by Madison Faye
Cole shook his head, one brow cocked. “No, we’re not.”
I started to exhale when he spoke again.
“We’re not wearing rings, I mean,” he said with a grin, his eyes burning into mine.
“Great.” I whirled, storming towards the door.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yep,” I tossed back over my shoulder. “I’m going to get an annulment.”
Cole chuckled quietly behind me. “You might want to cool it and take a second to think, Princess,” he growled. “We didn’t get rings because we got something else.”
I froze, my brow furrowing as I slowly turned to look back at him
“Meaning what?” I snapped.
Cole grinned. “Meaning this.”
And that’s when he held his forearm up, wrist towards me, and the bottom dropped out. There, freshly inked across his wrist, was a big, red, rose.
Exactly like mine.
And then, I remembered. I remembered the feeling of being so free, and being so wild with him. I remembered staggering from the chapel and down the street, drinking champagne from a bottle from God knows where before I saw the neon tattoo parlor sign and pulled him inside.
“I—”
The room spun, and I slowly shook my head as it all started to come back to me.
Oh, I’d married him all right. I’d married the biggest bad boy in royalty, in a pay-by-the-hour chapel, while drunk, before sharing his bed.
…And I’d gotten the whole fucking nightmare immortalized as a goddamn tattoo — a highly visible one — right on my damn wrist.
This was a catastrophe.
I whirled again and stormed for the door.
“Off to find that annulment?”
“Yep!” I tossed over my shoulder.
“I’ll call you after, dear,” Cole chuckled, calling after me as I yanked open the hotel room door.
“Goodbye,” I snapped, storming out the door and slamming it shut behind me. It was only then that I let out the breath I’d been holding. The flashes from the night before came faster, flickering across my mind as I sank against the door, my fingers pushing into my hair as I gulped down another breath. The kiss, and then the infinite ones after that. His big, powerful hands on my body. Tumbling into the elevator with him, my wrist wrapped in a tattooist bandage and still burning.
And there it was again, that little voice telling me to turn around and go back to the man who’d made me feel more alive in one single night than I’d ever felt before. But once again, I shoved that voice away and told it to shut up. This was insane. Someone like me needed nothing to do with Prince Cole, and here I’d gone and freaking married him.
My parents were seriously going to kill me.
I needed an annulment. And I needed a tattoo removal. And I needed them now.
Chapter 3
Cole
She didn’t belong there. Fuck, neither did I, but at least I could blend in. But her? No way. She stuck out like a star in the darkness. A jewel shining through the mud.
A rose growing through the cracks of broken and shattered pavement.
One second I’d been just another tattooed punk rocker in a leather jacket, slamming out to the thunderous music blasting over the audience. But the next second, I’d turned my head and spotted her, and it was like the rest of the world just shut the fuck down.
The music went mute. The crowd shoving and thrashing around me froze to statues. My heart pumped like an engine in my chest. My muscles tensed, my eyes narrowed, and my cock turned to fucking steel in my jeans. I saw her there to the side of the stage half in darkness, and I knew one thing and one thing only.
She was mine.
Not mine like she was just some hot rocker chick I wanted to have riding my cock. Not even close. I saw her and knew in one quarter of a second that she was mine, and mine for good. I looked at her, and it was like I was seeing fucking sunlight after years in the darkness. It was like I was breathing air for the very first time. And I wanted her.
Long, dark chestnut hair. Soft, pouty lips. Legs that made my cock throb and hips that made my hands clench into fists. She was gorgeous, captivating, and sexy as hell in that short little white dress, even if in a den of wolves like that place, it made her prey.
And the wolves had fucking noticed. Trust me, I knew. I’d used to be one of them.
I’d been born into royalty, but that didn’t mean I’d ever wanted it. When I’d been younger, I’d railed against the system that wanted to mold me into this nice, charming little prince. The way I’d figured, it wasn’t anything I’d ever wanted, and I’d be damned if I’d let them force me into it. I’d been a fucking terror when I was kid — always giving my parents hell and acting out every damn chance I’d gotten. And when I was seventeen, I’d run off to chase my love of music, not a throne.
Thirty years old now and looking back at that time in my life, I could only shake my head. It’d been a phase, for sure, even if the band I’d landed in had really started to pick up some buzz before I was eventually called home. You see, when my dad got sick, it’d changed something in me. That need to always push back just sort of faded a little bit. Or maybe I was just growing the fuck up. Whatever it was, I’d gone home four years after I’d left to help take care of my dad.
The band, Vengeance Overload, had gone on to start kicking some serious ass and putting out some real hits. I had times where I was jealous or a little bitter about missing out, but now that I was a man and not that hell-raising kid anymore, I knew the power I’d been born into meant responsibility, too. When my dad passed and my mother took over rule of the country, I knew it was my place to help guide my kingdom.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t escape here and there. That’s what I was doing that night, actually. Vengeance, my old band, had a show in Paris to kick off their first tour in a couple of years, and I’d jumped at the chance to see the guys again. But you know those rough bands that get softer as the members get older?
Yeah, not these guys. If anything, they’d just gotten harder, and more punk, and even more rough. So had the crowd. And when that little ray of sunshine with her big wide eyes, soft red lips, and little white dress strolled into the storm of leather and tattoos and hungry looks, she was in more trouble than she ever fucking knew.
Two of the jackals were already on her, already getting way too close. They had her cornered against the side wall to far left of the stage, half hidden in the shadows as they moved in.
My jaw clenched, my inked hands closed to fists, and the rage exploded through me. This angel was mine, and no grimy, leering little fuckwad punk fans were going to get their filthy paws on her.
I barely remember shoving my way through the swirling crowd. I think I even took a punch or two, but it was all fucking tunnel vision as I moved right for her, my eyes narrowing and my fury rising as I stormed towards the two pieces of shit trying to get close to what was mine.
“Get. Away.”
The words snarled from my lips like a wild animal’s growl, and the two of them turned.
“Fuck off, mate,” one muttered, turning to smirk at his buddy.
I looked past them though. I looked fucking through them to the gorgeous, slightly scared-looking, very out-of-her-element-looking girl they’d been cornering. Those big eyes of hers — brown, I could see then — were looking right back at me. And you know how in cheesy movies or lame books you always read about love “hitting” some guy?
Yeah, well, that was me. I looked into that angel’s eyes, and it fucking hit me, right in the chest.
“Are you deaf?”
I blinked, frowning as my attention was torn away by the second guy. He glared at me, nodding at me with his scruffy chin.
“I said, are you fucking de—”
“I’m going to say it one more fucking time,” I said evenly, cutting him off as I drew myself up to my full height, my leather jacket straining over my biceps as I leveled my scowl at him. “Get. Away. From. Her.”
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There was a second of silence before the first guy just snorted as he started to turn back to my angel. “Fuck off, you dumb fucking pri—”
He grunted as I grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into the wall next to her. She yelped, jumping away as the second guy whirled and snarled at me. He threw a wild swing of punch, which I ducked and then returned, catching him right in the fucking jaw and knocking him on his ass.
“Get up and I’ll put you down so you don’t get up,” I hissed, looming over him as he whimpered on the ground. He glanced up at me and nodded.
“Good.” I took a breath, and then I looked back at her, staring at the two of them on the ground in complete shock.
“You just…I mean…”
“Come on.”
My hand took hers, and I pulled here away from the two dipshits moaning on the floor. The band started into another song, music blasting over us as I pulled her along the wall of the venue, making our way to the back. Suddenly, I felt her yank her hand back away from me, and I turned.
“Take your hand off—”
I glanced past her to see the two assholes I’d put down, collecting a group of three other guys and angrily jabbing fingers in our direction.
Yeah, those weren’t great odds.
I didn’t think, I just grabbed her, slung her over my shoulder, and stormed for the back of the venue. She shrieked and slapped at me, squirming around like hell. I growled as I took an elbow to the shoulder blade and a knee to the chest, my hands tightening on her.
We tumbled into the lobby, and I made for the front doors, where I caught the eye of Big Lyle, the band’s tour security officer, who knew me.
“This looks like trouble, now don’t it,” he grumbled in that gravelly voice of his.
“He’s— he’s kidnapping me!” the girl shrieked, squirming that tight, sweet little body against my shoulder.
Lyle raised a brow, but I just gave him a look.
“Five of them, not far behind me. They were after her.”
He grinned as he nodded at a handful of security guys. Yeah, this was the part of the job he truly enjoyed.
“Me and the lads will give them some fun.” He winked and nodded towards the exits. “Off you go.”
I nodded a thanks as I kicked the front doors to the club open and marched into the night with her still draped across my shoulder, like a caveman making off with his conquest.
“Here,” I finally muttered when we’d gotten a block away. I hauled her off my shoulder and set her down on the sidewalk. She glared at me, or at least, I was pretty sure it was a glare with the neon lights of the bar we were standing outside of half glowing across her face.
“Thank you.”
She frowned. “What?”
“The words you’re looking for are thank you.”
“I didn’t—” I could see that pretty little brow furrowing, like she thought thanking me was giving in or something. Finally, though, she sighed.
“Okay, fine. Thank you,” she muttered as she raised her face into the light to glare up at me. “But I can take care of my—”
Her words stopped, and her eyes went wide with recognition as she locked her eyes on me.
“Oh my God, you’re…”
And suddenly, the recognition light went off in my eyes too.
Holy shit.
I hadn’t noticed in the club with everything going on. I hadn’t seen it with the way the neon bar sign half illuminated her face. But when she looked up at me, and I got a clear, full-on look at her, suddenly it clicked. This wasn’t just some chick. She wasn’t just some pretty young thing in the wrong club.
“You’re Faith LaFleur.”
Princess Faith LaFleur, as in, daughter of King Alfonse LaFleur, of Devoney. But if you were me, you knew him as something else too. Because currently, King Alfonse was one of the men trying to put me in jail and strip me of my crown and titles.
…And I’d just fallen head over fucking heels with one look for his daughter.
“What the hell were you doing in there?”
She blushed, quickly glancing around as the words left my mouth.
“I think you’re mistaking me for someone e—”
“No, I’m not,” I growled. I moved closer. Fuck, I knew every single survival instinct in me should have had me moving the opposite direction. I knew self-preservation and common sense should have had me running the hell away from this pretty little trouble in a white dress.
…But that was not going to happen. Because with her, the rest of it disappeared. Common sense, self-preservation — all of it came second to her, and all with one damn look.
“You’re Prince Cole.” She blushed as she said it, like even saying my name was a dirty word her pretty mouth wouldn’t normally dare utter.
“Guilty.”
“Well, what were you doing in there?”
I glanced down at myself — the jeans, the leather jacket, the tattoos — this wasn’t exactly that far from my usual garb at least when I wasn’t playing the part of prince, which I knew I had to play, especially lately. But her? I glanced back at the princess in the short white dress, the strappy heels, and the long hair loose and tumbling down her back. The fucking picture of innocence in that place.
“I think we can agree that one of us was slightly out of place back there,” I muttered. I moved closer to her. Her breath caught, but she didn’t back away. She just swallowed thickly as she looked up into my gaze. “So tell me, Princess, what exactly were you doing in that place?”
“Nothing,” she spat back. “Maybe I just wanted to listen to some music.”
I smirked. “You a big Vengeance Overload fan?”
“Vengeance what?”
I smiled, and she immediately blushed seeing the trap she’d just walked into.
“Look, I just wanted to…” She shook her head. “Look, forget it. Thanks, okay?” She turned on her heel, and started to march away.
…Yeah, not a chance I was letting her get away that easy.
“And what if I don’t forget it?”
She paused, taking a breath before she glanced back at me.
“What if I’m pretty fucking curious what the famously ‘good girl’ Princess Faith LaFleur was doing at a club called Death Notes watching a slam-punk band with a crowd full of those assholes back there.”
She turned fully, chewing on her lip like she was mulling something over.
“Well?”
She frowned. “I’m thinking, okay?”
“I’m waiting.”
She sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of a prick?”
“All the time.”
She grinned, her cheeks going red and her eyes sparkling before she quickly looked away.
“Look, I was…” She frowned and kicked the sidewalk with her toe. “I just wanted to do something different.” She sighed as she looked back up at me. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to be someone different besides a Prince for one stupid night?”
All the fucking time.
She shook her head quickly as she started to turn again. “I’m just gonna go. Thanks again for—”
“You gonna give up that easy?”
She turned back to me, frowning. “What?”
“I said are you going to just give up that easy?” I shrugged. “A couple of dipshits in a crappy club scare you off your mission just like that?”
Her frown deepened. “I’m not scared, it’s just very clear to me that I’m not who I was trying to be tonight.”
“Bullshit.”
Her jaw dropped, but when I moved closer, it snapped shut. I moved on autopilot, moving into her and sliding my hand over her hip. She didn’t fight me. She didn’t pull away. Actually, she pulled into me.
“Still want to try something different?” I murmured, pulling her closer and loving the way her soft gasp fell from her lips. Our eyes locked, and I saw the fire in hers that she was desperately trying to hide.
“Still want to be someone different for the night, Princess?”
Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips as her eyes darted across mine. A second ticked by, my hand tightened on her hip. And slowly, she nodded.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, I think I do.”
I turned and nodded at the bar we’d been standing outside of — some sort of Parisian version of a Mexican tequila spot with a two for one special banner in the window.
She bit her lip. “Oh, I don’t really do teq—”
“Yeah but you’re not you tonight.” I grinned at her. “Right?”
A small smile crept over her face. “No, I’m not.”
“Well, then in we go.”
It all gets fuzzy from there. Fuzzy, close, kissing, tattooed, a couple of “I do’s,” and a whole bunch of naked from there. And the next thing I know, I’m waking up to the girl of my dreams storming out of my hotel room, leaving me wanting more, leaving me with one very hard cock, and leaving me a married Prince without his bride.
…Oh, but I was going to get her back.
Chapter 4
Faith
Shit.
Double triple quadruple shit.
Two days after Paris and the morning wake up of a lifetime, I was home in Devoney, sitting on my bed staring at the rose inked across my wrist.
Holy shit I was so screwed.
I’d managed to avoid my parents for the most part since I’d gotten back, but this was going to be a problem real fast. I’d called what felt like half of the top tattoo removal clinics on the planet, and they’d all told me the same thing: removing it right now wasn’t going to happen.
Apparently, fresh tattoos need to heal before they start lasering them off of you.
“So, when could I come in then? A week?”
I’d held my breath with that first call, waiting for the doctor’s receptionist on the other end of the line in some top-class clinic in London to assure me that, yes, I could get rid of the glaring little reminder of my night of insanity as soon as possible.
