Royal Catch, page 5
“How nice to see you all,” the queen says. “I trust you’ve had some time to refresh after today’s outing?”
The women murmur politely. I’m dying to ask what the next challenge is because I was close to winning, and that means there’s still a chance to help out poor Polly, but the servants begin serving the first course, so I keep quiet.
The food, mostly seafood, is excellent. Better than I’ve ever had, fresh caught from the sea. The conversation is subdued. By the time I finish my third glass of wine, I’m feeling pretty, pretty relaxed. I stifle a yawn. Who knew all this royal luxury could put me to sleep? Growing up, sometimes hungry after a meager meal—there never seemed to be enough food to go around at some of the foster homes—I imagined living in a royal palace would be heaven. I suppose I’ve been on my own for so long that being served and sitting passively instead of doing for myself is boring. My royal fantasy is dead, never to be resuscitated again. Le sigh.
I catch Gabriel’s eye. Something about his rigid demeanor makes me want to make him laugh, tickle him or surprise it out of him. His laugh would probably sound rusty like he hadn’t laughed in a decade or more. I’m pretty sure his teeth are ground to nubs from all the jaw clenching he does. I wink at him just to see what happens.
His lips twitch, and my stomach flutters in anticipation of his smile. The queen says something to him and he turns away. I’m ridiculously disappointed.
The queen stands, and we all rush to stand too. She gestures for us to take a seat again. “I have an announcement. Marguerite has chosen the next competition, and it will be a treasure hunt on the island. The clues are related to nature, and you’ll need to do some out-of-the-box thinking to figure it out.” She smiles unexpectedly. “Isn’t this fun?”
The women murmur agreement.
Fun? More like insanity for your entertainment. She’s probably watching us compete, like her own reality TV show from her secret royal lair.
The queen goes on in a dramatic tone, clearly enjoying herself. “I promised you riches beyond your dreams, and now I will explain. Crown Prince Gabriel is the real prize. Snag this royal catch and you will inherit the wealth of our kingdom. Provided, of course, you are the most qualified to be his bride after many more fun and challenging tasks.”
My stomach drops. WTF. The riches beyond our dreams are tied to a marriage? Everything in me screams no!
No to giving up my life back home.
No to the rigid stick-in-the-mud.
No to a miserable soulless existence filled with duties and no fun at all. Thank God my royal fantasy was shattered earlier or I might be taken in.
All eyes turn toward Gabriel. His jaw is granite. His expression is brooding and maybe a little resigned.
The queen takes her leave, and everyone stands, murmuring polite goodbyes.
The moment she leaves the room, the women nearly knock over their chairs in their hurry to approach Gabriel. He towers above them, proud and regal. Even so, his expression is hunted. The women are all over him, a cacophony of high-pitched excitement. Gold diggers.
I loosen my clenched fists, surprised at the stab of jealousy. It’s not like I want to marry him. He’s rigid and haughty, part of a world that I could never fit into. Would the real Polly want to marry him? I’m not so sure. She’s similar to me—bold and free-spirited—and Gabriel is so not. He’s all buttoned into his rigid role, and I suspect he enjoys it in some tense weird way. On the other hand, the sleazy guy Polly’s parents are pressuring her to marry only wants her for her royal connections. He’s an older businessman on Beaumont, and she says he’s promised her parents to have a firm hand with her. That was a red flag to both me and Polly.
Even if I won Gabriel, I’m not Polly—the truth would come out for sure with an engagement—and then Polly and I would both be finished. Maybe I should bail. This looks like a no-win situation.
But then Gabriel shoots me a desperate look from across the room, practically begging me to save him from the princess posse. It almost seems like maybe he needs me. Like he’s just a regular guy trapped in circumstances beyond his control. Just like Polly.
Gah. I can’t be the royal rescuer for everyone. Man up and shake off the prissy women. I need to figure out next steps for Polly.
I turn and head for the door. I swear I can feel Gabriel’s eyes following me.
Chapter Five
Anna
After pacing the palace halls forever, I head outside, hoping the night air will clear my head. I take off my sandals as soon as I reach the palace courtyard, feeling the cool grass between my toes. I turn and take in the palace in the moonlight. It really is like something out of a fairy tale—sandstone with copper roofs, five stories, six stories in the two towers, multiple spires. The courtyard is surrounded on both sides by the two long wings of the palace. I turn and keep walking through the courtyard, heading to the large expanse of manicured gardens. It’s peaceful here, like everything is under control from the box hedges in straight lines to the perfectly shaped trees, to the four long terraces of grassy slopes leading down to the sea.
A whimsical marble fountain lit up with pink and blue lights comes into view. Up close, copper fish spout water at each other in playful arcs. I love it. I take a seat on a long wooden bench across from the fountain under a large arch of pink roses. The steady splash of water, the distant sound of waves, the scent of roses, all of it combined soothes me. I’m at a rare loss. Unsure which way to go, forward or retreat.
I exhale sharply. I can’t believe I was lured to Villroy, or more accurately, Polly was lured here with the promise of a small inheritance only to be told it was “riches beyond our dreams,” and then that the real prize was Gabriel. The desperate hunted look in his eyes when all those princesses rushed him makes me wonder how he feels about being the prize in this competition. Personally, I would hate being treated like a trophy. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t cracked a smile. Maybe he’s miserable, furious, and stuck. I can’t help but see the similarities between him and Polly.
Now that my fairy-tale fantasy of the royal life is permanently tarnished, I see there’s nothing different about these people other than the circumstances of their birth. And I of all people, being an orphan, can’t judge someone based on something like that, so completely out of your control.
I gaze at the fountain for a moment, searching for answers. Go or stay?
I’ll flip a coin. I dig a quarter from my small purse and walk closer to the fountain’s light, close my eyes, and toss it in the air.
“Making a wish?” a deep masculine voice asks.
I jump and let out an embarrassing squeak. Speak of the devil. “What’re you doing here?”
Gabriel lifts a brow and crosses his arms. “I live here.” He’s still in his dark blue suit, and the blazer pulls tight across his muscular shoulders and biceps. It’s embarrassing how much I want to see him shirtless. Virgin princesses don’t go there. Yup, Polly is a virgin. It’s mandatory for a princess to be a virgin upon marriage in her old-school kingdom. She abided by the rule not only because she was always accompanied by a chaperone and had romantic visions of her future groom, it’s something the royal doctor checks prior to the ceremony. Blech.
I meet his eyes. “Do you always take walks at night?”
“Do you?”
“I have a lot on my mind. A hard decision to make.”
“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
I stare at him, surprised at his offer. “Thanks, but I have to figure it out myself.”
He inclines his head. “If you could make a wish, what would it be?”
I instantly think of Mike, my foster dad, and blurt, “I’d find a cure for cancer.”
His eyes are sympathetic, and he steps closer, dropping his arms by his sides. “Is it someone close to you?”
I nod. “My dad.” Mike is the closest thing I ever had to a dad. He was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer a year before his retirement. So unfair. “He’s too young to die.”
He nods gravely. “It is unfair. Unfortunately, I’m dealing with similar…” He clenches his jaw and looks off in the distance toward the sea.
“You can tell me. I won’t tell a soul.”
He glances at me. “I can’t share with outsiders.”
He takes a seat on the bench, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed. In that moment, he’s not a prince, he’s a man carrying a heavy burden and a pain I know in my own heart, the grief of impending loss. The helplessness of it all, watching someone you love suffer.
I join him on the bench. “Cancer sucks.”
“It does.” He straightens and stares straight ahead, his voice hoarse. “He’s only fifty-four.”
Pain seems to radiate from him, and I scoot closer, leaning against his side in a gesture of comfort. He doesn’t pull away. We just sit there, pressed arm to arm, thigh to thigh, warmth building between us in the cool night air.
“Is it your dad too?” I’m guessing based on the age.
He nods once.
I don’t press for the details. Royal rules probably restrict him from saying as much as he has, which is really unfair because who’s he supposed to unload on? He has to be stoic, above it all, but it’s a deep kind of pain when you’re faced with losing someone you love. Now I know why the king hasn’t made an appearance during this competition, while the queen has been very present. The odd nature of this competition must be because it’s urgent for Gabriel to marry, to carry on the line. He will be king soon.
I’m sitting by a fountain in the moonlight, pressed against a future king, and all I want to do is hug him. He feels warm and approachable and so much man. Not perfect, not rigid, not even royal. He’s vulnerable and hurting.
So I do. I turn, wrap my arms around him in a sideways hug, and squeeze. He doesn’t hug me back, but he can’t, really, because I’ve got his arms pinned to his sides.
I let him go and look up at him.
His lips curve into a small smile. “What was that for?”
I lift one shoulder. “Guess I thought you might need a hug.”
He arches a brow.
“Maybe I did too,” I admit.
He studies me for a moment. “I can’t remember the last time I was hugged. It’s just not done in my family. Royals are untouchable for the most part.”
“Where I come from, we’re more touchy-feely.”
“Tell me about your kingdom.”
I tense. Not just because my knowledge of Polly’s kingdom is limited, but also because I don’t want to lie to him. We’re kind of bonding here. “My home is a wonderful tropical paradise.” At least that’s how Tampa is for me, a place where my dream of owning my own salon will one day come true. “Is it weird to be called the prize in this competition?”
“You don’t think I’m a prize?” His tone is ironic.
“Are you asking if I think you’re hot? Absolutely. Are you asking if I think it’s normal to offer a prince as a prize in a Survivor-lite competition among princesses? No.”
He chuckles, a low rumbly sound that warms my heart. I made him laugh! “This was not my idea.”
“Then why’re you going along with it?”
He lets out a breath and stands. “Duty calls and I must answer. Make that wish, Polly. I hope it comes true.”
He leaves just as quietly as he arrived.
I go back to the fountain, turn my back to it, and make a wish, tossing the coin over my shoulder. It hits with a satisfying splash. My wish is simple yet impossible—winning the competition for a real prize that can save Polly.
I make the long trek down to the beach and walk along the sand in the moonlight, thinking how romantic this might be to walk with a lover. Strange thoughts for me. I’m not much for relationships—too much work, too many heavy expectations. And honestly I don’t have the time. My focus has always been on work, earning money toward my own salon and taking care of Mike for as long as I have him. Gabriel and I share that burden of losing someone to disease.
I sit on the beach and watch the waves for so long I almost feel like I’m in a trance.
I jerk into awareness as it hits me—there’s only one way forward. And I need Gabriel to make it work.
~ ~ ~
Gabriel
After my walk through the gardens, I return to the palace and pace the upper floors, restless and agitated as usual over the future. Finally, I’m tired enough to return to my suite. I dismiss the valet, who’s eager to whisk my suit away to be cleaned, and tell him I’ll hand over the suit in the morning. Right now I just need to be alone. I shrug off my suit jacket and toss it over the back of a leather highback chair in the living room.
This competition is wearing on me already. I did my best to entertain our guests after dinner. We retired to the parlor, where I nursed a brandy, making an effort to keep up my end of the conversation, which wasn’t easy. The remaining seven women practically rendered me catatonic with their inane chatter. I didn’t miss Polly slipping away after dinner either. She didn’t care enough about becoming my wife to spend time with me given the opportunity, which was incredibly rude.
Yet, much later, when I excused myself from the chattering princesses and went for a walk, I found myself drawn to her. There she was, standing in the moonlight by the fountain, a vision of wild curls and sweet curves. She seemed like she belonged there, like she should be part of the fantastical fountain with its cheerful glowing lights and playful fish.
I loosen my tie, irritated with myself for fixating on her. She’s not a good match for me, the queen has already declared her inappropriate, and I can’t say I disagree. Maybe it’s because she’s so different from anyone I’ve ever met, and that makes her inherently more interesting. Maybe it’s because she’s beautiful. Maybe it’s because—
She hugged me.
And I liked it. She actually seemed to care about what was going on with me on a deep level. She’s losing someone too, understands what that’s like—the agony of standing helplessly nearby, unable to do anything. She comforted me, and I welcomed it. I don’t even share that burden with my younger siblings. Most of them—five of the six—have apartments at the palace, but they’re all full-grown with access to the private jet, so they come and go frequently. They know our father is ill, but they don’t know he’s gotten worse. The protective big brother in me has kept them in the dark, letting them enjoy their carefree lives, as my father wanted for them. That’s probably why my parents haven’t called them home yet. My father sees himself in them, being the younger siblings, and has always given them loads of freedom with very few responsibilities.
My mind wanders back to Polly’s arrival at the palace. She said I’m a stick-in-the-mud that never leaves the palace. Both of which are untrue. I travel when I get the urge, usually in disguise. I can’t relax with the press following me, documenting every move. I have a few women I can call for a private hookup. They’ve signed nondisclosures and keep the details to themselves. I’ve been under the harsh glare of public scrutiny my whole life, and after a small indiscretion involving too much drink and my fists (and a not so small one), I’ve stayed out of the spotlight as much as possible.
My time will come soon enough as king. Even the royal duties I perform as the crown prince are kept private, only for the islanders, no press allowed. Cameras and phones are banned. The queen despises the tawdriness of internet sensations and social media. And she doesn’t have to look any further than my younger brother Phillip. He has a huge online following as the royal hottie and has no qualms about being in the spotlight. First with his serious girlfriend as the golden couple and later rutting his way through Europe with the elite. My father always says Phillip is like him before he settled down. Chip off the royal diamond. Ha!
I undo the buttons on my dress shirt cuffs before working down the front, suddenly drained. I’m still young; thirty is my prime, so I shouldn’t feel so worn down. The weight of the kingdom is on my shoulders, yes, but I’ve always known this was my legacy. I am as prepared as a person could be. It would be good to find a partner, someone who could carry the burden with me. Someone who would offer comfort during difficult times.
Like Polly.
I toss my shirt with the jacket, kick off my shoes, and head through my bedroom and into the en suite bathroom for a long steamy shower. A few minutes later, I’m feeling a lot more relaxed, tilting my head back into the spray. An image of Polly flashes through my mind. Her bikini cupping her round perky breasts, smooth tanned skin, toned stomach, curvy hips, long legs, that ass. That perfect round ass meant for a man’s hands. I shake my head, ordering myself not to fixate on her. It’s a losing battle, and now I’m tense again and hard at the same time. I’m debating taking myself in hand when I hear a noise in my bedroom. Has the valet returned to take my suit? I left the trousers on the bathroom counter.
I grind my teeth. I should’ve locked the door. I turn off the shower, grab a towel, wrap it around my waist, snag the trousers, and march to the bathroom door, trying to tamp down my temper. He’s just doing his job. I poke my head out. “Andrew, here’s the…” I trail off, momentarily speechless.
Polly with the wild curls, with the perfect ass, is sitting on my bed, her legs crossed, looking completely at ease. She’s wearing a red satin robe that ends high on her thighs, with cheetah heels. My mouth goes dry. Is she naked under that robe? Is she here for what I hope she’s here for?
“Hello, handsome,” she says cheerfully, swinging one shapely leg. “I was hoping to see those shoulders. Just as magnificent as I imagined. And the water is just glistening—” she wiggles her fingers at me “—running in rivulets down spectacular pecs, six-pack abs, and a glorious happy trail.” Her eyes eat me up. Unbelievably brash. She stares at my rapidly rising cock through the towel. “Yup.” Her voice is hoarse.
I should be pissed that she dared breach the privacy of my rooms, but instead I’m incredibly turned on. Blame it on the shower. Blame it on the bikini. I blame her.
I toss the trousers on the dresser and approach her. “How did you get in here?”
