Royal Marriage Market (35 page)

“Wait—where is Parker going?” Elsa pipes up from her place on the couch.

“Good lord, Your Highness,” Charlotte says, “did you not tell Elsa anything?”

I asked for informality, didn’t I?

“To be fair,” Elsa says, “we were distracted. There wasn’t always proper time for talk.”

“We talked,” I stress.

Parker coughs. Charlotte merely rolls her eyes. “Time is of the essence, Elsa. You are only in Paris for three days. If our plan is going to work, we must utilize every last moment available to us.”

I love that Els refuses to be chastised, though. “Then by all means, let us talk, starting with where Parker is going.”

“New York,” I tell her.

Elsa snaps her fingers. “Mat lives part of the year in New York.”

“And Kim lives there full time,” I supply.

“Parker is traveling all the way to New York in order to talk to Mat’s girlfriend? Or, possible ex-girlfriend?” She glances between us. “My time locked away in the tower back home has put me at a disadvantage here over the particulars.”

“Somebody must verify a suspicion I have,” Charlotte says. “And, as Parker has actually met this Kim, it’s best he goes.”

“What kind of suspicion?” It’s adorable how she sounds utterly suspicious about this herself.

I nod at Parker; he extracts an envelope from his bag. It’s passed over to Elsa, who flips through the contents.

Her mouth drops open, photos spilling across her lap. “She’s pregnant?”

I glance at the photos, too, a stone sinking in the pit of my stomach.
Mat, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

“It certainly appears that way, doesn’t it?” Charlotte asks. “Thus, Parker’s need to chat with the lady.”

Elsa’s blue eyes find mine. “I thought you didn’t know if they were still together or not.”

“Ah, so at least something was discussed,” Charlotte muses.

I ignore the jab. “I don’t,” I assure Els. “As it appears Mat isn’t talking about much of anything right now except what his parents are telling him to say, we need to go straight to the source. There aren’t any phone numbers associated with a Kimberly Johnson in Brooklyn, but the private investigator Charlotte hired tracked her to a loft which is currently under surveillance by someone other than our man.”

“Who else is spying on her?” Elsa asks Charlotte.

“Men who have known ties to an Italian crime family.” Charlotte pauses. “Which complicates matters greatly.”

Elsa is shocked. “Do these criminals have ties to Kim’s siblings?”

“Unfortunately,” Charlotte says, “that currently remains a mystery. Our man is looking into it, but obviously, he must move carefully.”

Elsa mulls this over. “So you all have been playing spies while I have been under lockdown.” A faint smile curves her lips. “Which of you is Holmes, and which of you is Watson?”

“I’m Holmes,” Charlotte says firmly. “And most likely Watson, too. These two are the Keystone Cops.”

“All right. Parker is going to find Kim.” Elsa’s fingers find mine. “What is the plan from there? Will he simply ask the woman who the father of her baby is?”

“Pretty much,” Parker says quietly. “Although I hope to do so with more tact.”

“What if she admits it’s Mat’s?”

“Then,” I tell Elsa, “he is going to put her on the phone with me, and I am going to urge her to get on a plane with Parker and come straight to Paris. If all goes as planned, they will be on a return flight within six hours of landing.”

“What then? We bully her to admit this to whom—my parents? Mat’s?”

“No bullying,” Charlotte assures her. “Consider this logically, Elsa. If your suspicions are right about Prince Mathieu also being forced into this arrangement, it would be terribly hard for him to remain stalwart and abide his parents’ wishes when the so-called love of his life, pregnant with his baby, stands before him.”

Elsa’s off the couch, incensed. “Do you think he knows? Because I cannot wrap my mind around how or why he would marry me if he’s expecting a baby with this woman. Granted, I don’t know him all too well, but he’s never struck me as the sort who would abandon such a commitment!”

I go over to where she is, taking hold of her hands. “We won’t know until we ask him.”

“Call him.” Her voice is shaking. “Get his bloody arse over here right now.”

“And say what?” Charlotte asks from the couch. “‘
We suspect the woman you may or may not be still dating is pregnant with your baby? What say you
?’ What if we are wrong? What if they broke up long ago, and this is someone else’s child?” She shakes her head. “What if their split was acrimonious, and neither wants anything to do with the other? The best course of action is to wait until Parker has a conversation with the woman in question first.”

“This is my life we’re talking about!”

Elsa’s hands grip mine, rage and frustration stealing up her neck in flushes. I’ve never heard her so irate before. “Kim’s life, too,” I remind her gently. “And Mat’s.”

Her bright blue eyes swing back to me. “And yours?”

She asks this so bluntly. I return an answer in kind. “And mine.”

Her anger abates, just a little. And then she nods, resolute. “Parker, you best be off then. The rest of you, I want to hear and read everything you have on my parents’ mismanagement of the family finances. It’s far past time.”

chapter 54

Elsa

After Parker departs, Charlotte presents everything she and Josef discovered concerning my family’s financial crisis.

Vattenguldia is a constitutional monarchy, meaning the royal family is symbolic rather than absolute in power. My father is popular, though, and influential, much like his father before him and his father before that. Parliament listens to the monarchs of Vattenguldia not because it is expected, but rather because their sovereigns tend to have the country’s best interests at heart. That said, our family line has always been ridiculously wealthy. Outside of what the taxpayers in our principality pay toward our livelihoods, we also possess vast real estate portfolios, holdings in technological companies, and an immense art collection. Stocks and bonds may be beyond my mother’s reach, but the money granted to us by the taxpayers is not. Blinded by her visions for a better Vattenguldia, she directed a secretive investment in what turned out to be a Ponzi scheme, all in her quest to become the Monaco of the North.

Millions of dollars taxpayers trusted us to use wisely are now gone.

Realistically, I can understand why my parents are frantic. Sovereigns or no, it’s difficult and shameful to explain to the public why money that comes from their paychecks disappeared and will most likely never be recovered. Short of liquidating the contents of the palace, there is little hope of replacing the money before scandal devastates the principality. In Vattenguldia, no one is immune to audits, not even royals. So what did my parents do, to earn themselves an easy euro (or several millions of them)?

Decide to marry their daughter to a wealthy, deposed royal family in exchange for getting them a foot back into the royal door.

Charlotte is in the other room, on the phone with Josef and Dickie. She’s cooing into the receiver, asking the infant if he’s having a good time with his daddy. I know this because I fear the entire hotel can hear the conversation just as well as I can.

“The baby isn’t deaf, Lottie!” I shout out to her.

Christian gets up off the bed and shuts the door. “Neither is Charlotte.”

“She could be.” I slip on heirloom emerald teardrop earrings my father gifted me on my sixteenth birthday. Would their value, if sold, be worthy anything toward the debt my parents owe Vattenguldia? “Most likely is. As cute as Dickie is, he has a pair of lungs on him like no other. It is a wonder Charlotte is even coherent.”

He wanders over to where Charlotte hung my dress for tonight. It’s a timeless yet elegant crepe silk piece, straight off the runways. “I like that this dress. But then, you have an uncanny knack of looking equally beautiful in everything you wear.”

My knees weaken. “I can make an excuse, you know. Mat already believes I’m under the weather.” Irritation flares at the mere thought of the man.

Christian slips the dress of the hanger. “Mat isn’t the villain here, Els, no matter how it might feel in the moment. If our suspicions prove correct, he is just as trapped and manipulated as we have been.”

I toss my robe onto the bed and take the dress offered. His eyes are hot as he watches me slide the silk over my head. “See if you can get him to talk to you tonight,” Christian says. “Surreptitiously, in case there are those truly watching the two of you.”

I turn my back, sweeping my hair over a shoulder. “Zip me up?”

Fingers brush against my spine, first up to the base of my hairline and then down to where back meets arse. A kiss is pressed against a shoulder blade just before the zipper is slowly tugged upward. And I wish, so much, that it was Christian I’d be dining with tonight and not someone else.

“Will you and Charlotte have a pajama party while I’m gone?”

A light kiss finds its way to the skin below my ear before he pulls my hair back. “Oh, most definitely. Followed by a pillow fight.”

I turn around. “Careful. She’s vicious with pillows. I once had a black eye for half a week when we were children, thanks to her uncannily strong aim.”

“Noted.” Hands run down my arms. “Despite everything, try to enjoy yourself tonight. Remember, Mat is brotherly and comfortable and nice.”

I am up on my tiptoes, a hand curving around the back of his neck. “Pick me up afterward?”

His mouth hovers so closely to mine we breathe the same air. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No. But I would like you to anyway.”

Mat looks, well, like Mat on steroids when I finally reach the restaurant. He is garbed in a crisp plaid shirt and a neat bowtie, along with a deceptively worn looking gray sweater and skinny charcoal trousers that appear painted on. His hair is mussed, his chin scruffy, and his glasses are a bit askew. I cannot deny it—Mat makes for an attractive hipster prince.

Hushed murmurs fill the restaurant as I am led to the table he’s already at. Tiny pops of light trail my movements. My bodyguard does a quick scan of the room before melting into the background alongside Mat’s. As I approach, he rises, offering me what I am sure he hopes is a welcoming smile. It is more melancholy than warm, though. Strained.

He knows, I cannot help but think. He knows there is a woman out there, one he loves or, at the very least, once loved deeply. And he knows just as well as I that that woman is not me, nor will it ever be.

We hug in greeting, followed by air kisses. As we sit down, a waiter materializes to uncork a bottle of wine already chilling beside us. Mat says to me, “You look lovely tonight, Elsa.”

I accept a glass from the server. “I was just musing on how smart
you
look tonight.”

Mat chuckles. “Is it the glasses?”

“That, too. It is a nice look—a fitting one for you.” For a prince who fell in love with a doctor in America, rebelling against stereotype.

Mat feigns a wince. I lift an eyebrow up in question, so he clarifies, “Nice is such a dagger to the ego.”

The urge to chuckle is strong as Christian’s words come back to me. “First smart, then nice?” I shake my head, amused. “And to think people come to hear me wax eloquent in speeches.”

A chuckle rumbles from his throat, and it’s a surprising relief to see a bit of genuine ease line his face. “I’ve not given many speeches outside of those while in school. I suppose that’s a perk to being part of a deposed family.”

One, I think to myself, desperate to regain a throne. “Did you enjoy going to university in America?”

Shadowed regret overtakes the smidge of humor he allowed himself to feel. “Immensely so.” He glances away, toward the windows facing the streets of Paris. “You went to Oxford in Britain, did you not?”

Nice changing of the subject, Mat
. “I did.”

He rubs at the scruff on his chin. “I’ve often thought about going back and getting my doctorate.”

I sip my wine slowly, the liquid gold curling through my throat. “In America?”

His sigh is a burst of self-deprecation alongside a quick shake of the head. “I’d hoped so, but . . .”

I trace the lip of my glass until it sings softly. “But you are expected to wed me and move to Vattenguldia.”

“Elsa . . .”

I pick up my menu and spread it open. “I’ve not eaten at this particular restaurant before. I am also in love with another person, desperately so.” I smile sunnily over the top of the black leather. “What would you recommend me to order tonight?”

The wineglass at his lips freezes once my words, like air escaping a balloon, hiss between us.

“I’m partial to fish, if you must know. It’s a Scandinavian thing, being surrounded by so much water.”

The glass finds its way back to the table. He clears his throat before saying softly, “I’m well aware of that.”

But I know he does not refer to my dietary preferences. “Are you?”

Eyes close behind his glasses, hands grip the edge of the linen covered table. “Yes.” His voice is hoarse. “I’m not blind, you know. I watched it happen. Everyone knew, me included.”