Royal Mess

by Jenna Sutton

  ROYAL MESS/published by Jenna Sutton

  Copyright © 2018 by Jenna Sutton

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-9974032-8-2

  Publishing history: Jenna Sutton eBook edition/May 2018

  Published in the United States of America

  Cover photos: Man in tuxedo © Viorel Sima/Shutterstock; Tiara © Kryuchka Yaroslav/Shutterstock

  Copyediting by Blue Otter Editing

  Cover design by Asha Hossain Design

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the

  author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or

  dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Royal Mess

  CHAPTER ONE | Tessa

  CHAPTER TWO | Leo

  CHAPTER THREE | Tessa

  CHAPTER FOUR | Leo

  CHAPTER FIVE | Leo

  CHAPTER SIX | Tessa

  CHAPTER SEVEN | Leo

  CHAPTER EIGHT | Leo

  CHAPTER NINE | Tessa

  CHAPTER TEN | Tessa

  CHAPTER ELEVEN | Leo

  CHAPTER TWELVE | Tessa

  CHATPER THIRTEEN | Leo

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN | Tessa

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN | Leo

  EPILOGUE | Four Years Later | Tessa

  NOTE FROM JENNA

  CHAPTER ONE | Cassie

  CHAPTER TWO | Marco

  CHAPTER THREE | Cassie

  CHAPTER FOUR | Marco

  CHAPTER FIVE | Cassie

  CHAPTER SIX | Marco

  CHAPTER SEVEN | Cassie

  CHAPTER EIGHT | Cassie

  CHAPTER NINE | Marco

  CHAPTER TEN | Marco

  CHAPTER ELEVEN | Cassie

  CHAPTER TWELVE | Marco

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN | Marco

  EPILOGUE | Ten Years Later | Cassie

  GET A SPECIAL GIFT FROM JENNA

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  EXCERPT OF BARRELED OVER (TRINITY DISTILLERY #1)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Tessa

  My life is the blueprint for a new kind of fairy tale, and I like it a lot better than the original.

  Forget the version where the handsome, charming prince saves a maiden’s life because he’s in love with her. In my updated fairy tale, the prince is handsome, but far from charming. I’m no maiden, and he’s definitely not in love with me.

  But he is going to save my life. Hopefully.

  When Dr. Barchon notified me yesterday that the transplant center had found a match for me, he provided only three details about the donor: male, thirty-one years old (two years older than I), and in perfect health. I never imagined my donor—the man who would give me a large chunk of his liver—would be Prince Leo of Alsania.

  I’ve been in the hospital for twenty-two miserable days, and I feel like shit. Unfortunately, I look even worse than I feel. I’m propped up in an adjustable bed, my favorite lavender bathrobe hiding the ugly hospital-issued gown, and a pair of striped socks warming my feet.

  Unable to hide my surprise that a member of the royal family is in my hospital room, I stare at the prince. He’s standing just inside the door, his black suit like an ink blot against the soothing bluish-gray walls. His shoulders are stiff, and his hands are clasped behind his back, pulling his jacket tight across his broad chest.

  His rigid posture reminds me that he spent several years in the Alsanian military. I think he was a pilot, but I’m not sure.

  A lot of my friends are obsessed with the royal family. They’re crazy about Prince Leo’s younger brother, Prince Marco, but I don’t pay much attention to anyone in the royal family or the Alsanian aristocracy. I’m too busy being a commoner.

  Dr. Barchon clears his throat. “Your Royal Highness, this is Tessa Lulach.”

  The prince inclines his head in a brief nod. His short hair makes me think of queen of the night tulips—black and glossy. I think they’re beautiful, but I rarely stock them in my shop because black flowers aren’t big sellers. Most people think they’re depressing, not even suitable for funerals.

  For a second, I wonder what kind of flowers people will send to my funeral if this transplant doesn’t work. Probably white roses. They’re a popular choice for the deceased.

  I meet Prince Leo’s eyes. They’re dark, like his hair, and focused on my face. As he stares at me unblinkingly, embarrassed heat prickles over me, like ants marching up my chest to my forehead.

  Since I wasn’t expecting a visit from a member of Alsania’s royal family, I haven’t bothered to wash my chin-length hair in four days. A stretchy gray headband holds the dull, greasy strands away from my face.

  Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have washed it even if I’d known Prince Leo was stopping by. Just the simple act of going to the bathroom exhausts me.

  I don’t usually obsess over my appearance, but when faced with perfect, polished Prince Leo, any woman would feel unattractive. I doubt anyone will notice my flush though.

  Thanks to my failing liver, my skin has turned a ghastly shade of yellow. Prince Leo’s skin is a healthy honey hue against his bright white dress shirt and French-blue silk tie.

  “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Lulach,” Prince Leo murmurs.

  His words don’t match his expression. It’s blank, not a trace of delight to be found.

  Pursing my lips, I silently acknowledge that Prince Leo’s nickname—the Polar Prince—is fitting. A glacier has more warmth and personality than the heir to the throne.

  Dr. Barchon moves to the side of my hospital bed and gives me a fond smile. He’s one of the best transplant surgeons in Western Europe, but he looks like a Santa-for-hire.

  “Tessa has a rare blood type—O negative,” Dr. Barchon says. “That’s why we had such a hard time finding a match for her.”

  It’s the negative that makes my blood type rare. If it were O-positive, I wouldn’t be in this situation; O-positive is the most common blood type in the world.

  Blood types are hereditary, according to Dr. Barchon. My parents—I don’t call them my adopted parents because they don’t call me their adopted daughter—aren’t a match.

  Finding a donor would have been easier if I lived in a larger country. But Alsania is a tiny principality tucked between Italy and France with a population of only half a million people.

  Dr. Barchon gently pats my left hand—the one without the IV—before glancing toward the tall man still lurking by the door. “There aren’t many people who’d be willing to give part of their liver to a woman they’ve never met.”

  Prince Leo’s mouth twists, baring his teeth into something that resembles a snarl. I can’t help thinking, if this is what he looks like when he smiles, no wonder he always frowns. It’s way less scary.

  Dr. Barchon looks back and forth between me and the prince. “I’ve scheduled the surgery for Friday.”

  “This Friday?” I ask, my voice shrill.

  “This Friday, Tessa,” he confirms, his tone soft and gentle. “Time is of the essence.”

  Curious how the prince feels about the imminent surgery, I seek out his gaze. He’s looking at me, his expression set in solemn lines. He doesn’t seem surprised by Dr. Barchon’s announcement. The surgeon must’ve already notified him.

  Dr. Barchon pats my hand again. “I’m going to leave you and His Royal Highness alone for a while so you can have a little chat and get to know each other.”

  The surgeon leaves the room and closes the door behind him. Prince Leo and I are alone, two strangers with nothing in common except the same blood type.

  After pulling the lone armchair closer to my
hospital bed, he unbuttons his jacket and sits with his hands resting in his lap. He moves differently than most guys I know, his limbs working in precise, powerful coordination.

  Slowly, his dark gaze slides across my face. His expression remains impassive throughout the evaluation, effectively shielding his real thoughts.

  “I look like the summer squash my dad grows in his garden,” I say, gesturing to my yellow face.

  Meeting my eyes, Prince Leo cocks his head. “I’d say you look more like Dijon mustard.”

  A surprised laugh spills out of me. “I’m not sure that’s any better.” I wrinkle my nose. “I hate Dijon mustard. Do you like it?”

  His dark eyebrows arch. “Do I like Dijon mustard?”

  I’m aware our conversation has taken a nonsensical turn, but I would rather talk about mustard than my failing liver. That’s all anyone has discussed for the past month.

  “I don’t like any kind of mustard,” the prince replies.

  “Are you one of those guys who puts ketchup on his hot dogs?” I ask before realizing how silly my question is. “You probably don’t eat hot dogs.”

  His lips twitch almost imperceptibly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

  As we stare at each other, silence descends on the room. It’s not like the awkward, uncomfortable silences that occur on blind dates. Weirdly, Prince Leo’s presence soothes me. Glancing at the machine that monitors my vital signs, I see my blood pressure is lower than it’s been for the past several days.

  After a couple of minutes, he breaks the silence. “Dr. Barchon said your liver damage is the result of an allergic reaction to antibiotics.”

  “Yes. I dropped a vase at work. I own a flower shop here in Circo—The Enchanted Florist.”

  “That’s a clever name.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Nice play on words.”

  “My little sister’s idea. I wanted to call it Kabloom.”

  He chuckles. “That’s a good one too.”

  “Anyway, I sliced myself on one of the broken pieces when I was cleaning up.” I show him my left hand, which bears an angry red scar. “The cut got infected and needed an antibiotic. I’d never taken the one my doctor prescribed, so I didn’t know I was allergic to it.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” the prince murmurs.

  “It could be worse. I could’ve cut off my hand. Then I would need a hand transplant and a liver transplant.”

  He makes a funny noise. “I agree. That would have been worse.”

  It’d be easy to fall into a black hole of self-pity, but I’ve managed to stay positive by thinking of all my blessings. I have a lot of reasons to be grateful. In fact, one of those reasons is sitting next to my hospital bed.

  “You mentioned your sister earlier...” Prince Leo says.

  “Yes. Cassie.”

  “Based on my research, siblings usually are a match for liver donation. Why didn’t she offer to help you?”

  I can hear the judgement in his voice. He obviously disapproves of Cassie for not sacrificing her liver to save me.

  “She’s not my biological sister,” I explain. “We’re both adopted.”

  “I see.”

  “She wanted to help. She was devastated when she found out she wasn’t a match. She cried so hard she almost threw up.” My legs are aching from inactivity, so I scissor them a few times. “A lot of people aren’t willing to help, even when they can. It can cause huge rifts in families.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “I wouldn’t have been angry with Cassie.” I shake my head. “And I definitely wouldn’t have allowed it to ruin our relationship.”

  “Then you’re a lot more understanding than most people. More understanding than I would be in that situation.”

  “I don’t think anyone should feel forced or guilted into donating if they don’t want to. It’s their choice ... their life.”

  I watch his face closely, trying to gauge how he feels about donating part of his liver. “I’m surprised you’re going to do it,” I say, giving voice to the thought that’s been ricocheting inside my head. “Isn’t there a provision in the constitution that prohibits you from taking unnecessary risks ... since you’re in line to inherit the throne?”

  “No.” He huffs out a soft laugh. “I can skydive anytime I feel like it.”

  Intrigued by his answer, I angle my body toward him. “You’ve gone skydiving?”

  “The term skydiving refers to an activity one does for fun,” he replies in a wry tone. “I jumped out of a plane as part of my military training.”

  “I’ve never gone skydiving. I try to avoid activities that may result in my death.”

  With the word death hanging in the air, I swallow hard. The fear that I’ve pushed down for weeks abruptly rises to the surface.

  “I’m so afraid. I don’t want to die.”

  I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I haven’t admitted my fears to anyone.

  Strangely, I’m neither embarrassed nor regretful that I shared my feelings with Prince Leo. I don’t have to be strong for him, not like I have to be for my parents and Cassie.

  “Miss Lulach—”

  “Shouldn’t we be on a first-name basis at this point? Call me Tessa.”

  “Tessa,” he says in his deep, rich voice.

  “Are you afraid?”

  He leans forward and our eyes lock. “Liver transplantation has a high survival rate. More than seventy percent of recipients are still alive after five years.”

  Even though I know he’s right, I’m still scared to go through transplant surgery. But I have no choice. Without it, my death is inevitable.

  “Are you going to change your mind?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry.” Prince Leo frowns. “I’m not following your question. Change my mind about what?”

  “About donating your liver. Are you going to back out?”

  He stares at me, his eyes steady on mine. “No.”

  He says it so firmly, with such conviction, that I have no choice but to believe him. This prince is going to save me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Leo

  Marco is waiting for me when I finally leave Tessa Lulach’s hospital room. Unsurprisingly, my younger brother is chatting up a pretty woman in maroon scrubs. There’s a reason his nickname is the Playboy Prince.

  When Marco catches sight of me, he winks. After dropping a quick kiss on the nurse’s cheek, he jogs down the hall to meet me.

  My brother is two years younger than I am, and two inches shorter than my six four, but anyone with eyes could see we’re related. We have the same coloring, the same nose, and the same eyebrows.

  He’s dressed in a gray-and-white-striped dress shirt and charcoal trousers, which is a step up from his usual jeans and T-shirt. I can’t remember the last time I wore jeans and a T-shirt outside the palace. After years of wearing flight suits almost day and night, now I wear custom suits.

  “How did it go?” Marco asks, tilting his head toward Tessa’s room.

  I glance around, checking to make sure no one can overhear our conversation. “The surgery is scheduled for Friday.”

  My brother’s dark eyebrows arch in surprise. “That’s the day after tomorrow.”

  “She can’t wait any longer.”

  I start moving toward the elevators, where my security detail is waiting. I have at least one guard with me at all times, sometimes more depending on the situation. The only time I didn’t have a security detail was when I was in the navy.

  “At least your liver grows back,” Marco points out, slapping me on the back.

  He’s right. The liver is the only organ in the human body that can regenerate.

  Prior to receiving the phone call from the transplant center, I didn’t know you could donate a portion of your liver. I thought it was all or nothing, but it’s not. The requirements to donate are fairly simple: your blood type must match the recipient and your liver must be large enough to spare a chunk.

  After a portio
n is removed for donation, it takes only a few months for the liver to return to its normal weight. Still, I would’ve preferred to keep all my organs intact, at least while I’m breathing.

  Scowling at Marco, I say, “I don’t see you giving your organs to strange women.”

  “Wrong.” A slow smile lifts my brother’s mouth. “I give one organ to several women on a regular basis.”

  A disgusted sound erupts from my throat. “I don’t understand why my image needs improvement when you say shit like that.”

  According to public opinion polls, the Alsanian people love Marco but hate me. I just don’t get it.

  Among the aristocracy, the firstborn son is the heir, and the second-born is the spare. The heir must be perfect. The spare can be anything he wants. As the heir to the throne, I’ve always done my duty, proudly and honorably. As the spare, Marco has always done whatever he wants.

  Marco is a royal fuckup, pun intended. Despite that, I love him. I’d do anything for him, and I know he feels the same way about me.

  He’s never been jealous of my position as first born and heir to the throne. He’s never resented me. Sometimes I think he even feels sorry for me.

  From the moment I understood what the word friend meant, Marco has been my best friend. I can’t imagine that ever changing, even though our paths will diverge once I take the throne, whenever that happens.

  My father, King Carlo, always told me that he would step down before my thirtieth birthday. But a couple of months before that momentous occasion, he told me that he’d decided to postpone his abdication. I was shocked—no, more than shocked—stunned.

  That was more than a year ago, and my father hasn’t set a new deadline. He’s explained his hesitation—my dismal approval rating. That and my Polar Prince nickname.

  When the media first started calling me the Polar Prince, I thought it was kind of funny. The alliteration was amusing, at the very least.

  I know I don’t come across as warm or caring. But I do care. I care about the people of Alsania, and I want to be a good king for them.

  My father doesn’t want me to take over our country without the people’s support, and I understand his concern. It’s difficult to lead effectively when people are against you.