been perfect in my eyes.”
He swallows hard. “It’s dangerous for you to say things like that to me. Now I want to take you to the bedroom. But there will be plenty of time for that later. Let’s go get our little girl.”
As we head through the door, I glance down at our intertwined hands. My time has finally come to be wholly happy.
*****
THE END
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Ava Walsh
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The Prince's Virgin
Description
I’m the heir to the throne.
According to custom, I have to pick my bride during a festival.
A festival where women compete for my attention.
Seriously, how outdated.
Besides, all I can think about is the girl I’ve been talking to online, anonymously.
The one who disclosed all of her dirty little secrets to me.
She just sent me a new message.
She’s been chosen for the festival.
She has to come.
It’s the law.
Now all I have to do is figure out which of my willing subjects she is.
You know what’s also the law?
She’ll have to spend two whole days and two whole nights with me. It’s the official trial period.
She’s never been touched before.
I’ll claim every inch of her body.
I’ll order her to carry out all of her dirty fantasies.
And then, once the two days are over, I’m gone.
But what if I don’t want to go? What if she’s the one leaving?
Chapter One - Ella
It was an ordinary morning. Like every Tuesday, I had gone to class in the morning and then had lunch with my friend Gretchen. We’d been friends since we were children, but now that we were both studying law, we hardly had time to see each other. That semester, neither of us had afternoon classes on Tuesdays, so we’d started weekly lunches to catch up and take a break from studying.
That Tuesday was no different. We’d even had the same waitress we’d had the week before. The cafe and the streets were quiet, like usual. The only interesting news in town was that invitations to the Crown Prince’s Festival would be arriving at selected households, but I wasn’t at all interested in receiving one.
Gretchen was, though. She talked all through lunch about the invitations, the prince, and how exciting it would be to be chosen.
“You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know what he looks like, or what he’s like,” I said, chiding. Gretchen had always been a dreamer, impulsive and reckless. She was beautiful, too, beautiful and graceful and confident, even bold. She’d started kissing boys when she was twelve years old. Some of them were still in love with her, following her around Ladoria like lost puppies.
“He’s a prince, Ella. Does it matter?” Gretchen asked. She laughed and sipped her lemonade, looking at me like I was missing something important.
“Could you really marry someone if they were awful?” I asked, wrinkling my nose. Gretchen shook her head at me, eyes sparkling.
“Only if it would make me royalty,” Gretchen said. “I’ve always wanted to be royalty.”
“You’re terrible,” I said, teasing.
“You’re really not at all interested? Everyone knows Prince Tristan is gorgeous,” Gretchen said, laughing again.
“No one actually knows that. Neither of us knows anyone who has actually seen him,” I pointed out.
“He’s gorgeous, and I bet he knows how to treat a girl right,” Gretchen said, winking and making me blush. I shook my head, not wanting to talk about princes or festivals or sex with Gretchen. She liked to tease me sometimes about being uptight and inexperienced. She didn’t know the thoughts I had, the images that raced through my mind, the conversations I’d been having with a strange man online. I couldn’t tell her. I didn’t want anyone to know, even my best friend. I let her do most of the talking for the rest of lunch.
At home later that afternoon, I began my studying. I had four chapters to read and an outline to make before I would let myself take a break. I was hoping that the man I’d been talking to would be online during my break. Lately, I’d been using conversations with him as rewards to myself, treats to look forward to after long days of classes, studie
s, and helping my family. I wasn’t thinking of anything but him and the readings in front of me. Even with all of Gretchen’s talk, I had completely forgotten about the prince and his festival.
So when my mother ran into my bedroom with a large envelope and an excited look on her face, it took me a minute to figure out what was happening. Then I saw the corner of the envelope, with the glossy Ladoria royal seal in the corner, and my heart sank.
“Ella, you’ve been chosen!” my mother exclaimed, handing me the letter.
“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say. My mother loved old customs and royalty. When I was young, she’d told me story after story about princes and princesses, about courtship and old fashioned romance. I did not want to disappoint her, but the festival hardly seemed romantic to me.
“Just think, you could marry the crown prince!” my mother said, clasping her hands excitedly. She looked wistful, and I felt uneasy in the pit of my stomach. When she was a little girl, her oldest sister, my Aunt Sophia, had been selected for a festival, the one for Prince Tristan’s father. Aunt Sophia always said the whole thing had been silly, but my mother had been jealous, wishing she could get dressed up for a chance to be selected by a prince.
“I will be one of many girls there,” I said, shaking my head. I did not want her to get her hopes up. Aunt Sophia had said that at her festival, she was one of fifty girls and that she’d never seen the prince at all. I was sure the room would be filled with girls like Gretchen, beautiful, confident, and worldly.
“I need to go make a special dinner to celebrate,” my mother said. She looked to be daydreaming, lost in her own romantic tale. I watched her go, shaking my head.
I pushed my studying aside, not sure I could focus on it after the news. I ran my fingers over the letter, wishing I could just stay home instead, not sure how to go through with the festival. It was not up to me, though. As I well knew from my law studies, and as the letter reminded me in tiny script at the bottom, all girls chosen must attend the festival or they and their families would be thrown in prison. It was an outdated law, but one no one had ever seen fit to change. I sighed and opened my laptop.
I had barely been online for a minute when he messaged me, and I smiled, in spite of everything. Since meeting on Facebook, Frederick and I had only talked over the computer. He did not even know my real name, but I felt closer to him than to anyone else I had ever known. I had told him things no one else knew, things I could not say out loud but that felt safe to type. I had never been with a man, but my mind was always filled with desires and fantasies. I’d told Frederick about them, every erotic detail, and he had listened. He did not judge me or make me feel silly or ashamed. Instead, he encouraged me. He was kind and clever and funny, and I was in love with him. It was another reason I was not interested in the prince’s festival. I was already in love with a man. How could I take the chance, no matter how small, of marrying another?
I just got big news, I typed, looking back at the letter on my desk.
What is it? he replied. I knew it was ridiculous, but seeing the familiar small navy blue font he used in the messenger made me feel a little better.
I’ve been selected for the Crown Prince’s Festival, I said. From the kitchen, I could hear my mother humming to herself, one of those old love songs she liked so much.
Really? he replied.
Really. I wish I hadn’t been. I don’t want to go, but it’s the law, I said, glad I could tell someone how I really felt about it, sure that my mother, my family, and my friends would not really understand.
I’m sure you’ll be the sexiest, the most beautiful, and the most fascinating girl there, he replied, making me blush. I shook my head. He didn’t even know what I looked like. My entire profile was fake. He knew so much but so little about me. It was probably part of why I felt so safe around him.
I’ll just be happy when it’s over, I said. It was just a day, I thought. One day, and then I could go back to my normal life, my studies, my family, and Frederick.
Maybe something good will come of it, he said. I smiled. Frederick always made me smile.
Maybe. Tell me about your day? I said, changing the subject. I told myself if I pushed it out of my head, I wouldn't feel so sick and nervous. I couldn’t shake it, though, and no matter how much Frederick made me laugh and blush, I couldn’t get the festival out of my head.
Chapter Two - Tristan
Meetings were always the worst part of the day, and this one was worse than usual. I was so bored I felt itchy like even my skin wanted no part of this. I sighed loudly, crossing my arms and scrolling through my phone as my event manager droned on, filling me in on details I was supposed to care about but didn’t.
“The girls will then perform a dance,” the event manager said. “They will still not be able to see you.”
“Thrilling,” I said dryly. I never cared for events, for engagements I had to keep, parties I had to attend, rooms full of people my parents had hand-selected. It was all so outdated, not my style. This festival only increased that feeling.
“Sir, this festival will help you choose a bride. It is important to the future of the country,” the event planner said, giving me a pleading look. He was older, his face red and round. He was the third planner I’d spoken to this week about the festival. I’d given up trying to learn their names or figure out why they cared so much about whom I married.
“I don’t need all this. I don’t have any trouble getting girls to dance for me all on my own,” I said. The whole thing was ridiculous, the idea that I needed an elaborate festival to get a girl to fall for me, like I couldn’t just walk through town and pick one, couldn’t go to a bar like a normal guy and come home with the prettiest girl there. I wasn’t actually allowed to do that, of course, but I’d done it more than once anyway. A prince can’t stay locked in a castle all the time.
“This is for life, not a night,” the event planner said. He sounded reprimanding and I scowled at his tone and his words. I had no interest in a wife. Not right now, anyway. I had heard people say, while I was at bars pretending to fit in, that the festival was unfair and terrible. Beautiful girls who took university classes and didn’t care for royalty talked about the festival with disgust in their tone. I honestly didn’t blame them. In fact, I agreed.
It wasn’t fucking fair to me either, though, something no one ever brought up. I didn’t want to get married. I did not feel at all ready. I would have preferred several more nights sneaking away to bars, several more dark dances with girls, several more early mornings leaving hotel beds. I certainly did not want to marry some girl based on the events of the festival. But I didn’t have a choice. The laws bound me, too.
“Your job is to plan events, not make comments about my life,” I said, frowning. “Do it again and you won’t have a job anymore.”
“Of course, sir, my apologies,” he said, bowing his head as he started to talk about the details again. I shook my head and went back to my phone, trying to ignore him.
The Facebook messenger notification blinking at me made that much easier. I swallowed down a grin, keeping my face neutral as I opened the message from Christa, the fascinating woman I’d met months ago on the site. I’d never thought of myself as the kind of person to have any sort of online relationship, but she had caught my attention right away and held it tight. We’d been talking every day, and I’d found myself looking forward to it. She was intelligent, witty, kind, clever, and sexy. I was intrigued by everything about her.
She knew me as Frederick, a fake profile I’d created mostly out of boredom one day. I didn’t even have the password for the official Prince Tristan of Ladoria account, as there was a social media manager for that. I had no idea the fake profile would lead me to Christa. Part of me thought I should break it off, stop this communication, especially now that I was about to get married to a stranger, but I couldn’t make myself say goodbye to her. We talked about everything, from ideas, books and philosophy, to the best restaur
ants in Ladoria, to sex.
We talked about sex almost every day, actually. Christa had a way with words and had taken to telling me her fantasies. She would paint these gorgeous erotic pictures of the things she wanted, and I was hooked on them. Even thinking about them, about Christa, made me stiffen in my pants, turned on at the things she said, the things she wanted. Often, as she typed about the things she’d never experienced but wanted to, I would jerk off, touching myself while we talked, wanting so badly to be the one to do those things, to give her those fantasies.
I shifted in my seat a little, opening her message.
She had been selected for the festival. She’d received an invitation. Suddenly the itching in my skin was more a low pulsing in my veins. Excitement. Maybe this festival wasn’t such a waste of time. Maybe I could help her live out those fantasies after all.
“Where is the list?” I asked, straightening up and looking at my event planner again after typing back to Christa. He startled, jumping, and frowned.
“The list?” he asked. He’d probably been talking about something else. I didn’t care.
“Of selected women. I want to read the list of names,” I said. He frowned and looked like he was maybe about to remind me that an hour ago I’d yelled at him that I didn’t give a fuck about the names on the list. Luckily for him, he seemed to decide against that and shook his head.
“Of course,” he said, reaching into a large red folder and pulling out a list. It was handwritten, in scrawling ink, old-fashioned and ridiculous like everything about this. I grabbed it out of his hand impatiently and scanned the list of names.
