Page 14 of Royal Catch
I lift one shoulder. “Guess I thought you might need a hug.”
He arches a brow.
“Maybe I did too,” I admit.
He studies me for a moment. “I can’t remember the last time I was hugged. It’s just not done in my family. Royals are untouchable for the most part.”
“Where I come from, we’re more touchy-feely.”
“Tell me about your kingdom.”
I tense. Not just because my knowledge of Polly’s kingdom is limited, but also because I don’t want to lie to him. We’re kind of bonding here. “My home is a wonderful tropical paradise.” At least that’s how Tampa is for me, a place where my dream of owning my own salon will one day come true. “Is it weird to be called the prize in this competition?”
“You don’t think I’m a prize?” His tone is ironic.
“Are you asking if I think you’re hot? Absolutely. Are you asking if I think it’s normal to offer a prince as a prize in aSurvivor-lite competition among princesses? No.”
He chuckles, a low rumbly sound that warms my heart. I made him laugh! “This was not my idea.”
“Then why’re you going along with it?”
He lets out a breath and stands. “Duty calls and I must answer. Make that wish, Polly. I hope it comes true.”
He leaves just as quietly as he arrived.
I go back to the fountain, turn my back to it, and make a wish, tossing the coin over my shoulder. It hits with a satisfying splash. My wish is simple yet impossible—winning the competition for a real prize that can save Polly.
I make the long trek down to the beach and walk along the sand in the moonlight, thinking how romantic this might be to walk with a lover. Strange thoughts for me. I’m not much for relationships—too much work, too many heavy expectations. And honestly I don’t have the time. My focus has always been on work, earning money toward my own salon and taking care of Mike for as long as I have him. Gabriel and I share that burden of losing someone to disease.
I sit on the beach and watch the waves for so long I almost feel like I’m in a trance.
I jerk into awareness as it hits me—there’s only one way forward. And I need Gabriel to make it work.
~ ~ ~
Gabriel
After my walk through the gardens, I return to the palace and pace the upper floors, restless and agitated as usual over the future. Finally, I’m tired enough to return to my suite. I dismiss the valet, who’s eager to whisk my suit away to be cleaned, and tell him I’ll hand over the suit in the morning. Right now I just need to be alone. I shrug off my suit jacket and toss it over the back of a leather highback chair in the living room.
This competition is wearing on me already. I did my best to entertain our guests after dinner. We retired to the parlor, where I nursed a brandy, making an effort to keep up my end of the conversation, which wasn’t easy. The remaining seven women practically rendered me catatonic with their inane chatter. I didn’t miss Polly slipping away after dinner either. She didn’t care enough about becoming my wife to spend time with me given the opportunity, which was incredibly rude.
Yet, much later, when I excused myself from the chattering princesses and went for a walk, I found myself drawn to her. There she was, standing in the moonlight by the fountain, a vision of wild curls and sweet curves. She seemed like she belonged there, like she should be part of the fantastical fountain with its cheerful glowing lights and playful fish.
I loosen my tie, irritated with myself for fixating on her. She’s not a good match for me, the queen has already declared her inappropriate, and I can’t say I disagree. Maybe it’s because she’s so different from anyone I’ve ever met, and that makes her inherently more interesting. Maybe it’s because she’s beautiful. Maybe it’s because—
She hugged me.
And I liked it. She actually seemed to care about what was going on with me on a deep level. She’s losing someone too, understands what that’s like—the agony of standing helplessly nearby, unable to do anything. She comforted me, and I welcomed it. I don’t even share that burden with my younger siblings. Most of them—five of the six—have apartments at the palace, but they’re all full-grown with access to the private jet, so they come and go frequently. They know our father is ill, but they don’t know he’s gotten worse. The protective big brother in me has kept them in the dark, letting them enjoy their carefree lives, as my father wanted for them. That’s probably why my parents haven’t called them home yet. My father sees himself in them, being the younger siblings, and has always given them loads of freedom with very few responsibilities.
My mind wanders back to Polly’s arrival at the palace. She said I’m a stick-in-the-mud that never leaves the palace. Both of which are untrue. I travel when I get the urge, usually in disguise. I can’t relax with the press following me, documenting every move. I have a few women I can call for a private hookup. They’ve signed nondisclosures and keep the details to themselves. I’ve been under the harsh glare of public scrutiny my whole life, and after a small indiscretion involving too much drink and my fists (and a not so small one), I’ve stayed out of the spotlight as much as possible.
My time will come soon enough as king. Even the royal duties I perform as the crown prince are kept private, only for the islanders, no press allowed. Cameras and phones are banned. The queen despises the tawdriness of internet sensations and social media. And she doesn’t have to look any further than my younger brother Phillip. He has a huge online following as the royal hottie and has no qualms about being in the spotlight. First with his serious girlfriend as the golden couple and later rutting his way through Europe with the elite. My father always says Phillip is like him before he settled down. Chip off the royal diamond. Ha!
I undo the buttons on my dress shirt cuffs before working down the front, suddenly drained. I’m still young; thirty is my prime, so I shouldn’t feel so worn down. The weight of the kingdom is on my shoulders, yes, but I’ve always known this was my legacy. I am as prepared as a person could be. It would be good to find a partner, someone who could carry the burden with me. Someone who would offer comfort during difficult times.
Like Polly.
I toss my shirt with the jacket, kick off my shoes, and head through my bedroom and into the en suite bathroom for a long steamy shower. A few minutes later, I’m feeling a lot more relaxed, tilting my head back into the spray. An image of Polly flashes through my mind. Her bikini cupping her round perky breasts, smooth tanned skin, toned stomach, curvy hips, long legs, that ass. That perfect round ass meant for a man’s hands. I shake my head, ordering myself not to fixate on her. It’s a losing battle, and now I’m tense again and hard at the same time. I’m debating taking myself in hand when I hear a noise in my bedroom. Has the valet returned to take my suit? I left the trousers on the bathroom counter.
