The Billionaire King’s Heir (European Billionaire Beaus 3)

In the seat next to her, Hope started to cry.

* * *

Hope was winding up by the time the car pulled onto the tarmac, but at the last moment Rafael leaned over her and pointed out the window, his hand right at Hope’s eye level.

“Look, Hope,” he said, his voice easy and casual. “Cameras.”

“Camma,” said Hope, but her eyes followed his finger, and then her attention was out the window at the gaggle of photographers ten feet away from the car. They were sequestered behind a velvet rope with three security staff members patrolling the line, but they were already taking pictures.

Felicity’s heart pounded. Her frustration over the diaper bag had distracted her from any anxiety this far, but now—

She darted a hand up to her hair, but Rafael caught it in midair. “You look beautiful,” he said, and something inside her melted.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, another wave of nervousness overtaking her. “Is it time to go?”

“Yes. They’ll open my door first, and I’ll go around and engage the press. You’ll begin walking to the plane with Hope. Remember, one wave. You don’t need to do any more than that.”

She’d been so irritated with the endless repetition of protocol, but now Felicity was grateful for it. She leaned over Hope and undid her buckle. “Come on, baby,” she said, putting a smile on her face. “We’re going to take a little walk to the airplane.” Rafael’s door opened and he climbed out. “There goes Rafael,” she said to her daughter. “He’s going to answer a few questions.”

The driver helped her climb out with Hope in her arms, then guided her around toward the carpet leading to the plane’s airstair.

Rafael was standing in front of the cameras, and as he turned his head, Felicity got a glimpse of his confident smile. One of the photographers caught sight of her behind him and called out her name, then all the cameras were flashing, people calling to her.

Felicity had to stifle the urge to run behind the car and hide. Instead, she smiled benevolently at Hope, who was pointing and babbling at the photographers. She could almost see how the photos would turn out, and all at once she understood the intention behind the rack of clothes and the hair and the makeup. This was how the royals did it, wasn’t it?

Another swell of flashes from the cameras, and Felicity lifted her head to see Joy rolling up the carpet, her chair guided by one of the security staff.

She looked gorgeous.

Felicity hadn’t been paying attention enough to know that the staff had also coordinated an outfit for Joy that was similar, but not identical, to Felicity’s. Her heart swelled with pride. The three of them—the two sisters and her daughter—would make a pretty picture. Felicity waited for Joy to catch up, then the two of them waved to the press together.

“Isn’t this incredible?” Joy said to her with a laugh. “Two girls from Iowa, getting on a plane with a king.”

“I never saw it coming,” said Felicity.

“Oh please,” teased Joy. “By the way, you’re forgetting protocol. You’re supposed to be going up the airstair already.”

She’d waited too long, and now Rafael was coming. He swept in, smiling broadly at them. “Let’s go, ladies,” he said, the slightest hint of impatience in his voice. He spread his arms as if to take them all in, a monarch and his family.

The photographers let out a cheer that rose to a wild note. They were loving this.

But Hope wasn’t.

The camera flashes were so bright and so unrelenting that they’d gone from entertaining Hope to scaring her. The little girl clung tightly to Felicity’s shoulders, and she could feel her daughter’s body tensing. Felicity turned and hustled toward the plane, trying to keep a smile on her face.

“Mama,” Hope cried. “Mama, Mama. Bear.”

She didn’t have the bear. One of the security detail was charged with getting the diaper bag onto the plane and into Felicity’s seat, but they had to get there.

“Bear!” Hope screamed in her ear.

She took the first step onto the airstair, and that’s when Hope lost it.

Felicity’s daughter let out a howl that carried over everything—the noise of the photographers, the noise of the plane, everything—and threw herself backward.

“Sweetie, we’re getting the bear,” she said, trying to be heard over Hope’s screams. “Honey—” It was futile, and now Hope was thrashing. She tore her headband from her head and threw it to the ground. Unbalanced in her high heels, Felicity teetered on the edge of the stair. Only Rafael’s grip on her arm saved her.

“You’ve got to fix this,” he gritted out into her ear. “You’ve got to get her onto the plane.” His tension filled the air around her, and she could understand why. The picture-perfect scene was falling apart.