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Sure, I knew my chief protection officer would be accompanying us to this evening’s event. But it’s the first time I’ve seen him since I propositioned his younger brother to take my virginity.
The more I think about it, the more I realize it wasn’t one of my finer moments. Even so, it doesn’t stop my heart from wishing Creed had said yes.
“Good evening, Adam,” I say with a smile. “This is Jameson Gates. My boyfriend.” I wince slightly, the term sounding foreign and wrong. But I need to get used to referring to him as such. “Jameson, this is Captain Adam Lawson of the elite protection squad. He’s my CPO. Chief protection officer.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gates,” Adam says evenly.
If he finds it suspicious that I suddenly have a boyfriend when he never saw me spend much time with another man the past three years he’s been on my protection team, he doesn’t say anything.
“Didn’t we meet the other day?” Jameson glances my way. “In the stables.”
“That was Creed.” I force a smile. “Adam’s younger brother.”
“Oh.” He blinks rapidly. “My apologies.”
“It’s a common mistake,” I assure him. “They do bear a strong resemblance.”
Once Jameson and I are situated in the back of the limo, Adam jumps into the driver’s seat.
As he navigates away from the Gladwell Penal Colony, as I refer to the compound of apartments and cottages where various other members of the royal family live, Adam finds my eyes through the rearview mirror, a question within. Then his gaze moves to Jameson, studying him with suspicion.
I’m pretty sure Jameson senses it, too, reaching across the seat and grabbing my hand. When I bring my gaze to his, he treats me to an endearing smile. But there’s a reminder there, too. After all, everyone’s supposed to think this is a real relationship. Including my chief protection officer.
Instead of pulling my hand away after a gentle squeeze, I keep it there, enjoying the warmth as Jameson brushes his thumb along my knuckles, his touch settling my nerves.
Until we near the Monarch Hotel and I see the crowds of reporters, photographers, and other royal watchers swarming the sidewalk, all of them here after receiving an anonymous tip that they’d catch some big scoop.
An anonymous tip called in from Gianna herself.
Once the limo comes to a stop, I draw in a calming breath, the camera flashes blinding even against the darkened windows. Neither one of us says anything right away, enjoying these last few moments of silence.
Of freedom.
But it’s fleeting, Adam soon jumping out of the limo, opening my door, and extending his hand toward me.
In an instant, I transition from the woman I’ve been the past several years into the woman I now have to be as the Princess Royal.
Plastering a smile on my face, I accept Adam’s hand and stand, waving to the assembled crowd as they shout my name. Then Jameson steps out behind me, the flashes becoming even more incessant, photographers fighting to snap our photo.
He places a hand on my lower back, and I lift my eyes to his, looking upon him as if he invades my every waking thought. I thought it would be harder to pretend like this, but it’s not. How could it be when every part of my life has been a lie? An elaborate display the royal family puts on to keep the masses entertained.
At one point, I thought I’d be able to use my position to do good in the world. Fight gender inequality. Eliminate child hunger. Provide resources for victims of domestic violence.
As I grew older, I learned the harsh reality that my duty to the crown doesn’t include making a difference. Instead, my main role is to put on a show. To give the impression I live a fairytale life. Any good we do is second to that. The illusion always comes first.
And now, that illusion includes pretending I’m madly in love with Jameson Gates so the royal household can chain us to each other, all because he possesses the star quality the establishment deems desirable.
“Should we give them something to talk about?” Jameson leans toward me, his breath hot on my neck. “Play hard and fast with the royal household’s plan for tonight?”
I pinch my lips together in a small smirk. “And what did you have in mind?”
“This.” He brings his hand to my face, his lips covering mine before I have a chance to stop him. I stiffen, not immediately responding to his mouth attempting to coax mine open.
This certainly wasn’t part of the plan. As Jameson’s learned over the past week, the royal household doesn’t take too kindly to overt displays of affection. A touch here and there is allowed, but that’s it. I can only imagine how Silas Archer and my grandmother will react when they see the videos and photos of this kiss.
Which is why I wrap my arm around Jameson’s neck, curving into him and parting my lips, tongue swiping with his.
Like we promised when we played hooky from that first meeting. We may be pawns in the royal household’s game.
