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

“Oh, it’s already out,” she breathed.

“Felicity, what am I looking at?”

She sat back against the couch. “You might as well read it for yourself.”

Felicity stared down at her hands as Rafael pulled up the first available link. It was one from the Capital Daily.

The words screamed out of the page at him. FUTURE QUEEN’S SISTER and LIBERAL and COUNTRY READY FOR CHANGE?

The article was glowing, breathless, exciting. But Rafael felt like his chest was in a vise.

He’d wanted things to stay the way they were. He’d wanted a steady ship, on still waters. That was his role, that was what everyone expected of him—that he would maintain the status quo. That was the point of winning the referendum.

But now Joy had upended that. Rafael was used to being the one to steer the debate, to put people’s focus where he wanted it to be, but a wild card had been played.

He clicked back to the first page. Every time he refreshed his phone, another article took its place. The internet was buzzing with Joy’s words, and opinions were flying. There was no way he could stop it now.

Worse yet? Felicity had fanned the flames.

“So you gave an interview,” he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral.

“I didn’t know she

was a reporter when Joy started saying all those things,” Felicity said quickly. “It wasn’t until she pulled out her notepad that I realized—”

“And you still went so far as to endorse your sister’s position?”

Felicity raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I—I did. I agreed with what she said.” Her voice rose defiantly, but then she turned away from Rafael. “I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear, but I do agree with her. I was blindsided as much as you are right now. I didn’t know a reporter would be at the dinner, and—”

Rafael put his hand over hers, his mind reeling. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” He left no room for argument.

11

“I need to understand exactly how it happened.”

Rafael sat at his desk in the royal offices, with Felicity on the other side. The sturdy piece of mahogany between them felt massive, like a wall, and Felicity did not look comfortable. She looked good—even now, he had to admit that the charcoal gray dress suited her—but she wore it like armor, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

She looked Rafael in the eye. “This isn’t what I thought you meant when you said we’d talk about it tomorrow.”

He shifted in his seat. “It’s what’s best,” he said definitively, though he wasn’t altogether sure that it was. “This is a matter of royal importance. It will, in the end, involve more than the two of us.”

Felicity frowned. “It was one interview. The more time we spend—”

“I need to know what happened,” he said again. “In order to meet this head-on, I’m going to need all the relevant details.

“All right.” There was only the barest hint of irritation in Felicity’s voice. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me everything. You arrived at the restaurant on time, and went into the restaurant.”

“Yes. Marta—I’m assuming you know who Marta is, because you created the guest list.”

He gave her a crisp nod, pulling a pen from his desk and letting it hover over the notepad he’d set out before Felicity had arrived. “I know Marta.”

He had her go through the rest of the events, step by step. She complied, but he could tell she was getting irritated, especially when he pressed for more details as to what exactly Joy had said.

“I didn’t write down everything she said,” Felicity retorted. “Oksana was the one to do that.”

He put down his pen. “This is important for me to know in my royal capacity.”