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Authors: MaryJanice Davidson

BOOK: The Royal Mess
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Chapter 18
J
effrey had driven her to Mr. Dante's house, waited silently and patiently in the car—Mr. Dante had never even seen him—then had driven her back home. He had taken in her swollen eyes at a glance and, thank God, said nothing.
She didn't speak a word for forty miles, but weirdly, it wasn't awkward. Jeffrey hummed along with the fifties oldies station he played softly and seemed content to let her think. Or (what she was really doing) stew.
“Come in for a moment?” she asked when he pulled up to her trailer.
“That depends. How's your artillery?”
“Oh, that's hilarious.”
“I prefer the word
cautious.
”
When they were inside, she offered him a drink, which he declined. Oh . . . duh. He probably considered himself on duty.
“Uh, can you give me a ride to the palace tomorrow?”
He had been glancing around her living room, and spun around so fast she nearly took a step backward. For a big guy, he was quick on his feet. “The palace? You want to go to the palace?
Our
palace?”
“No, Buckingham Palace,” she snapped. “Of course our palace. Can you give me a ride? And get me in to talk to the king?”
“Of course. But as the head of his detail, I'd like to know your intentions. You realize that killing him will only—”
“I'm not going to kill him! My intentions are to submit to a DNA test.”
“You're taking a DNA test?”
“Are you partially deaf with that earpiece clogging up your left ear?
Yes
.”
She observed his eyebrows knit together. “Tomorrow?”
“Yup.” Gorgeous, but slow on the uptake, this guy.
“And then it will be official. You will be, to the world, Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Nicole.”
“I guess.”
“Oh. Then I better do this now.”
“Do what?”
But he was moving with that lithe speed again and before she knew it, he was holding her in his arms and kissing her on the mouth. She was so surprised she forgot to bite.
And then she pretty much forgot everything else, too, for the first time since this crazy shit started up.
He was holding her firmly, but she had no sense of being restrained. He was taking her mouth without permission, but she had no sense of being violated.
Best of all, he wasn't stopping, and she had no sense of being not in control of the situation.
Because the truth was, she was kissing him back just as hard as he was kissing her.
Finally, after a time that might have been ten seconds or ten minutes, he let go of her and spun away, leaning on the counter between the kitchen and the living room. Clutching the counter, really. She saw with some astonishment that his knuckles were white.
“Why—why did you do that?”
“Because tomorrow you'll be Princess Nicole, and I won't be able to do it. I'll never be able to do it again.”
“But—”
“Good night, Nicole.”
She was so amazed she forgot to stop him.
Chapter 19
A
discreet rap on the door. King Al, grumpy after a long session spilling his life to the Dragon, and five more Buds, and four hours of sleep, massaged his temples. The discreet rap sounded like a giant was pounding on the wood with a ball-peen hammer.
His breakfast sat before him, untouched. At the moment, he doubted he'd ever be able to eat again. And he was swearing off beer! Again!
Another discreet rap.
He made a bet with himself. It would be Edmund, with the morning mail.
“Come in, Edmund.”
Only Edmund's head came in; he had opened the door and stuck his head through. “Your Majesty? Drink your juice.”
“I fucking hate tomato juice! It's like drinking red snot.”
“A master of poetry, even during the largest of hangovers. Majesty, I have a surprise for you.”
“Edmund, if I have one more surprise this week, I'm firing you.”
“Do not tease, Majesty. Are you ready?”
“Oh God,” he sighed. Then, “Hit me.”
Edmund's head disappeared, and then Nicole walked in.
“Holy mother of God!”
“It's nice to see you, too, Al.” Nicole had a wry expression on her face. Cute as a bug, too, and—was she wearing a
dress
? A perfectly lovely dress with black tights and sensible black flats?
“Wh—what—how—why—”
“A man of letters, just like Mr. Dante said. Awesome.”
“I have a brain tumor, so please stop yanking my chain,” he begged.
“It's just a headache, you infant. Look, I went over to Mr. Dante's house yesterday and talked it over with him and here I am, so shut up about it now.”
“But how the hell did you even know where he lived?”
“Who cares? I'm here, right?”
“
Damn
right! Hell, it's great to see you again, kiddo!” He got up and practically ran around his desk, holding his arms out without thinking.
He would have bet the east wing that she had no idea how horrified she looked at that moment, so he dropped his arms and stuck out a hand instead. Thawing an inch or two, she shook it.
“Edmund, you are a fuckin' miracle worker!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The crumb didn't even bother looking smug. Just took it as his due. “All in a day's work, Your Majesty.”
She jerked a thumb in Edmund's direction. “I bet that gets annoying.”
“Hon, you have no idea. Nice dress,” he said, motioning for her to sit down.
“Thanks. It's the only one I have. Wore it to Mom's memorial service.”
“Oh.” That would explain the severe black and the long sleeves. And what message was she sending, anyway? Reminding him he couldn't take her mother's place? That was fine. He'd never intended to try. “Well. Ah. Say, how did you get in here, anyway? You're not anywhere on my schedule.” He was pretty sure.
“Jeffrey brought me here.”
Fine, but why did that make her blush? Well, it was a stressful moment for her. And not likely to get much better in the months to come. He tried to harden his heart against the sympathy he felt for her (for the good of the country!) and failed. He had never been able to harden his heart against a child. Any child.
“Jeffrey switched with Reynolds this morning,” Edmund added. “Which
is
on your schedule.”
“I knew that,” he bluffed. “So, uh, kiddo— Nicole—if you don't mind, I'd just as soon we got that test out of the way before you change your mind and shoot us all in the face.”
Nicole remained a stone. “That's probably a good idea.”
“Edmund, will you get Doctor—”
“ETA four minutes, my king.”
“Oh.” Annoying bastard. And thank God.
“Great. Nicole, you had anything to eat yet?” He suddenly remembered the paramedics, the ambulance, and felt bad about all the hangover bitching. “How's
your
head?”
“Yes, and fine.”
“Oh.”
She just sat there like a lump, a pretty lump, and looked at him. Her hands, already tan from being outdoors, rested limply on the chair's armrests. Her long, slender fingers didn't move.
“I'm sure glad you're here,” he said again, totally at a loss. He could deal with kids. He could deal with
his
kids. He could deal with his grown-up kids. But a grown-up kid he'd known only for a week? That was breaking new territory.
Al mentally spat on his hands. The blood of rebels ran in his veins, and they had made an art form of breaking new territory.
It did not occur to him until much later that the blood of rebels ran in
her
veins, too.
“You don't want anything? Cup of coffee? Tea? Milkshake? Soy shake? Latte? A beer and a ball?”
“It's a little early for me, so never mind the booze, but I'd kill for a cup of coffee,” she admitted. “Where is it? I'll get it myself.”
“No, no, Edmund will get it.”
One of her fingers twitched. Her trigger finger, he noticed. Her eyes narrowed a bit and her mouth thinned. “I'm not gonna be waited on hand and foot, King Alexander. So you can get that idea out of your pounding head right now.”
“Of course not, we'd never dream of radically altering your lifestyle,” Edmund broke in. “How do you take it, Miss Krenski?”
She sighed and he figured she'd already guessed there was no arguing with the man. “Black.”
“Atta girl,” he couldn't help but say. “She takes it like a man,” he couldn't help bragging to Edmund.
“Your exquisite notions of chauvinism are as fascinating as they are maddening, my king.”
Nicole laughed for the first time that day.
“Shaddup,” he told them both.
Chapter 20
“M
atch,” the doc whose name Al couldn't remember told him. “Match. And match.”
“Don't talk in your medical jargon, Doc; just spell it out.”
“Oh.” The doctor frowned. “I thought I was being fairly clear. Miss Krenski is a direct blood relation of yours, Your Majesty, a sibling or a daughter. And due to the age difference and the fact that your parents are—”
“Right. So it's official. She's my daughter.”
“She is, Your Majesty. There is no doubt.”
“There never was, Doc.”
He was so excited to get the ball moving, he didn't notice his youngest, Nicholas, motioning to the doctor. He went out the door of the lab without another backward glance, to his son's great good fortune.
Part Two
BASTARD PRINCESS
Chapter 21
SITKA PALACE CONFIRMS BASTARD PRINCESS
NEXT IN LINE FOR THRONE
 
N
icole walked into yet another ridiculously grand room, one she could have fit four of her trailers in. Her (ugh) siblings and (ugh, ugh) father were already seated.
“Hey, Nicole,” Nicholas, the youngest, called to her. He was the only blonde among them. She'd heard the rumors, of course.
The official story was that Queen Dara was killed in a car accident on the way to a hairdresser appointment. Unofficially, she had been en route to meet her lover—Nicky's real father.
But even when things were at their worst—when David and Christina were king and queen
pro tem
while King Alexander was in a coma—David did not permit a DNA test for the youngest Baranov.
“You made the front page this morning,” Nicholas was saying. “Again.”
“No reading at the table,” King Al ordered. “Ditch the rag, boy. How'd you sleep, Nicole?”
“Fine.” A lie. “But if I'm going to live here, is there a chance I could pick a different bedroom?”
“You can have any room—rooms—you want.”
Excellent.
“You hungry? You must be. I didn't see you eat a thing all day yesterday.”
“Sure.” There was one empty spot at the table—to the king's right. David sat at his left. “Thanks for waiting for me. Let's eat.”
“Hallelujah, brothers. And sisters,” Alexander, the middle son, said. “Nicole, can I ask a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“What happened to your mama?”
Before Nicole could reply, Kathryn, the youngest daughter, hurled a croissant across the table, catching Alexander neatly on the upper lip. “Dumbass! Don't ask her
that
.”
“Cancer,” Nicole replied, struggling to remain straight-faced.
“Was she in any pain at the end?” the king asked quietly, which neatly quashed her urge to laugh.
“No, at the end—she never knew anything.”
“Asshole!” Alexandria, the eldest daughter (besides Nicole herself, she supposed), hissed at her brother. “Our first meal as a family and you had to go bring
that
up! Throw something else, Kathryn.”
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Alexander was cowering behind his saucer. “I was curious, that's all. I would have liked to have met her. That's all.”
“She got the diagnosis about two years ago,” Nicole elaborated, helping herself to an English muffin. “I took care of her as long as I could.”
“
You
took care of her?” Christina asked.
“No, I slammed her ass in a nursing home so I wouldn't be bothered,” Nicole snapped, feeling her cheeks get warm.
“Please don't kill my wife,” David said calmly, spooning up oatmeal. “It'll ruin Christmas.”
Nicole laughed; she couldn't help it.
“You're, uh, kinda mercurial, aren't you?” Kathryn asked.
Nicole shrugged, and as a footman discreetly poured her coffee, she thanked him and took a sip.
Her first night in the palace had been strange. She'd known it would be, of course, but still wasn't prepared.
For one thing, the palace was ginormous. Easily the largest building she'd been in in her life—and she used to live in L.A. With hallways and rooms and corridors and multiple kitchens and nine thousand fireplaces, and it went on and on and on.
For another, she had a real glimpse of the kindness of the king. Her father. There had been a press conference, but she hadn't attended. Mr. Dante and her dad had handled the whole thing.
He had told her to explore and gave her a cell phone so small and thin it looked more like a fat credit card than anything else.
It had a very specific function; it summoned intermediaries at a beep, particularly Edmund.
So she had walked around and occasionally bumped into a sibling and introduced herself to at least a hundred staff members, and by the time she went looking for David, he was long gone and not due back until after midnight. She and Christina had exchanged a few stiff words, she'd declined to meet her niece, and left.
Exhausted, she had gone to bed in a palatial (no pun intended) room that screamed “anonymous guest bedroom.”
Well, at least they didn't already have a suite in her name all set up. They were arrogant, but not that arrogant.
And now they were, day two, at breakfast.
She had hoped to talk to David alone, then realized it might be a thing better spoken in front of all of them, so she spoke her piece.
“I'm sorry about usurping the throne from you,” she said, taking another sip of the excellent coffee. “That's not why I wrote the letter.”
“Usurp means to seize or commandeer,” Alexander-the-younger said, “implying you had no right to it. When, in fact, you have every right to it.”
David was nodding. They—they were
all
nodding.
That
was a shock. “Still. I'm sorry.”
“I'm sorry, too, Nicole, but not for the reasons you think. None of this can be easy for you. We'll all do our best to make the transition as painless as possible.”
“Ha,” she murmured, looking down at her plate.
“As for not being king . . . I haven't really had a chance to wrap my brain around that one.” He smiled, but the smile didn't climb into his eyes. “But who can predict the future? Who knows? Maybe Dad has another kid running around and he or she is older than you are. Then you're off the hook.”
She smiled. “Tease.”
“I'm sitting right here, kids.”
“Sorry, Dad,” David replied. “But you're not exactly lily white on this one.”
“I gotta take shit from a punk like you?”
“I know!” Nicky said, squeezing his muffin so hard it imploded in a spray of crumbs and blueberries. “The day Dad dies, Nicole can abdicate! Then everything will go back to the way it was.”
“I'm s
itting
right
here
.”
“My mother didn't raise me to shirk my responsibilities,” Nicole said quietly, and that was the end of that.

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