I realize I'm sitting in front of a lunatic, drunker than a highland beach skunk.
I'm already feeling my hangover. The buzz burns through me, hotter than hell, completely overwhelming the desire to fuck that drove me down here.
Or is it all this asinine conversation?
“I knew you were desperate, Serena. I understood, and I cut you a break after everything that happened because it was my own damned fault. Still, this has got to be your stupidest idea yet.” I lean in, ignoring the twitch in her green pupils, so different from the way I made them shake six months ago. “Next time you decide to bother me this time of night, it better be good. Not because you want to talk about a fucking fantasy.”
I stand up, anxious to get upstairs to my suite. She reaches out, catches my wrist with both her hands, clutching at me like a mouse in a storm.
“Silas, we can't be through.”
“Babe, we never started. If you want to keep the position you've got without stirring up any crazy questions, you'll forget last winter. Everything. You'll remind yourself you're nothing but the royal press secretary, assigned to the Prince, and nothing more. Even if I entertained your fucked up suggestion for more than two seconds, there's no way I'd ever make you my...what? My pretend girlfriend? My fiance? My wife?”
Raw anger is the only thing that suppresses the savage laugh in my throat. Her eyes are soft, sad, maybe a little scared. Time to go, before I pull the trigger that sends fire straight through her heart.
I turn around and walk, praying she isn't stupid enough to follow. This time, she stays put. I can hear one of the bodyguards shuffle over just before I get into the elevator, and see him whisper something into her ear.
They hand out warnings like candy whenever I need to be alone. And the bitch has gotten to me, yeah, just enough for the guards to sense it, step in, warn her not to follow me. She'll listen, if she wants to keep doing anything in a royal capacity.
The elevator door closes, taking me back to my private level.
I've forgotten about the pussy I came down for. I'm finally ready to crash, and forget this brutal day.
Nobody ever said being Prince was easy.
I'm eating a late brunch the next day, wondering why I can't stop thinking about Serena's idiotic suggestion.
Maybe it's because the damned thing is...well, not so stupid after all.
Anything involving her would be a disaster, of course. But stepping out, finding a girl I can use to play pretend, just to get the media jackals and grandmom off my ass...no, that's not insane.
I've always been a fan of making my problems disappear overnight. When I see an opportunity, I don't let go.
Right now, a big, fat one is staring me right in the face. I can practically see it now.
Just a few minutes of playing pretty with my fake love a week. Maybe a dinner or two, just to keep up appearances, and keep her on good terms.
That's all I want. All I need to pull this off before I go back to drinking, whoring, doing whatever I damned well please.
My hero shine didn't last long when I left the service and Afghanistan, no matter what the nicer boys in the press try to say. Not like it suited me anyway.
I'd rather do scandal than play hero a thousand times over. Hero is a role I don't understand, and never will. It's dangerously detached from reality.
No, fuck hero. Afghanistan taught me life is short, more than anything else, and I'd better make the most of every day in case there's not another.
Hero's something I'll never understand. A suit that won't ever fit.
That's for grandmom, with her pomp, her tradition, her endless charity balls. Me, I know exactly what I am.
I just need to dial it back enough to prevent the Bearington crown from falling into the streets instead of my hands once grandmom's done.
I need a girl to play the part, to give me a new image. An actress, that's what I'm after.
Preferably, a girl who doesn't know a thing about who I really am, and who won't think twice about upsetting the whole arrangement because she starts to get attached.
Smiling, I sip my coffee, tasting all the sweet notes of the Hawaiian plantation it's imported from, just for me. Truthfully, everything seems bright and decadent and beautiful today.
It's glorious, because I woke up with my head straight, instead of a hangover. And it's only going to get better, damn it, because I have a plan.
I'm finishing up my goose eggs and coffee when Victor knocks. “You know it's open!”
He comes in, a somber look on his face, very much back to being my personal servant instead of my chaperon for Her Majesty.
“Your Highness, I heard about Miss Hastings and her chat last night with you in the club. I'm deeply sorry, particularly because I'm the one who's warned her about inappropriate discussions before. If you'd like me to discharge her from her position immediately, I certainly would have no qualms.“
“No. It's my fault for bringing her to bed. She's crushing like a stupid schoolgirl,” I tell him, owning up to it, as much as the bitch annoys me. “She's doing her job, giving me ideas to iron out my image. As long as she's doing that, she ought to keep what she's earned. She'll get over the rest of it, I'm sure, she's a professional at heart. Don't let her go, Vic. Just...keep her the hell away from me for awhile. Please.”
“Understood, sire,” he says, the look on his face telling me that's going to be easier said than done. “Is there a reason you've called me up here?”
“Yeah. I've been thinking about the Warwicks, wondering how they're doing.”
Victor narrows his eyes. Probably wondering what I'm really up to.
Screw him. He doesn't need to know. Not until it becomes absolutely necessary to spell everything out. Not a day sooner, because I know he'll try to talk me out of it, if he even gets a hint of what I'm after.
“If you're certain, Your Highness, it would be my pleasure to find out and relay the message for you.”
“I'd like that. I'd also like to know exactly what's wrong with her father, and what their finances look like.”
Victor blinks. “Prince, I can find out the details of his condition without issue. The financial arrangements might be another matter. As you know, they're both foreign nationals, and the kingdom has no agreement in place with the United States to look so closely at their private details.”
“Give me a damned break.” Shaking my head, I fold my arms and glare at him. “No more games, Vic. You know as well as anybody that they've had special agents checking over the island's bank accounts forever. Trying to catch the rich assholes who tried to use our banks as a conduit to Switzerland to avoid their taxes. It was all over the news, just a year or two ago.”
“That's true, Your Highness, but I don't see how American nosiness has anything to do with –“
“No buts. I'm not asking you to comb through the personal accounts of anybody at the US embassy. I'm just asking for the financials on the Warwicks. Two journalists nobody's going to start an international incident over. Can we do that?”
I wait tensely for the answer, and it better be yes. Vic hesitates.
Finally, he bows his head slightly. “Of course, sire. Anything you wish. I'll have to file a request with the intelligence office. You know how these things go. Hopefully, they'll process it promptly, and pass along something I can give to you by late tonight.”