His Royal Princess: A Billionaire Boys Club Novella (3 page)

Dinner was . . . wonderfully awkward.

Alex ate her meal delicately, kept the conversation flowing, and listened to the director’s incessant rambling with an attentive look on her face. All the while, she wanted to stare at Luke, to pull him aside and ask him what he thought of her now. She couldn’t, of course, not with three other people in the room. But oh, she wanted to so badly.

She tried to give them a bit of Bellissime culture through dinner. The wines were a special kind grown in her own vineyards, and each course was served with a variety of sauces traditional to Bellissime dining. They mostly guzzled wine and ignored the carefully prepared menu, growing louder with every refill of their wineglasses. An expert at handling dinner parties—even bad ones—Alex paid attention to each guest, noticing what they ate and what they didn’t. The director and Tony drank and ate with gusto, ignoring anything that looked “unfamiliar.” The actress next to Luke also drank quite a bit, but pushed her food around her plate more than she ate.

Luke drank only water and ate small portions of chicken and plain vegetables, and ignored everything else.

Talk turned to the movie at one point, which she’d been expecting, and Nick boasted that they were going to have a box-office smash. As she watched, Luke grabbed a saltshaker, poured a bit into his hand, and threw it over his shoulder.

This sent Pam into drunken hysterics. “You’re not supposed to do that at the royal palace, silly!”

He froze, as if realizing what he’d been doing.

“Quite all right,” Alex broke in smoothly. “Truly. Are you superstitious, then, Mr. Houston?” She fixed her gaze on him, excited. This was her chance to have a conversation!

Before he could reply, Pam giggled drunkenly again. “Oh, god, yes. He’s totally batshit about anything with the film. There was a ladder on set once and we had to reshoot a scene because he kept coming too close to it and refused to walk under it!”

Luke’s expressive mouth flattened and he took a sip of his water, silent.

The conversation carried on without him, and Alex was disappointed. While the other three were carousing and in high spirits, Luke was quiet, only speaking when directly addressed. Was he not enjoying the dinner party? Was he annoyed with her? Her palms sweated at the thought.

Once dinner was over, they took a few photos for the inevitable press release, and she asked them if they would like a tour of the palace, since it was the polite thing to do. They jumped at the chance, and only looked a little disappointed when she handed them off to the royal housekeeper, who took care of all the tours.

Princesses did not act as tour guides, of course.

She excused herself from her guests and retreated back to her private parlor down the hall, and tried to ignore her frustration. Maybe she should have been forward and just invited Luke to dinner instead of all of them. But she hated to give the papers fodder right now, especially when her mother was already doing her best to make the royal palace’s publicist have a nervous breakdown. Hot weekend in Monte Carlo, indeed.

Alex sighed. Sometimes she wished she were as brave as her mother and didn’t care what the world thought. Maybe then she’d have been able to shove all the others aside and go to Luke and say
I like you. I want to talk to you and not these fools. Will you talk to me?

But protocol had been beaten into her from the moment she could stand. It had taken her mother nearly fifty-five years to get the courage to do what she wanted. And maybe . . . maybe it was for the best that she didn’t talk to him. She’d just get all giggly and stupid over him and he’d think she was a fool. Alex thumped down on an elegant settee, sighed, and put her head in her hands.

“Am I intruding?”

Alex looked up in surprise to see Luke—the famous Hollywood star Luke for-goodness-sakes Houston—leaning on the door that she’d closed behind her. She’d been so wrapped up in her own angst that she hadn’t heard him open it.

He gave the door a small knock as an afterthought, and a lopsided grin appeared on his face. “Hi.”

She blinked. A thousand thoughts raced through her head.
You shouldn’t be here. This parlor is for royal family members only. Where are your friends? The staff is going to see you.

All that came out of her mouth was a small, “Hi.”

“So . . . can we talk for a moment? Because I feel we really should talk.”

Alex rushed to her feet and waved him forward. He took a step inside, and as he did, she quickly shut the door behind him and leaned on it. With it shut, she was able to breathe again. At his confused look, she gave him a small, apologetic grimace. “If the staff see you in here—”

His eyes widened. He gestured at the door she leaned on. “Should I go?”

“No!” Her hands pressed to her mouth after she blurted the word, horrified. “I mean, no, please, sit down.” She gestured at a chair.

Instead of listening to her, he leaned on his shoulder, arm on the door, his face moving close to hers. She could smell his aftershave, spicy and delicious, and his height was exactly the same as hers. Alex could look him right in the eye, and it was a little disconcerting and a lot exciting. Luke grinned wider. “So were you going to tell me you were a princess?”

“You had me all figured out.” Goodness, she was finding it hard to catch her breath. “Why correct you?”

He chuckled. “I’m just glad I didn’t do all the things I was thinking about doing to you.”

Oh. Did she think it was hard to breathe before? It was impossible now. “Such . . . as?”

“Well, I admit I was intrigued by the prim hooker disguise, but I liked you.” He flicked a finger at her hair. “This the real color?”

She nodded.

“Your wig was terrible.”

“I know. It was so the paparazzi wouldn’t follow me.”

“So you were sneaking around? Naughty princess.”

Alex felt rather flushed and excited at his words. “Good princesses don’t get what they want, so I decided to go rogue.”

He grinned again, as if utterly delighted by the thought. “I’m a fan of rogue princesses myself.”

“Are you?” Oh, sweet lord have mercy, he was flirting with her! She caught herself and added, “But not rogue escorts.”

His laughter barked out, echoing against the walls. “No, not a fan of escorts.”

“I’m curious . . . why did you immediately jump to escort? I didn’t think I was dressed like one.”

“You weren’t. I just . . .” He rubbed his face with a hand—a big hand, she noticed. “I was having a rough week on set, and some directors have been known to ‘encourage’ their leading men by sending them masseuses or escorts or drugs to help them relax.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Drugs? Illegal drugs?”

“No, they send them sinus medication,” he said sarcastically. “Yes, illegal drugs.”

Alex’s cheeks flushed and she felt foolish. What a stupid question. “Of course.”

“Bit sheltered here in the palace, Princess? Sorry,
Your Grace
?” He grimaced. “Guess we’re both out of our element a bit.”

“Please, call me Alex.” She waved a hand, dismissing the thought of her titles.

“Alex,” he said slowly, and she shivered at the way he said her name. It was nice. Maybe too nice. “I’m Luke.”

“I know.” She bit her lip. “I’m a bit of a fan.”

“I knew that part.”

“But I’m not a fan if you do drugs or fornicate with escorts.”

He laughed, his smile returning and widening so much she got a flash of pearly white teeth. “I’m not a fan of those things, either. If he’d wanted to make me happy, he should have sent my personal trainer up for a good workout.”

She gave him a timid smile, relieved. The thought of her glowing image of him tarnished had hurt more than she’d liked to think.

He studied her face, his gaze flicking from her eyes down to her mouth. He studied her there for a long second, and her entire body screamed
KISS ME. KISS ME.
But he didn’t. Instead, he straightened. “Anyhow, I just wanted to apologize to you, Princess. I was pretty sure I’d offended you the other day by kicking you out of my trailer.”

“Not at all,” she breathed. Heck, she still thought every night about the perfectly tanned, rounded globes of his butt as he’d dropped the towel and slipped on his boxers. “I was intruding.”

“Not really. I should know better than to think things are private on set.”

That reminded her of something he’d said earlier. “You were having a bad week? May I ask why?”

“You may,” he teased. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on one of the heavy oak wood chairs her grandfather had been fond of, looking slouchy and delicious all at once. “The director and I aren’t seeing eye to eye on everything.”

“Oh? But you’ve worked together before, haven’t you? On
Pirates
.”

“That was married Nick. Single Nick is fond of hookers and not fond of changes to the script.” He grimaced. “And it’s not a good script.”

Nick had given her a copy on her tour of the set, and she’d paged through it. She’d thought it was terrible, too, but assumed it was her own ignorance at how Hollywood scripts should read. “Can you talk to him about it? I’m sure he wants to keep you happy. You’re his leading man.”

“Some directors are very firm about the script. I’ve tried making small changes as I go, you know? Improv-ing on scene. Tweaking things here and there to give them more depth. He immediately freaks out and makes us reshoot. And I know that when the movie’s in the can, I’m going to look like a big wooden idiot and I’ll get panned everywhere.” He blew out a breath in frustration and got back to his feet, pacing. “He just can’t see that the script is bad because he wrote it himself. He has every line memorized.”

“Oh, dear.” Alex bit her lip. “What do your peers think?”

“My peers? You mean the other actors?” He shrugged. “Tony’s on a downward spiral because his last few movies have been flops, so he’s just happy to get work, even if it’s not headlining. Pam’s a paycheck player. She shows up for the movies but she’s more into red carpets and celebrity. No one seems to give a shit about the movie but myself and Nick, and we’re on opposing sides.”

“You’ll figure something out,” she soothed, and then felt like an idiot. She was just parroting useless phrases while he told her about his work frustrations. But what could she do? She wanted to have him keep talking, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. For the first time in her life, making conversation was
hard
.

Luke gave her another lopsided grin. “Guess so. Sorry to fill your ears.”

“Don’t be sorry. I enjoy hearing you talk about your work.” She paused and then clasped her hands. “I still think you should try and talk to Nick. Let him know your frustrations.”

“It’s a nice thought, Princess, but he doesn’t seem to respect anyone’s opinions but yours.” The look he gave her was half amused, half frustrated.

She thought for a moment. “Then clearly, I shall have to influence him.”

Luke stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if he respects my opinions, we need a plan.” She tapped a finger on her lip, thinking, and then felt all disconcerted when she realized Luke’s gaze went to her mouth. “I’ll come to the set next week. We need a signal for when you are changing a scene.”

“Like tapping my leg?” He put his hand down to his side and double tapped his forefinger against his pant.

She nodded. “And if he tries to change it, I’ll just make it clear that I adore the new way the scene is going. If you think he truly values my opinion as much as you say, it should work, yes?”

“You’d do that?”

Alex gave him a playful look. “Clearly you have never been around very many royal princesses. Our best weapons are honeyed words.”

“And you use them to get everyone to do what you want?”

“Not always. I usually just try to get them to see things how I want them to be seen.”

“Same thing.”

Was it? Because right now he was on the same page as her, but he wasn’t asking her out, which was what she wanted. She smiled at him, wishing desperately that she knew how to flirt. But she’d been raised in a royal palace full of women and had been more sheltered than she cared to admit. She didn’t date. Anyone she showed interest in who was at the same peer level as her would require a constitutional agreement between two countries to date.

But right now? She’d give her right arm to be able to flirt effectively with the man. To have him realize just how interested she was. So she kept smiling like an idiot and begging with her eyes for him to notice her.

“Well . . . that’s real nice of you to offer, Princess. I guess we’ll see if it works, huh?”

She inclined her head.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know I don’t. But we’re . . . friends.” She choked on the word. She wanted to be more than friends. So, so badly.
Ask me out, Luke! Tell me you’re interested in me as a person! Please!

But all he did was nod. “You’re a good friend.”

She swallowed her sigh. She was, wasn’t she? A nice, safe, sweet
friend
.

Ugh.

Shooting resumed that Monday at six in the morning, and Luke noticed as he got his morning coffee that the princess was on set. She was there in her terrible wig that hid her pretty blonde waves and sunglasses that hid her bright eyes. Once again, she was dressed in an utterly bland jacketed suit and prim skirt, and he wondered why he’d ever thought her a hooker. She radiated serenity and elegance even in her disguise.

And man, she was so completely out of his league that he almost felt bad for the hard-ons he’d had all weekend, and the stroke-outs he’d done in her name. Maybe it was that rather virginal mouth of hers and the way she never seemed to lose her cool around anyone but him. Him? He could tell she was flustered. It was like she cared what he thought, which was a fucking heady feeling for a bonehead actor. And maybe it was the prim skirts and the way he’d caught peeps of her small ankles and delicate feet in that gown she’d been wearing Friday night. He’d jerked off a few times, imagining her bending over and removing her strappy shoes.

Yeah, his spank material had officially changed to princesses. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a problem most men had, but most men hadn’t met Princess Alexandra of Bellissime.

Alex
, she’d told him in a husky voice.
Call me Alex.

Oh, he called her Alex all right. He called her that in the shower when he was pounding away at his cock with one hand. He called her Alex in his dreams when he had her bent over the sofa in his trailer, fucking her. He called her Alex when, in his imagination, he was pushing her head down toward his cock and imagining the blow job she’d give him with that serene, regal air of hers.

Luke was pretty sure he shouldn’t have sex fantasies about the princess, but it was okay to dream, right? She’d never look at a tool like him, even if he was a famous tool. She was a fan of his, and interested in the movies, and that’s all there was to it. Girls like her dated dukes and guys who had polo ponies and shit, not guys like him who had grown up in a trailer in east Texas and had relatives who chewed tobacco and thought camo was a wardrobe staple.

But there she was, all fresh and pretty. He tried not to stare at her as someone in craft services gave her a cup of coffee and she smiled at him like he’d bestowed jewelry on her. Nick was once again chatting her ear off, and she had a companion with her—a dried up, angry-looking stick of a woman—so that meant his chances of getting a few minutes to say hi to her were zilch.

But when she looked up and their eyes met? And she gave him a subtle wink? Luke couldn’t help but grin. Today would be interesting, all right. Today’s scene was a heartfelt bit of dialogue as the hero confessed his past to the heroine. And it read robotic and stiff as hell, which meant Luke had ideas for tweaks.

Lots and lots of ideas. And he was pretty sure Nick would hate all of them.

He brought his coffee with him to wardrobe and let them paint a few bruises on his face, then changed into his character’s clothing for the scene. They compared stills of him from the prior scene to make sure his hair and clothes were just right, and when all was good, an hour or so had passed. He headed out to the set itself and flexed his arms, running through his lines and trying to get into his character’s headspace.

Or at least, that’s what he should have been doing. Instead, he glanced over at Alex. Nick had a director’s chair for her tucked next to his, and he was talking away to her. They both had scripts in hand and Alex looked as if she were hanging on every word the director said.

Had he been talking her ear off for the past hour? The woman had the patience of a saint.

Lighting was adjusted, Pam arrived on set with her own set of painted-on bruises, and they both sat on the edge of the bed. In the scene, his character was supposed to clasp his hands and deliver his lines while staring down at them the entire time. He was going to change that a bit.

“All right,” Nick said, getting up from his chair. His curled-edge script was in his hand, and smudged glasses were askew on his nose. “Luke, in this scene, you’re telling Pam’s character about your past. The terrible things you’ve done, and how much you regret them. You’re conveying to her that you’re a bad person and you’ve made bad choices. Pam? You’re just listening and as he tells you, you’re more and more horrified, okay? Great. Let’s go.” He waved a finger in the air. “Action.”

Lines of dialogue flowed in Luke’s head. He became his character. He looked over at Pam’s character, concern written on her face, and began to speak. Not the way the script had it, but the way it should have been read. He told her the tragedies of his childhood while he reached out and clasped her hand, then slowly pulled her against him. When she pulled away from him and shook her head in horror, he allowed the pain and anguish of that to show in his face.

He didn’t get more than halfway through his lines before Nick bellowed, “CUT.”

It was like popping a bubble. Luke snapped back and jumped to his feet, frustrated. Damn it. That had been good. That had been better than good. It had been amazing. Even Pam was giving him more than she normally did. You knew when a scene felt right, and that had felt so right.

“You’re doing it all wrong, Luke,” Nick snapped. “My god, how many fucking times—”

A loud sniff made him go silent. Nick turned, and so did Luke.

The princess was wiping a tissue at the corners of her eyes. “That was beautiful. So emotional.” She gave them a tremulous smile and then turned her megawatt attention back to Nick. “What was wrong with the scene?”

Nick gestured at the script. “It says clearly here that he needs to stare at his hands while he’s talking!”

“Oh, but did you see the anguish in his face?” Princess Alex pressed a hand to her breast as if struck. “It was so moving, I couldn’t look away. I loved it.”

Nick paused. He looked down at his script, and then began to pace. “We’ll shoot it both ways and then see which way is better.”

Damn. She was good. He hadn’t even remembered to give her the finger-tap signal and she was already on the ball. The princess gave him a teary smile and daintily dabbed her eyes.

The demure princess was a better actor than he was.

***

Every day that week, the princess showed up on set in her proper suits and her god-awful wigs, and listened to hour upon endless hour of Nick yammering in her ear as the film went on. And while not every scene was modified to Luke’s liking, he was adding enough to his character, with the subtle help of Alex, to not hate the damn movie anymore. He felt like he was getting somewhere, and every time he saw the princess and her mouth curl into a faint, approving smile, he wanted to either shout to the heavens . . . or grab her and kiss that smile off her face.

He did neither, of course, but he thought about it a lot. Too bad she was so out of his league it was pathetic. He’d never considered himself to have a specific type, but her elegance and confident bearing were doing all kinds of mad things to his libido. Luke concluded that he did, in fact, have a type, and apparently he had a thing for long legs, modest skirts, and sly, clever women who knew how to get what they wanted. But what normal, red-blooded man wouldn’t have a thing for that? He told himself it was normal that Alex fueled his now-obsessive masturbating. Maybe it was because she was around all the time and they never could say more to each other in passing than a greeting. Maybe it was that despite their lack of communication, it was clear to both of them that they had a secret agreement.

That was it, he decided. The secrecy and the thought of getting one over the director were fueling his lust. It wasn’t the modest confidence of a woman he found more beautiful every time he looked at her. It was just the situation.

The situation got . . . damn weird on Friday.

They’d had four terrific days of shooting, four days in which Luke had felt “on” with his character, and the scenes filmed were making him happy. By day five, the princess had shown up and her chair was already pulled next to the director’s chair, and the assistants knew to bring her hot tea instead of coffee. She showed up with not a yawn, a gracious smile for everyone, and bright eyes ready to watch the day’s filming.

Luke stared down at his script, disturbed. Today’s shot was an emotional argument that was . . . going to lead into angry sex between his character and Pam’s character.

And the princess was here watching.

Fuck. This was . . . awkward.

He blew out a breath and tucked his script under his arm. Maybe he could talk to Nick, see about filming this another day, preferably when the princess wasn’t around. For one, he wasn’t sure he wanted her watching as he simulated sex with Pam. For two, it was a nude scene, and while he wasn’t embarrassed about walking around in a cock sock, if she was there? The cock sock might be stiff, and that’d be awkward for everyone on the fucking set.

Now . . . how to extract himself from the situation without fucking things up? Luke approached the director. Nick was already in his chair, animatedly telling Alex about his last shoot as she listened attentively. Luke was pretty sure she’d already been told the story twice, but she made it seem as if no one else had her attention when she listened, so he understood Nick’s obsession with her.

Hell, he felt pretty obsessed with her himself.

“Nick?” Luke cleared his throat to get the director’s attention. “Can we talk for a moment?”

The director frowned over at Luke. “Shouldn’t you be in wardrobe? We need to get started while the natural light is still golden with the sunrise.”

“Yeaaah. I was thinking, maybe we should film a different scene today? I’m not feeling this one.” He gave a pointed look at the princess, who was flipping through the script, and hoped that Nick got the hint.

Nick, of course, did
not
get the hint. He frowned. “But we’re all ready for this one today.” He put a hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“I’m not sure I should be doing this scene with an audience,” he said, hinting more broadly.

“You want us to close the set? Don’t you think you’re being ridiculous?” That was one of Nick’s pet peeves—he wasn’t a fan of working around actor foibles. Normally Luke saw eye to eye with Nick on this, but today . . .

Princess Alex chose that moment to look up at him, and with her blue-eyed gaze on his face, it made him feel even dirtier about the upcoming scene.

He tried to think of new excuses. Pam had her period. He was sick to his stomach and couldn’t handle a kissing scene at the moment. Something. Anything. But as he looked up at Nick’s unhappy face, he supposed he could just fucking nut up and make it through the scene. “Nah. You know what? Never mind. Let’s do it.”

Luke thought about unsexy things in wardrobe. Wasn’t hard, considering his wardrobe lady was eighty if she was a day. His character—still bruised, of course—was supposed to be naked under the sheets, and Pam was going to enter the room and confront him. He would get up and argue with her, and they’d start to fight, and it would turn into lust. No problem. He’d just stay in character, pretending.

Lots and lots of pretending.

He managed to keep his cool walking out onto the set with nothing but a towel around him, cock sock firmly in place. His makeup had been completed, and Nick was pacing by his chair. “Finally,” the director snapped. “Can we get on with this?”

Luke nodded, refusing to look over at the director. If he did, he’d see Alex, and the last thing he wanted to see at the moment was her lovely face watching his every move.

He headed onto the set and got into the bed. Overhead, the boom mic hovered into place. Cameras circled, and for the first time in his career, Luke felt . . . nervous. God, this was fucking weird. He normally didn’t give a shit about who watched, because acting was so impersonal. Everyone on the set had seen people mock-fucking a hundred times.

But Alex was here. Alex was new to this, and she wouldn’t grasp just how little he cared about any of it. How when he kissed Pam, it wasn’t about her. And when he mimed that he was fucking her, it was all just awkward pretending.

“Let’s give this a shot. Action!” Nick’s voice rang out.

Fuck. Time to get his head in the game. Luke laid down in the sheets and put his hand to his forehead, as his character would. The door on set opened and Pam stepped in.

“We need to talk, Jason.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Stef.”

“I think there is.” Pam’s voice wobbled and then grew stronger. She was doing a great job at playing the timid heroine finding her strength. “You should have told me who you really were. That you’re a . . .”

“A what?” He sat up in bed and the sheets pooled around his hips. To the audience, he was supposed to look naked. Hell, he was naked except for a tube of “nude” stocking around his johnson. “A mobster? A killer? A criminal for hire? When should I have brought that up in conversation, Stef? At what point?”

On the far side of the room, Pam shook with restrained fury. “Before I fell in love with you, you bastard! Before my life got tangled up in this!”

Luke jumped from the bed, the covers falling to the floor. He stalked across the room, putting every ounce of menace in his steps, and Stef/Pam quivered against the wall. “So what now? Am I not good enough for you? Because I’m a killer I shouldn’t put my hands on you? Because I’m a monster, that makes you want me less?” He put his hands on the wall next to her and leaned in.

Stef/Pam shivered. “Jason—”

Then they were supposed to kiss. Passionately, wildly kiss, and he was supposed to rip her dress off of her. They’d fall into bed and passionately make love. And two minutes of filmed “fucking” would probably end up being hours on set. Hours and hours of being spritzed down and people trying to get the lighting just right on his ass . . .

He leaned in to Pam . . .

She panted. She smelled like onions and garlic on her breath. Behind her, there was a tiny spider on the wall.

It was a sign.

“Spider,” Luke yelled out. “It’s upside down. Can’t do it. Bad luck. I’m going to my fucking trailer.” He grabbed the sheet off the bed, wrapped it around his hips, and stormed away.