Cinderella's Secret Royal Fling

by Jessica Gilmore

  Mind made up, she slid out of the bed and padded to the bathroom, gathering up her clothes and bag as she went. Someone—Laurent—had picked them up from the floor where she had discarded them and hung them by the window so the sun had dried her damp jeans and top. He must have been up for some time. They were bone-dry.

  The bathroom was as simple and elegant as the bedroom and the villa gardens. A quick shower and a face wash and Emilia felt ready to face the day, aided by a sweep of the deodorant and lipstick she always carried in her bag. Getting into yesterday’s clothes wasn’t too bad, although the jeans and jacket seemed too warm for what looked like another lovely hot day.

  Returning to the bedroom, Emilia pulled her phone out of her bag, wanting to read her emails and anchor herself back in her world, but her battery had died in the night and her phone was unresponsive. Sighing, she returned it into her bag, knowing there was nothing else she could do to delay the inevitable and she was going to have to exit the bedroom and go in search of Laurent and a ride back to the palace. Wandering to the window, she looked out at the lemon trees in the garden and the sea beyond and was filled with a sudden intense urge to stay in this sheltered villa, in this moment. To be the girl who’d woken up in a rumpled bed, the sunlight slanting through the shutters, mouth swollen with kisses and a sweet ache deep inside for a while longer. But that girl was just an illusion. The real Emilia belonged at a desk with a phone in one hand and a to-do list in the other. It was time she remembered that.

  As she turned, stomach quaking at the thought of searching the house for Laurent, of finding the right words to say to him after her abandoned frankness last night, the door opened and he appeared, holding a tray. Emilia smiled, trying to hide her foolish relief. Of course he hadn’t just abandoned her, wasn’t regretting the night before. That wasn’t how most people operated. But, she noted with a sense of foreboding, although he looked delectably morning-after-the-night-before, hair rumpled, chin and cheeks covered in morning stubble, his smile looked a little forced and wasn’t reflected in his eyes, more grey than blue in the morning light.

  ‘Morning, sleepyhead,’ he said. ‘I brought coffee; we don’t have any tea. I hope it’s all right.’ He put the tray down on a small table near the other window; it was flanked by two armchairs. Her mouth watered; the tray was heaped with coffee, fresh fruit and delicious-looking pastries.

  ‘Perfect. I usually have coffee in the morning,’ Emilia reassured him. She hovered, unsure whether to kiss him or not, but he made no move towards her and so she stayed where she was. ‘Do you have a phone charger? I really should check my emails. I had no idea it was so late.’

  Laurent’s smile dimmed. ‘Yes, of course, but sit and have some coffee first.’

  The sense of wrongness rolling around Emilia’s stomach grew as she took the chair he indicated and accepted the cup of deliciously rich coffee he handed her, but shook her head as he offered her a pastry. ‘I’m fine, thanks. Maybe some of that fruit first.’ She paused, feeling foolish, but her instincts were screaming that something was wrong. He hadn’t greeted her with a kiss or any kind of touch, his bearing formal and removed. ‘Is there something wrong? It’s okay,’ she tried to joke. ‘I’m not expecting a proposal. We both were carrying a lot of emotion last night.’

  There was no answering smile. If anything, Laurent looked more serious than he had before. ‘Do you remember when I told you last night that I always had to keep a little part of me aside? That the demands of being my girlfriend often outweighed the benefits and that’s why I stopped dating?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’ She put down her cup, the faint foreboding that had shadowed her from the moment she realised she was alone intensified. ‘What’s going on?’

  He didn’t answer at first, pouring himself a black coffee and selecting a pastry he didn’t eat, putting it down on his plate, crumbling it absently between his fingers. ‘Very soon the Claytons arrive.’

  ‘Yes.’ Was this the It’s not you, it’s me and my need to save my country speech? He needn’t worry. With all the hormones bombarding her last night she hadn’t had an opportunity to tell Laurent the truth about who she was. When he found out she’d been less than honest she wouldn’t blame him for walking away rather than nobly renouncing her. Maybe that kind of break was for the best rather than the Roman Holiday—If things were different type Laurent was heading for.

  ‘I thought I knew exactly what I had to do. And what I wanted to do. Because no one was pushing me or forcing me. Wooing Bella Clayton was my decision. I need an heir, an Archduchess, and she ticked all the right boxes. I never expected more than compatibility in marriage and so how could I be disappointed when compatibility was my future?’

  ‘Laurent, you don’t have to explain. I knew what the deal was, what I was getting into. It’s all right.’

  He carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘But then last night happened. Truth was, it didn’t occur to me to factor something like you in, why would I? My world was so structured, so planned, random meetings and new acquaintances just didn’t happen. But there you were, under my favourite tree. In my soul... You changed everything. You changed me.’

  This was not how Emilia had expected this conversation to go. ‘Me?’ she managed to say.

  ‘Duty didn’t seem too much of a burden when I didn’t know anything different. But, although my mother knows what I was considering, although I am very sure Simone Clayton was also aware of my thoughts, I haven’t committed myself to Bella, to anyone, not in any way. There, at least, I have nothing to reproach myself for. I promise you, Emilia. My heart was free for me to give where I chose.’

  ‘I know all this,’ she half whispered, both desperate and dreading finding out where this conversation was heading.

  Putting his coffee cup down, Laurent straightened and looked directly at her, and with an effort Emilia met his gaze. ‘Last night I made a decision. Duty is important, compatibility is essential. But love also has a place in marriage, even that of an Archduke. Bella is a very nice woman, but I don’t love her and she doesn’t love me. How can I ask her to share her life with me? How can I pursue a relationship with her when I have spent the last week falling in love with someone else?’

  ‘I...’ This was so not how she had expected this conversation to go. They were supposed to agree that last night had been lovely, that it shouldn’t have happened, return to the castle, and that would be that. Sure, it would have been difficult to watch Laurent with Bella but she had known the score before they started. She would have buried herself in work; it was always the remedy.

  Now everything had changed and Laurent had said it was because of her. He had talked about love. Emilia’s blood heated at the thought even as her mind recoiled in panic. ‘Last night...’ She shook her head, unable to stop her cheeks heating, to look directly at him. ‘Last night was incredible. I’ve never felt like that before. Never imagined I would ever feel so...’ She stopped again, not wanting to reveal so much, not even to Laurent, to whom she had already shown so much. ‘But this is the next day and we’re back to reality, Laurent.’

  ‘The amazing thing about reality is that we get to shape it, if we want.’ Laurent was watching her closely, so sure, so confident that this was right, and how she wanted to believe him. But she hadn’t come here to fall in love. She wasn’t prepared.

  ‘Laurent, I don’t know what to say,’ she said almost desperately. ‘To be honest, I didn’t think that this was how this morning would go. It’s not that I haven’t started to develop feelings for you but we come from different worlds, different countries. Last night was supposed to be a one-off as a start; we both knew that. And that made sense. Apart from anything else, neither of us have time to start shaping reality. I have an incredibly busy few days ahead, you have guests to entertain.’

  ‘Duty comes first?’

  ‘I guess we have that in common.’ She tried for a smile, needing to
get away, to think. ‘Look, I need to get to work. Can we meet and talk about this later? In the garden this evening?’ The garden was their safe place. Maybe she could make sense of his words, of her heart, there.

  ‘It’s not quite that simple.’ Laurent took his phone out of his pocket and slid it across the table. ‘As you’ll see.’

  Emilia picked it up after a quick glance at Laurent, her mouth dry. As she tilted it towards her a picture flashed up, a wet-through Laurent kissing a brown-haired girl very thoroughly. Kissing her... ‘The flashes of light,’ she remembered, her heart sinking.

  ‘Thumb through,’ Laurent commanded and Emilia obeyed with shaking hands. Another shot of them kissing, one of them holding hands, heads tilted together, the desire on their faces so blatant Emilia gasped, feeling as exposed as if she had been naked.

  Prince and Mystery Brunette! the headline read, followed by a breathless article detailing the Archduke’s secret date and the mystery girl he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes or hands off all night.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Emilia set the phone back down, sickened. ‘This is horrible. How can they publish these?’

  ‘We were in public. I just didn’t think. I thought we—I—hadn’t been recognised. I often go out incognito, but I don’t usually let my guard down to this extent.’

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she whispered. Her father would see the photos, Bella would. Of course they would think she had sabotaged things on purpose. This ball was supposed to be her way of making amends and moving on, not building an even bigger wall between them.

  ‘I’m sorry. I should have warned you this was a possibility. I thought we had covered our tracks, but I can never guarantee privacy. Do you regret last night?’

  Emilia stared down at Laurent’s phone, at the photo of her standing by the water’s edge, her clothes wet through and clinging so that every part of her body was visible. She looked so vulnerable, every thought right there for anybody to see: hope, desire, need. How many people were looking at her right now? Sneering at her naked want, at her messy hair and see-through top. But then she looked up and saw a flicker of sadness in Laurent’s otherwise perfect poker face. She wasn’t alone here. Standing up, she walked over to Laurent’s chair and lifted his head with her hands so he was looking directly at her.

  ‘Neither of us know what’s going to happen. We wouldn’t if you weren’t the Archduke, we wouldn’t if those photos hadn’t been taken. But one thing is certain. Last night was the best night of my life and if that’s the one shot we get then that was a pretty good shot. You made me feel in a way I didn’t know I could. You made me believe I was beautiful and desirable and I am so grateful—will always be grateful for that.’ Emilia leaned down, her heart flipping as she inhaled his scent, sea and lemon and something uniquely masculine that was pure Laurent, pressing a gentle kiss on his mouth.

  He didn’t respond for a single surprised second, but then he deepened the kiss, pulling her down so she was on his lap, his arms around her, kissing her greedily, desperately, as if he was trying to fit a lifetime in the one kiss. Emilia matched him, hungry kiss for hungry kiss, her arms entwined around his neck, fingers in his hair, pulling him closer until the shrill ring of his phone made them both jump and pull apart.

  ‘I should get that...’ he said and Emilia slid off his lap, trying not to touch her swollen lips as she did so.

  ‘Yes. And then we had better get back. I’ll wait downstairs.’ And she was at the door before she could change her mind. She stopped as she reached it, turning back to look at Laurent. His eyes were fixed on her and she paused for a moment, allowing her heart to shine through her eyes, before turning and hurrying downstairs, feeling as if she had said goodbye before they had got much past hello.

  * * *

  Laurent walked heavily down the steps of the villa. It was so different to last night, pulling Emilia up after him, breathless and thrumming with need and desire. Last night had been a beginning, this morning a kiss goodbye. They had barely got started.

  It was easy, too easy, to blame the pictures. Nobody wanted to be photographed during their private moments, for the whole world to share what was meant to be intimate. But Emilia had begun to withdraw before then. She had withdrawn the second he had mentioned love.

  He was a fool. He’d rushed into a huge declaration because of the photos, wanting her to know how he felt before she saw them. He’d forgotten how vulnerable she was, how damaged by her past. She needed wooing gently, not big gestures.

  He could do that. It was almost a week until the ball. He had time. Of course first he needed to deal with the fallout of the pictures. The Claytons were due to arrive the day after tomorrow. He couldn’t exactly apologise—that was the problem with unspoken understandings—nor did his carefully arranged programme for getting to know Bella Clayton better seem appropriate. But he could still entertain the family, showcase the best of Armaria and ensure that the Midsummer Ball was as magical as its reputation.

  Clay Industries’ investment didn’t depend on an engagement, thank goodness. It had just seemed like a neat way to tie the family to Armaria, but all the reasons Mike Clayton had been interested in the first place were still valid. The sun, wind and tides, the educated, multilingual workforce, the rail, sea and air links... He just needed to sell those benefits as never before and hope Bella Clayton hadn’t invested too much in the idea of becoming an Archduchess, for both the sake of the investment and also her own happiness. She wasn’t in love with him, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he wanted her humiliated. Thank goodness he had said and done nothing she or her family could reproach him with, and he was even more thankful she seemed far more interested in meeting Pomme and riding Armaria’s famous bridle paths than spending time with him.

  Emilia hadn’t gone very far. She was curled up on the chaise in the hallway, scrolling through her phone—she must have found a charger somewhere. Her face was very pale, her eyes glassy and brow furrowed. Her tiredness didn’t look like the result of a sleepless night, it looked like plain old exhaustion and all Laurent wanted to do was keep her here until her colour returned. In fact...

  ‘Why don’t you stay here for a few days?’ he said, inspired. ‘It’s private, there’s plenty of space. I could have a car take you anywhere you needed to go.’

  ‘That sounds lovely, but I need to be on site.’ She held out her phone towards him. ‘Besides, there’s something I need you to see.’

  Laurent stepped over and took the phone, eyes creasing in disgust as he realised he was looking at yet another gossip site, another photo of a soaking-wet Emilia, her top almost transparent. ‘Why are you looking at this? The best thing to do is ignore them; believe me, I know.’

  ‘Read it,’ she said.

  After shooting her a troubled glance he quickly scanned the text.

  Royally Yours can exclusively reveal that the mystery brunette who indulged in a spot of late-night swimming with Europe’s most eligible bachelor Laurent d’Armaria, Archduke and royal hottie, is none other than Emilia Clayton, who is in Armaria to organise the Midsummer Ball—which will also commemorate her father’s sixtieth birthday.

  Emilia is the only biological daughter of tech king Mike Clayton, who has been rumoured to be looking at Armaria as a base for his newest factory.

  Palace sources had hinted that Bella Clayton, Mike Clayton’s socialite stepdaughter, was in line to be the new Archduchess. Was it all an elaborate bluff or has Emilia cut out her stepsister?

  Either way, we can’t wait to see what happens next.

  Laurent read it again before looking over at Emilia, confused. ‘I don’t understand. How have they made such a mistake?’

  ‘I was going to tell you last night...’

  It took a moment for her words to sink in. ‘It’s true? The man who let you leave home when you were just a child? That’s Mike Clayton?’ Laurent just couldn�
�t comprehend it, couldn’t marry the serious but kind man he had met with the uncaring father Emilia had described, the close-knit family who had welcomed him into their home with the people who had excluded a hurt, grieving teen.

  ‘Yes. At least...’

  ‘Emilia, either it’s true or it’s not.’ His chest tightened. How could he do business with such a man? But how could he not? He needed the Clayton millions—Armaria needed it.

  ‘Everything I said was true,’ she told him with quiet dignity, her chin high. ‘My father had an affair, he left my mother and she was heartbroken. I didn’t see much of him from the day he left until the death of my mother. He’s not the only man to start a new family and see little of the old; it happens all the time. But that doesn’t make it easier or right.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s hard to explain, to put into words how angry I was, Laurent. Simone didn’t want me but, to be fair to her, maybe she tried as much as she was able. She is so different to Maman, though. So calm and emotionless. I couldn’t read her at all; I still can’t. And Dad was so different when he was with her. It felt like a betrayal of all we had been, of Maman, of my whole life.’

  ‘None of that excuses what they did.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. And I don’t excuse them, Laurent, but what I have realised as I’ve grown older is that there are always two sides to every story and their story would have some validity. I was very, very difficult. I already told you I used to stay out, truant from school, shoplift. I was also rude to Simone, always, not that she ever showed that she noticed, rude to Bella when I spoke to her. And when I say rude—’ she shook her head ‘—sullen was a good day.’

  ‘Emilia, I don’t care how badly behaved you were. They were your family.’

  ‘No, they weren’t. That was the problem. It is the problem. They were—are—a family, and Dad and I should have been a family but we weren’t; he belonged with them. The more I wanted him to show me that he loved me no matter what, the worse I got, the more he stepped back—I told you he had no emotional intelligence.’ She paused, looking down at her phone, her eyes clouded.