The Royal Weddings

She dropped her napkin on the table and sat back against the cushioned seat.

“I feel like I’ve been apologizing for him all my life,” she told him with a sigh. “He doesn’t really mean any harm. He’s just searching for a life that’s not meant to be.”

“His search should not embarrass you,” Roland stated evenly. “He should, however, stop drinking and gambling. He’s not good at either.”

She gave a quick chuckle and ran one hand through the short strands of hair just above her right ear. “I’ve been telling him that for much longer than I care to admit.”

Roland knew Valora had been her father’s caretaker when it should have been the other way around. He was certain he didn’t like that fact.

“Anyway, thanks again,” she said and stood to leave. “Dinner was wonderful.”

“Yes, it was,” he told her. “And not just because of the food. I thoroughly enjoyed the company, as well.”

“Oh, ah, thank you again,” she replied.

He noted how shocked she looked at his words. Possibly more shocked than he was for saying them. Quiet public dinners weren’t normally what he would call a nice time with a woman. Private meetings in hotel rooms or meals in secluded parts of a restaurant, from which he and his date could eventually be whisked off into the backseat of a car and driven to a hotel, were more to his liking.

“I’ll take you home,” he told her when he thought she might try to walk out of the restaurant as if she had her own means of transportation here.

“Thank you again, Your Highness.”

She spoke politely and had even given a respectful nod of her head. Everything this woman had done so far had been cordial. There seemed to be no ill feelings toward him or even her father after the odd events of the previous night. So Roland’s job was done. He could take her home and be done with the matter entirely.

The sudden urge for something more was strange and disconcerting. So he tried ignoring those thoughts.

* * *

Val was officially tired of thanking him. She knew she must sound like a complete idiot, with nothing better to say than “thank you.” It was pathetic.

So, during the ride back through town, she’d opted to keep quiet. That was, until the car came to a stop in an area she knew was fifteen minutes from her house. The rain had been coming down at a pretty steady pace when they’d run to Roland’s car and jumped inside. He drove a sporty little vehicle, which did not surprise her at all. The car fit his personality perfectly. Sleek and controlled with a bold hint of danger. What did not fit was that he was driving himself around instead of having a driver like the rest of the royal family. She’d noticed this last night, as well, but wasn’t going to ask the prince about it.

The fact that she’d just had dinner with the prince—the Reckless Royal, at that—was not lost on her. It had been a surreal experience, one that should have had her giddy with excitement. Except she’d known it was his pity gift to her. Val hated pity, almost more than she hated the situation her father had created for them. She’d seen how the waitress looked at her when she’d brought their meal. While the woman had remained silent, Val knew very well who she was and what she was thinking.

Her name was Idelle Masoya and she lived a block over from Val. Idelle was friends with Cora Sorenza, a woman who had slept with Val’s father years ago. Hugo and Cora had been an item for about six months, during which time Cora swore that Hugo stole money from her and gambled it away. She’d also accused Hugo of tearing up her house one night when he was in a drunken rage. After that night, their love affair was over.

No formal charges were filed against Hugo for destruction of property or stealing from Cora, but the damage was done. Cora spent the following years telling anyone within earshot about Hugo Harrington and his nefarious ways. By default, Cora disliked Val. She had spread it around town that Val was an enabler and just as foolhardy as her father, claiming it was the reason Prince Kristian severed ties with her. It was a sordid tale that contained more fabricated details each time it was retold. Val figured the retelling had taken place at least a thousand times in the past few months.

Val knew that at this very moment Idelle was likely in the back room of that restaurant, huddled in a corner with her cell phone to her ear, replaying to Cora everything she’d just seen—completely exaggerated. By tomorrow morning the story would have spread the couple of blocks that made up the Old Serenity neighborhood where they still lived. From there, it would only take another day or so to travel around the island.

With a sigh at the inevitable, Val turned to ask the prince, “Why are we stopping?”

“I had a question for you,” he said.

They were too close, only a console and gear shift separating them in the front seat of the car. With this in mind, Val turned to the side to face him. Part of her back was now pressed against the door. She figured that was about as far away as she could to manage to get.

“Okay,” she replied, even though she was thinking that he could have continued driving while he asked her a question.

“When’s the last time you danced?”

“What?”

“Danced,” he repeated. “When is the last time you forgot about everything around you? Every person. Every situation. Everything but the space where you could let go and simply dance?”

“I know you’re not drunk because you only had one glass of wine,” she said, and then quickly bit her own tongue for being so flippant with the prince.

It was just that he wasn’t acting very prince-like at the moment. His question was odd. The way he was looking at her was disconcerting. The pitter-patter of rain against the windows was rhythmic, almost romantic, if she were inclined to think along those lines. Val assured herself she definitely was not.

“No,” Roland chuckled. “I am not drunk. Not from alcohol, anyway. But there’s nothing wrong with being drunk or high off life. Sometimes, no matter what’s going on, I have to remind myself of that fact. You only get one life, Val, you should be sure to live every minute of it.”

“I do,” she replied after tilting her head to stare more closely at him. “The last time I danced was at the Ambassador’s Ball. With you.”

The words seemed quiet in the interior of the car. Spoken slowly, as if she were afraid he wouldn’t remember. Roland DeSaunters only recalled the women who had done something memorable in his life. Dancing with her so that Kristian could dance with the woman he was in love with was in no way memorable. Still, he was looking at her strangely and it was making Val uncomfortable.

He didn’t seem out of his mind. Actually, Roland had always been reported to be the most down-to-earth of the royal children. He’d been photographed playing tennis with budding young athletes at a training camp he’d visited in Europe, toasting a couple who had just been married in a hotel in Scotland where he’d been staying, and at a restaurant at the theme park in the United States, sharing a breakfast table with an adorable three-year-old girl who was elated to finally meet a real-life prince. That had happened just a few months ago, which was why it was so fresh in Val’s mind. She wasn’t about to admit that she kept close tabs on the royal family, all of them. That would be like owning up to a dream she’d convinced herself was foolish and childish to have.

“Your idea of living life is by working all day at the museum and then returning home by yourself?” he asked, but he was shaking his head as if already replying to her answer. “That’s not living at all.”

“It’s my life to do with as I please,” she replied.

How many times had she recited those words to herself? Far too many to be normal.

“We should all be so lucky,” was his quick retort. “I feel like dancing.”

“There’s no music,” she quipped, and this time she looked out the window.

It had grown dark outside, the clouds helping nightfall to arrive earlier. Heavy drops came down with a steady rhythm, moving in rivulets over the car windows.

“There’s always music in your heart,” he answered.

His voice sounded wistful that time, and Val couldn’t stop herself from turning to stare at him. He was looking out the front windshield, no doubt seeing nothing but the water raining down.

“My mother used to say that,” he told her, and then smiled as he looked at her. “She loved to dance and swore she never needed a record playing to do so.”

“I have no memories of my mother,” Val admitted, again without being able to stop herself, or at least monitor what she was saying. “She died when I was born.”

“They may be gone from this spiritual plane, but they’re always with us,” Roland said as he reached a hand over to rest on hers.

For a few stilted moments Val could only stare down at their hands. His skin was a shade darker than her butter-toned complexion. He had manicured nails. There were no rings on his right hand or on her left. They were still, and yet, deep inside, Val could swear she felt something moving, shifting, changing.

“We cannot dance in the car,” she said, and then cleared her throat because she thought her voice sounded rough.

“Then we’ll get out,” he told her, and with his free hand he pushed a button somewhere that had the door locks releasing with a loud click.

“It’s raining,” she announced.

“It’s fine,” he countered.

“No. It’s not.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “What do you think will happen if you do something unorthodox for once in your life?”

“N-n othing,” she stammered. “I mean, I don’t know. I never thought about dancing in the rain.”

“That’s it right there.”

He gripped her fingers at that point, squeezing until she looked up at him.

“You don’t think. You just do. Open the car door, step out and dance!” he told her. “I dare you to simply let go of all those thoughts and just do it.”

Val didn’t like to be dared. She didn’t like people to think she was afraid of anything, either. Fear led to vulnerability and she never wanted to be vulnerable to anyone, ever. She was sliding her hand from his grip before her thoughts could catch up with her motions. Her other hand was on the door handle when she looked up at him.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she announced. “Especially not a dare from you.”

“Prove it,” he demanded, and then he smiled. The full grin in his deep brown eyes reached simultaneously into her chest to squeeze her heart, just lightly enough that her breath caught.

Val pulled on the handle and pushed the door open. She didn’t think as she stepped out and felt the cool rain pelting against her face. Moving away from the car, she stretched her arms out wide and turned in a circle. Giddiness rose from the pit of her stomach and she laughed before spinning around again. The next spin was with her head held back, eyes wide-open to the drops that fell, dripping into her mouth and sliding down her face.

It was cool and refreshing and, in a sense, liberating. She didn’t care who saw her, hadn’t even thought of who might come along this part of the road and find her there. Her own laughter had filled her mind so she could no longer hear thoughts that might tell her she was insane or acting foolish. When the spinning had her becoming dizzy she stopped, but continued to move her feet.

With this motion Val hummed a tune she’d heard her father play late some nights. It was slow and sad—a love song, Val was certain. Still, she danced to it, moving her feet and then her hips and upper body. She danced and imagined the song was happier and that hearing it made two people feel safe and loved. It joined them and held them close together through all eternity.

Yes, she thought, it was their song. Her parents had a song and it had made them happy at one time. Val continued to move, continued to sway with the music that only she could hear.

She was so in tune with herself and her thoughts and the brimming emotions, she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. That was, until his hands slipped around her waist and she felt herself being turned around.

Val opened her eyes and looked up at him. Rain drops were heavy on her lids and she blinked quickly, still able to see him as clearly as if they were back sitting in the car. His face was as wet as hers, drops of rain falling on his lips. They weren’t too thick, but just thick enough, she thought, and then wondered why she was thinking about his mouth at all.

His fingers splayed at her lower back as he gathered her closer. Their bodies were touching, wet shirt against wet shirt, so close they were now heartbeat to heartbeat. Her arms were still in the air from her dancing, and she brought them down slowly, letting her hands rest on the soaked material of his suit jacket. She heard thunder.

No, that was the incessant beat of her heart as she realized with a start that he was leaning in closer. His head was moving down, toward hers. She tilted hers back a little, not sure what to expect but wanting to be ready. Yes, she definitely wanted to be ready.

“You should do this more often,” he whispered, his breath warm against her rain-chilled nose.

“Do what?” she asked, more than a little confused at the moment. Was she supposed to be following her mind or her body?

Her mind said she was chilly and getting soaked, now that she’d stopped dancing. Her body, on the other hand said, he was keeping her warm.

“This,” he said in the barest whisper, just before his lips touched hers.

She didn’t say a word. Instead, Val pressed into him, tilting her head to the side to slant her lips over his. Warmth continued to spread throughout her body, even before he parted his lips just enough so that his tongue could slip out. Her lips had been wet from the rain but now they were moist from the touch of his tongue. Her lips parted, exactly what her body—and now, her mind—wanted them to do.

His hands moved farther up her back, holding her tightly as his tongue plunged deeper, exploring in a steady and persistent fashion. Val did some studying of her own. The feel of his arms around her was pleasurable. The scent of his cologne as she inhaled was dreamy. The touch of his tongue was damn—the only word she could come up with at the moment to describe what she felt.

At that moment a big splash of water hit her and Val instinctively pulled back from him. He was frowning and they both looked over to see that a car had just whizzed past them. It had obviously driven through a puddle and spattered the two people who were—no doubt, strangely—standing on the side of the road.

“Guess we should get going,” Roland said.

“Yeah, I guess we should,” Val replied quickly.

They walked back to the car without touching, but Val’s thoughts remained fixated on their kiss. Even as she slipped into the passenger seat, thankful for the leather interior, she thought about the kiss and then she thought about the man.

Prince Roland Simon DeSaunters had kissed her.

She’d been kissed by a prince. Deliciously.

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