I'm downstairs in the lobby, waiting in line to check out. Dad's finally well enough to travel, and we're about to get the red eye flight home.

It's going on midnight. Honestly, I can't wait to get the hell out of here, to leave behind this miserable, evil island that's shattered both our dreams and given us nothing but tragedy.

“Checking out,” I say, stepping up to the counter.

The man behind the computer nods politely, takes my card and info, and begins typing away. Just before I think he's about to print out a receipt, he frowns, deep lines crossing his forehead.

“Miss Erin Warwick, right? Hmm. I'm terribly sorry, I can't process this request.”

I blink in surprise, wondering what kind of new complication is about to bite us in the ass. “Huh? What're you talking about?”

“There's a hold on your account, madame. VIP request, you understand, from someone in the government. I need you to step outside near the front, Miss Warwick.”

The government? I resist the urge to turn around, wondering if I'm about to be arrested and detained.

Anger takes over. My fist comes down, banging loudly on the wood. “I don't have time for this crap. My father's upstairs, very sick, and we can't be late for our flight. I have to get home. If there's some kind of hangup processing his credit card, just bill us later.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he says, slowly looking through me like I'm a ghost. “I need you to step outside and meet with the party waiting for you. Please.”

He talks like a mouse. Practically begging me to do what he says. A chill runs up my back, and I slowly turn, sensing the five big men in their perfect suits before I even see them, standing next to the door.

“Are you done yet? You've scared the poor man enough,” a voice that shouldn't be here says.

It's a voice I recognize. Regal, cocky, and completely in love with his own power.

No way. It can't be him...can it?

Oh, but it is. Prince Silas steps out from behind the guards like he's here for a stay, and annoyed with me for holding him up.

“There's the lady I'm looking for. Hello again, Erin,” he says, that trademark smile forming dimples on his handsome face.

“Prince Silas?” Total shock rips through my core as he closes the distance between us, grabs my hand, and pulls me forward.

“My driver's waiting for us. If you'll come along kindly, there's something I need to talk to you about.”

He's pulled me through the door, and I'm halfway down the stairs when I start to completely lose it.

“No, no! I can't go now. I have a flight to catch soon. I need to get my father to the airport...”

“Nonsense. I'll make sure he's personally helped to the gate by my aides.”

“I need to be on that plane, Your Highness.” I bite my tongue when I use his title. I say it the same way I want to call him a jackass to his stupid, smug, mysterious face. “What's this all about? Have I done something wrong?”

He doesn't tell me until I'm in the car, plopped back in the wide leather seat with him. It's a big SUV, and the back feels a lot like a limo, with a cool black interior and more leg room than any vehicle should have.

“You'll be fine. My promise, love.”

Love? Is he fucking kidding me?

“I really don't think so. It's going to take at least an hour to get through security. I ought to be bringing dad down right now, heading for the gate.”

He laughs. Chuckles in a rich, deep tone like I've just told him a dirty joke. He's shaking his head when my heart beats mad, and my fingers twitch, ready to slap that wicked smile off his face.

I don't care if it'll get me detained and cause an international incident. If he doesn't stop, it'll be worth it, I swear.

“What's so damned funny?” I say, glaring at him.

“You're so procedural, aren't you? It's like you don't realize you're riding with the second most powerful person in the whole kingdom. Do you really think I can't bypass the usual red tape, love? Get you and dear old dad a private jet back to the States the instant I snap my fingers?”

He holds his hand out and the cabin echoes with a loud snap.

I can't take this anymore. I grab him with both hands, shoving his arm as hard as I can. I keep going, reaching forward, falling into his chest while I try to slap him with both my palms. The momentum from the SUV lurching around a tight turn only helps me topple into him.

I grit my teeth. Prince or not, he's being a royal asshole, and I'm nobody's doormat. Nobody's – not even to the man who has everything.

“Hey, hey! Easy, now,” he says, dangerously cool, getting a hold on me. Calmer than he should be, considering I've just assaulted his majestic, princely ass. “Don't hurt yourself, love.”

I look up, the deep blue gems in his face swallowing me up. That's when I realize he's gotten me under control with no more effort than if he'd picked up a kitten. He's overwhelmed me. Holding both my hands behind my head, sternly but gently, a skill he probably learned overseas in uniform.

“This can't be easy for you,” he whispers. “You've every right to be pissed, to lash out. I get that. I've practically kidnapped you.”

“Yeah, you have,” I say, feeling my muscles go slack. There's something vaguely gratifying about hearing him admit it. “You'd better start talking to me, Your Highness. Told you, I have a plane to catch, and I'm going to scream bloody murder if it leaves without me.”

Folding my arms, I look away from him, settling back in my seat. Everything outside is whipping by us. The SUV is flying through the capital, with men on motorcycles all around us. The royals must have a special pass to drive through the city like a bat out of hell, faster than any emergency vehicle I've ever seen.

“It won't. I'll see that it's personally grounded by my orders. I'll have the fucking captain hold the door open for you, with a pillow, a blanket, and a martini in hand. Or are you more of a wine girl?”

Slowly, I turn to him, disgust twisting my face. He's wearing that smirk again – the one that would almost be sexy if it wasn't for smugness. We must be staring at each other for about three brutal seconds before he winks.

“Hold tight, Erin. We're almost to the castle. Then I'll be more than happy to fill you in on why I'm so eager to sit down with you.”

No. I want to know now. I really do, and that's what I want to tell him, but the huge, imposing vista appearing through the window behind him puts me at a loss for words.

He wasn't joking around when he said castle. It's got to be Lucius, a medieval fort with huge gold capped spires I've only seen in the distance on the edge of the capital when the sun hits it just right.

Suddenly, they're a lot closer. And we're rolling across the literal drawbridge going over the moat, right into something from a fairy tale.

Except I'm not feeling charmed.

More like someone who's been taken captive, against her will, completely at the mercy of this strange, arrogant man for reasons I'm nearly afraid to find out.

The SUV jerks up a winding road past the castle's walls, and then we're next to a huge red door. It's smooth and modern, a more recent addition to the historic structure.

A man comes to Prince Asshole's side, pops the door, and he jumps out. Much to my shock, he rounds his way to my side himself, opening the door for me, reaching out with a hand.

“Come with me, love. You're the one in a hurry, aren't you?”

I jump out and brush past him, refusing his hand. He's right about the rush, but I'll be damned if I'm going to admit it.

I still can't wrap my head around this situation. And that goes double when he leads me into the castle, walking inside it like he owns the place.

Ugh. Technically, he does, and this could be his main home for all I know.

The place looks like a lodge, a luxury hotel, and a museum smashed together in one grand jumble.

Gold chandeliers, masterful paintings of the wilderness, handcrafted furniture in every corner. Classical music pipes through the hallways he leads me down, slowing when I start to lag, waiting for me with just a hint of impatience on his princely face.

We stop and wait for an elevator leading God knows where. My eyes finally aren't on him, but rather, on the huge ram's head protruding from the wall overhead, a long horned animal that's preposterously big, strong, and possibly extinct.

“My great grandfather bagged that one,” he says, catching me looking. “One of the last ones, back when the crown owned every square inch of the mountains for hunting. You know what they say about the horns on those bastards, right?”

I shake my head. The way the smirk on his face tightens up just a little more tells me I probably won't like the answer, but he's going to throw it in my face anyway.

“Ground them up into dust, and they'll make a man crazy. He'll go all night. His dick will grow another inch or two – no bullshit. He'll become the beast, focused on nothing but fighting and fucking.” He pauses, his nostrils flare, and he cocks his head. “Probably all rumors. Probably. It's hard to believe these creatures went extinct a hundred years ago if they were so good at fucking, isn't it?”

Jesus. For the first time since I've gotten here, I feel like I'm about to pass out.

I can't handle this. I wonder what I've done to deserve it, standing here in a castle with this Prince, this infamous playboy. Yes, the man saves my life and possibly dad's one day, and then talks to me about rams fucking the next.

The elevator door opens, and I step inside another hallway with Prince Playboy. He taps his perfectly polished toe the whole way up. I'm too busy grabbing the golden banister around the edges so I don't pass out, feeling the blood drop to my stomach as the elevator carries us up what feels like more than a dozen stories.

I look at him, my eyes burning in disbelief. He looks so good, so ordinary here, in his lair.

He's all suit and tie again. Everything clinging to his strong, thick, angular body so custom and expensive I wouldn't be surprised if his shoelaces cost a thousand dollars.

He stops in front of a door with gold trim, pulls a key from his pocket, and unlocks it. Then we're in a round room flanked with circular windows, a fireplace, and a view that would make heaven itself jealous.

“Take a seat,” he says, moving to a small cabinet in the corner. “Before I offer you a drink, I'd like to come clean. I lied about the flight, love. Don't worry about dear old dad. My men are making sure he's on a jet to Mexico as we speak.”

“Mexico?!” I choke on the word, feeling my chest tightening. “You're kidding me. Please tell me that's what's going on here. This is all some strange, elaborate joke...right?”

He turns around with that hateful fucking smirk on his face again, carrying a bottle that looks like crystal wrapped around some amber liquid, plus two glasses.

“I did what I needed to get you here. You can forgive me later, babe,” he says, so fucking sure that I will. Then he sets everything on the little black walnut coffee table between us, popping the cap.

Slowly, he fills our glasses. “The finest bourbon in Europe. Something like fifteen thousand euros a bottle. It's a very special day, and the drinks should match the mood.”

It rolls like gold over the perfectly round scoop of ice in each glass. He slides mine over to me, and I grip it tight, letting the cold numb my hands. I can't promise I won't hurl the heavy glass at his face, first chance I get.

If I'm going to hurt this royal asshole for what he's done to me, I'd might as well do it in style. Picturing him with a knot rising on his damnably handsome head almost makes me smile.

“What's wrong with you?” I say through clenched teeth. “Really. I want you to explain what's going on here, and I mean now. I'm going to call the embassy if you don't. I'll tell them you've taken me hostage.”

“Hey, no need to get ugly.” He frowns, pulling away the glass he's just taken a long sip from. “Yes, I suppose you need answers, don't you? It's only fair. How do I say this delicately?”

He turns his head. Both of us know full well that delicate isn't in this man's makeup.

“Fuck,” he says, making me blink. I still haven't gotten used to hearing a Prince drop the F-bomb like he's one of the frat boys on campus. “How do I put this?”

“What?” I ask quietly, feeling my heart slow to a patter, bringing my drink to my lips with the hope it'll steel my nerves. “What is it?”

“I need you to marry me, Erin Warwick.”

Oh.

Oh, Jesus!

Just like that, it's out. An answer that only invites a thousand more questions, if only it didn't completely stop my heart.

I shouldn't be sipping this whiskey, or bourbon, or whatever the hell it is. The sting in my throat causes me to cough, and turns the world upside down.

I can't see straight. Can't stand up. Can't even breathe.

Prince Silas' strong arms wrapping around me is the last thing I sense before I completely black out.

* * *

It hits me in the face. Just a cold, crisp bite to the nose, bringing me back to life.

Gasping for air, I jerk up in his arms, and feel the water dripping off me. No, it's more than that. He has an ice cube on my head, gently positioned in his lap, of all places.

We're on the couch. It takes him a minute to see me blink before he moves, realizing I'm awake.

“Perhaps I ought to work on softening my delivery after all,” he says. I'm too weak and confused to be bothered by the smirk on his face.

This can't be real life, can it?

“You were out for five minutes. I was going to call a medic. These blackouts must run in the blood, though I know your poor father has more reason than you do to lose it.”

I sit up, hearing the heavy ice slip off my head and hit the floor like a baseball. “Fuck you. You said you'd give me an answer, asshole. You've only left me wondering. I need to go. My flight...”

“Whoa!” Prince Silas gets up and stands in front of me. He's too big, too fast, and too damned imposing to maneuver around. “Let's talk this out. I'm only asking for three years, love. Not a whole bloody lifetime.”

“Three years of what?!”

“Marriage, of course.” He narrows his eyes. “Maybe I should get that medic after all, so we're sure you didn't bang your head...”

Marriage. That word again. As ludicrous as it is heavy.

“Why – for the love of God – why would you want to marry me? This is insane,” I tell him, trying to push past him again.

It's hopeless, I know. But I'm going to faint a second time if I don't keep moving, trying to make myself believe this isn't just a twisted nightmare.

“Because I know everything about you, Erin, and I've got all the leverage in the world,” he says softly, grabbing my wrists and pulling me against his chest. “That's the funny thing about being a Prince – I have an obscene degree of control over everyone's life except my own. And let me tell you, I have my issues. You're the answer to about ninety-nine of them.”

“You're insane,” I tell him, finding my new favorite word. My eyes scan the table for that glass.

Just my luck that I spilled what was left of my drink when I blacked out. Otherwise, I'd have thrown it in his face and followed it up with a resounding slap, right across that five o'clock shadow he wears, dangerously close to my skin.

I'm sweating, flushed with heat. It's not just the alcohol or the fainting spell.

Wait. No.

This is already fucked up enough. You can't be turned on right now, I tell myself, shaking my head.

“Yes, yes, I know what it sounds like,” Prince Asshole says, thankfully mistaking my gesture. “Believe me, Miss Warwick, it's nothing but business. I'm making you an offer. Proposal, I should say, but getting down on one knee and shoving a million dollar ring on your finger is only going to send mixed messages.”

“Let. Go.” He releases me, and I stumble back, throwing one hand out when he approaches, thinking I'm going to fall over again. “I need some fresh air.”

He gently leads me over to a huge private balcony door. A soft ocean breeze caresses my face the instant the door opens. We step outside, and I've never been so grateful for sweet oxygen.

“I know your father's very sick,” he say softly, helping me over to a big lounging chair. “I also happen to know your family doesn't have the resources to give him the chance he deserves. I can do that. As a show of good faith, that's the reason he's off to Mexico on one of my planes – they can do marvelous things there doctors aren't allowed to do in our slow, but civilized countries. He needs the very best, something experimental.”

My head is still reeling. It takes me a full minute with him hovering over me, eyeballing me, before I can bring myself to speak.

“And that's what you'll give me if I...marry you?” God. It scorches my tongue just to say it.

“Certainly, that's the major benefit. I'm also offering you a two million dollar stipend and all expenses paid for, while we're together. Far more than any glorified actress has ever earned. You'll sign a prenup overseen by the best lawyers in the kingdom, of course, and I may ask you to do something when our time comes to an end that turns your name in this country to fucking mud.”

“Oh.” My hands clench the edges of the chair, tightening in disbelief. “So, not only am I supposed to marry you, but you're asking me to piss off several million people?”

“Only for the tabloids.” Prince Silas frowns, waves his hand, as if it's no worse than asking me to do the dishes. “I can't have you going down like my late mother, you see. The people would never understand the divorce, if they love you. Especially after all the years my father had his flings behind her beloved back.”

It makes a sick kind of sense, knowing the history I've read about his family.

Jesus, though. I'm not really considering this...am I?

“I still don't understand why you want this, Your Highness. There must be something very important on the line for you to go to these extremes...”

“Our kingdom's entire future hangs on it. My family line continuing to rule, anyway. I have a certain...obligation.” The word sounds poisonous. He turns away from me, his hands behind his back, staring across the high rising tops of the capital below like a god.

Up here, I suppose he is, in all but name only. His head turns, and he stares at me coolly.

“Believe me, this is the last thing in the world I ever wanted to consider. You've read the trash on the internet and on the supermarket shelves. I'm not the kind of man who's content to pair up with a plain, inbred princess several countries over. I'm not ready to settle down. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

This isn't making sense. I don't understand how he's going to sell this fake marriage to the media, even if I decide to go along with this temporary insanity to save dad's life.

Dad. He's the only thing that gives me pause. If it were just money, I'd already be gone, on the fastest plane home to LA.

“I don't understand, Prince. I can't.”

“Let me break it down for you,” he says, coming closer, sitting on the edge of the chaise next to me. “I need a wife to smile and look pretty for the cameras. You're beautiful enough to be a princess, love.”

Bastard. He tells me with all his infinite charm, like it's really true. My face instantly overheats, and I wish I had one of those big, round ice cubes to calm the flush.

Worse, he isn't done talking.

“You're also a foreigner, without any investment in landing me for real, or ruining a royal name you don't own by taking my ring in all my infamy. You, Erin, won't make a fuss. You'll turn the other cheek when I stagger in from the club with too many drinks in my blood. Leave me to my parties. Look away when I disappear with other girls to fuck. You're a living, breathing gag for the playboy bullshit that's followed me like a plague. You'll be my human shield when I live like the man I am, and pretend I'm someone I'm not. Hell, we both will. That's all this is, Erin. Make believe.”

“Insane,” I tell him again, shaking my head. “This is nuts, and so are you. Everything about it.”

“It's perfect, love. And so are you. My pretend princess. The American girl who came stumbling into my arms. Love at first sight. Those fucking jackals in the press will be so busy dogging their new Cinderella, they won't look at me when I'm balls deep in my next mistress, doing what I do best.”

I'm not going to call him insane for the hundredth time. Doesn't change the fact that he is.

“Can I go? I need time to think about this.”

“Of course. Take the whole day. My valet, Victor, will help you find your room and unwind. It's not quite as nice as mine up here, but it's still a damned good view.”

I stand up, making sure I'm able to walk without having a relapse into unconsciousness. Thankfully, I can. Once I'm steady on my legs, I beat it, running back inside his castle penthouse and heading for the gold trim door as fast as my heels will carry me.

I'm supposed to be rushing home to comfort dad.

Instead, I might be taking the biggest risk ever, one I couldn't have imagined just a few hours ago. Whatever it takes to save him.

There's a sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach as the tall, older man in the neat suit takes me several rooms down the long hallway.

I can't avoid what's coming next. I'm going to have to sit down and think.

Think hard and serious about staying in this crazy place, with Prince Asshole, a lot longer than I'd ever imagined.

* * *

I'm dialing the number I've been given to reach my dad. The long table in my ridiculously oversized dining room looks like something from a mafia film.

Sitting at the edge, I rest my hands on the tabloids I've asked for. Reams upon reams of them, every issue about Prince Silas Bearington and his disgusting, unbelievable, sexist antics.

Prince Scandal. Prince Hung. The Prince I'm about to marry, if I stomach going through with this.

“It's me. How're you feeling?” I say over the line, as soon as I hear him grunt a hello.

“Better. Whatever they've got here to take the edge off the pain, it's better than the crap on that damned island.” Dad pauses. “Always wanted to vacation in Mexico, you know. Just didn't think it'd happen like this.”

“You're in good hands,” I tell him, unsure if I really believe it.

“Yeah, I am. They've got a lot of high tech stuff here. It's a classy place. The doctors talk like they know exactly what they're doing. Remember that story I did a few years back about the rich and powerful going abroad for special treatments? Really hits home now.”

I smile. It's the first time I've heard him talk about work since the nightmare started.

“I remember, dad. Maybe you'll do a follow-up when all this is over.”

“Maybe.” He doesn't say it very enthusiastically.

Still, it's more than enough to make me beam, the very idea that he's thinking about something besides death and early retirement.

“Turns out I got more than the scoop I came to Saint Moore for,” he says quietly. “The Prince is pretty decent after all. I regret hammering him before I had my fit.”

Ugh. This isn't what I'd expected to hear.

He doesn't have a clue how wrong he is. If he knew anything about the crude, calculating proposal Prince Asshole just dropped in my lap, he'd know decent ought to be last on the list of words to describe him.

I don't have the heart to say anything about it. Besides dad thinking I'd gone crazy myself, I'd risk ruining his brightening spirits, and that could easily be deadly.

“So, you're happy with your care so far? I know it was all kind of sudden.”

“Right. You'll see for yourself when you show up here. Or are you still planning on jetting back to LA? It'd be nice to have somebody checking in on the condo besides Wilson across the hall.”

Shit. I haven't begun to think about how I'm going to tell him I'm not coming back to North America anytime soon if I sign onto this ludicrous proposal.

“I think I'm going to be staying here on the island just a little while longer,” I say cautiously, wracking my brain.

“Huh? Whoa, honey, wait a minute...I see what's going on here.”

Does he? I hold my breath, feeling my eyelids flutter as they pinch shut.

“That meeting with the Prince, you staying behind, sending me here alone on a private goddamned jet...congratulations, Erin. Seriously.”

“What?”

“Congrats. You must've landed something amazing over there with the palace. I know, I know, you're too modest. Only have myself to blame for bringing you up that way. You don't have to tell me the little details until you're ready. I'm so happy for you, honey. You're gonna leave me in the dust before you're thirty. Everybody'll be tuning in to see the Erin Warwick report.”

I'm laughing. He thinks it's because I've been caught red handed, bursting with pride.

I wish. Laughing is the only thing I can do to avoid crying hysterically.

“Let's leave off here. Lord knows we can both use some good news after everything that's gone down.”

“You're right,” I say, grabbing my belly. It won't stop twitching, heavy with the guilt and ten ton stress my father has no clue about, pressing down on me.

“I've got to go. They want to run a few more tests this afternoon. I'll check in again when I know something more, Erin. You take some time to settle in. If you wind up meeting with the Prince or the Queen, I want to hear everything.”

“You will,” I promise. Another sharp pang stabs me below the breast because I honestly don't know what I'm promising anymore.

I don't even believe myself.

“Love you, baby.”

The line goes dead. I hang up, throwing my phone across the table. My elbows hit the dirty tabloids laid out beneath me, wrinkling Prince Sicko's smug, sexy face.

God. Before I'd picked up the phone, I'd secretly hoped for a small miracle.

Dad could've said something to make me re-think this. Anything to put the brakes on this twisted ride I'm about to sign up for to save his life.

If the universe were kind, he would've already had his tests, and the doctors would've told us his cancer had mysteriously gone into remission.

But that isn't going to happen. Not unless I marry – yes, marry – the playboy Prince, the tease, the last man on Earth who should've been born to royal blood.

Running my hands over my face, I wait for my temples to stop throbbing. After another minute, they do.

The weight inside me shifts, settles. I'm making peace.

I think I'm ready.

I'm going to do this. I just need to swallow my pride, pretend it's just another job, and brace myself for the public eye.

It's worth dad's life. I'll humiliate myself a thousand times over to keep him from dying young.

Though in this case, I doubt I'll ever get the chance to do it alone. Prince Silas will be more than happy to embarrass both of us if he doesn't give me a heat stroke first from all the blushing, teasing, red hot agony he's bound to bring, too.

When I stand up and press the intercom on the wall to his valet, asking for an audience with the Prince, I want to believe I'm doing something noble.

Noble. Ha! Ha ha.

No, not this time. It feels like I just told my warden I'm ready for my execution, and now I'm just waiting for him to lead me down the long walk to my doom.