Page 2 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

I can’t stay here forever, though. Being normal is going to kill me.

On top of that, I feel kind of bad that I’ve taken over George’s house and ruined his week. Any plans he might have had, he’s had to cancel now. He claims he didn’t have any, but it’s possible that he’s just being nice — he’s always been a social butterfly.

We got up to a lot of mischief at college. They made a mistake making us roommates. We were out every night and spent all day nursing hangovers and scheming up ways to get girls to notice us.

That was the best year of my life.

“Anyone there?” asks George from behind me, making me jump.

“I can’t see anyone,” I say, turning to face him. “But I know they’re there. I can feel it.”

“Maybe they got bored.”

I scoff. “You know as well as I do what the press are like when they get wind of a scandal, even if it isn’t true.”

George grimaces. “Yeah. I remember.”

A few years ago, his dad, a preeminent lawyer in his firm, got into some hot water on a case surrounding a pop singer and her personal life. Something about fans stalking her and negligence with her address, or something. Maybe she had been pregnant, too? I had been too caught up in my own dating life to pay much attention to the rumors.

It wasn’t quite enough to be a scandal, but the journalists did harass the family for years afterwards. If anyone in the world can understand me, it’s George.

“I’m bored of doing nothing,” I sigh. “And I miss having a maid and a chef, or at the least a delivery driver — and I’m sorry for ruining your week.”

George shrugs. “It’s done now.” I give him a pained look, and he shakes his head at me. “Jensen, stop stressing, all right? You’re a media darling. That’s all there is to it. They can get an easy story about you — you’re always doing dumb stuff.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” I mutter. I press my lips into a firm line, unable to really deny it.

“You could just go out there and end it, man. Tell them your side of the story and hope they leave you alone.”

“You know that never works.” I sigh again, flopping dramatically back onto the sofa. I practically live here now, on this sofa. I’m becoming one with it. The two of us have shared many movies and meals together lately.

I just want to eat one meal from a restaurant. Just a taste of fast food. Anything that’s not this.

George sighs. He might understand me, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy at the imposition. I wish it didn’t have to be like this.

“You could try saying something to them?” he tries again.

I shake my head. “No, it’s hopeless. They’ll start asking me questions about who she is and why we slept together and what I’m going to do about the baby and is it definitely mine. And I don’t even know what her name is.”

“She’s a daughter of some duchess, by the sounds of it,” says George, scrolling on his phone.

“Are you reading the stories again?” I groan. I thought he was supposed to be on my side here, not reading the articles and seeing if he agrees with them.

Surely he knows me better than to agree with them? I might be stupid and reckless, but I’m not totally irresponsible.

“Her name is Maria von Holtz, and you met her three months ago at some charity ball to fundraise for the restoration of some castles or something.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately to even remember the event.It’s not coming to mind.

I go to all sorts of events all the time. I stand there and I smile and I shake people’s hands, and they tell me what a rebel I am. And I keep trying to smile, just taking it all as my brother, who is always ever so proper and correct and perfect, takes all the attention. And it’s so frustrating.

They all act like I’m someone awful. It’s not like I’m trying to be a bad person. I just like partying. I don’t want to be some stuffy royal who never does anything except placidly pose for the media. I don’t want to be some faceless guy who people don’t remember.

And it’s not that I want to be the king, either. That seems like way too much work. I don’t want that responsibility.

But I don’t want to be the king’s brother, either. I don’t want to be worth nothing except my title. I’m a real person. And I want people to understand that.

“You know you can stay here as long as you like,” says George, finally coming back to my side. He really is the best friend I could ever ask for.

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