The Duke's Broken Angel

She uncrossed her arms, the bright white of her t-shirt totally see through. She wore a sexy pink and white striped bra beneath her shirt, the lace edging that cupped her huge tits made my mouth water.

“Cricket, what are you doing to me?”

She fumed, suddenly realized what I was talking about and crossed her arms over her chest again.

I passed her shoulder, murmuring, “You’re sexy as hell, Cricket. Try to hide it and it only makes me want you more.” I hauled the clubhouse doors open, waving her in ahead of me like a gentleman. My thoughts were anything but moral though.

“I would kick you, Keir Madsen, but I have too much respect for my Queen to defile one of her subjects. As much as he may deserve it.” She passed me, the scent of her sweet skin soaked in rain in the air.

I grinned, following her in like an eager dog.

I pulled down one of the suit jackets that hung at the side door for guests that didn’t conform to the dress code of the club. I never conformed, and she certainly didn’t, I liked her more for it.

“Thank you.” She let me wrap the jacket around her shoulders. “Now I understand the cricket thing.” She gestured to a photo of my brother, Rome, the Crown Prince. He was poised atop a horse, cricket bat in the air.

“That’s when he won his sixth championship. He’s an overachiever.”

“He’s got that air about him.” Cricket smiled. “I left the bag of groceries on the front porch, we should probably get back before they’re soaked and soiled.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I hovered close, loving that she was in my club.

“You’re not?”

I shook my head. “Not until you promise me one thing.”

She didn’t reply, only looked up at me under her fluttery eyelashes.

“Promise me a date. This weekend is the Royal Midsummer Ball. Come with me.”

“You’re bribing me on a date? Now I've heard it all.”

“Promise me, Cricket, or no deal. All that food will go to waste.”

She rolled her eyes, but I could see the idea of her food spoiling wasn’t something she was willing to bear. “I don’t have anything to wear to a ball.”

“Oh, I’ve got just the right thing.”

She looked back in disbelief. “Do we really have to call it a date?”

“Yup. That’s non-negotiable.”

Her eyes looked weary, but a grin twitched just at the edge of her lips. “Fine. A date. You and me. This weekend. Can we go now?”

I laughed, swiping a stray raindrop from her eyebrow. “Sure thing, Cricket. I can’t wait to sweep you off your feet. Maybe you’ll hate me a little less after Friday night.”

She shook her head, but her smile was growing. “I doubt it.”

FOUR

Anna

I hiked the sparkly red train of the dress over my ankles as I dodged another puddle. The rain had stopped after a full Friday of downpouring, and now the mist left an ethereal glow to the evening countryside.

Friday night. Our big date. No Keir to be found.

I stomped in a puddle of mud, cringing when the glittery red shoe I’d borrowed from Keir’s friend was ruined with brown mud.

“I’m going to kill that man.”

A car came barreling down the lane from behind me. I felt the splash on the back of my dress and my bare back. The extremely low cut back left little to the imagination. The extremely low-cut front even less. I felt like a high class hooker, and now I might as well be one because my dress on loan was now trashed with stupid country mud.

Tears surged down my cheeks as I watched the all black windows of the car leave me far behind. It’s royal emblem on the rear license plate made me cringe. The Queen likely, and this would be her first time seeing me since the trial. I was a young girl, barely seventeen when my family was torn apart. My mom had moved us back to her hometown in the Ukraine, but life there had been even worse than the prospect of staying in Copenhagen.

The day I graduated high school I’d taken the first train back to Copenhagen. Mom wasn’t happy, but she couldn’t bear to stay in the country that’d prosecuted her husband so viciously in the headlines and then later in court.

My father, as the main financial accountant for the King, had been implicated in his legal affairs when a group with opposing political views of the King decided to air all the dirty laundry they could find for years in the press until the legal system was forced to address it.

After a lengthy trial, my father and the King, Keir’s dad, were put on trial and sentenced. My father was given five years with the possibility of parole in three. The King had suffered a worse fate with many more charges, his sentence for ten years in prison. I couldn't even recall if he’d been given the possibility of early release.