Page 58 of Royal Games (The Royals of Monterra)

“Look at that. We made it all the way to the club and I wasn’t kidnapped once,” I said sarcastically, letting myself out.

A loud cheer went up from the crowd. Frank had certainly promoted this event. There was a big picture of me with my name on it, and a huge line of freezing people waiting to get inside. A wall of blistering cold wind slammed into me when I opened the door, and my teeth immediately started to chatter. I had a shawl on, but it was no match for this weather. My vanity and inability to be weather-appropriate was going to kill me.

Frank came outside, looking like a reject from a 1990s boy band. He topped off his white jeans and white hoodie with a comb-over that seemed less a hairdo and more like a wind advisory, because long strands of it were blowing everywhere.

“Genesis! So nice to finally meet you.” His hand felt like ice. It somehow managed to make me even colder. “And who have you brought with you? Rafe or Dante?”

Rafe had dressed appropriately for the occasion in a black tight-knit, long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, and he had a winter coat on. I was the idiot in danger of turning into a life-size ice cube in my ballet flats and my once-nice cocktail dress. It was the same dress I wore to all of these appearances. It was a forest green sheath that nipped in at my waist and felt like it had been made just for me. It even touched the top of my knees, which was nice since I so rarely found dresses in my size that were long enough.

But the arctic winds that blew against my legs were not at all nice, and I was ready for this conversation to move along. “This is Rafe. Can we get inside?”

Frank was way too excited, but I didn’t care. I waved to everyone in the crowd, plastering on a big, faux smile. I rushed ahead of the men, hearing the words “renegotiate” as I went, but I didn’t slow down.

“Should we let people take pictures?” Rafe asked.

“Those aren’t people,” I said over my shoulder. “They’re paparazzi.” They’d hounded me pretty relentlessly for the first couple of weeks after the show finished airing, but our sheriff was very good at finding ways to drive them off.

The bouncer let me right inside, and a wave of sweat- and humidity-laced heat slammed into me. They had a lot of people inside dancing and at the bar. I warmed up really quickly. Once Frank and Rafe joined me, Frank showed us to the VIP section. It was a roped-off corner with a loveseat and a low table for drinks. A waitress immediately appeared, and I wished that I could order hot chocolate. I told her I was fine, and Rafe asked for water.

Keeping my false smile firmly in place, I tried not to make eye contact with any of the people staring at us. Loud techno music shook the club, making it impossible to hear, but I could easily see everything. These club appearances always made me feel like I was a seal at Sea World. Being stared at and pointed at in my enclosure, being expected to perform and entertain the crowd.

In that regard, it was nice that Rafe was with me because he was someone else to look at besides me.

The waitress brought back his water, leaning over farther than she needed to. Rafe went for his wallet, but she said, “Everything is on the house. I’ll get you whatever you want.” Jealousy reared up inside me like a hissing cat. Her invitation was unmistakable, and her cleavage flashing was starting to get annoying. I was mollified when I saw that Rafe didn’t look at what she wanted him to look at.

She walked off in a huff at her failed attempt, and I couldn’t help it. It made me smirk, and I was definitely feeling less angry than I had been just a few minutes ago. Rafe took out his phone, typing away. He was probably contacting his security team again. Then I wondered what he had been talking about with Frank. “What were you and Frank renegotiating?” I asked, trying to make myself heard over the music.

He realized that I was talking to him, and he had to lean in and I had to yell to repeat myself, ignoring my thundering pulse at being so close.

“I said he had to double his fee because we’re both here. He didn’t want to, but I convinced him.” His words caressed my ear, sending cascading shivers down my back. It didn’t surprise me he’d gotten his way. Like Aunt Sylvia was fond of saying, Rafe could probably convince a woman in white gloves to eat a ketchup Popsicle in August.

I didn’t know why he’d bothered with the fee. He didn’t need the money.

A photographer approached us, and I hated the thought that one of the paparazzi had snuck inside. Yet another person exploiting my personal life to make a buck. “Frank hired me for the night. Would you mind if I got some pictures of you two?”

Oh. He was the official photographer. This was part of the deal. Frank wanted some documented evidence that we had been there. I smiled, pushing my chin forward so that I wouldn’t have a double chin in all the pictures. I had learned that the hard way.

“Could you move closer together?” he asked, directing us with his hand. “Yes. Just a little bit closer. Keep moving.”

We scooted until I was completely pressed against Rafe on my right side. I blamed the heat that rose in my cheeks on the warmth of the club.

“Can you put your arm around her?”

Rafe pulled his arm out from in between us and laid it across my shoulders, his warm fingers pressing against my upper arm. A strangled breath escaped, and I was glad he couldn’t hear it.

“Perfect!” The photographer started clicking away, the camera’s light flashing every other second. It was a struggle to keep my eyes open.

Then Rafe’s thumb slowly rubbed my arm, back and forth, back and forth. I wondered if he even knew that he was doing it. It was all I could do to sit there, with him smelling like a dream and feeling strong and secure against me. I wanted to bust out of my skin. Still the pictures went on and on, with no sign of letting up.

Maybe I should contact the government and tell them about this new form of torture that I had discovered.

Finally, an eternity later, after my body had practically gone limp against Rafe, as if it wanted to stay next to him for the rest of my life, we were done. “I’ll grab some candids when you guys are out dancing.”

Dancing? Dancing was not part of this deal. I had no intention of dancing. It was bad enough being watched. The last time I’d danced in public to this kind of music, someone had asked me if I needed to go to the hospital, because they honestly thought I was having a seizure.

Country line dancing was a different story. I liked the patterns, the predictability of it. It wasn’t just waving your limbs with reckless abandon or moving like you were trying to get pregnant right there on the dance floor.

Before I could protest, Frank was there, still blissfully happy. He yelled, “Now that you’re done with photos, would you two mind dancing together?”

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