That Evening

I swirled the bourbon in my glass before bringing it to my lips. It burned as it made its way down my throat. I waited for the knot in my stomach to loosen, but it didn’t.

Maybe Emily would blow me off. Then I wouldn’t have to do this thing I absolutely did not want to do. Although if Emily turned me down, I’d just have to find someone else—someone who was probably a hell of a lot less interesting and intelligent—to be my fake fiancée. The family needed this distraction.

And the family always came first.

Which was why I couldn’t be with a girl like Emily permanently. My grandmother had told me about the results of the background check we’d run on her. Apparently Emily was divorced. A King of England had never married a divorcee before. It just wasn’t done. The divorce thing didn’t bother me personally. So what if Emily had a past? We all did. But sticklers for tradition, like my Uncle Carlton, would be appalled.

Emily was also clearly obsessed with her job. I’d checked out her portfolio and website. I’d also gone through her proposal for the School for the Arts several times. She was insanely talented and incredibly dedicated; every detail was accounted for. Only someone who was truly passionate about her work would put so much time and energy into a proposal.

But my future wife couldn’t have a career. Being my consort was a full time job. The work we did was important. It was part of our mission to modernize the monarchy so we could continue to thrive. Adapt it to the wishes and mores of the people. I was going to need help with that work from my consort.

For our current purposes, however, Emily would do just fine. Above all else, we needed someone the people could relate to. Someone they’d fall in love with. And Emily was easy to fall for, as I’d discovered ten years ago. She was warm and friendly and had this bright, bold way of smiling.

I finished my bourbon and raised my glass for another.

“Something on your mind, sir?” Brendan said from behind the bar, running a cloth inside the bowl of a gigantic wine glass. He held it to the light and peered at it for a long moment. Satisfied, he slid the glass onto a shelf.

“How many times have I asked you to call me Kit?” I replied. I was a regular here at Jacob’s Club, a members-only restaurant; it occupied a townhouse in the center of Mayfair, not far from my apartment at Primrose Palace. I liked it because it was discreet and the food was excellent. But most of all, I liked it because of Brendan. In my opinion, he was the best bartender in the city, and the friendliest, too.

He grinned. “Many times, sir, and you’ll have to ask many more. So what’s got you drowning your sorrows in the brown liquor this evening?”

“It can’t be a girl,” a familiar voice said. My brother Rob leaned an elbow onto the bar beside me. “Kit hasn’t kept anyone around long enough to fall in love. Which means he doesn’t have any heartbreak to drown.”

I groaned. “Hello to you too. And maybe it is a girl this time.”

Rob clapped a hand onto my shoulder. “I’m afraid the Queen doesn’t count, old chap. She is our grandmother.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Something to do?” I said. “I’ve got an important—”

“Meeting?”

“Date, actually.” The less Rob knew right now, the better.

His brows shot up as he sipped the gin and tonic Brendan had slid across the bar. “Really? Let me guess. Another model. No! The Duke of Pembroke’s daughter—the younger one this time.”

“Poppy? Didn’t you date her?”

“I wouldn’t use the word date. Ah, Poppy.” Rob shook his head, his mouth curled into a small, secret smile as he stared off into the distance. “What a minx.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I was starting to feel like I lived in a constant state of eye-roll suppression. I loved my family, but dear God were they trying sometimes.

“Not Poppy,” I said. “Someone new. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business! If she’s got you drinking bourbon, it must be serious. She could be the potential future wife of my favorite brother.”

I sipped at my drink. “I thought Jack was your favorite brother.”

“He was, until he stole one of my recent visitor’s clothes while we were in the shower. He’d been so amused. She, however, had not—I had to take the poor dear home wrapped in a towel.”

This time I did roll my eyes. My younger twin brothers had been trouble makers since they were in nappies, the two of them brawling their way through their childhood. I kept waiting for them to grow up—at twenty six, you’d think they wouldn’t be amused by pranks and practical jokes anymore—but I was beginning to realize they probably never would.

“Is there anyone in London you haven’t slept with?” I asked.

Rob pursed his lips, like he had to give the question some serious thought. “I certainly hope so. I’ve got no plans to settle down anytime soon.”

“How shocking.”

“Tell me about this girl.” He sipped his gin. “What’s her name?”

Holding my glass between my thumb and middle finger, I picked it up and spun it around on the bar. What did one say about one’s potential fake fiancée? Emily hadn’t agreed to my proposal yet. She hadn’t even heard it. And there was a chance she wouldn’t even show. The last thing I needed was Rob teasing me about being stood up.

Thankfully the hostess appeared at that moment at the top of the stairs, followed by a gorgeous woman with bright red lips and green eyes. The woman smiled at me.

I did a double take, my heart hiccupping.

Emily.

It was Emily.

Jesus Christ, she looked amazing. She was absolutely slaying the sexy, sophisticated one-shouldered sheath dress she wore. It was black, and tight enough that I could just make out the imprint of a strappy, teeny tiny something at her hip. For a moment my imagination spun out. I imagined it was a thong, also black, lacy and delicate. Underneath, her cunt was hot.

I remembered the feel of that cunt coming around my fingers. She’d been so tight. So soft. So sensitive and quick to come.

I shoved the thought aside. I couldn’t think about those things. Couldn’t let her get under my skin.

Beside me, Rob set down his drink. We were both staring at her.

“She’s proper fit, isn’t she?” he murmured, pushing off the bar. “Why, hello, love—”

“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t you fucking dare, Robert.”

Emily was still smiling at me. “Hello, Kit.”

“Hello,” I said. It came out hoarse. All wrong. What the fuck? I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello, Emily. You look…beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she replied. For a moment we stood awkwardly in front of each other. I was a master of etiquette. It had been drilled into me since infancy. But in that moment, I had no bloody clue how I should greet Emily.

Rob elbowed me. “Introduce us, Kit.”

“Right.” I blinked. “Of course. Emily, this is my brother Robert. Rob, this is Emily.”

Rob offered her his cheesiest, most lethal smile as he shook her hand.

“You’ve got my brother drinking brown liquor,” he said, all charm and confidence. My fingers inexplicably tightened around my glass. “I like you already.”

Emily arched a brow. “Bourbon? Sounds delicious.”

“Why don’t you come have one with us? My treat,” Rob said, gesturing to the bar.

“No. Nope.” I stepped between them. “Emily and I have got a table for dinner. We must be off, I’m afraid.”

Rob bit back a grin. “All right. Have fun. Lovely to meet you, Emily. I hope to see you again.”

“You as well,” she said.

I tried very hard not to check out Emily’s perfect ass as the hostess led us through the club to the dining room. The way her hips swayed as she walked in her towering heels—well. Suffice it to say it filled my head with very unbusinesslike thoughts. Or maybe thoughts of a different kind of business altogether.

I blinked, focusing my gaze on the carpet beneath my feet. Rob was starting to rub off on me. That bloke was a bloody animal.

The hostess led us to the best—and most discreet—table in the house. It was tucked into its own little alcove, the lighting soft and low. Emily slid into the green velvet booth, while I took the chair opposite.

We met eyes across the table. My body hummed with energy. Anticipation. I couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad feeling.

“Nice place,” she said, glancing at the room around us.

“Nice dress,” I said.

Her mouth twitched. “Thank you.”

I ordered a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild and waited until we were through our first glass to start feeling Emily out.

“So tell me about you,” I said. “What you’ve been up to since university.”

Emily tilted her head and peered at me from the corner of her eye. “Why do I get the feeling I’m being interviewed again?”

I’d forgotten how smart she was. Of course she’d see through this whole charade.

Still. I wasn’t ready to show her my cards just yet.

“You’re not.” I cleared my throat for the hundredth time. “It’s just been a while, that’s all. I read your résumé and went through your portfolio. Incredible work. You started your own firm?”

She looked at me for another beat. Then she leaned forward and settled her forearms on the table. She slid the stem of her glass between her first and middle fingers, giving it a quick twirl. I got the feeling she didn’t want to talk about her business. Why? She’d been so excited about it in class. So hungry for the chance to get out in the world and do something.

Emily sighed. “I did. I started it right after I graduated, as a matter of fact. Well, I started with a blog, really. And as luck would have it, 2007 turned out to be the beginning of a golden age for blogging. I got small projects at first. You know, readers hiring me to give their apartments some personality. But I worked hard to get my name out there—”

“Using the marketing strategies you learned in my class, obviously.”

“Obviously,” she said, the edges of her mouth curling upward. “And a few years later, business started to boom. I hired my first assistant, Aly. We got so busy I had to hire three more. Running your own business is hard, don’t get me wrong. But I loved every minute of it.”

I sipped my wine, meeting Emily’s eyes. “You said ‘loved’—past tense.”

She shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. The weariness I’d seen in her eyes earlier was back. No, it wasn’t weariness—it was sadness.

It was a broken heart.

“My husband and I got divorced last year. Because we were married when I’d started EP Designs, he owned a fifty percent stake in the business.”

I already saw where this was going. “That’s a shit rule.”

“No kidding. But it’s the law, so...” Emily took a big gulp of wine. “Anyway. I tried to buy him out of his fifty percent—buy back his stake in the business. Luke wanted more, though.”

My heart throbbed, once, sending an almost audible rush of blood through my skin. “Is this the same Luke—”

“Yes.” She nodded, falling back into the booth. “He said he wouldn’t sell me his stake for less than one hundred and fifty percent of its value. Which of course was just the amount that would put us, as a business, on life support. But I had no choice. I wanted Luke out of the picture for good. So I paid his price. It broke me, and he knew it. He wanted EP Designs to limp and die a slow, painful death. And that is exactly what’s happened.”

I set down my glass and looked at her. I felt terribly for her. I did, truly. But that didn’t stop the triumph from blooming inside my chest.

I’d just found out how to get Emily to agree to my insane proposition. Knowing I’d help revive the firm she clearly loved also made me feel like slightly less of a dickwad for what I was about to ask. I wanted Emily to find success. She deserved it.

“EP Designs is going bankrupt?” I asked carefully.

“Yes, unfortunately.” She nodded again, blinking hard. “This trip is our last hurrah before our doors close for good. I tried everything I could to dig us out of the hole Luke put us in, but…” Her eyes flicked to meet mine. “It wasn’t enough.”

The waiter returned. I ordered some oysters and another bottle of wine.

“I’m curious,” I said when he left. “What would you need to get EP Designs back on its feet?”

Emily puckered her lips to the side side, shrugging. She looked down at her wine. “Right now? Probably close to two hundred grand. Something ridiculous like that.”

“Done.”

Her gaze darted to my face. “What?”

“I said it’s done.” I dabbed at my mouth with my napkin. “I’ll give you the two hundred k, plus the School for the Arts commission.”

Emily was staring at me like I’d just told her I was pregnant.

“That’s not very funny, Kit.”

I put my hands on the table. “I wasn’t joking, Emily.”

Her lips moved, like she was practicing what she was about to say in her head.

“So you’re just…you’re just going to swoop in and save my company. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

“That’s what I hope to do, yes.”

I watched the long, elegant lines of her throat move as she swallowed. “What do you want in return?”

“I want you to marry me.”

Emily’s eyes bulged. “You’re still not joking, are you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Oh my God,” she replied. She reached for her glass and drained it. Her cheeks had gone a vibrant shade of pink. “But…Jesus, where do I even start? I’m not princess material. I’m divorced. I have a job. Princesses don’t have jobs, Kit. How can you give me money so I can keep my business open—”

“We’re not talking about a real marriage, of course,” I said. That seemed to relax her. I leaned in and lowered my voice. “This engagement would be fake. A show. My family is in a bit of a bind. I don’t know if you’ve seen the headlines about my sister—”

“I’ve seen them.”

“So you know that Jane’s behavior is turning public opinion against us. And public opinion matters because it’s where we get our power, Emily. Our influence. My parents taught me to use that power and influence for good. I’d like to think I’ve done a lot of good over the years.”

“You have,” Emily said quietly. “Everyone I know loves you. Although that could have something to do with…well…” She shook her palm in my general direction.

I smirked. “With what?”

She smirked right back. “Your personality, of course.”

She was doing it again. Talking to me like I was a friend, not a future monarch. I felt my lips pulling into a grin.

“My personality? But I haven’t got one of those,” I teased. “At least according to the press. They call me the Ice Prince.”

Emily’s smirk faded. “It’s your eyes. I noticed they can be a little…cold sometimes. Closed off.”

Of course she’d noticed. But I wasn’t here to have that conversation. I was here to convince Emily Kilpatrick to be my fake fiancée.

Focus. I was focusing on the right thing.

So far, so good.

“We need a distraction. Something that will get us back in the public’s good graces so we can keep doing our work. We’ve learned from experience that a royal engagement does just the trick.”

Emily blinked. “That still doesn’t answer my question about having a job and being divorced. I’d make a terrible princess.”

“You’re looking at those things as weaknesses, Emily, when really they’re your strengths in this situation. So you work. You have a past. You’re lovely, but you’re not perfect. People can relate to that. And that’s exactly what we need—someone relatable and down to earth.”

Emily studied my face. “How are people supposed to feel about you, then?”

The waiter arrived with our wine. The air between Emily and I tightened as we watched him uncork the bottle and sample it. He seemed to be moving especially slow this evening. At last—thank Jesus—he left us alone.

I dove right back in. “What do you mean?”

“You seem to be pretty damn near perfect,” she replied. “Perfect, hardworking prince. Perfect brother. Perfect heir.”

I looked down as I swirled the wine in my glass. “Believe me, I’m far from it.” I took a sip. “As to your question about the job situation—you are correct. If you and I were actually going to get married, you would need to give up your career. There’s not enough hours in the day to work a civilian job while also fulfilling your duties as a member of the royal family. People have tried to do both. But in the end, you’d need to be one-hundred-percent committed to the monarchy for this family to function and maintain our ability to do good work. We’re a fighting force, Emily. It’s all hands on deck, all the time.”

Emily nodded thoughtfully. “I get it. I could never give up my career, but I get why someone would do it.” She looked at me. “I can’t imagine what the pressure must be like.”

“You get used to it,” I replied. Another rote answer. Another half-lie.

“Do you ever get scared you’ll fuck it up? Not to imply you ever would. But sounds like you walk a thin line.”

I met her eyes. All the time, I wanted to say. I was scared out of my mind all the time I’d fuck up. I was up on a pedestal, all by myself. I dealt with competing objectives every day. Put on a smile while doing important but often tedious, dull work. Make my siblings happy while keeping them in line. Always put the prince above the person.

One wrong step, and the whole house of cards could tumble down.

“It is difficult,” I said. What a rubbish reply. But opening up to Emily—telling her how I really felt—seemed like a dangerous precedence to set. “So. What do you say? Will you play the part?”

Emily stared at me. “I don’t get any time to think it over?”

“You’ll get time if you want it.” I folded my napkin and set it back down on my lap. “But you know this is a good trade for you. Three months in exchange for your entire future. I’ll be by your side every step of the way. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. I’ll make it worth your while, Emily. I promise.”

Her eyes, darker now, narrowed. I’d forgotten just how lovely she looked when she was thinking. It’d been an admittedly bold move to imply she already had her answer. But I knew Emily. At least I’d known her a while ago. Some things about her had changed. But that ambitious streak of hers—the one I’d known so well—I was betting that hadn’t.

Emily put a hand to her neck. “Will I have to live with you?”

“Yes.” She winced. “I know. It’s weird. But Primrose Palace is a fortress. You’ll be safe there. Part of the contract—”

“There’s a contract?”

“Of course. That way you know what to expect. I’ll email it to you when we’re done with dinner. Even if you verbally agree tonight, you won’t be legally bound to anything until you sign the contract. Fair enough?”

After a beat, Emily tipped her head. “Fair enough.”

“Is that a yes?”

Another beat passed. Then another. For half a second I worried I’d made a mistake. Maybe she’d burst into laughter and tell me to stick my inane proposal up my ass.

I didn’t want to do this any more than she did. But we both had our reasons. Good reasons. Reasons that mattered.

“It is.” She nodded. “Yes. Subject to review of the contract, I’ll be your pretend princess.”

I nearly choked on my mine. Holy fuck. This was actually happening.

I put the glass down. “Brilliant. Thank you.”

Was that relief I felt? Or anxiety? You’d think I’d be able to tell, considering the two were complete opposites.

“When do we start?” Emily asked.

Swallowing the thump of my heart, I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine.

“Right now.”