The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance Read online

  I stand quickly, making a point of holding my hand far from me, like it’s contagious. It may as well be for all it represents.

  “What the hell did I do?”

  “Percy, don’t freak out,” Mysti advises, her eyes as big as saucers.

  Yeah, fucking right.

  Wrapped around my finger, shining at me like some kind of evil fucking beacon, is a ring.

  A diamond ring.

  “Holy shit. Did I get married?” I demand, whipping around wildly to look at each of them.

  No one responds, their faces looking just as surprised as mine. And just like that, my head fuck spins.

  5

  Anton

  Saturday 10:20AM

  A woman who must be in her 90s heads toward me, her head down turned in thought, face deeply etched with wrinkles. She glances up as she comes near, lips already pulling into the kind of faux smile we all give strangers when we cross paths.

  Her eyes boredly begin to slide back towards the ground, only to jerk up the next instant. Her small, shrunken mouth pulls into a genuine grin, eyes lighting like kindling.

  “Yes, hello,” I say, waving slightly with the hand not currently cradling my cock. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

  Her eyes, suddenly full of youth long gone, trace the length of my body. If I weren’t used to these kind of looks, I might actually feel embarrassed. As it is, I simply nod and continue on my way, feet never slowing.

  She calls after me in Dutch, and something about her smile tells me I’d rather not know what she said.

  “You too, ma’am!”

  I keep on walking, trying my best to hide my dick with just one hand.

  As I walk further towards the main street, the foot traffic increases tenfold. Every eye in the vicinity seems to lock onto me.

  I increase my pace, smiling politely like a fool.

  Across the road, a middle-aged woman leans out of her window, whistling loudly in my general direction. Her eyes lock firmly onto my occupied hand, like she’s wishing for x-ray vision.

  “Hello,” I say in a casual tone that I don’t really feel. “Happen to know any clothing store near here?”

  She laughs. “Afraid I don’t, mister. But if you come in, I might give you a blanket.”

  Her words are punctuated by a flirty wink. I try to imagine what I’d have to do for that blanket, quickly deciding against it. Definitely not worth it.

  “Thanks, anyway,” I say, continuing to walk.

  The sound of giggling reaches me, accompanied by the occasional gasp of surprise. I try my best to tune it all out, eyes fixed ahead, polite smile cemented to my face.

  There’s only one woman in the world that could get me to walk naked through Amsterdam first thing in the morning.

  Fucking Percy.

  I can’t help but smile. Thank God I found her. And thank God she wised up. I knew she wouldn’t stay away. We love each other too much to let it go to waste.

  I’m glad we did things our way. Tying the knot under the radar, just having our own little intimate moment in my car, and then sleeping next to my beautiful woman; it’s exactly what she wanted.

  I almost feel weird for being the one who wanted the ceremony. But really, when someone of my status settles down, it becomes a big public affair. So why not use the opportunity to celebrate?

  Every time I get anywhere near woman, Percy, absolute insanity follows. It’s always been that way, and I think because of it, she’s kept me on my toes. A wiser man would probably have run for the hills a long time ago.

  Luckily for me, I’m not that wise. But I can say I sure have learned how to live.

  A black car comes roaring into sight, right on time. My smile turns genuine as it squeals to a stop before me. I throw the door open and make a quick dive to safety, laughing, amused at my own ridiculous situation.

  “Paul,” I say. “To the rescue.”

  “Of course, sir.” Paul responds, grinning at me in the rear view mirror.

  “Not a word.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  We pull away to the sound of his repressed chuckling.

  I ignore it, picking my phone up from the seat beside me, I ignore the host of missed calls and text messages. After last night, I was more than expecting them. My fingers fly quickly across the screen.

  I press call, an amused grin working its way onto my own face as I do.

  “Ciel Bleu,” a woman answers after the second ring, her voice heavily accented.

  “Yes, hello. I’d like to make a reservation.”

  “Okay. When for?”

  “Tonight.”

  I hear the laugh she tries to repress.

  “Tonight? I’m sorry sir, we’re all booked up.”

  “Oh, are you sure?” I ask, knowing the game well. “It’s just for two, under Lanteri.”

  “As I said sir—” she begins. I hear the recognition setting in even over the phone. “I’m sorry, what was the name?”

  “Lanteri, Anton.”

  “Mr. Lanteri!” she says, abashed. “Oh, of course we can fit you in. What time will you be coming by?”

  “Six o’clock, please.”

  “Great, we’ll have the table waiting.”

  I thank her before ending the call.

  Usually, I try not to throw the name around, my power being a privilege and all that. Sometimes though, it’s too damn hard to resist. Not to mention, way too damn easy.

  My phone begins to buzz in my hand almost immediately, the name of my assistant flashing across the screen. I knew this call was coming.

  “Mr. Lanteri,” he shouts the moment I answer. “Thank God!”

  “What is it, Scott?”

  “I’ve been fielding calls all day, the press is going crazy.”

  “Calm down,” I say in my most reassuring tone. “What seems to be the problem?”

  Of course, I already know. You can’t have a wild night as the Prince of Menage and not expect to hear about it the next day.

  Fucking Percy, I think again, smile pulling at my lips.

  “Well, I’m getting a lot of questions about this mystery woman. Apparently, you were spotted with someone in a black wig and…” he trails off, clearly not wanting to upset me.

  “And?” I ask, starting to get impatient.

  “And… well, there are questions being thrown around, mostly about the wedding.”

  “What about it?”

  “Frankly, a lot of different things. Primarily though, there seems to be a lot of doubt as to whether there’s still going to be a wedding.”

  “Of course there’s going to be a wedding.”

  “Right. Of course sir.”

  I can tell by his tone that he’s utterly unconvinced. I couldn’t care less.

  “Is there anything else, Scott?” I ask, no longer trying to hide my impatience.

  “Well…no, not at this moment.”

  “Great, thanks for the heads up. Call if you hear anything important.”

  I end the conversation with a swipe of my finger. At this particular moment, I have no desire to explain theevents of last night to anyone that wasn’t right there, immersed in it all with me. Though even if I were, Scott would be the last person I’d call.

  Having the tendency toward overreaction, that one.

  “Any stops?” Paul asks, again glancing at me in the rear view mirror.

  “None, thank you. Just to the hotel, please.”

  He nods once, his charmingly outdated chauffer cap bobbing as he does.

  “Right away boss.”

  I lean back into the soft interior, my head resting for the first time in a long time.

  I stare out the window, the sights of Amsterdam passing unseen before me, my mind instead focused on the last twenty-four hours. I replay last night’s events on repeat, images of Percy flashing through my head.

  After a while, I give up the illusion, closing my eyes to better recall.

  A smile cements itself onto my face as my memory bri
ngs me to Percy leaning into my ear saying ‘I do.’

  Fucking Percy.

  6

  Percy

  Saturday 10:20 AM

  The feeling to my hands returns fully, around the same time that I could breathe again.

  Okay, so apparently I’m married. This is definitely not what I set out for. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of what I wanted.

  In all actuality, this is the worst I’ve ever managed to fuck up.

  It’s bad. Really bad.

  That being said, it’s not as permanent as certain suburbanites might have you believe.

  I can fix this. That’s why we invented divorce right? Or even an annulment.

  The only real problem here is that I have no fucking idea what my husband looks like.

  Who am I married to?

  I lower my trembling hand and glance at the girls.

  We’ve been through worse. We’ll figure this out.

  “Okay,” Sammi says, her serious scientific voice at work, “this—this is going to be okay. We know you got married last night, all we need to do is figure out exactly what happened, and then we’ll fix it.”

  She looks at me warily, like I’m about to jump out the window, run and scream down the street.

  Hard to blame her, it’s not like the thought didn’t cross my mind.

  “Fuck yes we’ll fix it,” I say instead, glad to see her face soften.

  “Okay, good.” Becky pipes up. “We can do this. I mean, come on. This is one thing we’re fucking good at.”

  I laugh, wondering slightly at our strange skill set.

  “First things first: let’s check the suite.”

  We all nod begrudgingly, knowing what we’re about to find likely won’t be pretty.

  I extend my hand toward the door, eyes still fixed on Sammi.

  “After you.”

  She groans, turning to make her way back into the hall.

  After discovering that my pubes are blessedly untouched, I’m actually feeling pretty positive about this one.

  How bad can it be?

  The room over from my own is the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, hanging loosely from a clearly busted hinge. I take a deep breath before pushing it slowly open, memories of horny monkeys and sharks dancing through my head.

  When nothing immediately jumps at me, I give it a hard shove. It slides easily enough, hinge squeaking loudly in protest as it opens.

  Really, once I get a good look, it’s not so bad.

  No wild animals, no ladyboy hiding in the shower. All in all, maybe even a little disappointing. The only things that might be a little concerning are the pregnancy tests.

  The bathroom is covered with them. On the sink, the floor, floating sadly in the toilet.

  Truly, I’ve never seen so many pregnancy tests, and I’ve had my fair share of scares.

  I pick one up from the vanity and examine it.

  It’s positive.

  It’s obvious that it isn’t Becky taking all of these since we can all clearly see she’s pregnant, so once we figure out how I got fucking married last night, we have a whole new issue to address.

  I walk toward the living room, trying to find any piece of evidence that can help us. As I get closer, I start gagging.

  I smell the living room before I see it.

  “Oh, gross!” Mysti says, covering her nose.

  The reek of absinthe after a night of knocking it back shot after shot hits you like a smack in the face. Clearly, there was a bit of a spill. More than a bit, really.

  From the stench, it’s like the world’s biggest party foul.

  I follow Mysti’s lead, covering my nose. The smell only grows more pungent as we get closer. When we reach the living room, I quickly spot the puddle.

  Yeah, that’s a lot.

  Really though, not as half as interesting as what I found on the piano.

  Sprawled across the Steinway, naked as the day she was born, which must be sometime in the early 1700s, is possibly the oldest woman I’ve ever seen.

  Her gray hair hangs limply from the edge, drool pooling on the lid.

  From the pound of makeup on her face, I’m definitely thinking hooker. I’m not sure how that’s possible at her age, but I make a mental note to ask what her secret is.

  “Fuck,” Sammi says, following my line of sight.

  I shrug, continuing further into the room. Honestly, I’m still just waiting for some beastie to jump out and wrap itself around my head like a scene from alien movie.

  All jokes aside, that’s really not the kind of face sucker I’m into.

  With this group though, it definitely might be a possibility.

  If anyone could manage to go for a night on the town and end up bringing back a hungry alien, it’s me and my girls.

  “Well, that’s actually kind of pretty.” Mysti says.

  I glance back at the ancient hooker.

  “For fuck’s sake, Mysti. Not even you could believe that.”

  She giggles, “No, not that.” She says, looking pointedly across the room.

  I follow her eyes, relieved when I find the source of her amusement.

  Through the glass doors I see the hot tub, a mountain of bubbles forming like a volcano.

  “Oh, yeah,” I laugh. “Pretty.”

  “Hey,” Sammi chimes in. “Isn’t that Silver Fox?”

  “Where?” I ask, doing a three-sixty that makes my head spin.

  “On the TV.”

  She points. I look over, my eyes quickly finding the muted screen.

  Sure enough, there’s my guy. The guy anyway.

  “Turn it up.” Becky says.

  Sammi crosses quickly, not even bothering to look for the remote.

  “That’s right,” a female reporter chimes in a high-pitched voice, “you heard it here first. Prince Lanteri was looking pretty cozy with a mystery woman last night.”

  The screen shifts to display a slightly blurred photo of Silver Fox, his arm wrapped firmly around a black haired woman, his body shielding most of her from view.

  “Yes,” a man chimes in. “Clearly not his fiancé.”

  The woman reappears a moment later.

  “Accounts from last night are still trickling in, but we do have one new juicy morsel for you. It would appear that the woman in question was actually wearing the royal family ring.”

  Cue fake surprise from the male co-host.

  “Gosh, Terry,” he says, totally over-acting. “That is juicy.”

  I cross quickly to the TV, hitting the power button only a smidge too hard. All three girls look questioningly at me, clearly unsure of how to react. I can empathize, really not sure how to react myself.

  “So that rules him out,” I say, glancing down at the ring on my finger.

  “Is that good or bad?” Mysti asks.

  “Neither,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t want to be married to anyone. It doesn’t really matter to me who he replaced me with, right?”

  Three heads bob in agreement, though I see questions in their eyes.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “Good for him.”

  “It’s okay if you’re upset,” Becky comments. She leans into me, her big baby belly pressed into my forearm as she gives me a comforting hug.

  “I’m really not.”

  It’s the truth. I don’t know what I am.

  Mysti crosses to me, looking like she’s about to comfort me too. I open my mouth to tell her exactly how little I need to be comforted.

  “Mysti really—”

  A crash breaks through my words, my mouth slamming shut on the protest.

  “What the fuck?!”

  Oh, great. It’s the fucking face sucker. It’s got to be.

  “What was that?” Sammi asks, looking around quickly.

  “Sounds like it came from the kitchen.” Mysti answers, already heading that way.

  We follow immediately behind, preparing ourselves for anything.

  I’m still half expecting an attack
when we reach the kitchen. What I’m not expecting, is to see a baby bear raiding the fucking refrigerator.

  “What the fuck?” I repeat, staring in awe.

  The furry little mass just continues its task, hands groping for a gallon of chocolate milk just out of its reach.

  “There are bears in Amsterdam?” Mysti asks.

  At the sound of her voice, it turns, feet spinning quickly on the tile. As its face comes into view, I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. A hundred nature documentaries fall quickly from my thoughts, images of angry momma bears blessedly disappearing.

  “Awwww!” Becky says, crouching down slightly.

  Not a bear then.

  Actually, this might be worse.

  The child looks confusedly at us, pushing back the hood of his bear costume.

  “It’s okay,” Becky says. “We won’t hurt you.”

  She reaches both arms out in invitation. He ignores her entirely, his eyes passing over her as if she doesn’t exist. They don’t stop until they find Mysti, locking intensely on to her.

  “Mommy!” he cries, before running across the kitchen.

  He reaches Mysti in a second, wrapping his arms tightly around her leg.

  “Mommy! Mommy!”

  What the fuck?

  7

  Percy

  Saturday 11:14 Am

  My head is fucking pounding. I rest my forehead against my hands, my elbows propped on the granite table.

  The strong aroma permeates the air. God, I can’t wait until I have a cup of coffee in front of me. The scent alone is fueling my craving enough that it’s distracting me from my thoughts.

  “Ugh,” Mysti groans. I look over at her.

  The toddler on her lap has decided to start tugging on her hair and is just laughing every time Mysti reacts. I’m glad I’m not her right now.

  “Ouch! Fuck!” she shouts.

  “Fuck,” the kid immediately repeats.

  “Kids say the craziest shit,” I pipe up.

  “Shit,” it says, like a little fucking parrot.

  “My bad,” I apologize to Mysti, who’s giving me a death glare like what this kid’s real mom would be doing right now if she was here witnessing this nonsense.