Page 10 of Royal Surrogate 1

“Nothing so gauche,” Caspar replies with a shrug, still looking annoyingly amused. “It’s not so bad, is it? I thought you Americans were all about your little moments of fame.”

“Not all of us,” I respond. Sure, I had the occasional daydream when I was younger about becoming a famous actress or pop star, but I gave those up years ago. “Why now? If all this attention was so important to you, then why haven’t they been following you around all day?”

“Ah, well.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t have you then. You’re the most important part of the picture.”

“Excuse me?”

“When you’re in the spotlight, image is everything,” he says. “I can’t very well have the whole world know I had to resort to hiring a surrogate to bear my heir. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with it, mind you, but some people will judge.”

The elevator reaches the top with a ding and the doors slide open, but I don’t move. “If you didn’t want people to know about your offer to me, then why the hell did you hire the paparazzi?”

“For appearances, obviously. As far as they know, I’m just taking a beautiful young woman on a date.” He gestures to me to follow him out of the elevator. “I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

As much as I don’t want to reward Lord Caspar for this ridiculous stunt, I’m finding it hard to resist the delicious scent of food drifting from the kitchens. I was too busy putting out fires at the library to take a meal break during my shift, and my stomach rumbles with longing. Besides, even though I’m still not one hundred percent convinced this isn’t some kind of joke, I can’t just turn my back on the money he’s offering me.

It’s just dinner, I tell myself. And there’s nothing wrong with hearing him out. You can still walk away at any point.

Famous last words.

I follow Lord Caspar into the restaurant. As embarrassed as I am to admit it, this is the first time I’ve been up here, and for a moment I’m distracted by the gorgeous views of Seattle at night, a shimmering landscape of twinkling lights below us.

“Good evening, my lord,” says the hostess with an awkward bow—clearly, they aren’t used to serving Montovian nobility. “Right this way, please.”

She leads us to a table scattered with rose petals, right next to one of the huge windows.

Lord Caspar holds my seat out for me like a proper gentleman, which I’d probably find charming if I weren’t so confused. But I wait until he takes his seat before launching my interrogation.

“Okay,” I say. “Explain.”

A waiter appears with a bottle of red wine—clearly every detail of this meal was planned—and Lord Caspar waits for him to pour our glasses and step away again before responding.

“As I said, I must take consideration for how this looks,” he says, lacing his fingers together. “As you now know, I am heir to the Guardianship of Wintervale in Montovia, as well as eleventh—or is it twelfth now? —in line for the Montovian throne. That means my firstborn son will be the heir after me. And yet, as of this moment, I have no children to my name. Not even a wife. If I’m being honest, the thought of marriage is…” He takes his time finding the right words. “It doesn’t appeal to me at this time. I prefer my freedom. But I do want—and need—a son. Once I’ve secured my heir, then all will be well.”

“And you decided that the best way to make that happen was to hire an American surrogate?”

“I’ve explored many options, I assure you. But yes, as I mentioned earlier, a surrogate allows me to avoid the messiness of custody rights. As for the reason I’m here in America, let’s just say it provided me with a bit more privacy while I did my research.”

“Which still doesn’t explain the paparazzi.”

“Yes, well, it would appear my research has come to an end.” He lifts his wine glass to me, his mouth curling into that dazzling smile of his, and despite myself I feel little flutter in my belly that I quickly suppress.

“As far as I can tell, you’re perfect,” he goes on. “You’re a fine physical specimen, your background check was spotless?—”

“You did a background check on me?”

“And you’re intelligent and personable,” he continues as if he hasn’t heard me. “Assuming there’s nothing surprising in your genetic reports, I’m ready to sign the papers.”

Yowzah, this guy is a lot to handle. I remind myself that over a million dollars is on the table, then take a deep breath.

“Lord Caspar?—”

“Caspar, please.”

“Caspar.” Another deep breath. “This is a lot to take in. And I still don’t understand why there are photographers outside.”

“Ah, of course. Forgive me.”

He leans forward, taking my hand, a frisson of sensation shoots up my arm as his fingers curl around mine. I do my best to ignore it. This is complicated enough without sexual attraction coming into play.

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