The Prince’s Bride (Part 1)

by J. J. McAvoy

  “Yes, ma’am, I would not dream of it.”

  The look on his face said he already had. Luckily, he kept it to himself as he pulled up his sweater and shirt at once. Every one of his six-pack abs and the deep V that ran into his pants was now on display. I noticed he had a gold medallion-shaped multi-pointed star with an eagle in the center, and on that eagle was some sort of crest.

  Unable to help myself, I touched it, running my hands over the groves in the gold. “What is this?”

  “An ancestral protection medallion.”

  “What?” I questioned, looking back up to him.

  “I told you my people are a little bit superstitious, my mother, especially,” he replied, touching the medallion. “It’s been in my family for generations. And usually, it’s given to someone who needs the most luck and protection.”

  “And that is you?”

  “Apparently.” He snickered. “I’ll explain more after we are finished. Unless you wish to keep touching my chest.”

  “Right.” I quickly gave him my soft pink towel. “S-sit down.” Was that my voice? What in the world? I sounded like a chicken.

  “I am in your care,” he said gently, taking a seat.

  I stopped speaking to give my voice the time it so clearly needed to take care of itself. Taking the oil, I massaged it into his temples first, then back around his ears, and his shoulders went up.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, not sure what was wrong.

  “I am fine. I just did not realize I was getting a free massage.”

  “Who said it was free? I still want to hear all of these secrets.”

  He became quiet, and it took a few more seconds before all the glue melted, and I could finally take off the wig. I still couldn’t believe he had gone that far just so he could go out in public. But today, we had gone around town and even went to the street market. Putting the hair on the counter, he wiped away the oil dripping down his face then scratched his head, sighing in relief.

  “You get cleaned up, and then we can talk over wine.”

  “We are starting a tradition, I see.” He chuckled.

  “Late night conversations and wine,” I remembered. “Do you want something light or strong?”

  “Strong.”

  I wondered if he needed something strong because of the conversation.

  When he came back down, he was towel drying his soaking-wet bronze hair. He’d also changed into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

  “What are we having?” he asked when he came over to me on the couch.

  “A 2014 Monastrell,” I said, showing him the bottle, and he made himself comfortable. “Careful, it does sneak up on you. You might end up in some guy’s bed dressed as Cinderella, rambling.”

  He grinned. “Ah, so this is that wine.”

  “Yeah.” I still couldn’t believe I had done that.

  He poured for me before he poured for himself, and I watched him taste it and nod. He leaned back. “It is good. Very smokey, though. Is it your favorite?”

  “Why do I get the sense you are stalling in whatever it is you need to tell me?” I asked, crossing my legs underneath me.

  “Because I partially am, and you are too blunt just to let me ease into this conversation.” He chuckled, but his eyes didn’t hold any laughter or joy or teasing in them at all.

  “Is it that bad?”

  “This is going to sound callous, but what is worse? Losing your father suddenly or knowing he is going to be gone soon.”

  Guilt, pain, and sadness washed over me as I understood the reason behind his question. “Your father is dying?”

  “His brain is,” he whispered back, looking down at his wine. “No one knows yet. The minute they do, he’s going to have to abdicate. My brother has been taking care of everything for months now anyway, so that is not the worst part. The worst is watching as his brain slowly disappears. It is a family trait.”

  “Does that mean you...”

  “Arthur and I do not show signs of it. My grandfather was married to his second cousin, which is why they believe he has it so quickly and so severe. Days are just rewinding in his mind.” He glanced over to me. “That was the biggest reason I agreed to marry you, to come here. He is the one who put us in debt.”

  “How much?”

  He shook his head. “Millions, Odette. Millions. I have thought about how that could be possible over and over again. How could he have done so much damage in such a short period of time? Then I realized it did not happen just overnight. He has been sick for years, and none of us really noticed until it became bad.”

  “That isn’t your fault, though.”

  “No, but...but I teased him.” He squeezed his glass, hanging his head. “Over the years, I would always tell him his brain was cluttered because he always forgot one thing or another. I just thought it was a quirk. He had been like that for as long as I could remember. I told you I blamed my brother for my mistakes. Well, there were times when I took things or lied, knowing my father would forget about it later, and now I know I used his illness against him all of my life without realizing.”

  I reached over and grabbed his arm. “Gale, you were young. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He met my eyes and put his hand on mine. “Maybe that’s true, but what about right now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am here, enjoying my time with you, going to dinner, drinking wine, strolling through the park, while he is suffering. I am happy here. But I am also worried about when I go back. How much more of our time together has he lost? Before I left, he still thought I was in university.”

  “I’m so sorry. Is there nothing that can be done?”

  He shrugged and drank. “Everyone allows him to go to work. They are hoping it will snap it out of him, but that does not seem to be working anymore. Someone in the palace leaked today that he is ill. That is why my brother called me.”

  “Does he want you to go back?”

  “Not at all.” He laughed bitterly. “You are the higher priority for the crown, Odette. By any means necessary, I need to convince you to marry me. I need your money. The first time I said that I did not feel guilt over it. But now, now I do.”

  “Why? You told me from the start.”

  He shifted to face me, staring into my eyes before he pressed his hand to my cheek. “Because I like you, Odette. And no matter how much money you have, for a country, for my brother to use you as nothing more than an ATM feels insulting. Are you not insulted by it?”

  I looked down at my glass. “When you are to inherit as much money as I am, everyone sees you as an ATM. So, you just get used to it and make sure the people who get the money are worth it.”

  He played with one of the curls, twirling it in his hand. “That is tragic.”

  “That’s my life,” I whispered back, reaching to toy with the medallion around his neck.

  “My mom gave me this before I left, that and a wedding ring. The medallion for luck with you. The ring is also an heirloom, to bring many children.”

  I sucked in air. “What?”

  He laughed and kissed the top of my forehead. “I am not going to rush you, or what is going on between us, I promise. Only when you are comfortable with everything will we talk about it more.”

  “But every day you are here, you are away from your father.” Only people who had lost their fathers understood how much time they had wasted. How much they could have said, could have done, how much everything meant.

  “His memory is still fading, but he will still be there—”

  “I can see it in your eyes—don’t,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over my lips. “Don’t worry about anyone else or anything else but yourself and what you want, Odette. Don’t burden yourself with my issues yet.”

  The way he spoke, how I felt when I was with him right now...it was all really nice. Wonderfully nice.

  “I want to kiss you again,” he said gently.

  “Then kiss me again.”

&n
bsp; And so, he did.

  NOVEMBER 15

  What is happening?

  Where have the days gone? They passed so quickly I did not even have time to write. I am shocked by the date. It is as if I lost all sense of time because of her...because of Odette.

  What is this feeling? How does it feel as if I have made love to her with a single kiss?

  Why does she cause me to feel intoxicated simply by being near me? Right now, as she sleeps soundly, it is as if I am drunk. Drunk off the sight of her. Drunk off the sound of her breathing.

  What is this?

  Last night, we kissed and talked and kissed and talked...until we had nothing left to say. All further communication was between her lips and my lips. She wanted me, and I wanted her. And yet...I couldn’t.

  I, fiend, the seducer of women, the playboy, had a woman in my arms I wanted desperately...and instead of giving in to that lust, I held on to her and did nothing but kiss her until we both fell asleep.

  What in God’s name is wrong with me?

  “Gale,” she muttered in her sleep, and I paused, looking down at her as she moved closer to me. I’d never shared a bed with a woman and only ever just slept before, but this was now the second time. I watched as one of her eyes opened and she tried to wake up.

  “What time is it?”

  “Three in the morning,” I answered as she groaned in annoyance.

  “Why in the world are you still up?” she muttered, flipping onto her side.

  Because you are taking up all my thoughts. I smiled, putting my journal down and lying beside her. It was also funny how she did not seem to react to the fact that we were in bed together...again. Maybe she was too tired to realize. I, however, was acutely aware of it and was not sure of how I was supposed to lay. As if she had heard me, she flipped back over, tossing her leg slightly over my thigh.

  “Is this fun for you?” I whispered, but she was still asleep. The heat of her body next to mine was a new kind of torture for me. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t manage to. My mind was racing too much. I found myself wondering all sorts of things, like how badly I wished I didn’t stop us last night. Why had I? I had no idea. I’d never just kissed a woman—only just kiss her and sleep—but that was apparently what I’d done last night.

  I also found myself wondering if this was how it was going to be for the rest of our lives. Us drinking wine, laughing, going to dinners, coming back to kiss, and to lie in bed together. Would she always curl up beside me? Would I always be tempted? How many nights would I be up amazed at whatever I was amazed at, writing in journals as the days passed blissfully?

  If it was, I think I liked it.

  I think I liked it a lot.

  Chapter 21

  “No,” he said flatly, an answer I was getting far too used to hearing.

  “Iskandar, I can’t date someone from the confines of this one apartment!”

  “You have been doing well so far.”

  “You cannot be serious!”

  He lifted his phone to me so I could see it, and I half expected Arty to be on the line, waiting to lecture me as well. But instead, it was a newspaper from back home. The headline reading, “Where is Prince Galahad?” They had even chosen to use a very large, very unflattering photo of me slightly drunk from almost two years ago because nothing was ever in the past with these people.

  “Over the last few weeks, no one has been able to account for the prince’s whereabouts, nor has he been seen frequenting regular hot spots,” Iskandar read for me when I didn’t even bother to look any longer. “This week, the prince was not in attendance for Her Majesty’s—”

  “I understand your point. There is no need to keep reading.”

  “That is why you must think of something that either requires limited social interaction or remain indoors.”

  “I said I understood your point, but that does not mean I will agree,” I replied, and his shoulders fell as if he were utterly tried of me.

  He very might well have been. But I did not care.

  Things had been going well with Odette and I—really well—and I wanted her to have fun with me before the rest of the world only saw her as my soon-to-be bride, before the newspapers and tabloids were following us everywhere.

  “I already know what it is I want us to do—”

  “Well, someone looks excited.”

  I had turned my back away from him for less than five seconds. There was no way it could be longer than that. And yet when I turned back to see the voice that had spoken to me, knowing it was not Iskandar’s, I came face-to-face with my brother, now on a video call on Iskandar’s phone.

  “Are you serious?” I gaped now, my shoulders dropping. “You gave up and called my brother.”

  “I called him,” Arty said on the line.

  “Really?” I questioned, taking the phone and moving to the windows that overlooked the city. “Then, I am now positive you have cameras installed because your timing can not be this impeccable.”

  “Why is that? What is the matter, little brother?” he questioned as he flipped through the papers on his desk within the very same study he’d kicked me out of the country from. There had to be at least a good thirty stacks of folders, the contents of which, only he, God, and his assistant knew. How in the world had he found the time to call me?

  “Gale?”

  I felt rather dumb and childish complaining as he was working, but what else could I do?

  “The spy you sent with me refuses to allow me outside. Do you know how hard it is to date a woman, going around in wigs and glasses and avoiding social gatherings?”

  “I thought you all went to the movies?”

  I groaned, wanting to bang my head on the glass. “Arty, I am a prince! In what world is taking her to the movies significant enough? How many romance novels have you read where all the main characters do is sit around and talk in a penthouse all day? It is not even my penthouse. I go from here to her mother’s house, to maybe one other event outside under cover of darkness like I am running from the law. This is not romantic.”

  “You are not a character in a romance novel, and not every day needs to be romantic.”

  “Arty—”

  “Gale, you are being dramatic.”

  “Really? I vaguely remember you taking Sophia out on hot-air balloon rides, to the opera, scuba diving on a private island, and—”

  “Are you sure you vaguely remember, or do you vividly remember?” He grinned into the camera.

  “Is that all you take from my statement? My good memory?”

  He chuckled. “You are free to do all of those things too, Gale.”

  “Am I? What is the fine print?”

  “Yes, of course, once you are engaged—”

  “That is the fine print! I am not engaged yet, am I? What am I supposed to do to get to that point? Date? How am I supposed to go on those dates when, again, I am locked in here with Captain Funless and Vice Admiral Play-doh.”

  Arty laughed so hard he actually had to stop working.

  “But why am I Play-doh?” Wolfgang asked from the kitchen, and the fact that he knew he wasn’t Captain Funless was one other reason why he was Play-doh.

  “Arty, I know some of the papers are wondering where I am. Please tell them I went skiing with friends in the mountains or something.”

  “The problem with that is that all your friends are still in town, also wondering where you are, which is why we are saying nothing at all,” he replied, not at all understanding.

  “Then, I don’t know what you want me to do here.” I snapped, annoyed. “I barely even know if she is having fun with me.”

  “Hmmm...”

  “Hmm? Why hmm?”

  He just shrugged, signing one on of the black folders and handing it off to someone not on camera.

  “Are you trying to annoy me?”

  “Only as hard as you are me.”

  “I thought you wanted this, Arty, so why are you making it so hard? I swear it is as
if—”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?” I repeated, not sure if I heard correctly.

  “Iskandar, are you there?” he called out instead, and Iskandar stepped up beside me.

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “I know this makes your job harder, but please allow him the space he needs to do...whatever it is he thinks he needs to do. Within reason, of course.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you,” I said, exhaling.

  “Gale.”

  “What?”

  “I’m glad you like her so much,” he stated. And before I could reply, he hung up on me. It was just like him, appearing wherever he wanted, stating what would and should be done, teasing as he did, then hanging up before I could say or request anything else.

  “You know what, I’m not even going to complain,” I muttered, tossing the phone back to Iskandar before rushing toward the stairs. “I’m going to shower. Wolfgang, see if we can find somewhere we can go Scuba diving—”

  “Scuba diving?” At the sound of her voice, my foot slipped on the last step at the top of the stairs, causing me to reach for the railing to catch myself. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, fine, of course!” I said, trying to mask my fall by just sitting on the stairs like a total and absolute buffoon. What in the hell was happening to me? Since when did I trip at the sound of a woman’s voice? That was Arty’s thing.

  “Gale?”

  “Odette?” I nodded to her as she stood at the bottom of the stairs because my brain was obviously malfunctioning. Her brown eyes filled with confusion. “What brings you here?”

  “Ugh...our chef made extra Greek yogurt apple streusel cake, and my mom told me to bring you all some.” She lifted the paper bag in her hand.

  “Thank you...umm, we love Greek yogurt apple streusel cake.” Jesus Christ in heaven, what were the words coming out of my mouth right now?

  When her eyebrow raised and she looked me over, I was positive she knew I had lost my mind. “Are you just going to sit there?”

  “Oh, right!” I stood up quickly, dusting off my hands, not exactly sure what to say as she caught me off guard.