A Royal Disaster Read online

  Fortunately for Liam, he’d been a quick study. The same couldn’t be said of his younger siblings.

  “How did the meeting with the Colombians go?” Fin asked, switching gears.

  “Complete waste of time due to the unrest in Valeria.” Liam raked a hand through his hair. With Parliament pushing to diminish the power of the Valerian monarchy, the Colombians weren’t inclined to take the new terms seriously. “The ambassador expressed concern the crown won’t be in a position to honor the agreement in the future.”

  “Bollocks.” Fin paused, as if considering the implications. “It’s an excuse to delay negotiations and push for a more advantageous trade agreement.”

  “Agreed.” Not that Liam faulted the ambassador for trying. He would’ve done the same had their roles been reversed. But it didn’t make the man any less of a prick for suggesting Liam might have to get a real job someday. “Which is why I walked out.”

  Fin gave a beleaguered sigh, making it clear he didn’t approve of Liam’s aggressive negotiation tactics. But that was nothing new; he rarely did. “Should I schedule a follow-up meeting?”

  “No.” Liam was determined to let the overzealous ambassador sweat it out. Despite the longstanding trade agreement between the two countries, there were plenty of other places Valeria could source commodities. “Get me a list of the top exporters of coffee, bananas, and petrol. We need to show the Colombians we’re prepared to forge new alliances.”

  “The king isn’t going to like it,” Fin warned, making a note on his ever-present tablet.

  “Then I suppose he should’ve handled the negotiations himself.”

  Fin shot him a dark look but said nothing.

  Liam had expected the New York trip to be a reprieve from his parent’s endless pressure to choose a bride and deliver a royal heir, but so far, it had been one diplomatic headache after another. Which was why he’d ditched his guards in hopes of spending a quiet afternoon exploring the city. Not that he’d gotten to see much before the paparazzi picked up his trail. “That reminds me, you’ll want to advise the palace press secretary there will be some unfavorable pictures in tomorrow’s populars.”

  A vein pulsed along Fin’s temple. “Dammit, Liam. You were followed again?”

  “What do you think it says about my security detail that I can give them the slip and not the paps?” Liam mused, ignoring Fin’s question and polishing off his drink.

  Fin muttered something about replacing Liam’s personal guard, but it was an idle threat. In Valeria, Liam had mastered the art of sneaking out at age fifteen, yet here in America, it was damn near impossible to slip away unnoticed thanks to the bloody tabloids. Sure, being named World’s Most Eligible Bachelor by a major publication was flattering, but it was also a royal pain in the arse.

  Ever since that blasted article had dropped, the press had been hounding him nonstop. Two weeks in the city and he hadn’t had a moment’s peace. They followed him from one appointment to the next, shoving cameras in his face as they inquired about his marriage prospects, preferred brand of underwear, and favorite sexual position. It was completely undignified.

  His brother Xander would have loved it.

  “This isn’t funny.” Fin’s voice rose an octave, a sure sign he’d reached the end of his patience. He wasn’t the only one. “Your number one priority is to build confidence in the monarchy. If you bugger up this trade agreement, Parliament will use it to their advantage, and you could very well lose your crown.”

  Like hell. He’d dedicated his life to serving the people of Valeria, and there was no one more committed to seeing the country flourish. He would sit the throne when his time came.

  “Honestly, Fin. Have a little faith.”

  “My faith is hardly the issue.” Fin pulled a fresh shirt from his bag and handed it to Liam. “Not when the paparazzi are trailing your every move.”

  “You think I like the press nipping at my heels any more than you do?” Liam slipped the new shirt on over the EVA T-shirt and began fastening the buttons. “I used to think the American lack of restraint was charming, but this obsessive fascination with royal life is exhausting.”

  “Yes, well, thanks to Hollywood, they seem to think being royal is all ball gowns, tiaras, and happily ever after.”

  Liam snorted. “If they only knew.” Being royal wasn’t half as glamorous as the films made it out to be. In reality, he was little more than a glorified politician whose entire life was a chess match to be played out on the floor of Parliament. His days were packed with political meetings, philanthropy, and sycophantic fools who’d do anything to earn favor with the crown.

  As for happily ever after? That was the biggest lie of all. The monarchy was built on political marriages. Cold, loveless, miserable.

  “I rather think it’s better this way, don’t you?” Fin asked quietly. It was the closest his friend had ever come to voicing disillusionment with the monarchy, and Liam loved him all the more for it.

  “You’re probably right,” Liam said, straightening his sleeves. The truth was, being royal meant there was room for only one love: Valeria. It was a never-ending parade of strength, duty, and honor.

  Not that he minded. Liam had been raised to value his country and its needs above all else and had always done what was expected of him while his younger siblings had to be dragged kicking and screaming each step of the way. Which was why they were off doing God knew what beyond the reach of the monarchy, while he was in New York, negotiating trade deals and being tailed by the paps.

  “After all,” Fin continued, flashing a wry grin, “there’s no harm in letting the world believe the fairy tale.”

  They could keep the fairy tale. Liam lived in the real world, where duty trumped desire and sassy artists and crown princes didn’t mix—even if he wished they did.

  Chapter Three

  Lena shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the blinding sun shining through the window above the sink. She was so not a morning person, and it didn’t help that she’d been up until three a.m., painting, unable to get Chad’s lawsuit—or the disastrous run-in with the prince—out of her head. It would take at least two cups of coffee before she started feeling semi-human, but she’d happily chalk it up to the price of creativity.

  There weren’t a lot of people who could say they were living their dream. Probably even fewer who could say they’d met a hot-as-hell prince and gotten up close and personal with his drool-worthy abs. She was one of the lucky few, and she wasn’t about to complain about living her best life. Even if painting a royal—literally—would do nothing to help her land a gallery show.

  Her phone buzzed on the counter, but she ignored it. Dealing with other humans before she was properly caffeinated? Not happening.

  Really, it was best for everyone involved. What time was it anyway? She hadn’t bothered to set an alarm, since it was Nia’s day to open the shop. Translation: the only day she could sleep in. Lena rubbed her eyes and checked the clock on the microwave. It was almost ten, which meant she needed to get her butt in gear.

  But first, coffee.

  Lena dropped a pod in the coffee maker and set about refilling Jinx’s water bowl. The little ball of fur came running up the back steps when he heard her pop the top off a can of cat food, curling around her bare feet as she scraped the brown mush into his dish. She stooped to pet him, brushing her hand over the soft fur of his head and back as he purred contentedly.

  Her phone buzzed again. And again, she ignored it.

  A woman had to have her priorities.

  Right now, hers included ten ounces of French Roast. Nothing was coming between her and that first glorious shot of caffeine. Lena eyed the coffee maker, watching as it filled her cup nearly to the rim. She grabbed the cup as soon as the last drop fell, added milk and sugar, and took a hearty sip, scalding her tongue.

  Someday she’d learn pat
ience, just not today. Leaning against the counter, she sipped her coffee as her phone buzzed three times in quick succession.

  “What could be so important?” she asked Jinx as she snatched the phone off the counter and unlocked the screen. “Ay bendito.”

  She stared at her phone in disbelief. Seventy-eight new text messages. One hundred and twenty-five Twitter notifications. One hundred and eighty-three Insta notifications.

  That couldn’t be right, could it? She hardly ever posted on social media and mainly used it to keep in touch with old friends and spread the word about events at the studio. And, okay, look at cat memes.

  She took a sip of her coffee and started with the texts, most of which appeared to be from her family. She scrolled through the list, noting there were messages from cousins and aunts and uncles and—the phone buzzed again and a new message popped up on the screen.

  Nia: Girl, get your ass out of bed! You’ve gone viral!

  Puñeta.

  Lena clicked the link Nia sent, dread settling over her like a potter’s apron. Plenty of people dreamed of going viral, but Lena wasn’t one of them. In her world, nothing good could come from that kind of attention. Not even for her studio.

  The page loaded, and Lena saw herself looking half-crazed as she threw a bucket of paint at Liam. The headline read: Elena “Mad Eyes” Murphy Attacks Beloved Crown Prince.

  Ay Dios mío.

  How the hell had the photographer even gotten that shot when he’d arrived after she’d thrown the paint?

  Nia had warned her the paps might post the pictures of Liam dripping paint online, but she hadn’t really believed she’d be part of the story. She was nobody. A starving artist from the East Village, hardly tabloid material. Heart stuttering, she selected the lead image and expanded it, zooming in on her face. She looked like a complete psycho, lips curled, eyes narrowed, hair wild. Even without sound, she could imagine the roar that had emanated from her as she’d channeled her anger about the lawsuit.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was a series of images below the headline, capturing every humiliating moment of her introduction to the crown prince, including one of him bent over, clutching his royal jewels.

  Mierda. This was all Chad’s fault. If it weren’t for him and his ridiculous lawsuit, she never would’ve been in the alley in the first place. Never would have made such a spectacle of herself or given his lawyer the perfect headline to establish a pattern of reckless behavior. She was so screwed.

  Abandoning her coffee, Lena stumbled to the kitchen table and sank down in one of the chairs, fearing her legs might give out. She skimmed the article, which basically made her out to be a paint-wielding flake who’d unleashed her fury on the sweetheart prince who all of America loved.

  Except her, apparently.

  This was bad. Really bad. Why did Liam have to be a prince? Only she could have such bad luck as to splatter-paint the World’s Most Eligible Bachelor. Which pretty much branded her the villain of the story.

  With shaking hands, she opened her social media apps and scrolled through the notifications. She was being dragged online. People were actually suggesting she be locked up, like it was the internet’s collective duty to mete out punishment and protect Valeria’s honor. There was no mention of the fact that Liam had been trespassing. Not that she thought the internet gave a damn about the truth.

  Who needs facts when you can attack a total stranger and ruin their life, right?

  Lena shot to her feet. She needed to talk to Nia. Nia was an expert on all things celebrity. Maybe she’d know what to do. Lena raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  When she entered the studio, Nia was on the phone.

  “I understand, Mrs. Smith, but I assure you there’s been a misunderstanding. We take pride in providing a safe, welcoming environment for all of our students.” There was a pause and Nia frowned. “Yes, Mrs. Smith. I’ve cancelled the reservation, but I do hope you’ll reconsider. Nikki’s one of our best students and we’d hate to lose her.” Another pause. “All right. Have a nice day.”

  Lena slumped against the doorjamb, her craptastic mood souring further. “That didn’t sound good.”

  Nia turned to face her, a brittle smile fixed in place. “We’ve had a few cancellations this morning, but I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure this will all blow over quickly,” she said, her words lacking conviction. Nia gestured to the coffee pot behind the counter. “There’s a fresh pot if you need a pick-me-up.”

  She so did. But first she needed to know exactly how bad things looked for the studio. “Cuéntame. How many cancellations?” She would not cry, no matter how bad the news. Surely it couldn’t be any worse than being called a fugly hack by an internet troll.

  Nia hesitated and Lena’s stomach dropped. “The Smith birthday party, the Vixen corporate event, and…the O’Reilly bridal shower.”

  Me cago en ná. Lena counted on paint party revenue to pay the property tax bill. “It’s not even eleven yet…” Which meant things were going to get worse before they got better. There would be more cancellations as news of her run-in with the prince circulated. The question was, how many?

  “We’ve also had some withdrawals,” Nia said, toying with the belt of her apron. To her credit, she held Lena’s gaze, but that was actually worse, because it meant Lena could see the concern lining her eyes. “From the painting and pottery classes.”

  The phone rang. Once. Twice.

  “You should get that,” Lena said, retreating into the storage room as tears blurred her vision. She needed to get the hell out of EVA. There was no way she could stand around and watch her dreams go up in flames.

  …

  “Have you completely lost your mind?” Fin asked, shaking his head in dismay as the Range Rover cut a path across Manhattan. The city was a blur outside the tinted windows, and Liam gave silent thanks that for once they weren’t idling in gridlock. “The last time you visited East Village Art, you were assaulted and humiliated in the populars. Surely one visit was enough to last a lifetime?”

  Liam snorted. Since when had Fin been given to such dramatics? “I would hardly say I was assaulted.” Unless of course he was face-to-face with Elena. Then all bets were off. “What happened wasn’t Elena’s fault. You saw yesterday’s headlines. She’s as much a victim as I am. I need to make it right.”

  If it wasn’t for him, the paparazzi never would’ve targeted her.

  “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” Fin asked, his tone leaving little doubt as to his thoughts on the matter.

  Liam grinned. “I’m still working out that bit.”

  He needed to work it out fast. They’d be at the studio in a matter of minutes, and he still hadn’t figured out what he was going to say to Elena.

  Probably best to lead with an apology.

  “Honestly, the longer you stay in America, the more you act like a bloody American. By the time we get home, you’ll be completely lacking impulse control.” Fin shuddered as if the very idea terrified him. “Whatever you do, don’t run off to Las Vegas and get married. Their Majesties would never forgive me if you don’t make a proper match.”

  Liam stiffened. He had no interest in getting married, and Fin damn well knew it.

  But perhaps…perhaps in helping Elena, he could also help himself.

  Two birds, one stone.

  An idea began to take shape in his mind. It was a calculated risk, but maybe a fake American girlfriend was just what he needed to put an end to his parents’ endless pressure to marry and produce an heir. He could practically envision the royal wedding march coming to a screeching halt. Their Majesties couldn’t very well shove a royally approved duchess down his throat if he were dating Elena.

  Just for a month.

  Sure, they’d be scandalized at the news he was dating a commoner, but what could they do from across the
pond? And when they broke up at the end of the month by mutual agreement? Well, no one could expect him to jump back in the saddle while nursing a broken heart. He’d make a glassy-eyed statement about his love for Valeria and his dedication to helping the country move forward—while painting Elena as a passionate small business owner with obligations to her own community here in New York—and that would be the end of that, at least for another year or two.

  It wasn’t a permanent solution, but he was out of options. His parents were determined to see him married, and while the idea of a political marriage made his balls shrivel up, the Royal Marriages Act made it impossible for him to marry without his parents’ consent. Should he attempt to marry without their approval, his crown would be forfeit.

  “Do you have a nondisclosure agreement in your bag?” he asked, gesturing to the black leather briefcase at Fin’s feet.

  “I never leave home without it,” Fin replied dryly. “Learned that lesson the hard way, courtesy of your brother.”

  The legal team liked to pretend the NDA was an ironclad guarantee the royal family’s dalliances wouldn’t be leaked, but the truth was, it worked only if the person signing had something of value to lose. He didn’t think Elena was the type to go running to the press, but one could never be too careful.

  Ten minutes later, Liam breezed through the door of East Village Art, leaving his guards outside to watch the door. Jack and Ethan had been part of his retinue for years and he trusted them explicitly, but considering the fallout from his last visit to the studio, it was probably best to downplay his station. Better he and Fin go it alone than overwhelm Elena with his entourage.

  This mission would be challenging enough without antagonizing the sassy artist, and he was loath to lose another suit to her creative endeavors. Which was why he’d worn his least favorite.

  Just in case.