Page 25 of A Royal Disaster
“Is there a history of mental illness in your family? Should the prince be worried?”
“Prince William, do you have a change of clothes in the car?”
Anger stirred in his gut. The arseholes wanted him to lash out, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He was a crown prince, not some indulgent celebutante.
“Ignore them,” he whispered to Elena, even as he flashed a smile at the press and guided her toward the door.
“Elena, what show are you going to see?Mean Girls?” asked one of the paps, shoving a camera in her face.
Elena’s smile faltered, the light in her eyes fading. Liam’s temper spiked, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to take a swing at the press. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he bit back an angry retort. Who the fuck did this guy think he was, talking to Elena that way? He wouldn’t stand for it. Granted, it was possible she had the world’s worst luck, but she didn’t have a mean bone in her body, and she’d been through enough without this prick piling on. The media had its value, but at times like this he could hardly fault his brother for taking a swing at the bloody wankers. But Liam was crown prince, and he’d mastered the art of the stealth attack long ago.
“We’ll be seeingPretty Womanthis evening,” he finally said, slamming his foot down and grinding his heel on the toes of the photographer attempting to block their path. “A more fitting title, don’t you think?”
The arsehole winced in pain, the look of outrage making it clear he knew Liam had intentionally trampled his foot. Liam winked at the self-righteous bastard. With the thick crowd, no one would notice, but if the photographer called him out, he’d issue a completely insincere apology that would fool even his mother.
Just another trick in the arsenal of an HRH who can’t afford to be seen brawling with the press.
“Who’d have thought HRH likes to play dirty?” Elena whispered when they finally entered the opulent theater, leaving the throng of paparazzi and royal fans behind.
“Caught that, did you?” Liam smirked. “The prick deserved it.”
Elena laughed, the low, throaty sound going straight to his cock. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my duty,” he said, lowering his mouth to her ear. His lips brushed the outer shell, and she inhaled sharply. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t defend your honor?”
The smart kind who doesn’t get emotionally invested.
The head of the theater met them inside and, after a brief round of pleasantries, led them to their seats with Jack and Ethan running interference. Fin had managed to secure box seats at stage left—a feat he swore had been nearly impossible given the short notice. Fortunately, money talked, which meant they would be able to watch the show in relative peace without the piercing stares of strangers or whispers about their relationship.
Liam watched as Elena scanned the theater, taking in the ornately gilded walls, plush carpet, and gold-trimmed velvet curtain, her earlier enthusiasm returning tenfold. A quiet hum hung in the air as theater patrons flooded the orchestra seats below.
This sort of thing—the almost palpable air of excitement—happened every time he tried to do something normal. Which was why Jack and Ethan were turning away yet another patron requesting to meet the prince, though he’d been seated less than two minutes.
He supposed he shouldn’t judge too harshly. The closest thing Americans had to a prince was the first son, and from what he’d read in the papers, the boy was being kept on a very short leash. The direct result of a rather wild European tour that Liam’s brother Xander had planned last year.
It was the kind of indulgence Liam himself could never afford. Not if he wanted to keep his crown.
The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the show, and Elena gave a quiet squeal, reaching over and gripping his hand. Despite the chill of the theater, an unexpected warmth spread over his skin as she wrapped her slender fingers around his and gave them a gentle squeeze.
“In case I forget to tell you later,” she said, “I had a really good time tonight.”
Liam grinned. “What happened to making me work for it? Fin would be disappointed.”
Elena’s jaw dropped. “Forget Fin. It’s a line from the movie.” Her eyes narrowed and she flattened her lips in consternation. “You’ve never seenPretty Woman, have you?”
Liam shook his head, and Elena’s face lit up as she scooted her chair closer to his. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen it before. It’s your typical ‘corporate raider falls in love with a prostitute’ Cinderella story.”
“Sounds like a classic,” he deadpanned, wishing he’d taken the time to read the playbill before he’d so smugly run his mouth to the reporters outside. Could he be a bigger bastard? “I’m sorry about what I said before, to the reporters. When I compared you to the show, I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine. I appreciate your attempt to defend my honor,” Elena said, the corners of her lips twitching. She shifted her attention to the stage as if his faux pas had already been forgotten. Incredible. No lady of the Valerian court would be so forgiving of such a blunder—even an accidental one—which further solidified Elena’s impeccable character in his mind. “Most people don’t know this, butPretty Womanwas supposed to be a dark, gritty film,” she whispered. “Thankfully the rom-com gods did their thing and we got a happily ever after cult classic I will defend to my last breath. You’re going to love it.”
Liam watched her smile broaden as the lights went down and the curtain came up. Elena was positively stunning and even the opening number couldn’t compete with her beauty. A day at the spa had done wonders, but it was more than the air of relaxation that seemed to emanate from her; it was her unbridled joy and unfiltered approach to life that called to him like a siren’s song.
Elena was the complete opposite of the women at court who carried themselves with unnatural reservation, as if showing too much enthusiasm for life might be perceived as a sign of weakness or inadequacy. Whatever Elena was feeling, she seemed to just put it out there, whether it was abject humiliation or an apparent love of questionable nineties rom-coms. He admired that about her. Curse or no curse, it took a strong woman—a strong person—to be so unapologetically true to themselves, and he trusted her all the more for it.
Probably not a wise admission for a man in his position, but there it was. He trusted Elena. And he wanted to be the kind of man she could trust in return, but it wasn’t quite so simple for him.
It never would be, not with the expectations of the crown weighing him down.
