Page 38 of Royal Crush

“Your job is to correct me on set.” My irritation was rushing up my spine. I didn’t want to look at his infuriating, gorgeous, ridiculous face. His little smirk made me want to smack him. Or…maybe fall to my knees and kiss him. My head was split directly in two over the matter. “You don’t get to pretend like I don’t exist on set and then creep into my trailer like a—wait. How did you get in here? There was no ramp.”

“Yeah, I thought that was shitty of you.” His tone was flat now, and I could tell he was hurt.

My stomach twisted. “I didn’t ask them to move it. It was gone when I got in this morning.”

His expression said he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe me, and I told myself I didn’t care. It wasn’t my job to convince him.

After a moment, he sighed and settled back against the cushions. “Cillian carried me.”

I blinked at him.

“My guard,” he clarified. When I still didn’t know who the fuck he meant, he rolled his eyes. “You met him the other night.”

My face immediately flushed at the memory, and I cleared my throat. Cillian, the attractive older man who looked like he wanted to set me on fire. Right. Then I realized what he said. “He carried you? Like what? Piggyback?” The thought sent me into a fit of giggles, picturing the very prim, fussy, posh prince being piggybacked into my trailer.

“Are you five?” he snapped.

“Sorry, sorry. Seriously though. How?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I’m supposed to be you, asshole.” My irritation was back in full force, and I walked over, dropping into the empty chair across from him. Kicking my feet up on the table, I crossed my arms over my chest and squeezed until I felt a little better. “I’m going to assume at some point, I’ll be carried on set.”

“I—well.” He stopped and stretched his lips into a thin, straight line. “I suppose you’d call it bridal carry. And please don’t start laughing again. It’s not like I have a lot of options. If I had more core strength, I could probably lift myself, but I don’t.”

That was the moment I realized he was probably mocked a lot behind his back for the accommodations he needed to get places that were entirely inaccessible to him, and I felt like shit for giggling. “Sorry. I know it’s not funny. It’s just…”

“What?” His eyes were blazing again.

I licked my lips. “You’re just so uptight. It’s hard to imagine you relaxing in someone’s arms.”

He blinked like he’d been slapped. “That’s—oh.”

“What?”

For a moment, I didn’t think he was going to answer me. “It wasn’t what I expected you to say.” There was something soft in his expression, and though it didn’t last, I was going to hoard the memory of it forever.

“So,” I said after a beat of silence, “what did I do wrong today?”

He blinked at me, then cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

Leaning over my thighs, I met his gaze. “Just tell me.”

Camillo bit his lip, his gaze darting down toward his feet. “You and—ah. What did they name him? Raul, right?”

“The actor’s name is Otis,” I told him.

His gaze snapped back to me. “Are you two—have you two—is it dating? Are you an item?”

“Anitem?” I fought back another laugh. When was the last time anyone had used that phrase? “Uh, no. We met literally today while I was having a smoke.” He pulled a face, and I scoffed. “Yes, yes, bad for the environment, killing my lungs, et cetera.”

He was entirely unimpressed with me. “It would suck to die halfway through season one.”

I wasn’t going to rise to that bait. He was trying to change the subject. “Otis and I are not dating. Nor are we fucking. Would that be a problem for you if we were though?” That was the question I wanted him to answer because why would he care? He made it very clear he didn’t give a shit about me.

Camillo cleared his throat again. “You can fuck whoever you want. My concern is that you two have too much chemistry.”

I blinked, then burst into laughter. “Sorry, but…whyis that a concern? That’s what people want, Your Highness. I understand you’re new to the business, but?—”

---