“Oh shit,” I moaned as I saw the television screen.

She said I had one more day, God damn it. I should never have trusted a journalist.

“What’s going on?” Sophia asked. She didn’t take her eyes off the television screen, so I quickly put my shirt and trousers back on. She wasn’t going to want to see me half naked after this. She wasn’t going to want to see me at all after this.

“Might as well watch and find out,” I said. I slumped down on the sofa, and motioned for her to sit next to me. “I’ll let you know if any of it’s not true.”

Sophia didn’t sit down, she just stared at me curiously with those damn sexy eyes of hers. “You’re not a serial killer are you?”

“Not yet,” I replied. “Although there are a few people I wouldn’t mind killing right now.”

Sophia sat down next to me, but I couldn’t help but notice she left a gap of about a foot. So much for tonight’s fun.

I hadn’t even intended to ask her back here for sex. I had a much more complicated proposal in mind, but my cock had led the discussion. She just looked so damn sexy—so fuckable—in that little skirt and low-cut top. The second I put my hand on her legs it was all over, for both of us. The possible became the inevitable.

I wanted to reach out and touch her leg again to feel that soft skin over firm muscle, and the heat emanating from between her legs. Probably not a good idea though. She looked freaked out enough as it was. Wasn’t every day you found your hookup’s face on the national news. I’d had that happen once before, but the news was reporting on Oscar nominations at the time. Boy, that actress had certainly known how to celebrate. Good times.

Sophia turned the volume up as the news studio went to a reporter standing live outside an office building in London. “The Daily Guardian has just revealed its cover story for tomorrow, however we only have the bare bones of the story so far.”

“What do we know?” the newsroom correspondent asked.

My face stayed on the screen the entire time. They could at least have picked a more flattering photograph, but I suppose that wouldn’t sell as many papers. The one they’d used was me coming out of my house after a night spent drinking, shagging, and then drinking again.

“All we know is that the paper is claiming that King Michael did not, in fact, die childless. It appears he had a child two years before his marriage. If true, that child was the heir to the throne and should be King now instead of the current Queen. At the very least, he’s a prince.”

“Please don’t tell me…” Sophia muttered, before trailing off, as the newsroom correspondent asked another question.

“It sounds like the child was illegitimate,” she said. “Would an illegitimate child be the heir to the throne?”

“It’s complicated, but potentially yes. However, the paper is also claiming that the king married the child’s mother briefly as part of a whirlwind romance while he was abroad in America. If that’s true, and if the child was conceived during that marriage, we’re looking at a new heir to the throne, or possibly even a new monarch.”

“No, no, no,” Sophia said softly. She hadn’t accepted the news yet. That made two of us.

“What do we know about this man?” the woman asked.

“Not a lot. We know that his name is George Whittemore, and he’s the son of Mary Whittemore. He has a sister and a nephew.”

“Well, whoever this man is, his life will never be the same again after tonight.”

Yeah, no shit Sherlock.

I grabbed the remote from a stunned looking Sophia and switched off the television.

“You’re a prince,” she said quietly. “You’re a fucking prince.”

“You can call me Prince Charming if you like,” I joked. I tried to smile, but it felt forced and awkward. I probably looked more creepy than comforting.

“I… I have to get out of here.”

“No,” I said quickly, grabbing her arm before she could move. “You can’t leave. I mean, you can obviously, but you shouldn’t. The press might already be out there.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Okay then, just stay because I want you to.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” she asked. “I don’t even understand what’s happening. I take it you already knew?”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I’ve known for a while. I thought I had another day or two before the information leaked. Figured I had time to—”

“Screw some more women?”

“Get my affairs in order.”

“You’re not dying,” she snapped. “You’re inheriting a fortune. You’re going to be… no, I can’t even say it. It’s too fucking crazy.”

You’re telling me. A year ago, I was still grieving for my mother’s death. Then I found out my father wasn’t some drunk my mum had shacked up with for a few months before I was born. He’d been someone entirely different and he’d died recently. People made quite a big fuss about it, what with him being the King and all.

“Just stay the night,” I pleaded.

“How will that help? There’ll be even more reporters out there in the morning.”

“It’ll help me. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“You’re going to be able to sleep after all this?”

I laughed. “No, I guess not. I’ll lay there tossing and turning, while you sleep in my bed.”

“You think I’m going to be able to sleep after all this?”

Sophia sighed loudly, but then laughed. “Ellie is going to love all this. I’ve hooked up with a Prince after all.”

“I really didn’t intend for things to go down like this.”

“No, I can tell. Your shirt’s on inside out, by the way.”

“See—I really did just intend to screw you tonight. I was honest.”

“You’re a noble man, Prince Whittemore. The country is lucky to have you.”

I couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not, but I didn’t really care. “Just stay the night, please. I want to talk to you about something in the morning.”

“I am kind of tired,” she said reluctantly. “But you’re sleeping on the sofa.”

“Sure you don’t want to see the crown jewels?” I joked.

“I’m an American. It’s probably illegal for me to touch them.” She walked over to the bedroom, but stopped in the doorway and turned back to face me. “Goodnight, milord.” Sophia gave a mock curtsy, which just meant her skirt rode even further up her backside. God, what I wouldn’t give to get a go on that.

Was it too late now? If I could just convince Sophia to go along with my plan, I might not have to become a prince at all.

Sophia was my last hope. It all hinged on her now.

Shame I only met her this morning.

I’d spent most of the night staring at my phone. Emails, texts, and phone calls flooded in, but the only one I opened was the one from Harry. I’d reached out to him a few weeks ago when I knew the news was going to be made public, but he hadn’t believed me. He did now.

Harry was an old friend from college, who’d turned a bad attitude and poor grades into a decent PR career. He was going to come in use over the coming days, weeks, and months.

I sat up on the sofa as I heard the toilet flush from my on-suite, followed by the tap running, and then Sophia walking out of my bedroom. She’d slipped back into the revealing top and short skirt from last night, and looked every bit as sexy, even without the make-up.

“Hi,” I said groggily. I’d barely slept, and every time I did, I quickly woke up to nightmares of being crowned king in front of an audience of millions.

“Hi,” she replied softly.

At least she didn’t sound mad. That was a start.

“Fancy a cup of tea?”

“I’m going to need coffee,” she replied. “Or don’t you have any?”

“Only instant, I’m afraid.”

“Tea it is, then.”

I pushed myself up off the sofa and boiled the kettle, while the two of us stood awkwardly in the kitchen. Was I really going to ask her? I barely knew her. But I knew Alisa well enough, and look how that turned out. This was the perfect solution really. I just had to convince Sophia it was worth giving up her life for.

I let the tea brew for a few minutes, then threw the tea bags in the bin and added some milk, before handing it over to Sophia.

“You do make a great cup of tea,” she admitted, after taking a sip. “But what is it with you Brits and instant coffee? When you’re king, can you declare it illegal?”

“I was hoping you might have forgotten about all that.”

“The whole ‘you being a prince’ thing? No, that’s still front and center of my mind right now.” Sophia looked around the apartment as if it were somehow different to the place she’d come back to last night. “It’s quiet,” she remarked. “We haven’t been overrun by reporters yet, then?”

“No, thank God. My address hasn’t leaked publicly, and I’m using a fake name to rent this place. It’s only a matter of time though.”

“I haven’t heard from the girls yet, which either means they didn’t recognize you from that picture, or they haven’t seen the news yet. More likely the latter knowing them. They tend to sleep in late after a heavy night.”

“I’ve switched my phone off now. Might as well enjoy my last few moments of peace and quiet.”

I sat down on the sofa, but Sophia made a point of sitting on the armchair instead. She crossed her legs, revealing those delicious thighs again. Already I could feel my erection resurfacing in my boxers, reminding me that I hadn’t gotten any last night. This situation was stressful enough as it was, without the added pressure from down there.

“You know, some people would think this was good news,” Sophia said. “Being a prince might not be a bad life.”

“And some people would do anything to shag a prince, and yet you made me sleep on the sofa.”

“Fair point. It would have been cool to go home and tell everyone I ‘shagged’ the future king of England.”

“There’s still time.”

The slight pause before she responded gave me hope, but in the end she shook her head. “Nope. It can’t happen. I should never have even come back here.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Even though you didn’t—how do you say it—get your end away?”

I laughed as Sophia attempted an English accent again. “Oh I do love that accent. And yes, I’m still glad you’re here. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about actually.”

“What’s that?” Sophia took a sip of her tea. With hindsight, I probably should have waited until she’d swallowed her drink before popping the question.

“I was wondering whether you would marry me?”