by Virna DePaul
Wait, what? Kyle didn’t give two shits about royalty in Europe, but he’d seen enough photos of Kate Middleton to recognize the same kind of suit and hat. He squinted, gazing down at the princess, and then he looked up at the jumbotron above the stadium.
“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me,” Kyle mumbled. His heart stopped. He knew that face, that hair, that smile. He’d know her anywhere. It was Bella—or more correctly, Princess Arabella of Salasia. He stood and put his baseball hat over his heart.
“Is that Bella from the bar?” Alec asked behind him. “Princess Bella?”
Kyle didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. His duchess was a real-life, honest-to-God, castle-living princess? He’d slept with a princess? A princess had scored the winning touchdown in flag football? Jesus, if her family found out, they’d send him to the guillotine. Kyle assumed the guillotine was no longer in use, but they’d probably make a special exception for an American football player who grew up in a trailer park.
Alec leaned over his shoulder. “Looks like you didn’t know.”
Kyle shook his head. Emotions roiled through him, but they were instantly put on pause when the music started and then, Arabella began singing.
The voice of an angel poured from her mouth, and although she’d told him she was a professional singer, hearing her took it to an entirely new level. Her voice was, in a word, beautiful. Kyle had heard the National Anthem enough times in his life to know it was an extremely difficult song to sing, but Arabella sang the high notes with ease. Goosebumps appeared on his arms, as the melody soared through the stadium. He’d never been particularly patriotic, but hearing those notes now through her singing voice? Suddenly, he wanted to salute an American Bald Eagle.
The song built to the climax, and Arabella hit the highest notes without faltering. Even before she finished, the stadium started clapping, and when she let go of that last lingering note, the crowd erupted into cheers. Clapping, whistling, hooting, and hollering like Kyle had never seen for any singer who had graced the stage at a football game.
Heath let out a low whistle. “Damn, that was impressive.”
“Really impressive,” Alec said, still clapping.
Kyle didn’t hear anything after that. He was torn between two opposite poles—anger at Arabella for keeping the truth from him, but pride at how talented she was, too. Throw in happiness at seeing her again, and he was an emotional mess. She’d not only walked onto the field to sing, but she’d done it with flair. And she wasn’t even American! How had she known the National Anthem so well, and sung it with such pride? Kyle rubbed his arms, goosebumps still prickling across his skin.
The game began, with Denver falling behind quickly. But Kyle couldn’t focus on the game. He couldn’t even focus on the skybox or anything going on around him. His pride at Arabella’s talent faded somewhat, and anger and confusion replaced it.
Why would she not tell him something so important? He didn’t need a woman’s autobiography before he slept with her, but she was royalty, for Christ’s sake! That was kind of a big deal. And her brother—he hadn’t been her brother at all, he realized. He must’ve been her bodyguard or assistant or something. No wonder the man had been frantic for her to come back to the hotel. Her disappearance had surely been a matter of Salasian national security, and Kyle was probably on some watch list now for kidnapping or something.
He slumped into his leather chair, sipping his beer moodily. He couldn’t shake the annoyance. She’d played him for a chump. All his insecurities—being raised in a trailer park, his dad’s selfishness and abuse, how hard he’d worked to get where he was but how he could never outrun the shame of this past—came to a head, and he pushed them down and away as hard as he could. If he let them, his doubts would drive him crazy.
He tried to see things through Arabella’s mind, tried to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Would you have touched her if you’d known she was a princess? his own mind questioned, but he told his mind to shut the fuck up. He wasn’t in the mood for logic or regrets. He was pissed, and he was going to be pissed for a while.
As the game continued, Kyle debated whether or not to go looking for her in the stadium. Go right back there to the staging area and ask people which way the “Princess of Salasia” went. Because he wanted answers, damn it!
“You know, she probably didn’t tell you for a reason,” Alec ventured. “Not to screw you, but to protect herself. Maybe she’s not allowed to tell you anything according to royal rules or some shit.”
Kyle knew Alec was probably onto something, but he didn’t want to hear it. It was easier to be upset than to be understanding.
By halftime, he’d decided he had to see her. She’d just sung the American Anthem. She was a VIP, which meant she was probably the guest of the NY Knights’ owner, Jacques York. He made his way upstairs, where security recognized him. Quickly, he signed a few autographs then pushed on.
Just as he was arriving at the box, he spotted a pink hat bounce around a corner. He hurried, catching up to the pink hat before its owner could escape him. “Nice performance out there,” he said, speaking to the hat.
She stilled, then turned. Guilt and shame creased her forehead, and she bit her lip, as if waiting for the blow to strike.
Chapter Seven
When Arabella entered the stadium, she couldn’t help but scan the crowd looking for Kyle. But there were so many people, it was impossible to make anyone out. Plus, she reasoned, the Bootleggers weren’t playing, so there was no real reason for any of them to attend.
She forced her thoughts away from Kyle, as she stepped onto the small platform on the field. Just for the occasion, she’d worn her newest suit, a pink confection from Alexander McQueen that nipped in at the waist and was set off with a tasteful, yet trendy fascinator. Fascinators were all the rage in royal circles, especially after the Duchess of Cambridge’s marriage to Prince William, but Arabella preferred her hats to look more like real hats, not birds perched on her head. She wore nude pumps with a four-inch stiletto heel, and she almost wished she’d worn flats, afraid that she’d fall on her face climbing up the few steps to the stage.
But she’d been trained for events just like this, and she walked up to the microphone effortlessly, her mother’s voice ringing in her head. Walk like you’re on a cloud. Lightly, lightly. Keep your head up and your back straight. A princess never slumps.
Arabella gazed out at the crowd, calm enveloping her. She was grateful that she didn’t get stage fright, and in fact, felt exhilarated by the buzzing energy all around her. She was immensely grateful to Mr. York for procuring this opportunity. Few things pleased her more than singing before a crowd. Except for maybe making love to Kyle.
No, push that out of your head.
She waited, a small smile on her face, for the music.
Then she began.
Whenever she sang, Arabella entered another place and time. She couldn’t describe how, but it was almost like entering a trance. Her voice was her instrument, and she poured everything she had into bringing it to life. The words of the American National Anthem flowed from her mind into her voice until she wasn’t merely singing the words—she became the words. Became the imagery of that flag, became the proud people of the U.S.
The song built to a crescendo, and her voice soared into the upper register of the piece. Her vibrato was strong and radiant, and she felt the applause reach her heart even before finishing the last note. As she hit the climactic high note—one that had given many singers trouble in the past—her heart pounded in excitement. She loved performing like this, and as the audience shouted and cheered when she finished, she smiled widely and waved at them. They cheered even louder.
I wish Kyle could’ve been here, she thought. Saddened but thrilled at the chance she’d been given, she walked off the stage to the roaring sound of applause, waving like the princess she’d been trained to be.
Mr. York, with Royce behind him, waited for her
as she re-entered the staging area. He took her arm and led her upstairs to his private box. Royce followed, a perpetually silent shadow. “Wonderful performance, Your Highness!” Mr. York said, patting her arm. “Absolutely marvelous. I knew you’d stun the crowd with your talent.”
She blushed a little. “I’m not certain I stunned them, but it seemed to go well.”
“‘Well?’ That is an understatement! I’d say you performed beautifully. But I see that you are embarrassed by such praise, so I shall leave off.” He smiled widely, ushering her into the air-conditioned private room, where his family and colleagues sat about. Arabella was greeted respectfully, everyone aware of her royal status, and as she sat with them, she instantly felt like a wall had been put up between her and the others. No longer was she the fun, easygoing, relaxed Bella of days past, but Princess Arabella. Loneliness set in. She’d wish anything right now to see Kyle, have him tease her and treat her like anyone else. Hold her hand, hug her with those big, strong arms of his, kiss her with that intoxicating mouth.
She shivered, as the memories flooded her, memories she’d worked so hard to set aside since this morning.
The game began, but she hardly paid attention. She wasn’t in spectator mode, she was in princess mode, which meant talking to Mr. York’s family, his daughter Celeste, who was only two years younger than Arabella and couldn’t stop talking about clothing lines. After Arabella told the girl she could address her by her first name, the two talked with ease, with only a little awkwardness from Celeste.
At halftime, Arabella stood to stretch her legs outside the room. She needed fresh air, and maybe a hotdog, too. Some nachos. She let a small smile come to her lips, as she wistfully thought of Kyle’s addiction. Royce happened to have his back turned at that moment, so she quickly snuck out before he noticed. As she stepped outside the box, she took a deep breath and turned the corner.
She wasn’t even aware of anyone behind her until she heard a deep baritone voice. His voice. “Nice performance out there,” Kyle said behind her. Immediately, her stomach flipped at the sound.
She whirled, shocked to see him. Yes, she’d wanted him to be here to hear her sing, but not like this. Not dressed in this pink suit acting all formal. A rush of shame swept through her at his unhappy expression. He’d found out. She bit her lip, unsure how to respond. She should apologize, of course, and make amends—
But before she could say anything, he took her wrist, ushering her into an unlocked supply closet. As he pressed her up against a shelf filled with cleaning supplies, she almost laughed at the incongruity of a princess and a mega-rich football player talking alongside an old mop and dirty rags in the sink.
But her nervous giggles disappeared when Kyle’s eyebrows furrowed at her, as he studied her from her fascinator to her nude pumps. “So, is it true? The whole princess thing?”
“‘The whole princess thing,’” she scoffed. As if she were dressing up like royalty for fun and games. She wouldn’t get to be on the offensive now, however. She’d been the one lying to his face, even if it had been by omission. She nodded, taking a deep breath. “It’s true. I was invited here by the owner of the Knights, who is from Salasia. My name is Arabella and I’m a princess. Surprise?” she finished lamely.
But Kyle swore underneath his breath, turning his face from her, and she put away the act. This was why she normally didn’t go around telling people she was a princess if she could avoid it. They always treated her differently; she could never be normal. With Kyle, she’d finally experienced what it had been like to be a normal woman going on a date with a guy, making love with him, flirting with him, everything she’d been longing to do for ages. Why couldn’t it stay that way between them?
He turned back to face her. “Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to return to Salasia and forget we ever met?”
“How could I forget? You really think I could do that?” she sighed. She hadn’t intended on telling him—what would’ve been the point?—but perhaps she could soften that blow. “I wanted to be a normal girl for once. Not a princess. Not someone people bow to and serve. A girl who would go to a bar with a man and not have to worry about using the wrong fork.”
“So that’s a no.”
“I wanted to be Bella,” she replied. “Only Bella to you, and I can say without hesitation those hours I spent with you were the best in my life. Because I could simply…be.”
Kyle’s jaw twitched. “That doesn’t change the fact that I took a princess to a greasy dive bar and then fucked her in my hotel room a few hours later like any cheerleader or Bootleggers fan.”
Arabella’s eyes narrowed. “I see.” She moved for the door. “You fucked me like any other cheerleader. If you’ll excuse me, I guess I should go now.”
Kyle blocked her. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was I would’ve liked to know. Because I like you better than any cheerleader, it would’ve been nice. Get it?”
“Yes. Yes, I get it, but it would’ve changed everything between us. You would’ve acted differently with me. Don’t tell me it’s not true.”
“It’s not true.”
“It is, and you know it. Don’t you see, Kyle? The moment you knew the truth, you decided to treat me differently, like you’re doing right now. I’m not the girl you spent a day with. Now, I’m a princess and you’ll put me on a pedestal.” She sighed, exhausted, nearly in tears. “Pedestals are lonely places.”
He fell silent at that. He seemed like he was struggling to figure out what he wanted to say, and then he sighed and eventually, a slow grin emerged on his face. He flicked one of the feathers on her fascinator. “A real princess, huh? Never had one of those in my bed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Exhibit A. Now, I’m a conquest for you.”
“Well, you can’t blame me, Duchess. Wait, you’re not a duchess, really. You’re a princess, so I should switch to that instead.”
“You’re not funny, and now you’re mocking me.”
“Well, which is it, Bella? You want me to treat you royally or like a royal pain in my ass? Because I can do both. You might want to make your status disappear, but you have to admit, it’s a big one. All this time I thought I was hanging with a pretty woman named Bella, but instead I was touching royalty. I’m surprised you’d let my peasant hands on your body.”
He said the words lightly, although she sensed an edge to them. “You think that highly of me, huh? You honestly think I would think of you that way. Did I look like someone who would look down at peasants at that bar? Or did I look like a girl who wanted to be one?”
“I don’t know anymore. I don’t know who you really are, and that really sucks.”
Although his anger seemed to have passed, she felt an enormous wall dividing them. They could never go back to the way things were, now that he knew her true identity, and this was exactly what she’d been afraid of. Suddenly, she wished she could tear off her clothes and her royal status and run free, be the girl he’d thought she was and never look back. But instead, it was like chains were closing in on her, tighter and tighter until she couldn’t breathe.
What was the point of status and privilege if you lived your entire life alone, with no one to share it?
Arabella wished he’d kiss her to make it all go away, but instead he’d flicked her fascinator like she was a little kid. Or maybe it was a gesture to remind her he still thought of her as normal Bella. This made her want to toss the stupid hat aside and take his face in her hands, kiss him until he forgot about titles and royalty.
She gazed up at him, her heart on her sleeve. See me, she wanted to yell. Not the princess, but me.
His gaze intensified, and the moment lengthened. The mops and cleaning supplies and hard shelf digging into her back disappeared. Her status and background all melted away until it was just them: Kyle and Arabella, two people who couldn’t seem to stay away from each other, who life kept throwing together despite their circumstances.
“Arabella,”
he said in a growl. He seemed to be fighting an internal battle, and she wondered which side would win. “I prefer Bella. I want my Bella back.”
When he tipped her head back and covered her mouth with his own, she had her answer.
He kissed like a man possessed, and Arabella could only hold on and drink him in. He ravaged her mouth, licking and exploring and searching for the girl he’d left by the curbside yesterday. He swallowed her moan, as she clenched her hands around his shoulders. Pressing up against her, she felt his hardness against her belly, and she knew that he still wanted her—no matter what she’d done.
“Bella...” he murmured, pulling away to look into her eyes. His gaze, instead of filled with its usual charm, was one of sadness. He kissed her again, but gently, reverently. He worshipped her lips and brushed his thumb against her cheek. When Arabella opened her eyes, she knew that he gazed at her with a goodbye lingering between them. This wasn’t a kiss of seduction, of hope for more later—this was a kiss of farewell.
Her heart plummeted. She’d known they had no future together, but still, she’d allowed herself to get her hopes up. She was an utter fool and fought her brimming tears, as he kissed her so sweetly, her heart cracked into a million pieces.
“Kyle, oh Kyle.” She ran her fingers through his hair, and he leaned down and grazed his lips along her throat. The best thing she could do would be to return to Mr. York and Royce and forget she ever saw Kyle here. Surely, they were looking for her, but she didn’t care, and she wouldn’t listen to reason either. She only cared about being in Kyle’s arms and never letting this moment end.
Kyle placed one last kiss on her mouth then pulled away. “No. Kyle, please…”
He looked at her as though recording the moment to last him all his life. Her heart pounded, and she knew she was flushed and her mouth was kiss-bruised. “I have to go now.”
“You don’t. Let’s talk about this…” No. What was she saying? He was right, and they needed to end it now. She should’ve known, from the moment she escaped through that bathroom window to meet him, that it would end this way. If it had to be done in secret, it wasn’t real.
