A Royal Disaster Read online

  Elena turned and looked up at him with a brilliant smile that made his chest tighten. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but that was okay, because what he saw there was burning determination. The kind it would take to fool the press, the palace, and the millions of rabid fans who couldn’t see beyond the Mad Eyes Murphy headlines.

  Jack opened the door to the limo, but Liam made no move to tuck Elena inside. Instead, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, using his free hand to lift her chin so she had no choice but to look him in the eye and forget about the cameras. They were so close he could feel the heat of her body, the soft curve of her breasts, the erratic beat of her heart as the scent of her perfume—a citrus floral combination—curled around them as if creating an invisible barrier to the outside world.

  Elena looked up at him from under her dark lashes, her full lips parted in invitation as he cupped her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss started slow and chaste, a mere brush of the lips. It was a kiss befitting the Crown Prince of Valeria—the kind that would make the masses swoon at the prospect of a royal romance—but when Elena melted into his embrace, her soft lips melding to his in supplication, white-hot need crackled across his skin, and all thoughts of propriety went up in flames. He deepened the kiss, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her hip even as his tongue brushed against hers in a seductive dance. Their lips moved in concert, but no matter how many times he kissed her, it wasn’t enough. He needed more. What he wouldn’t give to—

  Ethan cleared his throat. “Sir?”

  Bollocks. Liam fought a groan even as he came back to himself. It was time to wrap up the show. There was a fine line between newsworthy royal romance and royals gone wild, and he’d been about to cross it right there on the street for the whole damn world to see. He pulled back slowly, taking satisfaction in the fact that Elena appeared well-kissed with swollen lips and a healthy glow in her cheeks that made it clear to anyone watching she was smitten.

  Well played, Elena.

  Liam couldn’t help grinning like a fool as he helped his fake girlfriend into the car amid a new flurry of shouted questions and flashes from the paparazzi. She smiled up at him like he was a lost Picasso, and he had to give her credit, she was one hell of an actress. Perhaps even he might’ve been fooled if she hadn’t made it clear her only priority was the studio.

  Or was it possible she’d felt a spark of something, too?

  He shook off the errant thought as he slid into the car. What they had was a business arrangement, and he’d do well to remember it.

  Elena Murphy: American Royalty?

  We’ve always hoped one of America’s own could snare the heart of a Valerian prince, but we kind of figured it would be Prince Alexander. And, if we’re being honest, a woman who knows how to work a pole (in more ways than one). So color us surprised when we heard Prince William (aka His Royal Hotness) was seen getting cozy with none other than Elena Murphy at a Broadway show last night.

  What show you ask? Pretty Woman, of course. (We’re sure there’s a joke in there somewhere, but we’re a little too hungover this morning to care.)

  Sources say the pair arrived in style and spent the night canoodling in a private balcony, but who knows what really goes on when the lights go down? Lucky for us the smitten couple couldn’t keep their hands to themselves and were caught in a heavy PDA sesh outside the theater. So much for the old “look, don’t touch” adage! (Seriously. Check out those pics. They’re burning up the interwebz and it’s not just because Murphy’s dress is H-O-T.)

  Now, we’re pretty sure this is a first for HRH, and we know it’s a definite no-no for the royal family, so only one question remains: could this be love?

  We have to admit we don’t hate the idea of an American princess and we might even be able to get behind a Willena ship (how cute are they together?), but don’t go crying into your wineglasses just yet, ladies. If we know anything about celebrity ships (and trust us, we do), they’re rarely end game. We wish HRH the best, but like the song says, love is a battlefield, and we already know Murphy isn’t afraid to fight dirty!

  Chapter Eight

  The bell to the shop rang and Lena looked up to see Carlos—the florist she’d gotten to know on a first-name basis—smiling at her from behind a ginormous bouquet of vibrant blossoms that looked like they’d been plucked right from a photo shoot. Today’s arrangement was a lovely blend of peonies in all shades of pink from the faintest blush to a bold fuchsia that spoke directly to her soul.

  “Buenos días, señorita. Got another one for you,” Carlos said cheerfully. “Where would you like them?”

  Lena scanned the studio, which was starting to look like a floral boutique, and laughed in spite of herself. It was the fourth delivery in as many days and people were starting to talk, online and in real life. The deliveries had started the morning after the musical, and thanks to one sneaky photographer—who she suspected had been tipped off by Fin—each delivery had been captured and shared online. Now there was a ragtag group of paparazzi permanently stationed outside, hoping to catch a shot of Liam the next time he made an appearance at the studio, or, at the very least, the next floral delivery.

  She wasn’t exactly a fan of living under a microscope, but she couldn’t complain, because between the kiss and the flowers, the online chatter seemed to be taking a positive turn. Instead of comments about her horrific treatment of HRH and overall lack of style—which had been at least partially redeemed by the beautiful gold dress Fin had picked out—people seemed to be more enamored by the prospect of the prince falling in love with a common American artist.

  “Aquí. I think we can squeeze them in over here,” Lena said, pointing to the last open bit of space on the front counter. Carlos followed her lead and slid the vase into the tiny opening, nearly toppling a display of tri-fold flyers and business cards that were starting to collect dust. “Can you do me a favor, por favor?”

  “Anything for my best customer,” he said, chuckling and wiping a hand across his brow.

  “Perhaps you could recommend a smaller arrangement the next time the prince’s assistant calls? You know, something that might not take up so much space?” Lena suggested hopefully.

  Carlos puffed out his chest. “No assistant. I spoke with Prince William himself.”

  That couldn’t be right, could it? Surely he had more important things to worry about than their budding fake romance. “You’re telling me the prince calls to place all these orders himself?” she said, gesturing at the multitude of blossoms taking over her studio.

  No freaking way. First the show, now this? It was a lot of effort for a fake relationship.

  “Of course he does. What kind of man doesn’t order his own flowers?” Carlos screwed up his lips as if the very idea were distasteful. “I’ve been in this business a long time and you can take my word for it, señorita, the good ones? They always order their own flowers. And your prince? He already placed his order for the entire month.”

  Lena froze, her heart slamming against her rib cage. “Did you just say month?”

  “Ignore her, Carlos,” Nia said, floating into the room as if carried by the wind itself. “There’s plenty of space in the office,” she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “And in her apartment upstairs.”

  “We’re going to be overrun with flowers!” Lena protested, quickly amending, “Not that they aren’t lovely.”

  Nia snorted. “We have too many flowers, said no woman ever. Girl, do you know how many women would cut a bitch to be on the receiving end of such a romantic gesture?”

  “You should listen to your friend,” Carlos said, pointing at Lena as if he were scolding a wayward child. “No such thing as too many flowers when it comes to true love. Hasta mañana!”

  Lena stood slack-jawed as he raced out the door without a backward glance. A month’s worth of flowers? What would they even d
o with them all?

  “Come on. Spill,” Nia pleaded, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “You’ve been on cloud nine for days and not so much as a peep about His Royal Hotness. I need details. I’m dyyyyyiiiiing!”

  Lena snapped her mouth shut and turned to her friend, doing her best to keep her expression neutral even as guilt clawed at her conscience. “What’s to tell? He picked me up, we saw Pretty Woman—which was amazing—and he dropped me off.”

  Nia groaned, and it was all Lena could do not to join her. If she could just be honest with Nia and tell her the whole relationship was a sham, things would be so much easier. The NDA hanging over her head meant she couldn’t sit around gushing about Liam only to break up with him at the end of the month, which, she was starting to suspect, might devastate Nia more than herself.

  Liar.

  Okay, fine. Yes, she’d spent far too long thinking about their amazing date and the blazing kiss that had damn near scorched her panties. But it had all been part of the act. There was no way Liam had actually wanted to kiss her. Even if it had felt real in the moment. Which just went to show how far she’d put her head in the damn clouds. Because even if Liam was smart, thoughtful, and funny—not to mention deliciously protective—he was still a freaking prince. He wasn’t going to fall for a starving artist, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be one with the world’s worst luck. Nothing good could come of it. Not for him, anyway. Besides, he’d already gone above and beyond to help bail her out of her media nightmare.

  Problem was, it was hard to forget those soft, perfect lips. And the man had a very gifted tongue. Add in the fact that he’d taken her on one of the most romantic dates of her life and—

  Enough!

  It didn’t matter how convincing the kiss had felt in that moment, or how much she’d enjoyed it, it wasn’t real. There was nothing real about their relationship and she needed to remember it, because Liam’s future no doubt included a beautiful, polished princess who didn’t come with her own set of bad luck baggage.

  “What’s going on in there?” Nia asked, tapping the side of Lena’s head with her pointer finger. “You’ve got that goofy-ass grin on your face again.”

  Flames licked at the back of Lena’s neck. She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t even noticed her friend’s approach. This had to stop. She couldn’t sit around daydreaming about Liam all day. “Sorry, I was doing a mental inventory for this week’s community outreach class. I think we’re going to need some new brushes.”

  “Riiight.” Nia planted a hand on her hip. “Because the thought of paintbrushes always gives you that blissed-out I’m-about-to-publicly-orgasm-right-freaking-now look. You were thinking about kissing HRH, weren’t you?”

  Coño. Nia knew her too well. Fortunately, the phone rang, saving her from answering.

  “Get that, will you?” Lena begged. “And remember, if it’s family, I’m not here.”

  Nia arched a brow and reached for the phone. “East Village Art, Nia speaking.”

  Lena’s stomach churned with nervous energy. The phone had been ringing more and more the last few days, but it was a crapshoot as to whether it would be a client, a reporter, or one of her aunts trying to get the scoop on her royal relationship. She prayed it was a client. They’d had a few students call to reenroll, but they weren’t even close to covering the looming tax bill.

  After all, that was the whole point of this ridiculous farce.

  “Tía Rosa, it’s so nice to hear your voice.” Nia’s smile was positively devious as she turned to Lena. “Oh, you’re looking for Elena?” There was a pause. “I know, she’s been so busy lately, I’ve hardly seen her myself.”

  Nia wouldn’t… They were best friends! Lena shook her head rigorously, praying her friend wouldn’t sell her out.

  “I’m sorry, Tía Rosa, but she ran out for supplies. I’ll be sure to let her know you called. Again,” Nia said, shooting Lena a meaningful look.

  Lena sagged against the counter as they said their goodbyes. Relief and guilt warred within her, confirming she was the worst niece ever. Tía Rosa had been calling the shop daily since the photos of her kiss with Liam hit the web and Lena had managed to dodge every single one of them. But it was just a matter of time until her aunt cornered her. The woman was relentless, and Lena had no doubt the family tree was abuzz with speculation about her relationship with the prince. That was the thing about having a large family; there was a lot of talk and everyone knew everyone else’s business. It would take a miracle to keep her relationship under wraps for another three days, let alone another three weeks.

  “You owe me one,” Nia said as she returned the phone to its cradle.

  “More like a hundred,” Lena said, grinning at her friend. “And I promise to make it up to you, right after we finish inventorying those paintbrushes.”

  …

  Liam pored over trade documents while Fin flipped through the day’s mail, lips pursed and brow furrowed. There was something troubling his friend—despite years of employ at the palace, his facial expressions were easy enough to read—but he’d known Fin long enough to know that if he wanted to talk about it, he would. So he forced his attention back to the first round of proposals from Valeria’s potential trade partners. He wasn’t inclined to accept any of them, and only a few were serious enough to even be considered, but at least he knew who was interested in forging a partnership and who was disposed to believe the rumors of instability within the monarchy.

  As much as the gossip chafed, at least it had served to narrow the field, which would free up time to work on his other pet project, the one he hoped would win public support for the crown and end all talk of reducing the power of the monarchy.

  “Sir, the Caridoso Minister of Economy has invited you to dinner at the Washington D.C. residence,” Fin said, holding up a delicately embossed invitation with black calligraphy scrawled across the front. “Shall I confirm?”

  “When is it?” Liam asked, tapping out a quick calculation on his laptop. He jotted the results on the first page of the trade proposal and tossed his pen on the desk as Fin read the date.

  “Washington,” Liam mused, considering his options. Caridoso was a resource-wealthy country in South America, and according to his research, The Caridoso Foreign Ministry had Trade and Investment Offices all over the world, including one in New York. He’d hoped they could broker a deal locally, but he couldn’t very well decline the invitation. Not if the Minister himself was willing to meet personally. “How long’s the flight?”

  “Ninety minutes.” Fin shifted, keeping his attention focused on the invitation as if casually rereading it. “They’ll expect you to bring a date. Shall I ring Camilla?”

  Fin was right. Camilla would be an appropriate choice. They’d gone to school together and she was always happy to be his plus-one for formal occasions. Camilla understood their friendship was strictly platonic, and the periodic dates suited her own agenda nicely. The eldest daughter of a duke, Camilla’s job was to be seen in appropriate company. The occasional political dinner with the crown prince furthered both their goals.

  It was a solid plan, so why was he hesitating?

  Dinner at the embassy was a show of good faith. Caridoso would be a strong trade partner, and the initial proposal was favorable. No, the problem wasn’t with the dinner invitation; it was with the date. He couldn’t be seen cavorting with Camilla if he wanted the world to believe he was with Elena. Still, the invitation held some appeal. If he attended in an official capacity—with Elena as his date—it would certainly lend credibility to their relationship status.

  The problem was, Elena would no doubt balk at attending such a formal affair. Liam considered his options. Too bad he’d already used up the surprise date card. No matter. He’d just have to find another way to convince her. He still had some time, and it was just as well, because this was an invitation best delivered
in person.

  Timing would be everything.

  “No need to bother Camilla,” he said, turning his attention back to Fin. “I’m going to ask Elena to be my date for the evening.”

  Fin flattened his brows, deep lines forming on his forehead. “Camilla would be a more suitable choice.”

  Liam bristled at his friend’s use of the word suitable. Which was ridiculous. Hadn’t he just had the same thought? Fin was right, of course. Camilla had probably been to as many diplomatic and state dinners as he had. She was cultured, coiffed, and confident.

  But it was Elena he wanted.

  “Elena is a sweet girl, but don’t you think it’s time to bring this charade to an end?” Fin asked. “You’ve had your fun; Elena’s reputation has been redeemed. Why drag it out any longer?”

  Liam steepled his fingers as he studied his friend. Was it possible his fake relationship was troubling Fin? “Elena’s reputation may be on the rebound, but her business is not. Not fully, anyway. I promised her a month and I intend to see it through.”

  Fin sighed. “I didn’t want to mention it, but your parents are…concerned. You need to keep your eye on the diplomatic reasons you’re here. You can’t afford to let the trade mission get derailed for personal reasons.”

  “Do I look distracted?” Liam asked, cutting his eyes at the mountain of paperwork on the desk. “Elena’s not a distraction. She’s a breath of fresh air.”

  “Exactly,” Fin said, leaning forward and stabbing the desk with his pointer finger. “Elena is not a part of your world. She’s not accustomed to the scheming and backstabbing and the hard choices demanded of your position. She’s already been through hell; I’d hate to see her become collateral damage.”

  “I won’t let that happen,” Liam scoffed. “I’ve got everything under control.”

  “For now,” Fin said grimly. “You of all people should know that control is an illusion.” Fin leaned back in his chair and raked a hand through his hair. “It hasn’t been easy rewriting the narrative on Elena, but the media’s in a good place. Give it some time and her business will be back on track.”