Page 24 of A Royal Disaster
“If only it were that simple.” Liam shifted his weight and rubbed the back of his neck. It was something she’d never seen him do before. Come to think of it, she hadn’t noticed a single nervous tick or tell. The media training was paying off, because he always appeared confident and in control, as if nothing could shatter his carefully crafted public persona.
Including a gallon of Sherwin William’s finest.
“You’re a prince. How complicated can it be?” Lena asked, scooting closer, because apparently, all it took was the world’s most comfortable shoes and a moment of naked vulnerability for her to be #TeamFin. The fact that Liam smelled like heaven didn’t hurt, either. “Surely you have the power to promote someone who’s earned it?”
“Valerian politics are complicated. We’re one of the few monarchies left that wields the power to govern. For now, anyway,” Liam finished in a rare display of cynicism. There was a story behind his words and Lena thought he would elaborate, but when he spoke again, the edge was gone, replaced by his usual crowd-pleasing smile. “Fin’s the head of my staff, but any greater role within the palace would have to be approved by Their Majesties.” Liam shrugged. “They have yet to recognize Fin’s value to the crown, but it’s just as well, because the stubborn bastard’s already made it clear he won’t leave my service.”
“You’re lucky to have him, then. It’s hard to find that kind of loyalty these days.”
“Especially in the palace,” Liam said, glancing out the window as the car turned on Forty-First Street. “Looks like we’re almost there.”
“Where are we going?” Lena asked, making one final plea for details. The last thing she needed was to make an ass out of herself in front of the press again.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Liam said, giving her that damnable smirk again. “Just be ready for the cameras.”
“Have you met me?” Lena wiped her palms on her thighs, wishing for the first time ever that she’d worn pantyhose.Ay Dios mío.Just the thought of facing the paps again had her sweating. “I’ll never be ready for the cameras.”
“Remember what I told you before? It’s all about presentation.” Liam turned to face her, gently taking her hands in his. The man had great hands. Soft and refined with the kind of long fingers she could easily imagine tangled in her hair during sex. Not that she was thinking of sex with the prince.
It was just— Oh, who was she kidding? Of course she was thinking of sex with Liam. God knew the whole fake girlfriend image makeover wasn’t working out. She might as well get some pleasure out of this ruse, if only in her daydreams.
And in her daydreams, HRH was sporting a giant scepter.
“You still with me?” Liam asked, sweeping his thumb across her wrist and sending an electric current straight to her core.
Lena forced a smile. “Yeah, just thinking about the paparazzi.”
“Trust me. You have nothing to worry about,” Liam said, meeting her gaze with the kind of smoldering intensity that could set a girl’s panties on fire. “You, Elena Murphy, are the kind of woman who rises to the occasion, no matter the circumstances.”
Funny, she’d just been thinking the same thing about him.
The car pulled to a stop before the Nederlander Theater, and Lena let out a squeal of delight when she saw thePretty Womanposters plastered all over the front of the squat, brick building. No way was it a coincidence. “Nia told you, didn’t she?”
Liam chuckled. “She might’ve mentioned your interest in seeing the musical before it goes dark at the end of the summer.”
He’d talked to Nia about their date? The revelation unnerved her. Yes, she’d desperately wanted to see the musical, but it had never occurred to her that Liam would be the one to take her. And not just because it demonstrated a level of effort that went beyond the terms of their agreement. Still, she couldn’t deny she was moved by his thoughtfulness, because when was the last time a man had gone to such lengths to plan a perfect date for her?
That would be never.
When Liam spoke again, his voice was as smooth and smoky as a shot of whisky. “Now all you have to do is smile for the cameras and you’ll get your wish.”
Right. Just like Cinder-fuckin-rella. Lena sucked in a breath as Ethan opened the door and extended his hand to help her out. “I’ve totally got this.”
…
Bloody hell. They should’ve brought more security. Liam scanned the crowd as he stepped out of the vehicle, smile fixed firmly in place. Once again, Fin had done his job too well. There were more paparazzi than Liam expected, and they descended like vultures the moment they spotted Elena.
Not that he could blame them. She was a vision with her dark hair swept up to reveal the long lines of her neck, dramatic smoky eyes a man could lose himself in, and the shortest fucking dress in the history of short fucking dresses. It was all he could do to keep his cock in check, and he gave silent thanks she wasn’t wearing heels, because her golden legs were already driving him to distraction. The last thing he needed was visions of stiletto-clad heels digging into his ass as he fantasized about burying himself between her thighs.
The paps pressed in close, dragging him back to reality with their frenzied questions shouted rapid-fire. Did these arseholes really believe acting like a pack of rabid hounds would increase their chances of garnering a response?
Liam slipped an arm around Elena’s waist as Ethan cleared a path for them, pushing the more aggressive photographers aside with a sweep of his broad arm. Not that it helped much. Between the tourists, the fans who stalked the gossip rags for royal sightings, and the paps, it was slow going. Jack brought up the rear, protecting their backs from the surge of fans who were calling out desperately for autographs as the paps tried to block their forward progress. It was only another twenty yards or so until they reached the door, but Liam was certain they’d have to fight for every inch of ground. He stole a glance at his date, relieved to see she was smiling brilliantly despite the chaos.
If the theater had this kind of effect on Elena, perhaps he should take her to an art gallery on their next date. It would be full-on euphoria. This was the kind of press she needed to right her image and convince people they were falling madly in love, which—with any luck—would also get his parents off his back once and for all. Tonight they would give the masses something positive on which to focus their attention.
Which, unfortunately, was easier said than done, given the provocative line of questioning from the press.
“Elena, how are you planning to steal the show tonight?”
