The Royal Treatment: A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy, Book 1 Read online

  My body feels all tingly at the mention of it, but I’m not going to tell him that. “That has no bearing on my change of heart.”

  “Come on, it did,” he teases. “Just admit it.”

  “Dear Lord, you’re relentless.”

  “That’s probably why I’m so good at it.” He raises and lowers his eyebrows.

  “You’re nothing short of exasperating. It’s a wonder I like you at all, really.”

  “But you do. Very much.” He kisses my neck until I moan. “I can tell by that little sound you just made.”

  “All right. I like you.”

  As he works his way up to my earlobe, my words come out with a breathy quality. “Very much.”

  “Good. Because I like you, too,” he says as he disappears under the sheets. “Especially this bit down here.”

  “Seriously?” Nikki asks. “You’re just going to publicly apologize and say you were wrong about everything?”

  “Not everything. But most of it.” I sigh, feeling a mixture of relief and fear in admitting this it to her. I have purposely been avoiding calling Nikki for close to two weeks. We’ve texted and had one quick call, but the guilt of not telling her what I’m doing has been eating away at me.

  “That’s going to be really humiliating. Like Shock-Jogger-level of humiliation.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’ll lose a lot of money that would have been yours, you know.”

  “I know. I’ve thought of that, too. I’ll also be burning whatever bridge I could have possibly had with the Prime Minister… but I’m not sure I want to get in bed with the likes of him anyway—not literally, yuck—but figuratively. So, I think I’m better off in that way.” I do my best to sound very confident even though I’m terrified.

  “I guess…” Nikki says, her voice full of concern. “But think of the money, Tessa. I mean when you accepted the Prince’s offer, it was so you could finally get ahead, and now just when you’re about to do that, you’re going to give up?”

  “Oh, God. I know it sounds totally crazy, trust me. But maybe it’ll prove my dedication to honest reporting over personal pride. Plus, I’ll be able to look Tabitha in the eye, knowing I did the right thing.”

  “You can’t buy those Bench boots with your niece’s approval,” she says. “But I suppose there are more important things than—holy crap! You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

  “What? Why would you think that?”

  “Oh. My. God! You are! How long have you been sleeping with him?”

  “What? Who said I was sleeping with him?” I ask, hoping to buy more time to come up with a reasonable explanation.

  “I did. And you haven’t denied it, so you very clearly are.” Tried, convicted, and about to be sentenced. “Now it all makes sense. You won’t leave even though you’ve been claiming to have a crappy time since the King got home.” Nikki gasps. “How could you not tell me?”

  “I couldn’t. I’m so ashamed of myself. I’m being a very bad, very stupid woman. And now I’m willing to give up my career for him like some nineteen-fifties housewife.”

  “Wait? You’re giving up your career for him? Is it because you’re about to become some nineteen-fifties housewife? Only a very rich one who wears a crown and doesn’t ever have to cook or clean or do laundry or wait for a sale to buy footwear?”

  “No,” I groan. “It’s so much worse than you think. It’s very clear that we have no future. This has all just been a mistake. A wonderful, sexy, orgasmic mistake that I’ve made over and over.”

  “And you kept it from me the whole time?”

  “Please don’t be hurt. I’ve been feeling horribly guilty about not telling you, but I was scared you’d talk me out of it. And I just couldn’t let you do that. It’s like… he’s crack and I’m an addict, and the only thing that matters is getting more of him.”

  “You’ve got a serious cock addiction?”

  “Not just the cock. The whole guy.”

  “If I weren’t already in the tub, I think I’d collapse right now with shock.”

  “That’s kind of how I feel each morning. Shocked at myself. Shocked at him for wanting to… do any of this. Then by evening, I can’t think of anything but doing it all over again. I think I need a twelve-step program or something.”

  Nikki’s voice goes quiet. “Are you in love with him?”

  I swallow hard and let the truth squeak out. “I think so.”

  “Is he in love with you?”

  “No, he can’t be. I think he genuinely likes me, and he wants to have sex all the time, but there is no way he could be in love with me.”

  “And why the hell not?” She’s offended on my behalf, and I love her for it.

  “Because I’m the armpit-sniffing, potty-mouthed, Shock-Jogger-Blogger-slash-Royal Watchdog. I’m all wrong for him. This is just for fun. And pretty soon I’ll come back home to reality and pretend it never happened. Or curl up in the fetal position and drink wine through a sippy cup for a few weeks, then pretend it never happened.”

  We talk for another twenty minutes, the conversation going back and forth between Nikki being hurt that I kept this all from her, worried about what I’m doing to myself, and giddy for me for what I’ve been letting Prince Arthur do to me. By the time we get off the phone, my mind is swirling with all of it. Somehow talking about it brought all my fears to the forefront of my mind, right where I didn’t want them. I wanted them tucked neatly at the back, like my collection of slightly-too-small knickers that I’ll wear when I lose those last ten pounds.

  I stare out the window at the meadow and see Troy and Dexter out for a walk. The thought of leaving makes my heart ache. I can’t let myself hope that things will go on, because I know they can’t. I’m not queen material, and even though Arthur seems smitten with me, he hasn’t said anything that would lead me to think we can have a future together.

  I will never belong with these people. Take his sister for example, whom Arthur is very close to. She despises me—for good reason, really. I represent everything that can hurt them, and even though Arthur forgives me, I know she can’t, and won’t. It’s one thing when someone hurts you, but an entirely different thing when someone hurts someone you love. If only she knew that I love him, too.

  Oh, this is getting rather dramatic, isn’t it? What am I doing? Seriously? I never should have let him lure me to his room with the promise of crisps. I should have stayed away. Kept him at a distance. Because now it’s too late. I’m not a Bram. I’m a Tessa, who has worm funerals and sobs uncontrollably over that commercial for Extra gum with the girl who saves all those little origami birds her dad makes for her. I’ve fallen for him, and it’s too late to turn back now. I’m going to get crushed, because there is truly no way to make this work.

  Oh, bugger.

  Twenty-Nine

  A Girl’s Best Friend

  Arthur

  I’m a bit of a brat when it comes to any type of big event. I don’t want to go, so I tend to complain all through the leadup, then grit my teeth until it’s over and I can go back to the solitude of my quarters. It doesn’t even matter which type of event, really—balls, galas, ship-christenings—all are as excruciatingly dull as watching golf on TV.

  But Arthur, what about the music, the dancing, and the beautiful women?

  Yawn.

  What about the food, the laughter, and the drinks?

  Clear everyone else out of the room and leave me with the drinks—now we’re talking.

  But today, I find myself not dreading the ball even one tiny bit. I didn’t sneer once at the list of VIPs whom I must greet. I haven’t used the term monkey suit even once since Vincent brought it to my apartment after having it pressed.

  The ironic thing is that this particular ball should be the one I would dread the most. After the PM’s announcement, the room will be divided into those who want to see our heads on platters (figuratively, most of them, I hope), and those who want to see our continued reign
for the next millennium. It’s going to be awkward as hell and will require the utmost delicacy in handling myself. Every expression, every choice of where to stand and with whom to speak will be analyzed relentlessly.

  And, yet, there is a spring in my step as I shower, shave, and dress. A good woman’ll do that to you. Last night, before I left Tessa’s room, I asked her to go to the ball with me. It felt a little like some cheesy high school romance movie, but her reaction showed me why men bother with that type of romantic gesture in the first place. And that’s nothing compared to what I have planned tonight.

  A knock at my door has me grinning. Could it be one Ms. Sharpe coming back for more? Greedy little thing. I swing open the door with my best sexy grin and come face-to-face with my father. The expression he’s wearing would soften any man’s sceptre. I need to stop thinking it’s her at my door, because the letdown is awful.

  “I wanted to make sure that you’re ready to give the best speech of your useless life this evening.”

  “Well, thanks. I wasn’t expecting a pep talk from dear old Dad.”

  He gives me a slow blink, then walks past me and heads straight for the liquor cabinet. “I’m doubting the decision to allow you to speak at all.”

  He’s jealous. That’s what’s wrong. The advisory team held some stupid focus group, and apparently, I’m more than five times as likable as my father, so they’ve suggested I increase my visibility and he decrease his. Even though it’s just until the pending crisis has resolved itself, I have a feeling that the damage to our already strained relationship will last far beyond the vote. “If you’d rather make the speech, go ahead. It’s not like I asked to be given the burden.”

  “Don’t fuck this up.” He slams back a whiskey and sets the glass down, then glares at Dexter, who is lying on the couch watching Monkey Thieves. “Disgusting.”

  Dex glances at him and snorts. He never did take to my father. Like I told Tessa, he really is an excellent judge of character.

  When Tessa opens the door, I am dumbstruck by her beauty. Seriously, I cannot make words form in my brain, let alone roll off my tongue. She’s a vision. Her blond hair is swept up in some sort of complicated twisty-bun thingy. The silver gown she’s wearing has a hint of sparkle to it—not enough to be in any way gaudy, but enough to make a man believe that magic is real. It’s cut tightly to her body, showing every luscious curve, and dipping between her perfect ivory breasts just enough to give me a reminder of what the rest of them looks like, but not enough that she’s showing anything I wouldn’t want anyone else to see.

  My eyes rake over her from head to toe and back up, and I’m not entirely sure that I wouldn’t go door to door through the kingdom to return one of the heels she’s wearing. When I finally set my gaze on her face, I know the truth.

  I would bloody well do it. With a smile on my foolish face.

  “Nice tux,” she says, then she reaches out and straightens my bow tie, giving me a whiff of her delicious perfume.

  Excalibur wakes up and starts begging. “Christ, I want to mess up your hair right now.”

  She grins and raises one eyebrow. “And just how would you do that?”

  “It would take me all night to explain it all. Instead, we should get this whole ridiculous ball business over with, so we can come back here and I can show you.” I trace her bare arms with my fingertips. Her skin may be the softest thing I’ve ever felt. Seriously, it’s that soft. “Mind if I kiss you, or are you one of those girls who doesn’t want to wreck her lipstick?”

  She screws up her face as though she’s really considering it, then shrugs. “Go ahead.”

  I pull her to me and in the next few minutes, we smear the hell out of her glossy pink lips. Finally, I pull back, trying to slow my breathing and get myself under control. Excalibur is going to be very, very disappointed. “We better go. We can’t be late.”

  She smiles and I see the anticipation in her eyes. “I’ll go make myself presentable again.”

  “I’ll stand here and stare at your beautiful bottom while you walk away.”

  “Hope you don’t mind, we need to make one quick stop on the way to the ballroom.” Her hand is resting on the crook of my arm in the most proper of fashions, but because it’s her hand, I can only think very dirty thoughts. One of which is what I’d like to do to her when we get to the vault, but I better not allow my mind to wander too far down that road, or I’ll be sporting a most visible hard-on by the time we arrive at the gala.

  When we reach the vault room, there are two guards standing at the door. Normally there is just one, sitting on the inside. But for nights like tonight, there are a total of six. I nod and one of them opens the door.

  “Good evening, fellows,” I say.

  “Good evening, Your Highness.”

  Once inside the room, we go through the same routine with the other four men. I go to the keypad and press the code, then hold my face in front of the camera for a retina scan. When I look down at Tessa, she actually looks impressed.

  “A little Bond-esque, no?” I ask.

  “Very.”

  “Come on, Moneypenny, let’s get you something for that beautiful neck of yours.” I tug her hand and pull her in with me before she can say no.

  She’s already shaking her head, but I hold up one finger. “I can see those Sharpe family brains of yours going to work on ten different reasons why you won’t borrow a necklace, but I have already prepared counterarguments, and since we are now twelve minutes behind schedule, please allow me. One, they’re already paid for, some of them hundreds of years ago, so it’s not coming out of anyone’s taxes. Two, like the books in the library, they’re going to waste in here. Three, for the first time in my life, I want to share something with someone else—someone who deserves to feel like a queen, even if she’ll only allow herself that for one measly little evening. Four, I have this fantasy of seeing you in only the jewels. Maybe the heels could stay.”

  Tessa laughs and her cheeks go pink. “All right. One necklace, but make it a cheap one.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “Define cheap.”

  “Less than a kitchen stool.”

  “How about less than a car?”

  “Sofa.”

  “I said ‘queen.’ Would a queen really wear a sofa around her neck?” I reach up and run my fingertips along the base of her neck.

  “Would she wear a car?”

  “Good point.” I lean down and kiss the crook of her neck. “How about this? You choose whichever one you like the best, and I won’t tell you how much it’s worth.”

  I continue to brush my lips along her skin, then move up to her earlobe. The other night, I discovered a little spot at the base of her ear that turns her to putty. After a moment of some careful work, I get what I want. A breathy little ‘okay’ escapes her lips.

  She takes my hand as we move around the large room.

  “You know what’s funny?” she asks. “I feel a little scared to even be looking at them. Like I might somehow break something with my commoner’s eyes.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Please don’t call yourself that.”

  “Why not? It’s what I am.” She straightens her back, and I can see she’s about to go into fight mode.

  “You’re anything but common. You’re incredible.” I pluck a tiara from a display case and set it on her head, then I smile and turn her to the mirror. “See? Look at you. Positively regal. This is how the world should see you.”

  She glances at herself in the mirror, blushes some more and looks at the floor.

  “Don’t look down. I want you to see yourself the way I see you.” I stand behind her and lift her chin gently with one finger so she’s looking at herself again. “This is how I see you. A vision of perfection.”

  She turns to me. “You talk a good game, Your Highness.”

  “I’m serious. No matter what happens, I want you to remember this moment, because I want you to know your worth.” I lower my face so I can look her in
the eye. “If I were to be really honest, I’d tell you that I want you to remember this moment as the beginning of something wonderful.”

  Her green eyes lock on mine, and it’s as if she’s looking directly into my soul. And for the first time in my entire life, I have just told the truth to a woman about how I feel, and it’s fucking terrifying and absolutely wonderful at the same time.

  One of the guards clears his throat. “Sorry, Your Highness. Mr. Hendriks is putting a call out to find you. I thought you should know.”

  I answer him without looking away from Tessa for even a second. “Tell him you’ve got eyes on me, and that we’ll be there in four minutes.”

  I hear him speaking into his mic as the door closes behind him.

  “We should go,” she says.

  “I know everyone is waiting for us, but it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would choose something to wear first.” I kiss her gently on the lips, careful not to smudge her lipstick. “Please let me do this for you, Tessa. I’m not a prince tonight. I’m a man who very much wants to spoil a woman, not for any other reason than because she deserves it.” I pause, then kiss her again. “That’s not entirely true. There’s also that whole thing I’ve got running around in my head with you wearing nothing but the jewels.”

  “And my heels.” She finally grins, and it’s like the sun has come out after a storm. All rainbows and puppies and shit.

  She glances down at the case of necklaces. “That one.”

  I lift the necklace and place it around her. It’s a Harry Winston step-up cut emerald necklace, made in the nineteen-fifties for a Hollywood producer’s wife. Each emerald is surrounded by brilliant-cut diamonds.

  “Perfect choice.” I turn her so she can see herself in the mirror again. She reaches up and touches the gems delicately, and the look on her face is worth every penny of the four million.

  As we walk down the hall, she asks, “What if I lose it?”