Royal S.O.B. (A Bad Boy Romance) (18 page)

After
Kenrick left – he was no longer His Royal Highness Prince Kenrick for her –
Addie couldn't concentrate.

This
was an unwelcome intrusion, especially after she had decided to kick start her
studying, and now she would have to go back on her word to Cate as well not to
be thinking of him. And that was something she loathed. For Addie, her word was
her deed.

She
knew that Kenrick saw a different Addie that day. And in a way, he had asked
for it. By removing the protection of protocols, Kenrick had exposed himself to
all the vulnerabilities of a commoner. And that was not a good sign.

What
a paradox this was – Addie turned royal from commoner just weeks ago, and weeks
later, Prince Kenrick turned commoner from royal. Of course, hers was a public
spectacle, and his was a private affair, but the dramatic irony of it was still
relevant.

It
was a huge realization. Prince Kenrick becoming just Kenrick was not a mere
change of position. It was the harbinger of colossal change, and she shuddered
to think about the shape of things to come.

She
needed to talk to Cate about this quickly. But she desisted from it. For one,
she knew her best friend was busy studying (they had both agreed to do it). For
another, she felt awkward to run to her over each little thing, like a child
running to her mother.

And
that reminded her of her own mother.

Tonight
was going to be unpleasant for Addie, no doubt. Her mind was already in
turmoil, and to top that, thoughts of her mum would make it worse. But the
damage was already done; there was no way she could roll back her stream of
memories about her mother.

If
only her mother were around! Not only would she have advised her about the
correct course of action, Addie would have felt secure in the arms of her mom.
Now, she was just an orphan, with no one she could really turn to in this
crisis.

In
fact, Addie realized with a start, her mother was no longer even in her world –
unlike before, when she was the center of her universe. Earlier, she would run
to her mum for everything, but now she could not even think of her mother for
that, whatever the circumstance.

All
she had was Cate. And Mrs. Bradford.

But
that gave her reason to brighten up. Mrs. Bradford was the person she should
confide in. She could tell her about the prince's – Kenrick's – visit and about
the conversation they had had. Maybe the governess would throw some light on
her possible next course of action.

Or
– she did a double take. Was that the right thing to do at all? This involved
the royals (and she was one, too, however much she detested it), and it
involved the prince (who, for the rest of the world, was still Prince Kenrick).
Wouldn't that be a kind of breach of protocol? Who was she to divulge details
of a personal nature to a rank outsider (and Mrs. Bradford was one, however
close she was to her)?

What
if something like this was leaked to the media? The ensuing mayhem was
difficult to imagine. The television channels and tabloids would have a field
day, and she would be in the thick of the storm. God alone knew what impact it
would have on her, and – more importantly – on her mother, the queen.

No,
it was too much of a risk to speak about this to Mrs. Bradford. The only person
she could trust was Cate, who'd witnessed the events firsthand. Or?

Suddenly
she was gripped by a terrible panic.
Was
she to trust anyone at all? Was her life not hers anymore? Could she not share
small details of her mind with her best friend either?
What kind of a trap
had she fallen in?

She
closed her book in disgust. No way was she going to get any studying done in
this frame of mind. Maybe she should just have an early dinner and retire for
the day. Her best bet was to get up early and try to catch up on her
preparation first thing in the morning.

"I'm
feeling ill, good night," she kissed her friend Cate goodbye on the cheek.

She
got up, left the study and went to the chambers. Mrs. Bradford was there
waiting and came up to her.

"Shall
I order your dinner, my child?" she asked.

"Yes,
Mrs. Bradford."

"My
dear, are you not feeling well?"

The
old woman came and felt Addie's forehead.

"It
looks like you're rather exhausted. Is it because of your visitor this
afternoon?"

Obviously
Mrs. Bradford knew. One of Addie's assistants must have told her. In a way, she
was thankful that there were people keeping watch. That was a good thing – or
maybe not. In the future, who knew?

That
was a scary, if involuntary thought. How did she think that up?

No,
she did not think it up; the thought came on its own. Indeed, there was no way
anyone could control thoughts – they came at their own volition.

"No,
I'm fine, Mrs. Bradford," Addie assured her, not wanting her to worry, and
asked for dinner to be served.

*****

Hours
later, Addie was tossing and turning in her bed.

This
was to be expected. With events turning the way they did, there was scant hope
of Addie getting any sleep anytime soon.

Willy-nilly,
her thoughts went to that short encounter with the prince – with Kenrick. At
once she was overcome with guilt: Was she needlessly rude to him? He had come
to pay her a visit, to say sorry for the lapse of last time, and here she was,
venting her spleen on him. Did it have a reason, unknown to her own reason?

Yes,
it did. The origins of that anger lay in her subconscious.

In
an instant, the scene that she wanted to forget desperately flashed before her
eyes. The prince – Kenrick – exiting the door of the servants' room. Kenrick
cursing. Two naked women standing inside, looking bewildered. Kenrick throwing
their clothes at their faces. Kenrick registering her standing there, watching
everything. Kenrick stunned and rooted to the spot. Kenrick, regaining his
presence of mind, shutting the door in a hurry.

Now
she realized – this was behind her sudden, unexpected spitefulness towards
Kenrick. Because, now she remembered, all her civility and polite behavior was
gone in an instant. And she'd been treating him like a criminal.

Well,
said another voice inside her, he
was
a criminal. How could he do what he did that day?

It
was her good fortune that made her take that route, or she would have never
known the exploits of the prince and heir apparent to the throne.

Then
again, she already knew of his particular propensity to own and enjoy women.
That was not exactly new information. And, even if she had not witnessed such a
scene that day, several similar scenes were happening in all likelihood. What
was the big advantage in witnessing one such hapless occurrence?

In
any case, she was aware, this was the habit of the royals – especially the men.
Which royal personage, among males, had not had such an affair? Or string of
affairs? In truth, many royal men wore it as a badge of honor on their sleeves,
leaking news of it themselves to the tabloids. For them, a public display of
their machismo gave them a high.

So
be it.

As
arguments and counterarguments flowed on either side of her head, one thing
dawned on her. None of these was justification enough to treat Kenrick the way
she did. She would not mete out such treatment to strangers, after all!

Here
was her stepbrother, the prince of the country, and the heir apparent. What
right did she have to give him the rough end of the stick? She was a princess
all right, something she was bestowed upon, but even that position did not
allow her the privilege to insult another human being. That he happened to be
the future king only aggravated her wrong.

Addie
was consumed by an avalanche of guilt.

She
bid goodbye to sleep. Now there was no way slumber would come to her aid and
cut out the agony.

She
suddenly thought of what happened to her the other day. Addie was thinking of
Kenrick, and suddenly she was wet again.

What was going on
inside her?

She
felt guilty – and this was a different kind of guilt. Kenrick, all said and
done, was her
stepbrother
. Was it really a good idea to desire him, even
subconsciously?

Granted
he was irresistible, and his sex drive was on turbo, but she could not fault
for that.
Was this still not utterly,
shamelessly, wrong?

Addie
could not understand the confusing medley of emotions flowing through her
being.

The
next morning, Kenrick was desolate. He had no idea with what to do with his
time anymore. Hours, days, weeks, months… they just seemed to stretch endlessly
in front of him. And there was nothing of substance for him to fill those
minutes with.

He
hadn't even been motivated to hit the gym lately. His body, for Kenrick, was
his temple, and he had maintained it up until this point with scrupulous
discipline. The secret to his killer looks, to a large extent, was his
well-built body.

But
he was not like those bulky body builders whose muscles seemed to spring up on
every nook and cranny of their body. It was not as ugly as that. His was rather
comely. Chiseled abs, the classic V-shape, bulging biceps and triceps, the
perfect curve for his back.

The
best feature about Kenrick, however, had nothing to do with his body. It had to
do with his face. That was where his trump card lay.

Aristocracy
dripped from every detail of his face; it was perhaps the shapeliest visage
ever. His azure blue eyes that seemed to be deeper than deep; his perfectly set
teeth which flowered into a winsome smile. The etched dimples on his cheeks and
the little crest on his chin were things women wanted to play with.

All
of which was complemented, of course, with his knife-through-butter smoothness.
Words were his slaves, and they faithfully served their master. Plus, his
unmistakable baritone accent. When he spoke, it was sexiness oozing from every
pore of his being; you could feel it spreading into the atmosphere, its palpable
presence giving the other men present a feeling of distinct inferiority.

In
totality, a winning recipe.

Such
a Greek god was now down in the dumps, in a sort of love-sickness for a woman
who was both his equal – or near equal – and his stepsister. And it came down
to Pat to lift him up from these pathetic depths.

"Hey
Phantom," came his voice, bubbling over as usual.

"Let's
do something fun today."

"Like
what?" Kenrick asked nonchalantly.

"I
just came to know about something happening in the Royal Gallery."

"What's
that?"

"A
painting exhibition."

"Is
that your definition of fun?" replied Kenrick stubbornly.

"It's
not…" Pat's voice trailed away.

"But
I thought since it's right here, within the palace complex. And it would be a
great way to be with the commoners – they would be present in great
numbers."

Once
again, that clicked. Of late, the word 'commoners' was Pat's passport to get
practically anything done with Kenrick. And he knew the background behind that
as well.

In
an hour, they got ready and set off.

*****

The
Royal Gallery was across from the palace grounds. It was a short walk through
the wonderfully manicured green, with flora of all kinds maintained on the
premises. The combined fragrance of different types of flowers filled the air
with a heady aroma that was intoxicating.

"You've
no idea regarding the kind of luxury you live in," said Pat, inhaling
deeply.

Kenrick
said nothing, just kept walking on. Pat sensed that he was in no mood for
polite conversation, so he left it there.

As
they were entering, a thought came to Pat.

"Phantom,"
he held the prince back.

"I
was thinking…"
"What?"

"It
might be a good idea for you to interact with… the commoners," he dropped
the word again.

"Are
you nuts?" Kenrick's voice was even.

"What
would be the point of that?"

"My
dear Phantom," started Pat.

He
knew that this needed a little convincing.

"You
already suffer from a bad image. If you're seen connecting with the common
folk, talking to them, taking selfies, and so on, it projects you as a
'people's prince'."

"I
don't want to be a people's prince!" snapped Kenrick.

"I
just want to be a women's prince."

"Even
for that," came Pat's rejoinder.

"Even
for that, a friendly image helps, Phantom."

"No
need," responded Kenrick hotly.

"For
that, I already have a winning template, and it works every time. Come, let's
go in."

The
guards bowed at the prince and held the door open for them. They stepped in. At
once a battery of ushers landed up, but Kenrick just waved them off. Soon the
head of the Gallery arrived.

"Good
morning, Your Royal Highness," he said politely.

"Good
morning," replied Kenrick.

"We
prefer to go around alone, so don't bother us."

"Very
well, Your Royal Highness," the man stated. He bowed and left.

Then
they started walking around, looking at the paintings. There was a moderate
crowd, and as they saw him, they curtseyed in a conditioned action before
carrying on. Kenrick nodded to some, ignored the others. But he always
acknowledged the women. Pat noticed this.

To
be honest, Pat was no aficionado when it came to the arts. Nor, for that
matter, was Kenrick. But he agreed because he had nothing to do in particular
back in the chambers, and this would serve as a decent distraction.

Paintings
were not something that Kenrick enjoyed – for the simple reason that he never
understood what the fuss was all about. Especially the abstract stuff. Just
some odd shapes, crisscrossing lines, and a weird arrangement – such
monstrosities were hailed as the next masterpieces. And there were enough
people who paid top dollar for that kind of shit. Not only that, these
paintings added value with age and fetched far more down the years. So it was an
investment avenue as well.

For
example this one. They were standing in front of an 'abstract' painting. It was
precisely the kind of thing he was thinking about. All the vague stuff was
classified as 'abstract', and one required to study it and find any meanings in
it. And the more explanations you found, the smarter you were. The painter
would have taken not more than an hour to draw these lines crossing each other,
this weird looking face with only one eye, this clock that was melting, these
ants here, and these circles, squares and triangles. He never got it–

"Hey,"
came a small, piping voice.

Kenrick
turned.