Her Accidental Prince - A Married by Mistake Romance

by Holly Rayner

  “Yeah.” I shimmy out of my shorts and yank off my top. “The sun’s not out. No risk of sunburn. What better time than now?”

  “I love the logic.”

  Kicking away my clothes, I take his hand and step into the water. It’s slightly warmer than I thought it would be, but my skin breaks into goosebumps anyway. Max and I are both in our underwear, and even though this shouldn’t feel any different than being in bathing suits, it does. There’s an intimacy that can’t be denied, and from the way his thumb smooths across the top of my hand, I know he feels it, too.

  Another few steps and the water is up to my calves.

  My thighs.

  My waist.

  I’ve never gone deeper than this, but Max’s hand is still in mine, and it feels like I’ve already surrendered so much. Why stop here?

  His fingers slip from mine, and he dives smoothly under the water. I stay where I am, the waves crashing against my chest.

  “Max?” I call.

  A few breaths go by. Why hasn’t he come up yet?

  “Max?” I ask again, louder this time.

  My heart jumps into my throat. Oh, no. I knew this was a bad idea. Humans should never, never get into water. It’s not natural.

  Suddenly, the water breaks right in front of me, and Max pops his head up. My exhale is a loud, relieved one.

  “Do you know how to swim?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I can swim.”

  I learned well enough to swim my way out of water should I ever accidentally fall into it.

  “Come on, then.” He crashes back into the water, making smooth breaststrokes that cut through the waves.

  “When in Rome,” I mutter.

  I follow, but my breaststroke is flimsy at best, and I end up doggy-paddling after him. We swim parallel to the shore, and Max gets so far ahead of me that he turns around to come meet back up.

  My feet touch sand, and I straighten to full height.

  “Fun, no?” he asks, standing as well.

  “It’s okay.”

  He pushes wet hair from his face, and my eyes dip to his firm pecs. I know I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it.

  “You’re done,” he says. It’s not a question.

  “Yeah.” I laugh and cringe. “You keep swimming if you want. I’m gonna head back to land.”

  I don’t look behind me, but I hear him following me to the sand. Once I’m out of the water, my muscles relax, letting go of all the tension I didn’t know they were holding.

  I collapse into the sand, lying flat on my back, my arms and legs spread out wide. Max lowers down next to me, mimicking my pose.

  “You really don’t need to get out,” I say.

  “The ocean is always there. I would rather be where you are right now.”

  His words make me smile, and I bite my bottom lip. The stars seem particularly bright tonight, but that must be because we’re out here by the water, a short distance away from the city lights.

  “It’s like being on a mountain in the middle of winter,” I say.

  “What is?”

  “The stars. They’re so bright. Beautiful.”

  He makes a noise of agreement, and then we lay in silence, lost in the vastness of the night together. The quiet is almost as good as when we’re talking.

  How ironic that I should meet Max tonight.

  Three years in Europe. A handful of dates here and there, but never anything that went anywhere. Never a guy I felt like I wanted to spend more than a few nights hanging out with.

  But now this.

  I used to believe in signs. Years ago, I would have believed one hundred percent that meeting Max meant something, that his appearance in my life meant I was supposed to stay in Copenhagen.

  Now it’s silly to think that way. Things happen. And then other things happen. We link certain events together and create meaning from them.

  I can’t stay in Europe because I have no job and no money. End of story.

  Max is someone I get to enjoy a night with. After that, it’s onward. I should be grateful I met him at all.

  “What was that sigh for?” he asks.

  I can’t look at him. I hate that I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve tonight.

  “Honestly? I’m trying to keep my mind off tomorrow.”

  “The tomorrow you do not wish to talk about?” he asks.

  “Yep. That exact one.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn on his side to face me. He props his head in his hand and studies me.

  “Tell me one thing. Is it man trouble?”

  That makes me laugh. I don’t know why, but it does. “Nope.”

  “Because, if it were, my answer would be that whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve you.”

  I turn on my side to face him and, just like him, dig my elbow in the sand to hold my head up. “Thanks.” I twist my lips. “I think so. I mean, we’re talking about an imaginary situation here.”

  “So you’re single?”

  Wow. I mean, I already figured he wasn’t shy, but still wow. He’s upfront.

  “Single,” I confirm. “And you? Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “What do you have? A dog? Parents?”

  “No dog,” Max says. “Parents and a younger brother.”

  He settles onto his back again, and I get the sense he doesn’t want to say any more, so I switch it to me.

  “I have an older sister,” I say.

  “A good one?”

  “Really good.”

  Thinking of Laura makes me smile. She’s always been the more mature of the two of us, but I don’t think age has anything to do with it. Even when she was eight, she was the mother, always caring for me and making me snacks.

  Thinking about that, though, has my mind turning to sadder times.

  Shaking the thoughts off, I sit up and hang my arms over my knees. And then I remember I’m still sitting here in my underwear. A bra and panties might look like a bikini, but I still feel weird. I’m in shape and proud of my body, but I’m still self-conscious.

  I have to feel around in the dark for my clothes, but once I locate them I yank them on. Right in time, too. A couple men walk by.

  They probably wouldn’t care that I’m out here in my underwear. It’s nighttime on the beach in Copenhagen, but still…

  Turning around, I find that Max has dressed as well.

  He reaches his hand out to me. “Shall we?”

  We make our way back toward the bar, but there’s a sadness creeping into my heart. Our swim is over, and with it so might be our time together.

  The bar is half full, with people chatting merrily. The blond bartender stacks empty glasses. As Max and I enter, he claps his hands and raises them above his head.

  “Last call, everyone,” he says.

  Max and I look at each other. In synchronicity, we raise our eyebrows.

  “We made it right in time,” he says. “Rum and coke?”

  “You know it,” I grin.

  He goes to get the drinks, along with about half a dozen other people who are moving in for the last opportunity. Instead of the bar, this time I take a seat at a table near the half-wall. This way, we’ll be able to better feel the breeze.

  “Here you are,” Max says, bringing us the drinks.

  I raise mine. “What should we toast to?”

  “To us,” he says without skipping a beat.

  It makes me hesitate. Man, if only I wasn’t leaving tomorrow…

  Nope. Not going to think like that.

  I clink my glass against his. “Perfect. To us.”

  Taking a step, I look around the bar. “Seems like this place closes pretty early.”

  “That or we were down at the beach for much longer than we thought.” He looks thoughtful. “I’m having a great time with you. You know what they say about how time moves when you are having fun.”

  “Yeah,” I laugh. “But that fast?”

  He smiles at me over the ri
m of his glass, and my fingers itch to touch his again.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  I suck in a breath and hold it. Maybe a partial truth would be the best thing to go with here.

  “That I don’t want this night to end,” I say.

  His cocoa eyes hold mine. “I understand. I feel the same.”

  “So what next?”

  Max smirks. “It seems we have no choice in the matter.”

  My heart sinks. He’s right, of course. This night has to come to an end at some point. Reality’s coming at me full speed starting tomorrow, so I might as well face it now.

  “We must go into the city for another round,” Max says.

  My mouth falls open, and then I’m laughing. “Copenhagen, here we come.”

  Chapter 4

  Poppy

  Everything hurts.

  No. That’s not right. Not everything. Just my head.

  The thing is, it hurts so badly that the pain is radiating from my skull into every other part of my body. Even my toes.

  Eyes squeezed shut, I press the heels of my hands against them. Maybe if I lay here, the horrible aching will go away on its own.

  I wait. I count.

  One… two…

  Nope. Not gonna happen.

  Groaning, I roll out of bed. Keeping my eyes closed, I feel my way along the wall.

  The hostel room I’ve been staying in is a private one, and it comes with its own bathroom—a blessing, I now realize.

  I run my palms along the wall, shuffling my feet as I go. Once my fingers hit air, I know that I’ve made it to the bathroom doorway.

  Opening my eyes just enough so that I can see the sink, I reach for the medicine cabinet and rifle around for the headache pills. Opening a childproof top while I’m this hungover turns out to be akin to performing brain surgery. The top falls to the floor, and several pills pop out.

  I manage to get one in the palm of my hand and duck my face under the running tap and swallow it down with a gulp of water. Just knowing the medicine will kick in soon is enough to bring me an immediate hit of relief.

  I turn for my room, but the light coming through the half-shut curtains is even more assaultive. Why the heck didn’t I close those when I came in last night?

  Covering my eyes with my hand, I shuffle for the bed and throw myself down on to it.

  The lump of pillows I hit makes a noise. A very human noise.

  Screaming, I jump to standing.

  The bright light is a shock to my eyes, but not as much of a shock as the man lying in the middle of my bed.

  “What the…” The curse dies on my tongue as the man rolls over.

  It’s Max.

  Max from last night.

  I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut, the headache now growing more intense.

  When did we come back here? Did we sleep together?

  I don’t remember.

  Why don’t I remember?

  “Hi,” Max says slowly, uncertainly.

  I open my eyes. He looks as freaked out as I feel.

  He also looks hella good in my bed. His torso is naked, but I see the top of his pants peeking out from under the sheets.

  “Where’s your shirt?” I ask because I’m shocked, I’m delirious, and I don’t know what else to say.

  Max blinks and smiles. He nods at me.

  I look down. “Oh.”

  I’m wearing it.

  Cautiously, I lift the hem. I’m also wearing my hot pink sleeping shorts.

  Okay. So did we… or didn’t we?

  “How are you?” I ask. It seems like such a stupid thing to say right now, considering he’s in my bed and we presumably haven’t been apart all night, but I don’t know how else to start.

  I need to know what happened last night, but I’m not just gonna blurt out that my mind is drawing a blank.

  “Well,” he says. “And you?”

  “Okay.”

  We eye each other, and it feels like a standoff. Whoever buckles first loses.

  It’s me.

  “I don’t remember last night,” I moan.

  Max’s shoulders drop in relief. “I don’t either.”

  Groaning, I take a seat on the edge of the bed, my back to him. “So we both blacked out.”

  “It would appear so. Has that ever happened to you?”

  “No. You?”

  Looking over my shoulder, I catch his head shake. My gaze slinks lower, but then I realize what I’m doing and force my eyes back to his face.

  “So nothing,” I confirm. “You remember nothing.”

  He catches my drift. “I don’t think we…”

  “How do you know?”

  He looks around the bed, then on the floor. “I feel there would be some signs.”

  It takes me a moment to figure out what he’s saying. A condom wrapper, I assume, is what he’s getting at.

  Whatever. I’ll take it. Even if we did do some very adult things, I’ll probably never recall them, so they as good as didn’t happen, right?

  Sure, Poppy. Great logic. Run with that.

  “I never black out,” I say groaning. “Never.”

  “We had… quite a lot to drink.”

  “Apparently.” I turn around to tell him I’m sorry about all of this, but my clothes on the floor catch my eye.

  It’s really a trail of my clothes. Shirt starting at the door and panties ending at the foot of the bed.

  My face must burst into flames.

  Max follows my gaze.

  “Is that evidence enough?” I whisper.

  “What is that?” He points at my shorts.

  “Hm?”

  Something is catching the light. I get out of bed and find pieces of sparkly confetti on the floor, all around the clothes.

  “Well,” I sigh, “at least we had fun. Who has a bad time with this much confetti around?”

  I go to pick up my clothes, but something else catches my eye. My stomach does a backflip.

  “What’s this?” I demand, whipping around and holding my left hand up to Max.

  His brows draw together in confusion, and he blinks a few times. “You’re married?”

  “No.” My hand starts shaking. Why is there a gold band on my ring finger?

  “Are you sure?” Max asks, and it sounds like he’s trying to be funny but is actually really worried.

  I stomp over to the bed and pull his left hand out from under the sheet.

  “You’re married!” I accuse.

  Max holds his hand up. I hold my hand up.

  The wedding bands match.

  It hits us like a train.

  “We’re married to each other.” I gasp.

  My knees buckle and I crash into sitting back on the bed.

  “No,” he says. “That can’t be. We didn’t…”

  Our eyes lock.

  “A bit is starting to return,” he says.

  I gulp. “Yeah. I remember we went dancing, right? I think we went dancing.”

  “We went dancing,” he says.

  Right then I get a flashback of being on a dark floor, the bass of the music traveling up me through the soles of my feet, my back against Max’s hips, his hands on my thighs, his lips on my neck…

  “It was nice,” he adds.

  My cheeks puff up with air, and I blow out a heavy breath. My head is still pounding, and I’m freaking out here, and yet at the same time, all I’m thinking about now is his hands on me.

  Focus. I gotta focus here.

  “Okay,” I say, “we were dancing. And then we… got married?”

  Max cringes. “I remember saying that I wanted to keep enjoying your company. That I never wanted it to end.”

  I moan. “And then what? We decided to get married to make that a reality?”

  “I also recall taking a shot off of your stomach.”

  “I don’t remember that part.”

  Covering my face with my hands, I work to regulate my breathing.

&nbs
p; What on earth is wrong with me? No matter how drunk I got, how could I have thought marrying a stranger was a good idea?

  “There’s confetti in my shoes,” Max announces.

  I drop my hands to see him turning one upside down and pouring confetti onto the floor.

  “Party,” I mutter.

  He fixes his gaze on me. “I’m sorry.”

  “We don’t know for sure that we’re married,” I protest. “We’re wearing rings. That doesn’t mean anything. We could have gotten them for fun.”

  “We could have,” he agrees, though he looks uncertain. His gaze becomes unfocused. “I’m recalling something else. Going to an all-night chapel.”

  I gasp. “One that had a gift store in it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And a red leather sofa?”

  “Precisely.”

  This time I have to hold back every curse word I’ve heard over the last twenty-seven years.

  “That doesn’t count, right?” I ask. “It’s like one of those Vegas weddings. You can go and do it, but you have to take the certificate to the records place afterward and have it notarized or whatever. If you don’t do that, it’s not a real marriage.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean not exactly?”

  I can’t stand how calm he’s being. I’m about two seconds away from ripping my hair out. I have to be at the airport in a matter of hours. This isn’t something I can deal with right now.

  Or ever.

  “I don’t know about America,” Max says, “but Copenhagen is known for its rather liberal marriage laws.” He pauses. “If we’re married, there should be a certificate somewhere.”

  I gaze around the room, searching. Nada.

  Wait. My purse.

  Leaping from the bed, I grab the purse from the floor and turn it upside down. Gum, lipstick, mascara, my wallet, my phone charger, and a dozen other this-and-thats hit the floor, along with a folded piece of paper that I’m pretty sure wasn’t in there yesterday.

  I swear, my heart starts beating in reverse.

  Everything is in slow motion as I pick up the paper and unfold it.

  I try to talk, but my mouth is too dry, so I hand Max the paper.

  He reads it. Reads it again.

  “Is that…” My voice cracks. I try again. “That’s your signature?”

  “Yes.” He eyes me over the paper. “And is that yours?”