A Royal Disaster

by Jennifer Bonds

  The local galleries hadn’t, and she had a stack of rejection letters to prove it.

  Lena’s attention shifted to the two beefy guards blocking the front door, their hard eyes fixed on her. She tried not to fidget, but the weight of their combined stares was…heavy. Did they really think she was a danger to the prince? The guy had at least eight inches and sixty pounds on her. Then again, they’d probably seen the tabloids, so she couldn’t exactly blame them for being wary.

  “Your Royal Highness,” Lena said, hating the way her words seemed to waver. What was wrong with her? She was a strong, confident woman. She wasn’t going to be cowed by a bunch of titles.

  Still, talking to him had been so much easier when he was a giant eggplant and she didn’t have a clue who he was.

  Liam turned and his gaze skated over her like a lover’s caress, leaving a trail of liquid fire in its wake. “Please, call me Liam.” He gestured to the men by the door, and Lena took the opportunity to study them. Both were made of hard lines and sharp angles, with close cropped hair, deceptively bored expressions, and matching black suits. “My bodyguards,” he said. “Ethan and Jack.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both.” Lena smiled broadly as she stepped out from behind the counter. The guards nodded in acknowledgment and remained silent.

  Tough crowd.

  “Shall we go, then?” Liam asked, a knowing smile curving his lips as he closed the distance between them.

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Lena admitted, allowing him to loop his arm through hers and steer her toward the door.

  “You look lovely, Elena.” He lowered his voice, as if the compliment was for her ears alone, and she couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through her veins at the sound of her name on his lips. “I couldn’t have picked a better fake American girlfriend if I’d been given a catalogue.”

  Lena snickered, and just like that, all the tension she’d been carrying seemed to ease from her body like watercolors bleeding over canvas.

  “Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Nia called after them in a singsong voice. Lena glanced over her shoulder and gave her friend the side-eye. Nia pretended not to notice, giving a delicate little finger wave in return.

  Assuming she survived this date, she was so going to kill her friend later. Or at least put her on bathroom cleaning duty.

  Liam paused at the door and turned. “Nia, dear, I suspect there’s nothing you wouldn’t do.” Then he winked—actually freaking winked—at her.

  “Damn straight,” Nia said, planting a hand on her hip. “Life’s too short to not enjoy the ride.”

  Lena would’ve sworn the last bit was directed at Ethan, but if the guard picked up on it, he didn’t let on, his face remaining stoic as he ushered them out the door.

  Jack was already at the curb, opening the door to a sleek black Range Rover with deeply tinted windows. Liam offered his hand and she accepted, using her other hand to hold down her skirt as she climbed in. The last thing she needed was a picture of her ass printed on Page Six.

  Lena slid across the seat, running her fingers over the buttery leather. Talk about an upgrade from the subway. “So where are we going?” she asked as Liam slipped in next to her.

  “Somewhere we’re sure to be seen,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching again, “but the food is also quite good.”

  They crawled across town in surprisingly comfortable silence, the only sound classical music drifting softly from the speakers like a lullaby. She couldn’t speak for Liam, but she was planning to keep her lips sealed as long as possible. The less she talked, the less chance she’d word vomit all over him again.

  When the SUV glided to a stop in front of a historic steakhouse on Beaver Street with a beautiful stone portico and Pompeian pillars, Lena’s stomach lurched. It was hard to tell if the sudden flash of nerves was due to the fact that this date was really happening, the crowd of paparazzi swarming the entrance, or the fact that her little black dress was in no way chic enough for this place. She turned, taking in Liam’s dark suit, crisp shirt, and cornflower-blue tie. “Why didn’t you tell me I was underdressed?”

  “Because it would’ve been terrible manners,” he said. Smart man. It was never a good idea to annoy your disaster-prone fake girlfriend before parading her in front of the paps. “And more importantly, you look lovely. However, since you are concerned about appearances, I’m going to let you in on a little-known secret. The label on your clothes is secondary to the way you present yourself. It will tell people how to treat you, which is why royals—even those covered in paint—stand tall and proud.”

  Was he freaking serious?

  “So you’re saying my best defense against bad publicity is good body language?”

  “I’m saying the fine art of body language is a weapon of choice at court and can be wielded with the same precision and cunning as one’s secrets. Now, chin up,” Liam said, brushing his fingers gently across her skin, “shoulders back.”

  “No one’s going to buy this.” Lena’s heart pounded in her chest—because she was nervous, not because the prince’s touch sent a thrill down her spine. “Have you read what people are saying online? I’m the most hated woman in America. With my luck, the kitchen staff will poison my food.”

  “Soon you’ll be America’s sweetheart,” Liam said with an air of confidence Lena couldn’t match on her best day. Not even with a pushup bra and a pair of Spanx. “It’s time to show the world a different Elena Murphy.”

  …

  Liam sipped his wine as the sommelier retreated from the table, savoring the Château Margaux 2000 that had been an impulsive indulgence. Elena was right about one thing, if he wanted people to believe they were the real deal, he needed to pull out all the stops, so why not splurge a bit on their first date? Royal protocol dictated modesty, but he knew better than anyone that even in a blue-blood establishment such as this one, there would be people watching, whispering, and scheming.

  Perhaps Elena could sense it, too, because she remained ill at ease, despite the fact that their meals had been ordered and the wine had been poured. Or maybe her discomfort stemmed from the fact that the server had loosened a button on her blouse sometime between greeting them and taking their orders, clearly not giving a damn about subtlety.

  Not that he was interested. She wasn’t his type, and shagging a woman like that was a surefire way to land in the tabloids.

  Just ask my brother.

  Bollocks. He needed to put Elena at ease, but it had been ages since he’d been on a real date, and he didn’t have the first clue how to go about doing it. The World’s Most Eligible Bachelor and he didn’t even know what to say to his date. “Do you know the longest word in the English language, Elena?”

  Her brow wrinkled and she tilted her head thoughtfully as she considered. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”

  “No, it’s smiles,” he said, grinning shamelessly. “Because there’s a mile between the first and last letter.”

  Elena laughed out loud at the terrible punchline, revealing an adorable set of matching dimples he hadn’t noticed before. “Is this how you woo all your dates?” she asked. “If so, it’s no wonder you’re single.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want to hear another joke?” he asked, feigning indignation.

  “Oh, no. I definitely want to hear another one.” She grinned. “To see if you can redeem yourself.”

  It was doubtful, but he didn’t mind making a fool of himself if he got to see that beautiful smile again. “Why do cows wear bells?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I was raised in the city. I don’t know the first thing about farm animals.”

  “Because their horns are broken.” He winked at her. “Obviously.”

  “Obviously,” she agreed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Has anyone ever told you that your jokes are terrible?�
�

  “I think you just did,” he deadpanned. “Thanks for that, by the way. I suppose it’s a good thing I met you when I was twenty-eight and not eight. I fear my younger self would’ve been crushed by such candor.”

  “Somehow I doubt that’s true.” Elena shifted and glanced around the dining room, her gaze sweeping over the paneled walls, gilded chandeliers, and glass cabinets that displayed the restaurant’s rich heritage. “Don’t get me wrong, this place is amazing,” she said, whispering as if to ensure she wouldn’t be overheard, “but the dessert menu better live up to the hype.”

  Liam chuckled. “The house specialty is Baked Alaska, but I’m partial to the Valrhona chocolate mousse myself.”

  For the first time since they’d been seated, Elena smiled at something other than his abysmal childhood jokes, the prospect of dessert lightening her mood. “A man after my own heart. I knew we had to have at least one thing in common.”

  “I suspect we have more than one.” Actually, he knew it for a fact, based on the background check his security team had run, but he didn’t want to spoil her good mood by mentioning it. And truth be told, it would be far more interesting to hear the details of her life from her own sweet lips than read them in an unimaginative personnel profile. “I’ve always been fascinated by the arts. Tell me more about your studio.”

  Elena sipped her wine, as if fortifying herself to answer a difficult question. When she set the glass down, she licked her lips, tongue sliding across the ruby flesh like an invitation. He probably shouldn’t have noticed—this wasn’t a real date—but he was only human, and his cock had come to attention immediately when he’d first laid eyes on her in that little black dress. She’d been wearing shapeless denim the first time they met and it had in no way prepared him for the luscious curves of her body. Curves that had him fantasizing about all the filthy things they could do to each other behind closed doors.

  They were supposed to be dating. There was nothing to stop them.

  Except for the fact that it’s never advisable to mix business and pleasure.

  “Art has always played a central role in my life,” she said. “From the time I was big enough to hold a paintbrush, I was always creating, finding new ways to express myself and capture the beauty of the world around me. My family didn’t have much, but my parents were usually able to scrape together the money for art lessons and supplies to fuel my passion.” She paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “They were so proud when I was accepted to NYU’s Studio Arts program. I just wish they’d been able to see me graduate.”

  Liam remained silent. If she chose not to continue, he’d respect her choice.

  Elena took a deep breath. “They were killed in a car accident my senior year,” she explained, the raw emotion in her voice eviscerating him. Bollocks. The last thing he wanted to do was make her cry. “I still miss them so damn much, but I think they’d be proud of me. Working in the studio isn’t always the most glamorous job, and I’d probably lose my mind if I didn’t have Nia to help, but there’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, reaching out to touch her hand. The gesture was small and inadequate, but it was the only comfort he could offer. His parents were often cold and demanding, but he couldn’t imagine his life without them in it, and he hated that Elena had been dealt such a shitty hand. “I’m certain your parents would be proud of all you’ve accomplished.”

  Elena nodded and reached for her wine, draining the glass as the server arrived with their salads. As they ate, they talked about art, and Elena made recommendations for lesser known galleries he should visit while in the city. He was surprised to discover she was equally passionate about all art forms and refused to name a favorite medium, insisting she couldn’t possibly choose, as evidenced by the wide breadth of classes offered in her studio.

  Liam met a lot of people in his travels, and it was a rare gift for a person to have true passion for their work, but he wasn’t surprised to discover it in Elena. In his experience, passion was the backbone of the organization when it came to nonprofits and the arts, two areas he wished he could indulge more. It was just one of many sacrifices required by the crown; politics had to come first. “Your passion for your work is admirable.”

  Elena pushed her empty salad plate aside, studying him. Her dark eyes were filled with curiosity, and the hint of a smile graced her lips. “Do I hear a trace of envy? Is it possible His Royal Highness dreamed of being a fireman or maybe a police officer?”

  Liam smirked. “Every dream I’ve ever had involved a crown.” He paused, considering his next words. He should keep the conversation light. It was the smart thing to do, but Elena had been vulnerable with him and he found he wanted to share one of his own truths with her. One he hadn’t even shared with his best friend. “Although I desperately wanted to attend an American university.”

  Elena’s brows pulled low as she studied him. “So why didn’t you?”

  “Their Majesties forbade it.” He took a sip of his wine, the silky red washing away any lingering bitterness. “Tradition is the backbone of any longstanding monarchy, and I happen to come from a long line of Stanley men who’ve studied at Oxford.”

  Elena’s eyes softened and for a moment, he let himself forget their relationship was a farce. “I wonder, what kind of king will you be when the time comes? What will you value above all else?”

  It was a question he’d asked himself many times, but he had no answer, so he simply shrugged. “I always knew I’d be king one day and I’ve spent my life preparing for the role. There’s never been anything for me aside from Valeria.”

  And it was true. There was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for his people.

  “Yes, yes, and you play the part to perfection.” As if sensing his desire to move on, she smiled wide, revealing brilliant white teeth and a smile so different from the demure ones the ladies at court wore. He liked it. “Tell me, how is it you’ve managed to make the world fall in love with you? I’ve never seen anything like it. You’ve got the press wrapped around your little finger.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he teased, enjoying this spirited side of her. It was rare he could relax and let his guard down, especially around new people, but he felt inexplicably comfortable with Elena.

  “Turnabout is fair play, Your Royal Highness.” She cupped her hand and made the universal gesture for out with it, once again calling him on his bullshit. “I shared something personal with you. Common courtesy dictates you do the same.”

  Liam leaned across the table and Elena followed his lead. To the casual observer, it probably looked like they were sharing an intimate moment, and he supposed, in some ways, they were. The relationship might be as fake as a three-dollar bill, but the conversation—hell, the chemistry—was real. “The truth is I’m the perfect royal. Charming. Handsome. Obedient.”

  That last bit wasn’t strictly true, but it was close enough.

  “Oh, and you’re modest, too,” Elena said, rolling her eyes. “Royal life sounds exhausting. I’d much rather have a comfy couch, a bowl of popcorn, and your Netflix password.”

  Liam laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Thanks for the tip, but I don’t share my Netflix account until at least the third date.”

  “Prude.” The instant the word was out of her mouth, a flush spread across her chest and up her neck, as if she were embarrassed by her own boldness. She averted her eyes, scanning the room. Bloody shame. It had been ages since he’d been this attracted to a woman. “I can see why the people love you,” she said finally, rolling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. “You’re funny, compassionate… Not at all what I’d expected.”

  “And here I thought they favored me because I’m the most well-behaved prince Valeria’s seen in a century.” Not that he had much choice in the matter. He loved his siblings, but Xander was a press nightmare a
nd lately Pippa seemed hell-bent on destroying royal protocol. One of them had to be the picture of decorum, and as crown prince, the responsibility seemed his alone to shoulder.

  “We’ve got to be the worst match in the history of bad matches,” Elena said, shaking her head as the server arrived with their dinner.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  Everything looked and smelled delicious, but once the server had verified the steaks were to their liking and moved on, Liam set his fork aside. “What do you mean about us being poorly matched?”

  Elena glanced up, a green bean dangling from the end of her fork. “Are you serious?” she asked, brow wrinkled in confusion. “Were you there the day we met? You’re like Mr. Perfect to my walking disaster.”

  Liam shrugged. Their meeting had been awkward, but it was hardly an indication of compatibility. “Everyone has bad days.”

  “Some of us have more than others,” Lena said, setting her fork on the edge of her plate. “And by some of us, I mean me. I have more bad days than most people. It’s the curse of Murphy’s Law.”

  What the bloody hell was Murphy’s Law? There was no mention of it in her background check. Shit. Had the security team missed something? “I have to be honest, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  Elena laughed, but the sound rang hollow. “You’ve never heard of Murphy’s Law?”

  Liam shook his head slowly.

  “It states that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Basically, everything I touch turns to sh—crap.”

  Oh, thank Christ. For a minute, he’d been worried it was something serious.

  Liam nearly burst out laughing, but he bit his tongue and searched for an appropriate response. After all, he wanted to be supportive of his fake girlfriend.