Page 7 of Royal Trouble
Xander’s eyes shuttered, and she instantly regretted the barb. Who was she to judge? Especially after everything she’d done.
It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize, but in the space of a breath, the charming rogue was back, any hint of shame erased.
“What can I say?” He gave a flirtatious wink and downed the rest of his vodka. “I’m a man of the people. I’m told it’s one of my better qualities.”
“All of the people or just those with two X chromosomes?” she asked sweetly, ignoring the way the words soured on her lips. “Speaking of, where’s your date?”
“Lotte’s around here somewhere.” He shrugged, eyes fixed on Everly. “She’s an old family friend, but she’s only a friend.”
Charlotte Dupont was his date? All the more reason to walk away. Lotte had been the head bitch in charge back at Westbury and would’ve given Mean Girl Regina George a run for her title. Everly had no interest in reuniting with her.
Not tonight, not ever.
She sighed and threw back the rest of her drink. “Well, this has been fun, but I have bridesmaid duties to attend to.”
“Try not to sound so excited about it.” Xander grinned. “And here I thought you’d welcome any excuse to get away from me.”
“Almost any excuse,” she replied tartly, squaring her shoulders. Maybe she should order another drink. She had a two-drink max, but it might be worth breaking the rule just this once. God knew she would need the liquid courage to get through the next fifteen minutes. “Why the hell did I ever agree to be in this wedding?”
“What?” Xander asked, a look of surprise etched on his face. Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “You have something against marriage?”
“Marriage, no. Weddings, yes. I mean, look around.” She gestured toward the opulent marble fountain where a bevy of swans were swimming in quiet circles. Valerian weddings were a tribute to excess and indulgence, and Lucy’s was no exception. There were cascades of colorful blossoms, gilded candelabras, and crystal champagne flutes as far as the eye could see. “This is completely over the top.”
“You may have a point,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “It does seem a bit extravagant.”
“You better believe if I ever tie the knot, I’m eloping to a tropical island where I can go barefoot and drink champagne from a coconut.”
“Sounds like my kind of party,” he said, leaning close to whisper in her ear. His breath was hot against her cheek and she had to fight to keep her breathing even. “I won’t keep you from your wedding duties, but you still owe me a drink, Everly. And I intend to collect.”
…
Xander dried his hands and tossed the fluffy white towel in the basket below the sink. Generally speaking, he was a fan of weddings—what wasn’t to like? Free-flowing alcohol, dancing, and randy women. It was a bachelor’s trifecta, but he wasn’t feeling it tonight. Whether it was due to his newfound restraint or because he’d been strong-armed into escorting Lotte, he couldn’t say.
Either way, he’d done his duty representing the royal family. As soon as the newlyweds cut the cake, he’d slip out and—what?
With his parents’ ultimatum hanging over his head—and Liam’s offer to lead the Blue and Gold Foundation—his options were limited. No drinking, no partying, no fucking around. What was even left?
Bollocks.
Clearly, he was even more debauched than he’d realized. He didn’t have the first clue what respectable royals did on a Saturday night, but he wasn’t about to head back to the palace and curl up with Liam and Elena to watch Netflix. They were disgustingly in love, and while he was eager for the happy couple to produce heirs, he didn’t want to witness it firsthand.
Xander sighed and turned from the sink. Maybe he’d get lucky and Everly would take him up on that drink. As ridiculous as it sounded, he’d enjoyed her snark, and the prospect of going another round with her sounded a hell of a lot better than grinding out his frustration in the gym.
It didn’t hurt that she was a right fit bird, either.
The woman had the kind of curves that could bring a man to his knees, and that tiny little dress had revealed them all. It had taken all his restraint not to stare at her tits spilling over the top of it. But then she’d turned around, and the rear view had been even better, her perky arse sashaying as she stalked off to do whatever bridesmaids did.
Bloody hell.
He still couldn’t believe the dark-haired minx was the same girl who’d walked the halls of Westbury with a chip on her shoulder the size of a small yacht. People changed, sure, but he’d never imagined the girl with the ripped tights and arse-kicking combat boots would turn into such a stunner. Where had she gone after graduation, and what had she done with her life?
Bang!
The bathroom door burst open with such force it smashed against the stopper before it was slammed shut again. He whirled to see Everly throw herself against the door and flip the deadbolt. When she turned to face him, chest heaving, she gave a startled squeal and clapped her hands over her mouth, covering the full lips he’d just been fantasizing about. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was more disheveled than when he’d left her, the chocolate and toffee strands brushing her collarbones in loose waves.
Everly’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as she dropped her hands to her sides.
“That’s not the reaction I usually get from the ladies,” he said, lifting a brow. “And here I was hoping you’d come in search of the kind of no-strings bathroom sex that would leave us both sweaty and panting.”