Natalie Vs. Prince

It’s 12:15 when Natalie strolls through the dining room of Rue57, a French Bistro just a few blocks away from Central Park. I’ve never been here before, but when she suggested this place for our lunch meeting I agreed. It’s cozy and, even though it’s not an exclusive restaurant, it has a certain charm to it.

“Right on time,” I tell her with a smile, getting up from my seat and pulling her chair so that she can sit. While I do it, my eyes roam up and down her body, the tight fitting black dress she’s wearing making it almost impossible to look away from her.

“Wow, you do have manners, after all,” she laughs, the sound of her voice making my skin prickle; it sounds just like clear water on a sunny day. Fuck, I need to get myself together. I don’t know what it is about her, but just being around her is enough to make my heart work overtime.

“You actually sound surprised, Natalie. I’m a perfect gentlemen, in case you haven’t heard,” I say as I go around the table and sit back down on my seat.

“No, that’s not what I’ve heard,” she responds politely, looking into my eyes with that innocent smile of hers. Jesus fucking Christ, I could jump over this table just to kiss those perfect lips.

“Then you’re listening to the wrong sources.”

“Right, I should just listen to you, uh?”

“See? You get it, love,” I grin at her, feeling the chemistry between us. There’s something here, I can fucking feel it. It’s like when your hair stands up because of an electric current—you can’t quite see it, but you know it’s there.

We settle on sushi for lunch, even though this is a French brasserie, they have a sushi bar, and we order one large plate for the two of us. When it comes to the table it’s overflowing with cooked shrimp, sashimi, salmon rolls and a variety of other things I can’t really be fucking bothered to name right now. I prefer to eat things than name them, and yeah, the same goes for the women I fuck: most times I just fuck them and have no idea what their names are. “So,” Natalie starts, maneuvering two chopsticks and taking a thin slice of salmon into her mouth. “I have to ask. How do all these disasters always happen around you?”

“Disasters? What do you mean by disasters?”

“By disasters I mean showing up drunk to interviews on international cable networks, falling asleep during the State of the Union speech, and… Well, do I need to go on?”

“Ah, I see,” I say, placing one hand under my chin and looking into her eyes. I’m going to play it straight with you: somewhere along the way, I’ve stopped hearing the words coming out of her mouth. I’m looking at her lips move, remembering how it felt to have them wrapped around my cock… Fuck, just thinking of that is making me fucking hard.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” she asks, frowning.

“Uh-uh,” I nod, grinning. I haven’t listened to a word she's said in the past five minutes.

“Connor, this is serious. Someone’s not doing their job; your whole PR strategy is a complete disaster. You have to clean up your image after all these stunts of yours.”

“You didn’t seen to mind my stunts last Sunday…” I whisper, leaning into her and giving her my best smile. No girl can resist my Royal smile. Except, of course, Natalie isn’t quite like other girls.

“I’m serious, Connor. You have to do something about this or --”

“Look, Natalie, I know. St. Albans is going through a crisis with the Constitutionalists, and the whole royal family is in danger right now. I thought it would blow over, but it hasn't. If they get what they want, the monarchy will be finished before anyone can say 'referendum.'” Sigh. Time to get down to fucking business, then. “This is exactly why I hired Gage Price. I know that I’ve been doing a poor job at representing the D’Avingtons, and I need to fix this whole mess so that I don’t pull the royal family into a deeper mess.”

“We’ll help you,” she starts, but then corrects herself. “I’ll help you.”

“You will,” I tell her, not a trace of playfulness in my voice. She wanted to talk business, so let’s talk business. “I’m spending a fortune with Gage Price, so it’s not like you have any other option but work with me on this.”

“I know.” She purses her lips and looks down at her chopsticks, deep in thought. “But we have to… keep this a strictly professional relationship. What happened before … it can’t happen again.”

“You’re just scared of what might happen… You’re scared of the person you think I am, and you’re scared of what you might feel.” She bites down on her lip, but then remembers herself and looks up at me with a serious expression.

“I’m not scared,” she tells me pointedly, “and you have to trust me.”

“I will. But you’ll have to trust me as well; you’ll have to trust that I’m not what the fucking tabloids say I am. I’m much more than what YouTube videos show.”

“I know that, Connor…” she whispers and, even though I believe her, I can’t help but throw her a curveball.

“Then why don’t you prove it? I’m trusting you with my family’s future, after all.”

“But… how? How am I going prove it?” Now that’s the right fucking question. And, true to myself, I have a fucking good answer.

“Here’s how,” I reach into my coat and take a small wrapped package from the large pocket on the inside. I give it to her and, hesitantly, she accepts it. “You know… If you really didn’t think there’s something here, between the two of us, you would have scheduled the last meeting at the office… You wouldn’t have come to my apartment. But you did, Natalie. You did.” I reach for her hand and place mine on top of hers. “Your heart wants one thing, your brain wants another. You want some proof? Look at the way you dressed up for tonight… I mean, fuck.”

She doesn’t say a thing, just looks into my eyes and soaks in my words. I can tell that she’s thinking over what I just said, perhaps trying to find an easy way out. Except there’s none.

“You don’t need to say anything, Natalie. I get it. I’m not exactly Prince Charming. I’m a drunk, an asshole, and the last man any respectable parent in the world would like to see their daughter with. But I can be more than that. I am more than that. And, if you want to leave the door open for, well, something more…. Just put this on,” I point at the box in her hand, “and go to work tomorrow. I’ll know.”