Gabe
“This,” Mama said crisply, slamming down a paper on the breakfast table, “is not good.”
Lucas and I both jumped.
“What are we talking about, Mama?” I asked with magnificent nonchalance, “Surely it’s too early in the morning to be talking about my approval ratings?”
“It’s past noon,” Lucas murmured to me, flashing Mama a quick smile.
Ugh, always such an ass-kisser.
I was about to retort, but took a look at the headline on the paper and the words died in my mouth.
“The Scandalous New Royal Boy-Toy!” screamed the headlines with glee. They had a picture of me leaving an apartment building. It was low quality, and my face was mostly in shadow, but when had that ever stopped the paparazzi from making wild accusations?
The thing was that I couldn’t recognize the apartment building I was leaving. It looked worn down, dirty, not the kind of place anyone I’d sleep with would be caught dead in.
“I really don’t see what the big deal is,” I said, pushing it away contemptuously, “They run a dozen articles a week like this. When have we ever paid attention to them, Mama?”
“This time it’s different,” Mama said, her mouth tightly pursed, “They’ve tracked the boy down—and he’s definitely not the kind of boy you can get away with throwing out like the morning trash, Gabriel!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, mildly annoyed.
Sure, my previous boyfriends—well, one-night stands—weren’t the smartest or most thoughtful, I usually chose them for their looks, but I still didn’t like them being talked about as though they were disposable. Did I remember any of their names the morning after? Definitely not, but I was grateful for the good time.
“...’works three jobs’…” Lucas read with an expression of disbelief, “…’paying off his dead sister’s medical bills’…’training to be a nurse in night school’. God, Gabe, where did you find this guy?”
Ohhh. Oh.
“Okay, this is all a huge misunderstanding,” I began. “He was just helping me out!”
“Oh, really?” Lucas said, leering at me.
“I don’t care what you children call it these days,” Mama said sternly, “This is going to make the evening news, and they’re going to bring up the issue of your fitness to succeed me again.”
“Will it help if I put out a statement saying nothing happened? Or if he said it?”
“No one will believe you,” Mama said, “Even I don’t believe you, so I don’t dare to imagine what other people will say.”
I groaned and put my head in my hands. The worst part of it all was that nothing had truly happened. It seemed monumentally unfair to me that I was being strung up when—for once—I hadn’t ravished anyone at all!
I would prefer for my terrible reputation to be based on actual fact. For example, the vocalist in that boy band? One of the best weekends ever, for the both of us. The tech billionaire in California? Absolutely, I would never deny it. The underwear model in Milan? Great face, great body, great ass. But the random guy who had let me sleep off my drunkness on his couch before ejecting me the next day? Nope. I only had the blurriest idea of what his body looked like, which probably acted as a testament to how drunk I was that night.
I had the vaguest memory of his face, though. Dark brown hair, warm eyes, full lips…
Anyway. I was saying that none of this was my fault.
“None of this is my fault, Mama,” I said, the hint of a whine creeping into my tone.
“How did they even find you in some poor neighborhood in a different country?” Lucas asked, surprised. It wasn’t the kind of place paparazzi usually frequented.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if this—boy called them himself,” Mama pronounced bitterly.
Years of experience had taught her that people were little better than sharks, always waiting for the scent of blood in the water, when they would promptly rip you to shreds.
“He didn’t even recognize me,” I argued. I wasn’t sure why I was speaking in his favor—he was just some random commoner I wouldn’t know from Adam, but it didn’t seem fair to have the blame directed at him all the same.
“I’m sure he had you convinced,” Mama said, wrinkling her nose, “But we all know what happens when you start trusting commoners: they pretend to be your best friend and take you for a night on the town and the next thing you know there are compromising pictures of you with an army Colonel splashed all over the papers and then your mother won’t speak to you for a week, and your father gives you long talks about ‘duty’ and ‘honor’ and your cousins insist on reenacting those photos every Christmas since then!”
She stopped to take a breath.
“That was…oddly specific,” Lucas said cautiously. I agreed.
“And even if he is one of those people, what can we do about it?” I asked reasonably, “My reputation is just going to have to take another hit. I’m sure Zara will be able to spin it any way we want. She’s very good at her job.”
“She would have to be, working for you,” said Lucas.
“There’s no need for that,” Mama said. “Because I’ve asked the Boy to come here and have breakfast with us.”
“What?” I sputtered, splashing hot tea all over my lap and the pristine white tablecloths. “You mean—right now?”
“Aunt,” Lucas said, looking completely bewildered, “What are you planning?”
“You’ll see,” Mama said with a wink, to my outrage.
She waved at one of the footmen, who silently opened the door to the breakfast room.
And in walked an omega of average height, looking overwhelmed and shy and generally confused. He had dark brown hair that fell in his eyes in a way that made me want to brush it away, because his eyes were a fetching hazel color. He had high, sharp cheekbones like he was created to star in moody editorial shoots—or arty gay porn. I shoved that thought forcefully out of my head.
“Ah, Noah Miller,” Mama said in the voice I recognized as her ‘I would really rather slit my throat than be speaking to you right now but since this is for my country I’ll grin and bear it’ tone, “Come here, please.”
She stretched out a hand imperiously and he obeyed, still gawking at his surroundings.
His reaction made me look at the breakfast room from his eyes.
In the center of the room was a long table that could comfortably seat thirty, and often did when my cousins were visiting. The chairs were at least two hundred years old, and the silverware dated back to my ancestor’s conquest of the Normans. The wallpaper was edged in gold and would have been rather heavy and opulent for the room if not for the flood of sunlight that the floor-to-ceiling windows on one entire wall let in.
My mother, Lucas and I sat on one end of the table since it seemed kind of ridiculous to sit across the entire length of the table and yell across to be heard, but we still had the traditional four footmen to serve us and a side table that served the plain food we all preferred for the mornings—toast, seven kinds of preserves, bacon, cold cuts, porridge with sweet and savory options to add in, the normal varities of pastries—but no bagels, Mama said they were too ‘American’--like croissants and danishes and tarts, sixty varieties of teas and various kinds of cereals. For eggs we would have to ask the chef to make it whichever way we wanted and it would be sent up through the dumbwaiter.
Quite simple, really.
But to someone who was unused to this as a way of life might think differently, I supposed.
Noah sat down opposite me and cleared his throat awkwardly. We were all staring at him in fascination. None of us had ever been this close to a commoner without being shielded by a dozen handlers and assistants and PR people.
“So, Noah,” Mama said, smiling at him in a pained way, “You and Gabriel have gotten yourselves into a bit of a mess, haven’t you?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Noah said, eyes snapping up to her. He sounded like he was in an unhappy daze. “One night I let this random guy sleep off some extreme drunkness and the next thing I know I’m in some trashy papers and they’re saying he’s a prince and I’m supposed to have slept with him? And you called and asked me to come to this country in a private jet?”
His words ended with an alarmed squeak.
“So nothing happened?” Mama asked him sharply, “You and he didn’t--?”
“Oh my god no,” Noah said, looking horrified.
I had to admit, I was insulted. I was sure that I would have blown his mind, given the chance.
Which I did not want, obviously. At all.
She relaxed slightly.
“Unfortunately, everyone is assuming the worst about you two,” she said, addressing both of us, “And I see only one solution.”
“You do?” We both said hopefully at the same time.
I saw Lucas hiding a smile behind his hand and glared at him.
“The two of you need to get married.”
“What? No way!” We chorused again, looking at her in shock.
Well, it seemed that we were of the same mind about this.
“It’s the only way,” she said in full queen mode, glaring at the two of us. She seemed to be in no mode for bullshit.
“You don’t really have to get married,” she snapped. “You will both pretend to be engaged until the scandal blows over, and then break off the engagement like boring, normal people do all the time! People want to read salacious articles about Gabriel defiling an innocent omega commoner. They don’t want to read about your boring engagement that ends because you’re not ‘right for each other’.”
“No offense, ma’am,” Noah said, “but I don’t see why I’m a part of this. I mean, why should I take part in this elaborate lie? It might be hard for a few days, sure, with people recognizing me on the street and everything, but it isn’t my reputation that’s on the line.”
“About that,” Mama said with a triumphant smile.
Uh oh. Nothing good ever happened to other people when Mama smiled like that. She pulled a piece of paper out with a flourish and handed it to Noah.
“This is the amount the throne is willing to pay you for your trouble,” she said, watching his reaction with satisfaction.
Noah swallowed as he looked at the numbers. I couldn’t make the exact amount out, he was sitting too far away, but I did see a bunch of zeroes.
“That has to be a new low, Mama,” I said, “Paying someone to pretend to marry your son? I can get someone to marry me without your interference, thank you!”
“Gabriel, darling, I’m sure the day will come when I have to welcome a porn star or a reality tv star or, god forbid, an artist into this palace as your husband, but for now you’ll leave this to me.”
Her tone did not seem conducive to negotiating.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I asked Noah challengingly, “Or do you usually just roll over for anyone who offers you money to do something morally questionable?”
“Gabe…” Lucas said in a warning tone. I ignored him.
Noah met my gaze with a fiery look in his eyes. A look that, if I was being honest, I rather liked seeing. It lit up his face, turned it into something stunning.
“Not all of us were born with everything handed to us,” he said coldly, folding the check and putting it in his pocket, “Some of us have had to struggle with being poor and if you’d ever gone to bed hungry or been sick and not been able to afford a doctor’s visit, or medicine, or rent, you’d do a lot worse than putting up with a spoiled brat of a prince for money. I’m going to ask for this amount at the end of this charade at the end again, for emotional pain and suffering,” he informed my mother.
“Done,” she said, and to my surprise, shook his hand.
They were both acting like they made deals like this every day. He left without giving me a backward glance. I was incensed.
“How are you okay with this?” I demanded, “And this commoner—he could be anyone! He could be a—a spy or an anti-monarchist!”
“Settle down, darling,” Mama said, flipping up the newspaper up to hide her face from me.
I had the sneaking suspicion that she was smirking.
“He seemed to like you,” Lucas said innocently.
I flicked granola at him with my spoon.
“Boys,” Mama said reprovingly. “I’ve already run a background check on this Noah Miller—he’s perfectly ordinary, completely unremarkable.”
“I don’t believe it,” I said stubbornly, “He looks like the type who’d be trouble.”
“Only because he’s attractive,” Lucas said in a sing-song tone.
“I didn’t notice,” I lied. Mama frowned. I could see that this particular possibility hadn’t occurred to her.
It was her greatest weakness, forgetting that people were often messy and uncontrolled and had all sorts of inconvenient feelings around her.
“Don’t overcomplicate this,” she warned me, wagging a finger, “You’ve both already done enough. I don’t know if my heart could take more dramatics from either of you ending up in the papers. And I don’t intend for you to marry an ineligible omega from no family with no wealth or title or influence. Luckily, his origins will play well in the papers, make you seem more relatable through him…”
“We’ll be perfectly civil to each other,” I said, bending over my cereal.