Accidentally Royal_An Accidental Marriage Romance

by R. S. Lively

  "What are you thinking about?" I ask.

  “Back home. It rains a lot there, too," he says with a mirthless laugh.

  "How long have you been away?" I ask.

  "A few weeks," he says. "I didn't really plan it. I just left. I was hoping traveling would clear my head."

  "Clear your head?"

  He glances at me, the uncertainty in his dark eyes telling me he's wondering just how much he should say. Letting out a long breath, he nods and looks back through the window.

  "I have a lot going on in Cambria," he says. "I just needed a break from it all. I can't really get away from it completely, but at least I can push it away for a little while, you know?"

  I think back to what he said about how refreshing and outspoken I was compared to the women he was used to. There was more to that sentiment than just trying to put me at ease. I don't know what he's trying to run away from, but I can understand what he's feeling. At least to a degree.

  "I do," I say. "I didn't use to do as many trips as I do now. I did a few a year, but I was home a lot more. After my father died, though, I wanted to run away from it all. It sounds ridiculous, but it was like if I wasn't at home, I didn't have to deal with him being gone. I could just pretend that when I got back, he'd be there, and we would go see a baseball game and have a cookout together, like we always used to."

  "Then you go home," he says.

  I nod slowly.

  "Yeah," I say. "Then I’d go home, and of course, he wouldn't be there. So, I'd head to the next trip as soon as I could. I was traveling more and more, and soon, I was barely ever home."

  "Did it make it any easier?" he asks.

  "Somewhat," I say, "but in other ways, it just makes things harder. I've lost a lot of friends because of it. I've made new ones, out on the field, but it's not quite the same."

  "I know how that feels. This was supposed to be a chance for me to get away from everything, relax, and have fun. It used to be that when I visited the States, I would have a group with me, and we'd travel around together partying and just doing whatever we wanted."

  "Not this time?"

  Christian shakes his head.

  "I came alone. It's proving to be a lot of self-reflection, but not as much distraction as I've wanted."

  I look at him for a few seconds, then sit up, adjusting my seat and reaching for my seatbelt. Heat is building between us, the tension in the air growing the longer we sit there. I need to break it.

  "Let's go."

  "It's still storming."

  "And it probably will be for a while. It's calmed down enough for us to drive again, so let's not sit here by the side of the road. Let's find you some distraction."

  I don't know what it is about Christian. A few hours ago, I would have been happy to toss him onto the luggage carousel and let him end up in the hold of whatever plane was on the other end. Now, I feel a tenuous camaraderie with him. I don't know what he's running from, but it feels like the universe has pushed us together during this chaos. The least I can do is make sure he has a chance of getting back on the right track.

  Three hours later we pull into yet another parking lot. The storm seems to be taking its last breaths, but we've been searching for so long the sun has set.

  "You've got to be kidding," Christian says.

  "This is it," I say. "We've reached the end of the line."

  "It's called the No Tell Motel," he says. "I think we are at a motel that was literally made for seedy affairs and bad decisions."

  "Sounds fun. To the lobby."

  I get out of the car before he can protest any more, and head to the front door. The neon red lights around the perimeter are a nice touch, as is the sign hanging beside it that reads 'Credit Card Statement Will Say Generic Hotel Charges.'

  "Charming," Christian says. "I particularly enjoy their fast and loose approach to capitalization."

  "That makes it emphatic," I say. "They want to make sure you feel confident in your stay at the Generic Hotel."

  Laughing, we walk through the tinted glass door into the lobby. The air conditioner is on full blast, chilling me instantly through my wet clothes. My nipples perk up through the shirt and I instinctively cross my arms. I swear before I do, I catch Christian covertly taking in a sideways glance. Christian heads to the counter, looking like he's torn between thinking this might be a fun adventure, or he might bring home more than a souvenir if he stays here. Wrapping my arms tighter around myself to ward off the icy air, I follow him.

  "You don't happen to have any rooms available, do you?" he asks the woman behind the desk.

  With precisely-coiffed silver hair and a strand of pearls around her neck, the woman, whose name the desk plaque proclaims is Evelyn, isn't who I would expect behind the desk of a place like this. She eyes Christian leaning on the counter in front of her, then pushes a pair of delicate-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses up her nose as she turns to the computer.

  Her fingers click over the keyboard for a few seconds, then she looks at him.

  "We do," she says.

  It's not a particularly welcoming reply, and I realize her eyes have traveled over Christian's shoulder to evaluate me. I wonder if this is something she does with every pair who walks through the door. Before she lets them have a room, she scrutinizes them to determine if they are worthy of the particular niche of amenities she offers. Some people have the weirdest kinks.

  "Perfect," Christian says. "I've been looking for somewhere for hours. I'll reserve one room for the night, thanks."

  Evelyn peers down her nose at us again.

  "I'm sorry," she says. "I can't do that."

  "What do you mean, you can't do that?" Christian asks.

  "This resort caters specifically to the needs of pairs, or trios. Sometimes more. Whatever the configuration, however, due to the unique needs of my clientele, I simply can't allow individual people to reserve rooms."

  I step forward angrily.

  "We're not even going to debate your highly permissive use of the word 'resort'," I say, "but I am going to point out you can't discriminate like that."

  "Actually, I can," Evelyn snaps. "Private business owners are permitted to set restrictions to the clientele they cater to when deviating from those qualifications would have a negative impact on the success or integrity of the business."

  She has obviously practiced that response several times, undoubtedly for use in this exact situation. It makes me angry, but it also confirms my suspicions about this particular hole in the wall.

  Upon further contemplation, those probably aren't the best words to use in this circumstance.

  Chapter Four

  Christian

  I can feel Piper getting angrier by the second. Her shoulders are tensing up, and her mouth has squeezed into a tight pout. Feeling like there's only a matter of seconds before she explodes with some sort of rant about equality and the legality of the requirement, I reach out and grab her around the waist, tugging her closer to me. She briefly wriggles in protest, but I hold her tightly, leaning my head over to rest on top of hers.

  "I think you misunderstood," I say. "We're not here as singles. We're here together. We're a… pair."

  Piper's head moves, and I know she's trying to glare up at me, but I continue to smile at the woman behind the desk. She's looking at us with an inscrutable gaze, like she's trying to figure out if she actually believes me.

  "So, you want a room for the two of you?" she asks. "Just for the one night?"

  I cuddle Piper a little tighter and nod enthusiastically.

  "Absolutely for the two of us. And, yes, just for the one night. It's all we could manage." I lean toward her. "Arranging schedules, you know."

  Now I seem to be speaking her language. Her tense expression vanishes, and she nods.

  "Of course," she says. "I'm glad you got the chance to get away even for this long. I have a room ready. Top floor, far end, away from the elevator. Do
es that sound good?"

  "It sounds perfect. Thank you so much."

  "You braved that storm to be together," she says. "I can at least make sure it's worth it for you."

  I accept the key card she holds out, and lead Piper around, still holding her firmly around the waist, so she can't break free and run back to the counter to continue her heated debate with Evelyn.

  "Oh," I say as we get to the door, "it will be worth it. Thank you."

  I push through the door and get halfway back to the car before I let go of Piper.

  "We're a pair?" she asks, her voice reaching an almost feverish pitch.

  "You heard her. She doesn't rent to individual people. This was the only way I was going to get a room, and I don't know about you, but I am really tired of the shitty hotels of Boston tour."

  She sighs.

  "Me, too."

  "See? You don't even have to stay. She just needs to think we're together in the room. You can slip out in a bit and go on your way, and in the morning, I'll get a ride back to the airport. There has to be a rideshare or taxi service of some kind, even out here in the middle of nowhere." She doesn't look convinced. "We've been driving around all day. You have to be hungry."

  "I'm starving."

  "So, let's have something to eat. We'll have dinner, take a little break from the car, and then you can go."

  Piper still looks hesitant, but finally, she nods.

  "Alright," she says. "Only because I haven't eaten since a protein bar at the airport in Costa Rica, and I don't want to see another hotel lobby ever again."

  "You could have eaten on the plane, you know," I say. "The flight attendant offered you snacks several times."

  "She offered you snacks several times," Piper says. "Actually, her exact words 'can I offer you something to eat', and I'd like to point out she didn't have the snack cart with her at the time."

  I laugh and nod.

  "You might have a point. Let's at least bring in some luggage so it looks convincing. Just grab your carry-on. We'll drop it off in the room, then find somewhere to eat."

  She pulls her bag out of the car. I check the key card Evelyn handed to me, and see the room number written across it. We walk into the breezeway that goes down the center of the building and find the elevator. The inside is completely lined with mirrors, except for a bench positioned against one wall. I feel my stomach clench when I see Piper look at it, wondering if the same thoughts are racing through her mind.

  Before I can dwell on that thought much further, the doors open, and we walk back out into the open air.

  "You'd think a place that – how did she put it? – caters to a specific clientele, would be a touch more discreet in its configuration. At least have whole hallways," she says.

  "I have a feeling some of the appeal for many of the guests here is that it's not terribly discreet," I say.

  I swipe the keycard through the sensor beside the door and hear the click. Bracing myself for whatever I'm going to find inside, I push the door open. Inside, the room looks completely normal. I don't know if I feel relieved or disappointed. Walking further into the room, I drop my bags at the foot of the bed. Piper comes in and sets her bag on the desk, looking around as I had.

  "This is not what I was expecting," she says.

  "I thought the same thing."

  She looks around for a few seconds, before I see her eyes lock on something on the wall.

  "Wait," she says.

  She crosses to the wall next to the bed and presses what looks like a light switch. Instantly the room goes dark, then red lights embedded in the ceiling burst on. A section of the wall opens up and a wet bar slides out, seeming to trigger weird elevator-like music when it settles into place. I suddenly find myself on the set of my own personal adult film.

  "Fantastic," I say with a laugh. "Wait – have you been here before?"

  She shoots me a sour look.

  "No, I haven't been here before. Haven't you ever seen Pillow Talk?"

  I look at her blankly.

  "Haven't I ever seen what?"

  "Pillow Talk," she says again as if it is something everyone should immediately know. "With Doris Day and Rock Hudson?"

  "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

  She sighs.

  "It's a movie. She's an interior designer and they share a party line, but she hates him, and then they meet, but she doesn't know who he is, but he knows who she is, and he likes her, so he decides to seduce her, and she falls in love with him, but then she finds out who he is, and she's really mad, and…"

  It is the longest sentence that has ever been spoken, and when she finally gets it out, she can see I still have absolutely no idea what she's talking about. She shakes her head.

  "Never mind. Doesn't matter," she says. "Anyway, at the end of the movie, he tries to get her to decorate his apartment, and it's gaudy and ugly. So, he gets mad and…" She realizes I'm still staring at her, and shakes her head again, going for another reset. "There's this button in his apartment and when he pushes it, the sofa turns into a bed, the lights go down, and music starts playing."

  "That is the longest way I have ever heard someone say, 'I saw this in a movie once.'"

  "Shut up."

  I chuckle as she hits the switch to return the room to its original state. Picking up a folder sitting on the desk, I flip through the papers inside, hoping to find a list of nearby restaurants.

  "Look. It says there's a restaurant here at the motel."

  "Here? That doesn't sound promising."

  "Sure, it does. If we're going to be here, we might as well check out all the amenities."

  "I'm not sure I want to."

  "Come on. What kind of sex-positive superhero are you?"

  Her face flushes and I know I've got her where I want her.

  "You've really got to stop using that phrase. It just doesn't sound right coming from you."

  "To be fair, I don't think that would sound right coming from anyone."

  She walks past me out of the room, and we make our way toward the opposite side of the motel. At the end of another short breezeway is a door.

  "Secrets," I say, gesturing toward the name etched into the door.

  "Extremely original," Piper says.

  I open the door, and immediately a wave of red light, the smell of cigarette smoke, and the sound of an eighties pop song being fed through a meat grinder washes out toward us. Piper hesitates, and I take her by her hand, gently tugging her inside with me. We step into a brightly lit area and find ourselves surrounded by outdated wood paneling and chipped checkerboard tile. To one side are two doors with elegantly-dressed stick figures indicating the restrooms. Positioned between these doors is a tiny table with a stool, a dusty-looking silk flower set in a narrow vase, and a burned-out candle.

  "What's that?" Piper asks.

  I look at the sign hanging on the wall above the table.

  "It appears to be the non-smoking section," I tell her.

  "Well, that's lovely," she says. "How considerate of them to make sure you can still smell the smoke from here. All-inclusive."

  "Come on," I say. "I've got to see the rest of this."

  We walk further into the ‘restaurant’ and round the corner before being assaulted by even more intense sounds and smells. It’s actually powerful enough to stop me in my tracks. I can now confidently say that I have visited the meeting place for lost self-respect and drowned hopes and dreams. I kind of love it.

  We walk up a ramp to the main section of what I am quickly realizing isn't so much the restaurant advertised in the folder, but a bar that might serve a few appetizers that could pass as edible. A few seconds later, the screeching song ends, and scattered applause ripples through the rest of the room. Taking another step forward, I notice Piper seems stuck in her path.

  "What's wrong?" I ask.

  "Everyone is looking at me," she says.

 
; I look around, and for the first time, notice the other people in the bar. We seem to be surrounded by an assortment of men and women of ambiguous ages. Most appear to be older, with tanned leather or orange-tinted skin. Some are paused in compromising positions that suggest a… casual code of conduct.

  "They look like they the Angel of Death just walked through the door," Piper hisses at me.

  I look at her, taking in her rain-soaked hair, somewhat melted makeup, and clothes clinging to her body. She looks tousled, wild, and unrestrained, and the effect is almost overwhelmingly sexy. Taking her hand, I pull her further into the bar.

  "I have a feeling this is the type of place that has a lot of regulars," I say. "We're complete strangers. They don't know if they can trust us yet."

  We are walking toward an open table when I see a woman climb up onto a small carpeted platform at the far end of the bar and grab hold of the microphone like she is going to give it CPR. The realization hits me.

  Holy shit. This is a karaoke bar. A karaoke bar filled with swingers, experimenters, and people having affairs. This might be the best tourist attraction I have ever found on one of my visits.

  "Do you sing?" I ask as Piper and I sit at the table.

  "I don't know. Get enough liquor in me, and there are a number of things I might do."

  My cock throbs at the comment, and my eyes scan her body briefly. Before I can say anything, a woman with multiple shades of blonde hair appears at the side of the table.

  "How are you two doing?" she asks. "I'm Trudy."

  Her accent is definitely not from Boston.

  "To be honest with you, Trudy, we've been having a rough day."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. Want a couple of shots to get started?"

  "That sounds perfect."

  She walks away without mentioning what those shots might contain, but Trudy looks like a woman who knows what she's doing.

  "Did you see how she looked at me?" Piper whispers as soon as Trudy is out of earshot.

  "No," I say.

  "Everyone in here is looking at me like they want to strip me down and put me under inspection."

  "Can I volunteer for the position of inspector?" I ask with a smirk.