The Billionaire Prince’s Daughter (European Billionaire Beaus Book 2) Read online

  “Is that so?” Artur looked down at her, hazel eyes fiery. “Well. In that case, you need some more attention.”

  They didn’t speak again for a long time.

  12

  Amy couldn’t have hoped for things to go better at the gala. She felt light as a feather, despite the fact that her belly seemed to have grown another inch overnight. The tour was going to end with a bang, not with a whimper.

  And it had helped—more than she ever wanted to admit—that Artur and Tatyana split off soon after they were finished with press interviews. Everyone in the room wanted a moment of Tatyana’s time, and Artur was talking with everyone. He looked...thoughtful, earnest—no sign of the playboy prince. Amy thought she might burst with pride.

  She swung by to hear him in mid-conversation with the highest-ranking official in the area.

  “—quarterly meetings?” Artur was saying. “Face-to-face if possible, but if not, some kind of digital solution might be more than—”

  Her stomach growled. There hadn’t been time for a snack after Artur was finished with her, and the food at the gala looked out of this world. Her first stop was the cookie table. It was at least ten feet long and practically creaking under the weight of all the desserts. Amy took a small plate in her hand, knowing even then that she’d want more than could fit on that small porcelain circle, and surveyed the options.

  She was debating between a blonde and a brownie when she caught a glimpse of...a little boy.

  He was sitting behind the table in a chair that looked like he’d dragged it into the small alcove in the wall. His face was in shadow, but the moment he turned his head, Amy recognized him. It was Ruslan, Artur’s nine-year-old cousin. She’d seen him in press photos of the family during her research. His mother was the much-younger sister of Artur’s late mother. Amy took a quick glance around. She didn’t see her in the crowd, though she could still be nearby.

  Amy looked back at the boy, who was wearing such a long face it tugged at her heart. She maneuvered her belly around behind the table. His eyes, hazel like Artur’s, came up to meet hers, then went back to the floor.

  “Ruslan, isn’t it?” She lowered the plate down to his eye level. “Would you like any dessert?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve already eaten so much of it that my stomach hurts.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Amy couldn’t bear the thought of squatting down, but she leaned against the wall. “Are you all right otherwise?”

  He sighed. “I’m just not made to be royal.” The frown on his face deepened. “I don’t want to shake people’s hands. I don’t want to kiss anyone’s babies. And I don’t want to have my picture taken.” Just then, a camera flashed across the room. “The flashes hurt my eyes,” he grumbled.

  Amy surveyed the room one more time. Sure, it was full of adults, but— “Is it so terrible?” she asked. “Parties like this can be a little boring, but—”

  Ruslan huffed. “How would you like it if everyone stared at you wherever you went? People with cameras follow us just because strangers want to know everything we do. They even write articles about my footie practices. They put pictures of my mom in there. Or me. It’s horrible.”

  “I...can’t argue with that.” Amy’s heart ached for him. “You know, if you wanted to grab a few more cookies and get out of here, I’d keep a lookout.” This seemed risky the moment she said it, but it didn’t matter. Ruslan stared straight ahead.

  “It won’t work. Someone is always watching. They’ll follow me and take me back to my mom.” He looked longingly at the tablecloth, like he wished he could crawl under it.

  Amy reached down and patted his shoulder. “Feel better, Ruslan,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Artur would know what to do, wouldn’t he? “Will you still be here?”

  He just gave another shrug, dragging the toes of his shoes across the carpet.

  He’d missed Tatyana.

  It bothered him that it was true, but Artur had to admit it, if only to himself. He enjoyed her company. He’d thought of her as smart and beautiful in high school, but now he saw the truth: she was downright brilliant.

  These thoughts went through his mind as he talked to one of the bigger donors. Amy had reminded him to pay special attention to a number of people at the gala, and he felt like he’d been talking nonstop for the better part of ninety minutes. Or, if not talking, listening as hard as he could among all the chatter.

  Tatyana never seemed to struggle with it for a moment. She moved around the room like she owned it, never lacking something to say or a solution to a problem.

  It wasn’t as if he wanted a relationship with her, Artur thought as he spotted a flash of her red dress through the crowd. They had decided long ago that they made better friends. But she had ideas. She knew how to get this society crowd behind one of her plans—and when it came time to put in the labor, she was willing to roll up her sleeves and help.

  Tatyana appeared at his elbow while he was still thinking about her.

  “How’s it going?” She looked pink-cheeked and happy, in her element at the gala. “You’ve really been working the room.”

  He couldn’t help but mirror her happy smile. “There are many people here with excellent ideas about how we can improve relations between the citizens and the royal family. I’m trying to drink in as much of it as possible.”

  “Maybe you should think about having a real drink, before you get parched.” Tatyana’s eyes sparkled. “Shall I get us something from the bar?”

  He pretended to be shocked. “You think I can drink on the job? Shame on you.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “I know you can drink on the job. It’s hard to miss your face in the tabloids, you know.”

  From somewhere off to the side, a camera shutter clicked. He half-registered that someone was capturing the moment, and he wondered how he looked, gazing down at Tatyana like this, laughing with her, leaning in close.

  Then a movement snagged his attention. It was Amy, in her navy blue maternity gown, giving him a little wave over Tatyana’s shoulder. She had concern written all over her face.

  And just like that, those old memories of Tatyana fled his mind like they had never been there at all. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said. “I think there’s a matter that needs my attention.”

  “Of course, of course.” Tatyana didn’t stop him as he moved past her, making a beeline for Amy.

  “What’s wrong?” He resisted the urge to put a hand out on her belly.

  “It’s your cousin, Ruslan. He’s—” She gestured back toward the dessert table. “We were talking, and—” Amy quickly outlined the rather sad conversation she’d had with the boy. “I wish I knew a way to make him feel better, or at least help him have more fun, but I thought maybe you were the person to do that.”

  He looked over her shoulder and spotted Ruslan half-hidden behind the table, clearly still sulking. “I feel for him. I really do.” Artur looked back into Amy’s blue eyes. “But he’s right that leaving isn’t an option. He needs to stick the party out.”

  Her brows drew together in confusion.

  “It’s not an easy life,” he went on. “But the struggle is what made me the man I am today.”

  Amy looked skeptical. “All those parties on private yachts must have been so difficult.”

  “Before those parties,” he said, leaning in closer to breathe in the scent of her skin. “Ever since I was years younger than Ruslan is now, I had to sit through events like this. It was part of my duty as a member of the royal family. We serve the public, even when it’s not what we want to be doing. And I’ll admit, I strayed a bit—but I’m back where I belong now. Doing my duty—just like Ruslan is.”

  She gave a nod, seeming to decide something, then stepped back. Her smile was different—strange, somehow—and he recognized it after a moment as her PR smile. “All of this is good to know,” Amy said.

  He wasn’t sure if it was
a good thing or a bad thing, but as Amy turned away to circulate through the room, he caught her by the wrist, pulled her close, and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “I’ll go give him a pep talk. All right?”

  “Good,” she said, but her voice sounded far away. “That’s good.”

  13

  The last leg of the tour ended with a rather subdued ride back through the Stolvenian countryside on one of those summer days that reminded Artur of being young. The memory was bittersweet. Their caravan went past little town after little town, and Amy’s head dropped back against the seat as she nodded off. She hadn’t said much since the gala.

  He couldn’t tell, exactly, what it was that had her so quiet. Was it the fact that she hadn’t been able to engineer a whirlwind romance between him and one of those women? They had all been intelligent and beautiful and given him a new outlook on what it meant to be a prince, but at the end of the day, he still wanted Amy—more than he’d have imagined possible at the beginning of all this.

  Amy excused herself the minute they returned to the palace. Artur wanted to follow her, but from the set of her shoulders he decided it would be better to give himself the evening off. He wanted to sort through his pictures. The day had been set aside for travel, so no one bothered him as he downloaded the photos to his computer.

  There were so many of Amy. More than he remembered taking. There wasn’t a bad one in the bunch—the light seemed drawn to her, to illuminate her from the inside out, almost.

  Now, that was an idea.

  Artur closed out the photos on his computer and picked up the phone. There was a team of photographers attached to the royal family who had been thoroughly vetted and understood the need for discretion, and he knew Yana was the right woman for the job. She answered his call on the first ring.

  “Prince Artur,” she said, her voice warm and welcoming. “You’re not thinking of traveling again, are you?”

  “No, not this time.” The joke made him laugh. Sometimes, the best way to escape the palace had been to plan a party and have Yana come along, making it an “official” event to justify his presence. He didn’t want to know what she’d done with the photos she’d taken on those outings. By the end of the night, he had never been in a state worthy of being photographed. “I have another idea.”

  He told her what she wanted.

  “It’ll be a few days until the time is right,” she said. “But that gives us plenty of time to put together something absolutely lovely.”

  Amy wasn’t altogether surprised to find that the PR work associated with the tour didn’t end when they arrived back at the castle. There were editorials to organize, follow-up calls to schedule, meetings to plan. Artur seemed excited about it all. He met her each morning wanting to know what her latest ideas were, even before she’d completely woken up. There were some nights he stayed in her room talking about those plans until it was late enough that they both fell into bed together. And yet, despite all their time together, Amy felt herself pulling away. Eventually, it would have to end. Eventually, she’d have to go home.

  The days flew by, taking her closer and closer to the time when it would all be over.

  One morning there was a knock at the door. She’d just stepped into her shoes and went to open it, expecting Sasha, the maid.

  It was Artur, wearing a shirt unbuttoned at the top and a grin that looked almost giddy. “Come with me,” he said, offering his hand.

  Her heart leaped into her throat. “Where are we going?” Visions flashed through her mind of fleeing the castle, fleeing Stolvenia, and settling somewhere nobody knew their names.

  “A part of the castle I don’t think you’ve seen.”

  Oh. A tour. She didn’t let her disappointment show on her face.

  Artur led her through the halls until they stepped through the door into a courtyard that Amy hadn’t seen before. No one had even mentioned its presence to her, but it was...breathtaking.

  “What is this place?”

  “The oldest part of the castle,” Artur said, his voice low in her ear. “This is some of the original stonework.” The graceful arches in the walls were stunning at this time of the morning—something out of a storybook. And the way the sun shone through at an angle...well, it was worth being up so early. They stepped a little further in, only to be met by a woman wearing all black, carrying a camera.

  She stepped forward, offering her hand. “Yana,” she said. “I’m a photographer from the royal family. Would you like to choose an outfit to begin with?”

  Yana gestured to a low table behind them. It was covered in lingerie and sheer dressing gowns.

  Artur led her there by the hand. “For maternity photos,” he said. “I wanted some...of us both. And then I wanted to take my own. To capture—” He broke off, his voice filled with emotion. “To capture this time in our lives.”

  Amy was speechless. She hadn’t considered maternity photos, but her belly had grown even more over the last few weeks, rounding out into a shape she liked some days and detested others.

  “You have things you bought or gathered to remember our trip together,” Artur coaxed. “I want something, too.”

  The clothes did look beautiful. “All right,” she agreed. “I can’t argue with that.”

  Amy had seemed reluctant to start the process of the shoot, but when the hairdresser and makeup artist came out of the palace and settled her in a portable chair, she relaxed. By the time they stepped back, rushing to make sure Yana had as much good light as possible, she was glowing.

  Her first outfit was the most modest of the bunch, and yet she still looked so desirable in it that it nearly killed Artur to stand with her like Yana wanted, with his hands on her belly.

  “Now look down at it,” the photographer called. “With your eyes, not your face.”

  Amy laughed. “This is so strange.”

  “Hush,” he told her. “This is wonderful.”

  They moved through poses that had them close together, Artur touching only her belly, her waist, her face.

  By the time Yana left, handing Artur his own camera, he couldn’t wait any longer.

  He put the camera down on the table and came back to Amy, who still stood posing in front of an archway. “I thought you wanted your own photos,” she said.

  “I want this.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “You’re delectable,” he said, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth. “You’re gorgeous. And I want you.”

  The lingerie came off with a few tugs of his fingertips, and Amy brought her arms up to cover her breasts, cheeks flaming red. “Someone could come—”

  “No one will come,” he insisted. “Except you. And me.”

  She bit her lip. “Artur, we’re at the palace—”

  “My family’s palace.” He tipped her back onto the blanket that had been set out for the shoot, her body unbelievably glorious underneath him, and took the opportunity to shed his own clothes. “What do I have to do to keep your attention where it belongs?”

  “I don’t—”

  He decided on spreading her legs and dipping his head to taste her.

  That did it.

  Amy arched her back, and from the little mewl she let slip between her lips, he thought she’d stretched like a cat. She tasted so sweet as he licked up and down her slick folds, drinking in her desire. He circled her clit with his tongue, heart pounding, every moment seeming momentous somehow. When he focused his attention on that swollen nub until she came, it was like the earth shattered around him.

  He held himself over her then, careful not to press too much against her but desperate to be inside of her.

  “No...this way.” Amy lifted her arms to him and he helped her up, only to find himself pinned on his own back as she straddled him, her hands in his chest. She climbed on with a wicked look in her eyes, lowering herself down inch by inch, torturing him until they were fitted together, exactly how they belonged.

  Artur ran his hands over her breasts, her
belly, and down between her legs as she worked her hips back and forth, driving him nearly to insanity and past the brink. His own orgasm caught him off guard. He gripped her hips tightly, keeping her still, and at the end of it she laughed, satisfied with herself.

  He struggled to catch his breath. “You’re so sexy.” He reached up to stroke the side of her face. “And you’re brilliant, too. You should have a better platform for your ideas. You’re good at what you do. Excellent.” He was babbling on and on, but something in Amy’s face had changed from satisfied desire to irritation. “What is it?”

  Amy climbed off of him and stood up, moving quickly to the table. She grabbed one of the robes there. “You know, Artur...” Her voice was sharp. “I’m not a sexual charity case.”

  He pushed himself to his feet. “I never said—”

  “I don’t need you to cater to my ego—I need you to find the perfect woman. One who can help your image. Be a real princess. Otherwise, what excuse do I have for—” She shook her head.

  Artur’s heart had twisted in two. “Why can’t that be you?” He spread his hands in front of him. “I’ve been saying that all along. I don’t want them. I want you.”

  “It can’t be me.” Amy’s voice broke. “It can’t. I’m not...I’m not built for this.” And before he could say another word, she turned on her heel and fled.

  14

  “Ms. Branch? Ms. Branch—I’m so sorry to wake you. Amy—” There was a light touch on her shoulder, and then a shake that woke Amy from sleep with a snort. She rolled over, covering her mouth with her hand, and peered up at Sasha.

  “What’s wrong?” Amy’s mouth felt dry and gross. She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Sasha stepped to the side, a tablet in her hands. “What time is it?”