Page 7 of A Royal Disaster
“Yes, well, thanks to Hollywood, they seem to think being royal is all ball gowns, tiaras, and happily ever after.”
Liam snorted. “If they only knew.” Being royal wasn’t half as glamorous as the films made it out to be. In reality, he was little more than a glorified politician whose entire life was a chess match to be played out on the floor of Parliament. His days were packed with political meetings, philanthropy, and sycophantic fools who’d do anything to earn favor with the crown.
As for happily ever after? That was the biggest lie of all. The monarchy was built on political marriages. Cold, loveless, miserable.
“I rather think it’s better this way, don’t you?” Fin asked quietly. It was the closest his friend had ever come to voicing disillusionment with the monarchy, and Liam loved him all the more for it.
“You’re probably right,” Liam said, straightening his sleeves. The truth was, being royal meant there was room for only one love: Valeria. It was a never-ending parade of strength, duty, and honor.
Not that he minded. Liam had been raised to value his country and its needs above all else and had always done what was expected of him while his younger siblings had to be dragged kicking and screaming each step of the way. Which was why they were off doing God knew what beyond the reach of the monarchy, while he was in New York, negotiating trade deals and being tailed by the paps.
“After all,” Fin continued, flashing a wry grin, “there’s no harm in letting the world believe the fairy tale.”
They could keep the fairy tale. Liam lived in the real world, where duty trumped desire and sassy artists and crown princes didn’t mix—even if he wished they did.
Chapter Three
Lena shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the blinding sun shining through the window above the sink. She was so not a morning person, and it didn’t help that she’d been up until three a.m., painting, unable to get Chad’s lawsuit—or the disastrous run-in with the prince—out of her head. It would take at least two cups of coffee before she started feeling semi-human, but she’d happily chalk it up to the price of creativity.
There weren’t a lot of people who could say they were living their dream. Probably even fewer who could say they’d met a hot-as-hell prince and gotten up close and personal with his drool-worthy abs. She was one of the lucky few, and she wasn’t about to complain about living her best life. Even if painting a royal—literally—would do nothing to help her land a gallery show.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, but she ignored it. Dealing with other humans before she was properly caffeinated? Not happening.
Really, it was best for everyone involved. What time was it anyway? She hadn’t bothered to set an alarm, since it was Nia’s day to open the shop. Translation: the only day she could sleep in. Lena rubbed her eyes and checked the clock on the microwave. It was almost ten, which meant she needed to get her butt in gear.
But first, coffee.
Lena dropped a pod in the coffee maker and set about refilling Jinx’s water bowl. The little ball of fur came running up the back steps when he heard her pop the top off a can of cat food, curling around her bare feet as she scraped the brown mush into his dish. She stooped to pet him, brushing her hand over the soft fur of his head and back as he purred contentedly.
Her phone buzzed again. And again, she ignored it.
A woman had to have her priorities.
Right now, hers included ten ounces of French Roast. Nothing was coming between her and that first glorious shot of caffeine. Lena eyed the coffee maker, watching as it filled her cup nearly to the rim. She grabbed the cup as soon as the last drop fell, added milk and sugar, and took a hearty sip, scalding her tongue.
Someday she’d learn patience, just not today. Leaning against the counter, she sipped her coffee as her phone buzzed three times in quick succession.
“What could be so important?” she asked Jinx as she snatched the phone off the counter and unlocked the screen. “Ay bendito.”
She stared at her phone in disbelief. Seventy-eight new text messages. One hundred and twenty-five Twitter notifications. One hundred and eighty-three Insta notifications.
That couldn’t be right, could it? She hardly ever posted on social media and mainly used it to keep in touch with old friends and spread the word about events at the studio. And, okay, look at cat memes.
She took a sip of her coffee and started with the texts, most of which appeared to be from her family. She scrolled through the list, noting there were messages from cousins and aunts and uncles and—the phone buzzed again and a new message popped up on the screen.
Nia:Girl, get your ass out of bed! You’ve gone viral!
Puñeta.
Lena clicked the link Nia sent, dread settling over her like a potter’s apron. Plenty of people dreamed of going viral, but Lena wasn’t one of them. In her world, nothing good could come from that kind of attention. Not even for her studio.
The page loaded, and Lena saw herself looking half-crazed as she threw a bucket of paint at Liam. The headline read: Elena “Mad Eyes” Murphy Attacks Beloved Crown Prince.
Ay Dios mío.
How the hell had the photographer even gotten that shot when he’d arrivedaftershe’d thrown the paint?
Nia had warned her the paps might post the pictures of Liam dripping paint online, but she hadn’t really believed she’d be part of the story. She was nobody. A starving artist from the East Village, hardly tabloid material. Heart stuttering, she selected the lead image and expanded it, zooming in on her face. She looked like a complete psycho, lips curled, eyes narrowed, hair wild. Even without sound, she could imagine the roar that had emanated from her as she’d channeled her anger about the lawsuit.
