Page 4 of Royal Fling
I still wasn’t sure if I could, but if I told him or any of my family that, they wouldn’t let me fly alone, and as much as I wasn’t sure if I could face this on my own, I knew just as much that I couldn’t do it with them by my side. I didn’t want to be worried about hurting feelings or being careful what I said.
Hell, I didn’t even know if my birth mother wanted to be found, and I definitely didn’t need to be rejected in company.
That was why I’d decided to message her after I landed in London. I wanted to be away from the pressures—and support—of my family if I was going to do this.
“Don’t forget to call us as soon as you land and keep us updated on everything,” Dad said and pulled me into his arms, squeezing me so tight you’d think he was losing me.
“Love you, Dad,” I said to him as we drew back from each other.
Were those tears in his eyes? They were red and glimmering, but I didn’t want to look closer. I just turned away and walked into the airport before I started crying, as well.
I checked in my suitcase, a plain black one that I’d just bought for this trip and was ushered into the front of the plane.
“Damn, that’s the life,” I mumbled to myself as I settled in the first-class seat Leo had booked for me and closed my eyes over the roar of the engine.
I rested my eyes, watched a couple of British movies to get me into the spirit, and enjoyed booze and food—better food than in any economy class flight I’d been on.
It was eight in the evening, local time, when we touched down and I navigated the chaotic corridors of Heathrow Airport.
How did flying, sitting on your ass for eight hours, especially on a seat as comfy as the one I was in, still make you feel so tired?
To be fair, I had lost five hours of my day, but I knew what would fix that. A little R&R in my brother’s uptown home.
I lined up for border control, got my stamp on my passport, and found the baggage reclaim for my flight. Everyone was waiting for the carousel to start spitting out our suitcases, and there was the usual frenzy of people running around it trying to catch their stuff.
I spotted my black suitcase from the minute it came out and followed its journey to me.
I leaned in to grab it as it approached when a big, calloused hand snatched it up before I could and lifted it up.
“Thank you,” I said, looking up at the kind stranger helping me out only to find a big, white, burly guy who did not look amused.
He walked away with my bag, while another white guy put his hand on my chest when I tried to follow.
“Get your hands off me. What are you doing? That’s my suitcase,” I said to the man touching me.
He was also big and scary, and my heart rate sped up within my chest. But at the same time, these two douchebags were stealing my stuff.
I watched the first guy, a blond, come to stand next to a tall man wearing sunglasses. Then the two started walking away.
“Get your hands off me.” I pushed the guy off me and tried to chase after the other two people. “Excuse me,” I shouted when the guy tried to stop me again. “That’s my suitcase.”
The tall man stopped in his tracks and turned around. Was he looking at me? It was impossible to tell with those sunglasses on.
Why was he wearing sunglasses in the evening inside an airport? Was he famous or just a dick?
He waved at the man in front of me—he was a brunet—and the guy stepped aside, allowing me to get closer to this mysterious man.
He was half a head taller than me and muscular although on the skinny side. He wore a black suit that smelled fresh and looked brand new.
His hair was black and slicked back, the way rich kids like to wear it when golfing. His lips were plump and pink, and he had a light stubble on an angular face. His skin was on the light side of khaki, more Mediterranean olive than British cream white.
“How can I help?” he said in a pronounced British accent although I could detect some heavy syllables that confirmed he was foreign.
It was music to my ears even though it was a short, meaningless sentence, and I had to remind myself that this guy was trying to steal my bag.
“Th-that’s mine,” I said, pointing at the suitcase held by the buff blond guy.
The brunet was now standing on the other side of the rich guy, and I realized they were his bodyguards. There was no other explanation why a man like him would be walking around with two giants on either side.
