Royal Mistake #5 Read online

  When I see the first person with a phone, trying to take a photo, I slow my pace. I let Andrew get about fifteen steps ahead of me before I start following him again.

  I didn’t prepare for this. Being the center of attention. I know Andrew can explain it all away—he can tell everyone how he hired me to follow him around, reporting on his every move. But being on this side of the camera—being this exposed—is making my skin crawl a little.

  It seems to take forever to get to the car with all the—empty—private compartments. At least it explains why I wasn’t able to get one for myself. Andrew must have called ahead of me and reserved them all. I hate to admit I’m now almost grateful he did.

  He stops at the door to the compartment at the farthest end of the train car, slides it open and motions me inside.

  I walk in, and he follows me after another moment, sliding the door closed behind him.

  Andrew drops onto one of the padded benches and motions for me to sit beside him.

  I take a seat across from him instead.

  We sit in silence for a moment before he speaks. “It had to be a train to Prague, did it?”

  I shrug. “I think it makes a couple stops. The lady who sold me the ticket said it wasn’t an express train. She said if I wanted to wait an hour for the next one, I could save myself four hours.”

  He rubs his jaw and leans back in his seat. “Probably a stop in Salzburg. Lovely city. Have you been?”

  I shake my head. “No.” I lift a brow. “This will be my first trip outside Montovia.”

  He forces a small smile. “Salzburg is lovely this time of year. Though I’ve not yet shown you much of Montovia.” He nods to himself, his voice lowering a bit. “We’ll rectify that as soon as we arrive home.”

  “I’m not going back, Andrew.” I let out a long breath. “I…I think we can both be adults about this.”

  His brows knit together. “Adults about what, exactly?”

  “This.” I motion between the two of us. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it—”

  “And by it, you mean us?”

  I frown. “There is no us, Andrew. There’s me and there’s…you. And I think we can both admit that it’s gone too far. Whatever it is.”

  “What if I were to say that I feel it hasn’t gone far enough?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I would say you’re having some difficulties. And it’s understandable. I’m not judging you—I’m having plenty of my own troubles. But I think we both need to admit that we’re using each other.”

  “Using?” His jaw tightens. “Exactly how am I using you, Victoria?”

  I pause. Something about this interaction is reminding me of waiting for that pop singer to jump off the roof, and I can’t seem to get the image out of my mind.

  I try to steady my breaths. “I said we were using each other. Both of us.”

  “And yet, you just said there is no us—”

  “Andrew…” I frown. “Don’t do this. Don’t try to make this about something it isn’t.”

  “Tell me what it’s about then, Victoria.” The broken sound is back in his voice. “Please. Enlighten me.”

  “We went through something terrible together. More than one thing. We almost died in a plane crash. Then we almost died again trying to find our way out of the wilderness. We…we needed each other then. If either of us had been alone, we probably would have died. It makes sense—that we would cling to each other afterward. The doctor your family sent me to said it was post-traumatic stress. We had a mutual trauma. We’re doing the best we can now—finding comfort in each other’s arms. We—”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?” He interrupts. “Finding comfort? You think this has been comfortable for me?”

  “No. I don’t think it’s been comfortable for either of us. I think…I think when you came up with the harebrained idea for the wife pageant, you weren’t thinking clearly. You were suffering from your own personal brand of post-traumatic stress, and I was sick and you—”

  “I do not believe anyone has ever called me harebrained before, Victoria.”

  I narrow my gaze. “I didn’t call you harebrained. I said your idea was.”

  He closes his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze to mine. “You’re changing the subject. Bringing up the trauma we suffered before.” He pauses, his jaw clenching. “I think you are deflecting from the real subject.”

  I shake my head.

  “You could have told me. You had multiple opportunities. You—”

  “When?” I let out an exasperated breath. “When could I have told you? And I tried…” I blink back the goddamn tears that sting at my eyes again. “I did try. I did want to tell you. But—”

  “No.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “I know. I know. It isn’t exactly a topic one brings up at the breakfast table.”

  “Yes.” I press my lips into a line. “But I should have. I should have found a time…”

  He works his jaw. “I know you say there’s no possibility. But surely—”

  “No, Andrew. There is no possibility—”

  “And I know you believe that. But we’ll find the best specialist in the world. Let him decide. I’ll spare no expense, Victoria.”

  “God, Andrew.” My eyes fall closed for a moment before I lift my gaze back to his. “You think I would say there’s no possibility if there was even a remote possibility? I almost died. They had to do a hysterectomy. I don’t have the equipment—”

  “Victoria, you have no scar. I’ve seen you multiple times now—”

  “In the dark, mostly. And they’re small scars. The biggest one is inside my belly button. I imagine you weren’t looking for it when you kissed me there.”

  He drops his head into his hands.

  “They…they did say I could have a biological child.”

  He lifts his gaze to mine, his eyes bright.

  “With a surrogate. It would be expensive. And painful for me—it would take months of medication and another surgery. But I could have a biological child. I just couldn’t give birth to it. Another woman would have to give birth to my child. And I can’t imagine that would be a suitable option for you. Or for your family.”

  He closes his eyes. “No. It would not.”

  I nod. “So, it’s better if we end this now. I don’t want to keep pretending that there’s any hope for anything more than a physical relationship between us. And Andrew, if I had thought that you would have ever seen me as anything more to you…I would have told you. It’s not something I would have kept from you intentionally—”

  “The man.” He opens his eyes to look at me and frowns. “The man you said had proposed to you? The father of the children you lost? What…?” He lets out a long breath. “What happened to him?”

  “He left me. We’d been together for a few years. He was in law school. I was trying to qualify for the Olympics. It was bad timing all around. And when I lost the babies…I guess he thought it was a sign that it wasn’t meant to be.”

  He stares at me for a moment. “Is that also what you think?”

  “You mean what I thought? No. I…I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to go back home, but I couldn’t afford to live on my own—”

  “No, no. Not about him. And it might only be my opinion, but the man was a coward if he left you in your time of greatest need.” He huffs out a breath. “Victoria, I’m speaking of now. Do you think this is a sign we aren’t meant to be together?”

  “I see what you’re doing, Andrew. And if it’s going to make you feel better to lay the blame on me, then fine. I’ll take it.”

  He shakes his head. “This isn’t about assigning blame. It isn’t as though either of us chose this outcome. I’m asking you if this is your only reasoning for our not being able to be together.”

  “Isn’t it enough of a reason? Do you really need more?” I search his eyes. “You didn’t want a commoner before a few days ago. Your father doesn’t ap
prove of me. There’s a pretty good chance the people of Montovia won’t approve of me—”

  “As you’ve been so keen to point out, Victoria, my mother was a commoner before she married my father. And the people of Montovia have taken to her just fine—”

  “She’s a Montovian commoner. Not an American commoner. They might put up with it from Leo—they probably expect it from Leo. But not from you.”

  He frowns. “What else?”

  “What else about what? You need more reasons than those?”

  He nods.

  “So not being able to give you an heir, not having the approval of your parents, and not having the approval of the Montovian people isn’t enough?”

  “No.”

  I shake my head. “But those are all the things you wanted in a wife when you enlisted my help, remember?”

  He shakes his head. “Only vaguely. I was suffering from—what did you call it? Post-traumatic stress?”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Andrew. And I think if you talked to someone about what’s going on with you—this depression you’re having—”

  “I am not suffering with anything, Victoria.”

  “It’s not some badge of dishonor, you know? It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Hell, I lived in my car for a month after Jason left me because I didn’t want to face anyone. I didn’t want to talk about anything with anyone. I just…I wanted to die.”

  His eyes are almost blazing through me. “What…what changed your mind?”

  “I don’t know. I had a friend who talked me through some stuff. My aunt and uncle helped me get through some of it.” I let out a long breath. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you how you should deal with whatever it is you’re going though. I’m not suggesting that at all. I’m only saying that I’m not…”

  I realize as I’m saying the words that maybe I am his answer. The same way those friends helped me get through the most difficult time in my life, maybe I’m that for him.

  “You’re not what, Victoria?”

  I blink my eyes, snapping myself out of my thoughts. I look over at him. “I’m not wife material, Andrew. And I stand by my original suggestion that you should marry Princess Justine. She meets all your requirements. And I’m sure you can have your doctors examine her and make sure she can meet your requirements for providing you with an heir, too.”

  He drops his head back into his hands.

  “But I’ll be here for you.” I close my eyes for a moment and try to ignore the burning sensation in my chest. “I…I might not be able to ever be your wife. And…and I don’t think I can be your mistress, either. But Andrew…”

  He lifts his head and meets my gaze.

  My heart feels like it weighs a million pounds. “I can be your friend.”

  Andrew

  I stare at her. “My friend.”

  She nods. “Just your friend.”

  That’s not enough—not nearly enough. No matter what she says, she is more than just a comfort to me—and more than a means of producing an heir, too.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to work for me,” I tell her.

  Something flickers in her eyes, and she looks down at her lap. “That’s probably for the best. I’ll get off in Salzburg and see if I can get a flight back to L.A.”

  “You misunderstand me,” I say. “I meant that I want more, not less.”

  “Well, I’m afraid that is not going to work for me,” she replies.

  I frown. I’ve just told her I love her—and that her inability to have children doesn’t change that. The thought of watching her walk away again, of letting her slip through my fingers, makes me almost physically ill.

  And no matter what she says, I have a feeling that deep down she feels something similar.

  “Very well,” I say, standing and crossing the car in a single stride. “Friends it is.”

  I sit down on the bench next to her. She looks startled but doesn’t move, so I lean toward her, bringing my mouth down to her ear.

  “Remind me again how being friends works?” I murmur. My fingers brush against her wrist then drift slowly up her arm. “A friend can do this, can’t he?”

  A shuddering breath escapes her lips. “No. He can’t.”

  “Pity.” I pull my hand away from her arm, moving it instead to her knee. “What about this?” I ask as my fingers dance lightly up the length of her leg.

  “Definitely not,” she says, pulling her leg away from my touch.

  “Sad, indeed,” I say softly. “But what about this?” I dip my head a little lower, letting my lips touch the skin just below her ear.

  Her breath catches. “Andrew…”

  “What about this?” I kiss her neck again, a little lower this time. “I think a friend would definitely do this.”

  I feel a shiver move through her skin. “Maybe…”

  “And this.” Another kiss. Another sharp intake of her breath. My lips have reached the place where her neck meets her shoulder, and I let my tongue drift across her skin.

  Her hand comes up, grabbing my shoulder. I don’t know if she means to push me away or pull me closer. She doesn’t seem to know, either.

  I lift my fingers and delicately trace her collarbone. Then I move them higher—up across her throat, along her jaw, to her hair. I turn her face toward mine.

  “If I remember correctly, a friend would do this, too,” I murmur, before touching my lips lightly to hers.

  It’s little more than a peck. Still, her fingers tighten on my shoulder.

  “This, too,” I say. I kiss her again, a little longer this time.

  This time her lips move beneath mine, responding.

  I pull back just enough to speak. “And this.”

  My fingers slide deep into her hair and grip the back of her head. The next time I bring my mouth to hers, I put the force of my passion behind it. My lips slide hungrily across hers, showing her how much I still want and need her.

  And she responds. The hand on my shoulder slides down to my back, pulling me closer. Her mouth opens beneath mine, her tongue slipping out to meet my lips. And I take full advantage, sucking it into my mouth, sliding my own tongue across hers. A moan hums in her throat.

  I respond with a growl and yank her hard against my body. If this continues to be what it means for us to be friends, I think I can endure it.

  In truth, though, I don’t know what I’m going to do. There’s no fixing this, no solving this dilemma through sheer force of will. If there is truly no way for Victoria to bear me a child, then she can’t be the queen Montovia needs.

  But right now, I can’t seem to give a damn.

  Right now, she’s in my arms. Kissing me. Pulling me closer. Dragging me further under her spell. My body burns with a deep, primal need for her—something that goes beyond the purely physical and goes to the very core of my being.

  The logical part of my mind tells me I should let her go. That I should take her advice and find a woman who can give me an heir, a woman who’s noble and wise and prepared to be queen. I’m not Leopold. I don’t make rash, illogical decisions. I don’t put my country at risk or shirk my duties to indulge in my own desires.

  Or maybe I do. Maybe I was always supposed to.

  Fuck my duties. Fuck my responsibilities. Fuck the chains of obligation that almost dragged me off the side of the palace roof. Fuck everything else in this damned world. I want Victoria. Need her with every fiber of my being. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I refuse to continue fighting it.

  I twist her and drag her onto my lap, helping her straddle me without breaking our kiss. My hands move down to her ass, pulling her hips against mine. I lift partially off the seat, grinding against her and letting her feel how much I desire her.

  Right now, I don’t care about an heir. I don’t care about the future. I just care about this moment—about joining with her the way we were meant to be joined.

  She’s wearing a skirt, thank God. I don’t have the patience for anything else. I drag the garment
up her thighs, pulling it away from her skin. My hands slip beneath the fabric and find the sweet, soft curves of her ass, and I squeeze her until she moans again against my mouth.

  Fortunately, she seems just as eager as I am. Her hands grapple with my belt, and as she undoes it I slip my fingers beneath the lace of her underwear.

  When my belt is undone, her hands move to my zipper. I lift my hips again, helping her move my pants down just enough to free my aching cock. I almost lose control when her fingers slide down the hard length of it.

  But as much as I’d love for her to wrap her hand around me and bring me to completion, I’d much rather be inside of her when I come. Be as close to her as I can be.

  I grab the crotch of her underwear and pull it aside, letting my fingers slide against the wetness between her legs as I remove that final fabric barrier between us. She grips my cock and guides me into place, and I shift my hips and thrust them forward, driving into her in one motion.

  For a moment, neither of us moves. We’re no longer kissing, but our faces are still so close that I can feel her ragged breaths against my lips as she adjusts to having me inside of her.

  My breath is ragged, too. Every nerve in my body is on fire. Every muscle tense with restraint. Part of me wants to grab her and fuck her senseless, but the other part of me just wants to sit here for a moment and revel in the ecstasy of simply being inside of her, of feeling her all around me.

  I let my hands slide up her body, finally coming to rest on either of her cheeks.

  “Is a friend allowed to love you?” I ask, my voice raw.

  Her lips fall open, but no sound comes out. After a moment, she nods.

  “Thank God,” I croak.

  She shifts then, sliding forward in my lap and sending an exquisite jolt of pleasure through me. Her lips find mine, and then all of my control is lost.

  My hands drop to her hips, gripping her as I thrust up into her, meeting the rhythm of her movements. Both of her hands are on my shoulders, and her nails press into my skin through the fabric of my shirt as she rides me.