by Ember Casey
Royal Disaster #6
Renna Peak
Ember Casey
Casey Peak Publishing, LLC
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations or incidents are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Ember Casey and Renna Peak
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Edition: March, 2018
Contents
Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team
1. Pax
2. Sophia
3. Pax
4. Sophia
5. Pax
6. Sophia
7. Pax
8. Sophia
9. Pax
10. Sophia
11. Pax
12. Sophia
13. Pax
14. Sophia
15. Pax
16. Sophia
17. Pax
18. Sophia
19. Pax
20. Sophia
21. Pax
22. Sophia
23. Pax
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Pax
Ah, Montovia. Land of beautiful mountains and picturesque green valleys. A country right out of a storybook—or one of those amazing, cheesy theme park rides. A place full of royals who hate me.
Okay, that’s not entirely true. Sophia loves me, of course. And at least two of her brothers—Leo and William—seem to mostly be on my side. I might even have the queen’s approval, but that’s a touchy area, considering the last time I saw her I gave her husband a heart attack.
So yeah, a little out of my element here.
It’s been over two months since the last time I set foot in this country. The weather’s warmer now, but there’s still a crisp wind. Of course, the locals don’t seem to notice the chill. One glance at the people outside the airport and you’d think it was a hundred degrees here—everyone’s in short sleeves, and I even spot a couple of people fanning themselves. Meanwhile I’m trying to figure out how much trouble it will be to dig through my bag for my jacket.
Sophia grabs my arm.
“Over there,” she says, nodding toward a dark car along the curb. The driver is already heading our way, and when he reaches us, he grabs our bags before I can even protest.
But I should know the routine by now. I thought I was “royalty” back in the U.S., but even rock stars carry their own luggage most of the time. I’m playing on a different field now.
Or am I? If Sophia accepts her father’s deal—which she’s halfway done already, just by coming here—then I’m not real royalty at all. I get no titles, no political standing. I think I’m okay with that, but I know Sophia isn’t.
Does she really want me yielding any sort of political power? I chuckle to myself. I can see the headlines now—‘American Rock God Singlehandedly Destroys Centuries-old Montovian Monarchy.’
Yeah, they really don’t want to be giving me any power. I consider myself a decent guy, but even I know that my impulse control is…low.
Once we’re safely in the car, the chauffeur begins the drive through the city. The last time I was here, I was honestly too nervous about meeting Sophia’s parents to pay much attention to my surroundings. This time, I peer out the windows, studying the quaint and colorful buildings. It’s really hard to believe that people live like this in real life. The buildings have trim of every color—red, purple, bright blue, green—and there are decorative designs cut around many of the doorways and window shutters. We pass through several large squares with fountains in the middle, down winding roads with full gardens in the median, and past elaborate gazebos overgrown with flowering vines.
We also pass a number of cozy-looking taverns, which I’m definitely going to check out later. And several restaurants that send amazing smells through the open window. It would take months to explore all the cool little places in this city—which is good, because I have no idea how long we’re going to be here.
I reach over and take Sophia’s hand. She’s lost in thought, staring out the window on the other side but obviously not actually seeing anything. When I squeeze her fingers, she looks over at me with a faint smile.
“Did you miss it?” I ask her, gesturing to the city out the window.
“I never think I will, but I always do.”
I’m not surprised. And her answer only confirms what I knew since the first time her father laid his “compromise” at her feet—that Sophia would never be happy if she had to give all of this up.
Which is why I have to make sure she and her father come to an agreement, I think. I’d force myself to walk away from her before I ever let her walk away from her family.
I look out the window again, thinking of what her brother William said to me back at the hospital. He was the one who convinced Sophia to come back here—I’d like to think I helped a little, but I know better—after all, he had a private chat with me, too. He made it clear that it’s up to me to convince the king that I’m worthy of his daughter. It’s up to me to win him over.
It still makes me laugh. Has William even met me? Obviously, if he’d been around to see me with Nicholas, or with Andrew, he’d know this is an uphill battle. I can’t help it—when people start getting all snooty and acting like they’re better than me, I can’t control myself. I dish it right back at them. Just because these people were born into a royal family doesn’t mean they have the right to be assholes. And I’m not obligated to let them order me around. Honestly, the whole lot of ‘em would be much more likable—and probably a lot damn happier—if they just lightened the fuck up a little.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I have to laugh at myself. I’ve been in this country for less than an hour and I’m already getting worked up. I can only imagine what it’ll be like living with these people over the next days or weeks or months—always having to bite my tongue, to let myself be insulted and then bow and scrape and pretend like it’s such an honor just to be in their presence. Ah, fuck me, this is going to be rough.
But it’s going to be worth it, I think, looking at Sophia again. Just remember that you’re doing this for her.
And I, for one, am still perfectly willing to accept her father’s offer as is—let’s be real, I’m never going to fit in with her family. Seriously, God help me if I ever start acting like any of her brothers. All that hoity-toity bullshit would drive me fucking insane. Yeah, I get that they’re rich and powerful and blah, blah, blah…but I’m rich, too, and I guarantee I have a lot more fun than they do.
The car is climbing up the hill to the palace, now. I’ll admit—it’s still a pretty damn impressive place to live, but who the fuck needs that much house? Half the time my apartment feels too big for me. What does anyone need three thousand rooms for?
Yeah, I’d make a pretty damn awful prince. I can’t even get myself excited about living in a castle.
But beside me, Sophia’s face has lit up. I don’t even think she realizes it, but there’s a glow about her again—a light t
hat’s been missing since I woke up in that hospital bed. Her cheeks are rosy, her eyes bright as she stares up at the towers above us, the flags flapping noisily in the wind.
Fuck, I love her so much. If living in this place makes her look like that all the time, then I’ll suck it up and live here, too. As long as they let me set up a rock studio in one of the twenty-seven hundred extra rooms, of course.
When we reach the front of the palace, her brother William is waiting for us. Definitely better than Andrew, who was our welcome party last time we visited. Still, I slide my arm protectively around her waist as we leave the car and walk toward him. I don’t completely trust anyone in her family, not after everything we’ve been through.
William has only smiles for us.
“How was your flight?” he asks his sister.
“Great,” she says, slipping out of my grip to give him a hug. I try not to get prickly about it.
William turns to me next. “And how are you feeling? Glad to see you’re fully clothed this time.”
“You and me both.” Without even thinking about it, I roll my shoulders, and a dull ache throbs through my chest. It’s so faint these days that half the time I think I’m imagining it, but the scar I see every time I take of my shirt is plenty of a reminder of what I’ve been through. “I’m doing great, Willy boy.”
William chuckles and tries to turn it into a clearing of his throat.
“I see your sense of humor is still intact, but may I suggest toning down the nicknames while you’re here?” he says. “I don’t mind, but a couple of my brothers…”
“A couple of your brothers could learn to lighten up a little,” I say. “Life’s too short to get worked up about stupid little things like that.” Now that I’ve miraculously come back from death, I consider myself an authority on life advice.
William shakes his head, still trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. “Just a suggestion,” he says, leading us up the front steps. “Trust me, it will make all of this a lot easier—if not for you, then for Sophia.”
He’s a sharp one, this Willy. He knows how to get me where it actually matters—Sophia.
“I’ll try,” I say, though my tone makes it clear what I think of that idea.
Neither Willy nor Sophia responds, and when I glance their way, I catch them exchanging a look.
What the hell is that about?
“Is Father waiting for us?” Sophia asks as we head through the huge, curved door.
“He’s actually in a meeting with the Senate right now,” William says. “And Mother was detained at the school—they want to expand the campus, and she’s helping draw up an agreement to allow them around some of our normal building regulations. But she wanted me to let you know that she expects to see both of you at dinner.”
“Of course,” Sophia says.
“Your suite has been prepared for you, of course,” William says, “and the kitchen knew you’d be arriving around now. If you’re hungry, I can have them send something up.”
“Sounds perfect,” Sophia says.
“I agree,” I chime in. My stomach is rumbling.
“Good.” We’ve reached the end of a long hallway, and William stops, turning to Sophia. “I took the liberty of putting together a list of…professionals for you. Most are already on retainer. All you have to do is say the word and they can be here within the hour.” He passes a folded sheet of paper to her. “I’d suggest starting with Monsieur Bonnaire. He needs it. Maybe even before dinner, if you can manage it.”
I frown at them. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Sophia glances at me, then quickly looks away again. Willy, on the other hand, doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed. If anything, he looks even more amused than before.
“What?!” I demand when neither of them answers me.
Sophia turns back to me, and this time her expression is sweet. Almost too sweet.
“Do you love me, Pax?” she says.
“What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”
She looks up at me through her lashes in a way that makes me instantly hard. And also even more suspicious.
“You’d do anything to make me happy, wouldn’t you, Pax?” she says, her eyes now wide and pleading, her lips pursed in a way that makes my blood pump even harder.
Warning bells are going off in my head. But what can I do?
“Of course I would,” I tell her. “But—”
“William and I just thought we’d help you a little,” she says. “If you want to get through to my father, then it would help you to have a little polish.”
“Polish?” I choke out the word. I don’t like where this is going.
“Just a little,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Who the hell is this ‘Monsieur Bonnaire’?” I demand.
This time, it’s William who answers. “He’s the foremost expert on etiquette and manners in Montovia. In fact, he gave lessons to all of us growing up.”
“Etiquette?” I spit out. “What am I, some twelve-year-old girl doing her first cotillion? No way. My mom made my sisters do that shit, and—”
“And clearly she should have made you do it, too,” William says, grinning. “Trust me, it’s not nearly as bad as it sounds.”
“Oh, you have no idea how bad it sounds,” I say. I glance back at Sophia, ready to argue my way out of this ridiculous shit, but she’s still looking up at me with wide, pleading eyes.
Fuck, why does she have to look at me like that? I can’t deny her anything when she looks at me like that.
“Please?” she says, running a hand down my chest. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
I sigh. How can I refuse an offer like that? Who cares if I lose a little manliness and dignity along the way?
“Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll take some stupid manners class if it’ll make you happy.” It’s just one class. I can live with that—especially if there’s a reward at the end. And I plan on taking full advantage of her generosity.
“It would make me happy,” she says, standing up on her toes and kissing me. “Thank you.”
It’s not until we’re halfway to her room that I remember William passed her a whole list of names. My stomach sinks. This isn’t just going to be one class, is it? I’m too afraid to ask.
What the hell have I just gotten myself into?
Sophia
We’ve barely enough time to freshen up before Pax’s first lesson with Monsieur Bonnaire.
Pax is grumbling to himself beside me as we walk through the halls.
“It won’t be that bad.” I look over at him with a smile. “Monsieur Bonnaire is quite good at his job. And very patient. In fact, he’ll probably achieve sainthood at some point after what my brothers put him through.”
Pax merely lifts a brow in my direction.
“He’ll go over the basics with you today. Which forks are used for what—”
“I think I know the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork, Sophia.” There isn’t the slightest bit of amusement in his voice. “This is a little insulting, you know. It isn’t as though I’m some Neanderthal—”
“And no one said you were. You’re perfect the way you are.” I give him my sweetest smile. “This is about refinement. And you said you wanted to please my father, right? Believe me, if anyone appreciates refinement, it would be him.”
He grumbles something to himself again, shaking his head.
“And as far as forks go, dinner tonight is only semi-formal, as all of our family dinners are. But depending on what’s served, there will be a minimum of five forks on the table and at least three spoons. If you start from the outside and work your way in, you’ll be fine.”
“Great.” He looks over at me, his gaze slightly narrowed. “Then what’s the point of going to this stupid etiquette lesson?”
“It’s not about the forks, Pax.” I let out a sigh. Why doesn’t he understand? “Like I said, it’s about
refinement—”
“I can be plenty refined when I want to be.”
“Then you won’t have a problem with this lesson at all.” I can’t help but grin. Monsieur Bonnaire might be the most patient man in the world, but there’s no way he’ll put up with Pax’s definition of refined.
I suppose I shouldn’t be so amused. Pax is also putting up with a lot, especially since he’s still recovering from his ordeal. He thinks I don’t notice, but I see the way he winces when he moves just so. It’s been two months since he was shot, but he’s still suffering.
I stop just outside the dining room, turning to him. “I want you to know how much I love you for doing this for me. For coming here, doing all of this—”
He interrupts by pulling me into his arms. “I know. And I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love you, Sophia. I’ll do whatever it takes. I just want to see you happy.”
I can’t help but grin. “Nothing makes me happier than being here with you.”
“Mm.” He nuzzles against my neck. “I’ll let you prove that to me later.”
A man clears his throat beside us, and Pax releases me from his embrace.
My husband straightens at the sight of the other man. Monsieur Bonnaire is quite imposing, several inches taller than Pax with much broader shoulders. The fact that he’s wearing a full tuxedo with tails makes him all the more intimidating.
Pax frowns at him. “No one told me this was a formal affair.”
Monsieur Bonnaire looks him up and down. “This won’t do.” He makes a sweeping motion toward the doorway of the dining room. “Come. I took the liberty of bringing some formal dining jackets. We’ll find one that fits you before we sit.”
