Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  I blink slowly, unsure if I’ve heard him correctly. “It’s quite a bit more than just a piece of paper. I worked very hard to earn that degree. I studied nearly day and night for years, wrote research papers, helped with field projects, took every related workshop and seminar I could. It did not come easy, I assure you.”

  “Well, yes, my Lady, I wouldn’t presume that it would be easy for a woman to achieve such a thing, especially one so young and pretty as yourself, but it’s hardly like you’ll be employing any of that knowledge in your future.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He rolls his hand in the air, his gaze wandering the tent, sounding the more bored with the topic the more we talk. “Well, you’re not actually going to go gallivanting off to work, now are you?”

  I give him a cold stare. “I had been planning to, yes. I’d like to work with a nonprofit in third world countries.” Especially since those places are far, far away from you.

  He snorts, and something resembling laughter catches in his throat. “I can picture it now. A woman of nobility in muck boots, slinging elephant shit in Africa somewhere? Pardon my language, my Lady, but really. You’re just having a good one over on me now.” He lets out a chuckle and shakes his head.

  “Actually, I’d love to go work in Africa,” I say through clenched teeth. “And elephant shit doesn’t scare me. I have done field work before.”

  He clicks his tongue and sucks back the rest of his wine, no longer interested in the topic, dismissing it as only men who have a stately title in this little corner of the world can.

  I glance around, hoping someone — anyone — has heard this nonsense and can confirm I’m not crazy. But everyone is busy chatting with someone else, even Henry, who is motioning to the waiter to stop serving refills of wine to the Duke of Fellsworth.

  I turn back to Horace the Horrible. “I certainly wouldn’t expect to get served tea and sit comfortably in a plush air-conditioned room all day. I’d pull my weight and contribute valuable data to research programs, help make a difference in the world.”

  He sets his glass down with a thud. “That’s all well and good, my Lady, but perhaps you need to rethink these preposterous visions, because what your husband will expect of you is quite different.”

  I glare at him and grit my teeth, but refrain from saying what I’m thinking. I’m gripping my fork tightly, imagining what it would be like to jab it into his misogynistic, patronizing leg.

  Not knowing when to keep his trap shut, he continues. “I know it’s very easy to be swept away by silly notions at your age,” he goes on, puffing his chest out assuredly, “but I’m quite certain none of your suitors have plans involving Africa, elephant dung, or a wife with career ambitions. I certainly don’t. God forbid my heir is born in some dusty desert in a piss-poor shanty town. I expect my wife to tend her duties at home, where she belongs, as does any gentleman with high standards.”

  He looks at me finally, and that look says it all. It says what all my suitors won’t verbalize. That a gentleman of high standards really means a man with an impressive bank account and the right connections. They know I’m for sale. They won’t say it, but they know.

  “You shouldn’t mention these things if you want to land a decent husband, dear — just leave the business to the men.”

  I swallow hard and take a deep breath, trying not to choke on my indignation or on the vague sense of shame that comes with the position I find myself in. It’s humiliating. I’d almost deceived myself into thinking I could find a good match with a decent man. As I’ve been trained to, I keep my lips sealed, but under the table, my hands are shaking I’m so furious.

  Across from us, the Duke’s phone rings loudly, and he stands up unsteadily beside Henry, bumping the table several times. As the china clatters and people snatch up full wine glasses to keep them from spilling, I seize the opportunity to whisper to Emily.

  “Let’s excuse ourselves to the ladies’ room. If I have to hear another word out of this guy’s mouth, I’m going to stab him with my fork, and I won’t even be sorry.”

  Chapter 6

  HENRY

  “Your Highness?”

  I turn to my left, where Pierre, my security chief, has leaned over to whisper to me. “Yes?”

  “There are two young ladies who’ve requested to speak with you privately.”

  Curiosity filling me, I get my hopes up that it’s Abi and her assistant, beckoning me to wherever they’ve left to. “Concerning?”

  He glances up at the many faces turned curiously toward us and clears his throat. “I assume it’s of a personal nature, sir. They wouldn’t tell me.” Code for ‘you’d prefer I didn’t say the true reason aloud’.

  “Where?”

  “I asked them to wait at the portico near the chef’s entrance.”

  “Very well, thank you, Pierre.”

  “Would you like me to accompany you, sir?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  I place my napkin on the table and excuse myself, winding my way through the gaily decorated tables to the exit of the large event tent. It’s a brief walk across the East Lawn to the rear of the palace, where I spot two women hovering together behind the columns of the portico covering the kitchen delivery entrance. Disappointment hitches in my chest. Neither of them is Abi.

  “Ladies? You needed to speak with me?”

  They smile and blush, bowing their heads in unison. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “What can I help you with this evening?”

  They look at each other and then turn to me, stepping closer.

  “We, um, we have a special request,” the redhead says, smiling demurely at me.

  “Yes?” Don’t do what I think you’re about to.

  “I’m Leela, and this is Stacy,” the redhead continues, “and we have a bit of a situation.”

  I keep an oblivious façade up, hoping they’ll stop. I’m no idiot. I know that look they’re giving me. “How may I be of assistance?”

  “We each had a birthday this month; we both turned twenty-one.”

  I can feel the fakeness in my smile, but they don’t seem to notice. “Congratulations, a belated happy birthday to you both.”

  “We’re hoping you can help us celebrate,” Stacy says.

  “Oh?” Fuck me, they’re going to do it.

  “The thing is, we’ve never been with a man before.” Stacy tosses her blonde hair and looks at me from under long eyelashes.

  I raise both eyebrows. Not because of the propositions, that I’m used to. It’s because I highly doubt either of these girls have never been with a man before. “I see.”

  They step forward together, now inches away from me, and Leela slips her arm around Stacy’s waist.

  “We’d like you to be our first, Your Highness,” she says, tracing a finger down Stacy’s chest. “With both of us, together.”

  “Doing whatever pleases us — all night long,” Stacy adds.

  That primal part of me sets my heart beating faster, and yet, my response is without hesitation. It’s firm. “I’ll have to pass on that, unfortunately.”

  “But... but,” the blond stammers. “We’re up for anything. We’ll do whatever you want.”

  I take a step back and clasp my hands together. “That’s not the issue, I assure you. I’m certain there are many gentlemen — several in that tent, in fact — who’d jump at a chance to, um, celebrate with you. But it won’t be me.”

  “But you’re the only one we want,” Leela says, pushing her lips into a pout. “We heard you were into this sort of thing.”

  Last year me, yes — I likely would have taken them up on their offer. But I’m not that man anymore. I keep a civil expression on my face, the polite but otherwise emotionless look all the royals of Ostwyn do so well. “So sorry, ladies. Thank you for the offer, but I really must get back to the dinner party now.”

  I turn heel and walk away quickly, crossing the lawn without looking back. I’m almost to the tent when Pier
re steps out of the shadows.

  “Is everything okay, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, it’s fine. I’m going to return to my seat now.”

  He looks in the direction of the portico. “Shall I bring the ladies to your suite later, sir?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. They’ll have to find other company.”

  A brief look of confusion flashes across his ordinarily neutral expression. “Has my selection displeased you, my Lord?”

  “They were perfectly lovely. But I’m not interested.”

  “Oh, I see. I thought, perhaps, since you haven’t left the estate in a long while, you might want to take advantage of the, um, offerings the festival has brought.”

  “I appreciate your concern for my social life, Pierre, but as I’ve said before, things are different now. In fact, I’d appreciate your running interference to keep such... advances at bay.”

  Pierre’s eyebrows twitch, but he nods calmly. “Of course, sir.”

  I turn to leave, but my chief of security clears his throat. I glance back. “Yes?”

  “Pardon the question, Your Grace, but, uh…”

  “What?”

  He leans in and lowers his voice even further, barely a faint whisper above the din of the crowd inside the ten. “Does that include Lady Abigail as well?”

  “Lady Abigail is the only guest I’ll be entertaining — and her visits are to be treated with extreme discretion, is that clear?”

  “Absolutely,” Pierre nods solemnly. “It’s understood, Your Highness.”

  I leave Pierre standing at the edge of the tent, his watchful eyes following me as usual as I make my way back to the table. I notice with dismay that Abigail’s seat is still empty.

  I pray that she did not witness the conversation with the two women under the portico. Not a single woman here tonight could hold my attention the way she has these past few days, and I don’t want her thinking otherwise. I’m no fool — I know my reputation proceeds me. Surely, Abigail has heard every tawdry detail of my past, of my infamous stunts, partying, and playboy ways.

  But this is… different. I don’t know what it is, or how long it will last, or why she has this hold over me that I can’t shake, but no woman, ever, has captivated me quite like this before.

  Chapter 7

  ABIGAIL

  I finish drying my hands and flop down on a neatly tailored loveseat in the corner of the ladies’ room. “Would it be terribly unbecoming of me to just have a full-fledged fit? I could do with a good tantrum right about now — just get it out of my system.”

  Emily checks that the door is locked then gives me a playful scold. “I’m afraid so. Tantrums have been off the table since you turned five. But, I do have this.”

  She sets her enormous purse on the vanity counter and pulls a bottle of red wine from it. “I snuck it in my bag when dear old McAllister insisted on giving me a tour of the wine cellar while you were off gallivanting at the opening ceremonies. If I had to listen to him drone on about eighteenth-century vintages for far longer than politeness allows, I wasn’t going to leave empty-handed.”

  “Ah, perfect! The adult preventative to tantrums. I knew I loved you for a reason.”

  I kick off my heels and squish my toes into the plush carpet of the opulent powder room as Emily produces two crystal glasses out of thin air and hands one of them to me. I don’t know how she does it. She’s like Mary Poppins and Merlin rolled into one, only better.

  She fills my glass, and I wave at the empty cushion beside me. “Come, sit. You’ve been on your feet longer than I have.”

  Emily eases onto the loveseat with a sigh, tucking a leg underneath her. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?”

  “Mmmhmm,” I murmur, taking a long sip of wine.

  I don’t even care what kind it is – it’s rich and strong and feels exquisite sliding down the back of my throat. I wanted to gulp down a glass or three at dinner to steady my nerves, but that wouldn’t have been very ladylike, so I sipped politely and wished for the umpteenth time that I had been born a man — a scotch swilling, pants wearing, seductive stud of a man. They seem to have all the fun.

  I bury my nose in my wine glass and take a deep, cleansing breath, feeling like fresh air is hitting my lungs for the first time all evening, despite having spent all of dinner sitting outdoors. Another long swallow of the sweet, spicy liquid, then I turn to Emily. “This whole affair is just getting started, so brace yourself.”

  “I’m not worried about me,” she says, her face etched with concern. “I can lurk at the corner of the rooms and keep my nose in my phone, and no one will think unkind of me.”

  I wrap an arm around her shoulder and give her a squeeze. “I’m glad, Emily. I don’t want to subject you to this any more than I want to be here.”

  “Just think, it’ll all be over soon, and you’ll be married off to some Grand Douchebag, spending your days planning stuffy social events and wondering how many mistresses your husband’s acquired.”

  “Thank goodness I have you to cheer me up, always ready to remind me of the good times ahead,” I say dryly.

  We share a chuckle, but it’s a sad sort of laugh, the kind that stings a bit because we both know her words are truer than not.

  I squeeze Emily’s hand. “At least I’ll have you with me, for a while anyway, until you’re swept off your feet by some sexy man and whisked away.”

  “I shall never leave you, my Lady,” she says dramatically, clutching my hand to her chest. “Perhaps I shall marry your butler, just to stay by your side.”

  “Piss off, you,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “You should have been in theatre. Your talents are being wasted.”

  “How are you holding up?” she asks, her voice turning serious once again. “Has anyone caught your eye? I’m hoping at least one of them turns out to be tolerable.”

  “The suitors?” I almost choke on my wine. “Heavens, no. They’re all awful.”

  Emily grimaces. “Really?”

  “Let’s see. So far, there’s too old, too boring, too socially awkward, too arrogant, and let’s not forget Mr. Harridan with the creepy fingers — oh, and the latest one, I’m pretty sure he’s planning to lock me in a tower until I learn my place because, after all, I’m just a silly little woman with nothing to offer, so I better gratefully submit to my husband’s every wish.”

  “Then you should definitely take my advice and pursue Henry for some more, um… private activities, while you can.”

  “I think you might be right.”

  “Of course I’m right. I don’t know how you aren’t just going wild right now, given what you’re facing. You’re sacrificing so much.”

  “I don’t mind.” I reply automatically, but a moment later, I shake my head at the lie. I’ve tried to be chin-up about the situation, but Emily knows it’s not all rainbows. She’s seen me at the low moments. “Well, I’m managing, let’s just say that. It’s for my family, you know? I’d do anything for my parents.”

  “I know. And they are so lucky to have a daughter like you. But right now? Go have your fun, Abi. God knows you deserve it.”

  I shake my head. “It’s sad, really, isn’t it? My last hurrah.”

  “At least you’re getting a hurrah, thanks to Henry, right? And damn, Abi. I know you said he was good looking, and I’ve seen him in the papers and on TV, but wow. I mean, he really has that sexy, smoldering thing going on in person. Like… daaaaamn.”

  I laugh. “Believe me, I know. He’s always had that effect on me, from the time I turned twelve and realized boys are cute. He’s like some kind of black magic voodoo in a tux. And then, last night, he took it to a whole other level. He should come with a warning sign.”

  Emily laughs, and I stretch out my legs, alternately pointing my toes and tightening my calves then relaxing them. I can’t remember the last time I wore heels for so long.

  At the university, I could wear shorts, t-shirts, and my beloved worn-in strappy sandals. I could p
ull my hair back in a quick knot and not fuss with makeup. Not here. Not anywhere anymore. From now on, it would be dress suits and formal gowns, styled hairdos and high heels.

  “I should have spent every spare second between classes looking for my non-existent, long-lost twin. Someone to be me for the next fifty years.” I tip my head back and finish the rest of my wine in a few swallows.

  Emily pats me sweetly on the knee and reaches for the bottle to refill our glasses.

  Chapter 8

  HENRY

  After waiting for ages for Abi to return to the table, I finally get up and go for a stroll across the lawn. I spot her assistant — Emily, I think — chatting with some other aides outside the dining tent, and pull her aside. She’s a bit flustered from having been unexpectedly hustled around the back corner of the tent by the Prince of Ostwyn, but I need to speak to her as far away from would-be eavesdroppers as possible.

  “Where is Abigail?” I ask.

  “I’m—I’m not sure.” Her eyes are wide with an unspoken apology. “She said she was going for a walk in the garden.”

  “She’s still outside somewhere, then?”

  She nods. “I believe so, Your Grace.”

  “Which way did she go?”

  She peeks out of the shadows to orient herself and points to my left, away from the tent and the East Lawn. “Um, that way, maybe?”

  “You aren’t sure?”

  Emily fidgets nervously. “I—I wasn’t really paying attention, sorry. The Duke of Fellsworth tripped and landed face-first in the grass just after Lady Strathmore left for her walk.”

  I’m sure it was quite the scene, but all I care about is finding Abi. “She went into the High Gardens, then?”

  “I think so, Your Highness.”

  “Thank you.” I nod, dismissing her.

  “I hope you find her.” She gives me a shy smile and slips back around the corner.