Chapter 1

Charles

 

 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

In Chinese water torture, they said that after enough drops, the water would actually rip a hole in your skin. As I stirred, I didn’t think I was there yet. Not yet anyway.

“Wakey-wakey, old man.”

My eye was tugged open by the perpetrator of said water torture. I smacked my hand into Henry’s chest lazily.

“Sod off.”

He only smirked.

“Is that any way to talk to your younger brother who just got us an invite to the hottest thing yet?”

My other eye opened to survey him quizzically. His dark-brown curls looked as dark and tousled as ever, although there was a telltale glint in his blue eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” I asked him.

He gave his trademark one-shoulder shrug.

“Are you going to get off that expensive velvet-embossed chaise Mother specifically said we weren’t to sleep on?”

I groaned, moving my mutinous limbs off the irresistibly soft surface.

“Since when do you care what Mother thinks?”

Another one-shoulder shrug.

“Since I got us in a shoot with some American models and you’re all set to sleep through it.”

Never before had I scrambled to my feet so fast. Henry chuckled knowingly with a sidelong glance my way.

“I take that to mean you’re good to go?”

I glanced down. Luckily, I’d been so beat that I’d collapsed onto the chaise in my blue button-up and black pants. No need to change now.

As we headed for the hallway, I paused.

“This isn’t a scandalous sort of shoot, is it?”

Henry fluttered his long lashes.

“Only if you get one of them to suck you off and the photographer to take pictures while you’re at it.”

“My greatest thanks, gift,” I retorted, giving him a elbow in the gut.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love me,” he trilled.

--

“Okay, I love you,” I said seconds after we walked in on the set.

The little hairy attendant who had led us to this far wing had gone off to talk to someone. Now we were standing here still unnoticed and able to take in the scene fully.

Popsicles. That was what the models were licking exceptionally. What a sight to behold! They were clad in tiny, cropped, bright-colored tanks and even the odd sweatshirt along with even tinier pastel boy shorts that could have been underwear for all I knew. And then there were the girls themselves. The sandy-blonde on the end was giving the popsicle-sucking her all. The thin redhead had a hand on her wide hips. And then there was a brunette. Glossy dark hair was flung away from her face hastily, and her green eyes were utterly enwrapped in what she was doing. My gaze lingered on her the longest.

“May I help you?”

And suddenly, the room went quiet. The speaker was the photographer, a bony woman with snow-white hair and white glasses who was surveying us with interest. Her watchful, close-set eyes were about to realize who we were when our hairy companion from before scurried up.

“My apologies, gentlemen. My apologies,” he said in the lowest voice I’d ever heard. He then swiveled on his toes to face the photographer. “Rita, these are the princes you’re speaking to.”

As her face immediately arranged itself into a smile, our companion droned on. “Of course you’re more than welcome here. In fact, I think Rita would agree—”

“You have to join the shoot,” Rita said in a mannish, commanding tone. She glided over, linking one arm in mine and the other in Henry’s.

“It would be…”

Her eyes closed as if she were trying to figure out a word sublime enough on the spot. Finally, her purple lids reopened as she settled on: “Spectacular.”

Henry was already smirking out his reply as I disengaged myself.

“Our greatest thanks for your generous offer. We really appreciate it.”

I shot him a quick glare for even considering the woman’s obviously impossible request.

“And we really appreciate being let in here like this too, but I’m afraid our mother would be outraged if we were to be seen in any sort of modeling campaign, like this one.”

Rita tipped her head one way and then the other as if her thoughts were alternating between an argument to convince us and our counterargument that would render hers null and void. Finally, another one of her big-toothed smiles arranged itself on her face. With a curt nod, she let Henry go and strode back to her camera, which was propped up on a tall craning stand alongside several spotlights.

“Of course. It’s truly an honor to have you here at all.”

The models had stopped what they were doing and were now gathered around Rita’s camera. The four of them spoke in low voices, and then Rita’s head swiveled our way.

“We still have to finish up the shoot,” she said. “But after that, would you… Would it be too much to ask—”

“Private pictures with the models?” the brunette ventured, hardly able to keep her gaze off me as she said it.

I quickly averted mine, feeling those convincing greens locked on me. Henry tugged at my arm, the same way Mother’s strident voice tugged at my mind: “A scandal if any of those were released. An absolute scandal. In the tabloids for weeks and then explaining for months. A complete and total catastrophe.”

Mother had always been a fan of drama and liked to inject a good dose of it into her speech. Even she admitted that only by bringing things to their ultimate finality could people be turned around to see the consequences of their actions. Though currently, the last thing I wanted to think about was consequences.

As I dared a glance at the brunette’s pleading, gorgeous face, my dick answered before my “no” could make it out. “Yes,” I found myself saying.

“Yeah!” The models squealed, clasping hands and skipping around for a minute.

Beside me, Henry was grinning ear to ear. That was the last thing I felt like doing. What had gotten into me? The sensible, safe thing obviously would’ve been to politely refuse, as I had with the photographer. But there was something about that brunette, something that made me feel like we were on the same page even though we hadn’t even exchanged two words yet. I wanted the chance to test out my theory, to exchange a word or two with her.

As the shoot continued, our hairy friend returned with two swivel chairs. There already were regular cushioned chairs strewn around the outskirts of the big concrete-floored room. Clearly, he deemed anything without wheels on the bottom unfit for princes, which was just fine and dandy with me. We lowered ourselves into them after he left. Henry gave mine a push, and I rolled away a few inches. Despite the present circumstances, I grinned back at him. Today so far had been something—that was for sure. Being a prince had quite the array of perks, but this was new: American supermodels and the sexiest ones I’d seen yet.

The models were positioning themselves beside a giant sprinkle doughnut. The redhead and blonde were supporting it with sultry half smiles on their pink lips, while the brunette had her devastating eyes in the center. My dick twitched. If I could just have five minutes to talk to her…

Henry seemed to have something similar on his mind. Nudging me, he asked, “Which flavor?”

I rolled my eyes.

He continued. “Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?”

Turning to glare at him, I deadpanned, “Remind me why women sleep with you?”

He sniffed, pretending to be offended, but that irresistible smile of his was quick to return, as did the one-shouldered shrug.

“Because I’m a prince,” he said simply. His devilish grin grew as he swiped a hand through his curls. “And outrageously good looking.”

In spite of myself, I had to smile.

“And don’t act like you’re an angel either,” he pointed out.

I frowned, saying nothing. After all, he was right. Over the past few years, I’d had my fair share of trysts. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, raven-haired girls, and even a blue-haired one. Light skinned, tanned skin, dark skinned—I’d loved them all. It had gotten to the point where I’d even set up a house for fun flings.

As the models fanned out for a new pose, the brunette caught my eye again and smiled shyly. Yes, something told me I’d get my time with her today.

An excited shiver went through me. Maybe I could even take her there. The room. I’d only tried it out with a girl or two, but it hadn’t gone well. One thing I’d found was, like men, women liked to talk themselves up, portraying themselves as more adventurous and wild than they really were. But when it came down to it, they were all the same. And I was damn tired of the same.

“You going to just sit there?”

I looked up to see Henry looking at me like I had just tried eating the chair or something.

“What?” I asked blankly.

He swung his hand at the models, who were now all waiting in a line nervously.

“Time for private pictures.” He winked. “Unless you’d rather just sit and watch.”

Immediately, I bounded up.

“Not a chance.”

For the first picture, I beelined for the brunette, but it was the redhead’s turn, as Rita brusquely pointed out to me.

After we smiled and the big camera snapped away, the redhead lingered awkwardly, clearly expecting me to say something. So I asked her, “What’s your name?”

“Amelia,” she said in a heavy American accent, as if I’d just said the most delightful thing possible.

“Well, Amelia,” my brother said, walking up to us and slinging his arm around her waist, “you better prepare yourself, because that smile’s about to get way bigger.”

She burst into birdlike laughter as I strode off. That was Henry for you. He’d never really been good at sharing. Luckily for us, there were more than enough models to go around.

The next picture was with the sandy-blond one, who told me her name was Maria. She was pretty enough, but it was her friend, the brunette, I was excited about.

When her turn finally came, I let Henry go first. I wanted to save the best for last and have enough time to say what I wanted. Although I figured Henry and I could probably take our sweet time hanging around, I didn’t want to hedge my bets or anything.

No sooner had the flash gone off for our picture than the brunette turned to smile at me head-on.

“I’m Heidi.”

Her voice was less accented than the others, although the difference was still unmistakable.

“Charles,” I said with forced calmness, tearing my eyes off those green orbs of hers. They were a deep evergreen you could lose yourself in for minutes at a time. And right now, I was supposed to be in responsible prince mode, not awkward schoolboy mode.

“How have you been liking it here in London?” I asked.

Again, I got that bright smile I wanted to see more of.

“I love it,” she declared. “Everyone has been so nice and welcoming so far.”

She bit her lip, as if unsure she wanted to say what she ended up saying next. “And your museums are to die for too.”

I let my eyes rest on her.

“You’re joking.”

Defiance flickered in her eyes.

“What makes you say that?”

I flashed her a smile, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Because models don’t go to museums.”

Twisting her head to face me, she let out a laugh.

“And princes don’t go to photo shoots.”

I quirked a brow.

“Are you trying to guilt me into thinking I am not a good prince?”

“Is it working?” she asked.

“As enthralling as this is, I can’t exactly take an endless number of pictures of you two talking to each other,” Rita interjected, adjusting her glasses higher up on her nose with her index finger.

“My apologies,” I said crisply.

Putting my hand on the small of Heidi’s back, I led her over to the swivel chairs. Henry was on the far side of the room, talking to the other two models.

I gestured for her to sit down, and she did while I took the other one.

“So, Heidi,” I said, my gaze dipping irresistibly to the square of midriff revealed by her tie-dye cropped sweatshirt, “how long are you planning to stay here?”

She angled her hand up to cover her mouth, as if to shade just how big a smile my question had brought her.

“Why?” she asked coyly. “You want to borrow some of our clothes?”

I laughed out loud at that one.

“Maybe.”

Grinning now, she said, “This shoot was just for today, but I’m doing a whole series of them with different photographers here in London. My agent booked me a ton back to back, so I will be staying here for a few months.”

“A few months,” I said, liking the taste of the words on my tongue.

Our gazes locked again and bored into each other’s for a few seconds before I asked the only thing I’d been wondering since I first saw her: “So I take it that means you’ll be able to find time if a certain prince wants to see you again?”

Her curved eyes gave away her held-back smile.

“Is that the way you British boys ask a girl out?”

I leaned in so our lips were an inch apart. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to kiss that bratty smile off her lips.

“Is that how you American models say yes?”

Reaching into my pocket, she produced my ballpoint pen. Uncapping it, she dipped the pen down to my wrist, where she wrote her number. Just as swiftly, she returned the pen to my front pocket with a cheeky little smile.

My fingers slipped to hers.

“For a minute there, I was afraid something…untoward was going on there.”

Her hand squeezed mine.

“Something like pen poisoning?” she quipped, her smile growing. “Or wait, something even worse…” She lowered her voice, assuming a grave expression. “Fancy shirt defacing.”

Instead of laughing again, which was what I really wanted to do, I held my lips in a sort of morose expression. Lifting up my left sleeved arm, I asked, “This is fancy to you?”

She managed a laugh. “Sorry. Forgot you royals probably sleep in gold jammies.”

“Hey—” My phone buzzed. I answered it without looking.

“Charles. I’m assuming you’ll be here in the next thirty minutes, seeing as our guests are arriving in the next hour.”

Hearing Mother’s already displeased voice, I gulped. I really had to get a special ringtone for her, something to alert me—like dun dun dun or just something really annoying.

“Of course,” I told her. “We’ll be there shortly.”

“So by that I’m assuming you are with Henry, correct?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered quickly. “You have to give me a minute to get him going. You know how he is.” Before she could respond, I was already chirping, “Got to run. Bye, Mom.”

As soon as I hung up, I heaved a sigh of relief. Another day, another motherly bullet dodged. I didn’t care to know how pissed our dear Queen Mother would be to find out her sons were at a popsicle photo shoot with sexy American models, or that I had the phone number of one written on my hand.

Heidi was surveying me with interest in her wide-set eyes.

“So that was…”

“Queen Mary, yes,” I said with a flippant wave of my hand. “You know, my mom.”

She giggled. “This has really been the craziest day of my life.”

I gave her hand another squeeze.

“I can’t say this has been exactly a routine day for me either.”

“Oh come on,” she protested. “You’ve probably met tons of models, gone to tons of shoots.”

“I’ve had my fair share, yes, but—”

I stopped myself from saying it seconds in advance because it was ridiculous to say “there’s been no one like you.” I’d just met the girl. What was the big deal? Anyway, I had to get Henry out of here.

“I’m sorry,” I told her, “but I do have to go. My brother and I have a state dinner, and he’s tardy in the best of times.”

“Of course,” she said in a different voice than before. “I understand.”

Backed by the other two models, Henry wasn’t the easiest to get out of there. First, he directed the models on a giggling running-away-from-me spree; then he locked himself in the men’s bathroom. Finally, when I threatened to call our mother directly, he relented.

“But I only got two numbers,” he whined as we walked out of there to the tinted car waiting for us.

“There were only three all together,” I reminded him.

“And?” he countered.

As we got on the road, I glared at the traffic ahead of us that was probably going to make us ten minutes later than Mother would’ve preferred.

“And I got her number.” I showed my hand.

He laughed. “Dude, you’re afraid of us getting there late because of me?”

Glancing down at the looping red-ink script, I realized he had a good point. Sporting a model’s phone number on my hand didn’t exactly shriek of class. I’d have to transfer it to my phone, then vigourously wash my hands.

Once we got home, I immediately set off for the bathroom before Mother could say a word to me, let alone spot the scrawl in my hand, but something else struck me. Staring at myself in the mirror, I noticed my blond waves were tousled as usual. I leaned in closer. My eyes. It was my eyes that were different.

“Heidi,” I said to myself. I repeated it once more, liking the sound of it: “Heidi.”

There was something about that girl, something intriguing, enticing. My mind flashed to the house on 2515 Clair Creek. My hidden house with the hidden room that something told me Heidi would enjoy very, very much.