Playing Dirty (A Bad Boy Sports Romance)

by Avery Wilde

  As I headed towards the private office where I knew my mother would be, I imagined her potential reactions and arguments at each point, and I mentally answered them until I thought I’d covered every potential scenario and had a response for anything that might go wrong.

  In the event, I was about as wrong as it was possible for a person to be.

  “Andrew.”

  I turned at the voice from behind me and found my brother there, smiling an unpleasant smile. It was possible that Michael was one of those unfortunate people who always looked evil when they smile, whether they were evil or not, but I knew this particular smile very well: it meant that Michael had won. What he’d won, I had no idea, but given my current mission, Michael’s presence was a profoundly disconcerting one.

  “Hi, Michael. I’m just going to see Mother, so if you don’t mind…”

  “I was on my way to see her too.” The smile remained fixed on his face.

  “Would you mind if I go first?” I asked. I was sure this conversation was going somewhere, but I was determined to keep it light and casual if I could.

  “I think she’ll be more interested in what I have to say,” said Michael, with the sly demeanor of a James Bond villain. “Unless you’d like to stop me, that is.”

  This game-playing and pussy-footing around the point was fast becoming wearing for me. “Look, do you want to stop acting like a cock and say what you have to say?”

  Michael looked a little irritated to have had his moment stolen, but he recovered himself admirably and reached into the pocket of his jacket to produce a handful of photos. He’d obviously seen us and taken them from a distance when we thought we’d been sneaky enough to not get caught, and the pictures featured Keira in her maid uniform, skirt hitched up around her waist as I pounded into her. Seeing as the pictures had been taken from a distance, they were a bit grainy, but they were still clear enough to identify exactly who it was in them.

  Michael grinned as he saw my face. “We already know you’ve been sleeping with the maid, seeing as you told us about your little ‘relationship’. But the public doesn’t know yet…”

  “And?”

  “You got her pregnant, didn’t you?”

  That he wasn’t supposed to know, and my face must have betrayed my shock because Michael’s smile widened to a leer of satisfaction.

  “I knew it. The future ruler of Great Britain conceived outside of wedlock with a servant—disgraceful. What would Mother make of that? What would the press? What will the public?”

  I said nothing. There was a lot that I wanted to say, mostly of the four-lettered variety, but I knew that Michael was building to something. In the event of him ever needing another career, Michael had a great future as a super-villain, stringing out his taunting of the good guy for long enough to allow him to concoct an escape plan.

  “How did you find out about the baby?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  He waved one of the photos at me. “I’ve been following you two to get pictures like this, and I overheard you talking about it yesterday. So how much would it be worth for that information not to reach the press?” he asked. “After all, you can’t exactly deny it; not when I’ve got these photos.”

  “What the hell do you want, Michael?”

  Michael’s eyes flared. “What I deserve, dammit!”

  “A kick in the nuts?”

  “Very funny,” he replied. “You never deserved to be King. You’ve always squandered the opportunities that were yours simply because you happened to be born first! You’ve neglected your duties, treated the people with contempt…”

  “I know.”

  Michael was brought up short by the unwanted and unexpected interruption. “What?”

  “I said: I know.”

  “I know what you said!” he snapped. “The ‘what?’ was supposed to allude more to ‘what do you mean by that?’”

  “I mean that you’re right. I’ve done all that you said and more, and I probably don’t deserve to be King. But that’s the way the system works. And, for the record, I know you fulfil all your ‘duties’, but I’m not sure you’re that much better of a person than me. Neither of us is worthy to succeed our mother.”

  “Well, one of us is going to, and it’s going to be me!” Michael said, getting back on track. “You’ll give up your right to the throne in favor of me. If you don’t, then I will be going to our mother with these pictures and with some information pertaining to you and your little trollop. Then I’ll be going to the press with the pictures, and I’ll inform them of her pregnancy. Imagine what the tabloids will say about her for years to come. It’ll ruin her. So what do you think of that, big brother?”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Why are you laughing?” Michael asked. He’d clearly had a picture in his mind of how this confrontation was going to proceed, and now that picture was being irritatingly warped by my reaction.

  “I’m laughing,” I said, struggling for a breath, “because it’s funny! You actually think that I would care about becoming King?”

  Michael’s face made it clear that he couldn’t imagine anyone not caring about being King.

  “I never cared about being King!” I said. “I’ve never cared about anything much until recently. And now that I’ve finally found something that I actually care about, you think I’d suddenly start caring about the thing that I never cared about in the first place? You can’t see why that’s funny?”

  Michael jumped, now clearly worried that he’d somehow broken my mind.

  “I’ve found someone I love, Michael!” I continued. “There’s only one thing I care about as much as I care about Keira, and that’s what’s inside of Keira. You think I’d want to keep this from the press? That I’d be ashamed? That’s the funniest thing of all! I’m proud, you little idiot! I’d shout it from the rooftops if I could! In fact—this afternoon I might do just that. I’m in love with a beautiful, brilliant woman and she’s pregnant with my baby, and I couldn’t be happier or prouder! And if there is anyone in this castle, in England, in Britain or in the world who doesn’t understand that, then I pity them. And that’s the funniest thing, Michael, although also kind of sad. You’re threatening me with something that makes my life worth living. I really hope one day you get to understand that. Happiness isn’t in a crown, little brother.”

  “You’re just saying that because you lost already!” By now, Michael was furious. He obviously thought that he was the one who was in the right; he was the one who held all the cards, he should be the one dictating terms. Instead, I’d owned up to my shortcomings and then proceeded to instruct him on why love was more important than royalty. Most frustrating of all was the fact that Michael seemed to have got exactly what he wanted, but I’d taken the fun out of it.

  “I’ve lost nothing,” I said. “Don’t you get that?”

  “People have fought wars to get what you’ve lost!” Michael snapped back.

  “Well more fool them!” I replied. “Take it from me, they’d have been a damned sight happier if they’d stayed at home, found themselves a nice girl and had some kids. Trust me, every king who spent his life clawing his way to power over the bodies of others, once he got to the throne, he found himself wondering what happened to the girl he left behind in the little village he grew up in and wishing he could trade his kingdom for her.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “One day that’ll be you.”

  “I’ll happily take the Kingdom,” Michael said. “That’s what matters. That’s what makes a person matter.”

  “What makes a person matter is how they are, not who they are.” The sentiment was my mother’s, but it had never meant more to me than it did now. I laughed again as I realized that in not wanting the crown, I’d become so much more worthy of it, because I’d realized how little it mattered when held up next to the people whom it symbolically represented.

  “You think the crown matters? You think we matter? We don’t! We’re just…we got l
ucky,” I continued. “I don’t want any part of this crown if it’s going to ruin Keira’s life, or our baby’s life. I don’t want any part of it at all. It’s toxic. I want out. I came here to speak to Mother, to tell her that I would give up my birthright if I had to, because that’s how much I want to be with Keira. Now? I’m giving it up either way. I don’t want it. I don’t want to be King, I don’t want to be royal, and I don’t want to be any part of this hateful tradition; this classist bullshit that looks down on decent people and drags down its own!”

  “Is that right?”

  For a single, stupid moment, I wondered how my brother had spoken without moving his lips and how he’d made his voice change. Then the more likely explanation dawned on me, and I turned to see our mother, standing in the open doorway to her office.

  “The walls of this castle are extremely thick, built to withstand cannon-fire I believe, but they are not quite thick enough to soundproof them against the raised voices of idiots.”

  “Sorry, Mother,” Michael said.

  “It doesn’t sound like you should be the one apologizing.” Her eyes turned to me, one eyebrow raised in question.

  Shit. Had I meant to say all that? I’d gone far beyond what I’d wanted to say, and what I’d planned to say—but did that mean it was untrue? I’d never really felt royal. I’d enjoyed the privilege because a person would have to be an imbecile not to, and I’d enjoyed the opportunities that my birth had given me. But the stuff I’d enjoyed was the stuff I wasn’t meant to be doing. The stuff I was supposed to be doing was the stuff that I spent my life avoiding, and I didn’t enjoy being royal; I simply enjoyed the easy life that being royal afforded me.

  How could such a person be cut out to be King?

  My brother had done everything right. He’d done his duty and picked up the slack for me, and it had turned him into a bitter and hate-filled individual. Perhaps I took some of the blame for that, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Look at what being Queen had done for my mother; she was a hugely intelligent woman with opinions of her own that she was most often unable to express because protocol forbade it. What could she have been, what contribution could she have made to the world, if she had renounced her birthright?

  “Is everything I just heard true? Did you really get Keira pregnant with a bastard child?” my mother said when I hadn’t responded yet. Her eyes were cold, and her tone was even colder.

  “The fact that you just called my unborn child a bastard pretty much makes up my mind about what I need to do next,” I finally said. “The final straw, if you will.”

  I’d been prepared to take this step as a last resort if my mother tried to say that she would never approve of my desire to marry Keira. Now it seemed like a last resort of a different kind.

  “I renounce my claim to the throne. Also, I’m marrying Keira. I just proposed to her a few minutes ago,” I continued. “Have fun being King one day, Michael, and goodbye to the both of you.”

  Without waiting for any response, I turned on my heel and strode out.

  Chapter 24

  Keira

  “I can’t let you do this.”

  They were the first words out of my mouth when Andrew filled me in on what had happened with Michael and his mother. I couldn’t believe the sacrifice he’d made for me and our unborn child; couldn’t believe he’d given up his birthright and place in line to the throne, all for the sake of our soon-to-be family.

  He really had changed, and while he’d become an amazing man, I still felt incredibly guilty that he’d given up so much for me.

  “Are you disappointed that we won’t be living in a castle?” he asked. “That I’m not rich anymore?”

  “No, of course not!”

  “Didn’t think so. So what’s this ‘I can’t let you’ stuff, then?”

  “Well…” I began to speak but got no further. I knew he’d done what he’d done for a good reason, but I still felt awful. I felt responsible for tearing him away from his family, although to be fair, they’d done a lot of that tearing themselves.

  “I’ve had a life of people telling me what I’m allowed and not allowed to do,” Andrew said. “Mostly not allowed. And although I mostly didn’t listen to them—even when I should have—I’m sick of it. In fact, I think the reason I spend most of my adult life doing dumb things and getting myself on the front of tabloid newspapers is because there were so many things I wasn’t allowed to do.”

  “I’m not telling you what to do,” I said.

  “Am I misinterpreting ‘can’t let you’?” Andrew asked, raising his eyebrows. “It’s my decision, Keira. But I’d really like to make it with you.”

  “Isn’t it a little late for that? You already renounced your claim as next in line.”

  He nodded, acknowledging that this might be the case. “But my point remains: I want us to be equals. I don’t want there to be rules. Or if there are, then they should be rules we arrive at together. I didn’t renounce my family because I had to, I renounced them because I wanted to after all the crap they’ve hurled my way in regards to you…like assuming that you’re nothing more to me than a passing fancy, simply because you don’t come from some sort of high-society aristocratic family, and threatening to go the media and drag you through the mud, just to wreck your life.”

  “That was mostly Michael.”

  “No, my mother assumed the same thing about you—that it wouldn’t last, simply because of your supposed ‘station’ in life. That’s why she didn’t immediately fire you when I told her about us. Like our relationship was just that much of a joke to her; she couldn’t take it seriously enough to care even for a second. And then she called our baby a bastard. I just couldn’t take that sort of ‘family’ anymore. You and blob,” he pointed at my stomach, “are the only family I need now.”

  “We’re not calling the baby blob.”

  “There you go with your rules again. Maybe you should take my place as King, huh?”

  “Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes and smiling for the first time since he’d told me the shocking news about what had occurred with his family.

  “My sense of humor is still just as bad as ever, so you’ll have to accept that,” he said. “Now let’s go off and make a new life together.”

  All things considered, that sounded pretty damn good to me.

  Chapter 25

  Keira

  The Palace was more than happy to let me go from my job at short notice; in fact there was a tacit sense that if I hadn’t requested it, I would’ve been fired anyway, for obvious reasons. Some of my effects remained at the old apartment I’d been housed in when I was still working back at Richmond Palace, and so, the following day, Andrew packed the bare essentials of his own belongings into his car, and we made the drive back there.

  It was a pleasant journey, but the conversation kept returning to one question: what now? I was delighted that the answer Andrew suggested was the one I’d been thinking myself: America. I had family and friends there, and it was a good place for a fresh start for an ex-royal.

  “America is where persecuted Brits traditionally go, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Actually, that story’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Andrew said. “There wasn’t any real persecution at all.”

  I shrugged. “Well, once we’re over there, I’d keep that to myself if I were you. People are pretty defensive of their history.”

  “Tell me about it,” he replied. “Look at the family I come from.”

  “So what do we do, until we can get flights?”

  “Shouldn’t be more than a night,” he said. “Two at the most, I guess. We can afford a hotel room for one night, I would think.” Our funds were limited, because Andrew hadn’t wanted to take too much of anything that wasn’t his outright—his money was royal, and he no longer was. “How much does a hotel cost?”

  I pulled a face. “I could tell you how much an American hotel costs, but over here I haven’t got a clue. I’m still
getting used to your money.”

  “We really make a pretty useless pair in many ways,” Andrew said with a grin. “But we’ll survive.”

  “Once we get back to the States I can be more useful,” I said “I’ll show you how to be a normal person.”

  “I’ll fit right in,” he replied. “I’ve told you before how ‘street’ I am.”

  “If you put air quotes around street, you’re not street.”

  “Well, if that’s the only thing holding me back, then it’s easily fixed.”

  I laughed. The truth was that, however ‘street’ he might fail to be, Andrew would fit in. One thing being royal taught you was to be equally at home amongst anyone and everyone, and Andrew was very personable. That was something his family couldn’t take from him.

  “So where did we land on the hotel?”

  “We’ll make it work,” Andrew said. “I hear good things about the ‘Travel Lodge’. I mostly hear them from their own adverts, but still. Now, there’s a few bits and pieces I need to pick up from the palace, and it’s on the way, so we’ll drop by there first, before we go to your old apartment.”

  “Sure.”

  We headed to the palace, and I was delighted to be met by Rogers.

  “Valencia,” he said in formal greeting, the corners of his mouth very nearly inflected into a smile.

  “Hi, Rogers,” I said with a wide smile.

  “Mr. Arlington,” Rogers greeted Andrew. Another man might have stuck to ‘Your Highness’ out of habit or politeness, but that wouldn’t have been good form, and Rogers was all about form.

  “Call me Andrew, Rogers,” Andrew said.

  “No, thank you,” said Rogers. “First name terms should be mutual.”

  “I could call you by your first name.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Do you even have a first name?” I asked. I was in oddly high spirits, and seeing the man who had helped me so much in his formal, quiet way was making me slightly giddy.