Prince's Dirty Little Secret (A Royal Secret Baby Romance) (8 page)

I rise from the chair, turn around, and walk out. Literally everyone in the office watches me as I stumble to my desk, dazed. I only grab a few things. Most of my stuff—headphones, pens, snacks—I leave behind. What use will I have for it?

Two security guards show up and walk me to the door. I've never felt so humiliated in my life.

Once I'm outside the building, I hail the first cab I see. I take it back home, and when I get there, I bury my face in my pillow and I begin to shake and sob.

I
SIT
on my tattered second-hand couch, wearing nothing but my underwear. Not sexy underwear either. Granny panties. And I've never felt fatter in my life. In one hand I hold a spoon with which I cram room-temperature spaghettios into my mouth, and in my other hand I hold a trashy B.B. Hamel romance paperback. Josh is at daycare, and for that I am thankful, even though it's positively fucking murdering my bank account while I'm unemployed.

One week has passed since I lost my job at EDGE, and I honestly haven't the slightest clue what comes next for me. I can't remember the last time I felt this low. My mood is almost as unfortunate as the state of my bank account. I figure I'd better start putting in applications for burger flipping, because I'm going to run out of cash sooner rather than later.

As I read the back cover of the romance novel, I realize it's about a woman who meets a prince and becomes a princess.

Joke. Sometimes I feel like life is nothing but cruelty.

I chuck the book in the garbage can. Then, I take a good, hard look at the conditions that I'm living in, and I also chuck the spaghettios in the trash.

I need to get my shit together and pull myself up out of this mess. I can't keep wallowing in my depression.

My mood lifts at the prospect of taking action, which provides me the energy to attack some chores around the house. I put on some Brain.fm ambient music to soothe myself, and pull on some long kitchen gloves. I go to work cleaning up the massive pile of dishes I've accumulated.

Just when I'm getting into my groove, there's a loud knock at my door.

Christ. Probably kids trying to sell candy to fund their basketball teams. Those things are always scams.

"Coming!" I shout. I snag already-worn yoga leggings and a t-shirt from the laundry hamper and pull them on in a hurry.

I crack the door open.

It's two men wearing jet black suits.

"C-can I help you?" I stutter.

When I landed in the United States last year after my flight from Baghdad, there was a whole cabal of FBI agents waiting for me at the customs processing area, just as I expected. It took nearly two weeks to clear my name and convince them that I was a victim of circumstance, not a terrorist involved in an international conspiracy.

Now, I'm terrified that something else has come up, and the FBI is back to give me more grief.

"Miss Duval?" says one of them.

"Yes?" I say, through the door. It's secured only by a thin gold chain.

The man draws his leg back like a piston, and sends it smashing into the door. I scream as the door flies open and smashes a hole in the drywall. The chain flies to pieces, leaving a red welt on my arm.

"Oh my god," I scream, but the man claps a gloved hand over my mouth before I can say anything else. The second man steps inside the apartment. He sticks his head back out into the hallway, looking back and forth for any sign of disturbance, before gently shutting the door again. It doesn't click closed though. The door frame is in splinters.

The man with his hand around my mouth says in a low tone, "Don't scream again." I nod urgently. They caught me with my pants down—literally. I know I need to cooperate and be smart if I'm going to get out of this.

He slowly slides his hand down from my mouth, waiting to see if I try to scream or bolt. But I don't, and he looks relieved. The other man continues to stand guard by the door.

"Miss Duval. Please forgive us for the unwelcome intrusion."

I wait for him to continue, eyeing him suspiciously. I say nothing.

"His Royal Majesty, the Crown Prince Nikolai, has ordered us to bring you to him."

"Wh-what?"

"You are to be smuggled out of the country and brought to the royal palace."

His words throw my mind into tumult. Not so much for myself, whom I've pretty much given up on. Rather, I think of Josh, who's at daycare right now.

For a moment, I consider protesting and telling him I can't leave without my son. But then I clamp my mouth shut before I can do so. Involving my baby in this would be the most foolish thing I could do. I wouldn't trust Nikolai with my baby in a million years.

Fortunately, Ashley was planning to pick up Josh tonight to give me a little more alone time. She'll have to take care of him until I can get in touch with her.

I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place, and my only real move is to give them what they want. To go with them.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

The man shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."

T
HE MEN GIVE
me twenty minutes to pack my essentials and then take me away in a van. They drive me to a regional airport outside of San Francisco, where I'm loaded into the cargo bay of a shipping aircraft bound for the Middle East. From there, I'm shuttled around a series of countries over a period of three days, until I finally make it back to the border crossing where the tunnel is. The same old man is there, just like he's probably been for the last four decades, and I'm wary of going down in the tunnel again. Last time, it ended up in a kidnapping.

But, I figure, this time the kidnapping has already taken place. How much worse can it get?

But this time, the tunnel crossing goes smoothly, and I'm shuttled back to the royal palace once again. The countryside looks different in the fall. I almost feel a sense of nostalgia.

At the palace, they bring me back to the very same room I had before, and it's exactly as I remember it. But even though it isn't morning, there are three or four doves in the room, chirping away.

A welcome-back gift from Nikolai, no doubt.

I'm not sure how to feel about that. If he thinks he can steal me away from my home and then smooth things over with a couple flappy birds, then he's got another thing coming.

It's the afternoon of my second day back when he comes to visit me. I'm in my room, this time reading a novel I brought from home. It's probably the only American-published book in the entire royal palace.

There's a knock at the door, and he opens it from the outside without waiting for me to answer. Typical.

"My little pet," he says, walking toward me with his arms open.

He's just as handsome as always, though I can see he's aged just a little bit. The lines on his forehead are slightly more defined, and there's almost a hint of silver at his temples.

I hate to admit it, but he looks damned refined. I'm sure I just look like a worn out old hag at this point.

But I don't smile. "Don't 'little pet' me,'" I tell him angrily.

He looks surprised. "Are you not pleased? I heard of the scandal in your media. I thought I would rescue you." He looks incredibly smug.

I feel my ears turn red. "I don't need to be rescued. And especially not by you. If it weren't for you, I'd still have my job right now."

His face is genuinely crestfallen, as if he were expecting me to be happy about being kidnapped. I almost feel bad for him, but I don't. He's just as egotistical and arrogant as ever. Maybe more so. Now, I feel like there's not a safe place in the world for me.

"I had to do what I could."

I glare at him. "You could have prevented me from being deported."

His face lights up again. "So you
do
want to be here."

"No," I say, "I want to be wherever I am on my own terms. I'm not one of your groupie girls you can boss around and fly around the world on your whims."

"You wish I had not brought you here, then?"

Jesus. Maybe I was completely wrong about him, and he's still a dictator at heart, and always will be. "It's about choice, Nikolai. Freedom. Something that you don't seem to understand."

He frowns. "I have thought deeply about what you said. I am willing to stand up for my own people."

At this point, I don't even believe him. He's probably just blowing smoke up my ass again.

"Yet, you couldn't even consider what was best for me right now?" I'm sick and tired of being a pawn in his fucking games.

He pauses for a great while before answering. "Jenna, my little pet. If you truly wish to go, then I will let you. And I shall never contact you again."

Part of me wants to latch onto this opportunity to get out of here once and for all. But I can't forget the way he made me feel before, and if he's really willing to listen to me, then maybe I can make a difference now.

But my heart is back in L.A. with Josh. I'm sure that Ashley is taking care of him, but I'm getting really fucking anxious about it. Josh needs his mother, and eventually Ashley is going to report me missing. Then… who knows. I can't be separated from him much longer.

I toy with the idea of telling Nikolai that he's a father, but I just can't. I can't trust him to do right by me or Josh. He didn't do me right when the King deported me, and he didn't do me right the way he brought me back here.

I can't afford to tell him.

"Nikolai, my prince," I say, more than a hint of sarcasm in my voice, "I need some time to think about this."

"How much time?" He sounds annoyed, not used to waiting on other people's schedules.

"Look. If I really mean something to you, then you need to respect this request."

He makes a snotty, pompous sound. "Very well," he says, rolling his eyes. "I shall be waiting."

Asshole. "There's something else."

"Do tell."

"Your father. He hates my fucking guts. How do I know that the exact same thing isn't going to happen again?"

He pauses before answering. "I am... taking steps... to ensure that he is no longer a barrier for us."

"That doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

"Very well," he says. "How about this. As long as you are here, I give you my word as the Crown Prince of North Molvania, that you will not suffer the wrath or whims of anyone other than me."

"So what you're saying is that I'll suffer
your
wraths and whims?"

He just winks at me before turning around and exiting the room.

What a royal dick.

CHAPTER 6

I 
can't stop worrying about my baby, so later that day I decide I need to get in touch with Ashley. The last thing I need is another FBI probe into my whereabouts, or something to happen to Josh. It's going to be a huge problem if the authorities find out I've gone missing.

There's just one problem: in this closed-off kingdom, I have absolutely no idea how to contact the outside world.

I wander around the palace for a while, almost losing myself in the black marble maze. It's so disorienting, and it seems to suck me in deeper and deeper. But I'm starting to memorize the turns, starting to remember certain swirls in the marble, guideposts to mark my path. Every time I walk through the halls, I half-expect the marble swirls to change as if by magic, taunting me. It's a small consolation that they do not. No matter how alien this place seems, at least it's not actually alive.

My first instinct is to try the computer terminal in the library again, but it's no use. My email is blocked, as is Facebook.

There's a regular landline phone hanging on the wall next to the computer. When I pick it up, there's actually a dial tone, so I punch in the country code and then Ashley's number.

It rings twice, and then the third ring is cut off by a voice recording: "This call is prohibited by the Royal Communications Agency. Please contact the Royal Palace information desk for further options."

The information desk. I've seen that before. It's down in the basement, next to the gymnasium.

W
HEN
I
GET DOWN THERE
, there's a pleasant-looking young guy working the desk. It's kind of funny to me that a royal palace has an information desk, but I guess even royal palace-goers have daily information needs.

"Can I help you?"

"I need to place a call to the United States of America."

He shakes his head. "Can't help you with that. You'll need to file a request with the Secretarial Office of the King."

The King's office. Damn. It'll be a cold day in hell before the King's office approves my request. And honestly, I don't even know if the King knows I'm here again. I certainly don't want to call attention to myself.

It looks like my only option is to ask Nikolai directly, which I've been trying to avoid. I can't let him find out about the baby. Not yet, at least. Part of me still really wants to tell, but I just can't trust him. Not yet, at least.

But there's no choice. My motherly instincts are stirring and I feel like I'm going to go into a frenzy if I don't see my baby soon.

I have to get in touch with Ashley, even if it means going through Nikolai.

Nikolai said earlier that he'd be busy in his quarters, and that we would dine together tonight. But I can't wait any longer.

I go to his quarters. Two royal guards with tall, English-style bearskin caps guard the doorway.

"I need to see the prince," I say.

"No admittance," one says. "He is not to be disturbed."

Okay. Time to play the trump card and see if it works.

"I'm Jenna Duval. I'm… seeing him."

The guards exchange glances, their stiff military stances faltering for a moment.

"Very well." The guard knocks on the door.

Ten seconds later, the door swings open forcefully. Nikolai emerges, wearing only a pair of short shorts. God, he's fit. His midsection is cut, his defined abs forming a shapely "V" that travels downward, obscured only by the waistband of his shorts. I can clearly see the outline of his cock through the black fabric, and I can't help thinking back to our afternoon together on the hammock. Even when I'm angry with him, I can't stop thinking about how he sets my body on fire.