The Pretend Prince Page 5

  “You wanted to see me?” she asks over the rim of her black reading glasses.

  Nervous, I look down at my feet. Raquel Livingston is very intimidating when you’re up close and personal. “Yes, I did. Pierce told me about the piece you want me to write.”

  “It’s an exposé series, not a piece,” she clarifies, suddenly staring at me with terrifying eyes.

  My breakfast of toast and coffee churns in my stomach. This is more nerve-wracking than seeing Julius. “Yes, that.”

  Glancing down at the documents on her desk, she motions for me to take a seat with the Monte Blanc pen in her hand. “Did Pierce give you the outline I provided him?”

  I sit down in the leopard chair, raising the vanilla folder in my hand. “He did. Thank you for the notes.”

  Whatever she’s reading captures her attention, yet she manages to still engage with me. “The dating thing isn’t a problem, is it?”

  Oh, God. I hope she isn’t going to quiz me on her notes because I’m not prepared. I only know the parts Julius read to me and the parts I skimmed through. “Um, no” I reply “not on my part. I mean I am single. It’s just I’m not sure I’ll be able to capture the Prince’s attention.”

  Pushing her papers aside, she opens a gold box and pulls out a platinum card, tossing it at me. “It won’t be that hard, I promise. Buy a sexy purple gown to wear to the Royal Gala this Friday night, and he’ll notice you.”

  “Purple? I can’t wear purple. That’s the royal color.”

  “That’s exactly why you’ll be wearing it. And while you’re at it, buy another purple dress and hat suitable to wear to the Garden Party next Saturday, just in case you fail at gaining his attention on Friday night.”

  I stare at the plastic card, knowing that if I accept this assignment, I’m giving up my integrity. “I won’t be allowed access to the party. The Monacos allow very few press in, and with the loss of the Press Secretary, there’s no way to get a pass.”

  With a rueful smile on her lips, she holds up a press badge. “Already taken care of. Now, go ahead and take the card. You will need it to purchase enough outfits to attend all the summer functions.”

  “All the summer functions?”

  “Yes, six full weeks of events.”

  “But the Prince probably won’t attend all of the summer events. He lives in London.”

  She leans forward like she has a secret to tell. “Lived. Between you and me, the Queen has asked him to return home and resume his royal duties. The announcement of his return will be made soon.”

  Shocked at this news, I stare at her with my jaw on the ground. “I had no idea.”

  “Yes, well, it’s convenient for sure. Six weeks should be plenty of time for you to gather enough information to write the series I’m asking for. I want the first segment to be published in the September issue, so don’t wait until the end of the summer season to start.”

  “This is a really big assignment, Ms. Livingston. Why me? I’m not only new to the magazine, but to Wimberly.” I ask, hoping she tells me she knows I was the girl Julius picked on The Bachelor, and that’s why. Since she revealed that information to him, I know she knows. If she tells me, at least then I can believe she’s putting the magazine first.

  “Because you are the only staffer not deep in the news of the Vespa Isles Revolution, and you’re the only single female at the moment.”

  Not what I was hoping to hear. “Does the story have to be written from a date’s point of view?”

  “Yes, of course, it does. Otherwise, it’s just a story that has already been written. I want more than that. I want a journalistic masterpiece.”

  “The truth is, I don’t know if I can do this,” I tell her, not sure if I’m playing her or being honest with myself.

  She slides the credentials and the card my way. “Trust me when I tell you, this story will change your life.”

  Trust her?

  Trust her!

  Unfortunately, she isn’t worthy of those two words.

  THE COUNTDOWN BEGINS

  The Present

  I stare at the open boxes surrounding me that I have yet to unpack in my small apartment as I sip a huge glass of white wine.

  “No way.” My older half-sister, Imogen, exclaims loudly, causing the speaker on my phone to crackle. “I can’t believe he agreed to that!”

  With my legs dangling over the arm of my brand new sofa, I kick at the air, pointing my toes as I do. “It wasn’t like he had a choice.”

  “He kind of did.”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay. Okay. So, are you going to sleep with him again?”

  Sitting up, I pull a box closer to use as a table and then take a bite of cheese from the protein pack I picked up on my way home. Wimberly is a beautiful coastal city, and my apartment is only a few blocks from the harbor. It’s located above a soap apothecary, so on most nights, when I open the windows, I can smell the scent of lavender and coconut oil. I breathe it in before answering and then exhale with, “I’m not sure he wants to even if I would.”

  “Oh, he wants to. All men want to. Trust me. They’d fuck a sack of potatoes if it had a vagina.”

  “Gee, thanks, big sis. I can always count on you to make me feel good about myself.”

  Imogen and I share the same hippie father. She lives in a cool loft in the meat-packing district of New York City. She has a boyfriend who she refuses to allow to move in. In some ways, she’s a lot like our father but very different in others. She’s a nurse and works hard, unlike our father, who still travels the music circuit as a roadie at the age of fifty-five. Imogen, like him, though, likes to play hard. Think of her as a younger version of Samantha from Sex and the City. She also looks like her too. Put it this way; if she’s Samantha, I’m Charlotte minus the Connecticut wardrobe. I glance down at my skirt and laugh. Well, maybe not so much minus anymore.

  “I’m not trying to be mean, O, but you did screw him over in an awful way. I’m amazed he even spoke to you.”

  Getting to my feet, I stride over to the tall, open windows and stare at the rugged coastline a few blocks over. Lucky for me, I am less than a thirty-minute walk to the magazine since I don’t have a car. Also, if I ride my bike, I’m there in ten minutes. It’s ideal. “I know,” I sigh. “And I’m going to make it up to him. Atone for my sins.”

  “Atone. Really?”

  “Yes. Atone.”

  “Will he atone for his, too?” I know if I could see her, she’d be waggling her finger at me and pursing her lips in disapproval. She’s of the school of thought—you live and you learn and then you move on.

  Taking that cue, I say, “Moving on. What am I going to do about my job?”

  “You’re pretty screwed on that front, too,” she responds honestly. “Let me get this straight—you told your boss you’d chase after the Prince and then write an exposé on him, but you’re actually going to write a fluff piece, instead? One that tells the world how wonderful he is?”

  “No, one that tells the truth.”

  “Whatever. As soon as your boss reads it, she’s going to fire you. How long did you say she gave you to pursue him?”

  “Six weeks. I guess I shouldn’t even unpack,” I mutter, taking another sip of wine. “And it’s too bad, too. I really do love my new place. I hate to have to give it up, but there’s no way I can afford it if I have to go back to blogging.”

  “You can always come back here to stay with me, finish school, and then get that job you’ve dreamed of.”

  That was a long time ago.

  I’m not sure what I dream anymore, except him.

  “Oh, see you can be sweet. I really appreciate that,” I tell her as I watch a boat sail toward the setting sun. “But, don’t forget, I have my mother to think about.”

  “You can bring her, too, and I can help you take care of her.”

  “I know.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and suck in a shuddering, teary breath. “I just hope it doesn’t come to that
. I really don’t want to have to take my mother out of the memory unit. She’s doing so well.”

  “I wish I could help you with that, O.”

  “I know you do.”

  I wish I could help me, too.

  I really do.

  AT THE PODIUM

  The Present

  I wrap the strand of pearls around Queen Helena’s neck and clasp them for her. Ever since the stroke last month, her right side hasn’t been working well. The physical rehabilitation is helping, but her fine motor skills will probably never return to what they once were. “Are you ready for tonight, Grandmother?”

  “Yes. I. Am.” The words are slow and slightly slurred, but I think she’s doing much better than she was last week.

  That’s a good sign.

  Her health is what matters most.

  “Do you know what you’re going to say to the people?” I ask her.

  She glances at me in the mirror. “I plan to wing it. Now enough of that. Come here,” she tells me.

  I walk around to the front of her and crouch down. “Yes, Grandmother.”

  “You look very nice, but your bow tie is crooked.” She gives the silk a little tug with her left hand. “Tell me something.”

  “What?”

  Her hand moves to my cheek. “Are you ready for this?”

  My body tenses. “I suppose.”

  “Are you happy, Julius?” she asks, as she tilts the purple material a bit more. Purple is the color of Wimberly’s crest and the color of every tie I own. It is the color of royalty. Of our family name.

  I take her hand from my face and gently squeeze it. “I suppose I am.”

  She wraps her free hand around our joined ones and shakes her head. “Suppose isn’t an answer, Julius. You either are, or you aren’t.” This time her words are much clearer.

  Happy. I think the last time I can say I was truly happy was on the set of that stupid American television show with the woman of my dreams beside me. The made-up woman of my dreams, that is. The one who conjured herself up to make me fall in love with her.

  I don’t think I will tell my grandmother that, though. And even as I think about Lia’s, sorry, Ophelia’s betrayal, I wonder if she’ll be here tonight, conjuring up another version of herself to woo me the way her boss has instructed her. As if gaining my attention is just that easy. Like I’m any bloke looking for a piece of hot ass.

  Fuck Raquel and fuck Ophelia, too. I’ve decided I’m not going to play pretend. That, in fact, I’m not going to play at all. They can both go to hell.

  “Well?” Queen Helena prompts. “I was hoping for an answer before next Christmas.”

  She’s funny.

  Really funny.

  Before I can come up with a suitable response that she won’t call me out on, there’s a knock on the door.

  Good. Just what I need.

  “Yes,” she calls out. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.” My father says. “Can I come in?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  He enters. He’s dressed to the nines and wearing gold cuff links marked with the royal crest. I’m wearing a pair just like them, but for some reason, I feel like mine weigh more than his. Then again, aside from his divorce from my mother, he has always been happy following royal tradition. Unlike his own father, he has never really worked. He busies himself riding his horses and attending charity events. He also tours the country and visits local hospitals when my grandmother isn’t able to. “Are you ready to go downstairs, Mother?” he asks. “All the guests and the invited members of the press have arrived.”

  “Yes, I am,” she tells him, “But I’ve decided not to make the announcement tonight.”

  His brows pop. “Why not? We discussed this in detail all week.”

  The announcement is the news of her abdication and his ascent to the throne. My father isn’t greedy, nor is he dying to rule. He, like me, is simply worried about the Queen’s health and her state of mind. Then there’s the fact that the Vespa Isles are fragile right now. With all the changes that have been marked as a revolution for the countries within the Isles, Wimberly must appear strong.

  Returning home from London wasn’t top on my list of things to do right now. However, I do understand that once my father becomes King, I must be ready to take my place as first in line. I just want to finish what I started for my grandfather before then. Torn allegiances are a bitch.

  “I don’t feel like it,” she tells him.

  “But, Mother—” he starts to say.

  “Hush,” my grandmother says. “I have six weeks of royal events to make the announcement, so it won’t be tonight. Besides, I really don’t care for this dress. It isn’t purple. It’s more grape. I need a strong purple for an announcement as important as the one I’ll be making. Now, let’s go.”

  I try not to laugh.

  This Queen really is something.

  SOMETHING I CAN’T HAVE

  The Present

  I might look like a princess, but I feel like Cinderella’s evil stepsister.

  The purple silk gown Raquel ended up selecting for me after vetoing the first three I purchased has a plunging neckline, a high slit, and a simple hourglass shape. Honestly, it really is gorgeous. Besides, the sheer cost of it helps to make sure it screams high-class glamour and not low-cost hooker. Still, it’s a bit more revealing than I’m used to.

  With a deep breath, I focus on what I’m here to do and show my pass. When I step inside, I’m awed by the magnificence before me. The ballroom is out of this world beautiful. It looks like the perfect hot summer night. Crystal chandeliers and parquet wood floors with sunshine yellow walls and ornate white moldings give it an exceptional brightness. The lights reflect off the walls, bestowing an outdoor feel to the room. And the blue-domed ceiling has stars reflected on it that make you want to wish upon them.

  They are perfect.

  So unlike me.

  There’s a colossal champagne fountain in the middle of the room, and it’s right where I’m headed first. Too bad it appears to be miles away. In these crystal sandals, it’s going to take me forever to get there. In fact, I feel like one of the gems is stuck in the sole and wonder if anyone will notice if I take my shoe off to check.

  Guessing they will, I duck behind the railing and lean against the wall to undo my ankle strap. It’s as I’m unbuckling the strap that the spot I’m using for balance begins to move. I jump to the side as a panel reveals itself to actually be an elevator door.

  I catch my balance just as the doors open fully, and as is my luck, the elevator isn’t empty. I want to fade into the yellow walls. However, this purple dress is way too loud for that. I look like a grape juice stain that can’t go unnoticed.

  The Queen appears first. She’s in a wheelchair, and her son is pushing her. Beside him stands Julius, and the sight of him all rumpled hair and gorgeous tuxedo steals all the air from my lungs.

  Julius is laughing over something that his grandmother is saying, and there’s a mischievous gleam in his eyes that makes my stomach flip. However, when her eyes land on me, so do his, and he stops laughing and walking at the very same time. I hate that his lopsided grin turns into a frown at the sight of me. His cold stare hits me like a slap in the face.

  Oh, no.

  This isn’t happening.

  I can’t do this.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  All of a sudden, I want to run, but there’s nowhere for me to go. I even try to look away, look anywhere else, but I can’t. He is all I can see.

  At this moment, I become acutely aware that I am out of my element. Wearing clothes so unlike me, I swear I can feel this dress hugging me from my chest to my behind to my knees to my ankles. Everywhere. And even though it’s slip-like and not skin-tight, I feel completely naked.

  Suddenly, the air is so heavy, I can’t breathe, especially when Julius rakes his cold gaze down my body with one fast sweep of his eyes, making me feel like a stray cat someone let i
n by accident.

  “Well, hello there,” the Queen says.

  I force my eyes from the God-like man to his grandmother and make myself smile. “Hello, I’m so sorry. I had no idea the elevator was back here. I was just looking for a place to fix my shoe, but I’ll be on my way.”

  The Queen laughs. “It’s quite alright. Do I know you?”

  I curtsey. “No, but it’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Royal Highness. I’m Ophelia from Wimbledon Life.”

  Her eyes travel between her grandson and me and then back to me. “Well, Ophelia from Wimbledon Life, that is a lovely shade of purple you’re wearing. Do you know the exact color?”

  With three sets of eyes on me, and one of them glaring daggers, I must turn three shades of red. “I believe it’s called royal ruby.”

  The Queen claps her hands together. “How magnificent, royal ruby. Vittore, remember that for me. I must find a dress or suit in that exact color.”

  “Yes, Mother,” the older Prince replies, appeasing her.

  “Julius,” she says, looking back over her wheelchair, “why don’t you take this lovely woman into the Press Secretary’s office, where she can fix her shoe properly before having to interact with everyone.”

  I ignore his scowl and flip my hair over my shoulder with what I hope is an air of ambivalence. “Oh, I’m fine,” I reply at the same time Julius retorts with, “I doubt that’s necessary.”

  “Nonsense,” she waves. “A damsel in distress can always use some assistance. Now go.”

  Julius’s already dark eyes shadow with irritation as he says with a threatening calmness, “Yes, you’re right, Grandmother.”

  The moody, broody younger prince isn’t as cordial as she would like him to be, as is noted by her raised brows.

  Prince Vittore is at a loss regarding the entire situation, his eyes bouncing between the three of us with simmering curiosity. However, when he notices the thickening tension, he begins to push his mother again. “Catch up with us, Julius, after you do what your grandmother has asked.”