Page 66 of A Royal Disaster
Lena’s pulse quickened. The prospect of staying in was tempting. She’d have Liam all to herself. No fangirls. No cameras. No paps. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t play hard to get. “I don’t know,” she drawled, resting her hip against the counter. “There’s a new restaurant downtown I was hoping to try. I hear they serve the most amazing twenty-four-layer chocolate cake. Rumor has it each layer is like its own mini-orgasm. Do you think you can compete with that?”
Liam damn near growled. “Twenty-four orgasms? Consider it done.”
Heat flared low in her belly even as she scoffed at his guarantee. “That might be a stretch, even for you.”
His cocky reply came fast and confident. “Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll make you come every hour on the hour.”
She pressed her thighs together, the promise of multiple orgasms scorching her panties. “If you’re determined to try, who am I to stop you?”
When Liam spoke again, it was in the low rasp she’d come to think of as his “sex voice,” a sound so at odds with the smooth baritone he used when addressing the public, it was hard to reconcile with the prince she’d met that first day in the alley. “Ethan will pick you up in an hour.”
Lena hung up and busied herself cleaning the studio, rinsing brushes and wiping down tables in record time. Nia would be arriving any moment to take over the evening shift, and if she hurried, she’d have time to squeeze in a quick shower before Ethan picked her up. She’d just finished stuffing all the aprons in the washer and was measuring detergent when the overhead bell jangled.
“Is that you, Nia?” she called over her shoulder.
There was no response.
Not Nia, then. She hastily wiped her hands on her apron and pitched it in the washer before making her way to the front of the shop where she found a blonde in stiletto heels surveying the studio. Judging by the set of her lips, the visitor was unimpressed.
Lena wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t exactly their typical customer. Everything about her suggested she was more Upper East Side than East Village. She had the kind of sleek platinum hair that was rarely natural, and her creamy skin glowed as if it had been treated with only the best lotions and serums. One look at her expensive suit and Lena figured the woman was lost, because no one showed up for art lessons dressed like that.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The woman turned to face her, looking her over from head to toe with a derisive snort.
Well, then.
“Are you Elena Murphy?” she finally said, her accent disturbingly similar to Liam’s.
Lena’s stomach churned. Whoever this woman was, it was no coincidence she’d stumbled into EVA. “Yes, and you are?”
“I am Lady Charlotte Dupont, and I’m aclosepersonal friend of His Royal Highness, Prince William. We grew up together in Valeria.”
The way she put special emphasis on the word “close” raised Lena’s hackles. Liam had never mentioned a friend named Charlotte. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t mentioned any friends besides Fin.
A pang of jealousy struck hard and fast. Was it possible Liam had dated this woman? Fucked her, even?
No, she couldn’t picture it. She’d only just met Charlotte, but it was clear the woman had a permanent stick up her ass. So who was she and what was she doing in Lena’s studio?
Only one way to find out.
“It’s nice to meet a friend of Prince William’s,” she said, offering the other woman a bright smile. “What brings you by East Village Art today?” No way the woman had flown three thousand miles for a pottery lesson.
“I wanted to meet you,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Okay then. Definitely not here to make friends.
“May I speak frankly, Elena?” she asked, striding across the studio like she owned the place. Lena had a feeling Charlotte approached everything in her life with the same air of entitlement and, though it rankled, she wasn’t exactly surprised.
“We’re not big on pretense around here,” Lena said, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip.
Or self-important snobs.
Charlotte flashed a viper’s grin. “I admire your ambition. Truly. After all, don’t all girls dream of being princesses?” She paused and gave a delicate shrug. “Under different circumstances, we might even be friends.”
Like hell.
“I very much doubt that.” Lena preferred not to surround herself with people likely to stab her in the back with a designer stiletto.
