The Wicked Prince

“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do though? Coerce me into it?”

“By what, bringing you breakfast and asking you how you’re feeling? Last I checked, that was called being nice.”

“Which you’re not, which means you want something.”

“Fine. I want this.”

“A fake relationship with me.” She shook her head in disbelief. “No one will buy it, least of all your brother.”

“Who cares? It’s not him we need to convince. It’s the public.”

“I still don’t see the point, or why I’d agree after everything.”

“It’ll ensure the media attention doesn’t fall on Oscar. We wouldn’t want him to be caught up in their visceral grip, would we?”

“There it is.” She laughed. “The bribe.”

“Please, Joslyn?” I set my hand over hers and looked in her eyes so that she wouldn’t turn away. “I need to protect my son and his mother, who’s still in the hospital, and I’m tired of pretending I have any interest in women on a list.”

She nodded ever so slowly and licked her lips. “Fine, but being that I’m agreeing to this and I also happen to practically be your secretary, you need to give me full control of everything we tell the media.”

“You always have full control.”

“I mean it. No trying to rewrite my stories.” She raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I trust you implicitly.” I squeezed her hand in mine and as I said the words I realized how true they were. I trusted her and in my experience that had more weight than love.

Chapter Thirteen

Joslyn

I couldn’t believe I agreed to it. I definitely didn’t want the media all over Oscar though and considering the fact that they would be opening the palace doors to them in a week, it made sense to take their attention from the boy and put it on a shiny relationship. Aramis stood up to leave and looked around.

“I’m going riding with Oscar. Do you want to join us?”

“Um. Yeah, sure. I guess I might as well get out of here for a bit.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t feel up to it.” His brows pulled a bit and I knew he was dying for me to talk about what happened with David.

“I’ll join you. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed. I don’t think Oscar would approve of me going riding in my pajamas.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” His gaze lowered to the long-sleeve shirt I was wearing and my nipples perked up in an instant. This was exactly why I shouldn’t have agreed to dating him, fake or not.

“If you want, I’ll meet you in the stables.” I stood up and began clearing the table, anything to get away from him quickly.

“I’ll wait for you. Rose is taking Oscar and I told her I’d meet them there, so I’m sure she won’t mind waiting a few more minutes.”

I set everything down in the kitchenette and rushed to my bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind me. Closing the door was just common decency, but the lock was the chaperone between us. I didn’t trust either of us in a cottage by ourselves. It was a ridiculous thought being that I’d spent the last six months barging into his apartment, into his bedroom, stopping parties, but the air between us felt different now. It had been the entire time we’d been here. I tried not to think about it. I shouldn’t think about it, especially now that I’d agreed to pretend we were dating. Instead of waiting to tell the family with him, I pulled out my phone to send a text message to Adeline. She was the Queen, after all. The Queen and one of my best friends. My other best friend was Pilar, the Princess. My mother often joked that some royalty had to rub off on me because of who my friends were. Adeline wasn’t born into it though; she’d married into it, and despite my reservations about her jumping headfirst into a family like theirs, she was happy and thriving. I set my phone down without texting. How could I explain this in a simple text? It would be impossible. Besides, I hadn’t even told her David and I were no longer. I’d have to wait.

I finished dressing in warm clothes in case the temperatures dropped during our ride and walked outside to find Aramis lounging on the couch, ankle over his knee and arms extended like he was watching a football game. I stepped into view and realized he was, then frowned.

“Since when do you watch American football?”

“Adeline put me on to it.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not bad.”

“Adeline is entirely too American.” I shook my head. She wasn’t, not really, her father was French and her mother was Spanish, but somehow her years in American boarding school completely nixed it.

“America has a lot of pros.” He turned off the television and stood, tossing the remote.