Page 3 of Troubled Skies (Blue Skies #3)
two
Ren
Ren woke in an unfamiliar bed. Which was not unusual.
He woke with an unfamiliar body… wait —Ren raised his head enough to see more arms and legs than any single person could possess—unfamiliar bodies pressed against him.
Also not unusual. With slightly closer inspection, he was surrounded by both men and women and all of them were as naked as himself. Again, not unusual.
The room stank of weed and sex and stale alcohol, and Ren’s head was fuzzy from whatever he’d ingested the night before.
Once again, all standard procedure and nothing to be worried about because it looked like it had been an excellent party even if the details were missing from his memory at the moment.
It wasn’t the first time he’d woken with little recall of the night before, and he was sure it wasn’t going to be the last.
The person next to him was his best friend, Maurice, and he vaguely recalled leaving a club with Maurice draped all over him.
And the flash and pop of cameras. Especially when they kissed right before getting into the limo with several members of their crew.
Something was missing from that picture, though, something Ren felt he should remember.
Whatever he couldn’t remember might explain why his phone was blowing up with text after text, buzzing like an angry bee trapped beneath Ren’s pillow.
Once he extricated it, the texts turned out to be from his father.
That did not bode well for whatever Ren couldn’t remember.
He got out of bed and stumbled naked into the living room of the penthouse suite without bothering to look for clothes.
He wanted to look at the texts without anyone peering over his shoulder because they were most likely going to be filled with capital letters and exclamation points and reminders of Ren’s responsibilities, and he didn’t need witnesses to another paternal scolding.
The sight that greeted him in the living room made him groan and gave him a good inkling of why his father might be sending text after text when it was still—Ren looked at the clock on the wall which had been knocked slightly askew and had a pair of red lace panties hanging from the hour hand, and forced his brain to calculate the time difference between LA and Belvaux—nine-thirty in the evening?
Well, that wasn’t too bad. His father might go to bed ridiculously early for a man in his fifties, but it didn’t account for the number of messages Ren had received—his phone buzzed with another, this time from his older brother, hu…
rray!—but… oh shit . Ren remembered that his father wasn’t at home; he was in Tokyo at a conference with other heads of state.
Ren wasn’t even going to try to figure out what time it was in Japan, he opened the clock app on his phone and…well, that put things into a totally different light because it was five-frickin’-thirty in the morning there.
Glancing around the suite, Ren took in the empty bottles, discarded clothing, room service trays, spilled bottles of wine, and plates of half-eaten food— who the fuck had ordered lobster and caviar?
—vaguely remembering he had invited his friends back to the hotel so they could continue their fun in his suite after they’d been asked to leave the club by the manager.
Obviously, something had gotten back to his father—and brother—that was bad enough they were pissed off.
Once again, not an unusual occurrence, but Ren had been trying to tone things down after their last dustup two months prior.
Ren was fully aware of his role as the black sheep of his family.
It was kind of his job as the younger prince to be as disreputable as possible.
Without going too far, a small voice in the back of his brain reminded him, which obviously he had done the previous night.
The landscape was now mea culpa for whatever had happened, sufficient groveling and promises to do better to ensure that his allowance didn’t get cut off, and then lying low long enough for the paparazzi to get bored and go pick on someone else.
Ren had been through this enough times he shouldn’t have been worried.
Except he was because it wasn’t like both his father and brother— oh, fuck, how bad is it this time?
—to get upset with him. They accepted his role as the troublemaker because it made the rest of the family look good in comparison, made Phillippe look like the responsible Crown Prince who would one day take over ruling Belvaux from their father.
Ren usually enjoyed his position and cultivated his roguish reputation as a playboy and heartbreaker.
It was one part PR, one part the public’s fantasy, and one part who Ren really was, though sometimes he had trouble remembering to keep part of who he was out of the public eye.
The kiss with Maurice was probably what had set his father and brother off because it was all good fun until Ren let his queer side out.
That was where his father so often drew the line.
Another text, and Ren sighed. He needed to get it over with and see what had gotten his father and brother into such a tizzy from ten thousand miles away.
Praying the crisis management team didn’t need to get involved, Ren clicked into the text stream.
Before he’d even read the most recent message from his father, his phone rang with a Facetime call.
There was no way in hell he was answering that with the screen on, not when he was surrounded by the debauched remains of what looked to have been a very good party—he could see several discarded condoms from where he sat—and especially not when he was completely naked and possibly sporting marks on his neck that would tell his father just how he’d been spending his time in LA.
Already cringing, Ren made sure the visual was off and answered the phone.
Silence greeted him. Silence except for the sound of his father’s breathing. He’d know those harsh inhalations and exhalations anywhere.
Ren wondered if he could hang up and claim his phone wasn’t working right. Better yet, he could pretend he was someone else and claim he’d found this phone on the street.
“Hey, Ren, where the fuck are you?” Maurice stumbled from the bedroom, dick hanging heavy between his legs, his chest studded with scratches and bite marks, a massive bruise blooming on the side of his neck.
The sight made Ren flush as another hazy memory surfaced of him fucking Maurice while Maurice had his dick down the throat of one of the blondes currently sleeping in the bed.
“Oh, man, look at this place. We really outdid ourselves last night.” Maurice approached even as Ren tried to wave him off with frantic hand signals.
All of which Maurice ignored as he sifted through some of the debris on the table.
“Fuck. Did we finish off all of the Cristal? Ren?” He finally looked up and took notice of the phone in Ren’s hand.
Sorry , he mouthed and backed away with elaborate steps.
Ren heard his father clear his throat on the other end of the line.
“Henri Renard.” His father’s voice rumbled through the speaker, and Ren knew he had to respond.
“Oui. Je suis là. Je pense—”
“Silence.” His father didn’t have to snap or yell or even raise his voice. Rank had its privileges and one of those was that when his father spoke, everyone listened.
“Oui, mon Père.” Ren nodded even though he wasn’t visible to his father.
“Are you listening?” his father asked in English.
“Oui. You have my complete attention.”
“I received a call from the general manager of the Regent Beverly Wiltshire. I don’t suppose you know what this call might have been regarding?”
Ren glanced around the suite and swallowed hard.
Merde, we caused a lot of damage, didn't we? He hadn’t noticed it before, but a vase had been smashed and a painting showed scratches and tears while both the walls and carpet were stained with what might be red wine but could possibly be blood.
He’d probably find the path of destruction extended to the second bedroom and all three bathrooms.
“Things may have gotten a bit out of hand last night.”
“I think that is putting it mildly. Please turn your camera on so I might see the disaster for myself.”
Reluctantly, Ren did as he’d been asked.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ren.”
“Phillippe?”
“Obviously. And just as obviously, you’re showing no regard for the reputation of this family. What did you do? Have a rave in the most expensive suite at the hotel?”
“Non. Not exactly.”
“And what the hell did you do to Christiana? The poor girl was practically in tears when I spoke with her.”
Christ…i…an…a . Ren felt the pieces slowly fall into place in his mind as he recalled the young woman who was ostensibly his current girlfriend-slash-almost fiancée.
She was a cousin or something in the Swedish royal family, a suitable match for a second son and probably better than he was entitled to.
He was supposed to be grateful, but they were completely unsuitable for each other.
They’d been in LA together to attend a movie premiere for a film that had been shot in Belvaux, Ren’s principality.
Or rather, his father’s principality. It would actually never be Ren’s unless something happened to Phillippe.
But…Ren was losing track of the important issue as both his father and brother tried expressing their outrage about his behavior at the same time.
“Is she all right?” Ren managed to get the question out when they both paused for breath.
He remembered that after the premiere and the party, he’d wanted to go clubbing with his friends while Christiana wanted to go to the after after-party at Paris Hilton’s.
Ren was so over celebrity house parties.
They’d had words, and Christiana had reluctantly followed him to the club.
“She is. No thanks to you,” his father said. “But her father is upset, and the press are all over this. What were you thinking abandoning her like that?”
That I wanted to have some fun , Ren thought. Putain . That was a new low even for him.
“I’ll make it up to her,” Ren said.
“You won’t have to,” Phillippe told him.
“She’s done. She says your drinking is out of control, and she suspects you’ve been doing more than that, not to mention that you were hanging all over one of your friends, one of your male friends, when you were supposedly dating her.
You’ve embarrassed her as well as our family. ”
“Thank you, Phillippe. Now, Henri, here is what you are going to do. We’ve asked the team to put it out that you’re going to rehab.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t bother,” his brother snapped. “The photos of you at the club have already hit social media and TMZ, including the ones of you kissing Maurice. Thankfully, the more explicit photos were too much for them. Really, Ren? Body shots?” Phillippe sighed dramatically, and Ren fancied he heard a touch of envy in his voice.
It had been a long time since Phillippe had expressed anything but frustration over Ren’s libertine lifestyle, and it was clear he was done with seeing his younger brother splashed all over social media and the gossip rags.
“The official story is that you’re heading to an exclusive, private, and remote facility as soon as we can arrange it. ”
Ren began making mental calculations about how much money he could get his hands on before his credit cards were cut off.
“Don’t even consider trying to run,” Phillippe said.
“That would be foolish,” his father agreed. “You’re not going to rehab. Instead, you’ll be returning to Europe to bring the Belle to the Maldives.”
“That doesn’t—”
“Sober. There won’t be a drop of alcohol on that ship by the time you arrive in Ibiza to pick it up, and the crew has been instructed not to let you bring any on board.”
Ren blew out a breath. “When do I leave?”
“Two days. I’ve got the jet here, so you’re going to be flying commercial.”
“Do I get a charter jet?”
His question was met with silence. Merde. His father was truly angry with him.
“Do I at least get to fly first class?”
His father let out an exasperated breath while Phillippe expressed the opinion that Ren should be flying with the luggage.
“There was a plane crash last week at LAX,” Ren said. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Consider the fact that I am allowing you to fly first class rather than coach a measure of my concern for your well-being,” his father said, and then hung up.
“How angry is he really?” Ren asked when he realized his brother was still on the call.
Phillippe sighed. “He’s more worried about you than anything else, Ren. You’ve been getting worse.”
“I kind of thought that was my job.” Ren watched his face in the thumbnail on his screen give a wan smile.
He’d been trying for charming and endearing.
He shook his head watching his legendary sun-kissed curls bounce in the tiny image of his face.
“Never mind. I will do what the family needs me to do. As always. You know that.”
“You always do.”
They said their goodbyes, and then Ren returned to his room to scrounge up some clothes. He eyed the pile of people on his bed and wondered how much more trouble he’d get in if he made these last few days in LA one hell of a going-away party.