Owned By the Prince by Tristan Rivers
Chapter 14
Blair
Iget up and shower. My ass feels a little different, a little bruised, but I like it, knowing that he’s been there.
“What did you want to show me?” he asks when I come back, wrapped in a towel. He looks relaxed, much happier than when I arrived. I collect the box I brought and deposit it on the bed. “I’ve thought of a way you can go out in public without paparazzi snooping on you,” I say. He raises an eyebrow. I open the box.
Thirty seconds later, he’s laughing, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Okay, let’s try it.” He pulls on the skinny jeans and the blue, checked shirt. I help him to attach the big brown beard with spirit gum, and he puts on the pair of oversized glasses. Then he looks in the mirror. “Shit! I really don’t recognize myself.”
I assess my handiwork with pride. He looks like the archetypal hipster. You’d never know he was Prince Max. You wouldn’t even have the slightest suspicion. I give him the shoes too—a pair of sneakers, made to look beat-up. “These are ridiculous,” he says, laughing as he pulls them on.
“You look perfect,” I say.
I reach into the box and pull out some oversized glasses for myself, a pair of torn blue jeans, and a denim jacket. Then I carefully fix my hair into a topknot. Max looks at me, throws his head back, and laughs. “Who would’ve thought it could be so easy?”
My heartbeat speeds up as I try to gather the courage to ask him a question: “Will you allow me to take you out in Londis this afternoon?”
“You mean on a date?”
I shrug, my cheeks warming. “If you like?”
He lifts his arms out to the sides “That would be tremendous!” We both start laughing.
“How do we get out of here?” I ask, as we walk down the stairs.
“We just walk. We’re not prisoners here, you know?”
“No, but won’t your security team freak?”
“You’re right. I’ll go speak to them.”
I wait as he disappears down a corridor. I hear some loud guffawing and backslapping, and then he’s back. “They didn’t recognize me, which I think is proof I’ll be safe by myself. Come on, there’s a car waiting out front.”
Instead of the usual limousine, we’re in a sleek, sporty Mercedes, and we whiz through the Saturday afternoon traffic.
“Where to ma’am?” the driver asks.
“Haggerston,” I say confidently.
“Haggerston? Where is that?” Max mutters.
“East Londis. It’s not far from Shoreditch and Dalston.”
He nods sagely. “Well, well.”
I smile to myself as we come into Haggerston, which is my favorite “hip” neighborhood in Londis.
It’s a beautiful day, in the mid-70s, blue sky with fluffy white clouds, and I ask the driver to drop us off by Regent’s canal, which winds through the city from east to west. The dark green water glistens in the sunlight. People are in shorts and sunglasses, the usually serious Londisers grinning like they’re on vacation. I slide glances at Max, trying to see the scene through his eyes. And I’m suddenly worried that he’ll be underwhelmed. It’s just a stretch of water and a few trees. But his eyes behind the hipster glasses are sparkling with enthusiasm.
“Where are you taking me?” he asks.
“Well, I thought we could grab a coffee and wander along the canal. If that’s not too boring?”
“Are you kidding me? It sounds terrific!”
I lead the way to an organic coffee stall right on the canal towpath.
“I say, would you mind ordering?” he mutters. “It’s probably better if no one hears my voice.”
I grin. His posh accent definitely stands out among the careless drawling of the local hipsters. Visually he fits right in though, and I see some of the guys casting envious glances at his full beard.
I order two lattes and we start to walk. Ducks and narrow boats and kayaks float along the water, and the path is lined with trees and vegetation. Max walks close beside me, commenting on everything he sees, all the arty cafes and quirky fashions, and there’s almost an innocence in his enthusiasm. I’m kind of proud that this American girl gets to teach him something about Londis, even though six months ago, it was all new to me.
And then he takes my hand. I swear my heart skips several beats. “We look like a good couple, don’t we?” he says. “People are checking us out.”
Waves of pure bliss run through me. I couldn’t be more excited and happy to be walking hand in hand with him, as if he’s my boyfriend. Is he? I try to look at him sideways. It feels like he is right now. But how could the Prince of Anglia be my boyfriend? The idea is hysterical. But when he took my virginity...it felt like it meant something. Without meaning to, I squeeze his hand and he turns his head and gives me a stunning smile. It’s his private smile—the one I’ve never seen in photos, only when we’ve been together. I part my lips, on the point of asking…I don’t know what.
“What is it?”
“I-I was wondering if you wanted to go to Broadway Market?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a hip area with nice cafes and bars. And there’s a weekend artisan food market.”
“Let’s go!” he says.
“Great. I think you’ll like it. The turn off is just up here.”
We climba flight of steps and enter the southern part of the bustling, colorful street. There’s a whole line of market stalls selling a range of craft beer, juices, cheese, cured meat, and street food in an array of different cuisines. “I usually graze from different stalls,” I tell him.
“I’m so glad to hear that. I had my eye on the chorizo sandwiches over there.”
We grab sandwiches and a cheese plate and craft beers and settle down on some wooden benches on the street. We chat easily while we eat, and we’re just a guy and a girl hanging out together. He’s not the Prince of Anglia, I’m not a girl with a made-up past, and I don’t want this moment to end.
“This is awesome,” he says when we’ve finished eating. We lean back, propping ourselves on our hands, and watch people go by. “It’s always been my dream.”
“What has?”
“Just being normal. I used to fantasize about it when I was a boy. Not having a camera in my face. Having the chance to find out what it feels like to be an ordinary person.”
“Well? How does it feel?”
“Right now, it feels amazing.” His narrow eyes that can look so hard at times are soft and dreamy. “I know it’s not all a bed of roses, of course.” He gives me a sharp look. “You probably think I’m just an over-privileged guy, romanticizing people’s difficult lives.”
“No, Max. You fought for your country. You risked your life. There’s nothing braver. I’m so in awe of you for doing that.”
He puts his arms around me. “You’re incredible, Blair. You understand me like no one else. You make me feel normal.” His big, strong fingers stroke my face, and he looks into my eyes as if he’s seeing me for the first time. My heart flutters as he dips his head and kisses me. The beard scratches a little, but his kiss is tender, softer, and lusher than ever before. I expect him to release me after a few seconds, but he doesn’t. He pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around my waist, his tongue, velvet soft, exploring my mouth. I forget where we are. I forget everything except the incredible feel of Max kissing me like he cares about me.
“Woo-hoo! Get a room!” someone calls.
Max pulls back, laughing. “This is great.”
“It is?”
He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, his eyes full of fun. “Come on, let’s walk.”
We wander around Londis Fields. This time his arm is around my shoulders. This is how it feels to be protected, I think.
“Can we take the Underground?” he asks suddenly.
“Sure—but why?”
He shrugs. “I’ve always wanted to.”
I laugh. “Not many people would take it by choice.”
“I’ve never been allowed, of course. I’m sure the security chaps judge it as a code-red risk, or whatever they call it.”
I take my phone out. “There’s no Underground stations around here. And we should probably decide where we want to go. Unless you want to go around and around on the Circle Line for a few hours.”
He looks thoughtful. “I’ve always wanted to walk across the Thames.”
“You’ve never done that?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” I plan out a route, and before long we’re approaching the entrance to Bethnal Green Underground station.
But as soon as we reach the foot of the escalator, I know it’s a mistake. The narrow corridors are filled with the loud, aggressive chanting of soccer fans. My heartbeat quickens. I’ve been in a similar situation before. They watch a match at one of the Londis stadiums, then take the Underground to their next destination. They’re usually drunk, aggressive, and looking for a fight, especially when their favorite team has lost the game.
“I think we should go back,” I say.
“No, it’s okay.”
The narrow platform is almost empty as the train pulls up and I breathe a sigh of relief. We climb on and stand in a free few feet of space. But just as the door-closing warning sounds, a bunch of red-faced, bawling men surge toward the entrance. Several of them hold the doors open while the rest charge onto the train, bumping into people and knocking them aside.
“God,” I groan, in the authentically resigned tone of a Londiser. Max puts an arm around my shoulder.
The last of the soccer fans force their way inside and the doors close. It’s an ugly crush of hot, loud bodies, swaying and cheering as the motion of the train knocks them off their feet. An elbow jabs Max in the arm, then someone’s weight falls fully onto him. I feel his muscles tensing, absorbing the impact, protecting me. My head presses against his pecs, and I know no-one can hurt me now.
Then one of the men, head swiveling, catches sight of Max and a gleam comes into his eye.
“Oi! Nice beard, mate!” he yells. My breath catches, and Max’s shoulders stiffen and his chest expands as he takes a big breath.
“Stand back. There’s a lady here. And have some goddamn manners,” Max commands. It’s not his usual voice. It’s not his perfectly pronounced Anglians accent. It’s the voice of an army commander, and it has an impact. They all step back, clearing a space around us, and I can no longer feel the heat of their alcohol-soaked bodies.
“Sorry, mate,” one of them says meekly.
The train stops, the door opens. “Go find another carriage,” Max says. And, incredibly, they do, trooping off more quietly than before.
“Some authority you’ve got there,” I say, doing my best to sound lighthearted, even though my heart’s pounding.
Max tilts his head. “I’ve met plenty of their type in the army. They’re all bravado. What they really want is a little guidance.”
I look up at him, aware that I’m gazing as adoringly as a puppy dog, but I can’t help myself. He strokes my face, as if reading my thoughts, and kisses me. I give a little moan into his mouth, and I feel him hardening, his cock pressing against my belly.
“I wish we were home right now,” he mutters into my hair. Home. The word resonates through my soul, and I think how much I’d like to have a home with him.
The next stop is ours. We get off at Tower Hill, and I use my phone to navigate a path between the Tower of Londis and the pretty harbor of St. Katharine Docks. After a few minutes, we come to Tower Bridge. It’s stunning, easily the most beautiful of the bridges that cross the gray, swirling River Thames.
It’s almost dusk, and the city lights are turning on, the other bridges lighting up in an array of colors. Max takes my hand and we walk to the middle, stare out at the water.
“Tower bridge at sunset. There’s not much more romantic, is there?” He sighs, turns to me. “Thank you for today. It’s been a perfect day, and so much fun, but mostly because I’ve been here with you. You’re the most real person I’ve met, Blair. You’re like a ray of sunshine in what’s been a very dark time for me.”
My throat tightens. This wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear. It sounds final, somehow. Is he going to cast me off now I’ve done something for him?
“If I’ve helped you, I’m very glad,” I say.
“You’ve done far more than you know.” His voice is tender. “I’m falling for you. Do you know that?”
I shake my head slowly, hardly able to believe my ears. “What did you say?”
He throws his head back and laughs.
“I’m falling for you. Hell. I love you, Blair.”
I stare at him for several long, silent seconds while he grins at me. “I’m falling for you, too,” I say slowly.
He lifts me right off the ground, spins me around, then kisses me deeply, passionately. Euphoria courses through my veins.
At last he releases me and looks into my eyes.
“Do you really mean it?” I say.
“Of course. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Why do you doubt it?”
“Um, because you’re Anglian royalty, and I’m—I’m just a regular person.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“I mean, don’t you always m—” I break off, appalled. I was about to say, Don’t you always marry other aristocrats? But who said anything about marriage?
Max sighs. “It’s expected of us, yes. But I’m not going to spend my life being dictated to by my family. I’ll be with whomever the hell I like. And the person I want to be with is you.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses it.
I blink several times since I’m in danger of welling up and cling to the bridge rail for balance. “Are you saying you want to date me?”
“I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” His grin is so boyish and infectious that I start grinning too, and we kiss and laugh and kiss and laugh for what seems like hours.
Eventually we discover that night has fallen. “What do you want to do now?” he asks.
I think for a moment. “Go for dinner. Someplace low key.”
“I like this idea. Any particular place?”
“Yes.” I’m thinking of a cute little restaurant in Soho that I’ve walked past a few times, dreaming that I’d be there one day with a great boyfriend.
I suggest taking an Uber,and we’re there in twenty minutes. We get the last table in the whole restaurant, and it’s just as perfect as I imagined—candle-lit with amazing French regional food. But I never expected that Prince Max would be sitting opposite me, gazing at me with such passion.
We hold hands across the table, taste each other’s food. He tells me how great I am, how he’s never felt like this before, and I’m full of butterflies and excitement.
After dessert, he announces, “I’m taking you home now. I’m not prepared to share you with anyone else for another minute.” He makes a call, and a few minutes later, his driver meets us in a backstreet.
I’m a little drowsy when we get back to the palace, overwhelmed by all the things that have happened today—Max saying he loves me.
“I can’t wait to get you into bed,” he murmurs, his arm lying across my shoulders. “I’m going to kiss every inch of your beautiful body.”
As we reach the top of the stairs, a door bangs, startling me. The corridor is dark so I can’t see who’s there until a tall figure comes into the light. Freddie. And his face is contorted with cruelty.
“Hello, Blair. Or should I say, Staycee? I hope you’ve had a good day, wrapping my poor, clueless cousin around your little finger.”
A newspaper is rolled up in his hand. He shakes it out and holds it up triumphantly. It’s all there:
Prince Max’s Trashy Tryst with Trailer-Park Princess!the headline gloats.
My stomach plummets as I snatch the paper. Freddie gives me a nasty smile as he allows me to keep it.
My uncle. He’s sold me out for $50,000. My whole sorry life history is there, along with my uncle’s claims that I’m a fantasist and a gold digger. Apparently, there are some “questions” that I used to have sex for money.
“I’m afraid you’ve been hoodwinked, old man,” Freddie says. “Your bit on the side hasn’t turned out as you planned. I warned you, some kitties are too feral to be kept as toys.” I spin around. Max has been reading over my shoulder, of course.
“Is this true? Is your name really Staycee Duckett?” he demands. His eyes are full of shock and betrayal, and it breaks my heart.
“Yes, it is, and yes, I grew up in a trailer park. But that other stuff isn’t true.” My voice is shaking so much that I can hardly speak.
“Who are you?” He grinds out between clenched teeth.
“I’m the person I told you I was.”
“You lied to me.”
“Why the hell should I have told you about my past? I don’t tell anybody, ever. For a very good reason. It’s something I put behind me a long time ago.”
He grabs my upper arms, hurting me. “Have you been spying on me?”
“What?” I tear myself out of his grasp. “I didn’t even have any choice about coming here!” My voice is loud, echoing off the walls. But I don’t care. “You set the whole thing up with Genevieve. You were the one who decided to pay me a shitload of money and dreamed up all those ridiculous tasks for me to do. I didn’t ask for any of this!” I bawl, jabbing my index finger at him like it’s punctuation. “For the record, I don’t want your money. And I’m leaving now!”
Without waiting for him to say anything else, I turn on my heel and storm back to my room. Before I’ve even closed the door, my tears start to flow, and I wipe at them angrily with the back of my arm as I rush around, gathering up my things and stuffing them into my suitcase.
I call James. “Can I have a car, please?”
“Where to, ma’am?”
“My home in Londis.”
He pauses. “Has His Highness authorized this?”
“I’m leaving, James, whether he likes it or not.”
There’s another excruciating pause. “Very good, ma’am. The car will be outside in the next two minutes.”
All the wayback to my apartment I expect to get stopped. Forced to go back to the palace. Arrested, even. Max’s words burn into my soul. The look he gave me. I can’t stand to think about it.
The driver lets me out at my place, and by the time I’m back inside, shock has turned to fury. That entitled prick. Why do I have to be tied to my past? Just because I’ve got a redneck asshole of an uncle who’s happy to sell me out for $50,000? There was a very good reason why I changed my name in the first place. I didn’t lie to Max for personal gain; I just told him my standard story. And what the hell did Freddie mean, bit on the side?
I want to throw myself down on my bed and cry into my pillow, but I refuse to let the tears come. You’re on your own again, I tell myself. That’s how it’s always been. The last few days have been a beautiful illusion, and now it’s back to watching out for yourself. My shabby room looks more rundown than ever, and shame and fury wash over me.
