The Princess Affair (2 page)

Then the crowd shifted, and Sasha’s gaze was arrested by the sight of a spiky-haired brunette in a sports coat and jeans, a tie looped insouciantly around her neck. She stood conversing with David Sterling, the CEO of Royal Flush, and when she laughed at something he said, the spinning disco ball made her eyes flash.

Miranda had trailed off. “What are you—oh.”

“Do you know who she is?”

“One of those online poker players. I met her earlier, while you were judging, but I don’t remember her name.”

Thrilling to the hunt, Sasha took a long sip of her drink before beckoning to Ian. “I require a private room. Make the arrangements, please.”

“Certainly.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he raised his arm and spoke quietly into his wrist mic.

Miranda was crestfallen. “Already? But the night has barely even started! Let’s dance. You might find someone you fancy even more.”

“I’m not in the mood to dance at the moment.”

“So you’re just going to abandon me?”

“You know plenty of people here. You’ll have a delightful time.” Ignoring her crestfallen expression, Sasha pulled her into a quick hug. “Find Finch and exact our revenge. Tell me the whole sordid affair in the morning. Shall we meet at that new café in Piccadilly you like so much?”

The offer of breakfast seemed to mollify Miri. “Ten o’clock?”

“Perfect.” Sasha leaned in for a swift kiss on the cheek before setting off across the room toward Sterling and the poker player. Her approach did not go unnoticed—it never did—and the pair lapsed into silence as she approached. Sterling executed the brief bow from the neck traditionally used to greet members of the royal family.

“Good evening, Your Royal Highness.” In his designer jacket, collared shirt, and jeans, Sterling was a poster boy for casual chic. “Are you enjoying yourself, I hope?”

“Very much. Excellent party, David.” She angled her body toward his companion, detecting the faintest hint of a spicy cologne. “And you are?”

“Please allow me to introduce Nova, ma’am. The best online poker player in the world at the moment.”

Nova seemed nonplussed at the prospect of meeting her. Clearly, she had no idea of the proper protocols, and Sasha enjoyed the uncertainty that flashed across her handsome face. She liked having the upper hand.

“Dispense with the ‘ma’am,’ David. It makes me feel ancient.” She stuck out her hand and was gratified to feel a twinge of desire low in her stomach as Nova’s warm palm slid across her own. “Sasha. It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise.” Their brief contact seemed to embolden Nova. “Do you play at all?”

“Poker?” Sasha gave Nova the briefest of once-overs, making it clear that she might be up for other kinds of games as well.

“Yes.” The syllable hitched ever so slightly.

“On occasion. My brother taught my sister and me when we were children. We would play for chocolate coins, much to the chagrin of our nanny who thought it wasn’t ladylike.”

Nova’s answering smile revealed two dimples in her cheeks that Sasha found irresistible. Thankfully, at that moment, the CEO of Smirnoff approached and engaged Sterling in conversation, leaving the two of them to themselves.

“It’s rather crowded, isn’t it?” Sasha said softly, careful to keep their bodies separated by a solid foot of air.

“Getting stuffy, yes,” Nova agreed.

When she licked her lips and visibly swallowed, Sasha laughed. “If your poker tells are that obvious, you should take care never to sit down at a table.”

The bloom of red across Nova’s cheeks was endearing. “Why do you think I play online?”

Sasha laughed, enjoying the easy banter. “That seems wise.” She drained what was left of her martini. When Nova’s eyes widened in clear appreciation, she smiled. But just as she was about to suggest that they move their conversation to a more private place, the cheerful chords of “Yellow Submarine” began to emanate from her purse.

“My brother,” she said apologetically as she reached for her phone. “Hi, Artie.”

“Don’t call me that.” The reply was automatic. “What are you doing right now?”

“I’ve just finished judging swimsuits and am currently chatting with a delightful poker champion. Why?”

“Forget all that. Come to Ashleigh’s flat. I’m having an impromptu send-off.”

“At this very moment?” She was torn. On the one hand, she wanted very much to finish what she’d just started. Nova’s refreshing lack of pretension likely meant she would be a very pleasant experience, indeed. But on the other hand, she would never pass up the chance to attend a farewell soiree for Arthur, especially since she’d only have limited contact with him for the next several months.

“Yes, right now. No excuses.”

Sasha disconnected the call and turned to Nova, allowing her regret to show. “I was hoping we could continue our chat elsewhere, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible now.”

“Is it rude to admit I’m disappointed?”

“Not at all. Perhaps we’ll run into each other some other time.”

“I hope so.”

Forcing herself to turn away, Sasha sought out Ian, where he waited near the balcony railing. “Change of plans. I’ll be going directly to Ashleigh Dunning’s flat. Will you inform the driver?”

“Certainly.”

After making her excuses to Sterling, Sasha followed Ian out a side entrance and slid into the cool leather seats of the black Bentley. As it pulled away from the curb, Ian angled his body to face her.

“Will you be staying the night at Ms. Dunning’s, ma’am?”

“No. I’ll likely not stay more than a few hours.”

“Very well.”

Sasha relaxed into the embrace of the seat and tilted her head just enough to examine her reflection in the window. The early September night was warm and its mugginess had deepened the natural wave of her hair. The near-curls lent her a more sensual air somehow. Even had Nova been inclined to resist, she never would have stood a chance.

Looking past her reflection, she watched London slide by, lights smearing together in a washed out blur. By day, the capital was orderly and proper—a resplendent, well-oiled machine whose heartbeat set the pace of English culture. Sasha knew how to navigate its gears and cogs, but she never stopped feeling like an outsider. By night, London’s veneer of civility slipped, revealing sharp edges beneath the glamour. Ironically, the darkness made her feel seen.

Her driver pulled up to the curb just outside the entrance to Ashleigh’s building, and Ian jumped out to hold her door, offering her a steadying hand as she stepped out onto the curb. When she smiled at him in thanks, his lips curled ever so slightly in return. When he’d first become her bodyguard almost two years ago, he had refused to show even a hint of emotion. Never able to resist a challenge, Sasha had thrown herself at him for months, intent on crumbling his stoic façade and gaining the upper hand. Finally, after a particularly egregious seduction attempt, Ian had grasped her by both naked shoulders and fixed her with a firm stare.

“You’re a charming and beautiful woman, Sasha,” he had said. “You don’t need to behave this way. But since you seem to need the reassurance, I’m sure I would have broken down long before now if you were my type.”

It had taken several seconds before she’d comprehended what he was trying to tell her. Relaxing in his grip, she’d thrown her head back and laughed.

“To be honest? You’re not really my type, either.”

At that, he had smiled at her for the very first time. “I know.”

Ever since that day, they’d had an unspoken agreement. Sasha stopped making Ian’s life a living hell, and Ian did everything in his power to protect her—not only from physical harm, but also from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. They weren’t friends, exactly. Ian’s sense of professionalism would never allow for that. But they understood each other.

Their mutual trust allowed him to wait in one of the armchairs in the building’s atrium rather than being forced to stand in the hallway outside Ashleigh’s flat. As the elevator sped toward the thirtieth floor, Sasha wondered who would be in attendance tonight. Arthur’s innate charisma won him friends wherever he went, but his inner circle was actually quite small. She hoped he’d invited only his closest confidantes.

When she rang the bell, he answered. Tall and broad-shouldered, he took up most of the doorway and immediately enveloped her into a bear hug. She ruffled his shock of hair to make him let go. As he stepped back, he had to push an errant lock out of his warm brown eyes, and she wondered how he would look when the Royal Air Force made him get a buzz cut upon reporting for duty tomorrow.

“Thanks for being here,” he said as they walked down the short hallway that opened into Ashleigh’s sitting room.

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice.” But she nudged him with her elbow to take any sting out of her words.

Arthur turned into the kitchen, where Ashleigh was pouring champagne into several flutes on a silver tray. Long, blond hair flowed down the back of her white blouse, nearly touching the fabric of her shimmery black pencil skirt. She turned with a smile and embraced Sasha as though they hadn’t just seen each other a few days prior at a family dinner in Buckingham. But that was Ashleigh. She had a way of making each person feel like the most important one in the room. At first, Sasha had been suspicious of her cordiality, but after years of seeing her at Arthur’s side, she had come to recognize that Ashleigh Dunning was one of those rare, genuinely compassionate individuals.

“Sash, hi! You look stunning. New frock?” Ashleigh held her at arm’s length and rubbed the material of one strap between her fingertips. “Velvet. Beautiful.”

“It’s an Alexander McQueen. Quite comfortable. I’ll have one sent over for you tomorrow.”

As Ashleigh protested, Arthur reached over her shoulder for the tray.

“You may as well just say thank you,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Once Sasha’s mind is made up, she becomes the immovable object.”

“It’s true.” Sasha let Ashleigh precede her back into the hallway. “My stubborn streak is the stuff of legends.”

As they entered the sitting room, Sasha realized she wasn’t the first guest to arrive. Devon Oldham, son of the prime minister and Arthur’s closest friend from Eton, was sitting on the loveseat near the fireplace. His new girlfriend perched beside him, looking a bit nervous, or perhaps just star struck. Sasha’s lips tightened. This changed things. She couldn’t exactly be herself in the presence of someone she barely knew. She trusted Arthur, Ashleigh, and Devon. Along with Miranda and Sasha’s younger sister, Lizzie, those three were the only ones who knew her secrets—and even they didn’t know everything.

“Sasha! You look smashing.” Devon rose to kiss her on the cheek. “You remember Charlotte?”

“Of course. Wonderful to see you.” She embraced Charlotte lightly before reaching for one of the champagne flutes. “Shall we have a toast?”

Once everyone had a drink in hand, she looked across their small circle to Arthur, who was grinning happily with his free arm looped around Ashleigh’s waist. He seemed genuinely excited about this tour with the RAF, and no wonder. Arthur had grown to become a man of action, like their father. He wanted to be in the midst of important matters—to have a hand in making a difference among the people. Thankfully, he hadn’t also adopted their father’s temper and judgmental attitude.

“To Arthur.” She raised her glass. “You great lug. Don’t break anything expensive, and come home in one piece.”

Once the laughter had subsided, Sasha chose the comfortable armchair closest to the fireplace. She sipped her champagne lightly as the conversation turned to the topic of the not-for-profit Ashleigh had launched a few months ago—a micro-financing company that worked to provide start-up capital to women in Third World countries who hoped to open their own small businesses.

When Charlotte asked her a question about the living conditions of her clients, Ashleigh reached for a book on the coffee table.

“In a few weeks, I’ll be traveling to East Africa to see for myself. I just finished reading this memoir of a man whose life’s work has been to build schools in the region. It’s very well written and paints a disturbing, though hopeful, picture of what daily life is like.”

She passed the book around as the conversation continued. When it came to Sasha, she flipped it open and did her best to feign interest in the jumble of words. Her focus was particularly bad tonight, and once she’d handed the text over to Charlotte, she drank more deeply of the champagne, hoping it would relax her.

“While I’m there, I’ll also be supervising the filming of a documentary,” Ashleigh was saying. She turned in Sasha’s direction. “Which reminds me, I want to throw a party in London for the film’s premiere. Would you be willing to organize it? This wouldn’t be until sometime late next year, but I know your services are in high demand.”

Sasha just barely stopped herself from betraying her surprise. While certainly popular amongst London socialites, her year-old party planning company had yet to be patronized by anyone within the inner royal circle—probably because her father hadn’t hid his displeasure at her choice of career. Now Ashleigh Dunning, who would one day be Queen and was already the darling of both the people and the media, had enlisted her services.

“I’ll be happy to,” she said. “I’m already meeting Miranda for brunch tomorrow. Would you like to come along so we can talk preliminaries?”

“Perfect.”

As Sasha was explaining the café’s location, Arthur’s cell phone rang. “It’s the King himself,” he said before moving to the far side of the room to take the call. Even as she continued to pay attention to Ashleigh, Sasha kept her ears open to the sound of Arthur’s conversation.

“Hi, Father. Doing well, thanks. At Ashleigh’s, yes. Just a small gathering. At 0800, that’s right. Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Sasha? She’s here. Yes, all right.” He returned to the sitting area and held out his phone. “Father would like to speak with you.”

His expression was sympathetic, and Sasha worked hard not to noticeably grit her teeth as she took the phone and walked back toward the kitchen. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a conversation with her father that didn’t somehow take a turn for the uncomfortable.