“Prince Lucas, I’d like a few words, if I may?”

I sense Brock shifting behind me, crossing his arms over his massive chest while Tim and Roderick slide smoothly away from the table and prepare to make a break for it. If they’re not here, then they can’t inadvertently do or say anything that could throw my family into the middle of a press scandal. We’ve all had press training up to our ears.

Normally, Brock's appearance is enough to deter most reporters, but this guy either doesn’t notice my lumbering guard or he’s too green to be wary.

“Is it true you intend to marry an American?”

Shit! He’d been close enough to have overheard Tessa and Alexis and they’d obviously been talking about my spur of the moment proposal.

I’m an idiot. I should have sent one of my guys with them to avoid just such a situation.

Brock rounds a chair and advances on the guy who backs away but fails to realize the wisdom of shutting his fool mouth.

“And is it also true that the reason for your sudden interest in matrimony doesn’t stem from love or duty, but rather a dare?”

Fuck! What the hell were those two talking about?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my second bodyguard, Joe, who was standing near the bar where he could keep an eye on Alexis, rounding the end of the bar, hurrying to help resolve the issue with the reporter. In his haste, he bumps into a guy who is sharing a drink with a very attractive young lady. The unexpected jostle causes liquid to slosh out of the glass and onto the sleeve of the guy’s cashmere suit.

The freshly soaked guy, pushes away from his table and leaps to his feet. He’s just drunk enough that he’s willing to take on a bulky security guard.

I scan the room. Everyone’s eyes are fastened on either me, or the guy steadily creeping up on Joe. Everyone knows what’s about to happen. I can practically see them deciding whose side to take when the first blow inevitably falls.

The reporter dances around the table, continuing to pepper – no, needle – me with questions. “So, if you do get married, is it going to be a long-term wedding – or something that makes Kim Kardashian’s wedding to the basketball player look like a life-time commitment?”

I need to get out of here, the sooner the better. Like all good athletes, I know my limitations. Put a sword in my hand and I’m brilliant, but when it comes to brawling, I’m at a total loss.

I should duck out the nearest entrance and tell my driver to take off. My feet start to twist, ready to do what I’ve always done in similar situations, but then Alexis’s catches my eye.

She’s still standing on the stage. She doesn’t look like she has the faintest idea what’s going on or what she should do about it. I wouldn’t be completely surprised if she didn’t tell a bad joke the first time someone aimed a punch in her direction.

If I leave her here and this thing turns into a brawl, she’s liable to get caught up in the middle of it.

Hell, considering how things are currently going, she'll probably be arrested – and wouldn’t the paparazzi have a field day with that particular story.

I do what I always do when things get sticky. I form an on the spot plan and throw myself into it headfirst. Without bothering to think about the consequences.

I drag my checkbook from my pocket and bend over the table, and quickly fill in the blanks. The ginger reporter darts past Brock and swoops in close to me.

“Well,” he demands – pausing for just a second before he’s forced to dance out of Brock’s enormous grasp. “Is any of it true?”

I grind my teeth. I’d love to tell this guy to bugger off, but doing so only adds fuel to the fire. As long as I keep my mouth shut, he can’t misquote me or put words in my mouth, not without facing a slander lawsuit.

A quick survey of the room reveals that Roderick and Tim have not only slunk away, but are almost to the entrance.

Roderick sends a longing glance at the area set aside for the auction, I know he’s weighing the pros and cons of staying and placing a bid on one of the girls. God only knows why. It’s not like he’s wanting for female companionship.

His net value might pale in comparison to mine, but the combination of his looks, personality, and title is enough to have nubile actresses and models swarming all over him everywhere he goes.

Tim grabs Roderick’s upper arm, tugging him closer to the exit. Good old Tim. As usual, the only one of us to be trustworthy in a crisis. I wouldn't want to count the number of scrapes Tim had extracted us from over the years.

The crowd gasps.

I turn just in time to watch the suited guy Joe bumped into reach out and grab my massive bodyguard.

As Joe turns, the guy hauls back and sends his fist flying into Joes gut.

My bodyguard grunts and absorbs the blow before reaching out and wrapping one ham-sized hand around the suited guy’s neck and propelling him, none too gently, to towards the check-in desk.

Great, now the cops will show up and want statements from everyone. They know me – of course – and won’t detain me for long, but since it’s my bodyguard who was involved, they'll no doubt want to grill me. They can’t be seen to go too easy on royalty, after all.

Meanwhile Brock patiently stalks my ginger reporter around the table. The reporter’s good and manages to stay one jump ahead, but it’s only a matter of time before Brock nabs him.

There’s nothing I can do to aid with either situation.

Settling on option three, I hurry through the crowd which parts for me. I ignore the spray of questions the reporter aims in my direction and stop in front of the charity table that’s set-up close to the make-shift stage.

I feel Alexis’s eyes boring into me.

“Here,” I pass the check to the older woman sitting on the right side of the table. “It’s my bid for Ms. Thane. I want to spend the evening with her.”

One look at the check and the woman’s eyes bug out of her head. “But your highness,” she whispers. “This is far too much. You must have made a mistake.”

I lean closer to look at the check. “Nope, that’s the amount I intended to bid. Is it too low, because I’ll happily add another zero – if that’s what it takes to spend an evening with the delectable Ms. Thane?”

“It’s more money than we expected the entire evening to generate,” the woman says, pressing her fingers to her throat with shock before she passes the check to her companion.

“Good.” I angle a smug glance at the stage where both Alexis and the auctioneer stare at me with wide eyes. “Then you’ll agree that the bidding on this particular young lady is officially closed.”

Without waiting for her to respond, I leap onto the stage with a single bound. Bending, I wrap one arm around Alexis’s shoulders and slide the other behind her knees and lift her into my arms. She’s lighter than she looks.

With her secure against my chest, I jump off the stage and hurry out of the lobby. Just before I make it to the door, the auctioneer announces that Alexis has been “sold” for a whopping fifty-thousand-dollar bid.

And I allow myself a smile.