Page 1 of Prince She Shouldn't Crave
CHAPTER ONE
Gabriel Montroy slippeda monogrammed gold cufflink into the pristine white cuff of his shirt. Clipped it into place, tugged at one sleeve, then the other, adjusting them both. He glanced at a few of the more odious Halrovian tabloids tossed carelessly on a coffee table in his personal suite, the stark black headlines meaningless patterns against the dusky paper. He didn’t have the time or the energy to try reading them this morning.
‘What do they say today, Pieter?’
His valet sniffed.
‘The same as ever, Your Highness. No worse, no better.’
That didn’t bode well. Whilst the more traditional media remained staunch supporters of the Montroy royal family, over the past year something in the tabloids had turned. Morphing from overblown yet generally benign commentary to something darker, nastier. Once, he’d agreed with his parents about ignoring them, in a time where the news stories had tended to be more about titillation than truth. Then they’d evolved from being an irritating mosquito that could be quelled with a swat, to a venomous spider weaving a toxic web of lies…
Gabe did up the top button of his shirt, slowly fastening himself into place. His valet handed him a gleaming silk tie. ‘The darker blue today, sir. I believe it conveys a sense of leadership, without appearing overtly intimidating.’
Gabe had no interest in colour theory, or whatever Pieter called it. He was Crown Prince of Halrovia. A position that was to be upheld with authority and confidence. His family was supposed to be the country’s bedrock. Him, its fresh foundation. Instead, the press seemed intent on rumour and innuendo. More recently about his sisters, and now him. Heir apparent to the Montroy Crown. Once dubbed the Proper Prince, that moniker now used to disparage rather than to praise.
Something needed to change in the way his image was managed. Whereas his parents and their press secretary wanted everything to stay the same, he recognised that now was not the time to play safe. They—he—needed to take a risk. He’d known what that was like once. He’d been all about the risk and resulting reward. Gabe wasn’t sure why the thought had his heart pumping as if he’d run down a football field, the opposition chasing him down. Attempting to tackle him as he made his way to the goal…
Gabriel tried to ignore the sensation, that frisson of a memory. Those days were long behind him. Instead he lifted his collar and draped the tie around his neck, tying it in a knot. Tightening it, adjusting it. Loosening it a fraction. It had begun to feel like a noose. Yet there was no point to these thoughts. He’d accepted the price he’d had to pay for those days as captain of Halrovia’s national under-twenty-one’s football team. When he’d lived life a little too full. Been justifiably cocky, untouchable, until he’d trusted someone who hadn’t deserved the privilege.
He shrugged on his jacket, then turned to the mirror. Tugging his shirtsleeves again so his cuffs sat perfectly even, his persona firmly in place. He took a deep, slow breath, allowing himself to remember, and in some ways regret, the innocence and ignorance of his late teens.
‘Read meone.The most egregious.’
His valet walked to the coffee table, sifted through a few of the papers as if there were something dirty on them.
‘“Are Minor Scandals Hinting at Bigger Secrets? The Nation Wonders…”’
Any scandals were wishful thinking in the minds of the tabloid’s editors. Secrets, however… He’d held on to his own since childhood. Was protected by his parents when its disclosure threatened the myth of perfection that was his family.
‘That headline doesn’t meet the definition of egregious.’
‘In the sub-heading there’s talk of a palace source expressing concerns that opinion ratings of the royal family are falling, which might lead the public to clamour for a…republic.’
Pieter almost spat out the word as if it were spoiled food in his mouth.
‘Which is why I have a plan to reverse that alleged sentiment.’
‘Then I trust the interview goes well, sir.’
Gabe nodded. Slipped in some earbuds, grabbed his mobile phone and opened the text-to-speech app, listening once again to the CV his private secretary had downloaded for him as he made his way to his palace office. Someone to manage his image, since giving his youth and his life working for the crown didn’t seem to be enough.
He shut down the prickle of resentment at that thought and concentrated on the history and achievements of the person he was about to interview. Someone recommended by his sister, Priscilla. Last on the list, after he’d seen and discounted several polished but uninspiring candidates. Cilla raved about the woman who’d worked with her for around nine months on PR and the social media accounts of the Isolobello royal family, after Cilla moved there following her engagement to their Crown Prince. He wasn’t so enthusiastic. Whilst her references were impressive, any tertiary studies were mysteriously absent.
Just like you.
He ignored that voice as he pushed through the doors of his office, checking the time. His situation was different. What he needed was someone to impress him. As he looked around a waiting area, he saw no one but his private secretary, Henri.
‘She’s late,’ Gabe said.
Strike one, if he was looking for reasons not to hire the woman. He wasneverlate. In Gabe’s view, a lack of punctuality was a result of poor planning and lack of consideration.
‘If it’s any consolation, sir, she called sounding suitably panicked. It seemed genuine, and Security tell me she has arri—’
The door to the anteroom burst open. Gabe and his secretary turned as in rushed a whirlwind in black and white. A woman, grappling an overstuffed handbag as she hauled it up her shoulder and straightened her jacket, before stilling as if some forest creature caught in a hunter’s sights. Her ocean-blue gaze connected with his, her eyes widening. The shock of that vivid colour trapped him, and he couldn’t look away. Then he caught her scent, like hot chocolate and spice. It teased his senses, made his mouth water as if she might be the perfect dessert, which of course was nonsensical. Then a strange heat burst inside his chest, radiating outwards. He had the irresistible desire to tug at his tie and loosen it further as the room grew too warm.
What the hell? Perhaps he should get his private secretary to check the air-conditioning.
‘I—I…’ The woman glanced from him to his private secretary and back again.
