The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance Read online

  His thumb strokes my cheek in a way that’s all too familiar, and there’s something sensual in the tone of his voice that makes my breath catch in my throat…

  Not that I, uh. Enjoy it, or whatever, or anything.

  “Persephone,” he purrs down at me, his thumb stroking my lower lip. “I’m afraid if you didn’t learn your lesson last night, then this time around you’ll have to learn it on your own.”

  Then, the bastard tweaks my nipple until I hiss. As soon as the sound leaves my lips, I can feel him move away.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Hey!” I call out after him. “Don’t—you’re not—don’t fucking do that!”

  “Do what?” he says, the accent light on his thick, hot European tongue.

  “Fucking…this! Leaving! Aren’t you supposed to…I don’t know. Make me breakfast? Fix up some coffee? Walk around in the buff, spewing witty banter until I kick you out of here?”

  He chuckles again at that. “And why on earth would you kick me out?”

  I groan. “The experience, dummy! I want my damn crazy-ass bachelorette party adventure like everyone else!”

  “Mmm. I see.”

  I hear the window slide open and feel the cool Amsterdam air flow in over my naked body. Suddenly, my nipples are on high alert and my skin is more sensitive than ever…fat load of good it does me if Mystery Fuck is currently leaving the building.

  “Stop looking and start touching, then,” I suggest. Heartily.

  “No, Persephone. You’ll have your adventure, I’m sure. But for the moment…hmm. You do realize that you’re laying on something like…two million dollars of marijuana right now, don’t you?”

  As soon as I turn my head to sniff what must be the most expensive weed run of my life, I hear Mystery Fuck slip out of the window…and out of my life.

  Well, fuck.

  Curvy girls just can’t catch a fucking break.

  3

  Percy

  Thursday 9:43 Pm

  Curvy girls rule the goddamn world.

  “Becks! What’s the haps?” I accept the video call from my favorite redhead and watch as her face blooms across the screen.

  “Dude. I’m totally fat now,” Becky announces proudly, holding the phone just far enough away from her body that I can see her growing baby bump. “I swear, Perce. I ordered like, fifty chicken nuggets and a milkshake at dinner tonight, and the waitress just nodded knowingly, like Uh-huh, girl. Been there, done that!”

  “God,” I shudder. “Please don’t tell me you dipped the nuggets in the—”

  “Milkshake? Oh, you bet your sassy ass I did. This baby is weird, babe. The shit it has me craving, you wouldn’t believe. But…Perce, where the hell are you? Are you seriously clubbing right now? And, uh…I don’t even want to ask, but what’s that sobbing noise?”

  Now that Becky mentions it, there is a weird, effeminate wailing that’s really harshing the vibes of the VIP section I’m currently dominating. It makes me roll my damn eyes—some people just don’t know how to handle themselves.

  “I think it’s that actor—you know the one. Bergendorf Cuminbatch or whatever. Just broke things off with him…he’s not taking it well, obviously.”

  Becky cringes. “Still in the trenches with your official break-up talks, huh?”

  I nod, casting a brief glance at the long line of hearts I have yet to break tonight. “It’s, uh. It’s taking a while, yeah.”

  I mean, it would take a lot less time if they would stop begging me to take them back, TBH. What the fuck do they think I’m going to do? Break off my engagement for some sloppy dude currently sobbing into my glass of Cristal? Fat fucking chance.

  I might not have ever fancied myself the marrying type…but honestly, I’m feeling good about this whole Anton thing. I mean, I’ve started calling him Anton instead of Silver Fox, at least—and I agreed to be his bride and all that shit. It’s progress, is what I’m saying—character development and all that shit!

  Breaking up with all my former lovers, spring flings, one night stands, fuck buddies, butt buddies, sugar daddies, paramours, male escorts and reverse harems is just ink on the final page at this point. All that’s standing between me and my new life with my hot new husband is fifty dudes, a wild bachelorette weekend and the minor issue of Anton’s mother’s blessing.

  But like, whatever.

  I’m mostly concerned with the bachelorette thing at this point.

  See, Becky got a wild-ass bachelorette party when she was supposed to get married to this really gross dude. And actually, it ended up fine. We all got totally fucking wasted, Becky caught her husband-to-be getting plowed by a Russian hooker with a strap-on, ends up married to the bastard’s sexy British step-brother instead. Amazing, right?

  Especially when, just behind Becky on the video call, her bedroom door flings open and suddenly, there’s Liam in all his naked glory. He’s got the Union Jack tattooed on his chest, his dick in his hand, a smile on his face, and—

  “Holy shit, sorry Perce, I need to, uh…” Becky stammers, looking over her shoulder at her nude husband and delicately letting her jaw hit the floor.

  “Damn right you do,” I tell her.

  The call and Becky’s panties drop at pretty much the exact same time.

  I get back into the breakups. I mean, I’ve gotta, right? I make it through two Grammy-winners and the Oakland Raiders defensive line before my phone rings again.

  “Sams!” I wink at the camera as my favorite brunette pops up on my screen. “How’s saving the planet?”

  “Fucking awesome,” Sammi says, cheers-ing me with a piña colada while the ocean undulates in the background. “Lock shot a poacher with a harpoon gun last week—damn near castrated him! And look!”

  Sams turns her head and I catch a glimpse of a wicked scar forming along her jawline.

  “Yikes,” I wince. “Another one? At this rate, you’ll be showing up to my wedding in an eye patch.”

  “Yarr,” Sammi agrees in pirate-speak. “Not to brag or anything, but babe. You shoulda seen the other guy. Besides…is there still going to be a wedding? I hear Anton’s mom is still holding out on granting him like…permission, or whatever.”

  I roll my eyes and toss what’s left of my glass of Cristal at the telecoms mogul currently crawling across the floor toward me, trying to kiss the toes of my Louboutins.

  Ugh. Men.

  “Anton’s mom can kiss my curvy ass,” I tell Sammi. “I’m serious, dude. I’m marrying him. We don’t give a shit what his mom will or won’t let us do.”

  “Yeah, but Perce,” Sammi levels with me. “Isn’t she like…the Queen?”

  “Queen of kissing my ass, maybe,” I say.

  Okay, yeah, I guess I should also mention that in addition to being the Queen of kissing my ass, Anton’s mom is also the Queen of Menage—the small, wealthy European country that Anton is like, sort-of-kind-of supposed to become ruler of someday.

  Which means that failing to get her blessing kind of means that Anton is sort-of-kind-of disinherited from his title, lands and future resume padding.

  But look—this is all completely whatever. Anton knows what he’s getting into, and we love each other. Blessing or no blessing. I don’t need to be queen of fuck-all. I just need to be the queen of his heart, his bed and his dick. Not necessarily in that order.

  “I just want you to be happy, babe,” Sammi tells me.

  “I’ll be happier when we’re slamming tequila in Amsterdam for my bomb-ass bachelorette party,” I shoot back at her.

  See, Sammi got a crazy bachelorette party too. She was supposed to get married to this total control freak—and instead, we got drunk, got lost in Bangkok, pissed off the Thai mafia and made friends with a monkey. It ended up pretty fucking awesome, too. Sammi married this sexy Australian dude instead and now they like, fist-fight shark fishermen together and shit.

  “Mmm,” Sammi moans, nodding, and that’s when I realize…

  “Sams,” I say, �
��Has Lock been going down on you for the entire call, or did he just start.”

  Sammi giggles. “How did you know?”

  Crazy fucking kids.

  I’m still laughing about it when I answer my next call—right on cue, Mysti May.

  “What’s up, babe?”

  When Mysti May’s blonde beauty queen head pops up on my phone screen, her perfectly manicured eyebrows are knitted together in a scowl.

  “Percy. Darlin’. How drunk were you when you made this bachelorette party itinerary?” Mysti asks.

  I consider it for a second and shrug. “Pretty drunk, probably.”

  “Yeah, I can tell. Do you realize the amount of alcohol you’re planning on having us consume tomorrow night? At this rate, you’re not going to end up at the altar on Saturday…you’re going to end up in some European hospital getting your stomach pumped, girl.”

  “Come on, Myst,” I tell her. “It’s just a little pre-nuptuial fun. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Mysti gives me that look—the holy shit, you can’t be serious right now look.

  “Holy shit,” she says, “You can’t be serious right now. Do you not remember what happened at Becky’s bachelorette party? At Sammi’s?”

  “Nope,” I tell her. “None of us do. Because we had a great fucking time, Myst! Look, just because after we go out for a fun night you always end up in bed with someone you don’t mean to…”

  “Not this time,” Mysti May warns me. “I’m serious, Perce…I don’t know that this is a good idea. I mean, Becky and Sammi were different, right? They were marrying asshats. You’re marrying a total catch! Are you sure you’re not worried that you’ll do something that will…you know. Mess it up?”

  “Mysti May Grace,” I scoff. “When have I ever in my life messed something up? Unheard of! Unspeakable!”

  Mysti May rolls her eyes. “How many more dudes do you have to break up with before you grab your flight?”

  I eye the line again. “I want to say twenty-five, but I’m not sure what the rule is for twins. Do you have to break up with them separately, or can you knock out both at once?”

  “Both at once,” Mysti May says with certainty. “Just…get your ass to Amsterdam, darlin’. And consider what I’m saying here about having a chill night, okay? Becky and Sammi got their happy endings, though, Lord knows how. I just want to make sure that you get yours too.”

  And that is what I want, you know? My own happy ending. In a sense, Mysti May is right. The difference this time is that I’m totally in love with Anton. All-in. Unlike my dumb friends, I’m 100% sure I’m marrying a guy who’s completely right for me—and nothing’s going to get in my way.

  4

  Percy

  Saturday 10:05 Am

  I hear the window rasp open, wood grating on wood somewhere off to my side.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, pointlessly directing my blindfold towards the noise.

  Cold air rushes in, washing over my totally exposed skin.

  I inhale quickly at the new sensation.

  “Hey, what the hell?”

  His only response is a chuckle, raspy and strong.

  Even more goose bumps break out across the length of me, these ones having nothing to do with the cold.

  “I’ll see ya,” he says, already sounding further away.

  So, he’s gone out the window. Great.

  I pull at my restraints, once again accomplishing nothing. Chilly air continues to pour into the room at my side.

  Why the fuck am I always the one waking up in handcuffs? How the fuck has this happened again?

  I wriggle on the bed, thrashing around in frustration.

  Just like every other time this has happened to me, it doesn’t take long to figure out that it’s pointless. Falling limp in frustration, I let out a growl.

  Only one thing to do now.

  “HEEELPPPP!”

  I turn my head towards the direction I think the door is at, lifting my head like it will help me project.

  “Sammi! Becky! Mysti!”

  I hear stirring from the other side of the door, then a thump followed my muffled cursing.

  “You guys, in here!”

  “Percy?” Sammi finally calls back.

  About fucking time.

  “Yes! You guys, I’m in here!”

  I hear more scuttling sounds, other voices rising to join Sammi’s.

  “I don’t know, over here!” Sammi shouts.

  “Coming!” I hear Mysti May chime in.

  They sound even more frantic than normal.

  The sound of rushing feet meets me, and I lay my head back with a sigh. The girls are here, they’re coming. Everything’s cool.

  Or is it?

  Nightmarish visions assault me as I wait for them to arrive. Bright pink pubes, hair to match. My heart beats harder.

  Oh god. Please not again.

  I pull again at my handcuffs, suddenly panicking at the thought of what awaits me when the blindfold comes off.

  I spent months dreaming about those pubes. I haven’t been able to look at neon pink the same ever since.

  Frankly, I’ve started to think I might never escape the memory of them.

  Now here I am again, tied up and possibly dyed from head to toe.

  “Hurry!” I scream, trying and failing to see from the bottom of my blindfold.

  The door slams open with a bang, and three sets of footsteps charge in in a hurry.

  “How bad is it?” I ask, cringing. “Are they pink? Oh, fuck. They aren’t green, are they?”

  I hear multiple sighs of relief at once.

  “Jesus, Percy, you scared us silly!” Becky shouts.

  Giggling breaks out the next second, sending my already racing heart into overdrive.

  “For fucks sake!” I shout, trying desperately to sit up. “What color are my pubes?”

  I hear them break out into full laughter, Mysti’s chuckle ringing above the rest.

  “Same color as they always are, sugar,” Becky says with a giggle.

  I collapse back against the mattress, fear leaving me immediately. “You could have started with that.”

  I shake my head, annoyed at the blindfold. “Can you get this thing off me?”

  Footsteps approach quickly, warm hands grazing my face as they lift my head from the pillow. I feel the sleek satin of my blindfold shift, my sight restored immediately after.

  “Better?” Sammi asks, peering down at me.

  “Much.”

  All three of them hover around me, each looking slightly worse for wear.

  “What happened this time?”

  I glance around, taking in the room for the first time since waking up. Everything’s trashed, and my clothes are everywhere, which is par for the course.

  I shift on the bed, Euros and weed spilling off the edge as I do.

  Honestly, this is far from the worst that I’ve woken up to. Compared to the last time, this is damn near dignified.

  “So, what the fuck happened?” I ask, taking the time to glance at each girl in turn.

  They shake their heads, shrug, looking every bit as confused as I feel.

  “No idea.” Mysti says.

  “Not even you?” I ask, turning my attention to Becky.

  She runs a hand over her ever-growing stomach, the go-to gesture of pregnant women the world over.

  “Sorry, Percy, I’ve had some ridiculous amnesia from this pregnancy. I can’t remember a damn thing, even when I’m at home. I’ve got nothing here.”

  Well that sounds about right.

  “It’s alright. I guess here we go again, huh?”

  They all nod, various states of dread spreading across their faces.

  “Well, let’s get me out of these things.” I say, wiggling my wrists so that the handcuffs clank against the bed post.

  “Right,” Becky says, looking slowly around the room.

  “There,” Sammy says, pointing to the nightstand.

  She
crosses to the other side of the bed and fetches the key. She unlocks me without fuss, my hands feeling numb when they finally come free.

  “How do you always end up handcuffed?” she asks, laughing again.

  I can only shrug.

  How I do the things I do is as much a mystery to me as it is to anyone.

  If you aren’t willing to wake up handcuffed to a bed with a stranger’s dick dangling above you, why even go out, right?

  I sit up, rolling my wrists to get the feeling to return to my hands.

  “How’s the rest of the suite?” I ask.

  “Haven’t really checked yet. Not great from what we saw,” Sammi answers.

  I look around the room again, thinking that’s got to be an understatement.

  Mysti plops onto the bed beside me.

  “So, what about the wedding?” she asks.

  “What about it?”

  “Have you changed your mind?”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh.

  “Definitely not. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting engaged. You guys know me. That was insane.”

  “But Anton—” Becky starts.

  “Yeah, I know. He’ll get over it, though. I just can’t do it. I’m definitely not getting married. Not today, not ever.”

  Becky and Mysti nod, clearly in agreement.

  I look up at Sammi, wondering at her silence.

  She’s just staring at me, her mouth slightly agape.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Um...are you sure about that, Percy?” she asks.

  “Yes...positive.”

  “Well, you might wanna rethink it,” she says, nodding pointedly at something.

  I follow her line of sight, not sure what the fuck she’s on about.

  “What?” I ask again, glancing around the bed, “What the fuck, Sammi?”

  “Percy, your hand.”

  “What about my—”

  I feel all the air in me leave my body.

  Oh, fuck.

  “Oh, fuck,” I say, aloud this time.