Her Accidental Prince - A Married by Mistake Romance Read online

  “It’s really nice here,” I murmur. “Thank you. I’ve never been treated so nicely in my life.”

  His eyes dance. “How is your room?”

  “Amazing,” I sigh. “I can’t wait to get up there and take a bath later.”

  I bite the tip of my tongue. Talking about bathing implies nudity. That’s fine and all… unless you’re having a conversation with someone who you’re attracted to when you really shouldn’t be.

  “Everything all right?” Max asks.

  “Fine.” I smile widely. For all I know, Max is over the one night we spent together. He sees it as only fun and has put it behind him. It’s pretty presumptuous of me to think he might have feelings for me.

  He raises his wine glass for a toast. “To the success of our union.”

  “The success of our union,” I repeat and take a sip of wine. It’s a red, and one sip tells me it’s probably the best wine I’ve ever tasted.

  “How are you doing?” I ask.

  Max presses his lips together and seems to really think about it. “Well,” he decides with a nod. “I have managed to evade my father these last few days, so I consider that a success.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Here and there.” His smile is casual, flirtatious. He probably doesn’t even mean for it to be.

  “Sounds like my kind of week.”

  He laughs, and his foot touches mine under the table. An accident?

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “Have I mentioned that?”

  “Feel free to mention it as much as you like.”

  “You look beautiful, by the way.”

  “You do, too.” I wince. “I mean, uh, handsome.” I smooth my hair and take another drink of wine. “Sorry. I’m nervous. All of this…” I wave my hand at the restaurant. Our waiter stands near the door to the kitchen, but other than that no one is around.

  “Understandable,” Max says. “And don’t worry. We will sort everything out tonight.”

  Our waiter brings the fish, which is served alongside roasted vegetables and some sort of grain dish. It seems to have been made extremely fast, but maybe that’s just another perk of being royal.

  “Do you need anything else?” Max asks me.

  I shake my head no.

  Max looks at the waiter. “Thank you. You may leave us.”

  One smooth bow, and the waiter exits. Now it’s just the two of us in the restaurant dining room.

  Max refreshes our wine. “I wanted to have complete privacy during this conversation, but if there’s anything you might need…”

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine. This meal looks amazing.”

  My stomach is growling from the sight and smell of the food, but I wait for Max to start eating. When it becomes clear he is waiting for me, I cut my fork into the white, flaky fish.

  Seafood isn’t a love of mine—usually, I only eat it because it’s healthy. But this is like none I’ve ever had. It’s buttery and practically melts in my mouth.

  “The chef here is one of the best in the country,” Max says.

  “I believe it.”

  We eat in silence for a minute. I’m pretty sure some people would turn their noses up at having red wine with fish, but tonight it’s the perfect combo. I couldn’t be happier.

  Clearing his throat, Max reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer. “I took the liberty of writing up an agreement for you.”

  He puts the folded paper on the table between us.

  “Only my lawyer has seen this,” he says. “If you would also like to have a lawyer take a look at it, please feel free to do so. Other than that, I wish for this arrangement to stay between us.”

  “Of course.”

  I’m not going to bother mentioning that Laura knows. I told her before I decided to play this part, and she’s not gonna blab to anyone. Besides, I need to be able to confide in someone, right?

  I look the document over. It seems simple enough, and even though I don’t have a regular lawyer, I’ll still have one look at it.

  “You’re okay with me sending this to someone in New Jersey?”

  Max nods his consent. “I assumed you would have an American lawyer.”

  I fold the paper back up and tuck it into my clutch. I’ll call Laura as soon as I can and see if she or Oscar has a legal recommendation for me.

  “As far as the compensation goes,” Max says, “how does this sound?”

  With a pen that also comes from his inner breast pocket, he writes a number on a napkin. My eyes nearly bug out of my head.

  “That would be monthly,” he says, “for the duration of our marriage.” He pauses. “Which, if all goes well, would be for the rest of our lives.”

  I nod. The document he showed me stated that either one of us can leave the marriage if we choose to, but it has to be done under the facade of a real separation.

  As for the money, it’s a lot. About half a million a year, in U.S dollars.

  I don’t even know what I will do with that kind of cash. Travel, I guess. Donate. Buy my sister’s family a house anywhere they want. Heck, two houses.

  “It all sounds good to me,” I say. “So if a lawyer agrees for me, I’m in.”

  “Wonderful.”

  We go back to eating, but it’s harder to chew, to swallow. With each step in this process, my mind has somehow become even more blown. A part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  But maybe it won’t. It could be that life really is this great, and I shouldn’t worry, but only enjoy it.

  Max tops off my wine. “The sooner you have a lawyer involved, the better. We are meeting my family for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night?” I shriek, my fork hitting the plate with a clatter.

  His brows knit together, and his lips twitch in the direction of a frown. “Are you all right? Poppy, you are pale all of a sudden.”

  My tongue is dry as chalk. “You’re taking me to meet the king tomorrow night? But I don’t know anything! I haven’t prepared at all.”

  “I will brief you.”

  “I don’t mean just about you and life here. I mean about anything appropriate. I wasn’t raised, you know… well-off. I’m a normal kid. Barely middle class.”

  I can’t look at him as I finish. “Max,” I whisper, “I’m sorry, but you might have chosen the wrong person to be your wife.”

  He doesn’t answer, and my head hangs even lower. He’s probably hating the both of us right now—me for being here, and him for choosing me.

  There’s the sound of a chair moving back, and suddenly he’s right next to me, crouching down so we’re at eye level. I gasp as his hand goes to rest on my leg.

  “You are perfect for this,” he says.

  There’s so much sincerity in his voice that I want to cry.

  “I’m just a Jersey girl who dropped out of college.”

  “You are real, Poppy. Honest. Adventurous. Kind. The exact kind of person I want as my wife.”

  I know he only means pretend wife, but his words have my heart beating like crazy.

  I’ve only begun to enjoy the moment when he squeezes my knee, stands, and goes back to his seat. My skin aches where he touched me.

  “What about our backstory?” I ask, wanting to distract myself from the effect of his touch.

  Max straightens his blazer. “Ah. Yes. I have that all worked out, and it folds into reality quite nicely.”

  “Oh, really? Do tell.”

  Propping his elbows on the table, he leans closer, his face glowing with excitement. “Six months ago, I went to an old friend’s wedding in Vermont.”

  “You mean for real?”

  “Yes. For real.”

  “Okay. I’m following,” I say.

  “Our story can be that we met there, and that we stayed in touch and began seeing each other in secret.”

  “It’s good,” I say. “But when did we marry?”

  “Last week. In Copenhagen.”

  I arch a
brow. “The truth?”

  “It is easier to stick to than a lie.”

  “Fair enough. I hear you there.” I pause. “Doesn’t it look weird that you’ve been hiding a marriage?”

  “I have an explanation for that as well.”

  “I bet you do.” I chuckle. “Okay, I admit it. You’ve won me over. Who else will be there tomorrow night? Other than your dad?”

  “My brother and stepmother.”

  A beat passes, the unspoken acknowledgement of his mother’s absence, and I remember reading that she passed away when Max was in his late teens. The loss of our mothers is a big thing we have in common, but not something I want to bring up now. The mood is just too light at the moment.

  “Have any of your memories from the night we met started coming back?” he asks.

  “Huh. I don’t know. I still can’t remember much after we took the car into the city.”

  “I remember some of the dance floor.”

  “Yeah…” I mumble. Most of what I remember from the club involves his hands and lips on me.

  “And I remember the swim in the ocean.”

  That makes me laugh. “You probably have no idea what it takes to get me into the water. Especially dark water.”

  “Oh, really? Do tell.”

  “First of all, I don’t trust water. People belong on land.”

  “Debatable,” he quips.

  “What?” I’m laughing harder now. “It’s not at all debatable. Humans live on land.”

  “Yes,” he teases, “but didn’t life begin in the sea?”

  “Oh, my God.” I groan. “There is no winning here.”

  “What is the second reason you do not like going into water? You said not trusting water is the first.”

  “I suck at swimming.”

  “Oh. Yes. You do.”

  “Hey!” I throw my napkin at him, and he catches it before it hits his face.

  We’re both laughing, and our feet touch again under the table. This time, I want even less to draw away.

  “Finished?” he asks once we quiet down.

  I snatch my napkin back from him and drop it on my plate. “Yes. That was delicious.”

  “What did I say? One of the best chefs around.” His expression grows thoughtful. “I’m sorry I subjected you to the water like that.”

  “Don’t apologize. I got in because I wanted to.”

  “But you said…”

  “Well…” My gaze drops, and I shrug. Are we flirting?

  We shouldn’t be. We really, really shouldn’t be.

  “It was nice,” he says, simply, crisply. “I would do it again.”

  It takes a lot of effort to drag the words up. “I really like hanging out with you.”

  “Then let’s not stop. What would you like to do?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Unless you would rather—”

  “No,” I interrupt. “There’s nothing waiting for me upstairs.”

  Except for that bath, but I can get to that at any time.

  “I’m not sure.” I take my last sip of wine. “But maybe we should do something with our clothes on.”

  If he gets what I’m hinting at, it doesn’t unnerve him. He doesn’t even bat an eye. Prince Max. Cool as a cucumber.

  I hate that I have to set that boundary, but I do. We’ll both be thankful for it later down the road.

  Max takes out his phone. “I will text Henrik.”

  “Is he nearby?”

  “He’s always nearby.”

  Right. Silly me. I seem to have forgotten the whole meaning behind “personal chauffeur.”

  Max sends a text and, putting the phone away, stands. I accept his hand and allow myself to be pulled to my feet.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  I lift my chin to better meet his eyes. A pleasant shiver goes down my back, and I wonder if he has any clue what he’s doing to me.

  “Ready for what?” I respond.

  Max squeezes my hand. “Wait and see.”

  Chapter 9

  Poppy

  The car idles out front, Henrik at the ready. Max has held my hand the entire way out of the restaurant and to the front of the hotel, and it’s a good thing he has his head about him because I find it hard to put one foot in front of the other when he’s touching me.

  Before I can get too excited about the hand-holding, two women pass by us on the sidewalk. They throw us curious looks, then one gasps loudly. She whispers something to her friend, and the two of them stand there gawking as Max and I get in the back of the car.

  We’re already doing our job, playing the part of an engaged couple perfectly.

  Buckling up, I turn to Max. “Tell me we’re going skiing.”

  “Yes,” he laughs. “We are going skiing in summer.”

  Biting into my smile, I look out the window as Henrik pulls away from the hotel. I would be happy with merely driving around the city all night. It seems we have a specific destination in mind, though, and I’m kind of good with not knowing.

  It’s a quiet ride, and my mind keeps going back to the contract in my clutch. It’s funny. My head is still saying this might be a bad idea, but my heart is telling me to go for it. I would have expected it to be the other way around.

  When we arrive at a casino, all flashing lights and big dreams, I laugh from surprise.

  “I didn’t know you had casinos here.”

  “We have a few.” Max tilts his head and eyes me. “Are you a gambling woman?”

  “I’m taking a chance on you, aren’t I?”

  He smiles in that lips half-pursed way that tells me I’ve pleased him.

  Henrik opens the door for us, and Max’s hand is in mine again.

  I’ve been to Vegas, and it’s on my bucket list to visit the big casinos in China. While I wouldn’t exactly consider gambling a hobby, I’ve enjoyed the couple of times I did participate. It’s a unique experience, and I’m all about those.

  The casino, like all others I’ve been in, is bright and lively inside. Slot machines line the wall, and cocktail waitresses walk around sporting tiny skirts and drinks on trays.

  “What’s your game of choice?” I ask.

  Max doesn’t skip a beat. “Craps.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Are you familiar with it?”

  “I know what it is.”

  We’re standing close to the entrance of the casino, and through the whole conversation I’ve been checking out the people passing by. I’m mostly interested in how many of them seem to recognize Max and what they think of their prince mingling with the common folk.

  So far, I’ve noticed one or two double takes, but that’s all.

  “Hey.” I drop my voice. “How is it people aren’t coming up to you?”

  “Ah.” He touches his beard.

  “That’s it?”

  “I only recently grew it. As far as I know, I have not been photographed with it yet. It’s only a matter of time, though. You and I met at a fortunate period.”

  “I would say so.”

  His eyes sparkle. “A drink?”

  We go to the bar, and even though people don’t seem to recognize Max, he has a pleasant and commanding presence that gets him served almost right away. We both order an Old Fashioned and, sipping on them, continue to check out the casino. Or I do, anyway. Max is extremely comfortable with the place, and he waves at a few staff members.

  “This isn’t your first time here?” I ask.

  “No.” Max winks.

  We’ve made it to the craps tables, and he joins in, setting his chips down.

  I hang back, nursing my cocktail and watching the people around us as much as I’m watching the table. It seems there is a pretty good sampling of the world’s population here, and I catch snippets of conversation in at least four languages.

  A cheer goes up, and I turn back to the table. An older man claps Max on the back, and a woman bats her eyelashes at him.

  I growl low in my thro
at and go to slink my arm through Max’s. The woman makes a grumpy face and stalks off.

  “You did well?” I ask.

  “Not bad,” he says.

  The older man who clapped him on the back chuckles. “He’s modest.”

  “How about you try?” Max asks.

  It’s not something I need to think about. “I’m game.”

  Even half watching, I’m pretty sure I learned what I need to know. I mean, it’s gambling, not chess or surgery. It all depends on luck.

  Max gets me some chips, and I place my bet.

  I don’t have any expectations, so when the dice rolls in my favor, I’m euphoric. I jump up and down, spilling some of my drink.

  Max wraps his arm around my waist and kisses my cheek.

  “Congratulations,” he says into my ear, his hot breath making me weak. “Want to keep going? You’re on a roll.”

  I gently step out of his arms. The effect he has on me is so confusing. Does he touch me in an intimate way because he wants to, or because it’s just for show?

  Making the whole thing more problematic is the fact that I know it shouldn’t matter. I made up my mind about this arrangement and what it means. I just have to keep reminding myself of my boundaries.

  “You go for it,” I tell him. “I’m gonna grab a little fresh air.”

  Max frowns. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Go on.” I wave him off and head for the front of the casino.

  I push open the doors, and a gust of air hits my face. Inhaling deeply, I lean against the exterior wall. The air brings the taste of salt with it, and it’s an amazing experience to be in the middle of the city and experiencing such fresh air. Stromhaer is very clean, and it shows.

  “Miss Moran?”

  Snapping my eyes open, I straighten up and smooth my skirt.

  It’s Henrik, standing a few feet away, his hands folded and his face a mask of concern.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him. “It’s a lot to handle in there. I needed a break.”

  “Understandable.” He smiles, and it seems genuine, not the smile of someone who’s doing it because they’re paid to be friendly and accommodating.