Ravishing Royals Box Set: Books 1 - 5

by Holly Rayner

“No. Some of it is here.”

  “There you have it.” She raises her palm, like that’s the answer.

  “I’m not responsible for this park,” I point out.

  “Your country is, and you’re their prince, so…”

  I shake my head, but I can’t stop the smile. A beautiful woman is telling me she is impressed with me. I can only correct her so many times.

  “But yes,” I say. “I agree. It is an amazing place. Tell me. What led to you coming to Europe?”

  She looks down, her throat rolling with a swallow, and I see that I made a mistake.

  “You don’t have to answer,” I say quickly.

  “No. It’s fine.” She smiles at me, but it’s forced, not lively at all. “Um, about five years ago my dad got sick with cancer, and then he died two years after that. I needed to get away, so I did.”

  “I see.” My chest constricts with pain for her. Her short statement said so much. I can tell how much she loved her father and how much his death wrecked her.

  “And your mother?” I ask.

  “She died when I was in elementary school.”

  I suck in a breath and stop myself from cursing just in time.

  “It’s okay,” Poppy says, probably reading the sympathy on my face. Or maybe expecting it, since she no doubt usually gets a load of it when people hear she is an orphan.

  “I have my sister,” she goes on, “and her husband and two kids.”

  “How often do you visit them?”

  “Not enough.”

  Her shoulders slump. I reach over and take her hand. There’s nothing romantic about it. I can see that she’s in pain, and I want to help ease her through it.

  Turning her hand over so that we are palm against palm, she laces her fingers with mine.

  “You don’t need to feel guilty about living life on your terms,” I tell her.

  “I know.” She nods. Pauses. “But sometimes I do. Sometimes I think I should be there for them. That I should have stayed in New Jersey.”

  “Would you be happy there?”

  Her answer is a breathless whisper. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then you would not be doing anyone any good.”

  “Hm. Yeah. You’re right.” She tilts her head, her gaze flicking between my eyes. “My sister supports me in basically everything, but I still feel guilty sometimes.”

  “Because you are a good sister.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  She takes her hand from mine, ostensibly to fix a pin in her hair. “I dropped out of college to take care of my dad.”

  “What were you studying?”

  “English. At the time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do, really.”

  She’s not looking at me again.

  “Is that what you wanted?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t matter. I was the only one who could take care of him. Laura was having a hard pregnancy, and there was no one else.” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you that. I don’t mean to be unloading.”

  “It’s okay. I like listening to you talk. You can share anything you want at any time.”

  “Yeah?”

  Because she looks like she doesn’t believe me, I say, “Absolutely.”

  “Thanks, Max,” she says quietly.

  “I understand what it’s like to not have a mother around. Mine died eleven years ago.”

  She nods sadly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I was eighteen, so it wasn’t the same as when you lost your mother. I was a man.”

  “But still,” Poppy says, and she doesn’t need to add any more. We both understand.

  But still.

  Putting my empty cup on the ground, I turn fully on the bench to face her. “What do you suppose your father would think of you leaving for Europe?”

  “He would have been all about it.”

  I love that answer. “Is that right?”

  “Yeah. He was a lot like Laura. Always telling me that I could do anything, that I should stop being so afraid, so indecisive. In nice ways, that is. He was also as nice as her.”

  “You strike me as anything but indecisive and afraid,” I say. “It took you less than a day to come to a decision regarding our arrangement. Some people would never be able to make up their minds about such a thing.”

  She looks away, then down at her nails. “You should have met me three years ago. I couldn’t make up my mind about anything. My dad’s cancer and having to deal with it was the first thing in life that forced me in a direction.”

  “I can guarantee he would be proud of you.”

  She presses her fingers against her lips. “I hope he is. I know that I don’t have what some people value the most. I don’t have a career or own a home. Shoot, I don’t even have a job, unless you count this.” She waggles her finger between the two of us. “But he was an adventurer himself, and I like to think I’m kind of carrying out his legacy by traveling around.”

  I sense she has more to say, so I only nod.

  “Here’s the thing, though.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been so lost since I came to Europe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have any long-term plans. I never did.”

  “You do now,” I point out.

  Her lips twist into a slow smile. “Yeah. I do.”

  A piece of hair has come loose and fallen across her temple. Without hesitation, I brush it back. She turns her face into my hand the slightest bit—an automatic reaction, one she likely doesn’t think about, but it’s enough to create an electric charge.

  “I know that when you talk about long-term plans, you are likely speaking about a larger purpose,” I say.

  “Yeah,” she whispers.

  “And I understand that. It’s something I have also struggled with. I know it might seem that I hate everything about royal life, but that’s not true. I love the opportunities it provides to do good.”

  “But the rest…”

  “Right.”

  She already understands.

  “I can help others,” I say, looking for the right way to express myself. “But what do I want? I still don’t know.”

  “You’ll figure it out.” She squeezes my arm that’s still over the back of the bench. “Hey, look at it this way. You have your own driver and jet. Doesn’t that make up for a lot of other things that might be lacking in life?”

  “It does.” I wink.

  We both smile, our eyes still locked.

  “I like how your mind works, Poppy Moran.”

  “Yours isn’t too shabby either.”

  She smiles wider, and the magnetic connection is unstoppable. My face draws closer to hers, and her lips part.

  She draws back. Sets her cup on the ground. Stands up.

  And I sit still, feeling like a complete idiot.

  Was I really about to kiss her and complicate everything further?

  “It’s getting late,” she says, turning to face me. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

  “Right. Lots of preparation to do before dinner.”

  I can barely look at her as we collect the skates. I stop to tip the concession’s manager and thank him one last time and then join Poppy in the back of the car.

  “Thank you for tonight,” she says.

  “No. Thank you. You went above and beyond.”

  “It was nothing.”

  But it was. It was monumental. No one has ever done something for me like she did tonight.

  We’re quiet for the rest of the ride back to her hotel.

  Chapter 11

  Poppy

  As it turns out, I’m not needed until noon the next day.

  I spend the morning in the hotel, reading and working out at the gym. There’s a pool, and even though I usually wouldn’t test it out, it looks so nice that I have to dip my feet in.

  Back in my suite, I put on my strappy, tan wedges and a summer dres
s that’s printed with flowers. It’s a nice look, but will it be enough for the King of Stromhaer?

  Anxiety twists my stomach as I smooth a wrinkle in the skirt. If it’s not good enough, maybe Max will send out for something for me to wear. Or it could be that he already has.

  The phone in the sitting area rings, and the front desks informs me my car is waiting. After one last look in the mirror by the front door, I head downstairs.

  Henrik is right out front, looking as sharp in his suit as he always does.

  “Good morning,” I tell him as I get in the car.

  “Good morning, Miss Moran.”

  This whole having a driver thing is extremely nice. After years of rental cars, public transportation, and the occasional bumming rides from hostels, I feel like I’m in another world.

  Henrik takes us in the opposite direction we went in last night, with us passing more hotels and businesses and then some official-looking buildings.

  We go down a street lined with trees, and he stops at a security checkpoint. The guard waves him through. Up ahead, I see a giant home made from tan bricks, massive yards and gardens surrounding it.

  The palace.

  My palms are instantly sweating.

  I had no idea we were headed to the palace right now. I assumed that Max would be keeping me hidden away until the big reveal at dinner tonight. How is he going to sneak me into the palace without someone taking note and informing the king that I’m already there?

  There’s another checkpoint at the mouth of the drive that goes up to the palace front, but Henrik doesn’t slow down. He continues on down the road we’re on.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, sitting forward.

  “To the prince’s private cottage, Miss Moran.”

  “Really? He has a private cottage here?”

  “Yes, miss. On the edge of the grounds.”

  “Huh. Okay.”

  The cottage, it turns out, is about half a mile away from the palace, and we pass some tennis courts, a swimming pool, and a few other small buildings to get to it.

  The drive leading up to it is circular, with thick, high bushes hiding the front door and windows. Henrik drops me off in front of the small, unassuming porch.

  “Have a wonderful day, Miss Moran,” he says.

  “You, too,” I say.

  He drives off, and I inspect the stone cottage. It’s adorable, really. Right out of a fairy tale. Ivy climbs the walls, and there are two wicker chairs on the porch with thick pillows on them.

  There’s no chance for me to knock, because the door opens right up.

  Max fills the doorway with his tall frame and broad shoulders. He’s wearing a white button-up, but the sleeves are rolled to his elbows. Even dressed casually, there’s a high-class air to him.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  “Good, good morning.” I clear my throat.

  Get it together, Poppy.

  He’s just attractive. That’s all. I’m having a normal reaction to a very hot man.

  Who am I kidding? It’s more than that.

  Especially considering the conversation we had last night.

  Max is more than hot. He’s considerate, funny, and easygoing. And he understands what I’ve been through with my parents, which is way more than most people ever will.

  He has such a powerful effect on me that I almost forgot myself last night and kissed him there on the bench.

  Almost. Because I can’t let my guard slip that much.

  “Come in,” he says.

  I step inside and surreptitiously scope out the living room. It’s decorated in warm, dark colors, with a bearskin rug on the floor in front of the fireplace and a minibar in the corner. Other than the couch, though, it’s mostly empty. No pictures on the walls and no everyday clutter that says someone lives here.

  “I don’t spend much time here,” he says, shutting the door and reading my mind.

  “No? Henrik said this is your personal cottage.”

  “It is. During the times I am home.”

  “Which isn’t much.”

  “Exactly.” He gestures at the doorway on the other side of the living room. “Please. Right this way. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m good right now, thanks.”

  The kitchen is also sparse and immaculate, but we don’t stop there. He takes me into a sunroom beyond that, where a table is set for two, the dishes hidden with silver covers. On the other side of the glass, more high hedges ring a small backyard.

  “It’s very private here,” I comment.

  “Yes. I love it.”

  He touches my arm as he steps around me, and a pleasurable shiver goes through me.

  “You don’t stay at the palace?”

  He folds his arms and smiles wryly. “I spent enough time there during my childhood. I’m good out here.”

  I sense that there’s more pain behind the answer than he’s giving away.

  “Is it really that bad?”

  He drops his arms and parts his lips, then just ends up pursing them.

  “Yikes,” I say.

  “It is nothing for you to worry about,” he says. “As I said before, little will be required of you. We will only need to show our faces for events every once in a while. Please, have a seat.”

  He pulls a chair out for me and then takes the one directly across.

  “I thought lunch would be a good opportunity to practice meal protocols.” He takes the cloth napkin next to his plate and smooths it over his lap. I do the same.

  There are several forks and two spoons next to the plates, but at least there’s only one knife.

  Max uncovers both our plates, and the smell of the chicken dish fills the air.

  “From the palace?” I ask.

  “Yes. Although I live out here on my own, I still take advantage of the palace kitchens.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Taking a deep breath, I nod at him. “Okay. So what do I need to know first?”

  “When we get to the palace, we will be shown to a sitting room to meet my father. There will be a formal introduction. All you need to do is curtsy and say, ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.’”

  “Your Majesty. Got it.”

  “You only need to address him as that once. After that, it’s fine to not use an address. Just be polite.”

  “Okay.” My heart pounds against my ribcage like it wants to break out and run away. At the moment, I’m wishing it would take me with it. This is a lot to handle already. I’m not even sure I know how to curtsy properly.

  “When the king decides it is time, we will all head to the dining room for the meal. He takes his seat first. After that, everyone can take their seats at the same time. Every fork has its purpose, and my father tastes the dishes first. Only after he has tried something can everyone else dig in.”

  My eyes feel gigantic right now. “Is it like this at every meal there?”

  “There are not a lot of family meals. Usually, even when my brother and I are home, he is too busy. We eat breakfast and lunch on our own, and then have dinner together.”

  “So every night.” I breathe out.

  “Yes.” Max’s jaw flinches. “There is also an order to the conversation.”

  “The king starts it, I bet.”

  “Exactly. And then the queen chimes in first. Unless, of course, the king has directly addressed you.”

  “Okay.” I start to gnaw on my lip, then make myself stop. There will be no nervous habits tonight. I’ll need to be mindful of every single thing I do.

  “Dessert and digestifs will be taken at the same table. When the king decides he has had his fill, dinner comes to a close.”

  “What’s a digestif?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too stupid.

  “Oh, that’s an alcoholic drink like brandy or a liqueur, served after dinner,” he says.

  “Okay.” I’m nodding, but I don’t feel at all confident about this.

  “You do not need to be nervous.” />
  “But I am. How am I supposed to even make it through the first course? I’ve never done anything like this.”

  His face is sympathetic. “I know that it seems like a lot, but that is why we are practicing now. And we only have to do it tonight.”

  I like how he put the “we” in there. It makes me feel like we’re a team and I’m not going through this alone.

  “How come only tonight?” I ask.

  “Because, if we pull this off, there is a good chance my father will leave us alone from now on. As overbearing as he is, he is also far too busy to keep a constant eye on me. Shall we? The soup is served first.”

  He picks up the soup spoon, and I do the same. The broth is delicious, and a perfect temperature. The meal must have been brought over a minute or two before I arrived.

  “I faxed the agreement to a lawyer in New Jersey,” I say, as we finish the soup and Max shows me which fork to use for salad.

  “Excellent. Have you heard back?”

  “No, but he said he will call today.”

  I’m pretty amazed at how quickly I was able to get the ball rolling on that one. I called Laura as soon as I woke this morning, and she put me in touch with her and Oscar’s law office.

  It’s a lot of food, so I only eat about half of everything as we work our way through it all. By the time the meal is finished, I’m stuffed.

  We’ve been talking about little things: the stables on the other side of the palace grounds and what the nightlife in Stromhaer is like. No talk about anything heavy, and no talk about the future.

  Because, I tell myself, we both know I could botch tonight, and everything we’re trying to do will go down the drain.

  I shouldn’t think that way, but I’m too darn scared right now to be optimistic.

  “Do you really think I can do this?” I ask.

  Max drops his napkin onto his plate and blinks. It’s taking him an awfully long time to respond, and it’s not helping my fragile self-esteem any.

  “Do you not?” he asks.

  I cringe. God, I shouldn’t have said anything.

  “Poppy.” His voice is soft and warm. Honey.

  He leans forward in his seat. The table is already narrow, and this puts his face barely more than a foot from mine. “I know you are more than capable.”

  “How?” my voice cracks with emotion. “How can you know that?”