Page 2 of Owned By Royal

“No, that’s your suspicious face.”

“I have a suspicious face?”

“You absolutely do.”

I ignore her because Royal suddenly excuses himself from the group surrounding him. He offers another practiced smile before slipping through a side doorway leading toward the quieter hallway outside the ballroom, and curiosity sparks inside me before common sense has a chance to intervene.

“I’ll be right back.”

Olivia raises an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”

“The restroom.”

The hallway is blissfully quiet compared to the ballroom; the music reduced to a faint murmur behind closed doors. Royal is already halfway down the corridor with his back to me, his attention fixed entirely on the phone in his hand.

I slow my footsteps instinctively, careful not to let my heels echo across the marble floor, and as I close the distance, I finally catch a glimpse of his screen. It isn’t a text conversation. It looks like surveillance footage.

Multiple camera feeds fill the display, each showing a different location, and before I can make sense of what I’m seeing, Royal goes completely still.

Without turning around, he says, “You know, Princess, if you wanted my attention, you could’ve simply asked.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks. He turns then, amusement dancing in warm chocolate-brown eyes that are somehow even more striking up close. His smile widens as realization settles over my expression.

“You followed me.”

“I did no such thing.”

“No?” He slips his phone into his pocket with frustrating ease. “Then what are the odds we both decided this empty hallway was more entertaining than the ballroom?”

“I needed some air.”

“In an interior hallway?”

I fold my arms. “You’re awfully full of yourself.”

“So I’ve been told.”

He steps closer, close enough for the subtle scent of expensive cologne mixed with something warmer and distinctly masculine to reach me.

Up close, I notice details I couldn’t see across the ballroom, the faint scar disappearing beneath his beard, the confidence in the way he carries himself, and the intelligence behind eyes that seem to miss absolutely nothing.

“You’ve been watching me all evening,” he says.

“I was people-watching.”

“And I happened to be one of the people.”

“I suppose.”

His smile deepens. “I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be. I was only trying to decide whether your reputation is exaggerated.”

“And what have you concluded?”

“That you’re exactly what everyone says you are.”

His eyebrow lifts. “Which is?”