by Virna DePaul
Royce had settled on a bar stool next to her, a looming presence that almost made her rethink her plans. Clutching her bag tighter, she refused to give into nerves. She could do this. She wasn’t a prisoner, and she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She deserved to have a night of fun like any other woman in her twenties, no matter her status in the royal family.
Royce ordered a club soda and sipped it morosely while Arabella barely touched her mojito. It was definitely strong, and the last thing she needed was to get tipsy right before pulling off a James Bond getaway. She let about twenty minutes pass before getting up. “I need to use the restroom.” A princess never announced to the world that she had to pee, although sometimes Arabella wanted to do something as shocking as yell out that she had to pee just to see a room full of people react.
As expected, Royce stood and followed her like the good bodyguard he was to the women’s restroom. He almost followed her inside, but at her arched eyebrow, he stepped back. “I’ll be right outside,” he said, pressing his back against the wall.
“I appreciate that.” She giggled, but it was mostly to cover her nerves over what she was about to do.
Inside the restroom, Arabella looked around the bright sitting room, the row of shiny stalls, and the huge mirror hanging on the wall. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that the restroom was deserted, and there was, in fact, a small frosted window at the end of the row of stalls, as she’d remembered. Passing the marble counters, she quickly entered a stall, stripped off her princess clothes, and changed into jeans and T-shirt, pulling her hair up into a messy bun. She wiped off the neutral lipstick and put on a brighter, glossier shade, smudging her eye makeup as well. There, she thought. She looked like a young college student, not royalty. She almost stuffed her clothes back into her bag, but then thought better of it and hid them underneath a chair in the sitting room.
Now, the tricky part. The window was smaller than she remembered. Though she prided herself on her slim figure, it remained to be seen if she could squeeze through the opening. Sliding one of the sitting room chairs to the wall, she unlocked the window, wincing as it squeaked on its hinges. She almost expected Royce to barge in, but he remained patient. Tossing her bag out the window, she heard it fall to the ground. She peered out, seeing it on the floor of a lush courtyard just outside.
As far as she could tell, there was no one outside, but it was also too dark to tell.
Thankful that she made sure to keep in shape and that she wasn’t particularly short, she was able to climb through the window feet-first. Slowly sliding herself out, she landed with a thump next to her bag. Her heart pounded so hard, she felt dizzy, but she’d done it. She’d done it! Elation filled her. She was free!
Arabella grabbed her bag and was about to run to the nearest train station when two men came around the corner. Seeing that she’d just climbed out of a bathroom window, they only stared awkwardly. Arabella shrugged. “They really ought to install a door in that restroom,” she explained in her best American accent. “What if I was an old lady who had to go?”
The taller man nodded. “You’d be a really hot old lady.”
She waved and set off toward the nearest subway station. It was 10:05, and the next 6-train would arrive in about ten minutes. She’d better hurry, or she’d miss it.
By the time she got to the Bronx unscathed, Royce nowhere to be found, Arabella leaned against a bus stop enclosure to catch her breath. She couldn’t believe she’d pulled it off. Actually, she could. She’d grown more and more adventurous and rebellious lately. Now all she had to do was find the bar Kyle had mentioned. Biting her lip, she debated turning on her location services when she heard a voice next to her.
“Are you okay, miss?” a man asked with a drawl she recognized as American Southern.
Arabella stepped into the streetlamp light, and that was when she saw him. “Kyle?” What were the chances? Yes, he’d said he’d be in the Bronx tonight, but the Bronx was still a rather huge New York borough.
His eyes narrowed a moment, and then he recognized her. “Bella? Seriously?”
“Seriously. Oh, my goodness. I guess I chose the right stop off the 6-train.”
Kyle indicated the other guys with him who were standing behind, perplexed. “We just got off the same train. We were waiting for our Uber driver then figured the subway would be faster.”
“Wow, great minds think alike.” Arabella smiled playfully, taking in Kyle’s ensemble. He wore jeans and a black button-down shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up at the cuff. His thick arms and hands were perfect for holding. And other things. Damn fine, she thought, realizing she’d never used those words to describe anyone before in her life.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“To some dive bar some guy told me about. I was hoping to catch up with him.” She smiled again.
“Some guy, huh? Lucky dude. Wouldn’t be Chez Charlie’s, would it?”
“Yes! That’s it. Do you know where it is?” Arabella loved playing along.
“Indeed I do, Duchess. I can walk you there, if you like.” Turning, he motioned to the two other guys with him. “Bella, this is Heath Dawson and Alec LeBrun. Meet Bella.”
No way. No way was she meeting two more amazing Bootleggers in the same day! Her trip to America had already paid off. She shook Heath and Alec’s hands before they set off ahead of Kyle to give him some space.
Kyle took the opportunity to sling his arm around her shoulder. “Guess it’s just you and me then,” he said, and giddiness made her feel like she was filled with bubbles. Tonight, she got to be Kyle’s girl—not a princess, not a representative of Salasia. just a girl having fun with the guy she liked. Just Bella with Kyle.
When they arrived at Chez Charlie’s, basically a room in the back of a building that Arabella was sure couldn’t be up to any code in New York City—the guys backslapped a few chums already there, talking about the day’s big win. A few beautiful young women sat nearby—cheerleaders, Arabella guessed—while other patrons sat at the bar barely glancing at the football stars in their midst.
Kyle strolled in and yelled, “A round of drinks for everyone!” and the group cheered. He murmured into Arabella’s ear, “What’ll you have, Duchess?”
She had no idea what to order at a dive bar. Beer? Beer would probably be the safest American drink. “A beer, please.”
Kyle laughed. “What kind of beer? Take your pick.” He gestured to the rows and rows of artisan crafted bottles of beer behind the bar.
“Bud Light,” she said automatically. It was the only name she could remember off the top of her head. She didn’t even like the stuff.
Kyle glanced at her with an amused expression before turning to the bartender and ordering a Bud Light. The bartender returned his amused expression, and she could tell they were both having a silent laugh at her expense. He popped open a can of beer and poured it into a frosty glass, pushing it across the polished wood top.
“Here you go, Duchess. One Bud Light.” Kyle handed Arabella the glass.
“Mmm, thanks,” she said, taking a sip and nearly dying from implosion at the horrid flavor.
Kyle laughed. “It’s not that bad, Duchess. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone else.”
Everyone at the long table was welcoming and happy, high off the win today, and no one noticed or cared that an unknown woman was in their midst. Arabella’s excitement dampened for a moment when she realized Kyle probably brought all kinds of women around all the time, and it was nothing new to them. She was just another in a long line. Glumly, she took a long drink of her Bud Light, convincing herself it didn’t matter. Tonight was about her independence, not his ego.
Still, it was hard not to notice how full the bar was with plenty of beautiful women to keep the players occupied. Cheerleaders, a few in Bootleggers tight sweaters and sweatpants, sat amongst the guys, some in their laps, some close to being in laps. It seemed like almost every player had a girl fawning over him. Who would K
yle have on his lap had she not been here tonight?
Doesn’t matter, Arabella reminded herself. Stop obsessing.
Apparently, there were some fans at the bar as well as franchise and team members. One group of women sauntered up to Kyle—a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, all busty and gorgeous—and immediately began making squealing noises at his mere presence. Arabella found herself prickling with envy.
“Kyle, can we get your autograph?” the brunette asked with actual fluttering eyelashes. Before Kyle could even respond, the woman whipped out a marker and proceeded to pull her top down to reveal even more spectacular cleavage.
How typical, Arabella thought, fighting the urge to glance down at her own small breasts, feeling suddenly intimidated.
As a princess, she was usually the one to make others feel intimidated, but in this instance, she was completely out of her element. Did she really think she could keep Kyle’s attention when so many gorgeous American women were here, too?
Kyle flashed his million-dollar smile and took the marker from the woman. “I’m guessing you don’t want me to sign your arm, sweetheart.”
The woman traced a line across her cleavage. “Right here, please.”
He scribbled his name across her chest, which dipped into her cleavage and looked more like a child’s drawing than a signature. The woman giggled with glee, and Arabella nearly rolled her eyes. “Any other takers?” he asked, brandishing the marker.
The three women behind the brunette hustled up, although they chose more discreet spots for him to sign. When one stretched up to whisper something in Kyle’s ear, he laughed, and Arabella bit the inside of her cheek in annoyance. There wasn’t even anyone else she knew here who she could talk to while Kyle acted like the big shot football star she suddenly remembered he was.
The female fans finally scattered off to find other prey. As the brunette with Kyle’s scrawled signature touched another player’s arm to ask for his signature, Arabella snorted.
“Something funny?” Kyle arched an eyebrow in her direction.
“No, only that she looks like she fell asleep while someone drew on her chest in revenge,” Arabella said, her laughter muffled against her beer as she took a sip.
Kyle laughed into his Jack and Coke so hard, he almost choked. Arabella patted him on the back. “The Duchess has claws!” he exclaimed.
“I never said I didn’t. That’s not the only thing I have.” She winked at him. Yes, she was pretending to be fierce, but that was only because she had to, to rise above the cloud of fan estrogen fogging up Kyle’s head.
He just gazed at her, blue eyes piercing right through her. Under the simmering heat of his stare she felt her own body bubble up with heat and excitement.
Is that how he’d look at her while he was taking her in bed?
Against her better judgment, she desperately wanted to find out.
“So, Bella, was it?” Across from Kyle, Heath Dawson stretched his arm across the table to tap her elbow. Next to him, tight end Alec LeBrun, drank his beer. From what she remembered reading recently, Heath had a girlfriend, and Alec was engaged, but that didn’t stop the women from trying to get their attention. “How did you meet Young here?” Heath asked.
“He insulted me.”
“No,” Kyle interrupted with a grin. “I told her red wasn’t her color. Behold a Knights’ fan.” He gestured to Arabella, as though she were Exhibit A.
It seemed that everyone around them suddenly stopped to stare at her. How dare an enemy spy infiltrate their hangout? “I…no…I’m not a Knights’ fan. I already explained this. I’m a Bootleggers fan. I swear.”
“You shouldn’t swear, Duchess. Unless it’s in bed. With me.” Kyle laughed and high-fived Heath, while Arabella rolled her eyes at his brashness, at his utter guy-ness. Upon noticing her death stare, he righted himself quick. “Okay, okay, we met at the game today, didn’t we?” Kyle gave Arabella a sexy full-on stare, as if daring her to mention what had happened after they’d met.
She tried to contain her blush. “Yes, he was on his way to buy nachos in plain sight, and I suppose he decided I was more interesting than fake melted cheese.”
Heath and Alec guffawed. “You got him to forget the nachos?” Heath asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Arabella said proudly.
“They must not have had jalapeños on them, then,” Alec added.
“Oh, they had jalapeños on them alright. A mound of them,” she assured them.
“Damn, I’m impressed,” Alec said, elbowing Heath. “Then again, a girl like you is our buddy Kyle’s kryptonite, isn’t she?” he asked Heath who nodded.
Kyle shook his head, as if wishing he could rip out both their tongues. Instead, he turned to Arabella, and for a moment, there was no one else in the room. Just Kyle’s doting stare and his full lips, lips she’d kissed earlier today. He encircled her waist with his arm. “I saw her standing there and had to talk to her. Can you blame me?”
“Wow, Young, so romantic,” Heath said with a laugh. “Did you share your nachos with her afterwards? Because that would be the true test.”
Actually, he hadn’t shared his nachos with her, but that was only because she had to take off after Royce kept bugging her. Wait, would he have shared them with me? she wondered.
Kyle flipped Heath off, but Arabella laughed along with everyone else. Although she’d felt intimidated earlier, she was beginning to feel like one of the guys. Arabella had never felt normal hanging out with her own kind, chatty women, but here among these blokes, she felt normal—happy. Not a princess. The freedom of being able to sit with a hot guy like Kyle Young, let him touch her in public like this, and not worry about what anyone would say?
Heaven.
“Bella is from Salasia,” Kyle told Heath, eyeing her. “It’s in Europe.”
“I fucking know where it is, you shit,” Heath muttered to Kyle. Then, turning to Bella, he added more delicately, “So, where in Europe is it, exactly?”
Arabella laughed, feeling giddy after half the Bud Light. “It’s a principality, technically. Not worth getting into the specifics. But yes, it’s in Europe, near Britain.”
“So, what’s a Salasian lady like yourself doing at an American football game?” Alec asked, eyebrow raised. He had two women waiting to talk to him, and Arabella marveled at the way he kept them at bay without appearing rude.
She glanced at Kyle, who was grinning at her. “I happen to love football,” she said bluntly. This. This was something she could talk about all day. “I love the rules, I love the players, I love the Super Bowl. Everything.”
“Really?” Heath huffed. “So not what I expected, dude,” he muttered to Kyle. “So, Bella, what did you think of the plays in today’s game then?” He chugged back half his beer cockily, and if Arabella was right, it almost seemed as though he was challenging her football knowledge.
Well, two could play this game.
Arabella smiled. She knew how to deal with people trying to test her. All her life, she’d grown up with people expecting her to fail. “There was too much rushing in the first quarter, and what passes Murphy did get in came too late, so the Knights’ defense kicked your asses. Your coach must’ve thought the same, because offense was ramped up significantly by the second quarter. That’s when you all stopped dawdling around and started playing with balls.” Arabaella sipped back the rest of her beer. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
Three stunned faces all stared at her. Alec let out a low whistle, while Heath grinned wide. “Of course,” Heath said, as he raised his beer. “To playing with balls, men!”
“To playing with balls!” The others raised their glasses for the toast.
“She schooled you,” Kyle laughed at Heath. “Never question a woman from Salasia on football ever again, unless you intend to lose.” Arabella beamed, and Kyle rubbed her arm. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
“So, Bella…” Alec’s full attention was on her. “Do you have any other
special talents, besides knowing way more about football than my own fiancée does?”
The group laughed. Arabella obviously couldn’t mention anything about being a princess, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t talk about her other love—singing. “I’m a trained opera singer,” she replied. At Kyle’s surprised expression, she asked, “Is that so hard to believe?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Bella of Salasia, full of surprises—in a good way. Do you sing professionally?”
“Well, no, but I want to travel the world as a singer. I just haven’t had the opportunity yet, but someday.”
Kyle murmured in her ear. “You’ll do it, Duchess. I believe in you.”
As the night continued, the group got louder, and the drinks were poured faster. Arabella felt like part of the group. Talking about football had earned everyone’s respect and secured her position as “one of the guys” at the table. She watched a game of darts, suddenly longing to play something so…normal.
“Why so sad?” Kyle whispered. His warm breath so close to her cheek reminded her of this afternoon, which now seemed so long ago.
She forced off the melancholy feeling and smiled at him. “Not sad, really. Just contemplative.”
“What are you thinking about?” He wiggled his eyebrows, obviously suggesting their memory from earlier today in Room 586.
“Oh, just how I’m going to kick your butt at a game of darts.” She pursed her lips.
Kyle guffawed and immediately hauled her to her feet. “Is that so? Now you have to follow through, Duchess.”
Arabella had no idea how to play darts, she was just full of beer and extra confidence at this point, so as soon as her darts bounced off the wall, not even hitting the board, he launched into full chiding mode. Embarrassed, she blushed bright red, but Kyle loved teasing her. At the same time, he was sweet, pulling her body up against his torso, and, lifting her arm, helped her aim a dart just right.
Arabella had to swallow softly to not let on how that made her feel, as the closeness between them set off sizzling sparks through her legs and loins. Her legs trembled, and she found it hard to concentrate.
