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

“Okay,” Felicity said, her soul lighting up at the sight of Rafael’s pleased grin. “When do we leave?”

* * *

The royal estate in the countryside was absolutely beautiful. Felicity felt herself relax the moment they got out of the car. There were, after all, no rope lines and no crowds—only a charming estate house that looked like a smaller version of the palace. It was nestled in the midst of many green, rolling hills with a forest bordering the property.

r /> “Do you ride?” Rafael asked her as they stepped out of the car. “I never thought to ask.”

“No.” Felicity took in the land around them. “I wish I did.”

“No obstacle,” Rafael said, and he meant it. Within the hour, they were riding out, Felicity’s arms around Rafael’s waist. He had been right after all. It was a delicious luxury to be out breathing the fresh air without a camera in sight. She chuckled to herself. It hadn’t taken long, had it, to go from living in Des Moines to riding through the Stolvenian countryside with a king. Her king.

And in this brief break from reality, they had time to take it slow.

In the massive king’s suite of the manor house that night, Rafael undressed her with a reverence that made Felicity feel like everything was right with the world. Yes, she’d been afraid to leave behind the life she made to start over in Stolvenia. Yes, it had been a rocky transition. But now, with Rafael sliding the straps of her bra gently off her shoulders and laying her back against the bedding on the antique king-sized bed, none of that seemed to matter.

He started by kissing her mouth, then moved down to her breasts, circling her nipples with his tongue, and then lower…until the king of Stolvenia knelt between her legs and licked and teased and sucked until she had the sweetest, hardest orgasm of her life.

Felicity curled onto her side, grinning into the comforter, and Rafael climbed up next to her.

“Oh no.” His voice sent another aftershock of pleasure down her spine. It settled between her legs. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

That was how they spent all day on Saturday. A private meal, followed by a ride out into the hills, and then…bed. By Saturday night, Felicity was tired in the most delicious way. She was lying on the sofa with her head in Rafael’s lap, a book balanced in her hands while he read the newspaper.

“This is a routine I could get used to,” she told him.

“Me too.” There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Of course, this couldn’t last forever. At least they had until the end of Sunday.

“What do you think about brunch?” Rafael asked her as they climbed into the shower the next morning. “Are you hungry?”

Her stomach growled in response. “Yes,” she said with a laugh. “But brunch?”

“It’s Sunday.” He shrugged, the movement full of charm and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “On Sundays, people brunch. We’ll go into town. One of the restaurants there is famous for their Sunday brunch.”

Felicity believed it would be only a simple breakfast out until the moment they pulled up in front of the restaurant.

There they were. The photographers. The velvet rope. The media men and women milled about on the sidewalk, obviously waiting for someone to arrive.

Waiting for Rafael—and by extension, Felicity.

He took her hand, grinning at her even as he straightened his back and adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Ready?”

“Of course.” But she couldn’t force more than a flicker of a smile onto her face.

Rafael let go of her hand as the driver opened his door and climbed out. She knew what she was supposed to do—go out after him, take his hand, smile adoringly at him—but she couldn’t make herself do it. For one thing, even if she did take his hand, it would be against protocol. And for another, Felicity was struggling to swallow a thick disappointment.

Even during their weekend away, he’d still found an opportunity for a photo op. Had he hidden photographers out in the hills, too? How many private moments had really been for the benefit of the press? Felicity thought about telling the driver to take her back to the palace, but what then? The press would be there, too.

She took a deep breath. Move. Felicity swung her legs out of the car and stood up, out into the sunshine. Rafael was already out on the sidewalk, waving, and as she straightened she saw him look back for her, a flash of worry in his eyes.

Good. She wanted him to be worried. Felicity didn’t relish that feeling, either—she was used to wanting happiness for everyone in her family—but she hadn’t come to the country with Rafael to put on her royal face, remember protocol, and greet the press in a way that would satisfy all of Stolvenia and especially the king.

Felicity hesitated, blinking in the sun. The car behind her beckoned, but then the driver leaned in and shut the door and it was too late to do anything but walk forward and stand next to Rafael.

He smiled down at her, his expression attentive and utterly unconcerned. “Everything okay?” He pitched his voice low, so the reporters wouldn’t hear, and the two of them walked toward the entrance. It was Rafael who took her hand, after all.

“I hope it will be.” It was all she could bring herself to say.

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