Royal Arrangement #2: Royal Arrangement, #2

William

W hat happens in ninety-seven days, Princess? I ask Justine for the

second

time

.

She’s staring at me with wide eyes. The color has drained from her face. She knows something I don’t—something bad, or she wouldn’t be looking at me like she wants to sink into the floor.

I step closer to her, closing the distance between us again. You said we only have to deal with this for ninety-seven days. What happens in ninety-seven days? I try to keep the impatience out of my voice, but I’m not sure I’m successful. What the hell isn’t she

telling

me

?

She blinks and shakes her head, snapping herself out of her daze. Nothing happens in ninety-seven days. I misspoke.

I’m not an idiot, Princess.

"I’m just…exhausted. I’ve ordered us breakfast. It should be

here

soon

."

"Deflection isn’t going

to

work

."

Neither is an interrogation. She starts to turn away from me, but as she does, I reach out and pluck her journal from beneath

her

arm

.

Hey! she says, spinning back around and grabbing for it. "Give

that

back

!"

I hold it over my head, high enough that she can’t reach it unless she tries to climb up my body. "I’ll give it back when you tell me what you’re hiding

from

me

."

"I have nothing to tell

you

.

And

—

"

Maybe I should make this more interesting, then, I say, turning around. She makes another leap for the journal, but I manage to keep it out of her grasp. I flip it open, using my thumb to keep the pages back as I continue to hold it over my head. I clear my throat before beginning to read. "March third. He came by my place this

morning

and

—

"

Justine jumps, leaping on my back and making another grab for the small book. The sudden weight on my back throws me off balance, and I stumble, her journal slipping out of my grasp. I grab desperately for it, and Justine lunges for it, too. We both fall forward, trying to push each other out of

the

way

.

My hand hits the journal, accidentally knocking it even further away. But it’s too late to stop myself from falling. I hit the ground hard, knocking the air out of me. Justine lands

beside

me

.

For a moment, both of us are too stunned to move. My eyes find the journal—it’s only a few feet away on the carpet. Before I can even push myself to my knees, Justine springs

toward

it

.

I grab her by the waist, holding her back. She tries to push me off, but somehow I end up falling on top

of

her

.

We both freeze. She’s on her back beneath me. I can feel almost the entire length of her against my body—her legs, her hips, the softness of her stomach, the roundness of her breasts. I can feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, and the rapid thump of her heat against her ribs. My face is so close to hers I can feel her breath on

my

lips

.

God, I

want

her

…

I expect her to push me off, but she doesn’t. She seems to be as paralyzed as I am, breathlessly waiting for whatever

comes

next

.

What

comes

next

?

The smell of her fills my nostrils—it’s soft and floral, like luxury soap, but there’s something deeper there, too. Something rich and wild and intoxicating. I tilt my head a little closer, trying to take it in. Her heartbeat speeds up

beneath

me

.

Still, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t push

me

off

.

She wants me to

kiss

her

.

And if my wife wants something…I would be a fool not to

oblige

her

.

Slowly, I lower my head, closing the final space between us. Her breathing has become uneven.

My lips brush against hers, so lightly it can hardly be counted as a kiss. Still, she doesn’t move, but I can feel her heart racing against her chest.

I dip my head again. This time, I’m slow and deliberate, sliding my mouth across hers, pressing her lips open with mine. She gasps softly against me, and I take the invitation to kiss her deeper. Her gasp becomes a

quiet

moan

.

Heat flares through me, hot and hard, and my body aches with the desire it’s built up over the past twenty-four hours. I press against her, flicking my tongue against hers, drinking

her

in

.

Fuck, what is this woman doing

to

me

?

But in spite of the yearning coursing through me, I haven’t forgotten our conversation. She’s hiding something from me. And I intend to find out

exactly

what

.

As my tongue pushes deeper into her mouth, I slide my hand across the carpet past her head, fumbling for her journal.

Instead, my fingers brush against her hand. She’s reaching for the journal herself!

And she grabs it first, snatching it before I can. In one fluid motion, she tears her mouth away from mine, shoves me off her, and leaps to her feet. I’m left sitting on my ass, staring up at her, both impressed and pissed at the

same

time

.

She tucks the journal behind her and backs toward the door. "I’m putting this somewhere you’ll never

find

it

."

Is that a challenge?

It’s a promise.

I laugh as I climb to my feet. "I don’t believe I can trust your word, Princess. Not when you’re obviously hiding something very important

from

me

."

She continues to back toward the door. Then I guess we’re even. Neither of us trusts the other.

"Good thing we only have to deal with this marriage for ninety-seven more days

then

,

huh

?"

I know my words hit home because her step falters and her mouth tightens. Her face is flushed, and I try to ignore the throb of need in my groin.

Before either of us can say a word, though, there’s a knock at the door. Your Highness? Your breakfast is ready.

Justine strides to the door and

opens

it

.

You can set it up over by the window, she says to the servant pushing the breakfast cart. My husband will be taking his breakfast there. Then she brushes past and goes down the corridor, her journal still

in

hand

.

I consider going after her, but the servant is looking at me expectantly, and I know that causing a scene will probably backfire

on

me

.

If Justine wants to keep me from exploring, hiding her journal out there definitely isn’t going to help. I step aside so that the breakfast tray might be set up. And then I get

an

idea

.

Forgive me, I say to the man as he lays out the food. But I’m wondering if you might help me with something.

Of course, Your Highness, he says with a bow. "What might I do

for

you

?"

"Do you happen to know of anything important happening ninety-seven days

from

now

?"

The man considers this. Not that I’m aware of, Your Highness.

Ah. I clasp my hands behind my back. "Then perhaps you can help me with something else. I’m finding it rather challenging to learn my way around the palace—I don’t suppose someone might be able to provide me with

a

map

?"

The servant’s nose wrinkles slightly in thought. I could certainly check for you, Your Highness.

Wonderful. I settle down in the chair next to the breakfast spread. And one more thing—might you tell me the quickest way to the western wing? Apparently it’s the only place I’m allowed to go, and I intend to do some exploring today.

Justine

That kiss … I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I know it was meant only to distract me from getting the journal I now carry in my hand, but… My God. What is it about these Montovian princes that they can put a woman under their spell with a thing as small as

a

kiss

?

Not that I am under William’s spell, nor will I ever be. Parts of me I thought would be dead forever seem to be waking up. Perhaps that is a good thing. Perhaps when I return to America, I can learn to live again. Maybe I’ll even fall in love again…someday. It might even make the next three months of this sham of a marriage less agonizing if I can think about it as a means to an end. Learning to let my guard down once in a while might not even be so bad—I just need to remember to let it down only enough to enjoy myself. Any more than that, and I run the risk of having my heart broken again. Or worse.

And William has been all too eager to prove he wants nothing more than to torture me, even though he was the one who agreed to this marriage in the first place.

If I wasn’t still so angry about the entire situation, I could almost see myself learning to like him well enough. He may not be as funny as he thinks he is, but he seems intelligent. We could likely find something we have in common. Perhaps we could even learn to be friends. It would be more than my parents have done in their long marriage—they barely tolerate each other, and my mother is so rarely sober that it hardly matters.

But none of that is of any importance, as my father has assured me. In ninety-seven days, I’ll be free of Prince William forever. I may even go so far as to abdicate my title. At least then, I might have a chance at a

normal

life

.

I make it to my office in the western wing and hide my old journal at the bottom of a desk drawer, underneath a stack of papers. I’m not sure why I even care if William reads this particular journal. If I remember correctly, this one is from a few years ago, before anything truly terrible happened. Of course, I do reveal many of my feelings in there, and it’s probably better if William thinks I’m completely devoid of emotion. He seems to think me the vapid noblewoman he’s always assumed of me, and for all I care, he can continue thinking it. It just seems easier to make him hate me at this point. For as angry as I am, I don’t want to cause him any lasting pain when this is over. I know all too well what that

feels

like

.

I open my laptop and begin working. I suppose I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, trying to