For King and Country Page 7

  “Exactly. Beans and toast will feed you, but you can’t pretend it’s a steak.”

  I shook my head at her. “None of this means that I need new underwear.”

  In the end, Belle won out, and to be certain that I’d be too busy to overthink my date—or whatever it was—she left me with a list of things to do while she was out. I resisted the list at first, but some of the items made sense. My toenails were fine, but maybe a fresh coat of polish would be nice. Painting them, as it turned out, had the odd effect of calming me down and exciting me at the same time. When I was a teenager, I would have gone through all this obsessing before a date, but I had to admit that it had seemed less important in college. I didn’t exactly want to be the kind of girl that spent hours and hours preening before she saw a guy, but it had been too long since I’d really pampered myself.

  Belle could run a beauty salon with the amount of product she kept on hand, and before long, I had freshly pedicured feet. I padded through the flat, careful not to stub my still-drying toenails, and headed for her room. She’d given me carte blanche access to her closet to find something to wear, because as she put it, you are leaving the house in a pair of jeans over my dead body.

  I couldn’t help marveling at how organized her closet was already. I liked my things neat and well-ordered, but there was no way I could have unpacked my belongings as quickly and efficiently as she had, even though I had a quarter of the clothing.

  I ran my fingers down the assortment of dresses that hung according to their length, stopping in the middle near the closer to knee-length dresses. Most of them fell under the family celebration category, meaning they looked a little too much like something a British monarch might wear.

  Alexander’s grandmother, I realized.

  That definitely wasn’t going to work. I knew Belle would push me toward the shorter dresses, but the last thing I wanted was to feel self-conscious right off the bat. I’d never arranged anything this close to a booty call before, and as aroused as I was over Alexander’s promise that he needed to screw me all day, it was getting harder to silence my rational side. Without his presence—without the inexorable pull I felt around him—I could see more clearly the reasons I should stay away.

  One time, I promised myself. And then it’s over.

  It was late spring in London, which meant the weather was a little fickle but tended toward warmer temperatures. I rifled through the hangers, discovering Belle had a serious ball gown problem. No one could possibly need this many fancy dresses. Shoved between a Jenny Packham evening gown and a Vera Wang in champagne silk, I found exactly what I was looking for.

  Stripping down, I tried on the flowing maxi dress. It was sleeveless, but its sweetheart neckline would support my bust, a problem Belle didn’t usually need to worry about. It was a soft shade of blue—romantic and dreamlike, which was a reflection of how I felt. With my freshly painted toenails, I’d be able to rock a pair of sandals for the first time this season. It wasn’t the amped up ensemble my friend would pick out for me, but with its low neckline and figure-skimming fabric, it was plenty sexy enough.

  Belle arrived back half an hour after I’d completed her checklist, holding an Agent Provocateur bag triumphantly over her head. To my surprise, she wholly approved of the dress I’d chosen.

  “It will go perfectly with this.” She opened the carefully wrapped tissue to reveal a pale lace bra and panty set that sparkled silver when she held it up. The set was delicate and feminine, managing to scream sex and wealth at the same time.

  I took one look at the price tag and knew why.

  “I’m paying you back for this.”

  Belle waved off my declaration, her lips curving as I held up the sexy lingerie. She knew I wouldn’t have bought it for myself. Not because I didn’t have the money, but because I’d never had a reason to before. She grabbed the bra out of my hand and snapped off the price tag.

  “No going back now,” she purred.

  I snatched it away, pressing it to my chest as I imagined what it would be like to wear it, which only resulted in me thinking about why I would be wearing this. Heat flooded my cheeks as I pictured wearing this in front of Alexander. I’d worn lingerie before, but nothing as exquisite as this. It was beautiful and sexy and delicate—as delicate as the arrangement between him and me.

  The nerves hit me as soon as I woke up in the morning. My stomach rolled at the thought that in a few short hours I was going to possibly be making the biggest mistake of my life or maybe the best decision of my life. The jury was still out on how bad an idea it was. Grabbing a shower, I tried not to look in the mirror as I finished my usual morning routine. But when I finally was forced to look up as I began applying the little bit of makeup I planned to wear, I discovered I was already flushed. I looked excited and slightly crazed. All in all, it actually didn’t look that terrible.

  Belle was making a racket in the kitchen by the time I joined her, still in my robe. She was dressed in tiny pajama bottoms and a nearly sheer tank top, and for a second, I wished I had her body—toned, athletic with perky breasts and defined abs. Despite running several days a week, I was curvy and slightly too tall. I’d been told more than once that my voluptuous figure had scared a boy off.

  She was cooking up a storm. There was already a plate of sausages and sliced tomatoes, and she was frying eggs next to a pot of what I suspected was beans.

  “Are you cooking for Philip?” I asked, amazed by the sheer amount of food she was readying.

  “I wanted to make sure you ate before your date,” she said, shooting me a wink. “It sounds like you’re going to need your strength.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I grimaced as I lifted the lid of the pot and discovered I’d been correct about my guess.

  Belle spun toward me, spatula pointed at my chest. “Uh-uh, Bishop. You are not going to psych yourself out.”

  I shrugged, grabbing a piece of English bacon and popping it into my mouth as I dropped onto a stool. “I already have. Remind me exactly what was I thinking again?”

  “You were thinking that you had a chance to screw one of the world’s sexiest and most powerful men,” she reminded me.

  When she said it like that, I nearly understood.

  “Clara, this is the opportunity of a lifetime,” she added.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Having sex with someone is the opportunity of a lifetime? Spoken like a true prostitute.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me and turned her attention back to the eggs. “Having sex with a prince is,” she said. “Remember when you were a little girl? Didn’t you want to be a princess?”

  “This is hardly the same thing.” I smirked at the thought. “My pretend play didn’t usually include the Kama Sutra.”

  “Didn’t you miss out then?” she said dryly. “Seriously, though, this is the closest you’ll probably ever come to living that fantasy. The thing no one admits is that we don’t give up our childish fantasies, we just accept they’re out of our reach. You’re an adult now, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to snag a prince. Or shag one, at least.”

  “You’re hopeless,” I said, “and I don’t mean a hopeless romantic.”

  “I’m a realist, darling. And a very real opportunity presented itself to you. Don’t back out now.”

  I hadn’t said anything about backing out, but I’d been thinking about it and obviously my best friend had caught on. No surprise there. “I’m just not sure that it’s a good idea. I’m not the type of girl that just screws around for fun.”

  That was the truth. I’d always been a girlfriend-type, even during my more experimental years. The last time I’d let a guy pick me up, it had been Daniel. I’d gone home with him hell-bent on finally going wild for a night and wound up stuck in a crappy relationship.

  “And how is that working out for you?” she asked. “Daniel treated you like shit. Relationships are overrated.”

  “Remind me to use that line in my bridesmaid’s toast.”
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  “I’m in love with Philip,” she countered. “You weren’t in love with Daniel, and look how awful your relationship was. It’s a much better idea for you to keep this casual.”

  I threw my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I wasn’t going to cancel anyway.”

  I didn’t add that part of me knew canceling on Alexander would be impossible. If I managed to do it, despite his insanely sexy voice, he’d find me. I got the impression he wasn’t the kind of man who took no for an answer. Not twice. And I used my one go at it.

  And despite everything, I didn’t want to say no to him. In fact, I was counting on not saying no to him all day long.

  “Earth to Clara,” Belle called.

  I blinked my eyes, drawing myself out of my daze as she placed a plate piled with food on it in front of me. “I’m going to be too full for sex.”

  “Pish-posh.” She grabbed her own plate and hunkered down next to me. “Think of this as fuel. I expect you to be able to keep up with him.”

  “You do, huh?”

  “And I want to hear all the sordid details.”

  Rolling my eyes, I cut into my egg, spilling yolk across my plate. “Have you met him before?”

  “Sadly no. My family was never a favorite of his parents, especially after daddy…” She trailed away. I knew better than to push it. “We didn’t get invited out to the country or anything. And he was gone for so long after the accident.”

  Thinking about the infamous wreck that had killed Princess Sarah and nearly claimed Alexander’s life made it difficult to eat. “He mentioned that. Going away after the accident, I mean.”

  “Were you in America at the time?”

  I nodded, pushing my food around my plate. “It was all over the news. Although I had other things going on at the time.”

  “It was so sad.” Her voice grew distant as she recalled the incident. “People broke down crying on the street, even my mother. I went to her funeral. Everyone did. There must have been hundreds of thousands of people lining the streets and when her casket passed, there was absolute silence.”

  “She was our age. It’s hard to imagine,” I said. “Were there paparazzi involved?”

  “No one really knows,” Belle said grimly. “The rumor was that they’d been drinking. Alexander was twenty, but she was underage. There was another person in the car, but the press never uncovered who it was.”

  “I still don’t understand why Alexander left,” I admitted. He’d been as much a victim as his sister.

  “Sarah was beloved. I think it was partially because she looked so much like her mother. Her mom died in childbirth with Prince Edward and that was such a shock. The idea that she died tragically as well was too much for most people.” Belle shrugged. “It’s funny how people act like they know famous people.”

  I couldn’t help wondering if Alexander had left to escape recrimination or because he couldn’t handle the loss of both his mother and sister. It felt like too much for one person to endure.

  “You need to eat,” Belle said, changing the subject.

  Despite Belle’s clucking, I couldn’t finish more than half of the breakfast. My stomach was too nervous, churning too quickly for me to stomach the food. It was already ten o’clock, which meant I had an hour to get myself ready—or to back out. Despite my promises to Belle that I wouldn’t run from my chance with Alexander, I remained unconvinced that I could actually go through with our date the closer I got to it. If I could even call it a date.

  I dropped my robe on my bed and picked up the bag of Agent Provocateur lingerie that Belle had brought me, only to discover that she’d bought more than one set. Tucked under the paper that wrapped the set she’d shown me last night were at least five more and a few pairs of stockings. Clearly, she had higher expectations for how today would go than I did.

  I stuck with the set she’d given me last night, especially after checking out the others in the bag, some of which included garters. And one pair with a slit up the already negligible crotch of the thong. She’d been right to give me the silver gray set. It was the prettiest, but it was also the most traditional. Nothing about today was ordinary, so I was glad that at least I wouldn’t feel completely out of my own skin.

  Fastening the bra, I turned to check myself out in the standing mirror in the corner of my room. The delicate lace glistened over my pale skin, creating an almost ethereal affect. The bra pushed together my breasts without giving them any extra padding, something I didn’t need. The lingerie definitely showed off all my assets, right down to my full hips and ass. Thanks to Belle’s intrepid online stalking after her shopping trip, I’d seen a few more pics of the girls Alexander had been spotted with since he had returned from his military duty. They were mostly blond, tall and lithe. Alexander would have been better off to ask Belle out it seemed. It wasn’t hard to see a pattern to his pictures—beautiful, model-esque blondes—although he’d only been photographed with one girl more than once, and she was the prettiest of them all. The papers claimed she was his girlfriend, but there was a coldness to the photos. Alexander was always turned away from her or walking away from her. There didn’t appear to be any proof that they were together other than the tabloids’ speculations. But speculating about who might be the next Queen of England probably sold a lot of papers.

  For a second, I wondered how it would feel when that day inevitably came and he assumed his role as King. The pictures and stories would be everywhere. As they would be when he eventually married. Could I really handle watching his life unfold? Was I even capable of a casual fling with him? My body wanted him, but my heart was already in the balance. He’d protected me from the reporters, giving me the safety I’d craved so often as a child and a teenager. Of course, if chivalry survived anywhere in the modern world, it better survive in the Prince of England.

  After all, as Belle had pointed out, little girls needed fairy tales to rely on.

  I’d just slipped my dress over my head and pulled my sandals out of my crammed closet when my cell rang. I froze, positive it was him calling. He’d come to his senses. He’d give me an excuse about a prior engagement or a sudden emergency. He was, after all, chivalrous. But it would be a lie.

  But when I saw the screen, I felt a mixture of relief and annoyance to see my mother’s number on the call display. Realizing I had to deal with this before she showed up on my doorstep, I hit the answer button. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Thank god, you are answering the phone! I’ve been worried sick about you.”

  Translation, she’d been dying to pry every detail she could out of me.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” I reassured her. “I’ve been unpacking and had my phone on silent.”

  There was a pause. “You’ve seen the news?”

  “I’d hardly call it news,” I retorted. I clutched the phone to my ear as I buckled my Prada sandals.

  “Well, it’s news to me. Why didn’t you tell me you were dating anyone?” It was more admonishment than question.

  “I’m not dating him.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  For her, I thought. “It was all a misunderstanding.”

  “Misunderstandings don’t usually result in lips locking.”

  “This one did,” I said simply. I couldn’t imagine trying to explain this to her any further.

  “Actually, I’m glad to hear it,” she said, and I froze as she continued. “All that attention might not be healthy for you. There’s a lot of pressure when you’re dating someone who’s in the media spotlight.”

  My parents had endured their fair share of media attention during the dot-com boom, and she’d been chasing it ever since, so it was a surprise to have her warn me away from the spotlight. The more attention I got, the more she would receive. But I had to give her credit. Despite her many vices and weaknesses, she’s always looked out for my sister’s and my interests.

  “You have nothing to worry about,” I promised her as I stashed a few condoms in my purse. Just in case. I
didn’t feel badly lying to my mother. Lying was the natural state of our relationship. I’d learned long ago to hide anything from her that could upset her fragile happiness.

  “That’s not the only reason I called.”

  I held my breath, hoping she only had more gossip to dish.

  “Your father’s going to be out of town for a few days,” she said. “I thought we could have a girls’ day. You’ve been so busy studying the last few months, I think you deserve a spa day and some shopping.”

  “That’s very tempting—”

  “Now before you give me some silly reason as to why you can’t possibly come, let me reason with you,” she stopped me. “You are about to start your first real job. You’ll need the right clothes for it.”

  I got the sense that she didn’t think I was up to finding those clothes for myself. “I have plenty of work-appropriate dresses. You don’t need to buy me anything.”

  “I know that dress you were wearing in those pictures belonged to Belle. I know you’re frugal, but, Clara, you don’t have to be. Johns says you’ve barely touched your account.”

  “Johns is giving you updates on my accounts?” I asked in a strangled voice.

  “Of course he is. We’re still listed on the trust fund until you turn twenty-five.”

  “I didn’t know that.” I couldn’t quite keep the accusation out of my voice. I hadn’t known because they hadn’t told me. I’d assumed the trust fund that they’d given me access to on my twenty-first birthday had been my personal safety net. They’d failed to tell me that access still had strings attached.

  “Don’t take that tone with me. Johns only reports once a year and in case of a discrepancy.” She paused before adding, “If it’s that important to you, I can ask your father about changing the conditions.”

  “I’ll talk to him myself.” If either of my parents were going to be reasonable about this, he would be. I had no doubt that my mother had been the one to insist on staying on the account until I was twenty-five, so she could be certain I was handling it properly. Of course, she would see its purpose as funding a flashy lifestyle while I wanted to keep it invested so I could focus on starting a career that allowed me to do something I cared about.