Her Accidental Prince - A Married by Mistake Romance Read online

“Do you like working for Max?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes. Very much.”

  “Do you drive only for him?”

  “When he is home, yes. If he is out of town, I am available for friends and acquaintances of the royal family.”

  “Ah.” Nodding, I look back at the doors. I want to go back in there soon, but I’m not quite ready yet. “And how long have you been driving him around?”

  “Most of his life. I began my employment at the palace when Max was around five.”

  “You don’t say?” Now I’m really intrigued. “So you know him pretty well?”

  I realize how that question could be read. I’m a stranger to Henrik, for all I know another girl in a line of many. He doesn’t know about our marriage; Max and I aren’t wearing those rings that we probably got at a pawn shop somewhere. Even if Henrik did know we were married, it wouldn’t be reason for him to trust me.

  I really don’t want him thinking I’m sneaking around here looking for intel on the royal family.

  “Has Max ever gone snowboarding or skiing?” I ask.

  Henrik doesn’t so much as blink. If my innocent question surprises him, he’s good at hiding it.

  “I have never heard him speak of it,” he answers.

  “Hm.” I nod and look down at the clutch in my hands.

  “Although, he used to go ice skating as a child.”

  “Wait. What?” Snapping my head back up, I stare at him.

  Henrik chuckles. “Yes. His mother would take him and his brother.”

  “He told me they went to the beach, but he never said anything about ice skating.”

  He smiles to himself. “I imagine he has his reasons for that.”

  “You mean because he’s bad at ice skating and he only wants to be seen doing things he’s good at?”

  Our eyes catch, and we start laughing at the same time.

  Words don’t need to be used. We’re on the same page here, sharing a good moment over someone we both appreciate.

  “Hey,” I say, an idea suddenly coming to me, “can you help me with something? It’s not important or anything, but it’s something having to do with Max. A surprise, really.”

  He tilts his head, seems to consider, and then says, “I’m all ears, Miss Moran.”

  Chapter 10

  Max

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” the woman who was hanging around me earlier asks. Her hand settles on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

  Her perfume is too strong. With every inhale, I nearly choke.

  Turning my head away from the stranger, I gaze searchingly around the casino. No Poppy.

  It’s been nearly ten minutes since she went outside, and worry gnaws at my gut.

  She is a grown woman. She’s traveled Europe on her own and can surely take care of herself in a city for a few minutes.

  I know this, and yet my concern for her is nearly overpowering.

  I don’t like her being out of my sight. I don’t like her being away from me.

  Removing the woman’s hand from my shoulder, I back away from her. “She’s close.”

  Her eyelashes flutter, and that suspicion I have come to dread enters her face. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Prince Maximilian? If only you shaved…”

  She goes to touch my beard, and that’s the last straw. I would never put my hands on a woman, but I’m about to tell her as politely as possible to back off.

  I don’t get the chance, though. Poppy arrives.

  “Max?” she says.

  I step away from the woman, my hand going into Poppy’s.

  “Wait, Max?” the lady asks. “Are you—”

  “Have a nice night,” I say, turning and walking away with Poppy.

  “I’m sorry.” Poppy cringes, and we pick up the pace.

  I squeeze her hand. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It kind of is,” she counters. “I used your name. Maybe we should have code names when going out or something.”

  She’s so genuine, and it makes me laugh.

  “I’m serious,” she says.

  “I know, and that’s why I’m laughing.”

  Her alabaster cheeks turn rosy, and I light up like a firework. She has a magical effect on me, and it kills me to think that she might have done something wrong.

  “It’s always only a matter of time before I am recognized somewhere,” I say, steering us toward the front door.

  “But the beard…”

  “It has worked in other countries.” I open the door for her. “Apparently, it doesn’t do much in Stromhaer.”

  We stop right outside the casino, and it takes me a moment to remember what I had planned to say. She looks so good in the bright lights, her blondish-red hair lifting slightly in the breeze, that one glance of her makes my brain’s gears grind to a halt.

  “Would you like to visit another casino?” I ask when I get myself working again.

  “That sounds really nice, but I actually have something else in mind, and I’m really hoping you’ll indulge me.”

  She doesn’t need to ask. Whatever her desire is, I will most certainly give it to her.

  The car is parked along the curb, and Henrik opens the door for us.

  “We’re going…” I look to Poppy, who is settling in the seat next to me.

  “Oh, he knows where we’re going,” she says.

  “You don’t say.” I catch Henrik’s eye in the rearview mirror, and he salutes me.

  “Give me a clue,” I demand of Poppy.

  “Nah.” She shakes her head.

  “One tiny clue?”

  “Nope.” She makes a show out of turning her body away from me and looking out the window.

  I start to reach for her hand, thinking I’ll do anything it takes to make her talk, as long as she likes it as well, be that tickles or kisses, but I stop myself right before I touch her. She doesn’t notice.

  I need to be more careful. Poppy is a woman I lose my head around, and it’s entirely my fault. She doesn’t seem interested in me at all. Whatever appeal she felt for me the night we met has vanished. It doesn’t take a smart man to see this.

  I can take a no. Being royalty doesn’t protect you from a broken heart or a bruised ego, and girls have turned me down before. How I’m going to live with one of the most beautiful and exciting women in the world being my wife and me never getting to really have her be mine, though, I don’t know.

  The car turns down a street that looks vaguely familiar, and I lean forward in my seat. If this is an area I know, it looks very different at night.

  “I know this spot,” I say when we stop in the parking lot of a park.

  Poppy’s excitement is tangible. She doesn’t have to say a thing for me to know she is loving this.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask. “How do you know about this place?”

  “Come on.” She’s out the door in a flash.

  “The park is closed.”

  “To royalty?” she asks.

  “Ah.” I chuckle. “You have me there.”

  Right by the parking lot is a concession stand with its window closed up for the night. Past that, a playground. And beyond that…

  I haven’t been here in years. Not since I was a child.

  And never without my mother.

  “What do you think?” Poppy asks.

  I tear my gaze away from the skating rink.

  “If you don’t want to do it,” she starts.

  I silence her with a touch to her lips.

  She gasps, and I quickly drop my hand and step back, chastising myself. How easy it is to lose all sense of reality when she looks at me with those eyes, clearer and more alive than a summer’s day.

  “This is an extraordinary gift,” I tell her. “Thank you. But we don’t have skates.”

  “Actually…”

  Her attention falls behind me, and I turn to see Henrik coming over with two pairs of skates.

  “The manager is opening the concession stand
as well, Prince Max. He is very pleased to have you here.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. I hate people going out of their way to do things for me just because I’m royalty, but this event is so special. How can I say no?

  The concession stand’s window is already opening, and the manager waves and bows at me. I wave back, making a mental note to tip him big before leaving.

  “Well?” Poppy wiggles her fingers at me.

  I’d be an idiot to turn away. “I’m in.”

  We take the skates from Henrik and sit down at a bench near the rink to put them on. It feels silly to be lacing up ice skates in June, but the act also brings on a wave of memories.

  I don’t even recall the first time I came here. This park is as much a part of my childhood as my parents and brother. Even in the winter, when there was real ice to be found, this artificial rink was where my mother brought Sacha and me to skate. We loved this place that much.

  Poppy laces up in no time at all and checks her blades. I can already tell I’m in the presence of an expert.

  “What?” she asks, noticing me watching her.

  “Nothing. I’m a little intimidated, is all.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m not that good.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  She points at my skates. “The laces on your right could be tighter.”

  “No good, huh?” I ask as I redo that skate.

  Our skates on, we stand. Even on land, I’m a little wobbly. Poppy goes right over to the ice and glides onto it. She’s a bird taken flight, and for a moment I stand stock-still and watch her glide under the tall, park lights ringing the rink.

  She goes all the way around and comes back to me. “The water is perfectly warm.”

  That makes me crack up. “Very funny. Now that we’re in your comfort zone, you get to make all the jokes, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  She offers me both her hands this time, and I take them and awkwardly step onto the ice. The instant my blades hit the rink they seem to take on a mind of their own, wobbling all over the place. I’m strong—I work out several times a week and can lug a fifty-pound pack for days through the mountains—but my knees go a tad weak.

  “I got you,” Poppy says. “Try moving forward like this.”

  Letting go of one of my hands, she shows me how to push the skates to propel myself slowly forward.

  I do it, and it seems to be working.

  Until I’m on the ice, flat on my back and looking up at the sky.

  Poppy cracks up.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t laugh.”

  “It’s okay. I must look truly funny. It’s been years.”

  She helps me up, and I try again. My ego is even more hurt than my rear end, and that makes me even more determined to master this. Or, at the very least, not fall down again before the night is over.

  We skate around in what’s mostly silence, except for when Poppy has something new to show me or points out where my form is lacking. She’s in teacher mode, and the best thing about this lesson is watching her face while she explains things to me. She’s encouraging, and never gets frustrated. When I do something right, she seems genuinely pleased.

  “You’re getting better,” she says.

  “I have a great teacher.”

  I could probably skate on my own now, but I keep my hand in hers. It’s much better this way.

  “How long has it been?” she asks.

  “How long since what?”

  “You said it’s been a long time since you skated.”

  “Right.” I have to think about it for a moment. “About twenty years.”

  “Your mother brought you here, right?”

  “Yes.” I study her face, wondering if she guessed that or if Henrik told her.

  Poppy smiles, giving nothing away except for a love of the ice and this moment.

  “How do you think you’re doing?” she asks.

  “I will never do as well as you. You’re really good.”

  She shrugs and makes a face. “I’m okay.”

  “Show me something.” I nod at all the empty ice in front of her.

  Her hand slips from mine and she glides across the open space, picking up speed. She goes into one of those fancy spins and comes out of it leaning forward with one leg in the air. She does all this in a dress that looks too tight to walk in.

  It would be an understatement to say I’m impressed.

  “That’s amazing,” I call out to her.

  Her cheeks are pink as she skates back to me, and I can’t tell if it’s from exercise or being put on the spot.

  “You’re doing pretty well yourself,” she says.

  “Not like you.” I know I’m staring at her with adoration, and I should stop, seeing as there is no one here to sell on our marriage, but I can’t. I could look at her all night long and never grow tired.

  She shrugs. “Thanks. We’re not too bad, huh?”

  “Not at all. What do you say? Are we ready for the next Olympics?”

  She rolls her eyes. “How do I break this to you?”

  I take her hands in mine. “How about you tell me we make a strong pair?”

  Her lashes flutter, and I hear her breathing pick up. “We do,” she murmurs.

  My heart races. Could it be that I’ve been reading her wrong, and she has feelings for me as well?

  I want to say something, but my mind is a scramble. In between figuring out the specifics of our marriage charade and tamping down my personal feelings for her, I feel completely out of sorts and not like my regular self at all.

  She tugs on my hands and starts to skate away. “How about a break?”

  Reluctantly, I follow her back to land. Hard as skating is, I would stay out here all night as long as it was with her.

  “That concession stand opened just for us,” I say, nodding at it. “How about it?”

  Poppy smiles. “Do you think they have hot chocolate?”

  “I really hope they do.”

  A few minutes later, and we settle back down onto the bench. I had to replace my skates with shoes in order to walk up the slight hill, and my feet feel incredibly light.

  “Cheers.” I hold up my paper cup, and Poppy knocks hers against it.

  “Kind of like the night we met,” she smiles.

  “Kind of. Except not.”

  “Yeah.” She wrinkles her nose, and we laugh.

  We sit quietly and sip our hot chocolate, looking at the skating rink. Silence with Poppy is just as enjoyable as conversation is, and that’s a special thing.

  It’s getting late, but I don’t want to know what time it is. If I look at my phone, I know I’ll be disappointed that the night will be over soon, so I don’t. I sit here with my arm loosely draped over the back of the bench, only an inch away from Poppy’s shoulders.

  “I love it here,” she says, facing forward, her profile to me. “This park. Stromhaer. It’s an amazing place.”

  “It is.”

  She turns to me. “You’re partially responsible for it.”

  I nearly choke on my hot chocolate. “No. I am not.”

  “Yeah. Your family is.”

  “Yes,” I say slowly. “My family is. But I do so little here.”

  “What about the nonprofit work you do? Or is that all in other countries?”

  “No. Some of it is here.”

  “There you have it.” She raises her palm, like that’s the answer.

  “I’m not responsible for this park,” I point out.

  “Your country is, and you’re their prince, so…”

  I shake my head, but I can’t stop the smile. A beautiful woman is telling me she is impressed with me. I can only correct her so many times.

  “But yes,” I say. “I agree. It is an amazing place. Tell me. What led to you coming to Europe?”

  She looks down, her throat rolling with a swallow, and I see that I made a mistake.

  “You don’t ha
ve to answer,” I say quickly.

  “No. It’s fine.” She smiles at me, but it’s forced, not lively at all. “Um, about five years ago my dad got sick with cancer, and then he died two years after that. I needed to get away, so I did.”

  “I see.” My chest constricts with pain for her. Her short statement said so much. I can tell how much she loved her father and how much his death wrecked her.

  “And your mother?” I ask.

  “She died when I was in elementary school.”

  I suck in a breath and stop myself from cursing just in time.

  “It’s okay,” Poppy says, probably reading the sympathy on my face. Or maybe expecting it, since she no doubt usually gets a load of it when people hear she is an orphan.

  “I have my sister,” she goes on, “and her husband and two kids.”

  “How often do you visit them?”

  “Not enough.”

  Her shoulders slump. I reach over and take her hand. There’s nothing romantic about it. I can see that she’s in pain, and I want to help ease her through it.

  Turning her hand over so that we are palm against palm, she laces her fingers with mine.

  “You don’t need to feel guilty about living life on your terms,” I tell her.

  “I know.” She nods. Pauses. “But sometimes I do. Sometimes I think I should be there for them. That I should have stayed in New Jersey.”

  “Would you be happy there?”

  Her answer is a breathless whisper. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then you would not be doing anyone any good.”

  “Hm. Yeah. You’re right.” She tilts her head, her gaze flicking between my eyes. “My sister supports me in basically everything, but I still feel guilty sometimes.”

  “Because you are a good sister.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  She takes her hand from mine, ostensibly to fix a pin in her hair. “I dropped out of college to take care of my dad.”

  “What were you studying?”

  “English. At the time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do, really.”

  She’s not looking at me again.

  “Is that what you wanted?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t matter. I was the only one who could take care of him. Laura was having a hard pregnancy, and there was no one else.” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told you that. I don’t mean to be unloading.”