“Really? That surprises me. A world-famous television star like yourself living in staff quarters?”
Shrugging, I say, “I’m not famous. I’m also not there much, and I’ve never seen the point of having a bunch of stuff. It just ties you down.” I glance over at her for a second, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason. “That probably sounds strange to you.”
“No, I agree with your philosophy actually,” she answers, nodding slowly. “My ancestors have all obsessively guarded their ‘things,’ if only for the sole purpose of passing them down for the next generation to protect. Eight-hundred-year-old tapestries, thousand-year-old paintings, an enormous vault filled with jewels that require round-the-clock armed guards. There are days when I honestly can’t see the point of any of it.”
I say nothing, knowing she just needs someone to listen.
“We’re just doing what’s always been done, for no other reason than because it’s what we do.” She gives me a smile, but beneath it, I can see she’s kind of sad. She turns and looks out at the water. “Sometimes when I’m holding my niece, Flora, I want to cry for her future. She’ll be burdened with all of it, whether she wants to be or not.”
“You dodged a bullet being born second.”
“I suppose I did.”
Something in her mood shifts and I want to make her happy again. “What’s your favourite place on earth?”
Arabella tilts her head. “Our family home near Didsbury. It’s a tiny village on the northernmost tip of Avonia,” she says. “Have you been?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, it’s lovely. Very relaxed up there, miles of wide-open spaces, and if you walk long enough, you’ll end up on the cliffs overlooking the North Sea. That’s where we spent every Christmas growing up. Summers too. Playing in the fields and swimming in a pond near the castle.” Her face turns slightly red. “I almost managed to share a relatable memory, didn’t I?”
Chuckling, I say, “I could totally relate right up to the word castle.”
“Says the man who grew up in a resort.”
I laugh and nod my head. “Touché. I guess we’ve both had unusual lives.”
“Indeed, we have,” she says, then she lets out a long sigh. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you agree to do the show? I mean, when you found out Dylan was changing the entire format and forcing me on you?” Arabella asks.
“Money,” I say, hating like hell to admit that to someone like her.
“But surely you could have found another network? You’re talented and you have a huge following.”
Shaking my head, I say, “Not big enough. The ratings for season two weren’t all that stellar, to be honest. And if I turned this down, I don’t think I would have gotten picked up by anyone—not quickly enough, anyway.” I rub my tongue over my teeth, and for some dumb reason, keep talking. “I’m trying to buy back our family’s yacht for my brother. He had to sell it to save our resort, and since then, I’ve been trying to raise enough cash to surprise him with it. A few weeks ago, someone else made an offer on it, so it’s now or never.”
“She must be a very special boat for you to be willing to come out here with me.”
I nod. “Waltzing Matilda—a ninety-foot schooner. Our Uncle Oscar bought it when he was a young man and sailed it all the way from Australia to the Benavente Islands. Our family’s best times were on that yacht and I know Harrison would give anything to have her back.”
“To carry on the tradition with his own family?”
“Yup,” I turn to her. “I owe him everything and that’s the only thing I can think of to pay him back.”
“That’s beautiful,” Arabella says.
I shrug. “Not really. It’s just a boat.”
“No, it’s not. It’s a beautiful gesture that will mean a lot to your family,” she says. “Which makes me all the more terrified of messing this up for you.”
“You won’t,” I answer.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you’re tough and you’re smart and you also have a lot to lose if we can’t make it out of here in time.”
Arabella smiles, her back straightening a little at my words. “Thank you, Will. I promise to do my best to help you get Matilda back.”
“I know you will.”
Uh-oh, we’re staring into each other’s eyes again. That is no bueno. “Okay, truth or dare time,” I say, desperate to bring things back to casual acquaintance territory.
Arabella grins and shakes her head. “That sounds like a terrible idea, especially with a man whose middle name is Dare.”
“It’s Danger, actually, but I promise to go easy on you.”
“Oh no, don’t do that,” she says with a grin. “I’m up first. I choose truth, if only because it seems like the slightly wiser of the two options.”
“Okay.” I tap my lips for a second, thinking of the perfect question. “What is the worst part about being royal?”
She leans toward me and whispers, “Can we shut off the cameras for this conversation?”
I nod, then do as she asked.
“Thank you,” she says. “Now I can speak freely, which is something I normally can never do.”
“So, is that the worst bit? Lack of freedom?” I ask, taking the lid off my water bottle.
Arabella nods. “Definitely.”
“Huh. I would've thought it was the constant media attention and all the public criticism.”
“That bit sucks a big bag of dicks as well,” she says, causing me to spit out my water.
I burst out laughing, and she joins in with a satisfied smile. When we’re done, I let my smile fade. “But bags of dicks aside, tell me more about this lack of freedom.”
“Well,” she says with a sigh. “First, I’d like to preface this with my knowledge of how very irritating it would be for most people to listen to someone in a position of considerable privilege complain about how awful their life is. I do understand how lucky I am that I never have to worry where my next meal is coming from or if I can pay the power bill this month. Those are real problems compared to mine.”
“But?”
“But my … particular situation … has in fact lent itself to a more restricted existence than other royals.”
I stare down at her for a second, trying not to think about kissing her. “How so?”
Arabella narrows her eyes, giving me an intense look. “What I’m about to tell you is extremely private, so I must ask you never to share it with anyone.”
“Never. Not even if I were tortured.”
“Excellent,” she says with a grin that quickly fades. “The truth is, as long as I can remember, people have always said how much I resemble my mother—not only in how I look, but how I speak and move. Everything. I know they mean it as a comfort to me, but it has the opposite effect. As far as I can gather, my mother was … not well, and the royal life proved too difficult for her.” Arabella turns her gaze to the shore, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet. “She couldn’t handle it, and it took its toll on her, mentally and physically. Eventually, it was her undoing.”
I stare at her for a moment, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words. “But your mum passed on, didn’t she?”
She nods. “When I was two months old. Who does that when they have a new baby who needs them?”
My heart squeezes, and instinctively, I reach for her, folding my hand around hers. “I'm so sorry, Arabella. I don't even know what to say.”
“It's fine, really,” she says, shaking her head quickly. “It's not like I knew her or anything.”
“But the fact that you never got a chance to know her, I'm sorry for that.”
“Thank you. I used to spend hours at a time secretly watching any footage of her that I could find, trying to imitate the way she walked, or how she spoke. I didn't know then how she died. The official line is that she had sudden heart failure, which is what I believ
ed for most of my childhood.”
Well, my idea of steering the conversation into safer waters has failed miserably. We’re about to go over a waterfall, aren’t we? “When did you find out?”
“When I was twelve. It was the anniversary of her death, and I wanted to do something special for her to mark the occasion—a family dinner in the solarium, which was her favourite place at the palace. Arthur was almost grown by then, but still had that surly teenager in him. When I asked him if he would come, he said ‘never,’ and told me there was nothing to celebrate. I got angry and pushed the issue until he finally cracked.”
A heavy feeling fills me and it’s all I can do not to pull her into my arms and hold her until I can take all her pain away. “God, what a burden for a twelve-year-old.”
She nods slowly, seeming to be lost in the memory for a moment before she clears her throat and snaps back into being a very formal princess. “I'm sure she didn't realize what legacy she was leaving for me. A lifetime of being surrounded by people who treat me as if I’m the world’s most delicate vase. When you grow up that way, you start to believe it yourself.”
“So, that's why you're out here,” I whisper, rubbing my thumb over the back of her hand.
She nods again.
“To prove to everyone you know that you are a strong person.”
Arabella looks up at me and shakes her head. “That's why I thought I came, but the longer I'm out here, the more I realize I needed to prove it to myself.”
I suddenly remember I'm still holding her hand, and I start to loosen my grip, only to have her flip her palm up and lace her fingers through mine. It's seemingly nothing, and yet it does something to me I can't comprehend. I'm overwhelmed by her—by who she is and what she’s been through—and I'm completely unable to do anything about it.
She smiles at me. “Your turn. Truth or dare.”
“Dare.” I say, grinning back at her.
“I dare you to tell me the truth about one thing.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You're a bit of a cheater.”
“I take offense to that. I've never cheated at anything in my life.”
“I find that hard to believe coming from Princess Pickpocket.”
Her eyes light up for a second, then she narrows them. “Don't distract me. I'm going to get the truth out of you.”
“Okay. What's your question?”
“What's your greatest fear?”
“Nothing.”
Pursing her lips, Arabella says, “It can't be nothing. You must be afraid of something.”
“No, seriously, I've been all over the globe and faced death numerous times and so far, nothing has scared me to the point where I wouldn’t do it again.”
“Okay, let me rephrase the question because clearly you're not capable of allowing yourself to be vulnerable enough to answer it honestly—which could be a clue as to what your true greatest fear is, by the way. But I’ll set that aside for the moment and ask what your version of hell would be.”
“I suppose my version of hell would be the famous one—you know, Satan and fire and brimstone and all that.”
“You’re impossible,” she says with an exasperated sigh. “Fine then, what type of life would kill you?”
“Yours,” I say without thinking about it.
She looks shocked and pulls her hand away, immediately filling me with regret. “Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant wearing a suit all day and having other people plan every hour of your life for you.” I give her a sheepish look. “I'm not making it better, am I?”
She chuckles a little, letting me off the hook. “Not really, but that's okay. You can't play the game unless you're willing to hear the answers.”
“I'm sure there are many amazing things about your life that I couldn't even comprehend,” I say, desperate to fix what I’ve done. “It must have a lot of perks—otherwise there wouldn’t be so many people wishing they were royals.”
She tilts her head. “It did get me to the front of the line to be your co-host.”
“Well, in that case, you really are privileged.” I steer the raft a little to the left to avoid a large rock. “Okay, your turn, if you still want to play, that is.”
“I do. I'll go truth again because I have a terrible feeling choosing dare would lead to me balancing in the middle of the river on top of a bamboo pole.”
“Oh, I’d think of something much worse than that,” I say. “All right, this is an easy one. What have you always wanted to do, but never have?”
She stares into my eyes, her cheeks turning pink. “It's silly, but the first thing that popped into my mind …” She shakes her head. “Nope. I can't.”
I laugh. “You have to, or you’ll have to do the dare, which would involve beetle larvae.”
She points to something on my side of the raft. “Oh, look, some river otters.”
I glance over to see sleek, black otters swimming next to us.
“We should really film them.”
I laugh, turning back to her. “Nice try. I think we got enough river otter footage yesterday. Now, answer the question or eat the larva?”
“Fine. Skinny dipping.”
“Really?” I ask with a wide grin spreading across my face.
“Any and all outdoor naked activities are most strictly forbidden for members of the royal family. There is never a moment where you're safe from the paparazzi.”
“Well, you're definitely safe out here …”
“Oh, marvelous. I'll just strip down right now and go for a dip with the crocodiles.”
“Not here on this river, but somewhere out here in the jungle, I’m sure we’ll find a picturesque lagoon where you can live out your greatest fantasy.”
Rolling her eyes, she slaps me on the chest with the back of her hand. “I never said it was my greatest fantasy. I only said it's something I've never tried that I would like to. But obviously, not with you.”
“Obviously not.” I make a ppfffttt sound to let her know I think she’s full of it.
“Maybe if I were here with Bear Grylls.” She starts out looking very serious, then busts out laughing at my shocked face. “I couldn't help it. It's just so obvious how much you can't stand him.”
“That’s not true. I don't even know him. I just can't understand why he feels the need to drink his own urine unnecessarily,” I say with a casual shrug.
“You're jealous!” she says, laughing.
“Am not. Anyone could have their own line of outdoor gear.”
Nodding, she says, “Absolutely. And yet, here we are carrying around Bear Grylls backpacks that you can’t seem to stop complaining about.”
I scowl a little, then say, “Do you know who I really would've liked as a princess co-host? Who's that one from England? Kate? Oh yeah, her.”
Arabella's eyes grow wide and she reaches over with both hands and starts to tickle me aggressively.
I bust out laughing and grab her hands, tugging her on top of me. “What's the matter, Your Highness? You can dish it out, but you can't take it?”
“Bastard,” she says with a grin. Her body is pressed against mine and our mouths are a mere two inches apart right now. I so badly want to close the gap and taste her lips, but my brain is screaming at me to back up and abort the mission. I don’t move. Instead, I stay as near to her as I can, hoping she doesn’t pull away.
Her eyes flick down to my lips and then back up. “What have you always wanted to do but never have?” she asks me in a breathy tone.
“You have no idea how tempted I am to say have sex on a moving raft.”
“Why don't you say it then?” she asks, giving me a sexy look. “I dare you.”
My pulse quickens as I stare at her. Do not say it. For God's sake, Will, do not say it. You cannot have sex with this woman. Not ever. She is not for you. “I can’t,” I say with a grin. “I haven't shaved my legs.”
She smiles back, but disappointment fills her eyes. Every muscle in my body gro
ws furious with my stupid mouth and I know I will regret not seizing this moment for the rest of my life. She rolls off of me and lays back down, closing her eyes. “It's just as well. I doubt it would have been very good.”
“Because of the lack of a mattress?”
“Sure. You tell yourself that if you need to protect your fragile male ego.”
19
“Rain” in Your Feelings, You Silly Twat
Arabella
Well, I figured out why this is called a rain forest. It's because when it decides to rain out here, it doesn't bloody well stop. Ever. Yesterday afternoon, shortly after our almost-sex on the raft—which would have been a terrible idea, by the way, so thank goodness Will came to his senses. Not because sex with Will and/or sex on the raft wouldn't have been good. It likely would’ve been quite pleasurable considering the firmness of the … Never mind. Anyway, immediately following that moment, a loud clap of thunder got both of our attentions.
We got the hell off that river as fast as possible and quickly set up camp, using the raft as a shelter. Will managed to gather more banana leaves to make a floor, and the raft is now one side of a lean-to being held up by bamboo posts. It's large enough that we have an area for a small fire pit, as well as the tent set up along one side.
The rain is pouring down so hard, it’s more like a steady stream than drops, and it's the only sound we've heard for quite some time. The chorus of birds and all the howler monkeys have gone silent, having hidden away from the storm. It's late afternoon and we’re both hungry, so Will is out gathering food and more material to start a fire. Apparently, you can find dry bits of wood in hollowed-out tree trunks.
To be honest, it's a welcome break from being so near to him. I need to try to get my head on straight. As foolish as this is, I'm almost certain I'm falling for him. He's just so manly and delicious and thoughtful and brave. And he has such a kind heart and such a gloriously hard body and a gorgeous face, even though it’s now partially hidden by several days’ worth of beard. I've never really been into beards like some other women are, but on him … yes, please.
Royally Crushed: A Crazy Royal Love, Book 1 Page 14
