The King's Surprise Bride_A Royal Wedding Novella

by Vivien Vale

  After I finally find out the true identity of Ms. Winters, I’ll have all the time in the world to have amazing sex with Aaron while we glance out at the fabulous night time views from our room.

  For now, my goal is to make my boss, the real Mr. Mr. BadBoy, happy and to bring him the results of a well sought-after prize.

  Aaron is currently getting some work done, so at least he has something to entertain him while I’m away. On second thought, it’s work, so it may not be entertaining, but how the hell should I know? He’s so vague about his job that I don’t know much about it.

  I just hope he gets plenty to occupy him, and doesn’t get a wild hair and come down to the bar and spot me.

  I take another sip of my Cosmopolitan, aiming to calm down just a few notches…or twelve. I need to plateau here, and the alcohol will aid in my efforts to remain cool, calm and collected.

  Shit!

  I nearly choke to death on my drink when I notice Ethan walk in. I quickly recover and wipe my mouth with a napkin and clear my throat, brushing my hands through my hair.

  Wait, why the hell am I getting ready? I’m in the back of the bar blanketed in darkness, I don’t need to refresh myself to become presentable. Sometimes I forget that Mr. BadBoy is just an alter ego. No need to get upset or excited about his things.

  I watch Ethan as he walks towards the bar.

  Good. My initial observations of his behavior please me. He appears to be calm and confident. The way Mr. Mr. BadBoy is supposed to be. So, basically the exact opposite of how I’m behaving right now.

  This is very appealing, and relief floods me as I internally note Ethan’s remarkable cooperation here. Everything is going so well. He makes eye contact with me from across the way, but I wave my hand urgently that I need to remain concealed back here.

  I frantically bat my hand at him and he finally understands. He jerkily moves away from me. He stands at the bar and converses with the bartender, ordering a scotch to start his night.

  Remaining hidden as best I can, I slink into the booth while I duck my head.

  I wonder if I can hide behind my cocktail glass. Or if I could drink my way to forgetting I couldn’t hide behind it.

  Oh, shut up. My glass is not that gigantic, although at this point it could be the Nile river and it still wouldn’t be enough to pacify my jitters. My mind begins to climb down from the brink of hysteria when I think about how tonight is finally revelation day.

  This is it! After tonight, I’ll finally be able to paint a picture about the up until now intangible Ms. Winters for my boss, Mr. BadBoy.

  I mentally kick myself for not bringing a pad and a piece of paper to take notes.

  On the other hand, how fucking weird would that be if a lady is hiding in the darkness taking notes on a couple a few feet away? I would look suspicious from a mile away.

  No, mental notes will work just fine for tonight. I hope it’s enough to make my boss proud of me.

  I mean, I’m going through an awful lot to appease him just for a job. I’m new, but I put in more hours than anyone just to push my way up. I get this, I go big. I want to keep this gig and have more flowing my way. It will only get better after I successfully pull this through.

  I flick my eyes to my purse and grab my phone out of it. I almost forgot the most important part! In my reckless state of mind, it completely slipped my mind that I have to actually text Ms. Winters and let her know that I (really in this case, Ethan) have arrived at the bar.

  Silly. No wonder, she isn’t coming yet. We’d be waiting for hours here in vain.

  I push the volume button to vibrate, so that my phone will be silent and won’t call out any attention in the otherwise quiet bar. I hit the conversation screen for Ms. Winters and begin typing away.

  Hi! I’m here at the bar.

  I insert a smiley face emoji to be friendly, but then quickly delete it as part of the message. Guys don’t send smiley face emoji’s, do they? Well if they do, it’s not very often and I have to play the part behind the scenes while Ethan takes care of the rest out on the playing field.

  I laugh to myself about all the trouble I’m going through just for this, but it’s all in good fun. How many people get to say they have this much fun while working on their own projects? Most of my friends sit in a cubicle and get so bored, they have to stare at social media all day, so I feel like I have the advantage and upper hand here.

  I watch as Ethan retrieves his drink and subtly walks over to his table. He sits down and wipes his palms on his pants, then heaves a deep sigh.

  Fuck, I hope he’s not too nervous. The poor guy. I hate to put him through this encounter, but he reassured me that he was happy to help, so I try not to dwell and linger on the subject too gravely. I don’t want to get too worked up on this and end up backing out for him.

  At least he follows instructions well. He doesn’t glance at me at any point, although his eyes do flick from time to time at the entrance to the bar.

  My phone buzzes in my lap, distracting me. I look at it under the table, so the glow of the screen won’t surround me. It’s from Ms. Winters.

  Okay great, I will be there in just a few minutes.

  Holy shit, this is actually going to happen tonight. History will be made; crazy shit is about to go down.

  I can’t wait, I text back.

  Ms. Winters is already a legend on the site. My boss better be fucking grateful when I report back to him with the scoop. I plan to take as many mental notes as I can so that I can paint the best picture for my boss as possible. I’ll make a better report right after this for his benefit.

  Ms. Winters, you’re mine.

  Listen to me, I’m playing the part well too. Mr. BadBoy is really rubbing off on me. Shit, am I resorting to thinking like a man now?

  No, that is a stretch, but I’m enjoying the catfishing while it lasts.

  I know for a fact that Ms. Winters is matched all the time with numerous billionaires, so this is going to be epic for sure.

  Yes, the suspense is killing me and I’m sweating like a freaking pig right now. My heart races as fast as an Olympic runner, and I can hear my pulse in my ears. My throat is closing up and the anxiety is gnawing and tugging at my brain, wreaking havoc.

  I just want this to be over with already, but I’m as excited as a kid on Christmas Eve.

  If my client can be the one to snatch up Ms. Winters, then I’ll be in the running for a huge raise, I just know it.

  Aaron

  Whoever this Mr. BadBoy character is, he couldn’t have agreed to a better spot to meet. Tonight, I’m feeling lucky, and not just because I know that Chloe is going to come back from her spa mission horny as all fuck and desperate to jump on this dick.

  Although, to be fair, that’s a pretty tasty cherry to place on top of this piece of cake.

  I can see and survey the entire bar from where I’m sitting. It’s almost like this table was put here so whoever is sitting in the seat I am right now can keep an eye on things.

  There’s a couple in the corner kissing and giggling to each other, and I can practically guarantee that she’s giving him a hand job beneath the table while he tries to look blasé about it. Across the room, there are two busty blonde women on what looks like a blind date, both awkwardly trying to pass the other one the bill.

  I should take Chloe down here after this Mr. BadBoy business is wrapped up, honestly. Not only could we people watch all night, but we could also have a hell of a time beneath the table ourselves. Because even though I can see practically everyone from here, the table is positioned perfectly so not a single goddamn soul can see me.

  Which is just how I like it.

  Obviously, I would take care of the bill.

  I couldn’t be more thrilled that I’m finally going to get my thumb on this Mr. BadBoy character. Supposedly a completely spotless billionaire.

  I haven’t even seen this guy make a typo. Not even an awkward autocorrect.

  Nonetheless, I can’t sh
ake the feeling that he’s not who he says he is. If I’m being completely real with myself, it’s practically turned me into one of those tinfoil-hat wearing conspiracy theorists over the last few weeks, trying to guess at who he might really be.

  A politician hiding behind top-of-the-line security technology so his uptight wife and raging constituents don’t find out about what he’s really doing during those long nights at the office. Or should I say, who he’s really doing?

  A media mogul. Old money. Someone with a big name in business with a board of directors breathing down his neck, sneaking around to get his kicks after hours under a pseudonym so his sex addiction doesn’t come out and leave his shareholders bailing faster than lifeboats from the Titanic.

  Maybe it’s the fucking Wikileaks guy. He seems like the type to hide behind some bad code name and conceal his identity, anyway. That’s his whole deal, right?

  I could do this all night. No, really. It’s fascinating to think about, but it’s also the fact that any one of those sounds just as true as the last.

  I’m ready to find out who this guy is once and for all, if not for the company then for my own peace of mind. I’m ready to take off the tin foil hat, put these theories to rest, and take my girl to bed to bang one out in a victory fuck.

  My phone lights up suddenly, and when I dare to glance down, there’s a Mr. BadBoy message glowing on the screen.

  He’s here.

  I look around, searching. I can usually pick the billionaire out of the room in an instant, but this is a pretty high-class hotel. Usually, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel, but right now, it’s like I’m trying to catch one particular mackerel in a barrel of, well, other mackerel.

  He’s probably not the lesbians, I decide. Or, on second thought, maybe they’re bi. Considering that a sleazy guy has just arrived at their table and whipped out his credit card.

  Hey, maybe it’s his lucky night.

  Probably not the guy getting a hand beneath the table either. Especially since that couple is blowing this popsicle stand.

  They’re probably getting a room. Good for them.

  Ultimately, until Cassie rolls in, there’s no way of telling for sure which of these men in suits our mysterious target is. I ring her up on my cell and give her the go-ahead.

  “Ask for the table reserved under Mr. BadBoy,” I instruct her.

  “Ugh,” Cassie sighs. “The maître d’ is gonna think I’m a jackass, Aaron.”

  “I’m not paying you for backtalk. Come on, Cassie. We’ve got this.”

  I watch Cassie do her best sexy bitch walk into the bar. She chats with the woman at the front for a few seconds, smiling and laughing. I see her mouth the words Mr. BadBoy, at which point they both fucking lose it.

  Then, just like that, she gets led off to a table in the middle of the room.

  His back is turned to me. Son of a bitch. When I played this moment in my head, I could at least watch him in profile during this moment.

  I was looking forward to seeing the expression on this guy’s face when he thinks he sees Ms. Winters for the first time, after all. Now I’ll never know how stunned he is.

  It’s not that I’m sweet on him or anything. This isn’t that kind of story, sorry to crush your dreams. But I’ve been doing a damn fine job posing as Ms. Winters, as far as I’m concerned.

  My dirty talk has improved massively, and it’s obviously been working for me. Especially when I think about the dirty things I’m going to whisper into Chloe’s pretty little ear when I get her back up to our room.

  Chloe, naked in our bed, fresh from the spa and lying uncovered atop champagne-colored silk sheets, the northern lights overhead, and my mouth between her thighs.

  Perfect end to a perfect evening.

  Here’s the thing about Chloe: this girl fucking gets me. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman, plus a bunch of shit I didn’t even realize a man like me was allowed to ask for.

  Here’s the other thing about Chloe: she’s so damned addictive that I start fantasizing about her at the drop of a fucking hat. And when I do, it spirals into this shit.

  Mushy stuff. So fucking distracting.

  It’s so distracting, in fact, that I nearly miss the look on Cassie’s face when she sits down and turns her face to meet Mr. BadBoy for the very first time.

  What I expect to see is a coy little smile, maybe a giggle or a wink. If she was being really bad, I can imagine that she might lick her lips—whatever salacious thing Cassie thinks works best to play the role of a notorious seductress.

  She’s seen the James Bond movies. And failing that, she’s seen enough of Kim Kardashian’s Instagram account to fill in the gaps.

  What I actually see is the last thing I expected.

  Not sexy. Not sultry. The furthest thing from it, in fact.

  It’s a look of pure fucking horror. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is gaped open, and she looks like she’s about to murder this guy right fucking there.

  “What the fuck, Cassie?” I mumble to myself, furrowing my brow.

  Worst spent hundred bucks of my life.

  It’s like she heard me say it, because next thing I know, she’s somehow managed to spot me.

  Our eyes meet from across the room, and suddenly she’s shaking her head like any second now she’s going to need someone to hold her earrings while she throws down.

  What the hell just happened?

  Chloe

  My heart’s beating so fucking fast I’m at risk of passing out.

  I keep glancing at my phone and my watch. D-day—or maybe it should be called D-time—is nearly here.

  It’s such a pity I can’t sit where Ethan’s sitting right now. It should really be me who meets the elusive Ms. Winters.

  For a while I had toyed with the idea of dressing as a man. I mean, there are plenty of films where the man dresses as a woman. I could have been the Mrs. Doubtfire, except, of course, I was going to pretend to be a man.

  As I reflect on this, I realize it’s a lot easier to transfer yourself as a man into a woman. We’re not really built to pretend to be men. Life was fucking unfair.

  Of course I should have thought this through a little more clearly, but heck, the whole thing just sort of happened.

  I mean, when I started this persona of Mr. BadBoy, I never thought it would involve needing to meet someone in person, and a woman at that.

  Fuck.

  My fingers go to my mouth, and I start chewing on my fingernails. I feel as if I’m standing outside the principal’s office. I haven’t fucking chewed my nails in like forever.

  “Keep breathing. Chloe, keep breathing,” I tell myself and look around.

  There’s no one who could possibly fit the description of Ms. Winters.

  I check my phone again. No message. She should be here any second now.

  What if she was late, or worse, didn’t show at all?

  Just then, a woman starts walking toward Ethan—a young elegant-looking woman. This must be it.

  In my excitement, I jump up and down on the spot.

  As she gets closer, I frown. She seems familiar. I feel as if I know her.

  What the fuck was Cassie doing here?

  Of course, she must be looking for Ethan. I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand. Preparation, fucking preparation was the key to success.

  Why had I not thought to lure Cassie away?

  On tenterhooks, I watch the events unfold.

  I wish I were a fly on Ethan’s shoulder right now to hear what excuse he gives her or what story he’ll tell her to get rid of her.

  Shock horror. My eyes can’t believe what’s unfolding in front of them.

  No. Please. No.

  Jelly seems to invade my knees, and the world goes a little blurry.

  This can’t be happening.

  How do I get the attention of that fucking sister of mine? She’s about to ruin everything.

  Cassie is not moving, on the contrary, she is sitting down.


  Grrr.

  Fucking twin sister.

  Why is Ethan not getting rid of her? Surely he should be able to come up with some excuse, even if it’s a lame one?

  Doubt starts to nibble on my insides.

  Maybe I should have let her in on the secret?

  I sigh. Its’ too fucking late for that.

  And then suddenly, a little light flickers within me. The more I ponder, the brighter it burns.

  Was Cassie Ms. Winters?

  I almost laugh out loud. So absurd is the idea, or is it? Now I’m thinking in fucking double negatives.

  There’s only one thing to do.

  I leave the safety of my hideout and head to their table. For some reason, the two seem to be getting on remarkably well. Obviously, Cassie’s not the least bit suspicious why Ethan’s sitting there with a cocktail in hand.

  Someone steps in front of me.

  I’m taken aback by the rudeness and trip over a chair. It takes me a few minutes to regain my balance.

  “What—” I stutter and see Aaron also walk toward the same table I’m heading to.

  Now I’m totally at a loss of what the fuck is going on.

  “Ethan,” I start, and then I turn to my sister. “Cassie, what are you doing here? I thought…”

  What did I think? Obviously, whatever the fuck it was, it was incorrect. Truth be told, I hadn’t thought anything when I asked Ethan to stand in for Mr. BadBoy. I thought he would sit down and meet Ms. Winters.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  And what is Aaron doing here? How does he fit into the mix?

  “Don’t raise your voice with me.” Cassie flares up.

  Ethan turns to me.

  “What—” My mouth opens and shuts like a fish gasping for air when it’s held out of the water. It does not make sense.

  Cassie shoots me her “don’t judge me before you hear the whole story” look.

  And my eyes blaze at her, giving her my “you better have a fucking good reason for being here” look.

  “It’s not my fault,” Cassie starts before Ethan can say anything.