Prince With Benefits: A Billionaire Royal Romance (10 page)

Crap!
I don't say anything. I just hope there's something stronger than tea up ahead.

* * *

W
e don't say
much through our snack. We have the fanciest pot pies I've ever eaten, stuffed with something that tastes like duck, veggies, and wine sauce, plus spring salads, and plenty of that dark, coffee-like tea that's a standard in the kingdom.

It's just me and the Prince. Victor stands quietly in the corner like a loyal dog.

A servant comes in, takes our plates away, and awkward silence returns. The Prince leans back in his chair, eyeing me.

“It'll all be over soon. I promise. You're doing a damned good job for your first day, I have to say.” He leans forward, clasps my hand in both of his, stroking the back of my skin way more seductively than he should. “You're going to make a beautiful bride. Absolutely fucking beautiful, Princess.”

“Don't call me that until it's official. I'm not anybody's princess yet, I mean. It's strange enough.” I smile uneasily, wondering what happens later, when a short-lived princess divorces her prince.

Victor turns our way. He's frowning.

Has he figured out it's all just an act? I don't know, but it doesn't help the butterflies in my stomach.

I'm nervous. Cameras are nothing new to me. I did plenty of journalism in high school, and video blogs in college for my projects, but I never imagined I'd be addressing an entire nation.

“What?” I ask Silas, noticing he hasn't taken his eyes off me.

“You're mine,” Prince Silas says, smothering me in those intense blue eyes. “Mine.”

“Your what?” I'm trying not to completely lose it.

“My Princess. I don't give a damn if it isn't official yet. We're in love, right?” He cocks his head and winks, urging me to play along. “Doesn't take a royal crest on your clothes to remind me you're my one and only. The one I chose. The one I'll keep. The one I'll bind forever. By blood, by marriage, by kiss.”

“S-sure. Of course, you are. We're going to be a great. The two of us. Together.”

God.
I'm clucking like a total idiot, and I'm sure Victor catches every awkward word. It doesn't help that he's staring at me like it's all true.

How can he do that? It's like he's had years posing as an actor, instead of a spoiled Prince. His charms are so powerful, so real, they're dangerous in the moment.

Then I feel my hand moving through the air, going to his lips yet again.

Instant heat flows down from my belly, settling between my legs.

I can't do this right now. Jerking my hand away, I fold it on my lap, hoping Victor doesn't see. Whatever, I'd rather have him see the serious lengths I'll go to avoid physical contact.

That's better than
anyone
realizing how hot, how wet, how much I want when Silas lies to me like a champ.

A knock at the door breaks my confused haze. Victor strides across the room, opens it, and nods.

“Miss Hastings, sire. Punctual, as usual.”

Prince Silas' evil, teasing expression goes flat. He stands as the familiar blonde steps in, wearing heels that put anything of mine to shame. There's something odd about the way she looks at him.

It's more like an old friend than a servant. Like a woman who's seen past the royal mask he wears, down to who he truly is.

“Serena.” That's his greeting when they're face-to-face.

She looks over, noticing me for the first time. Tension lines her face the second she takes in my dress, my place at the table with the Prince. I'm used to his entourage and the Queen herself being horrified by this fake engagement by now, but with her, it seems like something more.

“Hello, again.” I smile politely because I don't know what else to do.

“I think I'm going to need a quick briefing,” Serena says to the Prince, flipping her blonde hair. “There wasn't a formal email or anything. I'm...surprised to see her here again, Your Highness. With you, in private, that is.”

He looks at her sternly. “That's because I need you to help introduce Erin as my fiancee. Future Princess of Saint Moore, Sealesland, and all her tributaries. You know, the usual. There wasn't time to write. This all came together fast.”

“Fiancee?” It's like a rasp coming out of her throat. Her hand touches the corner of the table, as if she needs to steady herself, but she doesn't crack.

I stand up. Whatever's going on here, I want to show him that I'm useful, that I can help diffuse yet another crisis.

“It's a pleasure to see you again,” I lie. My limited experience with this woman tells me she doesn't do courtesy, much less smile at strangers. “We're grateful for your help.”

“It seems to me you already have a plan to handle this without consulting my expertise,” she says to Silas, without even acknowledging me.

“You're right, I've been through the ropes before. This time, my image issues are bound to control themselves. Everybody loves a big, beautiful wedding, right?” He gives her a second, but she doesn't answer. “Whatever. I'm not the one who needs a fucking primer on how to talk to the kingdom. Erin does.”

I watch the bitch swallow. She looks at me with the slowest glance in the world, eyeballing me like I'm something rotten she's just found on her plate.

“How long do we have?”

“An hour and a half. That's when the press conference is scheduled. Full house.” Prince Silas folds his arms, giving her no mercy.

“Jesus,” she sputters, looking back at him. “You expect me to give her a whole course on royal protocol and media pitfalls, just like that?”

Serena snaps her fingers. Way too close to the Prince's face. Victor cuts in just then, getting between us, gesturing for me to walk next to him.

“Miss Hastings, you know your duties here are whatever His Highness tells you. Please, let me escort you ladies to a private room, where you can get to work without any further interruptions. With your permission, of course, my Prince.”

“Do it.” Silas nods, giving me one last look. “Just do what she says, as long as it's reasonable. I'll meet you on the stage in a couple hours before all the jackals file in to pick at our bones.”

It's a joke, but I'm not smiling. Victor leads me out with this woman who despises me for reasons I don't understand, into a small sitting room across the hall.

“I'll be right outside if either of you need anything,” he says. “Expect a knock when the time draws near.”

“Christ, Victor. Time management is part of my job, remember?” Serena says, practically spitting in his face.

We step in, and he closes the door behind us without another word.

“Let's get this over with.” She finally looks at me, drinking me in. “You look like you're having a terrible enough time wearing that ridiculous thing. Lucky you, if everything else is equal, the tabloids will be talking about your fashion sense once they've finished squawking about the main announcement.”

“It wasn't really my choice,” I tell her, taking a leather seat across from hers, next to another fireplace with a hand carved mantel. I've seen more art in this palace than I've seen in my life, I swear.

“No, of course not. First things first, you let him do the talking. Whatever he says, whatever questions may come up – you take your cue from His Highness. He's done it before, and he should know what to say. Lord knows I've tried to teach him, anyway.”

I can't believe her tone. It doesn't brighten up through the whole lecture. She's wearing a trim skirt, her legs crossed, one foot angrily bobbing her black heel.

I've had enough. “I'm sorry, is there something I've done to offend you?”

“Only by coming out of nowhere. Winning yourself a man, a kingdom, you know you don't deserve. You're not even a citizen of Saint Moore's for God's sake.” She stops there, her raging green eyes telling the full story. “No, it's not my place to criticize. I'll never understand
why
Silas picked you, but I'll
try
to respect it.”

“Silas,” I repeat.

It's just Silas. No Prince in front of it. Yeah, these two definitely have history.

“His Highness.” She corrects herself, almost as an afterthought. “I'm sorry for acting like a royal bitch this evening. It's very frustrating to have something like this dropped in my lap without notice, you understand. I don't know how to explain everything in under an hour. The best advice I can give is what I've already said – smile, look pretty, and keep your mouth shut. The tabloids and blogs snatch anything you feed them. Any misplaced word, any screwed up gesture, anything scandalous. The more boring you are, the better.”

“Good advice.” I honestly don't know if it is, but her crazy eyes aren't making me comfortable.

I want this to end. I'd rather have the press conference now than go over every movement and word with this envious bitch.

“Let me ask you this, Miss Warwick, what experience have you had on camera?”

Smiling awkwardly, I shrug my shoulders. Her eyes get wider and meaner.

“Just knock me out already. Please, for fuck's sake,” she mutters to herself, running a hand across her face. “Okay. I'm going to do my best...”

And she does, for the next hour. She's cold, detached, more like someone giving a job interview than a woman I've personally upset.

She tells me who to watch out for, all the names of the biggest muckrakers in the kingdom, and several who will be flying in from Europe. I'm briefed on where Silas has gone wrong before, though a lot of his mistakes were completely off the record. Playing bad boy and getting caught gave journalists plenty of fodder, attracting them like flies.

After what seems like half an hour, the biggest takeaway I've got is what she said before.

Shut up. Look pretty. Let him lead.

That's what I've signed onto with this whole stupid thing, isn't it? I'm not really his wife.

Not really a Princess. I'm nothing more than another stage prop in Prince Asshole's life, no matter how good my motive. I've signed on to being used, and I ought to be conscious of it.

At some point, Victor knocks. “Ten minutes, ladies. Please finish up as soon as you're able.”

“You seem like an intelligent girl, if a bit naive. I wish you the best of luck, Erin, and I hope you understand what you've gotten yourself into.”

Holy shit. I've been holding my tongue through this entire miserable experience. I look at her, straightening up in my chair.

“You seem very smart, too, but you're kind of a bitch.”

“Touche.” Serena gives me a nasty smile and stands up. “I'll leave you to straighten that thing so it doesn't get caught. I don't think either of us need a cat fight to ruin that pretty dress right now. Good luck, Princess. You're going to need it.”

She's out the door before I can follow up with another insult.
Infuriating.

I can't let her drag me down now, though. As soon as she's gone, Victor steps in. I'm starting to get annoyed with his constant chaperoning.

This isn't the way I imagined royal life. The servants are supposed to help, to wait on us hand and foot. I guess they do plenty of that. But they're also
everywhere,
never more than several feet away. I'm craving my long lost privacy like never before.

“Straight through there, madame. His Highness is waiting for you on stage, near the podium.”

I follow through the backstage door, to the place where he's pointing. I've forgotten how open and spacious it is in this huge, imposing medieval hall.

Yeah, privacy is the last thing I'm getting for the next few hours.

I'll be lucky if I ever find it again once the kingdom sees my face.

“Finally,” Silas says, when I take a seat next to him. “Did she do her job? I'm going to jettison that woman if she's giving you any trouble. I've warned her before about setting her personal shit aside.”

I have a chance to get Serena fired, and that gives me more than a little pleasure. But I don't have the heart to do it just yet. I decide to lie – what's one more on top of the untruths I've built up with just a couple days close to the Prince?

“It was fine. She could be a bit more personable, I guess, but what she said was useful.”

He hesitates for a moment. “Okay. That'll do until this is over. Then we'll go back to my place and get you out of that damned thing.”

He sounds like he's almost as tired of the stifling, formal dress as I am. Small relief.

It doesn't last long. About five minutes later, the main door across the room swings open. A large gaggle of reporters files in and takes their seats while Silas' royal guards swarm in the room, checking their earpieces, always looking for nonexistent threats to the Prince.

I can't imagine he has any real enemies. Maybe a lone nut, looking to write their name in blood on history, or a few of the extremists I've heard about who believe a republic without a hereditary monarchy is long overdue.

“Ready?” He grabs my hand where they can't see it, looks at me, and smiles.

“As much as I'll ever be,” I say, sighing.

The butterflies in my stomach are making tornadoes. My public jitters have gotten a lot better since I started taking journalism seriously, but I've never given a speech in front of a crowd like this.