Keeping Her

by Holly Hart

  I hear a swift intake of breath from her as I do, but her lips never leave mine. Our tongues urgently explore each other’s mouths, taking me away from the world into one where Amanda and the brilliant sun overhead are the only things that exist.

  Memories of our encounter in the gardens rush into my mind as blood rushes unexpectedly into my cock. Amanda obviously feels the pressure against her, because she grips my neck even more tightly. Her lips finally break with mine and she gasps a tiny “oh!” in my ear.

  The feeling of her soft breasts pressing against my chest does nothing to help ease my rising erection.

  “Down, boy,” she whispers in my ear. “We don’t want this turning into a porno movie.”

  She’s right. I smile broadly as I set her back down on the grass beneath the palms. Her cheeks are as flushed as mine feel. She stands strategically in front of me so that the paparazzi won’t be able to snap any shots of the tent under my shorts.

  “Do you think it worked?” she asks.

  Good God, did it ever.

  “I’m sure it did,” I say, glancing in the general direction of the gang of photogs. Their frantic movements confirm it.

  “All right, then,” she says. “I guess we need to get ready for Part Two.”

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Five

  20. AMANDA

  A friend of mine from college loves to tell the story of how her boyfriend asked the people who ran the “kiss cam” to catch him proposing to her at a Chicago Cubs game. She said it was even shown on an ESPN highlights reel.

  If all goes well, my proposal will be splashed on the front page of hundreds of newspapers and websites around the world. Not that I’m keeping score or anything.

  Of course, her proposal was real. I try not to think about that part.

  It’s just another day in the crazy reality show that’s become my life over the past week or so. I mean, how many people get this close to the Queen of England at the Royal Ascot in the morning, then find out their honeymoon will consist of cruising the French Riviera in a hundred-foot yacht in the afternoon?

  All on the arm of a prince?

  “How is your bourguignon?” asks Dante, pointing his fork at my plate. We’re at a restaurant in a hotel that takes up an entire city block, surrounded by a lot of rich people, including some you’d probably recognize from last year’s Oscars.

  A lot of the patrons have been casting not-so-subtle glances in our direction since we walked in. Which is what we expected.

  “I’m trying to think of a word that means ‘delicious times infinity,’” I say. “I’ve had a lot of amazing meals in the last few days, but this is like something out of a dream. It can’t possibly be good for me.”

  Dante has barely touched the big-headed fish on his plate. They like to serve it whole in these fancy places, so its dead eyes are staring up at me.

  “How about yours?” I ask.

  “What’s the word you Americans use? Meh?”

  I giggle. “That about sums it up.”

  My phone buzzes in my purse. Normally, I’m not one of those people who are tied to their mobiles, but it’s probably Dad.

  Sure enough, the text next to his name reads: No phone calls yet.

  I smile and show it to Dante, who smiles back. I told Dad to be ready for media calls, just in case. Renaldo had his tipsters feed the reporters with my life story, so I figured I’d better give him a heads up on the off chance they track him down for comments.

  This whole thing is crazy enough; having Dad along for the ride is going to make it either bizarre or hilarious. Probably both.

  His phone might start to light up soon, though. It’s time for Part Two of the plan.

  Dante glances around the room, looking for people who’ve set their phones on their tables. Renaldo’s people have told him that a number of photographers are actually undercover in the restaurant, ready to capture something big for the Enquirer or TMZ.

  Well, they’re going to get it.

  Our eyes meet and Dante raises his brows. Are you ready? that looks says.

  I smile and nod, taking a deep breath. Might as well start the show.

  He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and emerges with his hand closed around a small box. Inside is platinum band, topped by a ten-carat emerald-cut diamond surrounded by a dozen blue Ceylon sapphires. It belonged to Dante’s mother, Lia, and is one of the most famous engagement rings in the world.

  As he gets up from his seat, my heart quickens, knowing I’m about to be wearing that ring on my finger. We didn’t even have to resize it – it’s a perfect fit.

  Dante moves to the side of the table so he can kneel down in front me.

  Before he can do that, everything goes to shit.

  “Dante!”

  I turn to see a tall woman in a dress that looks like it’s been stitched together from a dozen different quilts by a seamstress who was tripping on acid. Of course, around here, that means it probably cost upwards of fifty thousand dollars.

  Her smile reveals a gap between her teeth and suddenly I recognize her: Giselle Ranette. She’s one of the top models in Europe.

  And she used to go out with Dante.

  “Giselle!” he says, putting on his princely smile. “Imagine seeing you here.”

  She darts her head forward to give him the customary double cheek peck that we Americans find so strange.

  “Where have you been hiding yourself?” she asks. “It’s like you dropped off the face of the earth in the last month!”

  Dante ignores the questions and raises a hand towards me.

  “Giselle Ranette, I’d like you to meet Amanda Sparks.”

  She glances in my direction and gives me a brief glimpse of that gap in her teeth.

  “Hello,” she says, then turns back to Dante. “You never told me you were getting rid of Maria. At least you know this one can’t possibly be any worse than her.”

  Excuse me, bitch?

  “Why don’t you join me for a drink after this?” she says, rummaging in her purse. “I’ll give you a key to my suite at the Continental. It’s been too long, lover.”

  Right in front of me. I can’t believe this.

  Dante holds up his free hand. The other one is still holding my ring.

  “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Giselle. Amanda is…”

  “Your assistant, yes, I know. As soon as she’s on her way, we can go have some fun.”

  She takes Dante by the arm and tries to plant a kiss on his neck, but he pulls away.

  That’s it. My dad always taught me that you should never start a fight. He never followed his own advice, though, and neither will I.

  “Excuse me,” I say, smiling ever so sweetly. “Giselle, is it?”

  She looks me up and down, obviously not used to being interrupted.

  “Yes,” she sneers. “You should probably remember it if you’re going to keep working for Dante.”

  Dante opens his mouth to speak but I cut him off.

  “First of all,” I say. “I don’t work for His Highness. I’m his date.”

  She gives me another critical once-over, then turns to Dante.

  “Seriously, love? You’re slumming it with American girls now?”

  “Secondly,” I say, grabbing her arm and spinning her so that she’s facing me again. “Maria is a dear friend of mine, so I’d ask you to keep your comments about her to yourself when you’re around me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a half-dozen people with their phones up in front of them, holding them parallel with their eyes. I’m being recorded.

  And I don’t care.

  Giselle’s mouth is hanging open as she glares at me. If looks could kill, I’d be taking the big dirt nap right now. But they can’t, so I keep on going.

  “Thirdly, and most importantly, where I come from, it’s considered incredibly rude to hit on another person’s boyfriend.”

  I can’t help but feel an obscene satisfaction at the look of disbelief bloom
ing in her eyes. She turns to Dante, who simply tilts his head to the side and lifts his eyebrows. All eyes in the place, and more than a few cameras, are now on us.

  Suddenly I realize that this isn’t how I wanted our proposal to go. But I can’t stop myself.

  Giselle’s face is twisted into an ugly mask now. She’s angry and humiliated, which can be a dangerous combination.

  “Fine,” she spits. “Have fun with your American slut. When you want a real woman, call me. Maybe I’ll answer.”

  “And you can call me if you ever decide you want a dentist to look at those teeth,” I say. “I’ll send you to the one who works on the horses at our ranch.”

  I barely have time to register all the gasps among the crowd around us before I hear the cracking sound of her palm connecting with my cheek. My head turns with the force of the blow.

  “Amanda!” I hear Dante call.

  The smug satisfaction on Giselle’s face lasts for all of two seconds before my right fist plows into her thin nose.

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Six

  21. DANTE

  Marco’s weight shifts to his forward foot as he prepares to step out of the shadowy corner where he’s been standing, but I halt him with a raised hand. His face droops, but he stays where he is.

  I push Giselle out of the way to get to Amanda.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask. Her cheek is slightly pink where the slap landed.

  “Pft,” she says, eyes blazing. “She couldn’t swat a fly with a swing like that.”

  I kiss her cheek anyway. Our encounter has stirred up plenty of interest among the other patrons, and the paparazzi aren’t even trying to stay hidden now. Half a dozen of them are openly filming with their mobiles.

  Giselle’s face is beet red, whether with anger or embarrassment I don’t know. Probably both.

  “You little bitch,” she breathes, eyes wide. “I’ll have you arrested – ”

  “Bring it!” Amanda barks.

  I know this isn’t funny but it’s all I can do to keep from laughing like a maniac right now. How many times in my life have I wished that I could do what Amanda just did? I’m so proud of her I could burst.

  Some of the patrons move closer to get a better view of the scene. Now I feel like we’re on one of those reality television shows that feed on childish behavior.

  “I’m actually glad that you’re here, Giselle,” I say. “Since you seem to have a problem taking no for an answer, let me make things abundantly clear for you.”

  I drop to one knee and take Amanda’s hand in my free one. The other is still holding my mother’s ring.

  The gasp among the Riviera’s elite is audible.

  “My love,” I say. “Even though we’ve only been together a short time, I find that I can’t imagine my life without you.”

  The words flow out of me, though different from the ones I rehearsed on the flight from England. Amanda does her part by looking astonished.

  “Your kindness, your grace, your incredible beauty have humbled me in a way I didn’t know was possible. You are the first thing on my mind when I wake, and the last before I sleep. When you walked into my life, it was as if someone had opened a window into a beautiful world that I didn’t even know existed.”

  I let go of her hand and open the box to reveal the ring.

  “Amanda Sparks,” I say. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  My heart hammers in my chest, even though we both know she’ll say yes. After all, she’s under contract.

  As I gaze into those pale blue eyes, though, I can’t help but feel a moment of panic. What if she says no?

  I don’t think of the monarchy, or my fortune, but of the twins. And myself. After only a handful of days, Amanda has become an indispensable part of our lives.

  Then the tears squirt out of the corners of her eyes, and as she nods, my heart soars.

  “Yes,” she says, snuffling back tears. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  I slip the ring onto her finger and rise to my feet. Somewhere around us, I’m vaguely aware of flashes going off and people cheering. But all I care about is her. When we’re this close, the world disappears again.

  Amanda’s mouth meets mine for the second time today. Not probing this time, but familiar. Each long kiss ends with another short one, a signature at the end of the letter. After what seems like an eternity, we stop, letting our brows touch, feeling the closeness as we stare into each other’s eyes.

  I’m suddenly aware of all the people clapping around us.

  “I guess we can’t put it off any longer,” she says with a soft grin.

  We both inhale deeply and turn to face the cameras.

  “Holy shit!” cries Amanda. “We’re already on TMZ!”

  I take a seat next to her on the Falcon’s sofa as we streak through the skies back to Morova. Marco is in the jump seat of the cockpit, chatting with our pilots and giving Amanda and me some privacy.

  “That didn’t take long,” I say, handing her a bottle of Stella Artois.

  “Thanks,” she says absently, still looking at the screen of her MacBook. “I really don’t like champagne.”

  “Sorry, we don’t carry Budweiser on the jet. But I’ll have Maria bring some in as soon as possible.”

  “You’ll be my dad’s best friend if you do.”

  From your lips to God’s ear.

  “The headline reads ‘Who’s that girl?’” she says, frowning. “They’re using the bio information Renaldo fed them and posting pics from my Facebook page. That’s kind of creepy.”

  “I truly am sorry,” I say. “Privacy and royalty rarely go hand-in-hand. Are you sure you’re prepared for what’s to come?”

  “I wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t. It’ll just take some getting used to. I never thought about social media, though. Dad’s probably not the only one I should have warned about this.”

  As if to underscore what she just said, the screen fills with message notifications.

  “Shit,” she mutters. “Now I’ve got about two dozen ‘OMG!’ posts from people. I’ll let Dad know that he can tell my family. The friends I’ll worry about later.”

  She looks at me with an evil smile. “Let them stew in their jealousy for awhile.”

  This woman continues to surprise me. I feared the attention might turn her into a shrinking violet; instead it’s unleashed a beast.

  “Did any of the photographers catch your right cross on video?” I ask.

  “At least one,” she says sheepishly. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was self-defense, and I have an army of lawyers. You’ll never see the inside of a courtroom.”

  “That’s good. I’ve seen Orange Is The New Black. I know what goes on inside prisons.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. What on earth did I ever see in a woman like Giselle? The only time she ever laughed was at someone else’s expense.

  “Oh my God,” says Amanda, rolling her eyes at the screen. “Someone’s already created an ‘Amandante’ hashtag on Twitter.”

  “Well, it’s good to know we’re trending.”

  She cackles at my lame joke. “Yeah, who needs wedding invitations? We can invite everyone by social media.”

  “But we’ll have to take all the formalities out of it if we want to stay under 140 characters.”

  “How about ‘Hashtag Amandante wedding, be there! See our website for deets!’”

  We chuckle together as I slide alongside her to read the screen. In truth, I’m not paying attention to the online chatter – it’s been part and parcel of my life for a decade. I just want to be closer to her.

  “What is that intoxicating scent?” I ask. “I’ve been wondering all day.”

  Her cheeks suddenly turn red.

  “You’re going to laugh,” she says.

  “I would never,” I say gravely.

  “You promise?”

  “On my princely honor. Whatever that is.”

  “Okay. It’s Fantasy by Brit
ney Spears.”

  I do an admirable job of resisting the urge to laugh. Instead, I lean in closer.

  “What is your fantasy, Amanda?” I ask, eyes locked on hers.

  “I guess I’m living it,” she says quietly. “I mean, I just got engaged to the most handsome prince in the world.”

  “You must have more fantasies than that.”

  Our noses are almost touching. She bites her bottom lip.

  “I do,” she breathes. “Lots more.”

  The computer slides off her lap and makes a muted thump as it hits the carpeted floor below.

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Seven

  22. AMANDA

  I’ve been fantasizing about this since our encounter in the gardens. I never dreamed I’d be fulfilling it on a private jet flying over the Mediterranean.

  Dante takes my head in his hands and pulls me gently to his lips. His fingers wind through my hair as our tongues meet and say hello for the third time today.

  Everything that’s happened today, from seeing the Queen to decking a supermodel, has got me revved up like a NASCAR engine. And now that we’re engaged, I’m not holding anything back.

  Well, except that. But Dante knows that, and we’ve got a lot of practicing to do for our wedding night.

  My hands pull his polo shirt over his head with one smooth motion, exposing his iron physique. His pecs become my playground as I glide my hands over them and my mouth moves down to his nipples.

  I have no idea if I’m supposed to be licking them, but Dante’s moans suggest that it’s okay with him.

  Suddenly I want him to be totally naked in front of me, the way I was in front of him in the gardens. I reach for his belt and fumble with the notches before pulling it free of his slacks. Dante kicks off his deck shoes to help with the next part as I open the fly and yank them free of his legs.

  My heartbeat rushes in my ears as I look at him, sitting on the sofa in only a pair of silk boxers. His shorts are straining against his huge, hard cock.