Waking Up in Vegas: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

by Romy Sommer

  She looked up quickly, her dark eyes wide and luminous. “Of course not. You were…” She swallowed whatever she’d been about to say. “I was ready to settle down with you and become a farmer’s wife, for heaven’s sake. It was as if I saw my life flash before my eyes: the SUV, the 2.4 children, the dog, and the white picket fence. I should thank you for leaving. You saved me from my own stupidity. I came so close to giving up everything for you, even my dreams.”

  “My pleasure.” His dry tone couldn’t have been more apparent. He hoped his pain was less so. She didn’t love him as much as he loved her. She hadn’t loved him enough to want to share her dreams with him.

  She’d run away without giving him a chance, because she’d seen life with him as dull and stifling. How much worse would it be now, when she discovered that the life he could have offered her before, a life of ease in which they could have done anything they wanted, gone anywhere they wanted, was no longer possible? He was tied to Westerwald now. He had duties here, responsibilities. All those dull, stifling things she avoided.

  He had no doubt she’d run again. What could he possibly do or say to change her mind? Whatever it was, he had to figure it out, and quickly.

  “Tell me about Spain.” He leaned back against the headboard and took a gulp of wine. The taste was raw and a bit too young. He made a mental note to schedule a meeting with the cellar master.

  Her face lit up. “It was beautiful. The cathedrals, the art, the music.”

  He’d wanted to take her there himself, show her places he’d visited and loved, and explore new places with her. Instead, she’d done it alone. His jaw tightened. It cost him a great deal of effort to keep his voice light. “Have you been there all this time?”

  “Oh no. From Spain I travelled through France, and spent a few weeks in Paris.” She relaxed as she talked. Unconsciously, she leaned against the headboard beside him. They sat and talked, just as they had in Vegas.

  She told him of her adventures, of the things she’d seen, and they shared reminiscences of Paris. His glass slowly emptied.

  She moved to re-fill it, but he stopped her. The government might be on hiatus but that didn’t mean he was. He had a day scheduled full of meetings and couldn’t afford a muddled head.

  Phoenix sank back against the headboard beside him. “You’ve let me ramble on. Tell me what you’ve been up to. Have you been here in Westerwald all this time since you left?”

  She still had no clue, but that couldn’t last forever. In a town infected with coronation fever it would be only a matter of time before she discovered the truth. But tonight he wanted to keep things as they’d been, pure and simple. Uncomplicated.

  It was selfish, but he hadn’t had a day free of complications since he’d left Vegas, and he craved it now. And perhaps if he could remind her how much fun they’d had together…how right they were together.

  “Remember I told you my brother Rik was destined to take over the family business? Well something happened, and he had to go away.” Max wasn’t even sure exactly where his brother was now. Rik had stopped taking his calls. “So I had to step in and take over.”

  She frowned. “That’s not fair, is it? You had your own life.”

  “We also had responsibilities, people who relied on us.” He shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with it.” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “There’s only one thing I haven’t made peace with and that was losing you.”

  She swallowed, looking down at their hands. “I missed you too. I didn’t tell you that just to get laid.”

  “Will you promise me you won’t disappear in the next twenty four hours?”

  She nodded. “I think I can manage that.”

  “There’s something we need to talk about. What time do you get off work tomorrow?”

  “You mean today?” She grinned. “Same time, same place.”

  “I’ll meet you back here at midnight, then.”

  “You’re leaving?” The wary look was back in her eyes. He was learning to recognise it. He should have known she’d bolt the moment he left Vegas. For a full week she’d shied away from him, as if she’d been too scared to let him close.

  The only time she hadn’t been on edge, as if about to make a run for it, had been the day they met. That relaxed, easy-going Phoenix had to be in there somewhere, under all those layers of skittish, hard-edged cynicism. Beneath the fear.

  This time he wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to run. The last two months without her had been unbearable. He’d known loneliness before and it didn’t scare him, but living with her, though it had only been one week, had changed him. Living without her was a torture he didn’t intend to inflict on himself ever again.

  And soon Phoenix would realise that too. Destiny had brought them together again – and who could deny destiny?

  “I have an early meeting, but I’ll be back. Will you trust me this time?”

  She grinned. “I’ll give it a try.”

  He brushed a kiss over her lips, a cursory touch that was more promise than passion, and swung his legs off the bed. He had to hurry if he was going to get back in through the pantry window before the kitchen staff showed up for work.

  He paused in the doorway. “Don’t go flashing that ring of yours around. It might get you into trouble.” He paused. “It might get us both into trouble.”

  What the hell did that mean? It had almost sounded like a threat.

  As soon as the door shut behind him, Phoenix rolled over and buried her face in the pillows. His scent lingered on the pillow and she breathed it in. Tonight had been better than any dream. And for the first time in as long as she could remember, sleep overcame her with no trouble at all.

  The little café was doing a roaring business. Phoenix hustled between the tables, taking orders, chatting to the customers, ringing up bills, while Rebekah presided over the ice cream counter. In this summer heat wave the home-made, family-recipe ice cream was their biggest seller.

  It was late by the time business finally slowed enough for them to put up their feet and tally up the day’s earnings.

  “I don’t know when I last felt this tired.” Rebekah flipped the sign on the door (which said ‘closed’ in four different languages) and sat at one of the tables outside the café. The cool breeze outdoors came as a relief after the stifling heat of the café.

  It was dark already and the town square was packed with people. A live band played at the pub across the square, eighties hits spilling out into the brightly lit square.

  Phoenix set down two icy beers on the table and took a seat beside her. Rebekah sighed in satisfaction as she sipped her beer. “Coronations evidently make for good business. I’ve never seen the town this full, even for the annual music festival in September. Now all we need is for Maximilian to find his one true love and marry, and we’ll be able to beat the recession blues once and for all.”

  What was with the people of this country? Did they all believe in fate and true love? Next, there’d be fairy godmothers and flying carpets. “Who’s Maximilian?”

  “Our soon to be Arch Duke.” Rebekah eyed her over the rim of her beer bottle. “You’ve been smiling all day. What gives?”

  “Can’t a girl just be happy?” Phoenix grinned. Rebekah was right, she couldn’t stop smiling.

  “That’s not just happy. That’s an ‘I got laid last night’ look. So who’s the lucky guy and where did you meet?” Rebekah propped her feet up on an empty chair. “And where do you even get the energy to go out picking up guys with the hours I’ve been working you this week?”

  Phoenix rocked back on her chair. “Actually I think he did the picking up. I don’t remember. We met in Vegas a few months ago… That night’s a bit of a blur.” To say the least.

  “He’s American?” Rebekah sighed. “Isn’t that typical! You travel half way around the world to meet someone from back home.”

  Phoenix wasn’t sure why she didn’t correct her. Perhaps because she wanted to keep Max to hers
elf a little longer. Her dirty little secret.

  “He’s only half American and he’s the real reason I’m here. I’d never heard of Westerwald until I met him.”

  “Not surprising. Aside from wine and fairy tales, we’re not known for much. But there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.”

  “Have you never wanted to see more of the world?”

  Rebekah smiled. “I’ve travelled. We are right in the heart of Europe, after all. But why would I want to live anywhere else? This is home. It’s part of who I am.”

  Phoenix had never been in one place long enough for it to become a part of her. She wondered how that would feel. Home. For her, home had never been a place, it had been people. Or rather a person, until her father died, casting her adrift.

  Then she’d met Max. That week he’d lived in her little apartment, she’d lost that sense of rootlessness. Perhaps that was why she’d married him. A way to get over her grief.

  She swigged from the bottle of beer, and screwed up her eyes as a memory forced its way up to the surface. “My…” What was he? She could hardly call him her husband, even though it was true. Lover might be more accurate, but she didn’t want Rebekah getting the wrong impression of her. She started again. “My boyfriend told me a tale I’ve been thinking a lot about lately.”

  “Oh?”

  “About a ruler who got divorced and caused such a scandal that he started a war.”

  “That would have been Arch Duke Willem back in the late 1600s. He was beheaded right here in this town square.”

  “The story’s real?”

  “Of course. Aren’t all the best stories real? Every school child in Westerwald learns about the civil war. But the part of the story I always loved the most was how a beautiful sorceress cast a magic spell on the royal family when the war was over. From that time on every member of the family would be destined to find true love with the one they marry, and live happily ever after.”

  It might as well be fairy godmothers and flying carpets. Phoenix rolled her eyes. “They didn’t seriously teach you that in school?”

  Rebekah shrugged. “Maybe not, but it’s still fact. There hasn’t been a divorce in the royal family in over three hundred years.”

  A chill shivered down Phoenix’s spine. Max was a common enough name. Probably as common here as Michael or Christopher were back home. And there must be more than one family in Westerwald that hadn’t had a divorce in centuries, because it couldn’t possibly be her Max.

  Besides, Arch Dukes were old men, not gorgeous hunks. And Princes didn’t go around seducing waitresses. Even if they did, they sure as hell didn’t marry them.

  She shivered again.

  “Are you cold?”

  Phoenix shook her head. The evening had turned into one of those gorgeous summer nights, with stars bright in the clear sky, and the air balmy. Not as sweltering hot as Vegas, or muggy like LA, but perfect. Westerwald really was a fairy tale kingdom.

  “If you want, I’ll close up here tonight and you can go home to your husband.”

  “No point going home early. There’s a reception dinner for the tourism council at the castle tonight that Max is hosting, so Claus is working late.”

  Phoenix shook off that odd feeling. “You’re on a first name basis with the Arch Duke?”

  “We were at school together as kids and I have a hard time thinking of him as anything but Max. Claus says he prefers it, anyway. Apparently he hates all the bowing and scraping.”

  The chill down Phoenix’s spine escalated into an avalanche. “I don’t suppose you have a picture of him anywhere?” Her throat felt scratchy and choked.

  “Sure, I must have.” Rebekah swung her feet to the ground and headed back into the cafe. She emerged only moments later with a French tabloid magazine in her hands, flicking through the pages.

  Unable to breathe, Phoenix took the magazine from Rebekah’s outstretched hands. She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Wow!”

  Rebekah grinned. “He’s quite a hunk, isn’t he?”

  If you think he looks good here, you should see him naked.

  To cover the shake that had started in her hands, she set the magazine down and sat on them. She needed time to think. Hell, what she needed was more alcohol.

  “Since your husband and my…” soon to be dead husband “…boyfriend are busy until late, I think you and I should go out partying. After all, it’s a Friday night.”

  The pub across the square seemed to be doing a pretty good trade. And the music spilling out into the square was loud enough and fast enough to drown out the sudden, clambering thoughts that she wasn’t yet ready to deal with.

  Rebekah clapped her hands in delight. “Great idea. Let’s have some fun!”

  Chapter Seven

  It was well past bewitching hour when Max made his escape through the pantry window. With the late night reception, the kitchen staff had worked late and he’d had to wait until they were finished cleaning up and the kitchen was empty.

  He scraped his knee on the window ledge as he slid through. This was ridiculous. He was sneaking around to visit his own wife. She should be in his room and in his bed right now. Preferably naked.

  Tonight he was going to lay all his cards on the table and tell her everything. Even the dirty linen and the stuff they’d managed to keep out of the papers. And he very much intended to use the upcoming referendum to blackmail her into staying in Westerwald, if that’s what it took.

  Let her think this was all a marriage of convenience. It wouldn’t matter. His parents’ marriage had been arranged and they’d been devoted to each other, the sordidness of his mother being pregnant with another man’s child when they married aside.

  As soon as he could be sure Phoenix wasn’t going to do another runner, he would set up a meeting with Albert. If the coronation worked out as well as the tourism council believed it would, then the prospect of a royal wedding ought to make his cabinet’s day.

  Since it was Friday night and the streets were far more crowded than usual, he had to take a circuitous route to get to Phoenix’s apartment.

  In the little courtyard before her apartment, a teenage couple sat intertwined on a wooden bench half hidden by a draping vine. He grinned. Seems like love was in the air tonight.

  Angry indie rock music pumped from Phoenix’s apartment. He took the stairs two at a time to knock on her door. It was a long moment before she answered. While he waited, the couple on the bench below paid him no attention. He didn’t blame them. When he was with Phoenix the rest of the world had a tendency to disappear too.

  She opened the door and the music was instantly deafening. Then she leaned against the doorjamb, blocking his way, arms crossed over her chest. Oh-oh.

  He cast a glance over his shoulder. “May I come in?”

  “If I don’t let you in, will you have me arrested, Your Highness?”

  Shit.

  He attempted levity. “Not unless you enjoy the idea of handcuffs.” From the look on her face, humour clearly wasn’t going to do it. “Or unless you want your neighbours asking questions.”

  She opened the door wider and stepped back. He crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him.

  Phoenix kept her arms crossed over her chest and didn’t budge. She clearly had no idea what it did to her cleavage. And the anger flashing in her deep, dark eyes got completely the opposite reaction going in him. She was even more beautiful when she was angry.

  The music battered over them. He nodded to the MP3 player hooked up beside the bed. “We need to talk.”

  She moved to turn it down and he sat on the bed, beside an open suitcase with half its contents strewn across the duvet. “You’re leaving?”

  Since there was no other place for her to sit, and she obviously wanted to keep her distance, she remained standing. “How about I talk and you shut up?”

  He nodded.

  “So the ‘family business’ is basically running the kingdom?”


  He didn’t answer.

  She glared at him. “Okay, you can talk now.”

  “It’s not a kingdom, it’s a duchy.”

  If she had lasers in her eyes, he’d be toast.

  “And since you effectively conned me into marriage and won’t get a divorce, I am now the…Arch Duchess of Westerwald?”

  “Officially, that’ll only be after the coronation. Until then you’re just a Princess.”

  Most women would have got a kick out of being a Princess. Not Phoenix. She pressed her lips together tightly. “And when exactly were you going to tell me this?”

  “I did tell you. On our wedding night. Though I’d like to point out…”

  She held up her hand. He shut up. Stunning as she was enraged, he didn’t think a murder rap for killing the head of a European state would go down too well for her.

  She began to pace. “Have you ever heard of a Princess called Phoenix?”

  “It’s not your real name.” That earned him another glare.

  He waited with all the patience he could muster as she continued her pacing. She needed to burn off a little of her anger, he realised. Perhaps wine would help. He held up the bottle he’d brought, a crisp white, a much finer vintage than the unfinished bottle he’d left in her tiny kitchenette the night before. “Do you want a glass?”

  “On top of the five tequilas I’ve already had, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  He could do with a shot himself. “Do you have any left?”

  She stopped her pacing. “I’m sure the Rose and Dragon will be more than happy to serve you one.”

  His sense of humour failed. She’d been in the town pub all night? Doing tequila shots on a Friday night, with at least half the young men in the town? His chest pulled tight and his hands fisted. If any man had touched her, he’d kill them with his bare hands.

  Enough with humouring her. It was time to take command. He rose. “Okay, it’s your turn to sit and shut up, and let me talk.”

  She turned mutinous eyes on him, but he wasn’t having any of it. Their gazes locked for a long heated moment and what passed between them wasn’t all anger.