I’m staring at the fat NYPD officer who’s sitting behind a desk looking back at me as I sit in the holding cell.

Right, what am I doing in here when I should be home talking to my father who came to visit after the trade deal?

I should be out celebrating my impending nuptials, shouldn't I?

To answer that question, let me tell you who’s at my house, okay?

First, there’s my father, who I already told you is visiting. But then, there’s also his girlfriend, the Royal Press Secretary, Samantha Bayer. Who happens to be Alicia’s mother.

Alicia Bayer - who also somehow happens to be my fiancée.

Yeah, fuck you, I know. I fucking know about Alicia. Or Daphne. Whatever the fuck you want to call her.

I sigh and lean back against the wall, staring at the bars.

Fuck me, I can’t help but rethink all that’s happened this morning.

* * *

Like any Saturday morning, Daphne wanted to sleep in. I’m using her fake name because that’s what I knew her as at that point. That’s right. I didn't even know her full name, despite the fact that I fucking proposed to her on the Brooklyn Bridge two days ago. And you want to know what the fucking worst part of it is? That morning, when I woke up and saw her wrapped around my body, her face cute as a fucking button, I realized that I was going to have to make peace with the fact that I would never have what I had first experienced with Alicia. Despite the fact that I never got a chance to tell Alicia how I felt, I would still carry that fucking regret and sorrow with me and make myself a better man for Daphne. I mean, I was fucking torn, mate. Because even as I bent my head to kiss Daphne on the cheek, I worried that a part of my heart would always belong to the gawky girl I had grown up with.

Daphne woke up and smiled when she looked into my eyes and I told myself that even if I had to fake it, I’d give myself completely to this woman. She was the one that rescued me from myself, while I dreamed about Alicia. She was the one that repaired the relationship with my dad, while I acted out. She was here. She was now.

We were sleeping naked - a product of being too tired to put on any clothes after fucking our brains out the night before - and it wasn’t long before she had her slender legs wrapped around me while I took my massive cock and brought her to two major orgasms.

I take another sip and think back to Daphne’s face as she came. I fucking love making her cum. It’s the most thrilling aspect of having sex with her. Sure, she makes me cum like no one else ever has, but I seriously love her so fucking much. I would do anything for her.

But until today, it turns out I didn’t even fucking know her.

Ever since I proposed, Daphne’s been looking kind of worried.

“Derrick,” she said that morning at breakfast. “We need to talk.”

I finally looked at her. That Thursday on the bridge she’d been floating and after we finally got home we managed to get undressed and spent the entire day in bed. We made love - yes, I fucking said ‘making love’ again, alright - and just didn’t let go of each other. We fucking basked in each other’s presence like nothing else existed. The small break we took was so I could go over some paperwork with Larry about the foundation I was going to be setting up. Daphne did some work too - I thought it was foundation related, but apparently it was to write a gossip column. That’s right, I know that too. Over the last few weeks, Daphne has become invaluable in crafting the foundation’s press strategy. That’s what I thought she was doing all this time when she said she was working.

The next day, she began wanting to tell me something, but it was never the right time. Either we were getting interrupted, or something was happening that wasn’t making it the ideal situation. At first, it was a charity meeting that I had to get ready for. Then it was a photo shoot for GQ. During the afternoon, when she tried again, we were in Central Park. I turned to her to listen to what she had to say when the press descended on us. I took questions and then turned to her but she had disappeared in the crowd.

When I finally found her that evening, she sat me down and wanted to tell me what she’d been keeping to herself all day, but Pressly walked in, with a phone.

My dad was on the line and I took the call.

The trade deal had been signed in Washington.

That was fucking great news and I congratulated him. But the phones were ringing nonstop from news agencies and it was the perfect time to announce that I was in process of launching a charitable foundation. That got me busy throughout the rest of the evening.

Two hours later, I walked into her room. She basically used it for working on whatever she was doing. I never bothered to ask her and find out.

I should have that night. I thought she was getting the paperwork ready for the foundation.

But instead, I let my cock grow hard when I saw her in a cute pair of lace boy shorts and sheer white camisole.

She looked at me and smiled. It was a hungry smile.

I couldn’t control myself and before I knew what I was doing I was kissing her. She was kissing back, and her hands were working my cock and getting it enraged. I ended up carrying her to my bedroom where we fucked for hours till we both literally passed the fuck out.

And that brought us to this morning, sitting at breakfast.

“It can’t wait any longer,” Daphne said.

“Tell me, love,” I said, concerned that she’d had to hold something in since yesterday. “What is it?”

She looked down, as if wondering how to broach the subject. My heart was doing somersaults of fucking tension. I knew her as a stripper. What was she going to tell me? She was married? Had a kid? A boyfriend?

But no, I told myself. I knew her. I knew she loved me.

That’s when she looked at me and grabbed my hand and began to say, “Derrick, I haven’t told you some…”

That was it. She didn’t get a chance to finish.

The doorbell rang.

The doorbell fucking rang.

But I didn’t like the sentence she had started and didn't move. This was more important. I sat there.

Until Pressly came into the breakfast room. “Your Highness, your father is here,” he said.

Anything else in the world I would have told them to wait.

But my dad? After everything we had gone through? No way.

But still, I would come back to what Daphne had to say, I told myself.

“Dad!” I yelled, walking into the room, letting my mind go blank for a moment as I hugged him.

“So good to see you, Derrick,” the normally reserved King said as he grabbed me in a hug. Yeah, we hugged, okay? I don’t care if you don’t think it was fucking manly. I still have my pair of giant fucking balls.

Sorry if I sound a bit fucking pissed, mate. I’m a little bit frazzled from the whole fucking day.

Only he wasn’t just there by himself. He was there with his Press Secretary.

“Hello, Samantha,” I said straightening up. She was Dad’s secret girlfriend. I’d known for some time now. At first, I’d hated her because I’d always felt that Dad had cheated on Mom with her. It turns out, they had gotten together only recently. And once Daphne told me about my mother, I basically forgave Dad.

“Hello, Your Highness,” she said smiling at me and shaking my hand. Then her eyes went wide as she looked past me. And said the words that fucking killed me.

“Alicia?” she asked out loud, and my heart leapt. “What are you doing here?”

Where was Alicia? Did they bring her with them? What would I do? Fucking Christ!

I turned around.

There was Daphne. Standing in the entryway from the living room to the foyer, wearing that cute white camisole and lace boy shorts. She looked so adorable.

My heart began to beat but I told myself that I had made the same mistake when I first saw Daphne also. Thinking she was Alicia.

Daphne looked at me with a pained expression. I took a step towards her.

“Daph…” I trailed off as she moved her eyes past me and looked to Samantha. Tears were starting to stream down.

“Hi Mom,” she said and my world started to spin.

Clearly, Samantha Bayer was shocked. My father wasn’t sure about what was going on either. But I’m the one who had his fucking world blown to bits.

So many times I talked about Alicia - it turns out I was talking about her to her!

My brain was spinning and I thought I was going to fall.

“Alicia, what’s going on?” Samantha asked, and Daphne looked at me, concern creasing over her face as she saw me hold onto the banister and try to piece everything together.

“We’re getting…” Alicia/Daphne was about to reply when there was some commotion outside and the front door burst open. I looked over, wondering what else could happen at that moment.

And that’s when the cunt DA, Samantha Scar, walked in. There were four NYPD plainclothes detectives with her and five uniformed officers.

Sam was standing helplessly by as they walked through the door and into the foyer.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said. “I couldn’t stop them.”

Samantha gave me a cold look and looked over at Alicia. She took in the King and Samantha in her gaze.

“Ah,” she said simply and then took a breath before looking to Alicia. “You were about to deliver happy news, no?”

Daphne…fuck, Alicia, was silent and looks down.

“Well, not so happy now, I’m afraid,” Samantha said and turned towards Samantha. “I see you on television. You’re the Press Secretary for St. Livy. Your daughter thinks she’s going to marry the Prince.”

Samantha gasped and Alicia’s face crumpled. Despite everything, I was getting angry and I stood up straighter. Then Samantha turned towards me.

“Your Highness, unfortunately I’m going to have to place you under arrest,” she said as she nodded at the two uniformed officers who moved my way. I stood stunned as they came closer and put my hands behind my back.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Samantha said. “The statute of limitations for your little stunt four months ago is about to expire, and I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to kick your ass out of this country.”

“The people of this city love the Prince!” my dad bellowed, coming to my defense. Samantha turned to face him and she regarded him coolly.

“King Leopold,” she said politely. “The people may love him now, but when they see just what kind of mess he’s in, they’ll turn against him and want him expelled.”

I remain silent as Samantha walked up to me. “But it’s okay Derrick,” she whispered. “It’s not like you had anything worth saving up here anyways.”

I wanted to say something but too much was going through my head to reply before she continued.

“I mean, the woman you love, isn’t actually Daphne Apple - but I’m guessing you just found that out, right?” she said with an evil gleam. When I didn’t respond, she continued. “But did you know that she’s the one that’s been writing the gossip columns about you? That she works at News of the Times? That she worked at my instructions to destroy after your little rodeo at the CBC studios four months ago?”

Fuck. Me.

Now it felt like someone had taken off their shoe and slapped me in the face with it.

What the fuck was going on?

Tears fall from Alicia’s face as Samantha leaned close but whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Did you know her job was to write as much dirt about you as possible?” she asked. “That she came up with the name ‘Prince Sin’?”

Speech was gone. It felt like my heart was stabbed.

I didn’t even notice when Samantha gave the nod for the officers to march me out of my home and into the squad car.

Only this time as I exited the building, the press was waiting. I did the perp walk out of my building and into the waiting police car in a fucking daze.

* * *

In hindsight, I’m a fucking idiot. I was blinded by something. I’m trying to wonder if it’s love.

I should have wondered how a stripper as gorgeous as Daphne wasn’t more famous.

I should have done a background check on her.

I should have asked how she was able to keep supporting herself while she wasn’t working as a stripper. She couldn’t have had that much saved up.

I should have wondered how she was able to pull up some detailed searches on my father and mother. It never occurred to me that she had inside access as a journalist.

I should have realized that her sources on her fucking gossip column were none other than herself.

I’m a fucking fool, mate.

I stare at the bars to the holding cell.

This is where I belong.