Page 36 of Royal Trouble
“Haven’t you heard?” he asked, carefully removing the lid from his steaming cup and tossing it in the bin. “Liam and I are feuding over the crown. That’s why I didn’t make an appearance at the garden party on Saturday. Royal Rumble, I think they’re calling it?”
Her face remained impassive as she busied herself adding cream and sugar to her coffee.
Surely she’d seen the headlines?
Then again, she didn’t seem the type to put much stock in gossip rags. Which, as far as he was concerned, was another point in her favor.
“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, love. In addition to being a jealous arsehole, I’m also a bit of an elitist prick.” He winked at her over the top of his cup. “Can’t have the heir marrying a bloody American commoner, now can we?”
“How can you joke about this?”
“Because it’s absolute rubbish and anyone with half a bloody brain can see it.” He shrugged, though in truth, these headlines bothered him more than most. He’d never wanted the crown—it was a burden he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy—and he was thrilled Liam had found a bride who balanced out his full throttle, all-or-nothing approach to life. “This is far from the worst thing that’s ever been printed about me.”
Not by a long shot, but that was hardly a convincing argument for what he was proposing.
“That doesn’t make it right.”
Was it his imagination or did he hear a hint of indignation in her tone? Probably wishful thinking on his part, but he couldn’t deny he liked the idea of Everly taking his side, even if it was a futile effort. These were the cards he’d been dealt, and he’d play them to the best of his ability. He wasn’t going to let some bullshit story impact his appointment to the Blue and Gold Foundation.
It was too important.
The press might not want to acknowledge it, but he’d been on his best behavior, spending his days outlining plans for the foundation and scheduling meetings with senior officials in the Ministry of Defense. Hell, he’d even made an appointment to speak with the Chancellor about Treasury funds, though the idea of reviewing budgets made him want to gouge out his eyes.
Xander raked a hand through his hair. He needed to focus on the mission at hand. “Liam knows the truth. That’s all that matters.”
“You told your brother?” she shrieked, dropping her croissant on the counter.
“I told him I went down to the cellar for a bottle of wine and got locked inside.” He smirked. “I didn’t think the other bits were…pertinent.”
It wasn’t his style to kiss and tell, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to break her trust by running his mouth about her family situation.
Everly’s posture relaxed. “Okay. So, you and Liam are good. Problem solved, right?”
“Wrong. The press is having a field day, and Their Majesties are…shall we say, unimpressed?” He leaned against the counter, crossing his ankles. If she decided to make a run for it, she’d have to go right past him. “The royal wedding is in a matter of weeks, and once again, yours truly is plastered all over the populars.”
She picked at the pastry, not meeting his eyes.
Not that he blamed her. Hadn’t she told him that first night she had no interest in becoming tabloid fodder?
“I have to run damage control.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. It was the story of his life. “The only way to shut down the feud rumors is to show a united front. That means the press—and the public—need to see us out and about. We’ll sail down the coast, snap lots of pictures, and enjoy a picnic lunch. There will be lots of smiling and back slapping, and with any luck the rumors will be put to rest.”
“I’m still not seeing what any of this has to do with me.”
Because she was being willfully obtuse.
“I want you to join us and spare me the indignity of being the awkward third wheel.”
Everly’s gaze darted around the tiny kitchen, looking everywhere but at him. “You and Liam can go by yourselves. Problem solved.”
“If we don’t include Elena, it’ll look like I’m avoiding her.”
“Then take someone else.” She lifted her chin. “Take Lotte.”
“I don’t want to take someone else.” He straightened and turned to face her, keeping his eyes riveted on her face. His cock pressed painfully against his zipper and his resolve was at a breaking point. One more flash of her creamy thighs and they’d never make it to the docks. “I want you.”
“Why me?” she squeaked, taking a step back. “I told you, I can’t even sail.”
“Because ever since you walked into my life, it’s been impossible to keep my face out of the bloody papers. Besides,” he continued, pressing on before she could mount another counter protest, “I helped with your family situation, which, need I remind you, is what got me into this particular mess in the first place. Now I need you to help with mine or Their Majesties are going to saddle me with a minder.”