A Royal Disaster

by Jennifer Bonds

  “We have a similar axiom across the pond,” he said, trying to remember the specifics. “It’s called Sod’s Law.”

  “And?” Elena asked, arching a brow as she picked up her fork and speared another green bean.

  He wasn’t about to tell her that Sod’s Law went one step further to suggest the victim was being mocked by fate. Instead he said, “And I don’t put much stock in meaningless axioms.” He shrugged, searching for the right words to put her mind at ease. “Who knows, perhaps one day you’ll wake up and realize your bad luck is truly a blessing in disguise.”

  Chapter Five

  Lena laughed right in the prince’s face. Not her best moment, but she couldn’t help herself. It was sweet of him to try to make her feel better about her shitty circumstances, but she had a lifetime of experience to prove there was no silver lining to this curse, not the least of which was the death of her parents. “If Murphy’s Law is a blessing, it’s a blessing I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

  Her pendejo ex on the other hand…

  “Come now, it can’t be that bad.” Humor danced in Liam’s eyes as he picked up his utensils and began cutting his meat. “Sure, the media’s been a bit tough on you, but now you’re on a date with the World’s Most Eligible Bachelor,” he said in a self-deprecating tone that told her just how ridiculous he found the moniker. “I’d say things are working out brilliantly.”

  Lena snorted. “Says the guy who likes to trespass for funsies.”

  Liam ignored the dig and took a bite of his dinner, chewing slowly as his impeccable manners no doubt dictated. Damn. The man really was perfection with his glossy black hair, pale blue eyes, and the kind of chiseled jaw usually reserved for models and actors. It was completely unfair. Handsome, charming, and a crown prince? No wonder he was so used to getting his way. She’d bet no one in his life ever challenged him, not really. And though he was trying to be gracious about her craptastic luck, it just spurred Lena to prove her point. The prince might be right about a lot of things, but he was wrong about her, and she was going to make him admit it one way or another.

  “When I was nine, I tried to make flan de queso for my mom’s birthday and caught the stove on fire. The fire department showed up with lights and sirens, but needless to say, it wasn’t a happy birthday.” Understatement. After her mom had showered her with kisses, relieved she hadn’t been burned to a crisp, she’d screamed herself hoarse lecturing Lena on fire safety.

  “Kitchen fire, huh?” The left side of Liam’s mouth lifted in a sexy half smile. “When I was ten, I accidentally dumped a bucket of horse dung on a visiting dignitary. My parents were livid, and I had to help clean the stable for a month.”

  “Only a month? That’s nothing,” Lena scoffed, although she had to admit she was curious, because, honestly, how did one accidentally dump a bucket of horse manure on a guest? Gross. “When I was thirteen, Nia and I snuck out to see a midnight showing of Twilight—full disclosure, I was obsessed with sparkly vampires—but we never even made it to the show. A police officer spotted us hopping the subway turnstile and promptly escorted us home. My parents grounded me for three months. One for sneaking out, one for hopping the turnstile, and one for scaring the crap out of them with my police escort,” she said, ticking off the reasons on her fingers.

  “You little rebel,” Liam said, delivering each word in slow seduction, as if his accent could be weaponized in their battle of wills. Oh, who was she kidding? It totally could. He leaned close, resting his forearms on the table, and she drank in the sight of him, memorizing every slope and angle of his face so she could draw it later. “The first time I went to a party at uni, I got so drunk I threw up on my date.”

  Lena snort-laughed and clapped a hand over her mouth, imagining Mr. Perfect sloppy drunk and tossing his cookies. When she finally got control of herself, she held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Are you one of those one uppers? The kind of guy who always has to be the best at everything?”

  Liam flashed her a cocky smile and spread his hands wide. “Well, I am God’s hand on Earth.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” Lena said, giving him an equally sure smile, “because I’m pretty sure the notion of divine right isn’t a real thing, and you’d be the biggest ass on the planet if you actually believed that bulls—nonsense.”

  Liam just smirked, as if challenging her to continue.

  Arrogant ass. He’s actually enjoying this, provoking me intentionally.

  “Whatever.” Lena rallied her determination. She was not going to let the prince one up her, no matter how much fun they were having. “My middle name literally means the unfortunate one.”

  “I’m named after a king who shat himself to death,” Liam said, not missing a beat.

  Clearly, he’d given it some thought over the years.

  Lena grinned sweetly. “And your ancestors married their cousins, so there’s that, too.”

  Liam snorted in a most unprincely way, and Lena declared a mental victory. “That was the primary reason we seceded from our English cousins.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really,” Liam said, with a shake of his head. “But seriously, why would your parents name you the unfortunate one? That’s terrible.”

  Didn’t she know it. “When my mom moved here from Puerto Rico as a teenager, she polished her English by watching TV. Mallory was her favorite character on some family sitcom that was big at the time. She didn’t actually know the meaning. She just liked the name.” Lena’s chest tightened as she remembered the way her mom’s eyes would soften when she complained about her name, which was often when she was a teenager. “Once she set her mind to something, there was no changing it.”

  “Is that where you get your stubbornness?” Liam asked, lifting his wineglass to his lips and draining the burgundy liquid.

  Lena sniffed. “You should talk.”

  “What? It’s a trait I rather admire.” Liam paused as the server refilled their wineglasses and cleared the plates. It hadn’t escaped Lena’s notice that one of her buttons had come undone after her first visit to the table. Liam hadn’t seemed to notice, though. Things like that probably happened to him all the time.

  A flash of jealousy burned through her veins.

  This isn’t a real date, even if it feels like one.

  “Was your father from Puerto Rico as well?” he asked, when the server sauntered away, shaking her backside with a seductive sway of the hips.

  “No, my father was New York Irish, born and raised.” Lena bit her lip, considering her next words carefully. “I’m closer with my mother’s family.” That was putting it mildly. Family was the bedrock of the Puerto Rican culture, which was why news of her run-in with the prince had spread faster than a spilled can of paint among her aunts, uncles, and cousins, all of them desperate for details. Details she would not, could not relay, which meant she would have to avoid her family. Probably easier said than done, but she just needed to get through the next couple of weeks and things would go back to normal.

  Whatever normal meant.

  “Have you ever been to Puerto Rico?” Liam asked, curiosity lighting his pale eyes. “I’ve heard it’s a beautiful island.”

  “No, but I’d love to go one day. Who knows? Maybe when the studio is turning a healthy profit.” She smiled sweetly at her fake boyfriend. “I seem to recall a rather cocky prince suggesting he’d have the studio booked through next year.”

  Liam chuckled, the low rumble rolling across her skin like a summer storm charged with the promise of beauty and power.

  By the time they finished dessert, Lena was sure Ethan and Jack, who’d been hovering at the edge of the restaurant, would have to roll her to the car. The food had been amazing and the chocolate mousse had been orgasmic, which probably said more about her sex life—or lack thereof—than the dessert.

  Still,
the night had been a success, hadn’t it? They’d had a nice, quiet meal. They’d been seen, but hadn’t made a scene. And the conversation had flowed as effortlessly as the wine. Liam was surprisingly easy to talk to. And who knew? Maybe he was right. Maybe his PR team could repair her image and set things right at the studio. Warmth curled in Lena’s chest, whether from the realization that things were finally going her way or from the wine, she didn’t know, but either way, she didn’t hate the feeling.

  In fact, she kind of liked it.

  Liam rose and pulled out her chair like a perfect gentleman. Then he guided her toward the door, his hand resting gently on her lower back. The heat and pressure of his touch nearly short-circuited her brain, and she had to remind herself again that it was all for show.

  Maybe she needed some rules to navigate this fake relationship. Or did she? Because, really, there was only one rule that mattered: no falling for the fake boyfriend.

  Right. Easy enough to remember.

  Halfway to the door, she realized she’d left her purse at the table.

  She turned to tell Liam she’d forgotten her bag, but as she did, her heel snagged on the carpet and she stumbled forward. She put up her hands to catch herself, but—as usual—it was the wrong move. Lena crashed into her unsuspecting date, sending him careening into a server with an armload of exquisite-looking meals. Liam stepped on one of the server’s finely polished oxfords, their feet tangling, and that was it. The prince went down and the food went up. The dishes came crashing down all around him, spilling seared scallops, whipped potatoes, and roasted asparagus all over his designer suit.

  Lena slammed her eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

  When she dared to crack her eyes open, Liam still sat on the floor, a look of shock on his face, with garlic butter dripping down the front of his shirt.

  Oh, it was happening all right.

  Jack and Ethan rushed in, crowding around the prince as he scraped food from his clothes.

  “Mira este revolú. I’m so sorry. It was an accident,” Lena said, the words coming fast and furious as her cheeks caught fire. “I forgot my bag and I tripped and now you’re covered in whipped potatoes and there’s a shrimp in your hair. And, uh, one on your…” she trailed off, pointing to his crotch. “Not that I was looking, of course.”

  Except she was. And why was she always talking about his penis?

  Lena sucked in a deep breath, willing her mouth to stop talking.

  “Your Royal Highness, I’m so sorry,” the waiter said, joining the fray to collect the broken dishes that circled the prince. “Please forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” Liam said quietly. “The fault is entirely mine. I apologize for the mess. Please send me the bill for the damages, as well as your dry cleaning.”

  With her mouth on pause, Lena became increasingly aware of the dining room around her. It had gone absolutely still. Unease prickled up her spine and she was certain she’d hear it if someone so much as breathed. Dozens of faces stared at her, a mix of horror and disdain. Oh, there were a few looks of pity, but they were all directed at Liam as he climbed to his feet.

  If ever there was a time for the Earth to swallow her up, this was it.

  When his eyes locked on Lena, she couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze sharpened. It wasn’t anger, exactly. More like…dismay. Her stomach sank. She’d really screwed up this time if even the optimistic prince couldn’t find a silver lining in this disaster.

  …

  Bloody hell. Liam didn’t put much stock in curses, but maybe there was something to Murphy’s Law after all. They’d had a perfectly lovely evening right up until Elena had shoved him arse over elbow into the wait staff. In the space of a breath, he’d gone from flirting with the sexy artist—who seemed to feel the same pull of attraction—to wearing a fine coat of shrimp and potatoes. It was a step up from paint, but there was little doubt they’d be gracing tabloid covers again tomorrow.

  At this rate, his fake girlfriend would be the death of him before their arrangement ran its course.

  “I’m sorry,” Elena whispered, face stricken as she reached up and tentatively plucked a shrimp from his hair. It dangled from her fingertips as she glanced around, unsure where to discard it. Without a word, the waiter put out his hand to accept the little prawn. Elena looked up at him, defeat darkening her eyes. “I tried—”

  “Your Royal Highness, we should get you to the car,” Jack said, making a brisk motion toward the door. Ethan was already clearing a path through the wait staff as conversation resumed, spreading through the restaurant like wildfire. He didn’t see any cameras, but he knew they were there, silently capturing Elena’s latest humiliation.

  Give it five minutes and they’d be trending on social media—again.

  Bollocks. He needed to find a way to fix this. What would Fin do if he were here?

  The answer was obvious. Downplay the incident and defuse the tension.

  Liam squared his shoulders and flicked a spot of mashed potatoes from his jacket, doing his best to look unaffected by the circumstances. Then he turned to Elena and laughed, loud and boisterous, as if nothing could be more amusing than their current predicament. “Sorry about the mess, love. It would seem I have two left feet today.”

  She looked up at him, eyes growing wide. Was she surprised he would shoulder responsibility for the mess or had she expected him to be angry about it? Did it even matter? She deserved to have someone in her corner always, and the realization that she didn’t left a dull ache in his chest.

  “Sir.” Jack’s voice sliced through his thoughts.

  Right. They needed to go. He instructed Jack to grab Elena’s bag and placed his palm gently on the small of her back. “Would you like to get out of here?”

  “God, yes.” She strode toward the door at a breakneck pace that would’ve given his mother an absolute shit fit—a lady never hurries—but he matched her stride easily, hoping like hell she wouldn’t trip again.

  Ethan seemed to be having the same thought as he watched her approach, eyes fixed on the sexy stilettos that were severely lacking in function. The bodyguard held the door for them as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Jack bringing up the rear with Elena’s handbag clutched in his meaty palm.

  The evening was cool and only a sliver of moonlight pierced the clouds, but it was a welcome change from the too hot restaurant and judgmental stares of strangers that seemed to have shamed Elena into silence. For once, she didn’t say the first thing that came to mind and simply stood by his side with her shoulders rounded, a stance he suspected had nothing to do with the chill. He wasn’t a fan of being tabloid fodder, but what he liked even less was the way Elena’s bottom lip quivered. The dull ache in his chest resurfaced. Elena was sweet and charming and funny. Hell, she was one of the most authentic people he’d ever met. He felt like he could tell her anything—a rare gift—and she didn’t deserve this shite. Not from the media, not from anyone.

  He gave silent thanks the paps hadn’t stuck around for the grand finale and searched for something to lighten the mood. “I’d offer you my coat, but…” Liam said, pointing to the variety of stains that covered the dark fabric.

  Elena’s body went rigid. It was as if a puppet master had yanked her string, straightening her spine and lifting her chin in one fell swoop. “Still think Murphy’s Law is a blessing in disguise?” she bit out, not waiting for a reply. “I’ve just made a complete fool of myself and ruined another one of your suits.” She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This evening was a complete disaster.”

  “It wasn’t a complete disaster,” Liam teased, ignoring the skeptical look that passed between Jack and Ethan. Arseholes. “I rather enjoyed myself right up until the end.”

  This time Jack gave a short bark of laughter. He recovered quickly, and said, “I’ll pull the car around, sir.”r />
  It was a quiet ride back to the studio, each moment dragging on painfully as Jack maneuvered through the congested city streets. By the time they reached EVA, Liam was damn near choking on the tension. The last time he’d been this out of sorts was when the Lady of Wilshire—who was eighty-nine—had grabbed his cock during a state dinner, claiming she’d been searching for her napkin.

  He needed to do…something.

  Elena must’ve felt it, too, because she bolted from the vehicle before Jack could throw it in park, leaving Liam with nothing but a prime view of her exquisite backside. His cock stirred, growing hard at the thought of sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

  Bollocks.

  This wasn’t the time to be fantasizing about his fake girlfriend’s luscious curves. He needed to stay focused. Otherwise their first date would also be their last and his parents would have him engaged by summer’s end.

  Like hell.

  Liam slipped out of the car, gesturing for his bodyguards to keep their distance. He was accustomed to the lack of privacy, but Elena wasn’t, and he didn’t want to make the situation worse by leaving her further exposed.

  Elena fumbled with the studio lock as he approached, the keys jangling in her unsteady hand. “If you want to back out of the arrangement, I’ll understand,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the stubborn lock.

  “Why would I want to back out?” he asked, closing his hand over hers and slipping the keys from her grasp. With his other hand, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I had a lovely evening with a funny, beautiful woman, which is far better than spending my night eating room service while Fin badgers me about trade prospects.”

  The truth of his words surprised him. Aside from the humiliating grand finale, it was the most pleasant evening he’d had in ages. Elena was an excellent conversationalist and he’d enjoyed their little sparring match, even if she had called him out for being a one upper.

  “Ay bendito.” She cracked a smile. Barely. “Not the dreaded trade prospects.”