The Prince and the Player

“Who took this?”

“More importantly, was it any good?”

My jaw grinds in anger as I remember that night a few weeks ago, the daughter of a duke was visiting with her father. She and I have known each other since we were kids. I was tired, she was charming, a few drinks later...

We haven’t spoken since, and there’s no way in hell I’ll reveal her identity.

“How dare they… Find whoever did this and have these images destroyed!”

Taking his phone back, Cal laughs louder, increasing my fury. “What century do you live in? These photos are out there for the duration. I’m just glad to see you’re finally getting some action.” He slaps my shoulder. “I was worried about you, old chap.”

Stopping at the exit wall, I lean against it thinking of all the eyes that will see that photo—the queen mother, the lady’s father, the god damned assholes in the cabinet who treat me like I’m not old enough to rule. It’s yet another reason for them to delay the referendum naming me King of Monagasco. As if we can afford another delay…

“I hate the Internet,” I growl.

“Welcome to the club.” Cal turns his phone. “It’s an incredibly clear shot. You must’ve been drunk to be so careless.”

“I was very tired. I didn’t ask for that.” I honestly never expected it either.

“What I wouldn’t give for that whole future king moniker you continually waste. Do you know how much tail you could be getting on a regular basis?”

“You’re the heir presumptive. If future king is all it takes, you can cash in on the lineup at any time.”

He shakes his head. “Nobody wants the bitter younger brother of the future king. The one silently calculating the day his elder sibling dies and he seizes all the power.”

“Is that what you’re up to?”

“I’m just saying. Don’t you watch any movies?”

Narrowing my eyes on my younger brother, I joke, “I seem to recall that Loki fellow has quite a following. Isn’t he always trying to find creative ways to kill Thor?”

“Part of the problem is I actually like you, old bean.” Cal throws an arm over my shoulder. We’re the same six-foot-two height, so it works. “I wouldn’t trade the shit you deal with every day for all the pussy in the world.”

“Look out—” Shrugging his arm off, we both launch into a full-out sprint toward our waiting town car.

We’re only steps ahead of a mob of paparazzi flying in our direction, camera flashes popping. I fling open the door and dive in. Cal’s right behind me, pulling in his feet just before the door slams with a solid thunk.

Our most trusted driver Hajib hits the gas, and we’re pushing away from the crowd as the strobe of flashbulbs blinds us.

“Next time you’re feeling hard up, let me know.” Cal pants. “I’ll find you someone more discreet.”

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Leaning forward, I pinch my fingers over my closed eyes, calming my breath. “It had to have been someone on staff.”

“You’re not going to tell me her name?”

Hesitating, I consider his request, but waiting for my answer is forgotten as he checks his phone again.

“No!” he cries. “They can’t do this!”

My blood freezes. “What?” I lean toward him, stomach tight. Could it possibly get any worse?

“I’m the Playboy Prince. Me!” He jams a thumb in his chest. “Leave me something, man!”

“Jesus,” I hiss leaning back in the seat and looking out the window at the passing scenery. Every few seconds I catch a glimpse of the turquoise water of the Mediterranean. “We’re supposed to be in Occitan to relax.”

“You’re one step ahead of us on that front.”

I’m about to lose it when my phone buzzes. “Shit,” I mutter when I see the screen. “Mother.”