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“This is growing tiresome. I’m Prince Javier de la Cruz, of Monte Blanco. And you, Violet King, are my brother’s chosen bride.”
“What?” She did something he did not expect at all. She guffawed. It was the most unladylike sound he had ever heard. “I am nobody’s chosen bride.”
“You are. Your father owes my brother a debt. Apparently, he ran out of capital at a gambling table and was quite...in his cups, so to speak. He offered you. And I have come to collect you.”
“My father would not do such a thing. He would not...gamble me away. My brother, on the other hand, might play a prank on me that was this ridiculous. Are there cameras somewhere? Am I on camera?”
“You are not on camera,” he said.
She laughed again. “I must be. If this is your attempt to get a viral video or something, you better try again. My father is one of the most modern men that I have ever known. He would never, ever sell one of his daughters into marriage. You know my sister came home from studying abroad with a baby, and he didn’t even ask where the baby came from. He just kind of let her bring it into his house. He does not treat his daughters like commodities, and he does not act like he can sell us to the highest bidder.”
“Well, then perhaps you need to speak to him.”
“I don’t need to speak to him, because this is ridiculous.”
“If you say so.”
And so he closed the distance between them, lifted her up off the ground and threw her over his shoulder. He was running low on time and patience, and he didn’t have time to stand around being laughed at by some silly girl. That earned him a yelp and a sharp kick to his chest. Followed by another one, and then another.
Pain was only pain. It did not bother him.
He ignored her.
He ignored her until he had successfully transported her out of the building, which was conveniently empty, and down to the parking lot where his limo was waiting. Only then, when he had her inside with the doors closed and locked, did she actually stare at him with fear. Did she actually look like she might believe him?
“Violet King, I am taking you back to my country. Where you are to be Queen.”
CHAPTER TWO
SHE DIDN’T HAVE her phone. She might as well have had her right hand amputated. She had no way to reach anybody. She was an undisputed queen of social media. And here she was, sentenced to silence, told she was going to be Queen of a nation, which was something else entirely.
But this guy was clearly sick in the head, so whatever was happening...
She looked around the limousine. He might be sick in the head, but he also had someone bankrolling his crazy fantasy.
“Is this your limousine?”
He looked around and rolled his shoulders back, settling into the soft leather. “No.”
“Who are you working for?”
“I told you. My brother. The King of Monte Blanco.”
“I don’t even know where that is.”
She searched her brain, trying to think if she had ever heard of the place. Geography wasn’t her strong suit, but she was fairly well traveled, considering her job required it. Also, she loved it. Loved seeing new places and meeting new people. But Monte Blanco was not on her radar.
“It’s not exactly a hot tourist destination,” he said.
“Well.”
“It’s not my brother’s limousine either, if you are curious. Neither of us would own something so...” His lip curled. “Ostentatious.”
Old money. She was familiar enough with old money and the disdain that came with it. She was new money. And often, the disdain spilled over onto her. She was flashy. And she was obvious. But her fortune was made by selling beauty. By selling flash. Asking women to draw attention to themselves, telling them that it was all right. To dress for themselves. To put makeup on to please themselves, not necessarily to please men.
So yes, of course Violet herself was flashy. And if he had an issue with it, he could go... Well, jump out of the limo and onto the busy San Diego Freeway. She would not mourn him.
“Right. So you’re a snob. A snob who’s somehow involved in a kidnapping plot?” She supposed, again, he could be an actor. Not someone wealthy at all. Somebody hired to play a prank on her.
