Page 17 of Royally Arranged

Before I could respond, Nova turned and hurried back to the church. When she reached her parents, her mother put a possessive arm around her slim shoulders.

I couldn’t see Valencia’s face well, but Kurtis’s lips were stretched in a frown. I held his stare for a second. Had he expected me to relish becoming the king? Was he, like his sons, jealous that I’d been born with the right blood through no effort on my part?

I twisted so I could keep walking to the Rizenburgh. It wasn’t far, the needle tip rising into view as I traveled the few blocks toward it. The doorman did a double take at me as I passed through the automatic glass doors.What’s his problem?

When I approached my room in the hallway, I noticed a figure standing outside it. He was a broad man, arms crossed like a pretzel over his chest. Rush hadn’t been working for my family for very long, but he’d proven to be a good-hearted man.

Months back, he’d been a member of a gang called the Deep Shots. We’d put them on our payroll, happy to increase our hold on the city streets of Providence, where most of our less savory businesses were.

Except the tension between us and the Valentines had caused dissension in the ranks. Many of the Deep Shots felt they would be better off with another employer—one who would reward them, even encourage them, for getting their hands bloody. They thought no one was off-limits ... not even innocent young women.

But Rush didn’t agree.

He’d shown his loyalty to my family, risking his life to protect Costello and his girl, Scotch, when letting them die would have been easier. He’d quickly climbed the ranks and ended up as one of our most trusted bodyguards.

“Hey,” he said, nodding at me as I approached.

“How much is he paying you to spy on me?” I asked, sliding out my key card.

Rush laughed self-consciously, his nails chafing the side of his thick neck. “Not enough.” When I stared at him seriously he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Kidding. I’m not spying on you, Maverick didn’t ask me to. My job, as always, is to keep you safe.”

“Right now I don’t need safety, I need to saturate myself in whiskey.” Grabbing my hotel door handle, I unlocked it, the green light flashing. “Alcohol: the cure to all ailments.”

Rush chuckled, and when I didn’t shut the door immediately, he got the hint and followed me inside. I headed to the minibar and yanked out the bottle of Seagram’s and a can of ginger ale. After filling one of the glasses that had been left by the staff, I filled a second and offered it to Rush.

He took it, but he didn’t drink. “How was the funeral?”

It was a complicated thing to answer. In my pissed-off state I was tempted to say,Oh, you know, got the news I’m expected to become the king of a country I just visited for the first time yesterday!

I went the easy route instead. “Grim. Depressing. There was a dead body in a casket, how do you think it went?”

He sighed and took a deep drink from the glass in his hands. I lifted my glass high in a quick salute before downing the contents in one gulp.

“So nothing else happened?” he asked.

Disbelief rocketed through me. “Doyouknow about the plans for the crown?” If everyone had been told before me, I was going to lose it.

Rush knotted up his forehead. “What? I just assumed something must’ve happened because you’ve got dried blood on your mouth, man.”

Touching my jaw, I chuckled dryly. “I forgot about that.” Now I knew why the doorman had looked so surprised. “Yeah, the funeral was a little wild.” I refilled my glass, eager to let the warm buzz smother my poor mood. Of course Rush didn’t know, why would anyone have told him what was going on? This political intrigue was meant for the inner circles of my family and the Valentines. But Rushwouldlearn about the plan ... as soon as I told everyone a very flat no.

I wouldn’t agree to this insanity. Did anyone seriously expect me to?

Pushing down the part of me that wanted to dissect the dangers of not complying with something so paramount thatbothmy father and Kurtis had agreed to it, I opened a second can of ginger ale to mix with the Seagram’s.

Marriage. Please.What a thought. And to whom?It doesn’t matter.

“You planning to get shitfaced?” he asked me as I worked on my new drink.

Forcing on one of the big smirks I was known for, I swallowed audibly. “I don’t get shitfaced, I just have a good time.”

“What’s on the good-time agenda?”

“First, I need to get out of these depressing clothes.” Abandoning my empty glass, I headed over to my suitcase, digging through it for something clean. Under some folded denim I saw the tip of my pistol.

It reminded me of when I’d stumbled back to the hotel last night. How much I’d been floating on a high over kissing Nova. Rush had been outside my room then, too, but he’d just given me a knowing smile and told me he’d left my weapon in my suitcase under some jeans. My father had, amazingly, relayed the message to him about how I wanted my gun at some point after I’d gone wandering off.

If only dear old Dad could relay important messages to me directly.I grabbed the gun and took it into the bathroom with the new clothes hooked over my arm. The room was huge—only the best on the family dime—and I was able to drape my outfit on the counter and still have an entire second sink to myself. Leaving the door cracked so I could keep talking to Rush, I ran the water, splashing my face multiple times.

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