Royal Bastard (4 page)

“
T
hat picture is good
. Let’s get that one on the main flyer.”

I agreed and smiled as I looked at the shot, proud that I had taken it. Harriet and I were sitting in her office, the bright sun filtering through her windows as we pored over the pictures from the night before. But that wasn’t the only reason she had called me there. I was just waiting for her to bring it up. Harriet and I were extremely close, a mere two years between us. She was my best friend and the one person I could spill my guts to. Lately, though, we had been drifting apart, what with me travelling abroad and her with her club and her husband Jacob, to whom she had been married for a little over two years, so it was nice to be able to spend time with her.
I liked Jacob, too. He was quiet, the opposite of my sister, but I knew she was head over heels in love with the man. After all, it had been his ingenuity that had gotten her the club in the first place. A banker, he had soundly invested her money to start funding her dream, and over time, she had made enough to put down the deposit on this space.

Clicking the button, I blushed as the next image came into view. Oh my, how could I have forgotten that I’d even taken it?

“Who is that?” Harriet asked as she caught a glimpse at the screen. “Oh my god, that is one fine-looking ass!”

With my cheeks burning, I clicked off of the image immediately. “It’s nothing.”

“The hell it is!” Harriet said, clicking backwards to view it again. “Is that one of my bathrooms? Please do not tell me that they were doing the deed on my expensive counters!”

“They were, but it was only the staff toilet…” I said, pursing my lips as I viewed the image. Prince Edward. I’d had no idea that was him when I snapped the picture. No wonder he had thrown my camera and broken the five-hundred-pound lens in the process. This picture would no doubt embarrass the entire royal family if it got out.

After the debacle in the wee hours of the morning, I hadn’t been able to sleep and had pulled out my trusty laptop and done some research on the man himself. I was quickly caught up in no time.

Prince Edward was the black sheep of the royal family, the result of a scandalous affair before my time between the future king of England and his publicist. Rumour was that the publicist died of cancer when the boy was ten, and he was brought to the royal palace to live. Ever since then, he had been the subject of multiple stories, none of which were very good, one being last night. My escalating fight with Brent had gotten both my ex and the prince arrested. I felt bad about that; if I’d managed to shake Brent off myself, none of it would’ve happened. But I was grateful that he had stepped in when he clearly could have walked right by. I just hoped he didn’t send any personal guards to lock me up in a cage because of what had transpired later on.

“But it’s nothing,” I reiterated, shutting off the camera, grateful that the device and its internal electronics were still working after its tumble, though I would still need to get the lens repaired—it no longer clicked on like it should.

“What’s going on with you?” Harriet asked as she looked at the next image. “Is this about what happened with Brent last night? I am so glad that you split up with him.
My little sister deserves better than the likes of him.”

“I’m fine,” I swallowed, sitting back in the chair with a huff. “I don’t know why he came here last night. I have made it perfectly clear that I am done with him.”

“Some guys just don’t get it,” Harriet shrugged, looking over at me. “What you need is a strong, silent type, Rose. Jacob has some friends, you know.”

I rolled my eyes, but maybe I did need to start dating again. Maybe that would help Brent get the message that I wanted nothing to do with him, but god knows why seeing me with another man would give him that message. My words and feelings mattered not one jot to him. “You know,” I said, tapping my fingers on the chair arm, “maybe you are right.”

“Really?” Harriet asked, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “You’re gonna let me set you up?” I could see the sparkle in her eyes and the giddiness that was about to burst out… I couldn’t say no now and disappoint her.

I nodded and she launched into a list of names. I let her talk, not really paying attention to any of it. Brent had broken my heart; just when I’d thought he was the one, he had showed his true colours. I mean I was glad that I had escaped certain relationship death by finding him out, but the truth of what he stole from me still hurt.

Brent had been my everything, my first real boyfriend who seemed to like me for me. I wasn’t tall or willowy, I wasn’t blonde or thin. He seemed not to care about any of that. I still wondered what he actually saw in me that made him want to stick around as long as he did. Was it my naivety in general? Or perhaps it was my willingness to go along with almost everything he said and did, in order to please him. I didn’t know. There were things I still blushed about, including the incident in the staff bathroom, even though I had been intimate with Brent numerous times. I guess I still wasn’t comfortable in the whole club scene. The only conclusion was that I wasn’t at ease in my own skin at twenty-five, and I doubted I ever would be.

“So?” Harriet prompted, bringing me back to the present. “What do you think?”

I turned toward my sister and gave her a thumbs-up. It was time to move on.

* * *

I
arrived
home about an hour later with a slip of paper saying where and when to meet my mystery date later on that night. As I opened the door, the familiar smell of my parents’ home hit me full force, reminding me that when all else fails, you could always come home. Thank god for their indulgence and generosity, or I would have been out on the street right.

Closing the door, I trudged down the hall and up the stairs to my old bedroom. Mementos of the past were still tacked up on the wall, old pictures of my youth reminding me of happy-go-lucky times before the reality of being an adult had set in. I hated the fact that I’d had to make the phone call to my mum about moving back home. I was totally prepared for the litany of I-told-you-so’s, but she had collected me in her open arms and told me that I was going to be okay. And I was. I just needed some help, and time, to get there.

My mum and I were close, not as close as Harriet and I, but close enough. She was a retired school teacher, and my dad was still working in a local manufacturing plant specialising in automotive parts. They were solid, good, hardworking people who had tried to give their daughters everything they could. I was grateful for their support over the years.

With a sigh, I walked over to my closet, opening it to look at the sad state of my outfits for my blind date tonight. What did one wear to a blind date nowadays? Just thinking about it made me feel older than I was. No wonder Harriet was trying to set me up. I pulled out a brightly coloured skirt and frowned.
Too much.
I didn’t want to look like every leprechaun’s dream wearing a rainbow skirt. No, that would not work. The next was some skinny jeans that fell back on their promise to make me look skinny; I looked more like an overstuffed sausage casing. Nope. I wanted to impress him, not scare the guy off.

Finally, after the closet became a growing pile on my bed, I picked out a pair of black pants that were comfortable but still gave me some shape and a gauzy top that flowed over my boobs and slightly rounded tummy. Functional and not a hint of sexiness to it. Yep, that was me. Maybe I should’ve convinced Harriet to go on a shopping trip before jumping in head-first for a date. But I had promised, and I was not one to break a promise. I just hoped whoever she’d set me up with wasn’t expecting someone with fashion sense.

* * *

I
took
a nervous sip of my wine and gave him my best smile, hoping I didn’t have anything stuck in my teeth. Grant was a banker in Jacob’s company, and he sure loved to talk about his work. I had to admit, though, the date was going rather well.

I met him at a classy restaurant; I was totally shocked by his appearance and desperately tried to hide it. He was tall and lanky, with a shock of red hair and glasses that kept sliding down his nose every time he moved his head. After dating Mr. Perfect (who turned out to be not-so-perfect and who’d come with his own costs to my battered heart) for two years, I was happy to give Grant a chance. And maybe someone like Grant, safe and nice, could be the man I had been looking for. If only I could get him to quit talking so much.

“So that’s how mortgages work. Exciting, huh?”

“Very,” I replied, keeping a smile on my face. I hoped there wasn’t a quiz later. I would fail miserably, considering I had zoned out nearly thirty minutes before as he droned on about variable interest rates. “You seem to have a passion for your job.”

“I do,” he admitted with a sheepish smile as he took a sip of his water. “What about you? Jacob said that you’re a photographer.”

“I am,” I said, tucking a curl behind my ear.

“What’s your real job then?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, your profession,” he said, looking at me expectantly. “Surely you know the success rate of photographers. You can’t possibly mean to make a career of it… The odds are stacked against you, what with every arts and English graduate picking up their camera and thinking they can make a living out of it.”

I swallowed then, fury racing through my head. Really? He thought I couldn’t make a career out of it? Who the hell did he think he was? I wasn’t naïve enough to think it wouldn’t be hard, but I was willing to put the work in, to build up a reputation, maybe even go into wedding photography—practically everyone got married, and some of them more than once. It would just take time, one step after the other. I was willing to pour my blood, sweat and tears into it.

I opened my mouth to give him the what-for when a presence hovered over our table.

“Excuse me?”

I looked up to find a familiar pair of blue eyes staring back at me, and all the moisture in my mouth evaporated. I had to blink a couple of times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
What was in that glass of wine?
But no, there he was, in the flesh. Prince Edward was standing beside our table, dressed casually in an open-necked shirt that matched his eyes and a pair of dark trousers that had my cheeks blushing as I thought about what I knew to be hidden underneath. His short, wavy hair was slicked back, and his friendly smile belied the hardness of his eyes as they stared at me.
Oh boy, he’s furious at me for getting him arrested
.

“Are you the owner of this restaurant?” Grant asked, completely unaware of who stood at our table. “because my salmon is dry.”

Edward’s eyes swung away from mine as he looked at the man who’d been boring me to pieces, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I hate to tell you this, old chum, but this here is my darling wife,” Prince Edward said, his voice ever so hoity-toity.

“What?” I exclaimed, horrified as Grant’s face lost all colour.

“Y-your wife?” Grant sputtered, looking at me. “But Jacob said you were single.”

“I am,” I said, narrowing my gaze on the handsome, irritating man who was ruining my date. Okay, so he wasn’t ruining the date, but still he was making Grant sputter like a car running on its last legs. “This guy is delusional.”

“She loves to play these little games,” the black sheep prince joked, squeezing Grant on the shoulder with his strong hand. “We’ve been looking for a partner you know, one to keep her satisfied. She’s a tiger in bed.”

Oh my god. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I wanted to bury my face in my hands. Grant threw down his napkin and stood, looking at me like I had grown two heads. “I think this date is over,” he said stiffly.

“No, wait,” I started as he walked away, glaring at the man who slid easily into the seat across from me. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t think we have formally met,” he said instead, sticking out his hand. “I am Edward.”

“I don’t care who you are,” I hissed, my face red with embarrassment. “I am leaving.”

His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, his fingers warm on my bare skin. I gasped at the initial contact, feeling my pulse skip a beat or two. “No, I can’t let you leave, not yet.”