The Royal Mess, page 5
part #3 of Alaskan Royal Family Series
It was only then that she realized her face was wet.
And it was only hours later that she realized what he had called her, quite unaware, while comforting her.
She would spend the rest of her life internally flinching at the title, but would never forgot that the first time she heard it it wasn’t so bad.
Chapter 17
“Out!” the King of Alaska roared, his hands running across his desk and finally seizing something that wouldn’t give him a paper cut. He hurled a paperweight in Holly Bragon’s general direction, but as usual, she didn’t take the hint. Normally he would never treat a lady in such a fashion, but of course, the Dragon was no lady.
“So!” Holly said as if a glass weight hadn’t shattered two feet (he had been careful to aim wide) from her left ear. “Tell me about the bastard princess.”
“If you give her that name in my God-be-damned memoirs, I will give you a nose job with a chainsaw.”
“Already had one, sans chainsaw,” she said, clicking forward on her high heels and sitting in the chair to the left of his desk. “Can’t you tell? Don’t I look glorious?”
He fought the urge to plunge his hands in his hair and yank. He still had every strand, by God, at an age when lots of men were bald as billiard balls. He wouldn’t let her drive him to Rogaine.
The awful thing was, the Dragon did look glorious. About fifteen years younger than him, she was a fine-looking, brown-eyed redhead with the lush figure of a fifties pinup girl. None of that anorexia chic for the Dragon.
The only concession to her age were her purple-rimmed bifocals. Her tailored suit was the same shade. When she crossed her legs, he observed that she had not given up the odd habit of wearing tennis shoes with designer suits.
“You look like a Goddamned eggplant in that thing.”
“Oh, Big Al, every word out of your mouth is pure honeycomb.” Hun-ahh-cooom.
“And you sound like pure cornpone. When are you going to ditch that awful accent?”
“Big Al, I’m gonna give your funeral service in my cornpone accent, and every fellow Texan is gonna cheer me on.” Give yer fun’rul sur-vuss. Gone cheer me awn.
He slumped back in his chair and massaged his temples. “God, I think my ears are actually bleeding.”
“It’s that high-cholesterol lifestyle you lead, big guy. So tell me about the new girl. Word on the wires is, she’s a bit older than Davey.”
“Prince David.”
“O’course, Big Al.”
“That’s King Al!” Fucking Americans. Too casual by far. Right now, he could stand a little awe.
“Whatever you say, Big Al.” She crossed her legs and even the whisper of her pantyhose rubbing together got on his nerves. “Anyhoo, that puts her in line for your job after you fall overboard and drown on one a’your clandestine fishin’ trips that don’t fool no one no how. Right?”
“Are you speaking English? At all?”
“Ah can speak anuhthin.” She occasionally tortured him by deepening her already annoying Texan accent, and could keep it up for hours.
She had been fired nine times.
She had been escorted out by Jeffrey seventeen times.
She had reduced him to shouting at her so many times he lost count after her second visit. But like roaches and disco, she kept coming back.
And far, far worst of all? The Dragon was his official biographer. She had a doctorate in Alaskan history, gotten published at age nineteen, and written four books on the history of Alaska.
And as usual, the royal family had chosen a foreigner for the job of chronicling the current monarch’s life. Subjects tended to be a little too overawed to ask the tough questions.
“So? It’s true, raht?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Yes, it’s true. I had a—a relationship before I married the queen. Forget it, not tellin’.”
“Aw, Big Al, an’ here I was on the edge of my seat waiting to hear about your naked shenanigans.”
“Shenanigans? Did you just curse me in Texan? Never mind. Point is, yeah, I wasn’t exactly a virgin on my wedding night.”Then again, neither was my bride.“And Nicole Krenski Baranov was the result.”
The Dragon didn’t write any of that down in her ever-present notebook. “Why, Big Al, I’ve never known you to go out on a limb. I hear the DNA ain’t been confirmed.”
“Hasn’t been confirmed, you illiterate twit!”
“Thay-ets Daktuh Illiterate Twee-it, Big Al,” she corrected him sweetly.
“Okay, okay, stop it, you’re killing me. You hear me? After I fired you the fourth time my doctor said my blood pressure was ten points higher than normal! You areliterallykilling me!”
“All part of the big plan, Big Al,” she said, easing up on the accent. “I’m the Texan Secret Weapon, sent up here to kill you.”
“I fucking knew it!”
“Anyway, like I said, DNA hasn’t been confirmed. So why take the risk of telling me?”
“Because I’m old and tired and it’s been a weird damned week.”
She laughed at him. He made a mental note to check with Parliament to see if he could bomb Texas. “You! Old!” She laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair. Unfortunately, no such luck. “You! Oh my Gawd! Haw haw haw!”
He surreptitiously checked to make sure his ears hadn’t begun to bleed. “You really were sent by America to kill me, weren’t you?” he asked gloomily.
“Big Al, the grand ole You Ess of America don’t need me. They could turn Juneau into a smokin’ pile of cinders with no trouble a’tall. Now. Tell me about the new girl.”
“No.”
“Aw, Al. You know I’m gonna get it out of you even-’chally.”
“Shut up. You will not. Where the hell were we when I last fired your ass?”
She leaned over in her chair and slapped a thigh. “My extremelyshapelyass, don’t pretend you never noticed, and we were talking about how you flew fighters in Korea.”
“Right. Okay. So…”
Chapter 18
Jeffrey had driven her to Mr. Dante’s house, waited silently and patiently in the car—Mr. Dante had never even seen him—then had driven her back home. He had taken in her swollen eyes at a glance and, thank God, said nothing.
She didn’t speak a word for forty miles, but weirdly, it wasn’t awkward. Jeffrey hummed along with the fifties oldies station he played softly and seemed content to let her think. Or (what she was really doing) stew.
“Come in for a moment?” she asked when he pulled up to her trailer.
“That depends. How’s your artillery?”
“Oh, that’s hilarious.”
“I prefer the wordcautious.”
When they were inside, she offered him a drink, which he declined. Oh…duh. He probably considered himself on duty.
“Uh, can you give me a ride to the palace tomorrow?”
He had been glancing around her living room, and spun around so fast she nearly took a step backward. For a big guy, he was quick on his feet. “The palace? You want to go to the palace?Ourpalace?”
“No, Buckingham Palace,” she snapped. “Of course our palace. Can you give me a ride? And get me in to talk to the king?”
“Of course. But as the head of his detail, I’d like to know your intentions. You realize that killing him will only—”
“I’m not going to kill him! My intentions are to submit to a DNA test.”
“You’re taking a DNA test?”
“Are you partially deaf with that earpiece clogging up your left ear?Yes.”
She observed his eyebrows knit together. “Tomorrow?”
“Yup.” Gorgeous, but slow on the uptake, this guy.
“And then it will be official. You will be, to the world, Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Nicole.”
“I guess.”
“Oh. Then I better do this now.”
“Do what?”
But he was moving with that lithe speed again and before she knew it, he was holding her in his arms and kissing her on the mouth. She was so surprised she forgot to bite.
And then she pretty much forgot everything else, too, for the first time since this crazy shit started up.
He was holding her firmly, but she had no sense of being restrained. He was taking her mouth without permission, but she had no sense of being violated.
Best of all, he wasn’t stopping, and she had no sense of being not in control of the situation.
Because the truth was, she was kissing him back just as hard as he was kissing her.
Finally, after a time that might have been ten seconds or ten minutes, he let go of her and spun away, leaning on the counter between the kitchen and the living room. Clutching the counter, really. She saw with some astonishment that his knuckles were white.
“Why—why did you do that?”
“Because tomorrow you’ll be Princess Nicole, and I won’t be able to do it. I’ll never be able to do it again.”
“But—”
“Good night, Nicole.”
She was so amazed she forgot to stop him.
Chapter 19
Adiscreet rap on the door. King Al, grumpy after a long session spilling his life to the Dragon, and five more Buds, and four hours of sleep, massaged his temples. The discreet rap sounded like a giant was pounding on the wood with a ball-peen hammer.
His breakfast sat before him, untouched. At the moment, he doubted he’d ever be able to eat again. And he was swearing off beer! Again!
Another discreet rap.
He made a bet with himself. It would be Edmund, with the morning mail.
“Come in, Edmund.”
Only Edmund’s head came in; he had opened the door and stuck his head through. “Your Majesty? Drink your juice.”
“I fucking hate tomato juice! It’s like drinking red snot.”
“A master of poetry, even during the largest of hangovers. Majesty, I have a surprise for you.”
“Edmund, if I have one more surprise this week, I’m firing you.”
“Do not tease, Majesty. Are you ready?”
“Oh God,” he sighed. Then, “Hit me.”
Edmund’s head disappeared, and then Nicole walked in.
“Holy mother of God!”
“It’s nice to see you too, Al.” Nicole had a wry expression on her face. Cute as a bug, too, and—was she wearing adress? A perfectly lovely dress with black tights and sensible black flats?
“Wh—what—how—why—”
“A man of letters, just like Mr. Dante said. Awesome.”
“I have a brain tumor, so please stop yanking my chain,” he begged.
“It’s just a headache, you infant. Look, I went over to Mr. Dante’s house yesterday and talked it over with him and here I am, so shut up about it now.”
“But how the hell did you even know where he lived?”
“Who cares? I’m here, right?”
“Damnright! Hell, it’s great to see you again, kiddo!” He got up and practically ran around his desk, holding his arms out without thinking.
He would have bet the east wing that she had no idea how horrified she looked at that moment, so he dropped his arms and stuck out a hand instead. Thawing an inch or two, she shook it.
“Edmund, you are a fuckin’ miracle worker!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The crumb didn’t even bother looking smug. Just took it as his due. “All in a day’s work, Your Majesty.”
She jerked a thumb in Edmund’s direction. “I bet that gets annoying.”
“Hon, you have no idea. Nice dress,” he said, motioning for her to sit down.
“Thanks. It’s the only one I have. Wore it to Mom’s memorial service.”
“Oh.” That would explain the severe black and the long sleeves. And what message was she sending, anyway? Reminding him he couldn’t take her mother’s place? That was fine. He’d never intended to try. “Well. Ah. Say, how did you get in here, anyway? You’re not anywhere on my schedule.” He was pretty sure.
“Jeffrey brought me here.”
Fine, but why did that make her blush? Well, it was a stressful moment for her. And not likely to get much better in the months to come. He tried to harden his heart against the sympathy he felt for her (for the good of the country!) and failed. He had never been able to harden his heart against a child. Any child.
“Jeffrey switched with Reynolds this morning,” Edmund added. “Whichison your schedule.”
“I knew that,” he bluffed. “So, uh, kiddo—Nicole—if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon we got that test out of the way before you change your mind and shoot us all in the face.”
Nicole remained a stone. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Edmund, will you get doctor—”
“ETA four minutes, my king.”
“Oh.” Annoying bastard. And thank God. “Great. Nicole, you had anything to eat yet?” He suddenly remembered the paramedics, the ambulance, and felt bad about all the hangover bitching. “How’syourhead?”
“Yes, and fine.”
“Oh.”
She just sat there like a lump, a pretty lump, and looked at him. Her hands, already tan from being outdoors, rested limply on the chair’s armrests. Her long, slender fingers didn’t move.
“I’m sure glad you’re here,” he said again, totally at a loss. He could deal with kids. He could deal withhiskids. He could deal with his grown-up kids. But a grown-up kid he’d known only for a week? That was breaking new territory.
Al mentally spat on his hands. The blood of rebels ran in his veins, and they had made an art form of breaking new territory.
It did not occur to him until much later that the blood of rebels ran inherveins, too.
“You don’t want anything? Cup of coffee? Tea? Milkshake? Soy shake? Latte? A beer and a ball?”
“It’s a little early for me, so never mind the booze, but I’d kill for a cup of coffee,” she admitted. “Where is it? I’ll get it myself.”
“No, no, Edmund will get it.”
One of her fingers twitched. Her trigger finger, he noticed. Her eyes narrowed a bit and her mouth thinned. “I’m not gonna be waited on hand and foot, King Alexander. So you can get that idea out of your pounding head right now.”
“Of course not, we’d never dream of radically altering your lifestyle,” Edmund broke in. “How do you take it, Miss Krenski?”
She sighed and he figured she’d already guessed there was no arguing with the man. “Black.”
“Atta girl,” he couldn’t help but say. “She takes it like a man,” he couldn’t help bragging to Edmund.
“Your exquisite notions of chauvinism are as fascinating as they are maddening, my king.”
Nicole laughed for the first time that day.
“Shaddup,” he told them both.
Chapter 20
“Match,” the doc whose name Al couldn’t remember told him. “Match. And match.”
“Don’t talk in your medical jargon, doc; just spell it out.”
“Oh.” The doctor frowned. “I thought I was being fairly clear. Miss Krenski is a direct blood relation of yours, Your Majesty, a sibling or a daughter. And due to the age difference and the fact that your parents are—”
“Right. So it’s official. She’s my daughter.”
“She is, Your Majesty. There is no doubt.”
“There never was, doc.”
He was so excited to get the ball moving, he didn’t notice his youngest, Nicholas, motioning to the doctor. He went out the door of the lab without another backward glance, to his son’s great good fortune.
Part Two
BASTARD PRINCESS
Chapter 21
SITKA PALACE CONFIRMS BASTARD PRINCESS
NEXT IN LINE FOR THRONE
Nicole walked into yet another ridiculously grand room, one she could have fit four of her trailers in. Her (ugh) siblings and (ugh ugh) father were already seated.
“Hey, Nicole,” Nicholas, the youngest, called to her. He was the only blonde among them. She’d heard the rumors, of course.
The official story was that Queen Dara was killed in a car accident on the way to a hairdresser appointment. Unofficially, she had been en route to meet her lover—Nicky’s real father.
But even when things were at their worst—when David and Christina were king and queenpro temwhile King Alexander was in a coma—David did not permit a DNA test for the youngest Baranov.
“You made the front page this morning,” Nicholas was saying. “Again.”
“No reading at the table,” King Al ordered. “Ditch the rag, boy. How’d you sleep, Nicole?”
“Fine.” A lie. “But if I’m going to live here, is there a chance I could pick a different bedroom?”
“You can have any room—rooms—you want.”
Excellent.
“You hungry? You must be. I didn’t see you eat a thing all day yesterday.”
“Sure.” There was one empty spot at the table—to the king’s right. David sat at his left. “Thanks for waiting for me. Let’s eat.”
“Hallelujah, brothers. And sisters,” Alexander, the middle son, said. “Nicole, can I ask a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“What happened to your mama?”
Before Nicole could reply, Kathryn, the youngest daughter, hurled a croissant across the table, catching Alexander neatly on the upper lip. “Dumbass! Don’t ask herthat.”
“Cancer,” Nicole replied, struggling to remain straight-faced.
“Was she in any pain at the end?” the king asked quietly, which neatly quashed her urge to laugh.
“No, at the end—she never knew anything.”
“Asshole!” Alexandria, the eldest daughter (besides Nicole herself, she supposed), hissed at her brother. “Our first meal as a family and you had to go bringthatup! Throw something else, Kathryn.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Alexander was cowering behind his saucer. “I was curious, that’s all. I would have liked to have met her. That’s all.”
