Prologue

Marissa

I’ve never been very good at being a princess. Even from very early on, I didn’t really fit in. I didn’t get why I couldn’t play with all the normal kids, why I had to behave like a lady constantly, why there were always certain expectations about my behavior.

“The Gardener?”

Oh, and that, why my parents were always, constantly disappointed in me.

Dad is furious. You can tell by the way he’s rubbed his temples so hard the skin there has gone red.

I nod politely to answer his question, but keep my expression plain, as though me being summoned here is something I don’t understand.

Actually, I don’t really understand it, even if I did expect it in the event of us getting caught. How can anyone expect a young, sexually interested eighteen-year-old princess not to be attracted to the sexy gardener?

“It wasn’t his fault”, I say. “It was my idea.”

Dad looks at Mom, Mom’s eyes drop to the floor and Dad looks at me again.

“The gardener has been dealt with”, Dad says. “The real question is, what do we do with you?”

“Oh, come on, it was only a kiss.”

Dad couldn’t look at me with more disdain if he tried. One kiss. How’s that for a record before getting caught? The things I had planned for us too, things I’ll never get another chance to do with him now. When Dad says the gardener has been dealt with, it means exactly that. Fired, removed from active duty, relocated to a country as far away from this one as possible.

“It’s time to find you a husband”, Dad says firmly. “Someone worthy of your name. Of our name.”

“A husband?” I echo back to him, mystified he thinks he can control my life.

“You’ve spent your entire childhood avoiding responsibilities, avoiding who you are, and I’m not prepared for that to continue now that you’ve become an adult.”

“Right, so you’re going to find me a husband?”

“Marissa, it’s evidently clear from where I’m sat that you can’t be trusted to find the right man yourself. A gardener? Who was it last year and who will it be the next?”

“I don’t know”, I say sarcastically. “The tennis coach I think. I’ve got my eye on a few bad boy rock stars now if you want to know the truth.”

“Marissa!” Dad explodes, almost rising from his chair in disgust.

I hold my hands up to calm him and eventually he settles back down.

“You tell her”, Dad says, turning to Mom.

“Why can’t you be more like your sister?” Mom says.

“What? Marry a fat businessman and be unhappy you mean? Is that what you want me to do?”

“You will do what is right for this family”, Dad says, taking over again. “You’ve brought enough shame on us over the last eighteen years and I’m not going to allow it to continue.”

“I don’t want to marry a businessman”, I say. “Or anyone for that matter.”

“You have a duty to represent this family publically, in every single aspect of your life. You can’t seriously expect us to turn a blind eye while you damage this family’s reputation at every opportunity, behaving the way you do.”

“Enough is enough”, Mom says, before I’ve had a chance to respond.

“One kiss”, I say again, flabbergasted.

“One kiss is where it starts, Marissa. God knows where it would have ended up if you hadn’t have been caught.”

“Turned in”, I correct him.

If we hadn’t have been turned in by the cleaner looking to get a raise, we’d be enjoying each other’s company right now and ramping up the heat levels. I may be young and inexperienced, largely thanks to my parent’s insistence on keeping me away from all kinds of temptation, but I’m certainly not naive or shy to admit what I want. I’m not alone in that way of thinking either. I know plenty of girls my age who aren’t virgins like me, because their parents don’t keep them mollycoddled and locked up, like some weird modern version of an outdated fairytale.

We may be royalty, from a long and important lineage, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have the same desires as everyone else.

“Whether he was turned in or caught doesn’t matter”, Mom says. “You’re behavior is not acceptable for someone of your standing.”

“You don’t think kissing someone you like is normal behavior for an eighteen-year-old?”

“Kissing a gardener is not acceptable behavior for a princess”, Mom says.

“I never asked to be a princess”, I complain. “I just want to be a normal girl like everyone else and do normal things like kissing and everything else.”

“Enough” Dad announces. “Number one, you are not a normal girl, you are royalty and that’s that. Number two, we’re going to America.”

“America?”

“You’ve got a date.”

“A date?”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this.

“Someone very important”, Dad says. “A billionaire. He’s got enough money to reform the east wing and still have plenty left over.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Marissa!” Mom shouts, while Dad is so taken aback he looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.

“Fine, sorry”, I say, not meaning it at all. “It’s just a surprise, that’s all.”

Dad rises out of his seat. “I will not have you behave in the manner of a servant girl.”

“Dad, chill out”, I say. “I’m sorry.”

Finally he sits back down, but not after he’s death-stared me, Mom, the wall, the floor and everything else in the room.

“We did not bring you up to be foul-mouthed”, Dad says.

I sigh. “I’m sorry”, I say again. “But, America. Is that, I mean, you’re not serious are you, about this whole thing?”

“Yes, Marissa, I’m deadly serious. We’ve been thinking about it for some time, in fact. It’s taken a while to convince him.”

That leaves me mouth open. “To convince him of what?”

“That you’re a suitable match. It took long enough to find someone available. We’ve negotiated what we think is a very fair deal.”

“Hang on, wait, you’ve lost me. Is this a business meeting or a blind date?”

“It’s an opportunity for you to prove you care about this family”, Dad says. “He’s an excellent candidate for your love.”

“An excellent candidate for my love?” I parrot back to him, astonished I’m hearing him say these things. This could be a dream right now it’s so surreal.

“Yes”, Dad says, clearly excited at the prospect. “He’s got a net worth of eight hundred billion dollars. Eight hundred billion-.”

“I’m not interested in money”, I say, cutting him off.

Dad sighs loudly. “Then it’s a good job you aren’t the one who gets to choose.”

“No?” I say. Saying I’m just slightly confused and a little bit peeved would be the understatement of the century.

“He’s a nice man”, Mom says. “Good looking. You’re going to like him. He already likes you.”

“He doesn’t know me”, I protest.

“That’s why we are going to America”, Dad says. “And why you’re not going to mess things up.”

“And if I refuse?” I say, already knowing it’s not an option.

“Do you understand the word disinherited?” Dad says. “As in, no longer part of our family, no longer royalty? You may think you can cope without your status, without your money and without the life you have grown accustomed to, but let me tell you something, if that’s all taken away, even for one moment you won’t be able to cope. You can’t avoid it, Marissa, because it runs in your blood. You’re as pure as either one of us no matter how common you think you are. And just a few dirty thoughts doesn’t turn you into a peasant.”

“You’d seriously do that to you own daughter?” I say, unsure if I’ve phrased it as a question or a statement.

“Do right by this family and this family will do right by you”, Dad says. “And stop denying who you really are by pretending to be someone you aren’t.”

“Who is he?” I say, pretending to be defeated.

Dad smiles proudly and looks across to Mom. “Elon Madison”, Mom says. “He’s really very rich.”

“And available”, Dad adds energetically. “Excited to meet you.”

Elon Madison. I roll the name around my head a couple of times but nothing sticks. I haven’t got the faintest fucking idea who he is, but as soon as I get out of this punishment session the first thing I’m going to do is google him. Elon Madison, fat ugly business man.

If Mom and Dad think I’m on board with this they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve always wanted to go to America, though, so I might as well tag along for a while, pretend I’m game and then escape when they’ve got their guard down. I suppose worst case scenario would be marrying someone and keeping a string of lovers on the side, but as much as I consider it, I know it’s not for me.

When I eventually get released I briefly head outside, stare at a pair of rose bushes that need to be clipped and then head back to my room my mind on the poor gardener, who will probably be in the process of being deported right now.

Fuck my parents and fuck this family. I’ve never liked being a princess less than right now. I wonder how my parents can sleep at night sometimes, knowing they’ve raised an anti-monarchist.