Royally Crushed: A Crazy Royal Love, Book 1

by Summers, Melanie

  “Arthur's man crush is going to be at the wedding today,” Tessa says suddenly. She’s clearly trying to brighten the mood in the car by embarrassing my brother. I love her for it, but I’m not up for making fun of him today.

  “I don't have a crush on him,” he says. “I merely enjoy watching his show.”

  “It's a man crush, dear. Deal with it.” Turning to me, she says, “Have you seen The Wild World with Will Banks?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh, you’d love it. Will is like David Attenborough meets Chris Pratt from Jurassic World, except picture him with his body from Guardians of the Galaxy.”

  Arthur scoffs. “If anyone in this limo has a crush on Will Banks, I'd say it's my wife.”

  “I’m just painting an accurate picture for Arabella. Besides, I'm not the one who is going to make a beeline for him the moment the ceremony ends—unlike you,” Tessa says, giving Arthur a teasing smile. She snaps her fingers together suddenly and says, “Oh! You should take Arabella with you so she can meet him.”

  Turning to me, she whispers, “He's a total hottie.”

  “Yes, well, as much of a hottie as he is, I don't see a future between someone like him and my sister, thank you very much,” Arthur says.

  “Who said anything about a future?” Tessa asks. “I just think she could use a good shag to cheer her up.”

  Arthur stiffens visibly. “Perhaps I should ride up front so as to skip out on the horrifying girl talk.”

  “Oh, suck it up, Princess,” Gran says to him. “Your sister is an adult who can shag whomever she wants.”

  “I doubt he'd want to shag someone as unremarkable as me,” I grumble, giving Gran a glare.

  “Oh, Christ, you're not going to pout all day, are you?” she asks. “Because if so, I really will call one of my many man friends and offer him the position of my date.”

  “Go ahead. I'd rather be alone than stuck with someone who feels the need to pile on when I'm already having a shit day.”

  We pull up in front of the church, and a moment later, the back door opens. Tessa gives Arthur the ‘they need to talk’ face and gestures toward the door with her head.

  Clearing his throat, Arthur says, “We’ll see you inside.”

  When they get out, I hear Arthur tell his driver, Ben, to close the door and that we'll need a minute.

  When Gran and I are alone, she scooches closer to me on the cream-colored leather bench. Taking my hand in hers, she says, “You are Arabella Florence…a bunch of names I can’t remember, Duchess of Bainbridge, Princess of Avonia. You are a sensitive, kind, beautiful, and intelligent young woman. But you're also a total pussy—”

  My mouth drops open and she holds up one hand to stop me from interrupting. “—which is not entirely your fault. It's a bit of a vicious circle because people have always treated you like you’re made of porcelain, so that is how you act. Yes, half of your genes are from your mother who was as weak as a kitten, but half are from your father. And that means you have more than a little bit of me in you. And I’m tough as balls.”

  I chuckle in spite of myself.

  “And I know that deep, deep, deep, deep down inside of you is a very strong woman just dying to come out.”

  “I don't know if that's true,” I say, shaking my head.

  “You won't know until you test it out. So, my advice is for you to take a risk. Anything at all. The next big thing that comes your way. Don’t think about it. Just do it. Give them something more to write about than your good looks.”

  “Like what?”

  “Doesn’t matter, really. Just pick something wild and go for it.”

  “I can’t … what if I'm a disaster?”

  “Then you'll be Arabella the disaster, which in my books is far better than Arabella the clone. Be bold, child.” She stares deep into my eyes, then shrugs. “Or continue to be a timid, cowardly girl. Just pick one and stick with it. And whatever you do, stop complaining, because if there's one thing that can't be tolerated in this world, it's a princess who feels sorry for herself.”

  With that, she knocks on the window. The door opens and Ben helps her out, leaving me there to marinate in her bitter medicine.

  6

  Double-Fisting Booze and Mystery Beauties

  Will

  I am never going to do this, as long as I live. That is a guarantee you can take to the bank, too, because after being part of my sister's wedding fiasco, I can say with certainty it's not worth it. It’s been a steady stream of dinners, cocktail parties, ‘pre-wedding gift openings,’ tux fittings, and don’t even get me started on the dress rehearsal last night.

  Today, I’m wearing a horribly restrictive rented monkey suit. It’s got these stupid tails on the jacket and I feel like a complete idiot with this ridiculous top hat on. I'm standing at the front of the church as the fourth groomsman, along with Pierce's best man, who is also his editor, and his brothers, Leo (a great guy), and Grayson (a total wanker). Harrison isn't one of the groomsmen but that's only because Emma has asked him to walk her down the aisle.

  The truth is, a big wedding like this only makes the three of us more keenly aware of the loss of our parents, and I know that part of Emma's sour mood has been the absence of our loving mum and dad to see her through what is likely the most stressful time of her life.

  Harrison has had his own troubles to deal with since we got here. Their daughter Clara has a wicked cold and I'm not sure how familiar you are with toddlers, but it turns out they do not know how to wipe their noses (or even have any awareness that they have number elevens hanging from their tiny noses to their top lips). Also, this church is the exact one at which Libby was jilted a few years ago, so even though Libby is most certainly madly in love with my brother, the building itself does hold some rather humiliating memories for her. And since, as Emma's maid of honor, she's trying to take all the strain off the bride’s shoulders today, she’s more on edge than I’ve ever seen her. Libby also has the strange affliction of suffering from stress nosebleeds. When I left the vestibule a few minutes ago, she was well into her second box of tissues.

  How can it be worth it to go through any of this? Seriously?

  This is why I’m never getting married. And if I somehow did get tricked into proposing, my wedding would be a simple affair on a beach somewhere, or maybe at city hall.

  I shift restlessly from foot to foot, wishing this day would be over so I can have some time to figure out what to do about my career, which is about to go up in flames. Dylan has been sending me head shots of potential co-hosts with subject lines like ‘Would you do her?’ in an attempt to create a show rife with sexual tension. So far, I have yet to respond to any of them, even though I know Dylan is not the type to give up.

  I look around the crowded church, my eyes landing on the pews on which the cast of NBO's Clash of Crowns are seated. Then a wide smile crosses my face because I realize that the man sitting at the end is the network COO, and this will be the perfect opportunity to schmooze him into creating a show with yours truly sans the sexy co-host.

  My mobile phone buzzes in my inside pocket of my rented suit. I pull it out as discreetly as possible only to see it's a text from Dwight. Don't even think about trying to jump ship to NBO. You will be sued.

  Bugger, how the hell did he know?

  I glance up, only to be on the receiving end of a sharp glare from Rosy, my surrogate mum. I slide my phone back into my pocket and give her a guilty smile. She shakes her head at me with pursed lips, but her eyes are still twinkling for her favourite child.

  The fifteen-member musical ensemble starts playing “Trumpet Voluntary” and the back doors of the chapel swing open, flooding the space with sunlight. Moments later, the procession of adorable flower girls, lovely bridesmaids, and my sister begins. Thank God this will all be over soon. I tug at my tie, wishing I were scuba diving with tiger sharks or scrubbing barnacles off the bottom of one of the resort’s catamarans. Anything is better than wearing a dou
ble Windsor knot.

  Come on, ladies, hightail it up here so we can get to the part with the open bar already.

  Finally, Emma and Harrison come into the church. Well, what do you know? Emma looks beautiful—all teary eyed and smiling as they make their way toward us.

  Pierce sucks in a long breath, and when I glance at him, the look on his face stuns me. It’s like he’s been hit by a truck, only it’s the sight of Emma, my grumpy big sister, who’s done this to him. I swear he could be knocked on his arse by the slightest flick right now. I look back at Emma and I feel … almost … emotional. Maybe this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to do.

  Okay, I’m clearly suffering from jetlag. Or maybe it’s the stress from my work situation.

  The minutes crawl by like a super-high three-toed sloth. Finally, we get to the vows, which if memory serves from the rehearsal, means we’re almost at the end. The minister smiles at my sister and Pierce. “The happy couple has written their own vows and Pierce is going to go first. This gives Emma the advantage because if his aren’t good enough, she can still back out.”

  The crowd chuckles, then when the room grows silent, Pierce takes a deep breath, looking nervous. “Emma, when I think of who I was before you, I have nothing but pity for that lonely, pathetic man hiding from love and life. I never thought I would have what I have with you, which is the perfection that comes with a full life and a happy home. I wish I could say that when I first laid eyes on you I knew, but that would mean I was a much smarter man than I am. A lot of people here probably think that it was your culinary skills that won me over. But it was your beautiful, fierce spirit. There is no other woman like you—one who can hop into a speedboat, drive it out into the middle of the sea, cut the engine, and dive into the water, only to come up with a pair of live lobsters in your bare hands. Then come back to shore and cook them up as part of a four-course meal.”

  He smiles and pauses for a second while the two gaze into each other’s eyes. Seriously? Can you save the gazing for the next fifty years?

  “I wish the first time I saw you do that I’d known, but again, not that bright. It took me another few weeks to realize exactly how truly extraordinary you are, and even then, I wasted months before I could finally admit the truth—that I was completely and utterly in love with you.

  “You have filled my life with the adventure that I only used to know in my imagination. Every day with you is something new, something fresh, something free, and something wonderful. And I stand before everyone we know today to promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to be good enough for you. Emma Josephine Banks, I promise to love and care for you, I promise to be your partner, to support you in your dreams and hopes, and to lift you up when you are down. I promise to be faithful to you and not just because you would kick my ass if I wasn’t, but because I don't want anyone else. You are the only woman I will ever love. You are the only one who really knows me. You have given me the greatest gift I can imagine—you've given me a home.”

  Well, that doesn't sound as bad as I thought it would. Mind you, he is a talented writer so he could probably make rolling around in pig shit sound appealing. Marriage is definitely not for me, but I'm glad they're happy.

  * * *

  I've been a very good groomsman. I've smiled for all the photos. I laughed through the many toasts and I've done a bang-up job of pretending life couldn't be better for me all day, even though there is a boulder of worry lodged in my chest. And now, it’s time for me to get piss-stinking drunk.

  The trick with over-imbibing at a wedding is to make it look like you're carrying drinks for other people. In this case, four flutes of champagne from the champagne fountain. Two could still possibly look like I'm going to drink them myself, but four seems far too ridiculous for anyone to suspect me of what I'm actually doing, which is filling them, then carrying them through the hotel ballroom with a purposeful look on my face, stopping periodically to down one and leave the glass.

  I'm just filling up the last flute when I hear a woman's voice behind me. “Rough day?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see a lovely blonde in a blue gown. Her hair is up in some sort of complicated fancy do, and she has the most mesmerizing light blue eyes I think I've ever seen.

  My jaw goes slack for an instant before I pull myself together. “These aren't all for me.”

  Taking one from my hand, she says, “Sure they're not. I saw you earlier crossing the room with your first four glasses. Excellent trick. No one would ever imagine someone making such a pig of himself.”

  “No offense, though, right?” I say, tipping back my glass and downing it. I set the glass down and hold my right hand out. “Will Banks.”

  She shakes my hand even though she seems like the type of woman who's more used to men kissing her knuckles lightly. “Yes, I know who you are.”

  I blush a little and get that slightly squishy feeling that comes along with being sort of famous. “Right, sorry, it's hard for me to wrap my head around people knowing who I am everywhere I go.”

  “Occupational hazard, I guess,” she says with a grin.

  “And what are the hazards of your occupation?” I ask. Oooh, that was pretty smooth, if I do say so myself.

  She stares at me for a second, then says, “It's a bit difficult to put a finger on it, but I suppose you could say I'm in public relations.”

  “I'll try not to hate you for it,” I say with a wink.

  “I'm assuming there's some sort of delicious backstory to that comment. Perhaps something that requires eight glasses of champagne to forget.”

  “Something like that.” I watch, thoroughly engrossed as she takes a dainty sip. “Not that I'd ever complain, because believe me, I know how lucky I am to be doing the work I do, but there are aspects of it I could do without.”

  She nods, a look of understanding crossing her face that makes me want to continue the conversation. I stare at her for a moment and can’t help but feel like she’s somehow familiar. “Have we met before?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You’d remember me,” she says with a little smile.

  “Ha! Good one,” I say, having a swig of my drink. “Did you enjoy the wedding?”

  “It was quite lovely.”

  “Whose side are you on? The bride or the groom?”

  “The groom,” she says. “He's a friend of my older brother.”

  “Your brother must be quite the person. Pierce is very selective with who he allows in his inner circle.”

  “Yes, you could say that.” She glances around, then looks back at me. “What about you? Are you a fan of weddings in general?”

  “For other people. You?”

  “Agreed. Marriage is definitely not for me.”

  “So, it's a life of public relations for you, is it?”

  “It's what I was born to do.”

  “Well, I hope whoever you work for, they’re good to you—not all stuffy like this lot. All the wannabe royals thinking they're so very important when the truth is nobody outside this ballroom knows who they are, and if they did, they wouldn't care.”

  “Or worse, the actual royals,” she says with a knowing look.

  “God, yes. What a useless existence that would be. I mean, they're not even in charge of anything real anymore. It's just a whole life of pomp and ceremony.”

  “Pathetic, right?” she answers, rolling her eyes.

  “I actually heard someone earlier saying they feel sorry for them.”

  “Absurd.”

  “Yeah, honestly. They went on and on about how hard it would be to live in the spotlight your entire life.” I take a sip of my drink. “As someone with a bit of fame, I can tell you, there’s very little to complain about.”

  “Well, of course there wouldn’t be anything to whine about. Not with all the perks and privileges.”

  “Exactly. If they want to do something hard, they should get dropped off in Siberia in the dea
d of winter and try to survive for a week without their chefs and maids and heated toilet seats.”

  “Ha!” she says. God, I like her. She gets me. I wonder if she’d be up for a shag? “They’d be calling for a helicopter in under an hour, I can guarantee it.”

  “Probably even less,” she agrees, giving me a conspiratorial look.

  I glance down at her full lips, then lower my voice. “Say, you wouldn't want to get out of here, would you? Somewhere not quite so stuffy.”

  She leans in close enough that I can smell her perfume. I have no idea what it is, but it smells like money. She must do really well for herself in the public relations biz. “Somewhere that I could let my hair down and we could get to know each other better.”

  This is actually going to happen, isn’t it? I nod. “Exactly.”

  She opens her mouth, but before she can answer, an older man in a grey suit taps her on the shoulder. “Princess Arabella, delightful to see you again. My wife and I would love to talk to you about a foundation we’re starting for homeless birds.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Shock vibrates through me as my words about her family echo through my brain. Pomp and ceremony. Not in charge of anything real anymore. I am so not getting lucky tonight. I give her a sheepish look, wishing I could think of a clever way to make it all better, but I’ve got nothing. Just embarrassment and regret. “So … you’re … I did not … I am so …”

  “I am, I know you didn’t, and I’m sure you are,” Princess Arabella says with an amused smile. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Banks.” She holds up her glass to me. “But I’m afraid it’s time to get back to my useless existence.”

  7

  Maybe Being a Princess Isn’t the Worst Thing in the World …

  Arabella

  “Good night, Gran.” I kiss her on the cheek. It's late in the evening and we’re standing at the door to her apartment. “Have a good rest.”