Royal Fake

No one knew nor cared about the Irish monarchy which was actually a perk. I was able to force my butler, James to play the role of a prince for me. I had the night off. Nobody even noticed that the royal who was supposed to be a dashing man in his late thirties was actually a nearly seventy-year-old servant of the crown.

James had been my butler since I graduated from university. He knew my duties better than I did and would often instruct me as to what was expected of me. I hated living within the strict regulations of the monarchy and so, just the fact that I was free that evening made the night fun. That being said, the party was actually quite deadly, and I was having a grand ole’ time. There were movie stars and celebrities everywhere you turned, the more glaring aspects of my country’s signature holiday were being riotously celebrated, the music was good, and the women delightful.

Since I was supposed to be finding myself a princess, my eyes roved the room while I listened to my mates roast each other and reminisce. I was desperate to avoid having to marry Lucy O’Day at the end of the year. My father had given me an ultimatum. By my fortieth birthday, I had to be married and ready to take my place as king. He’d had children late in life. He loved my mother, his wife the queen until she died of breast cancer three years ago. They weren’t able to conceive right away, and I came as a glorious blessing when my mother was in her early forties. My father, perhaps wanting lots of grandchildren before he died, mandated that I be married and with a child before my forty-first year of life. After accomplishing those two tasks I’d be given the crown and my father would step down as king. He planned to step down regardless of whether I was able to fulfill my duty to the kingdom as my cousin Patrick, my father’s younger brother’s son, would then be eligible for the throne. His own father, my uncle, having passed away last year in a tragic hunting accident.

This meant I’d have to take my place as king near my fortieth birthday with a wife by my side. My new queen would have to be young enough to produce several children and hopefully pregnant with our first before I turned forty-one. My father had selected Lord Gloucester’s first and only daughter Lucy as my possible bride. Since time was ticking by and I hadn’t made my choice, I was told that if I didn’t have someone selected six months before my birthday, Lucy was going to be my wife whether I wanted her or not.

My father would give me a few months leeway to get married and get her pregnant, but if all of that didn’t occur within the year, my position as king would be lost to my cousin. I had tragically little time left. So, when the gorgeous lithe blond bounded over to our table, full of vigor and confidence, I was immediately intrigued.

“Good evening Gentlemen, I’m Avery Johnson. I’m the founder of Flower Street and this is our fundraiser. I just wanted to introduce myself and see how your evening is going.” Her smile lit the room.

The conversations around me stopped and everyone stared at Avery with the same lusty eye I had laid on her. She was edgy, cool, cute, slim, but big busted, effervescent. My mates were all married but Sean and he was in a very long-term thing, so their ravenous gazes turned to me, ready to react off my cue.

“We’re having a grand time. I’m Liam McMurrough and this is the clan.” I waved my hand to the guys, not wanting to spend too much time on introductions as I planned to sequester the lovely Avery away from her duties and the crowd as soon as I could snatch her.

It had been a while since I’d had any kind of instant attraction to anyone. Based on her looks alone, Avery was a stunner. Given the fact that she was the designer hosting the party, I was well impressed.

“Great, there’ll be a runway show in about fifteen minutes, you should check it out.” There was that incredible smile again.

“Do you have time for a pint?” I asked, she cocked her head and looked at me oddly.

I was good at speaking American English as I’d spent my summers in Martha’s Vineyard and I went to four years of university and two years in a Master’s program in New York, so I knew my way around a good American accent and understood most colloquialisms, but I slipped up from time to time and let my Irish brogue out of the bag.