The Cinderella Princess (2 page)

“If I pinch myself, do you think I’ll wake up and discover I’m having a bad dream?” she asked Addie.

“This might be your nightmare, but I’ve been dreaming about seeing Nick.”

Emily shook her head. “Newlyweds.”

“Don’t knock marriage until you try it.”

She didn’t want a boyfriend let alone a husband. Casual dates when she felt lonely were good enough for now. She needed to focus on her career.

“Let’s see if you’re singing the same tune after your one year anniversary.” Emily continued toward the hotel. “I’m not in any rush to take that plunge.”

“Not every man is like your dad.”

Logically, Emily knew that. Convincing her heart would take some doing. She squeezed past the throngs of paparazzi. Finally she reached the uniformed doorman.

“I’m Emily Rodgers.” She removed her sunglasses to look the man in the eyes. “I have a reservation.”

He opened the door. “Please check in at the front desk.”

“Thank you.” She stepped inside. Addie followed.

Cool air greeted Emily. The scent of money, too. Plush carpeting and heavy gold drapes swallowed the noise from the crowd outside. Old World was the only way to describe the décor with hanging chandeliers, gilded wood molding and exquisite oil paintings on display. The luxurious atmosphere seemed one-hundred-and-eighty degrees from the party animal prince who would be more comfortable at a college fraternity house.

At the front desk, she handed an envelope full of cash to a man behind the counter. Inside was the amount Nick had told her to pay. “I’m Emily Rodgers.”

“We’ve been expecting you.” The man handed her a room card. “You’ll find what you’re looking for in Suite 428. Will you need anything else?”

“Send up Nick Cahill when he arrives.”

The man replied with a nod.

A few minutes later, Emily stood in front of Suite 428. A
Do Not Disturb
sign hung on the door handle. Was the prince alone? Or would they be disturbing a romantic rendezvous?

Addie stared down the hallway toward the elevator. “We’ve never met the prince. He might not take kindly to us bursting into his room.”

“Luc chose to disappear like a rebellious teenager. Now he has to face the consequences.”

Those included Emily. She knocked.

No answer.

She slid the card into the door reader. The little diode next to the card slot turned green. She turned the handle.

Addie sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“No worries.”

Emily might not have a firm plan in mind, but she did her best thinking under pressure. So what if the guy was royalty? A random accident of birth didn’t make him different or special.

She pushed open the door.

Darkness greeted her. No movement or sounds, either.

“Is he gone?” Addie whispered.

“Let’s find out.”

Emily turned on the nearest light switch. She saw a sitting area, decorated in white and gold.

Someone grunted. Not a passionate moan, but an I’m-not-feeling-well groan.

Addie sucked in a breath. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

So did Emily, but she chalked up the thought to jet lag. She could handle anything. That was why she’d been sent. “Come on. Let’s go meet our runaway prince.”

*

Light hit Prince
Lucas Alexander Leopold Casimir von Rexburg’s eyes like an unexpected camera flash. Spots appeared. A jagged pain zigzagged through his head. Covering his face with his hands, he swore.

“I only speak English, Your Highness,” an unfamiliar feminine voice said.

“Turn off the damn light,” Luc repeated in English.

“I can switch off the lamp, but it’s time to get up, sir.”

Each word hammered at his foggy, needs-more-sleep brain. He needed rest, not conversation. Darkness, not light.

“The paparazzi are downstairs,” she continued.

Damn. They’d found him. But he’d escaped the hoard with cameras before. This time would be no different.

“I’ll sleep for another hour or so, then I can leave through a service entrance.”

He’d partied late into the night in the hotel’s VIP lounge. He didn’t remember bringing a woman back to his hotel room, or if this was even his room. But why else would she be with him?

He rolled over and buried his face into a pillow. The darkness was a welcome relief. Now to return to sleep…

“You need to wake up.” The woman spoke with a sense of urgency. She’d dropped the
sir
, a breach of etiquette since he hadn’t given her permission. Unless he’d done so last night. “I can’t do this without you.”

She meant sex. He must be on familiar terms with her. A smile tugged at his lips. Waking up might not be so bad. He’d fall asleep faster after they’d finished.

He turned his head toward the sound of her voice. Blinked open his eyes. Cringed at the chainsaw slicing his brain in half. Squeezed his eyelids together.

That didn’t help.

Bloody hell, how much had he drunk?

“Wake up.”

She sounded annoyed, perhaps angry. Luc must have fallen asleep last night. Disappointed her. Steeling himself for the onslaught of pain, he opened his eyes. Somehow he managed not to cringe or moan.

“Forgive me,
ma cherie
.”

A blurry, unrecognizable figure dressed in black stood next to the bed. He blinked, until his vision sharpened. Straight, blonde hair fell to her shoulders in a stylish, practical cut. Attractive, possibly pretty if she stopped frowning and smiled.

“I did not mean to ignore you by sleeping the day away.” He ignored the woodpecker chipping at his brain. “Get undressed, come back to bed and I shall make it up to you. Ten-fold.”

Sharp green eyes—the color of the emeralds in his mother’s tiara—collided with his gaze. “The royal scepter appears to be in working order in spite of the amount of alcohol you drank.”

Royal scepter? He glanced down. A white sheet covered his naked body, but didn’t hide the fact that he was hard. Damn.

She wasn’t acting embarrassed so he wouldn’t, either.

“Not any alcohol. Champagne. The drink of royalty. And lovers,” Luc added for effect. “I can order a bottle of
Bollinger
if you’d like. Unless you’d prefer something else. Your wish is my command.”

The woman looked at him like he was a criminal, guilty of whatever crime she believed he’d committed. “I’m not a royal groupie.”

“Never thought you were.” A woman who wanted to seduce or be seduced by a prince would never button her shirt to her neck. This one was dressed for a business meeting or a funeral service. “Who are you?”

“Emily Rodgers.”

He didn’t know the name, but he’d heard names, hundreds of names, thousands of names. Ones he rarely remembered. Why should he care what she was called unless she planned on undressing and getting into his bed?

“I just arrived,” she continued. “I was sent to help you. Not have sex with you.”

That explained her outfit and her tone. Not to mention her presence in his hotel room. “Are you alone?”

“My assistant is getting you a glass of water.”

He tried to ignore the lightning bolt pain in his head. “Who sent you?”

“Don Peabody.”

Peabody-Franks was the US advertising firm associated with the reality TV show’s production company, but his father could still be the puppet master behind this farce of finding a princess bride.

A noise sounded in the bathroom. Something clattered against the floor. Water ran. Must be the assistant.

Luc wanted to get up, move, but he didn’t see any clothing nearby. Had the hotel management put him to bed last night? “Tell me how you plan to help me.”

“First we go back to Italy to film.” A smile still hadn’t cracked her tight lips. “I brought a list of additional bride candidates since the others haven’t…worked out.”

“Not my fault. I’m doing what I can.”

“Really?” She motioned to him lying in bed. “Running away and overindulging in champagne isn’t helping. Princesses are turning down first dates with you. We need one that will at least go out with you once if we’re ever going to find a woman to accept your marriage proposal.”

Each word slapped his face. The sting, however, was nothing new. “If you’re trying to make me feel worse, you’re succeeding.”

“That wasn’t my intention.” Her voice softened slightly. Her expression didn’t. “But sugarcoating your situation isn’t going to find you a bride.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” Few told him the truth. Others only repeated what his father wanted said.

Birth order had determined Luc’s fate long before he was born. Being the youngest child of the king meant no one had expectations he’d amount to much. Unlike his six older siblings, he’d had few rules to follow growing up. Spoiled, yes. Indulged, all the time, especially by his mother. That was why he hadn’t thought his parents would pressure him to marry like the others.

“I do need to find a wife,” Luc admitted. “But I don’t understand how you’re supposed to help me unless you know of a princess living in a tower with no electricity or a noblewoman who’s run out of other marriage options.”

“I don’t know any women like that, but trust me. I’ll be able to help you.”

“Are you a matchmaker?”

“I’m an account executive at the advertising agency.”

That didn’t tell him much, but he hoped she wasn’t like the worthless royalty consultant hired by the production crew. “Tell me the difference between a marchioness or a viscountess.”

“I have no idea, but I’m happy to find out.”

Not a bad answer. “That’s more than the show’s former royalty expert offered to do.”

“I’ll do whatever has to be done for the show to be a hit.”

Her confidence appealed to him. “A true professional.”

Defiance flashed in her eyes. “Is there any other kind?”

Her ballsy tone impressed him. He guessed she succeeded, more than she failed. Maybe she would be the right person to help him find a bride. “The hotel allowed you into my room…”

“Nick spoke to them.”

Of course, who else? The man had ruined many an opportunity for fun since he arrived a month ago. But Luc had one more thing to do before leaving the country. No one would stop him.

Another woman approached the bed. She wore a baseball cap and carried a glass of water. A smile lit up her beautiful face.

Smiling hurt from his teeth to his brain, but Luc did his best. He wanted to make a better impression on this one. “Hello there. You must be the assistant.”

“I am.” She handed him the glass and two white pills. “These should help you feel better, Your Highness.”

“Thank you.” This was the kind of care Luc was used to. He took the pills and downed the entire glass of water. Refreshing and needed. Both the liquid and the woman. “There’s no need for formality. Please call me Luc.”

“I’m Addie.”

“Nice to meet you, Addie.”

Something landed on his midsection—the thick, white robe provided by the hotel.

“What?” he asked.

The woman in black—he’d forgotten her name—glared at him. Forget shooting daggers. She was firing RPGs.

“Addie is my assistant. She’s also Nick Cahill’s wife. Unless you’d prefer to be known as Princess Lucy in the future, you’d better watch yourself around her. If you’re not wearing anything under the sheet, put on the robe before Nick arrives.”

Luc was naked. The bodyguard with hawk-like vision had never made him feel safer or more imprisoned at the same time. No doubt the man would be overprotective of his wife.

“I’ll refill your water.” Addie picked up the glass and walked away.

Luc would put on the robe with her out of the room. He also wanted to see how Miss Prim-and-Proper Professional handled the unexpected. Maybe he could get her to loosen up and smile. “I’ll put on the robe now.”

He moved the robe to the side and threw back the sheet.

Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. Her gaze lingered longer on his naked body than he expected.

Interesting. He’d thought she would gasp, turn around, act upset. Not…look at him.

She blinked, raised her gaze to meet his. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not impressed.”

“Perhaps not, but you are blushing.”

Her hand flew to her cheek. “I’m not.”

Luc liked that she hadn’t been sure and checked. Not one hundred percent in control. He wondered how else he could get her to react. “Only a touch of pink.”

She pressed her lips together. “Put on the robe.”

The woman ground out each word. Not one hundred percent professional. Perhaps attracted, in spite of her words.

Mission accomplished. He sat.

The room tilted, spun. He clutched the bottom sheet. Didn’t help. His stomach flipped upside down.

“You’re turning green,” she said. “Here’s a trash can.”

Luc closed his eyes. That helped. Sort of. He felt as if he were spinning.

“It’s going to be okay.” Her tone was compassionate and warm, not businesslike. Could she have developed a heart in the last fifteen seconds? What was her name? Em…?

“I can do this.” Keeping his eyes closed, he tugged on the robe. The terry cloth fabric felt like sandpaper against his skin. His fingers fumbled with the belt. He sucked in a breath. Wished his stomach would stop churning like a whirlpool. “I need a shower.”