Owned By the Prince by Tristan Rivers

Chapter 17

Prince Maximillion

“I’m afraid she rejected the money, Your Highness,” Colin McAlvey tells me. He’s my best guy from the security team, and he’s sitting opposite me in my quarters, fiddling with his shirt cuffs.

I stare at the check in disbelief. “But why? I know she needed it.”

He clears his throat. “I was very persuasive, Your Highness. But I’m afraid I couldn’t encourage her to take it.”

I groan. This is going to be a can of shit.

“But she signed the contract immediately.”

My head jerks up. “What?”

“She said—ahem—she doesn’t want anything from you. I got the impression, if I may be so bold, that she wants to forget the whole thing.”

“Well, well.” I get to my feet, pace around. “I guess the main thing is that she signed the contract.”

“Indeed.”

“And she’ll keep to the terms of it?”

He nods. “We have her monitored, Your Highness, and we’ll continue to do so until we see fit to terminate.”

I shudder, very aware what constant surveillance feels like. But she made that choice for herself. “You’ve been through her Internet and phone records?”

“Of course.”

“Was there anything unusual?”

“There was one thing— a bank transfer of two thousand dollars to Flagshead Memorial Hospital in West Virginia.”

“Interesting. Have you investigated it?”

A frown tightens Colin’s brow, as if I was accusing him of being a rank amateur. “Of course. The hospital hasn’t been very cooperative so far, but we think we’ve discovered the intended recipient.”

I raise an impatient eyebrow while he takes something out of the briefcase that’s permanently attached to the end of his arm. It’s another newspaper article.

I groan. “I can’t deal with anymore of this. If you’ve found out that Blair—Staycee—used to work as a lap dancer, I don’t want to know.”

“It’s not about her, Your Highness.” He spreads out the newspaper.

It features her uncle, who’s apparently blown his $50,000 blood-money on a single night in Vegas. There’s a photo of him looking proud, saying it was the best night of his life. I push the article away in disgust. “That piece of human garbage,” I mutter.

“If you’ll permit me to direct your attention to the end of the piece.” Colin clears his throat and reads, “A neighbor commented that it was ‘A real shame since he’s got a great-nephew in hospital, just a little boy, with a whole bunch of medical bills to be taken care of.’”

“Shit.” I rest my elbows on my knees and rub at my forehead. “That must be where she’s sending the money. Do you think so, Colin?”

“I think it would be quite a coincidence, if not.”

“Then why wouldn’t she take the check from you?”

“She seems like rather a proud young lady, sir.”

Proud. She is. She’s also graceful. Full of class and dignity. And despite everything, she got herself a scholarship at one of the top schools in the USA. I stand up suddenly. “Thank you, Colin. Please try to verify this information at your first opportunity.”

“Very good, Your Highness.”

When he leaves me,Fariba gets up from her dog bed and stares at me beseechingly, wagging her tail. “Okay, okay. Time for walkies,” I tell her. She yips and fusses while I put on her leash, and we head out.

Twenty minutes later, Colin calls me. “I can confirm that it is as expected—Ms. Kirkham has been making payments toward the medical care of a Caleb Tennyson, her young nephew, who has been suffering from a very rare auto-immune disorder. He has recently begun to respond positively to treatment.”

I stop dead, let out a long breath. “Colin, can you contact the accounts department on my behalf, see to it that the boy’s current and future medical bills are paid out of my personal allowance?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

There was a hint of admiration in Colin’s hard, old tones as I end the call. I whistle for Fariba, and we race back to the palace.

I havea meeting with the entire family tonight. It’s not pretty. The PR team is there, and Freddie is presiding over it. They bully me into making a public announcement of my engagement to Clarice. It sickens me. But it’s no more than I deserve. I understand I’ve got to make amends for what happened with Blair.

“It’s for the best, old man,” Fred tells me, squeezing my shoulder with despicable solemnity. “Time to grow up and show the public your best face.”

I agree, more because I know I’ll never meet anyone like Blair again than anything.

But when I get back to my quarters, I spend a restless night. I’ve banned the staff from entering my room, and my sheets haven’t been changed since Blair left. Her light, mellow scent is everywhere, so sexy and alluring. Everything about her was perfect. She was the only one who made me feel normal. She used to smile so playfully when I told her that, as if I was an idiot for wanting to be normal. But that day I spent with her in East Londis was the happiest of my life.

The next day, I call Colin. “Do you know what Blair’s schedule is today?”

There’s the sound of tapping keys. “Yes, Your Highness. She has lectures all morning, then she’s working in a restaurant called Cocktails and Dreams in Dalston until around 2am.”

I walk across the room and pick up the tangled mess of the beard that I was wearing five days ago. “Organize a security detail for me, please. I’m going to visit her at work.”

Colin makes a sound like someone’s just wrapped their hands around his neck and squeezed hard.

“I’ll wear what I was wearing last Saturday,” I tell him.

“Oh, very good, sir.”

Several hours later,I stand in front of the mirror and attach the beard to my face, trying to do it just as Blair showed me. The memory of her soft fingertips on my skin makes me catch my breath. I add the glasses and put on the shirt and jeans. Already I feel a little lighter.

I walk out of the palace and climb into the back of the gray Mercedes that’s waiting for me in the driveway.

Colin throws me an approving glance from the front seat. “Good job, Your Highness,” he says.

As we pullup around the corner from the restaurant, a stab of guilt tightens in my chest. The place looks like a set from a 70s TV show. She shouldn’t be working there. She had a decent job working for Genevieve, and then I rampaged into her life with as much finesse as a charging bull.

Colin nods to me, and I climb out of the car and walk along the pavement to the restaurant. I open the glass door and go in. I was hoping to see Blair serving at the tables, but there’s no sign of her. I start to go up to the bar, demand to speak to her. Then I realize that’s not what a normal person would do. Instead, I slide into one of the booths and wait.

“Is Blair working today?” I ask the girl who brings me the plastic, wipe-down menu, trying to make my voice as loose and flat as possible.

“Who? Oh—American chick?”

I can’t resist a small smile. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“She quit this morning.”

I stare at her blankly. “What—why?”

The girl shrugs, looks at me with delightful lack of interest. “Said she was going back to the US or something.”

Shit.I leap to my feet, and in another second, I’m out the door and on the way back to the Merc. It’s cruising along the street, and I jump in.