Cheeky Royal Page 13

  "I still can't believe you found him. I looked for ages."

  "That's the part that took the longest. Obviously, I didn't want to use your men. So I found a few less-than-scrupulous guys who didn't have to go through legal channels to track people. It took all this time. His life has been so different from mine."

  My father's voice was shaky. "Did he … ask about me? Want to know anything?"

  I’d never heard my father like this before. He sounded … unsure. "Oh, he wanted to know everything. I told him what I could. What I knew. But I don't think that could possibly satisfy him. He has questions. Because despite the circumstances, regardless of whether or not you knew or didn't know, he didn't have you in his life. And he feels that loss."

  Another silence. And finally, when my father started talking, it was as I expected. "I didn’t fall in love with your mother until several years after she had you. I married her because that was the arrangement. She was young, beautiful, kind, as far as I could tell. But our interactions were so formal, so stilted. It wasn’t like now. We weren’t allowed freedom to move about how we wanted. Even our dates weren’t free roaming, and I was always hyperaware that we had snipers and Prince’s Guard who were following close. This event here. This charity function there. I liked her. I thought she was bright. But it wasn't the same as marrying someone you love."

  "If you didn't love her, then why marry her?"

  "Duty. I knew what was expected. What was needed. It was what my father wanted and what the monarchy required."

  "What about what you needed? If you didn't love her, you didn't think about what that would do to her? What that would do to the children that you eventually would have, sensing something was off with their parents?"

  "Son, I'm sorry about that. I knew what I had to do, but like you, I wanted my freedom. I just didn't know how to go about getting it. Once I married your mother and she was immediately pregnant with you, I was crawling out of my skin from the level of responsibility. Your grandfather had stepped aside, and I was the new king with a new wife and a new son on the way. And I had no idea how to do any of my jobs: monarch, husband, or father.

  “It was terrifying. I barely knew your mother. We couldn't really talk. Before we got married, all we’d ever had were surface conversations. Neither one of us really knew how to work at it."

  I frowned. That was not the family I remembered. My earliest memories were of my parents dancing in the ballroom, just the two of them. I must've been five, six? I’d found them in the grand ballroom. My mother was wearing slippers, and she was dressed for some luncheon. Her makeup was still only half done. Her hair hadn’t been styled yet. My father had been dressed in his military uniform.

  He’d twirled her around and around the dance floor. I snuck away from my tutors and watched them as they laughed and talked and kissed. I remembered thinking that part was gross, but it felt like love. "I don't understand. I remember you two loving each other. Or at least acting like it.”

  "We do. We did. But that happened gradually. Not until you were six or so. Before then, we were fine together, but we were strangers. I traveled as often as possible for state business. That's when I went to Italy and met Lucas's mother. She was alive in a way that I didn't know I could be. Not with your mother. Not with anyone. When I left, I didn't know she was pregnant. I’d spent a total of two weeks with her. That was it. It was a bout of nostalgia that had me calling her to check on her after I left. Only then did I find out that she had a child. And I immediately wanted to bring her here and raise Lucas, if not as a prince then as a member of the royal court. I knew the scandal would kill your mother, but I was willing to face the consequences."

  "What happened?"

  "Your grandfather happened. And, Lucas’s mother. She didn't want him raised here. Your grandfather was adamant that I was single-handedly bringing down the monarchy. We had a terrible row. I will always regret the decision to let him stay with his mother."

  "What about my sister?"

  My father's voice shook when he spoke. "I wasn’t able to confirm your sister’s paternity until ten years ago. You were about four or five when I met her mother. I was more discreet this time, but, I thought I’d found love. What we had was private, secret. I met her in the States. Your mother and I were contemplating divorce at the time. Again, another scandal, but the pressures of being monarchs were eating at us. We couldn’t cope. Or maybe I wanted to escape.”

  I could hear the audible swallow over the line. “That relationship was the first time I’d felt anything akin to love, but that time I wasn't the only one who was married. We didn't mean to start an affair. It’s one of those things that just happened. It was my first taste of maybe falling in love.

  “And when she got pregnant, there was no telling who the father was. And because she got pregnant, she insisted she needed to stay and work on her marriage. So that was that. Again, I was robbed of the opportunity to take care my potential child. And that one more than hurt. It nearly broke me."

  I stopped on the corner, leaning against the wall of the library. I was almost at the bar, and I deliberately slowed my progress so I could hear the rest of what my father had to say.

  “I was angry, broken. When I returned home, your mother could see it. And I don't know what possessed me, but I told her everything. About Lucas, your sister, all of it. It was funny. The honesty was the thing that made us fall in love."

  "She's accepted what you had done?"

  "Your mother is an amazing woman. It seems she'd fallen in love too. Just not with me. With someone else before me. And she hadn’t been allowed to marry him. So she’d closed off as well and that night I returned home was the first time we had any kind of real conversation. The first time I'd ever been vulnerable. It was like this threshold had been crossed. I could see how hard she’d been working too. So we decided that from that moment forward, we were in this together. And then I realized that love was a choice. Marriage was a choice. You wake up every day, choose your partner, and go through life together. Regardless of what's going on. That was the day I grew up. I got to know my wife. It was ten years later that your sister's mother passed away. Once again I reached out, and her stepfather made an attempt to determine paternity."

  "You’ve met her?"

  "No. I haven't. She knows nothing about me. Or the relationship I had with her mother."

  "Are you so sure she's my sister?"

  “Your mother encouraged me to put a team on her. With a little digging we found out that her father needed a kidney transplant. She wasn’t a match, obviously. At first none of the doctors thought anything of it, but after a series of blood tests were done, they found out that he wasn’t her father at all."

  I cursed under my breath. "So he kept her from you on purpose."

  "It would seem that way. I would have forced the issue. But he had a point. She'd grown up completely unaware of this world. She hadn't been influenced or tainted. So I did the same thing I’d done for Lucas: set up a trust. The trust would keep tabs on her to make sure that she had what she needed. So at least in some way I could provide for her. I was waiting till she got older to approach her and let her know who I was."

  "How old is she?"

  "She just turned nineteen."

  "I guess I'll find her next."

  "Sebastian. I don't need you to find her. I know where she is. After the vote, I’m going to go see her myself."

  I froze. “You are?”

  “Of course. I wanted to give her her birthright."

  Somewhere inside, the man I knew was there, and he had been trying to do the best thing, the right thing.

  I cleared my throat as I stopped in front of the bar. “Dad, I have to go.”

  “I’ll talk to you soon, Sebastian. I love you.”

  I frowned. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so demonstrative with his affection. “I love you too, Dad.”

  When I opened the door to the bar, I saw the one person I was too raw to see. Len.<
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  * * *

  Penny …

  Sebastian was late. I’d gotten the text from the cute Blake Security guy that he’d left his apartment and was en route. It only took ten minutes to get here, so where the hell was he?

  Should I backtrack? But that put me at risk of missing him. Five more minutes, then I’d go looking. Ariel was off tonight. I was just about to dial Ryan, when I spotted Sebastian in my peripheral vision.

  It was also about the time I noticed the guy to my right sitting far too close.

  Were those his hands on my ass? I glanced down at the guy next to me and to where his hands had wandered. "Hey, excuse me. Do you mind not touching my ass?"

  He leaned in closer, his hot alcohol stench hitting me directly in my olfactory glands. "Don’t act like you don’t like it. You’re sitting here looking all sexy, just waiting for me to hit on you. I’m finally doing you the favor."

  I gritted my teeth. "Seriously, it's a really good idea to get your hands off of me right now."

  He swayed a little to the left. "God, I was just being friendly. No need to be such a bitch."

  Friendly, right. Ashton had a habit of being friendly too. Good thing I’d learned a long time ago how to deal with overly friendly guys. All I had to do was be my normally klutzy self.

  I acted like I was setting my drink back on the bar and then deliberately tripped over my feet, kicking out my right leg which caught him in the knee. And then I swung back around, my hands raised as if to say ‘oh my gosh, I'm so sorry.’ But then I added the ‘accidental’ backhand to his face, with a direct hit to his nose.

  He grabbed his nose and howled.

  "Oh my God I'm so sorry." I leaned forward with enough force to bring my forehead in direct contact with his nose too. And sure enough, he leaned backward cursing some more.

  Then I delivered the piece-de-resistance. I lifted my foot, raising my knee and leaning my hips forward. The move delivered an elegant knee to the guy’s groin, making it all look accidental.

  When he crumpled to the floor, I leaned over. “Oh my God. I really am sorry. I don’t know how that happened."

  Behind me, several patrons howled with laughter.

  Sebastian caught the ruckus and came over. "Is there a problem?"

  I shook my head. "No. This guy just didn't seem to understand my disinterest in him. And when I put my drink down, I accidentally kneed him in the balls."

  Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. "You accidentally kneed him in the balls?"

  The guy was still moaning on his knees.

  "Yeah, I didn’t mean to do it." I blinked my eyes as innocently as I could. Then the unthinkable happened. Sebastian's arm went around me, and his voice went low and deadly as he addressed the guy on the floor still howling and holding the family jewels. "Listen to me. She's a friend of mine. If I see you near her again, I’ll make your life very difficult. What she did to you on accident will seem like a walk in the park."

  When he pulled me closer, I tipped my head up to glance at him, eyes wide. I was unprepared for what happened next. Sebastian squeezed me tightly, and I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching. He leaned over and brushed his lips against mine.

  Oh God.

  Holy. Shitballs. On. A. Cracker. Pussy down. Pussy down!

  The kiss was electric, hot, and quick. And then it was over so soon I couldn’t be sure it had happened. His electric blue gaze bore into mine before he whispered, "Like I said. She's mine."

  He let go of me then, and I had to work hard to fight the feeling of emptiness.

  Yeah, that's right dumbass, you're not actually his.

  * * *

  Sebastian …

  What the fuck was she doing here? Moreover, why did you kiss her? My mind had still been on my conversation with my father. Then I saw that guy messing with her.

  I really wasn’t mentally prepared for my neighbor wedging herself into my life. But she was here. At the bar. Drinking. Though better here than somewhere I couldn’t look after her.

  Is that what that kiss was? Looking after her? Yes. No. I had wanted the asshole with the grabby hands to get the message not to fuck with her. But she’d taken care of him all on her own. I was starting to think she wasn't nearly as helpless as she looked.

  “Fancy seeing you here.”

  She grinned up at me. “Yeah, I figured I’d check out the local hot spot.”

  I leaned toward her. “And somehow you managed to cause trouble?”

  Her mouth fell open, making her even cuter than usual. “What? How was that my fault? I was just minding my own business and that twat waffle thought it would be a good idea to mess with me.”

  I shook my head. “Do I even want to know what a twat waffle is?”

  “Nah, it’ll take too long to explain. Tell you what, though. How about you make me a drink and I’ll school you in all the things twat-wafflery.”

  And that’s how my sexy neighbor ended up sitting at the bar hanging out for the majority of my shift. I’d been covering a half shift for one of the guys, Jacob. His girlfriend had her opening in an off-Broadway play.

  As soon as he showed up though, I dragged her out of there and took her home.

  I took her keys out of her hands, and all the while she grumbled behind me. "I can open my own damn door you know."

  "Oh, can you? Maybe next time don't do so many shots at once."

  "How was I supposed to know they had that much alcohol in them? They were so sweet."

  "That should have been your first clue."

  "Okay. Got it." She swayed a little on her feet, and I put an arm around her to steady her. There it was: the electric charge between us. I immediately steadied her and backed away, lest I sniffed her again. Fuck, she smelled so good. But yeah, I wasn’t going to sniff her again.

  "So you're good now?"

  She smiled happily up at me. "Perfect.” Except that with her next step, she tumbled right onto her butt. "Oh, my God."

  I ran and kneeled in front of her. "You okay, princess?"

  "I don't know. I don't know anything right now. One thing I do know is that I’m not a princess."

  I took her hand and helped her to her feet. And then gently took her to the couch. “You need to be careful.” Pretty soon, she was going to call me Prince Charming for real. When I turned, my breath caught.

  The painting she’d been doing on the balcony the other day was now hanging on the wall. The red was the skirt of a flamenco dancer flared out as she danced for the world to see.

  There was something regal in the woman's expression—haughty even, like she was untouchable until you watched her dance and then she’d show you everything. It was astonishing. "That's the one you were doing the other night?"

  She nodded. "To be fair, I've been sketching her in my mind for years. I don't even know what it means. But in art school it was my favorite relaxation project."

  "Relaxation project?"

  She shrugged. "You know, that thing that you work on to get your mind off of whatever is bugging you. And then when you come back, you’ve somehow miraculously solved the problem. She's that for me."

  "What problem resolution made you decide to paint her?"

  "Oh, you know … the question about who I’m supposed to be."

  I walked over to the canvas next to it. She’d been painting something like a beach scape. It could've been easily the shoreline of the Winston Isles. The blue was a perfect match.

  Melancholia hit me hard. I was homesick. I cleared my throat before turning back around. "These are really good. Better than good."

  "Thanks. You don’t have to say that. I know being here, moving without any support, is a risky move. I get it. But I figured if I was gonna do it, I needed to do it. You know?"

  I chuckled. “I know exactly that feeling."

  "I haven't done anything with my art until now because my parents didn't really believe it was a viable option. You know, going to art school was meant to be the thing that I did to close out my chil
dhood and then finally grow up. The problem is I loved every minute of it. I know what that says. I'll probably never grow up. But the idea of being locked in an office, following someone else's directions all day, every day, is stifling."

  I studied her closely. "They put a lot of pressure on you?"

  She gave a snort of laughter, and I had to smile. "They want me to be practical. You know, go home. Follow in the family business. Toe the line."

  I took another glance at the flamenco dancer. "I don't know. I mean, I'm just some guy who lives next door, and I really don’t know anything about it. But I know if I had talent like yours, I’d follow it. You’re amazing." My chest tightened as the emotions clogged inside. What the hell was wrong with me? "Whatever they said to you about your talent or being unable to follow your dreams, in this case don't listen to them. They're wrong. I know enough about parents who don't get you."

  She gave him a weak smile. "What do you know about it?"

  "Enough." Pain twisted in my chest. "I know what it's like to not be good enough. Thinking nothing I do will ever be good enough in my dad’s eyes.” I shook my head. “So I learned to build my own barometer."

  "As a way of saying fuck you?"

  "Maybe a little. I get all this pressure from my parents because I'm not living up to their expectations. But they’re human, you know. They make mistakes. But they expect me to be perfect. So I just chose not to be that guy. And of course—"

  "It usually backfires on you?" She finished the sentence for me.

  "Seems like you know the song and dance." I turned back. "How much for the painting?"

  Her brows lifted. "Are you serious right now?” she asked with a laugh. "I can’t sell you that. It's just something I was doing in my spare time. Putting off the inevitable. I can't in good conscience sell it to you."

  "Name your price. I want to frame it and hang it."

  "But why? I mean, it's just a painting."

  When I turned back and met her gaze, the tension crackled between us. "You and I both know that's more than just a painting. Now, go on. Name your price. I'm not leaving here without it."