The Princess Finds Her Match (3 page)

“Bloody hell!” Nic yanked her hands away roughly and shoved her as far away from him in disgust, storming out of the stable, his face like a thundercloud.

“Fuck you, Nicky! You’ll regret this!” He could hear her screaming like a virago as he made his way to the groom’s quarters beside the stable. Nic could imagine her furiously scrambling for her dress so she could bring her diatribe outside.

“
Idiota
!” he cursed under his breath. Her yelling would unnerve the horses.

Butler’s live-in groom, Facundo, was alerted by the commotion. He appeared from the direction of the adjacent stables. “Nicolas, what’s going on? The horses sound spooked.”

“Tansy,” Nic answered curtly.

“
Papafrita
!” Facundo swore, his expression clearly indicating what he thought of the woman.

”I’ve got to get out of here.
Rapida
!” Even though he wanted to check on his string of polo ponies housed at the stable, he didn’t want to risk Tansy anywhere near him.

“You can use the back gate for the staff. There is a telephone in the quarters. I can call you a taxi,” the groom offered in Spanish.

“
Gracias, amigo
.” Nic slapped his shoulder, grateful. He had left his rental car in the hotel and had hitched a ride to the party with one of his team mates

In fifteen minutes, Nic was on his way to the hotel where Team Arion had been booked for a month. It was a close match with Team El Dorado yesterday, but with a final goal from Nic on the last seven-minute period play or “chukker” breaking the tie, Team Arion would be playing for the championship the day after tomorrow.

Fiercely competitive, Rupert Butler had been insanely tense and short-tempered back at the party. The previous year, Arion had lost to Black Cavalier, a team owned by British Duke Julian Walkden. Butler hated the man and Nic didn’t know or care about their history. The one thing he did know was in a fit of rage, Butler fired the previous team captain, who had led Arion to numerous victories before, and had hired him instead. It was enough that he had shown his face at the party tonight. Nic wanted to steer clear of the Butlers and have a short respite. He would see them none too soon tomorrow at practice.

The taxi was nearing the hotel entrance when Nic’s perfect visual acuity, an ability which served him well in spotting a small white ball flying as fast as a hundred miles per hour in a polo field, narrowed in on a group of photographers clustered at a clump of bushes several meters away, lurking. Until a year ago, he would have marched straight into the foyer without igniting a single flash, but some ingenious reporter had dug up his name and had connected it with his ex, the now infamous reality star Melissa Osgoode-Rathborn, one of the wives on the hit show Political Housewives. Apparently she was on the brink of a divorce and speculations were rife, hinting at third party involvements for both husband and wife.

And so at the last minute, Nic had told the driver to turn around.

“Bring me to a local pub.” At the driver’s blank look, he amended, “A bar. Nothing swanky.” Still a blanker look, if that was even possible. “Low-key.”

The driver didn’t acknowledge him and returned his eyes on the road. Somewhere, a police siren went off. Nic stared out the window with unseeing eyes. His thoughts were back at the
estancia
where his horse breeding farm was now recovering slowly from an equine virus that had killed three of his prized studs. He hated being away for long, but the matches afforded him the chance to mingle with prospective horse buyers. And he had to admit, there was nothing more exhilarating than being on a gifted polo pony, galloping at breakneck speed in single-minded pursuit of a goal. During a match, everything in the universe ceased to matter for Nic. Every atom of his being was present at the now of the game. It gave him an unbelievable rush, but it also gave him peace.

The driver stomped on the brakes abruptly, jerking him forward. He swore and got out of the cab. Slamming the door, he stared at the façade of a run-down looking establishment. The flickering neon green signage read “Space”. The words before and after “Space” were unlit. Turning to the cabbie so he could find another place − he wanted low-key, not derelict, he watched in irritation as the taxi suddenly sped off. Just great.
What the hell
, he thought,
I’ll just grab a couple of beers and then be out in a flash
. Just enough so that when he went back to his hotel room, he could flop on the bed and go straight to sleep. He didn’t imbibe at the party; with Tansy around, he had to keep his wits about him. Even though he had abstained, look where it had almost gotten him back at the stables. He stared at the unpromising façade morosely, and deciding that the night couldn’t probably turn any worse, he grasped the doorknob, a glow in the dark planetary orb, and stepped inside the black hole.

“
A
re
you sure he’s taking us to the right place?” Lexie muttered nervously as the swarthy-looking cab driver swerved to a side street well away from the neon fairyland that was The Strip. The area they were in was darker and appeared rundown. The dingy-looking convenience store was the brightest spot on the street.

“No one here will recognize you.” Blair appeared unconcerned while Lexie’s unease was steadily mounting. “The waiter back at the hotel said this was where the locals hang out. We can give our wild night out a bit of local color,” she said with relish.

Small shops with flickering lights advertised their interesting wares proudly. Lexie blinked to try and make out whether it was a man or a woman standing by a streetlamp in a Marilyn Monroe outfit. The taxi stopped in front of an establishment that said “The Space Bar”. Only the word Space was lit.

A few cars were parked out front. Some hipster-looking youths eyed them closely. Lexie gave them her best protocol smile but stopped midway when a hipster girl glared at her balefully. Some roughnecks standing by their Harleys whistled at them.

“Hi, boys,” Blair called out, all California friendly-like, tossing her fake hair. The bikers let out a chorus of appreciative greetings, some bordering on racy. Lexie felt her cheeks grow warm. She followed Blair nervously to the entrance and stepped inside the rabbit hole.

The first thing that assaulted Lexie was the smell. It was a mixture of cigarette smoke, wet dog, and stale sweat. It took her olfactory nerves several minutes to adjust. Next was the interesting décor. She almost screamed when her eyes encountered an alien head mounted on a side wall like a stuffed moose. Various paraphernalia such as newspaper clippings of UFO sightings, photos of Roswell, and blinking signs that read “We are not alone” and “The truth is out there” peppered the other walls liberally. Two pool tables and an old-fashioned jukebox added to the ‘dive bar’ atmosphere. There was a curved side bar with some empty seats. Blair, noting the bar was fast filling up with new patrons, grabbed the nearest one. Lexie followed suit, the sole of her right foot landing on something sticky. She didn’t want to find out what it was.

Her attention was drawn towards the back end of the bar, where several television sets were playing some films. She squinted and reared back, astonished. They were playing porn!

“First timers?” an amused feminine voice asked.

Lexie tore her eyes away from the screen and met the bartender’s friendly ones. She must have not hidden her reaction to the sight of her heavily-inked body exposed in a black tank top, because the bartender said, “Beautiful, right?”

“Gorgeous,” Blair gushed in awe of the tats. “I’m thinking of getting one. Right on my butt.” She patted said body part.

The bartender’s glance flicked to Blair. “Had them done a few shops down the street. My friend Vinny has mad ink skills, amongst other things.” She gave them a sly wink. “What can I get you girls?”

“I’ll have a cran vodka.” Blair was surveying the scene, her neck twisting and darting like an ostrich.

The bartender’s eyebrow shot up questioningly at Lexie. “Um, I’ll have what she’s having.”

“Woohoo! We’ll have you drunk in no time.” Blair drew a check in the air. “That will take care of item one in your bucket list.” Lexie colored slightly at Blair’s “exuberance”, as her
nonna
would choose to call any show of spirit. Her cousin then pointed a manicured hand to a raised platform containing a lone microphone stand. “Is somebody playing tonight?”

“Even better,” the bartender winked again. “It’s karaoke night.”

Lexie tried to blend in. Taking a deep breath, she started taking a few nervous sips of her drink, her first taste of alcohol in seven years. She was hyper-alert, noting any telltale signs her body would betray her.
Concentrate on your drink, Lexie.

This is lovely
, she thought,
just like cranberry juice.
Now look around you. Just breathe and be calm. Oh look, there’s a bald man who looks like a hip Professor Xavier approaching the tables.

One of the biker dudes earlier had come in, spotted the empty bar stool beside Blair, and started chatting her up. Tables facing the stage were already filled with an eclectic crowd. A bald man wearing a suit and tie with musical note patterns was carrying what appeared to be a plastic folder thick with filed paper. He was going around each table, showing them the folder. He must have sensed Lexie’s curiosity because he caught her gaze and started making his way towards her.

Lexie smiled automatically. Her training made it second nature.

“Well, hello there, Red,” bald man greeted, eyeing her wig with some amusement. Up close, he looked younger than Lexie first supposed. “I’m DJ Twist, your karaoke night host.” His eyes were professionally flirty, just like Lexie’s smile was professionally warm yet distant. “It’s your lucky night. For a kiss, I’ll let you up on that stage after the fifth song.” He gestured with a cocky sideways motion of his head to the dais.

“Why can’t she be first?” Blair butted into the conversation before Lexie could tell DJ Twist there was no way in Hades she was going to go up that stage. In a cruel twist of genetics, Colleen Gallagher’s famous singing voice had skipped Lexie. Her mother had thought it an affront to her sensibilities that not only could her daughter not sing a tune, she was also tone deaf. Worse, her son Stefan could sing better than Lexie. In fact, the principality of Seirenada, named after the Greek legend of the Sirens, prided themselves on their innate musicality.

“See the mob out there?” DJ Twist gestured with a pointed thumb over his shoulder towards the crowded tables at his back. “They’re going to have my head on an ashtray if a non-regular comes up first. So, what’s it to be sweetheart? I’ve got a playlist to line up.”

Lexie opened her mouth to say no, but the words that came out were different. “Let me see.” She had been reading a self-help book that espoused saying yes to every opportunity life chose to throw one’s way. It must have stuck deep in her subconscious because before she knew it, she had grabbed the song list from a startled DJ Twist. Or maybe it was just the vodka talking. Either way, on this night, Lexie didn’t give a damn.

She scanned the list feverishly, turning the pages quickly. “Here,” she pointed to the first song she recognized under the heading B for Artist before she lost her nerve.

From over her shoulder, Blair took a peek at the song list and groaned at her choice. “Anybody asks, I’m going to deny I’m with her.”

“My kiss, sweetheart,” the man presented his cheek jauntily to Lexie.

Lexie hesitated. Before she could change her mind, she leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek just as DJ Twist turned at the last minute. Their lips met.

The look of surprise on Lexie’s face delighted the sneaky DJ. “Sweet. The deal is sealed. See you later, Red.” He turned to address the dive goers, some appearing disgruntled at having their shot in the spotlight delayed.

“I can’t believe I just signed up for my own public humiliation.” She was talking to dead air. Blair, giving her up as a lost cause with her choice of song, was now talking to one of the hipster boys.

Suddenly, the bar music died down and a trumpet fanfare sounded with a voiceover announcing the start of Karaoke Night. The bar erupted in cheers. DJ Twist jumped on stage and welcomed everyone to the “classiest dive bar in Vegas” amidst good-natured snickers and catcalls. Lexie’s stomach also took a nosedive.

“Give me something stronger,” she demanded of the bartender, who by now she learned was named Freya. “Wait−,” remembering she hadn’t really eaten more than a mouthful at the gala, she added, “and food. Your bestseller.” She had to slow down the alcohol level in her bloodstream with some food if she wanted to survive the night.

A few minutes later, a grinning Freya set down a plate with the biggest burger Lexie had ever laid eyes on. It had a mountain of greasy fries on the side.

“It’s the house specialty, the Millennium Falcon burger.” At Lexie’s blank look, Freya rolled her eyes. “Enjoy.”

Lexie tapped Blair on the shoulder. “Want to share?”

“Eww!” Blair shuddered. “I’m on a vegan diet, remember? I don’t eat food that has legs or anything that comes out from those with legs.” She turned to hipster boy and eyed him critically. “If you’re good, I might make you the exception.”

Hipster boy studied the burger, tempted yet suspicious. “Would you know if the beef they used was grass fed?”

Lexie responded with an as-if-I-care shrug. It felt good, liberating even.

“First on our list is Mavis from Florida with her rendition of ’Dancing Queen‘ by Abba. Everybody, let’s give it up for Mavis.” DJ Twist’s enthusiastic showman voice reverberated inside the bar.

On stage, septuagenarian Mavis worked the eager crowd with her singing and dancing, which constituted of some hand-flailing movements and vigorous hip jerking. Lexie was rather worried she would fracture her pelvis. To thunderous applause, Mavis went off the stage assisted by DJ Twist. Next up was a Manny Pacquiao look-alike with his version of “Sometimes When We Touch”.

With each performer, Lexie’s misgivings grew. It was a supportive, non-judgmental, kooky kind of crowd tonight. As a royal, she was used to appearing in front of large gatherings of people, but often she just did some hand waving and appeared ornamental.

She decided to take another bite of her burger. Nothing like emotional eating to distract her from the ordeal ahead. Her mouth was partway open and her trembling fingers had the burger in a death grip when some strange, tingling sensation alerted her to the fact that she was being watched. She glanced up at that instant, ready to flee if it was some photographer who might have recognized her, but instead her eyes locked with the intense, smoldering gaze of Prince Charming come to life.

He was seated a few barstools away from her, studying her leisurely. Lexie would have been ordinarily unnerved with this kind of attention. Any attention directed her way in social settings were always covert, sideway glances from beneath lowered lids, the kind that came when the observer thought she wasn’t looking. But this was different.
He
wanted her to know he was looking.

A tiny, burgeoning thrill scampered up her spine. Her always-present bodyguards and entourage were not exactly conducive to romantic liaisons with other men. After the “scandal”, Stefan had tightened her security. She knew they reported directly to her brother.

Lexie stared right back.
It’s impolite to stare
, an imperious voice whispered in her mind. It was as if her
nonna
was hovering right above her shoulder, like her conscience.

But tonight, some imp goaded her to accept his stare as a challenge. She was determined not to break it off first. Without taking her eyes off him, she took a big careful bite of her burger, sinking her teeth into the moist, succulent meat and started chewing. Some of the juices escaped and trickled out from the side of her mouth. Rather than reaching for a napkin and breaking her stare, she wiped it off with the back of her hand. She was sure she heard the ghost of her
nonna
drop dead from the sheer vulgarity of her actions.

The handsome stranger looked momentarily caught off-guard and then a slow, sexy grin emerged from his lips, the kind that tilted up in the corners. She couldn’t make out the exact color of his eyes in the dim lighting, but what she did make out made her breathing go kind of shallow. Dark hair, prominent cheekbones, and a defined jaw line chiseled by a master sculptor.

He took a long, slow swig of his beer, his head tilted sideways, his eyes never leaving hers. Lexie decided to up the ante. She took a French fry without taking her eyes off him. Luckily locating it on her first try, she dipped it somewhere in the vicinity of the ketchup then made a show of licking it really clean before popping it into her mouth and chewing ever so slowly. He broke eye contact first, his gaze transferring to her mouth, hypnotized, riveted.

To Lexie’s utter chagrin, she felt moisture pooling between legs. She squirmed, and the action broke the stranger’s fascination with her lips. He smiled again and lifted his beer bottle in a cheerful salute to concede her victory.

Oh my God! Did they just have eye sex? Lexie turned away from the handsome stranger abruptly, dismissing his presence. She couldn’t deal with bucket list number two when she wasn’t even done with number one. Not yet. Later. If she was still in control of her faculties. If the stranger stayed.

But these concerns were secondary compared to one imperative that had just decided to make its presence known. Again. Oh, God. She needed to pee, as Blair would say. Her trained-to-hold-it-‘til-the-parade-was-over bladder was no match for the vodkas she had consumed.

Blair had disappeared to the back of the room, playing beer pong with some college-age students. She made her way to the ladies’ room and to her dismay saw a rather long queue. The third singer, a girl in her twenties, was now busy twerking on stage to music she didn’t recognize.

Hurry up, hurry up
, she thought, spotting Mavis second in line. In an odd kind of way, now that she had been working on her courage all night, she didn’t want to miss her chance on that karaoke stage due to a bladder that started acting up. Lexie had horrifying visions of her mid-song on stage and having an “accident”. Twerking girl was now bowing to vigorous applause and some feet stomping, and there were still five girls ahead of her.

By the time Lexie had finished doing her thing in the horrendously cramped, smelly toilet made even more claustrophobic with all the grafitti lining every inch of the wall, she heard DJ Twist announcing the next song in the line-up − her song.

I
nside
, the place was jam-packed. Loud Abba music reverberated from the speakers. There was a motley gathering of hipster types, roughnecks, skankily-dressed women, some with mullets, executive types, and biker dudes. Nic grabbed a place by the bar as a couple stood up and left, probably to go find a better place than this kitschy dive. Nobody gave him a second glance. All the attention was seemingly at the front end of the bar, where a small platform had been set up. He was surprised to see an old woman singing and dancing on stage. Nic groaned, realizing that he had landed smack dab in the middle of karaoke night. That was it. He was leaving. He wasn’t enough of a masochist to torture his eardrums just for a couple of drinks. He was about to stand up, and then he saw her.