Dirty Crown: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Royal Romance (with BONUS book - Rebel Rockstar!) (27 page)

B
y the time
the morning rolls around, it’s clear that Jem has overexerted herself over the last few days. She’s come down with a terrible cold. Her immune system is pretty fragile, and it takes her down every time she pushes herself too hard. Where everyone else would just feel a little under the weather, Jem ends up with a horrendous cold that she just can’t seem to shake.

Under the instructions of the ship’s PR team and her management, she has to be quarantined in her room to get the bed rest she so desperately needs. Her voice needs to rest before her next concert, and for the sake of her wellbeing, she needs a whole lot of sleep. I’m glad for her to have the undisturbed time alone, but I detest not being able to see her. I know that I need to protect myself from getting sick too—for the sake of my own career—but that doesn’t make it any easier.

I’ve begged Paul to let me check in on her a couple of times, but he’s refused. Apparently she had round-the-clock care on offer so there’s nothing I can do, but I can’t stop myself from going crazy.

In the end, I decide that I need to head to the bar for a few hours, just to distract myself, but I don’t want to go there alone. Being by myself won’t do me any favors, so I ask Lola to join me. She’s also a little lost without her best friend to talk to, and she’s the closest thing I have to a friend myself on this whole damn ship. Sure, we haven’t spent a
lot
of one-on-one time with each other, but that doesn’t matter. We’ll have a lot to talk about, at any rate.

I knock on her bedroom door and invite her to join me for a drink. The way her face lights up in excitement proves to me just how lonely she is.

“I’ll just go and get changed—” she starts, but I shake my head.

“You look fine.” She looks down at her sweatpants and t-shirt in disgust, but it isn’t like we’re going anywhere amazing—it’s only the quieter bar on the ship where customers don’t tend to go anyway. “You don’t need to dress up for me.” I laugh, but she doesn’t join in.

“Okay,” she eventually agrees, but she doesn’t look quite as happy with me.

I try to make conversation as we walk along to the bar, but I only get quick, one-word answers. I start to think that something must be bothering Lola, that she must have some issue she’s been trying to deal with alone. I wonder how I can help her. I want to. I’d love for our friendship to run deeper, but it’s hard for me. I may have spent a lot of time around women, but I’ve never been bothered about getting them to open up to me.

Luckily, by the time we reach the bar, her dark mood seems to have lifted ever so slightly, and she starts speaking to me again. “How long do you think Jem will be sick for?” she asks inquisitively. “It already feels like she’s been out of action forever.”

I suddenly feel a pang of guilt for taking up so much of Jem’s time. Before we started hooking up again, she was with Lola a lot, and the poor girl must be feeling a little abandoned. I make a vow to myself that we’ll start doing things more often as a group. I don’t want to be responsible for a damaged friendship.

“Shouldn’t be too long,” I say, trying to reassure her. “She’s a fighter, that one. Now, what do you want to drink?” I lean on the bar, examining the whiskey choices while she muses. I like something old and refined, something that’ll slide smoothly down my throat, burning but in a nice way. I haven’t touched alcohol in a while, and I’m surprisingly excited to be having a real drink again. As long as I don’t go wild, as long as I behave, there’s no way Paul will find out.

“Vodka and orange juice, please.” Lola says it with a serious expression on her face. “After the week I’ve had, I really need it.” I completely blow past that part, not even bothering to ask her about her crappy week. Instead I focus on the fact that she’s underage and definitely cannot drink booze.

“You can have an orange juice,” I say, trying not to sound too much like her dad. “I can’t in good conscience get you anything else.”

She gives me a desperate look, one that’s trying to tell me something, but I refuse to listen. I can’t let myself be swayed. After the trouble I’ve gotten into myself over booze, I don’t want to have any involvement in anyone else heading down a self-destructive path. And I know for a fact that there will be hell to pay if I’m caught buying a minor alcohol.

“You don’t understand,” she whines, but it’s too late. I’ve already ordered her soft drink from the bartender. I need to stand firm on this one. I just hope she understands.

I choose a seat in a booth near the bar, and Lola slides in on the same side. A weird tension hangs in the air between us, one that’s nothing like the awkwardness from before. I have no idea where it came from. It’s strange—it isn’t like she’s mad at me. It’s as if she’s feeling something that I don’t quite understand yet.

“Are you okay?” I ask her sincerely. “Do you want to talk about your crappy week?” She recoils in on herself, which sparks something within me. There’s something serious here, and I need to find out what. I’m going to have to find a way to get her to speak to me, even if that isn’t my strongest suit. “You can trust me, you know. I won’t tell anyone if it’s just that you need to talk…”

“No,” she snaps quickly. “I mean, thank you for being so nice, but I can’t. I just…I can’t.”

“Okay.” I nod, seeing that it’s useless now. She’s already shut down. I’ll have to try and find another way to get her to open up. While Jem isn’t available, I feel responsible for her. She’s already like my little sister, and without her best friend around, I’m the only one who can help her, and I intend to take that responsibility seriously. “So what do you want to talk about?”

“I…I don’t know.” She flutters her eyes up at me, giving me an indecipherable look. “I’m just really confused at the moment. I feel like a mess. It’s just…it’s a little weird.”

“Trust me, I understand.” I nod gravely. “I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a mess. All over the place.” I take a quick sip of my whiskey, feeling myself loosen up as it slides down my throat. “You’ve probably heard enough about me to know that much.”

“Mindy Hall?” she asks, proving that she has at least read that about me in the media. When I send her a lopsided smile, she continues. “What was that about? I never understood how someone like you could end up acting that way. She could have destroyed your career. All for…you know, one night of fun.”

“I know.” I sigh deeply, my mind flickering over all of my regrets. “I just…I guess I’ve been on a self-destructive path for a while now, and this really isn’t the best industry for a meltdown like that. There’s too much temptation everywhere, and too many people wanting you to fail.”

“I’m just finding that out for myself now.” Lola’s sadness is contagious. “All I want to do is sing. It’s the stuff that comes with it that I can’t stand.” She pauses for a moment, looking at her hands. “You’re the only person who seems to really understand me. Even Jem doesn’t get it quite as much as you. She doesn’t seem to have felt the kind of self-destructive feelings that we have…”

“Like I said, she’s a tough cookie.” I make a weak joke, but Lola doesn’t even crack a smile.

I wrap my arms around the young girl, wishing I could offer her some words of comfort, but since I’m not exactly a role model when it comes to behavior, I have nothing to offer her. She leans in closer to me, almost inhaling as she does, and the next thing I know our noses are touching.

Then she’s pressing her lips up against mine.

After the initial split second of shock, I shove her right off me. “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper sharply, glancing around to see if anyone saw us. Luckily, everyone else is too involved in their own conversations to notice the potentially life-wrecking thing that just happened over here. “What are you playing at?”

“I…I don’t know. I’m just so—” She’s starting to cry, but my anger is too much to subside so easily. “I’m so messed up, and we have so much in common, and you were being so nice to me…”

“I’m with Jem,” I reply firmly. “That isn’t going to change anytime soon. I’m being nice to you because I like you
as a friend
. Do you understand that?”

“I don’t…I’m sorry. Please don’t tell her,” she pleads. “I didn’t mean…I never wanted…”

I open my mouth, hoping that something positive will come out, something that can stop Lola from crying, but I never get the chance to finish my point. I watch silently as Lola stands up and flees the room, leaving me in a total state of shock.

“What the fuck was that?” I mutter to myself, downing my drink. There’s no way Lola would have done that if she was in her right mind—she adores Jem, that much is obvious. I don’t think a silly little crush on me would be enough for her to threaten that. No, I’m certain that there’s something much deeper going on here. Something that I
should
have been trying to decipher rather than all that self-destructive babble. I thought I was helping her with that one, but clearly not.

Well, the one whiskey isn’t going to be enough. It isn’t giving me any of the buzz I really need, so I head to the bar. I’m only going to have one more.

“Another one,” I say gruffly to the bartender. “Last one.” I smile thinly at him. And as I speak those words, and take a swig from the tumbler, I really think I’m telling the truth.

So I have no idea how I’m still there a few hours later, swaying and rambling at a kind stranger who was nice enough to ask me what was wrong…

“
U
gh
,” I groan, sitting up in the bed. I’m feeling better now—good enough to go outside this room at least—but I’ve been lying for such a long time that my body has started to ache from it all. I hate getting sick. It really seems to hit me harder than most people, which drives me insane. “Come on, Jem,” I try to encourage myself. “Just get cleaned up. You’ll feel so much better then.”

I force myself upright despite all the aches and pains and step into the shower. As the hot water rushes over me, my knotted muscles loosen and my brain begins to unfreeze. I feel like I’m returning to myself, which is nice. It may not have been a long time, but it feels as if I’ve been out of the loop forever. I can’t wait to see everyone again. I’m looking forward to being able to spend more time with Nate, and to reconnecting with Lola—it feels like it’s been forever since I last saw her. I’ve been thinking about her a lot while I’ve been laid up, feeling guilty for neglecting her in lieu of spending time with Nate.

I step back into my room, examining my pale reflection in the mirror for a moment. Being sick has clearly taken it out of me! I need to get back to being normal. That’s the only way I’ll recover fully. I pick up my phone and scan Kim’s messages, asking me if I’m awake.

Sighing deeply, I return to reality with a thump. I click to call her.

“Jem?” she answers sharply. “You all right?” Of course, as always, she doesn’t give me time to answer. I know she only cares in terms of what money my sickness is losing her. “I have a job for you today if you’re up for it. A photo shoot up on the deck of the ship. I’ve even managed to arrange a cordoned-off area for it—this is massive, the real deal. It’ll really help you make a stand as the sexier Jemima Rockwell, so I need you to do well.”

“Right…” I say, trying to absorb all the information. She’s speaking so quickly that it’s difficult to take anything in.

“It’s a swimwear shoot, so you’ll be in a range of bikinis. It’s for a men’s magazine, but it’s going to be classy. Don’t worry about that. I’ve been on the phone with their people for hours ensuring that the right message will be sent.”

“Wait, what?” I try, but she continues to talk over me. How have I gone from sweet teen-idol country singer to doing a men’s magazine? Isn’t that practically porn? I’m not ready for that—and I don’t think I ever will be. That’s not me at all! But of course, as per usual, what I want means nothing. I need to keep remembering that in this industry I’m a commodity, not in charge of what happens with myself.

Sensing the unease in my tone, Kim changes tactics. “Don’t panic, okay? It’s going to be fine. I’ve made sure everything is kept aboveboard, so all you need to do is show up and pose.”

If only it was that simple!
I want to scream, to argue, to get my point across, but I’m still far too weak. Before I can say any more, she’s hung up the phone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

A men’s magazine.

A bikini.

Sexier.

Oh, God. That’s the last thing I need to be dealing with today!

I angrily push the door to my room open, desperately needing someone to rant to, but the first person I bump into is definitely not who I had in mind. However, since she defended me the other day, I’m intrigued by her, so when she steps over toward me, I stop, giving her the chance to speak. Normally I’d be doing my best to avoid Tonya, but not anymore. Now I feel like I need to get to know her better.

“Jem,” she says with concern in her voice. “Can I talk to you?” She’s shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, which is a side of her I’ve never seen before. If she was here to cause me trouble, I’m certain she would have come at me with a much feistier attitude.

“Of course.” She takes me to one side, and I expect her to mention Cole at the first opportunity, but she completely shocks me by bringing up someone else.

“I just think you should know that I saw Lola and Nate kissing yesterday,” she confides quietly to me. My heart stops dead at her words. Something about them rings with a truth that I never wanted to admit to myself. Of
course
that happened—I’ve known for a while about Lola’s blatant feelings for Nate, and he’s never been trustworthy. He’s a bad boy, a player, a ladies’ man. He slept with Mindy Hall, for crying out loud. I should never have trusted him, and I’ve been an idiot for doing so! “I’m sorry. I know this must hurt to hear, but I just thought you should know.”

I spent time considering our future. I panicked over it never happening. I feel sick to my stomach. Nate has probably been playing the field the whole time we’ve been spending time together. The whole
“I love you”
thing is probably just a part of his game—and I’ve been enough of an idiot to fall for it all over again.

Tonya doesn’t seem to be acting like her usual, manipulative self at all. I really think she’s telling me the truth because she cares—even if that doesn’t make much sense. Something about her attitude toward me seems to have shifted since she stopped Cole from being a dick to me, and for that reason alone I trust her words implicitly. I just can’t see what she’d be trying to gain from this.

“Okay,” I hear myself gasp, finding it difficult to breathe. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I don’t think they know that I saw them, but I needed to tell you. I know if it was me, I would want to know.” I nod slowly, feeling my whole world drop away from me. I’ve been a fool, a complete and utter idiot, and I have no idea what to do about that. I’ve been used all over again—only this time I gave myself willingly.

“I’m just going to go back to my room,” I announce, no longer wanting to see anyone. “Thank you again. I’ll…” I trail off, unsure of how I intended to finish that sentence.

“Okay, well, you know where I am if you want to talk,” Tonya calls after me, but I simply wave my hand in the air in acknowledgment. I can’t even begin to think past the angry tears that are pricking my eyes at the moment, never mind any future chat with Tonya Becker.

As I slide back down onto the bed that I was so desperate to escape only moments before, an acute loneliness overcomes me. This isn’t just a boyfriend that I’ve lost, it’s my only friend too. As much as I can’t believe that either of them would be careless enough to do that to me, I’m sadder that I’ve lost them than anything else.

As the tears finally start to wet my cheeks, I realize that the rest of my time on this cruise is going to be very long, and very lonely.

* * *

W
hen Kim told
me about a bikini photo shoot, I didn’t expect it to be a G-string job. I’m certain I heard her mention the word “classy” —what a damn liar! I thought it would be a nice, sensible two-piece that I could position in a way that covered my modesty. Instead, my butt’s totally on show, and I’m struggling to keep my breasts inside the tiny triangles. I might as well be completely naked if I’m totally honest. My nipple has popped out more than once.

“Look happier,” the photographer shouts at me again. “If you can’t pout and be sexy, then you’re at least going to have to be happy.” He’s a massive dickhead—the typical creep with long, stringy black hair, a dark-eyed nightmare that I’m sure models have to put up with on a daily basis. I’m used to young girls trying to make their way up the photography career ladder, so this really is a huge adjustment for me.

I want to yell at him that if he had any idea what I was going through in my personal life, he wouldn’t ask that of me, but of course I don’t. It’s pointless anyway—this man is a douchebag and nothing I can say will change that. For the first time ever, I realize just how difficult a modeling career must be. There’s certainly more to it than showing up and posing, at any rate.

“I need to see some more of your boobs,” he snaps, starting to sound really angry with me. “You’re about as sexy as a fucking wet fish at the moment. Ain’t nobody gonna be buying this magazine to get off on you.”

Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. This is
not
the kind of man I ever want to see me cry. He’s trying desperately to get a reaction out of me, and I’m determined not to give it.

“Hey!” An unwelcome but surprising voice calls out, cutting him off. “Don’t be such a prick.” Nate looms above me. Feeling even more uncomfortable than before, I try to cover myself up, but it’s pointless. It’s impossible—there’s nothing to this damn bikini! Who in their right mind would wear something this skimpy in public?

“Who the fuck are you? And how did you get onto my set?” the photographer yells, sounding irate. His face goes red with rage as he looks at Nate.

Tearing my eyes away from him and back to Nate, I can’t help but notice what a terrible state he’s in. He looks like he’s suffering from the worst hangover of his life. He’s all green, a bit sweaty, and his eyes are ridiculously bloodshot. I wonder how much alcohol had to do with his decision to kiss my best friend…

“I think you have the shot you need now. Come on, Jem. Come with me.” I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place—do I go with the guy who has broken my heart into a million pieces, or do I stay here with this dickhead and continue to pose in next to nothing?

I actually consider it for a second, staying behind to spite Nate—especially when I think about Kim’s reaction to me blowing off this job, but in the end, anger wins out. I can’t subject myself to any more of this nightmare just to irritate someone else. That would be cutting off my nose to spite my face—completely and utterly pointless. So I stand up and try to stalk from the set with as much dignity as I can muster in this stupid nothing bikini. I try to cover my butt with one hand and my boobs with the other. It just makes me look stupid. What I need to do is walk with confidence, even if I don’t feel it.

I can hear Nate walking behind me, but I don’t look at him. Not yet. As soon as I lay eyes on him hell will be unleashed, and I can feel everything I want to say to him boiling inside, ready to spill out.