Page 86 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

There’s a small microphone fixed to Roland’s suit, and it sends his voice booming over the loudspeakers and out into the crowd. “I can’t tell you what a joy it is to see you all here,” Roland says. “The palace hasn’t looked so good in years.”

A ripple of laughter from the crowd.

“My family has been through a lot,” Roland says, taking on a more somber tone. “And as always we appreciate your prayers and well wishes. When a plane crash took my father ten years ago, my life changed forever. The palace doors closed. I kept myself locked away out of fear for my own safety. I failed to recognize that it wasn’t only my life that had changed, but the future of England. For years, I deprived you the chance to get to know your prince.”

Roland takes in a deep breath, and it shakes in his throat. He’s vulnerable now. I want to reach over and hold him, protect him, but I keep my feet rooted in my spot. The sunlight makes his blue eyes sparkle. He smiles through the pain.

“No more closed doors,” he says. “As of tomorrow, Buckingham Palace will be open to the public. If I’ve learned anything in these past ten years, it’s that you don’t get anywhere in life without taking risks. Live the life you were meant to live. Don’t hold back. As your prince regent, I intend to do just that.”

The crowd erupts with cheers. My eyes flicker over the sea of people, and I feel a knot in my chest. They love him. I can’t blame them.

I love him.

Just then, my attention is interrupted when Roland starts toward me. Panic stabs through me—did someone push him? Is he ducking an attack? He has his place markers, he shouldn’t move… but he does. He closes the gap between us, takes me by the back of my head, and pulls me into a kiss.

I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Roland’s lips are on mine, and my body forgets how to survive. The soft, warm press of his mouth entices me in closer. There millions of people watching us. There is no turning back from this moment.

Kiss him, you fool, I hear Rory’s voice in my ear. Take a risk.

I sink into his lips. His kiss strips me of everything. I am his. He is mine. My prince. My king. For the world to see.

When Roland pulls back, I’m breathless and he is grinning. I’m positive I’m beet red, but there’s nothing to be done about that now.

The crowd is still cheering. There are no gunshots. No throwing knives. He kissed me and everything is fine. Everyone is alive. The world still turns; England still loves him.

Roland shouts over the balcony, “God bless the queen! And God bless England!”

My muscles unlock. It’s time to usher him back inside. I’m grateful that Tanner is there because he helps pull my focus, and we redirect Roland back into the palace.

“You’ll have to answer for that kiss, Your Highness,” Tanner informs Roland, playing the role of father for the day.

“Let them ask,” Roland laughs. “I’m an open book. It’s time England got to know their royal family.” He turns to me then and adds, “Are you all right with that?”

It’s a bit late to ask now—but I’m somehow pleased he’s asked at all. I nod, my head flopping. I’m still in a daze. “Yes. I’m all right with that.”

“Good.” Just like that, Roland is onto the next thing. He strolls down the halls with decisive purpose now. He turns his head left and right and then asks the million-dollar question: “Where’s Rory?”

48

Rory

Getting out into the crowd to watch Roland from the balcony seems like a pipe dream. So I putter around the palace until one of the maids pssts me and gestures me over to the living room. There’s a handful of help here, all in matching uniforms, eyes glued to the television.

“Pop your rear down, dearie.” The maid sits on the couch and pats the spot next to her.

I sidle up next her, grateful that the palace help got to me before any of the dukes or duchesses could. I’m far more comfortable here, where people call me dearie, rather than squeezed in between a couple stuffy suits who address each other as ma’am and highness.

“Lookit, there goes our boy,” the chef snorts.

“Awww, he looks all grown up.” A middle-aged maid sniffs and dabs her eyes with her apron. “He’s gonna make me cry.”

These are the people Roland grew up with—his only human contact, day after day. And they’re so proud of him. It makes my heart swell in my chest.

Roland starts to speak, and we all hang on his every word. He looks great on the TV. Confident. Bold. He looks as though he was born to be there. He’s effortlessly commanding. I watch as Roland wraps up his speech and then… he turns to Ben and catches the bodyguard in a passionate kiss.

The reaction from the help is a mixture of gasps and laughs. My hand flies to my mouth, and I can’t help the stupid, wide grin that explodes across my face. Oh my God. He did it. He went for it.

Leave it to Roland. You can give the boy a throne, but you can’t stop him from being a boy. And I wouldn’t want to. Roland’s boldness is infectious and magnificent, and nothing can diminish his blaze.

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