The Royal Pain (7 page)

S
hel stared at Alex, then stared at her some more. Curled up like a cat on the cream-colored chaise lounge, she looked back and raised her dark brows.

“Penny,” she said after a long moment.

“Honestly? I was thinking that you're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.”

“Ever?” she teased. “Ever ever? Or ever in real life ever? Because I think Halle Berry is much prettier.”

“Ever ever. Women on their wedding days don't look as good as you look in—what are those, little pants?”

“Clam diggers,” she said, giggling into her palm. “Little pants? Did you think they'd shrunk in the wash?”

“I don't know,” he said impatiently. “Come here.”

She got up from her seat and bent over him. Her black hair fell into his face as they kissed, and her perfume was like spring, and her mouth was like silk.

“Oh, boy,” she said against his mouth.

“Right,” he said, pulling at her, fumbling at her. “Is there a bed in this place?”

“Somewhere around here. Don't tug, Jenny didn't let me pack very many T-shirts.”

“Oh, fuck that. We'll hit a souvenir shop later, you can load up.”

“No,” she said, and laughed. “Fuck me.”

 

“O
h, boy.” This time he said it.

Alex yawned. “Mm-hmm, that was an energetic twenty minutes.”

“Twenty-five,” he corrected.
Energetic twenty minutes.
Jesus Christ, she was just like a guy. Weren't women supposed to be all google-eyed and mushy about sex? Especially just afterward? Shouldn't she be halfway in love with him by now? Why wasn't she, dammit? Why wasn't she all soft-eyed and sexily smiley and clingy, instead of looking like she was ready to get up and make a sandwich? Assuming royalty did such things.

“Do you know how to make a sandwich?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Just checking.”

He put out his right hand and rested it on her bare thigh. It
had
been an energetic twenty-five minutes. They'd wrestled all over the room, finally ending up in the middle of her king-size bed, kissing and licking and sucking and groaning. He'd held off as long as he could, which was a fucking miracle given how she'd used that soft skin and those big eyes to great effect, given how she'd stroked and teased and sighed against him.

And now they were done and…what? If it was any other woman, he'd get dressed and go home and promise to call her in the morning, and he always did. And they'd get together a few more times and then he'd move away, or she would, or they'd decide they weren't compatible, or they would just stop returning phone calls.

He didn't want to leave.

She yawned again. “Well, that was fun, but we both have to get up early tomorrow. Right?”

She
was
just like a guy. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. After years of not giving a rat's ass if a girl wanted him around or not, he didn't want to leave and she couldn't wait to see him gone.

“You didn't come,” he said by way of answer.

She shrugged against his shoulder. “It's all right. I had fun.”

“You didn't come last time, either. I figured it was because it was so quick.”

“It
was
quick,” she agreed with irritating cheer.

“But now…”

“I don't, anymore, is all.”

“Anymore?”

She sighed and crossed one knee over the other, swinging her small foot back and forth. “No, no. I had kind of a tough year last year and it's hard for me to relax…you know. With a gentleman.”

He smiled in the dark. “Have there been that many gentlemen?”

“No you don't. I'm not touching that one with a barge pole.”

“Maybe we should try again.”

“It's no good, Shel. And I'm not saying this to challenge your male ego in any way. It just…doesn't work for me anymore.”

“Not even by yourself?”

“Not even by myself.”

“Since…” He thought about what he'd seen in the news, way back. “Since those terrorists or whatever almost killed your dad? And your brother had to take over the country? Since then?”

“I guess,” she said stiffly. “I didn't mark the date on my calendar when I stopped having orgasms.”

“Hmm.”

“It's no big deal, Shel.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It really isn't.”

He rubbed her thigh, thinking. “But you could come before, right?” He tried to remember how old she was. Twenty-four, twenty-five? “I mean, you weren't a virgin last year, right?”

“Right. And that's all we're saying about it.”

“But—”

“Shel.”

“But if you give it some thought—”

“Shel.”

“I'm just saying, we could probably figure this out.”

“Dr. Rivers.”

“Oooh, I love it when you go all gritty and steely on me.”

Thankfully, she laughed. “Shut up, you ass.”

“And as a matter of fact, I do have to get up early tomorrow. Everyone has to get up early on Tuesdays. It's like a law.”

“Well, then.”

He sat up. “What'd you do with my pants?”

“Check over by the lamp.”

“Which one? There's a hundred of them in this place.” He tripped over something and stifled a curse. “And they're all off. Are you laughing? You'd better not be laughing.”

“No, Dr. Rivers,” she said gravely.

He finally found them and in short order had dressed, then sat on the bed to tie his shoes. “It's no trouble to stay,” he said, somewhat lamely, because she obviously wanted him to leave.

“You don't have to.” He could see her smiling in the gloom of the room. “I'm glad you came over.”

“You'll see me again.”

“Oh, that's not necessary.”

He bent and kissed her. “You will, though.”

He could feel her gaze on him all the way to the door.

J
enny rapped on the bedroom door. Alex glanced at her watch and smiled. “Put it through,” she called through the door. “And go to bed, for the love of God!”

Her bedside phone beeped. She folded the magazine in half, dropped it beside her, and picked up the phone. “I was sound asleep,” she said by way of greeting.

“You lie like old people drive, m'dear.”

“Hi, Dad.”

“I hoped I
was
waking you up. You know what time it is there?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Well, what time is it? That wasn't rhetorical; Edmund took the clocks out of here—”

“Trying to keep you in the office during salmon season?”

“—and my damned watch stopped.”

“Dad, buy a battery-operated one. Honestly. It's three-thirty.”

“Damn! What's Jenny still doing up? Isn't what's-his-name, that guy we hired last year—”

“Reynolds.”

“Yeah, how come he's not answering on third shift?”

“Jenny had a hot date. And, being Jenny, she can't take an evening off without punishing herself, so I guess she's pulling an all-nighter.”

“Jenny had a hot
what?
”

“Dad, seriously, did you really call me in the dead of night to get all the gossip on the staff?”

“Sure. Edmund won't tell me shit.”

“That's because you go around trying to fix things. I can't imagine anything worse than finding out the King of Alaska is meddling in your love life.”

“Aw, shaddup. So, did I interrupt you getting ready for bed?”

“Sure,” she said, humoring him.

“Liar! How can you look me in the face—so to speak—and lie like that, you little brat?”

“Well, it helps that my father is a sociopath, and my lady-in-waiting is a neurotic, tightly wound bundle of nerves with a crush—”

“Yeah? That's who she had the hot date with? The crush?”

“He's got a name, Dad,” she said with exaggerated scorn, then realized that she'd forgotten it again. It wasn't an ordinary name like John. Heron? Vulture?

“Yeah, yeah. So what were you doing?”

She picked the magazine up, flipped it over, and read the cover story aloud: “Those Wacky Royals Are Just Like Us.”

“We are?”

“Apparently. They got a picture of Prince Harry outside a pub—morons, like they don't know he hasn't touched a drop in two years—and there's one of David and Christina at the send-off of the Queen Mary III. God, I can't believe you talked her into that one, she's so sick of cruise ships. Oh, and here's one of Nicky on the slopes.”

“Goddammit!” the king cursed. “The press was supposed to leave the kid alone on his spring break.”

“It's just one candid. It's amazing—they got the names right, but not the place or the day. How do you get the place wrong when you bought the picture? I mean, you'd think the photog would say, ‘FYI, I was on the Swiss Alps when I took this,' or whatever?”

“Who gives a rat shit? I'll have Edmund chew some ass.”

“Come on, Dad. Besides, what was he even doing on the slopes in the first place? I thought he was in disgrace after the explosion thing.”

“This happened just before. Dammit! I'll get 'em all fired, just watch.”

“Dad. Relax. It's not that big a deal, why are you turning it into one? Nicky smiling, he doesn't even care. You have to admit, we don't have to put up with it nearly as much as most royals. Don't rock the boat.”

“Don't
what?
Did you get mixed up and forget who you were talking to?”

“Calm down, Dad.”

“A deal's a deal. They said they'd leave him alone for spring break, and I'd give 'em you for this aquarium thing. Punks!”

“Oh, very nice,” she said dryly, but without heat, as that was how it worked. For all his protests, at fourteen Nicky was still a child, and the family tried to limit his dealings with the national and international press.

For her part, Alex didn't much care. They were as much a part of her life as her blue eyes and carefully chosen wardrobe. It's how things were.

“So you're lying in your bed, wide awake, reading trash about yourself at three o'clock in the morning. Is that about right?”

“According to these guys, the real reason I'm here in Minot is to cover up my raging heroin drug use.”

“You're a sly one, girly. I had no idea you were a junkie.”

“Can't say that anymore. And actually—I haven't been up here alone all night. I mean, I'm alone now, but earlier—I—I met someone, too.”

“You did?” She could hear her father try to keep the shock out of his voice. “Who is it? What's he like?”

“She, actually. I've decided men have nothing to offer me, so now I'm a lesbian. Try to work that into your State of the Nation speech, as a personal favor to me.”

“Stop messing with my head,” he ordered. “You think it's funny, the shock at my age? And tell me about this guy.”

“It's the guy I already told you about—”

“The annoying one?”

“His name's Sheldon Rivers—”

“
Shel
don?”

“Shut up, he's cool. Don't pretend you didn't read all about him in whatever dossier Edmund made for you.”

“Yeah, well, skip to the highlights.”

“He's the head of the aquarium out here—”

“His name's Sheldon and he's a geek.”

“His name's Sheldon and he's got a pair of shoulders like an Olympic swimmer.”

“Don't tell me this,” the king groaned.

“I sweat just looking at him.”

“Alex, for Christ's sake.”

“You know that song ‘Big John'? ‘He stood six-foot-six and weighed two forty-five…'”

“‘Kinda broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip,'” her father sang, ‘everybody knew you didn't give no lip to Big John.' Honey, who do you think played that song for you all those years?”

“Well, I'm just saying. Sheldon's a big guy.”

“For a marine weenie.”

“You taken a look at your son lately? Taller than you, isn't he?”

“Never mind,” the king grumped. “Let's get back to Shelly.”

“Please promise to never call him that again.”

“I'm not promising shit. Besides, it's not like I'm going to meet the guy, right?”

“Right,” she said firmly. No indeed. She had no intention of letting her North Dakota fling get within a hundred miles of the king.

“So you're, what? Dating him?”

“I guess.”

“Yeah, but, where's it gonna go? I mean, he knows you're not going to be around much longer, right?”

“It's not like that, Dad. We're just enjoying each other's company. He makes me laugh and I—well, I have no idea what he sees in me.”

“Besides an unimaginable fortune and the chance to live in a palace.”

“Trust me, that's not what it is.”

“Then what
is
it? On second thought,” he ordered, “don't answer that.”

She giggled. “Don't worry. I love you, Dad, but some things will never be told.”

“Well, I guess it's okay.”

“Thank you sooooo much.”

“As long as you don't enjoy it too much,” her father said. “And you can consider that a royal command.”

Too late,
she thought, and wondered if that was smugness she felt, or something else.

“T
his is it?” Shel asked.

“Yes.”

“This is our big date?”

She almost laughed. “Yes. Why? Do you want to go back?”

“No. No, but when you said it was a surprise, and we did this mysterious long drive in a fancy RV—I mean, a family of ten could live in this place—I guess—I guess I wasn't expecting—”

There was a rap on their sitting room door, and Jenny poked her head in. “Ready to go ice fishing?” she asked cheerfully, her nose adorably red from the cold.

“This isn't ice fishing,” Shel decided, following the women off the vehicle. He looked around to the small team of men and women setting up drills, equipment (depth monitors and at least one fish finder), and tables of snacks. “This is a party at the Ritz.”

Alex watched indulgently as one of her guards scooped ice chips out of the most recently drilled hole (there were four altogether), and another one plunked her baited line into it, then carefully propped the rod in the snow so it wouldn't fall over. Jenny handed her a steaming cup of cocoa laced with Godiva white chocolate liqueur and she sighed.

“School coming,” someone announced, gaze glued to the fish finder.

“Very well,” she replied. Then, to Shel, “It's not? What else would it be? How do
you
go ice fishing?”

He waved his arms around and, in his dark brown parka and matching snowpants, looked like an irked koala. “Not like this! Not with fifty people driving me and drilling my hole and giving me snacks!”

“But it's so nice this way,” Alex pointed out, and took a sip. “Mmm…Godiva up this drink a little more, will you, Jenn? Look, if you don't like it, go back into the RV and have a nap.”

“I'm not…never mind. Where
are
we, anyway?”

“Manitoba. It's a little too far into spring in Minot to do this safely,” she said, gesturing to all the vehicles parked on the ice. She grinned at him. “Don't pretend you minded the drive.”

“It's not the drive that's weirding me out. It's—”

“Your Highness, you've got a bite.”

“It's that!” Shel nearly shouted, watching another staff member crouch over the hole, gently pick up the rod, set the hook, and pull a wriggling, thirteen-inch Northern Pike onto the ice. “That! That is not ice fishing! That is watching someone fish! I might as well be watching this on TV!”

“Dr. Rivers has a bite,” someone else announced.

“The hell I do! And I'm not landing it, either!”

“That's all right,” Jenny said cheerfully, trying to hand him a cup of coffee. “We'll take care of it.”

“Another pike,” one of the guides said, pulling the addled fish onto the ice. “A little too small; we'll unhook this feller and put him back. And the princess has another bite.”

“We're in the school,” the gal with her face in the monitor announced, unnecessarily.

“Nice fish,” Reynolds, the guard, told him.

“It's not my fish! And it was just a baby.”

“You'll get another one,” Alex said, comforting him.

“No I won't! Aren't you listening?”

“It's hard to listen when you do all that shouting. I thought you'd like this. I thought this would be right up your alley,” she complained. “God knows standing around freezing my ass off isn't my idea of a fun afternoon.”

“How can being waited on hand and toe not be your idea of a fun afternoon? You're not even cold!”

“Dr. Rivers has another bite.”

“No! I! Don't!” They were all staring at him as he shrieked. Fearing he might pop an aneurysm, he stomped up the steps into the waiting RV.

 

“W
ell!” Alex said brightly, shrugging out of her outer winter clothes and dismissing Jenny with a wave of her hand. “That was quite a show you put on this afternoon.”

“Look, we just have different ideas about ice fishing, that's all. I was…surprised. Uh, pleasantly surprised.”

“Mmm-hmm. I suppose your idea of fun is to crouch, shivering, over a hole it took you an hour to dig with sub-standard equipment, and no snacks, and no shelter if the wind picks up, and nothing to tell you if the fish are anywhere around.”

“I can't help it,” he bragged, “if I fish like a man.”

She laughed at him and rubbed her eyes at the same time. “Well, I'm glad to be back at the hotel at least. God, I miss my bed.”

“Are you all right?”

“Why, do I look like hell?”

“You look a little…” Sheldon was studying her with a gaze as alarming as it was penetrating. “Hollow-eyed.”

“I was up all night talking to my dad. And then, of course, there was the fun-filled afternoon with Dr. Grumpy.”

“Oh yeah? He calls you?”

“When I'm on the road. He's kind of a mother hen.”

“The King of Alaska? I've seen pictures. The phrase ‘mother hen' doesn't exactly leap to my mind. I mean, he's got fists the size of coconuts! That's just a scary, scary thought.”

“Well, you know. He worries. It's been just him since my mother died, and I was just a kid when that happened, so…” She trailed off. Where was she going with that? It was hard to keep hold of a thought. She estimated she had slept ten hours in the last one hundred and twenty. It was easier to sleep when she knew Dara was safe, from—from—Her tired mind groped, lost it, tried again, gave up. “So it's just us. I mean, us and my brothers and my sister. He bugs them, too.”

“Uh-huh. I have this keen idea.”

“Keen?” She smiled a little. “Jeepers, Dr. Rivers, I can't wait to hear all about your nifty plan.”

“You're so grouchy when you're tired. And my keen plan is this: let's bag dinner and take a nap instead.”

“That's all right,” she said, walking over to the mirror on the wall. “I got my fifteen minutes this afternoon. Good God, I look embalmed.”

He laughed, came up behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders. She leaned back, enjoying the feel of him, the smell. “Princess, on your worst day you look like a movie star on her best.”

“Dark circles and all.”

“They're sexy.”

“So's foot fungus.”

“Uh, no.”

“You know what I like about you?” she asked his reflection in the mirror.

“My wit, my sparkling personality? My gigantic cock?”

“None of those.”

“Well, shit.”

“I like that you're not trying to impress me all the time. I mean, look what you're wearing. Dockers, and no socks! Most people in a private meeting with royalty would put on socks, at least.”

“They're all in the wash, along with most of my underpants. Come on.” He took her by the hand and pulled her into the bedroom.

“Well, finally. I didn't think we were ever going to get down to it.”

“For an untouchable royal princess, you've got a shocking one-track mind. Lie down.”

“Sit,” she said, lying down. “Stay. Roll over.”

“Look, I will, too, okay?”

“Roll over?”

He ignored the obvious crack. “We'll just have a nap.”

“And then all my problems will be solved! Thank goodness for your little plan. Shel, I've tried this. It doesn't work. I can't nap.”

“Yes you can. Just close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“No, I mean it. Even when I didn't have insomnia. I can't sleep during the day.”

“Yes you can.”

“Shel! Jesus, did you really think I wouldn't have thought of this if the great Dr. Rivers hadn't come along?”

“Can I get that on a T-shirt? ‘The Great Dr. Rivers'?”

“I've tried this stuff, okay? It doesn't work. I can't nap.”

“Look, I'm not asking you to cure bone cancer, for crying out loud, just take a nap at five o'clock.” He propped himself up on his side and rubbed her arm, then began to sing in a cracking baritone, “Go to sleeeeeeep…goooooo to sleeeeeeep…”

“How in the hell am I supposed to sleep with that racket?” she bitched. “Yet another flaw: you sing like old people drive. I'm keeping a list, you know.”

“…I'm ignoring you…gooooo to sleep…”

“Stop singing,” she said, “and I'll close my eyes.”

“Done and done.”

Forty minutes later…

“Can I get up now?”

“How could you not sleep?” he demanded, looming over her. “You did that on purpose!”

“Yes, I really get off on irritability, memory loss, loss of appetite, and all the other fun effects of long-term insomnia. Also, I'm conducting a survey, and it doesn't matter how many channels you have, there is nothing on at four in the morning.”

“Well, that would not fucking surprise me!” he shouted, sitting up. “Who lies in a sumptuous royal suite, getting sung to sleep on a feather bed with expensive pillows and all that fancy shit, and doesn't sleep?”

“It's all part of my sinister plan.”

He stomped around the bedroom for a minute, and she got up to brush her hair, amused. He really seemed genuinely annoyed that his plan hadn't worked. Men! She admired their confidence:
I can fix it, just give me a minute.

“Well, hell,” he said after muttering and grumbling. “I guess we'd better have dinner, then.”

“Those were our only choices?” she teased. “Nap or eat?”

“Well…” He crossed the room and went to his navy-blue backpack. Which was odd, as she'd never seen him with one before. And it was strangely deflated, as if there weren't very many things inside. “I did have one idea…”

“Did you bring some Ritz? Because I
am
a little hungry…one nice thing about being on the road is I don't have to wait until eight o'clock to eat supper.” She blinked. “What the hell?”

He held up something shiny, something the light bounced off of. Handcuffs.