The Cinderella Arrangement (35 page)

When I first arrived at the Glenade Guest House, Tom greeted me with such sincere enthusiasm that I couldn’t help but feel my spirits brighten. I don’t know what I expected when my cab dropped me there. It was hard to believe the pictures that flashed across my screen when I looked up the place. Against a blue-gray sky stood a cottage whose stone walls were a pleasant, mild yellow. Surrounded by lush greenery and potted plants, it looked like a cute little gem among a row of similar-looking homes in a typical English village. Everything I read about Anglefell clashed with this picture of idyllic beauty, and for a moment my mission to expose the island’s ruthless monarchy felt a little silly. It feels a little silly even now. What have I learned except that Prince Liam is an immature ass?

Damn it, this is uncomfortable. My shoulder and back pound from lying on this rock-hard bed, so I stand up. Where the hell is he? Should I ask the guards?

The door to the dungeon opens with a sudden bang, which is followed by several pairs of footsteps. Then my cell door opens, the bars sliding under my hands, and I step back, fear needling my heart without me really knowing why. Prince Liam walks in front of my cell, surrounded by three guards. The humor vanishes from his eyes. It’s eerie watching the bars move over his hardened face.

“What’s going on?”

Liam’s guards remain posted at the entrance as he ducks inside, Liam’s face still frozen with that expression of uncharacteristic seriousness.

“You should not be alone with the prisoner, Your Highness.”

Irritated, he glances over his shoulder. “I think I can handle one little girl.”

“She could be a spy.”

“What?” I shout. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“Leave us.”

The guards tense. “But, my prince—” one says.

“Your prince commands you to get the fuck out of the room. Now.”

A flurry of anxiety hits my chest as he gives the command. The guards hesitate before nodding stiffly and walking down the hall. Liam sighs heavily, turning toward me with eyes that seem to accuse me of something.

“You’re in trouble.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.”

“The king wanted to investigate the incident. So he sent people to go through your things where you were staying.”

Oh
God
.

I double- and triple-checked my bags for anything that would give me away. Hell, my passport is Canadian. There’s nothing—nothing they could possibly find.

“They found this.”

He digs in his pocket and unwraps his palm, revealing a crumpled, empty bag of peanuts.

“Made in Sacramento, California,” he says, reading the label on the back. “Funny. I would’ve never pegged you for a California girl.”

“I’m not American!”

“Says the obviously American American.”

“That’s—crazy! A bag of peanuts? That could’ve come from anywhere!”

He lifts an eyebrow. “It came from Sacramento and it was in your bag. I mean that camera hanging around your neck was already a
dead
giveaway. Only Americans do that.”

Don’t say anything. Don’t confess.

“I—I want my lawyer!”

His face cracks with a sort of pitying smile. “Only an American would say that, love.”

“Well, I get a phone call, right?”

He sighs. “Maybe I should get you an apple pie and a bald eagle with a hot dog in its beak as well.”

Words like
high-risk
and
hostile
keep popping up in my head like the monstrous red flags they are. This can’t be happening.

The prince’s stony face softens slightly. “Relax. You’ll probably just get banned from the country. My father probably won’t want to piss off the Yanks. I’m just sad it’ll cut our fun short.”

Banned?
“I’m not American,” I cry, my voice breaking. “I swear! Please don’t send me away!”

“It’s out of my hands, unfortunately. It’s really too bad, because I can think of a number of fun punishments I’d like to subject you to.”

“Will you
please
stop!”

Laughing, he offers me his hand. I take it without thinking, my breath hitching in my chest when Liam pulls me upright. My body launches forward, and suddenly I’m flat against his broad chest and
holy crap
, there’s a lot of muscle underneath his preppy clothes. Prince Liam’s arms are firm around my waist and back. His solid body against mine is like a catalyst—or an explosion. A glow of heat passing through my body spreads warmth through my skin. I feel it everywhere. Hell, I feel it between my legs, pulsing.

“Kiss me.”

I want to. His hand at my waist squeezes, and suddenly a flood of memories slams into my head with so much force that I feel vertigo. His lips tug into a smile, and I want to lean forward, but the crushing weight prevents me.

“No.”

A low growl issues from the back of his throat, but he pulls back. “Think of me when you’re fingering yourself later.”

I might.
“I will not.”

His eyes roll. “All right. Come with me, then.”

“Wait—where?”

“The throne room. My father is waiting there to spank you.”

* * *

I
’ve never been
in trouble my whole goddamn life. It figures that the moment I decide to bend the rules a little, I get caught. In less than twenty-four hours. I’m trembling from head to foot. “Disappointed as fuck” doesn’t really begin to describe my emotions. The prince suspected I was American the moment he met me. It
really
burns the ego.

It’s not over. All they have is circumstantial evidence.

Liam throws me pitying looks as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, although he might just be bummed that he won’t get to fuck me. Damn him. He’s the reason this whole thing fell apart. I scrimped and saved for months to make this trip, and it’s all over because the Dirty Prince couldn’t keep his filth to himself.

My newly blazing rage banks down to a small fire as Prince Liam’s entourage leads me across the courtyard through another set of doors to the giant tower. I’m constantly struck by the modern touches: a satellite dish, the cars lining up in the courtyard, the guards, dressed in business suits, and a gift shop. I can just imagine myself taking a tour here and sending a postcard to my classmates at UC Berkeley: Greetings from Harronvale Castle!

Jesus, will you focus?

The prince returns to my side as the guards open a heavy set of doors to the castle’s keep, which open right into the throne room. It’s a grand space with highly polished marble floors. Heavy tapestries embroidered with gold thread hang from the walls, along with faded portraits of former monarchs. There are a few rows of wooden seats that look barely used, and there’s a throne at the back of the room.

An old man with straggling, gray hair sits on the throne. He wears the same ceremonial doublet Prince Liam wore earlier, except his fits badly. It looks like it’s barely hanging on his skeletal frame. The sunken-in eyes stare at me from across the room, and I still my fidgeting. This must be what it’s like to meet Death.

“Bring her forth.”

Liam grasps my upper arm, leading me to a spot in the middle of the room. His father, the king, stares at me beadily. His body is overcome with small tremors.

“You are the American who trespassed into my country?”

My voice echoes in the cavernous room. “I—I’m not American! I didn’t trespass!”

Another man’s voice rings out. “Your Majesty, I have reason to believe the girl is lying. We found American paraphernalia in her belongings, and we seized her laptop.”

“Bring me the evidence.”

The man deposits the empty bag of peanuts in the king’s waiting hands. “What’s this rubbish?”

“It’s a packet of peanuts.”

“The girl is an American…because she eats peanuts.”

“No, she’s an American because the manufacturer is located in Sacramento.”

I turn toward the voice, staring at the uppity asshole. “I demand a lawyer.”

“You demand?” King Jonathan’s face spreads with a nasty smile. “No one makes demands of the king.”

“I’m sorry, sir—”

“Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty,” I grind out. “This is a miscarriage of justice. I have no legal representation. Your evidence was obtained without a warrant. Whatever he found in my things is inadmissible.”

The throne room erupts with the king’s laughter. The very floors shake with the force bursting from his chest. Liam gives me an exasperated look, and the man who I suspect is a police chief exchanges an amused smile with the king.

“Your Yankee laws do not apply to us, my dear. We are a sovereign nation. I will not tolerate any more interruptions about how I should rule my country.”

Feeling sick, I watch as the master-at-arms clears his throat. “As I was saying, we recovered the laptop and found that she’s a student at University of California, Berkeley. We also found her Instagram.”

The king’s eye widen as the master-at-arms pulls out his phone and cycles through a few particularly embarrassing pictures of me frolicking in a bikini on a beach, and me posing with a giant cheeseburger hovering near my lips.

“An American spy.”

“I believe so.”

Liam takes a step forward, frowning. “Father, I highly doubt this woman is a spy. My instincts scream ‘dumb thrill-seeker’ not ‘devious spy.’”

“The question of whether or not she’s a spy is irrelevant. She broke the law and expected no consequences. Typical American arrogance.” A thunderous rage erupts from his voice. “I will blast every one of your damned Yankee ships that attempt to rescue you. I sentence you, Daisy Walker, to ten years of hard labor in the quarry.”

Ten… ten years?

“Father, I must object to this.”

“Must you?”

“The sentence is far too harsh. It doesn’t fit the crime.”

“She is at worst an American spy, and at best, an idiot.” His nasty gaze turns on me once again. “I suppose you wanted to come here and cause trouble, didn’t you?”

“No! I swear!”

“You’re a student at this school, are you not?”

My eyes burn. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean—”

“So you came here on your summer break, thinking this would be a nice little project, didn’t you? Destabilizing my regime must earn you class credit at that free-loving, piss-covered hippy school.”

I wrap my arms around my body, trembling.

“You see, Liam? She is a conspirator. She must be punished accordingly.”

“I don’t agree.”

The room echoes with the sound of King Jonathan’s fist slamming into the arm of his chair. “Ten years of hard labor in the quarry. You begin
tomorrow
.”

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