Page 17 of A Royal Disaster
Jack and Ethan rushed in, crowding around the prince as he scraped food from his clothes.
“Mira este revolú. I’m so sorry. It was an accident,” Lena said, the words coming fast and furious as her cheeks caught fire. “I forgot my bag and I tripped and now you’re covered in whipped potatoes and there’s a shrimp in your hair. And, uh, one on your…” she trailed off, pointing to his crotch. “Not that I was looking, of course.”
Except she was. And why was she always talking about his penis?
Lena sucked in a deep breath, willing her mouth to stop talking.
“Your Royal Highness, I’m so sorry,” the waiter said, joining the fray to collect the broken dishes that circled the prince. “Please forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive,” Liam said quietly. “The fault is entirely mine. I apologize for the mess. Please send me the bill for the damages, as well as your dry cleaning.”
With her mouth on pause, Lena became increasingly aware of the dining room around her. It had gone absolutely still. Unease prickled up her spine and she was certain she’d hear it if someone so much as breathed. Dozens of faces stared at her, a mix of horror and disdain. Oh, there were a few looks of pity, but they were all directed at Liam as he climbed to his feet.
If ever there was a time for the Earth to swallow her up, this was it.
When his eyes locked on Lena, she couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze sharpened. It wasn’t anger, exactly. More like…dismay. Her stomach sank. She’d really screwed up this time if even the optimistic prince couldn’t find a silver lining in this disaster.
…
Bloody hell. Liam didn’t put much stock in curses, but maybe there was something to Murphy’s Law after all. They’d had a perfectly lovely evening right up until Elena had shoved him arse over elbow into the wait staff. In the space of a breath, he’d gone from flirting with the sexy artist—who seemed to feel the same pull of attraction—to wearing a fine coat of shrimp and potatoes. It was a step up from paint, but there was little doubt they’d be gracing tabloid covers again tomorrow.
At this rate, his fake girlfriend would be the death of him before their arrangement ran its course.
“I’m sorry,” Elena whispered, face stricken as she reached up and tentatively plucked a shrimp from his hair. It dangled from her fingertips as she glanced around, unsure where to discard it. Without a word, the waiter put out his hand to accept the little prawn. Elena looked up at him, defeat darkening her eyes. “I tried—”
“Your Royal Highness, we should get you to the car,” Jack said, making a brisk motion toward the door. Ethan was already clearing a path through the wait staff as conversation resumed, spreading through the restaurant like wildfire. He didn’t see any cameras, but he knew they were there, silently capturing Elena’s latest humiliation.
Give it five minutes and they’d be trending on social media—again.
Bollocks. He needed to find a way to fix this. What would Fin do if he were here?
The answer was obvious. Downplay the incident and defuse the tension.
Liam squared his shoulders and flicked a spot of mashed potatoes from his jacket, doing his best to look unaffected by the circumstances. Then he turned to Elena and laughed, loud and boisterous, as if nothing could be more amusing than their current predicament. “Sorry about the mess, love. It would seem I have two left feet today.”
She looked up at him, eyes growing wide. Was she surprised he would shoulder responsibility for the mess or had she expected him to be angry about it? Did it even matter? She deserved to have someone in her corner always, and the realization that she didn’t left a dull ache in his chest.
“Sir.” Jack’s voice sliced through his thoughts.
Right. They needed to go. He instructed Jack to grab Elena’s bag and placed his palm gently on the small of her back. “Would you like to get out of here?”
“God, yes.” She strode toward the door at a breakneck pace that would’ve given his mother an absolute shit fit—a lady never hurries—but he matched her stride easily, hoping like hell she wouldn’t trip again.
Ethan seemed to be having the same thought as he watched her approach, eyes fixed on the sexy stilettos that were severely lacking in function. The bodyguard held the door for them as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Jack bringing up the rear with Elena’s handbag clutched in his meaty palm.
The evening was cool and only a sliver of moonlight pierced the clouds, but it was a welcome change from the too hot restaurant and judgmental stares of strangers that seemed to have shamed Elena into silence. For once, she didn’t say the first thing that came to mind and simply stood by his side with her shoulders rounded, a stance he suspected had nothing to do with the chill. He wasn’t a fan of being tabloid fodder, but what he liked even less was the way Elena’s bottom lip quivered. The dull ache in his chest resurfaced. Elena was sweet and charming and funny. Hell, she was one of the most authentic people he’d ever met. He felt like he could tell her anything—a rare gift—and she didn’t deserve this shite. Not from the media, not from anyone.
He gave silent thanks the paps hadn’t stuck around for the grand finale and searched for something to lighten the mood. “I’d offer you my coat, but…” Liam said, pointing to the variety of stains that covered the dark fabric.
Elena’s body went rigid. It was as if a puppet master had yanked her string, straightening her spine and lifting her chin in one fell swoop. “Still think Murphy’s Law is a blessing in disguise?” she bit out, not waiting for a reply. “I’ve just made a complete fool of myself and ruined another one of your suits.” She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “This evening was a complete disaster.”
“It wasn’t acompletedisaster,” Liam teased, ignoring the skeptical look that passed between Jack and Ethan. Arseholes. “I rather enjoyed myself right up until the end.”
This time Jack gave a short bark of laughter. He recovered quickly, and said, “I’ll pull the car around, sir.”
It was a quiet ride back to the studio, each moment dragging on painfully as Jack maneuvered through the congested city streets. By the time they reached EVA, Liam was damn near choking on the tension. The last time he’d been this out of sorts was when the Lady of Wilshire—who was eighty-nine—had grabbed his cock during a state dinner, claiming she’d been searching for her napkin.
He needed to do…something.
