Royal Bastard (2 page)

“I want to see you quit acting like a—”

“Like a bastard?” I said, interrupting him and causing his face to darken.

“I wasn’t going to say that, Edward.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I want to see you quit acting like a bloody teenager and instead like a man, a damn prince!” he replied, picking up and flicking through the other newspapers that were on his desk. “More like your brother. You need to get yourself some responsibilities!”

I rolled my eyes. “The almighty Andrew,” I said, pushing up out of the chair. “Why can’t we all be like Andrew?”

My father lifted his eyes to me, the sea-blues contained both a plea and a shade of regret. “Don’t force my hand, Edward.”

“Do what you want, and I’ll do the same.” I shrugged and walked out, Andrew right on my heels.

“Why must you insist on provoking him so?”

“I’m living my life,” I ground out as we walked down the hall of my father’s private residence, heading for the exit. Why couldn’t anyone understand that this was my life? “I don’t owe him or you or anyone else a damn explanation.”

Andrew grabbed my arm roughly and forced me to stop and look at him. “Look, why don’t you come and stay with me for a few days, Edward? We can figure a way to get you back into his good graces. And it might be best if we kept you out of trouble—and the press—for a couple of days, so all this can die down.”

I laughed, shaking off his grip. “Come on, Andrew. I don’t need a babysitter. I need a drink and to get laid. And not necessarily in that order.”

He stepped back with a shake of his head. “You’re heading for a fall, little brother, and all this whoring around you’re doing is going to come back to bite you in the ass!” he called after me, but I’d already turned the corner and tuned him out like a bad radio station.

I
nervously gripped
my camera and tried to hold my position as the people pushed past me, dancing to the sound of pounding music that was making my head hurt. I was a week into my new job, capturing images for my sister’s club, and already I was regretting the decision to take it. This was far from the peaceful plains of Alberta or the idyllic beaches in Brazil. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the opportunity, especially with the way my job search had gone since coming back home to London, but the music really was starting to make me feel like a living jackhammer.

My job was twofold: capture the club in a good light, getting great angles of everyone having fun, which would later be transferred onto social media sites for promotional purposes and used in print ads. The other was to raise awareness by spotting local and upper-class celebrities and capturing them as they enjoyed themselves in the VIP section. Of course, the latter part of the job might have gone better if I kept up with the gossip mags or the soaps, but at this rate I’d failed to recognise anyone famous off my own bat.

I worked three nights a week for Harriet, and I spent the rest of my time as a waitress at a local pub down the road from my parents’ house. Unfortunately for me, I was still living with my parents at the tender age of twenty-five. It hadn’t been my grand plan to move back home after spending two years abroad. It was only supposed to be for the one year, but I’d been given the opportunity to join a photography group for another year, giving me the chance to capture some of the most beautiful places in America, Europe and Asia.

My boyfriend, Brent, had joined me on the last leg of the trip, and the last five months had been the best experience of my life. Brent and I had grown even closer, and we’d even talked about marriage for when we got home. So I was kinda expecting a proposal to be the next natural step in our relationship. But I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to find him and one of the other girls in the group cozied up together naked in our hotel room.

Oh, of course he’d been full of excuses, had even told me he was ‘sick’ and decided to stay behind while I explored and snapped shots of the Grand Canyon—all the while he’d been shooting his load into another hole. It had made me sick, literally, to find them rutting on our bed like wild pigs. I had packed up my belongings, shoved my broken heart deep down into the black depths inside my mind, cut my trip short and headed home. That had been a few weeks before, and here I was, in a sweaty—albeit upmarket—club with everyone but me having an awesome time.

Shifting my camera bag, which held my spare batteries, onto my shoulder, I moved around the dance floor, getting close-ups of a few couples that would make a fantastic print ad for Harriet’s upcoming sexy night party. I did get weird looks on occasion as I intruded into intimate moments, but most were from those who had yet to imbibe the alcohol flowing from the bar; they were stone-cold sober. The drunk clubbers didn’t give two shits about me taking their pictures and almost encouraged it. A few drinks and people would do literally anything for the camera.

I looked around the space and couldn’t help but feel some pride in what my sister had accomplished. Harriet had taken a dream and made it into a reality; her club, Oasis, was touted to be one of the hot spots in all of London. She had decorated it in the tropical theme, of course, the fake towering palm trees and ultra-white floor reminding me of a warm beach. The resident DJ she’d found was excellent (despite the pounding headache he gave me), and she had handpicked all of the staff, pulling them from clubs that she’d worked at over the years. Harriet herself was a successful bartender and mixologist, and it had been no surprise when she’d announced she was going into the club business. Of course I was extremely happy for her and only wanted to help her out as much as I could with my photography skills, but it did get me to wondering when my dream would turn into reality.

“Hey, babe, you’re looking hot tonight.”

I rolled my eyes the second I heard his voice and stepped out of the arm that had just encircled my waist. I took a step back, providing the much needed space between us, and turned my attention to the man before me. At one time in my life, I had thought Brent to be the hottest guy on the planet, his sandy blond hair and blue eyes making my heart go pitter-patter every time he made an appearance. His body was damn near perfect, too, due to long hours at the gym, but I kept my eyes high; I wouldn’t allow myself to fall for him again.

Our first few weeks together had made me wonder what he saw in someone like me. The gym and I were allergic to each other; my body was curvy in more than one place. My boobs were forever getting in my way, and my curly hair could never be tamed into having a decent day. My only unique quality was the unusual colouring of my eyes—one light green and one light blue. But Brent had never said much about that feature. I’d looked up the condition when I was young after I’d been teased for it in school. At the age of seven I could barely pronounce it, let alone remember how to spell it:
heterochromia iridium
. There were many combinations, including what most considered to be the unlucky one, the brown and blue combo—though I thought it made them even more unique and special. And then there was mine, light sea-blue paired with a spring-like green. For the most part, if one didn’t look too hard, my eyes could almost pass for the same colour. All in all, Brent and I were totally and completely opposite of each other and so over.

“What are you doing here? Are you trying out stalking now? I told you I never wanted to see your cheating ass again!” I hissed as he crossed his arms, his forearms and biceps bulging in that nice way I used to like. And he knew it, too, the sly bastard.

“I’m here to see you,” he said, his perfect expression puckering into a frown. “I’ve been trying to call you, Rose.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I replied, giving him a frown myself. “We are done, Brent. Besides, I’m working. I’m not here to socialise.”

“You don’t mean that,” he protested, reaching for me. I took another step back, not wanting his filthy, cheating hands anywhere near my body.

“No, I really do. I have a job to do here, so please leave me alone, or better yet get out before I get the bouncers to chuck your sorry ass out.”

“You wouldn’t get me thrown out, that’s not you, Rose. I know you…”

“Just try me,” I said with a glare. What on earth was I still doing talking to him? I should’ve left him standing there and found an escape. But Mum always taught us to face up to our problems. And right now Brent was a huge pain in my ass.

His blue eyes darkened, and I swallowed, hoping that he wasn’t about to make a scene and throw a tantrum as only he knew how—by being thoroughly over the top and cringe-worthy in his efforts. I didn’t want to be the centre of attention because of him. His jaw clenched and he ran a hand through his hair, nodding tightly. “Fine. But this isn’t over, Rose. I know you still love me.”

“Oh, it is over,” I replied as he turned and walked away, sending me a parting wink as he did. I felt the nervous twist in my stomach, and my heart still ached unbearably at his betrayal, but his last words clattered around my mind. Did I still love him? No, I couldn’t… I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to be with a cheater, liar, or anything else in-between. Whatever happened to all the decent men? Where were all the princes that we were promised as young girls? Pure fantasy, that was what they were! They shouldn’t even allow those types of books… giving hope where there was none. With an exasperated sigh, I turned away and picked up my camera.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

S
nap
. Snap. Snap.

That was all I heard as I took another shot with my camera and looked at the display with a satisfied smile on my face. After my run-in with Brent, I had thrown myself into my work, taking picture after picture until I had to replace my memory card and swap out the battery, too.

The club was in full swing now, a crush of people standing in every corner and crevice. Harriet was going to make a killing tonight on door coverage alone, not to mention the ludicrously expensive cocktails. The DJ was still spinning out familiar tracks that had everyone in a great nostalgic mood; he’d even played some that I’d found myself singing to over the last couple of hours. But now my bladder was calling, and I was heading toward the loo.

I pushed open the door to the women’s STAFF-ONLY bathroom and stopped dead in my tracks, my mouth falling open.

There was a man standing against the sink, his pants around his ankles as he was drilling into a thin blonde. She was sprawled out against the counter with her dress pulled up past her hips. From my vantage point, I could see only his sculpted rear end, which was not a bad sight at all! His muscular back flexed through his shirt with every movement, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she moaned in pleasure. I took it all in within seconds, unwittingly capturing and hearing every sound. It all began to register—my brain shouting at me to do the only appropriate thing and leave them to it—when he looked up, and our eyes met in the mirror.

I couldn’t move; I was caught in his stare.

Surprise, then something akin to a smirk, graced his handsome face. If my mouth hadn’t already been wide open, catching flies, it would’ve been then; he was devilishly handsome.

With his eyes still on me he continued to move within the woman who had her legs wrapped high around his waist. She moaned—a little louder this time, thoroughly enjoying what he was giving her—and finally I was released from the spell he’d put me under. I swallowed, my face burning with embarrassment and—dare I say it?—jealousy, lust and need. I couldn’t believe I was watching them still going at it, but I couldn’t get my feet to move. This was a public toilet, granted it was the staff’s and hardly used, but couldn’t the mystery man at least have locked the door?

Harriet is going to die when I tell her this, I thought. And with a sly smile of my own, unable to resist, I pulled my camera up to my face and snapped a photo. I watched his face go from a satisfied smirk to fury as I did so. But just as quickly as I’d barged in, I backed out and fled down the hall back to safety, my face tingling with remnants of embarrassment that I hadn’t shut the door immediately upon finding them. But there was something else, too—a hysterical giddiness that was in direct proportion to my brazen actions. I thought about the photo I’d just taken, probably the best one of the night, and my dirtiest one ever.

Well, it would be our little secret.

Maybe he’ll think twice about leaving the door unlocked the next time; let him worry about the picture I had in my camera now. Though of course I had no intentions of sharing it with anyone… maybe just Harriet, but it had been worth it to wipe the look off his face.

* * *

“
B
rent
, please leave me alone!” I huffed as I walked towards the exit, trying to ignore the fact that Brent was behind me, his steps rapidly catching up to mine. The club was shutting down for the night, the last orders at the bar were called for half an hour before, disappointing those who’d heard the announcement, and with the music no longer playing, most now were starting to file out.

My original plan was to wait on Harriet to come down from her perch high above the dance floor, when we would have an after-work drink and discuss the pictures for another hour before I would head back home. I’d figured it would be nearly four or five in the morning before I climbed into my bed, and after tonight, I was looking so forward to getting some uninterrupted sleep.

But that was before Brent had popped up again and started harassing me. He hadn’t left as I’d asked and was now a little worse for wear, drunk off his ass and a lot more aggravating. Now he wasn’t taking no for an answer. I was just trying to stay one step ahead of him and had somehow, what with the flow of the crowd, found myself outside on the pavement in front of the club. I turned to go back in.

“Come on, Rose!” he was saying as I reached the side door. “You have to give me another chance.”