by Kim Karr
“Fuck,” he mutters at the contact, then he bites down on the bare skin of my shoulder as though to stifle a groan.
I can’t be as quiet as he is, and a strangled cry leaves my throat when he fills me.
He feels so good, and I’m so wet with arousal, he moves smoothly in and out of me.
When I push my rear back, asking for more, he places his hands over my wrists and slides my entire body down the wall until I am bending at the waist.
The small shift in angle lets him nudge further inside me, and I can’t stop another cry when the tiny spark of pain becomes pleasure.
“Christ, you’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs. “Like the sun.”
My Prince is back with his dirty words, and I find myself grinning from ear to ear, waiting to hear more.
He begins to slow his pace. Smooth strokes at first, his hands anchoring my hips to keep me from moving, and all the while, he keeps up the dirty talk.
Then, after a few moments, he moves faster. Harder. One hand slips around the front of me to press my clit in time with his thrusts, and I’m climbing that wall to the bottomless abyss.
“Lia, you feel way too good. I’m going to fill you with my cum, and I want you to wear it all night.”
Oh, God, he’s so hot.
Suddenly, the main door to the restroom opens. Julius only hesitates for a moment, pulling out and pushing inside me, so slowly, I feel like I could explode.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
He presses his lips against me, his mouth curving into a smile as he presses them into my shoulder. “You naughty girl.”
I nod, not caring about the person outside, just him and me.
Obeying me, his fingers circle faster. My body shakes with the effort of keeping the feelings inside.
He bites my neck and grips my hips and surges into me. Stars dance in my head, and I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound.
When a toilet flushes, and then a door squeaks, it appears they have left. That’s when Julius begins to fuck me hard and fast. The hand on my hip grips me so tightly, it is bound to leave a bruise. Like I care.
When his stroking fingers also speed up, I come again, all-dancing lights and colors. His teeth graze my neck as his mouth moves to my shoulder and lets out a muffled groan against my skin.
His cock jerks inside me, and he thrusts once more, hard enough to make a loud noise.
I start laughing.
So does he, and his hot breath on my neck sends a cascade of goose bumps straight down my spine.
Julius pulls out, and my dress falls back into place. I kick my wet panties off, and then turn around, holding my mouth to stop my laughter.
Our eyes meet then, and the wicked gleam in his is different. It feels like something is happening between us, but neither of us acknowledges it. We both stare at each other before letting our foreheads press together in an intimate gesture.
Silence fills the space, and when nothing is said, I feel like he’s saying goodbye. I’m losing him all over again, except this time, it won’t be on bitter words. I’ll make sure of it. “I understand that you don’t love me anymore,” I tell him, not really sure where the sobering thought came from.
Pulling back, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Honestly, I don’t think that’s true. I don’t even know anymore, but it doesn’t matter, because I can’t let myself trust you.”
“I know,” I whisper, “And that’s why I’m leaving Wimberly.”
He tucks himself away and zips up his pants like he’s done this a hundred times, and I feel a little sick over the fact that we just fucked in a bathroom, and maybe he has done this a hundred times. “That’s not a surprise.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, unsure of his tone.
“I always figured you’d leave,” he says, his voice suddenly too loud for the small space, and then he walks out of the stall, stepping away from me.
“That’s the only thing you have to say?” I shout, as I follow him, grabbing the material of the sleeve of his shirt.
He just glares at me, reminding me of that night on The Bachelor. Pain stabs at my chest because I hate that blank look more than the look of hatred.
The silence between us is unbearable. Thick and cold and sad, so I break it. “Be honest, Julius, with me and yourself.”
Right then, Julius turns, punching his fist against the wall. “I’m fucking trying to be.”
I draw in a ragged breath and throw out the question I’ve wanted to ask for weeks. “Why won’t you give us a second chance?”
This catches his attention because he raises his gaze to mine, but before he can answer, we both realize we aren’t alone. A man is videoing us, and he lowers his camera when he figures out he’s been caught. “This is some juicy stuff.”
Julius tears across the bathroom, lunging at the Paparazzo. Grabbing him by the collar, he stares stonily at his face. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Hey, you’re in here.”
Fury blazes in Julius’s eyes. “That doesn’t answer my fucking question.”
The man grins at Julius. “I’m doing exactly what you think I’m doing. Following you.”
This throws Julius into a tailspin, and he grabs the man’s camera and tosses it across the room. “You will not share any of this, you piece of shit.”
“You bet I will,” the man laughs, “It’s way too juicy to delete.”
This can be the big ending to our pretend relationship that Julius wants, but he doesn’t seem any too happy about it.
Julius’s fist connects with the man’s jaw, and the man stumbles backward, panting for breath. “You’re going to pay for that.”
Looming over him, Julius’s hands grab at the Paparazzo’s shirt, and he yanks him upright. “No, you’re the one who is going to pay.”
The man spits at him.
That’s when Julius throws himself at the man, and they end up rolling on the ground.
“This only gets better and better.”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Julius roars, as he pins the guy down and punches him again.
“Julius, stop,” I scream, just as security barges through the door. They don’t know who Julius is and won’t listen to me as I try to explain. Before I know it, we’re both being shoved out into the night.
“Fuck,” he shouts, running his hands through his dark hair. “I need to go.”
“Go where?”
He closes his eyes.
The air is cool, and I wrap my arms around myself. “Talk to me, Julius. Tell me how you feel about me, about us, about everything. Anything.”
Shaking his head, his eyes open, and he starts walking. “I can’t.”
I follow him. “Wait, Julius, let’s go back to the hotel, and we can try to talk about this there.”
He turns and hands me the room key. “I need some time alone. I’ll get you a cab back to the hotel.”
“Julius, just come back with me.”
Running his hands through his hair, he hesitates a moment, his shoulders hunching. “I need to take care of the photographer first.”
“But you’ll come back, so that we can talk? Right?” I ask, hope evident in my voice.
Ignoring my question, he hails me a cab, and then he’s gone, walking down the streets of London.
Alone.
ON THE FLOOR
The Wimberly Warrior
The Gossip Column
HOT ROYAL NEWS
By Ann Hess
Yes, those are what you think they are.
Someone took this picture at a club in London only hours ago. It also seems a journalist is being detained by the police for the invasion of privacy of Prince Julius Monaco.
Coincidence.
I think not.
No other pictures have surfaced other than this one of Prince Julius’s mystery girl’s panties. On the floor of a bathroom in a club in London.
Such a naughty, naughty boy.
THE TIME
The Pre
sent
The dawn light breaks through the early morning clouds, and I’m alone. Julius never came back to the room.
I’m sitting in a chair near the window when my eyes land on the big bed.
I offered for us to come back here.
But he said no.
He just can’t bring himself to make love to me on a bed. No matter how much I want to believe he can forgive me, he can’t. He said it himself; he will never trust me.
Why can’t I get it through my head—we are over.
The rag magazines are releasing hundreds of pictures of us, but none from the club’s bathroom. All of them are the staged photos of him wooing me for the public. At least I’m visible in them. As if that matters anymore.
My phone rings, and I glance at the screen, my heart beating at the thought of it being him. It’s Raquel, and I can’t answer it.
Won’t.
Grabbing my phone, I call my sister.
“Hello,” she answers.
Glancing out the window, I stare at the city as it comes alive before my eyes. “Imogen, can you talk?”
“Yes, of course, I can. I just got home and was just about to call you. What the hell is going on over there?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and suck in a shuddering, teary breath. “I lost him, again.”
“What are you talking about? These pictures I’m looking at tell a completely different story.”
I gulp a huge glass of water. “Those were staged. It was part of the show we were putting on until Julius signed the deal I told you about.”
My sister sighs loudly, causing the phone to crackle. “I don’t think he was pretending.”
“Which photo?”
“Here, look at this one. I’m sending it over right now. He looks like a man in love.”
Placing my cell on speaker, I bring up my messages and wait for the photo to come through the line. When it does, I stare at it for the longest time. It isn’t a staged photo. It’s on the plane. I have my eyes closed. I must have fallen asleep, and Julius is pushing a piece of hair from my face, just staring at me in wonder and awe.
“How did anyone take a picture of us on the Royal plane?” I blurt out.
My sister laughs. “Why does that matter? What matters is the way he’s looking at you. He loves you, Ophelia, and you need to fight for him.”
Setting my glass down, I get to my feet and take the phone off speaker mode. “I can’t do it anymore, Imogen. I can’t take the constant rejection. My heart hurts so much every time he acts like I don’t matter.”
“It’s only been three weeks, O, he needs some more time.”
I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “He told me he would never trust me again. He made it pretty clear not even time will change that.”
“Then do something to make him trust you.”
Walking around the room, I can’t help but inhale the lingering scent of his cologne. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure if you think hard enough, you’ll figure out a way.”
Flopping back on the bed, I stare at the ceiling. I wish there was something, but I don’t think there is. “Let me call you later, okay?”
“Ophelia, I can hear you shutting down. Don’t. Don’t give up on the one thing that makes you happy.”
“Bye, Imogen,” I tell her, and then turn off my phone.
Giving up would mean there was once hope, and even I know there never really was.
I look around the big, empty room. Julius is not coming back any time soon, and when he does, it will only be to escort me back to Wimberly for the Ball.
The Ball.
The Ball.
Oh, God.
I just can’t pretend anymore.
I can’t.
Knowing what I have to do, I gather my things. When I’m done, I place the note on the bed and grab my bag. The note says one word, “Goodbye.”
This pretend affair is over, and there’s no need for a public breakup. By the time Raquel figures out what he’s doing here, it will be too late for her to do anything to stop it.
Looking back at the big bed in the luxury suite I never got to share with the man I will always love, I wipe my tears away and then walk away myself.
It’s time to let him go.
Forever.
THE TIME
The Present
The stock market launch goes off without a hitch.
The IPO is underwritten by the Japanese investor, and the stock hit record highs on the exchange, not even three weeks after the initial offering.
I did it.
I took my grandfather’s company public, just like he always dreamed of, so why do I feel so fucking low?
Out on the balcony, I shake my head, trying to clear it, and inhale the fresh air. I haven’t heard from Ophelia since London, and I haven’t tried to contact her, either. I just can’t get my head around how I’m feeling.
Confusion.
Love.
Lust.
They all swirl in my mind, and it’s right now, I realize it. I feel it. The hate is gone. Motherfucker, the hate is gone.
Looking out over the vast grounds, the vivid blue of the sky and the dense green of the forest, I feel lighter. Like I can finally breathe without feeling anger spike through my veins.
Anger.
Speaking of anger, I pull my phone from my pocket and reread the text from Raquel. “It was nice doing business with you.”
Not a mutual sentiment.
I can’t believe I agreed to pay her off, just like my grandfather did in order to buy her silence, but I did. In exchange for her not publishing Ophelia’s and my past, I had to give her more shares in the company.
After confirming the stock transfer, I look out over the fabled waters and feel an overwhelming sense of love. For a second, I wonder if the folklore is true. Am I looking at the spot where Isabelle rests? Is she casting a love spell over me?
Shit, I really am losing it.
With a shake of my head, I step inside. As soon as I do, there’s a faint knock on my door. “Come in, Grandmother.”
With a laugh, she pushes it open and wheels herself in. “Are you ready for this?”
“Believe it or not, I am.” I pick up my cufflinks, and they feel a lot lighter than they did the last time I wore them. It’s the final Garden Party of the season and time for the big announcement.
“I invited her to come today.”
Slowly, I pin the first golden crest on the buttonhole of my shirtsleeve. “Did she accept?”
“No, but she did send me her article.”
The second cufflink goes in easier than the first. “I thought she quit Wimbledon Life?”
My grandmother tilts her head to the side, regarding me with steady curiosity. “You know she did, just as you know that I asked her to finish the article for me, anyway.”
When I remain silent, her dry chuckle floats over to me on a breeze from the open French doors. “You haven’t asked me why yet.”
“Why you asked her to finish your story?”
“Yes, why I asked her to finish my story.”
“Okay, I’ll bite, why?”
Her grin is all cat that got the canary. “So, you could read it.”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about? I know your story.”
She pulls a large envelope from the side of her chair and sets it on my desk. “Read it anyway.”
“I will later.” I grab the handles of her chair, wheeling her out of my room to the elevator, and then downstairs to the garden, where guests are just starting to arrive.
My eyes wander as I greet as many people as I can, mingle, and even say the right thing. My gaze wanders and wanders and wanders, but they never land on the face I can’t stop dreaming of.
When my grandmother takes the stage, everyone thinks it’s to announce her abdication. It’s not. She’s announcing her intention to pass Regency onto my father, while still maintaining the Crown.
/> That means I have time before I have to take on my royal duties. Enough time to do whatever I want.
In the end, the three of us decided it was best for the country. Wimberly needs their Queen as long as she is alive, and they deserve her. She has so much to give.
Even with my new attitude, I don’t spend any longer than I need to at the party and find myself back in my room by five.
With my legs crossed at my ankles on the bed, I read the article Ophelia wrote. Actually, it’s more like a book broken up into chapters that are parts of my grandmother’s life.
The title of the series of articles is “The Throne Got in the Way.”
Interesting.
Part 1 is titled “Him.”
Our love story started with a look. It’s hard to say what that look meant. I want you. I need you. Stay away. But a look is a look nonetheless. And when someone gives you that look and it causes a cacophony of butterflies to take flight in your belly, you can’t walk away, and you shouldn’t, because if you do, you’ll regret it forever…
Three hundred pages of truths, some of which I knew, some of which I did not.
…When Aristotle got down on one knee and asked me to marry him, it was the happiest day of my entire life. The sun was shining, and the birds were singing, but what made my heart dance was that look on his face. The look on his face when I said, “Yes,” and he slid a ten carat Cartier emerald-cut ring, with a canary yellow baguette on each side, on my finger. A ring he had searched high and low for because I had once said in a passing conversation I thought the ring Grace Kelly received was the most beautiful I had ever seen. He’d listened to the gibberish I’d gone on about, and I knew that man was for me. And it all started with a look.
Woven between all the words in the life of my grandmother is an undertone of love and loyalty. There’s also a lot of forgiveness sprinkled in the life of Helena Monaco, more than I had ever realized. She’s a woman who loved and lost and never fully recovered from that loss.
