Royally Screwed
Page 37

I mean, hey—they couldn’t even get the underwear thing right. They obviously know dick.
Two weeks after that first crazy night, my growing tenderness toward Nicholas makes me do something I haven’t done in years: take a Saturday off from the coffee shop.
Marty and Ellie cover for me.
And I do it because I want to do something nice for Nicholas. Not just to pay him back for all the fabulous orgasms—but just because.
What do you give a prince? A man with a country at his feet and the world at his fingertips?
Something only a New York girl can.
“I have a plan.”
We’re in the library of the suite. Nicholas is behind the desk, his hair falling still damp over his forehead from a recent shower, while James and Tommy stand near the windows.
“Take off your clothes,” I say, dropping a stuffed backpack at my feet.
He stands, giving me a curious, dimple-flashing smile that makes my stomach tingle.
“I like this plan.”
He pulls his shirt over his head—and at the sight of that gorgeous chest and ripped abs, I have to close my mouth to stop the flow of drool.
“Should I send the lads to their room?” he asks.
I toss him a Beastie Boys T-shirt and ripped jeans from the backpack. “They can stay—I’ll get to them in a second.”
Nicholas puts on the outfit, his disguise for the day. I hold up a thick gold chain with a dangling cross, and he dips his head so I can loop it over his neck. Then I squirt gel into my hand and reach up on tiptoes to rub it through his hair—mussing it at the top and slicking the sides.
Perfect.
“How do you feel about piercing your ear?” I ask, teasing.
He whispers, “Needles terrify me.” Then he winks.
Nicholas’s eyes are already sparkling with excitement—this next part is going to blow his mind. “Do you know how to drive a motorcycle?”
He mentioned the other night that he was a pilot during his stint in the military, so I made an educated guess.
“Sure.”
“Perfect.” I pull a helmet with a full, tinted face shield out of the backpack and hold it up. “Marty’s bike is downstairs. He said to tell you: break it, you bought…a Ducati.”
Logan steps into the room from where he was stationed just outside the door, lifting his hand, like a traffic cop. “Hold on, now—”
Nicholas takes the helmet. “It’ll be fine, Logan.”
“And…” I say cautiously, turning to the three big, strong, probably-have-a-license-to-kill boys. “I want Nicholas and me to go on this outing alone. You guys stay here.”
Tommy says, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”
James crosses himself.
Logan takes another route. “No fuckin’ way. Not possible.”
But the look on Nicholas’s face says it really fucking is.
“No,” Logan insists again, his voice straining with a faint hint of desperation.
“Henry used to slip his security detail all the time,” Nicholas offers.
“You’re not Prince Henry,” Logan counters.
“I have an itinerary!” I jump up and down from excitement—like Bosco when he has to pee. “I wrote everything down for you, just in case—exactly where we’ll be, every minute.”
I take the sealed envelope out of the backpack and hand it to Logan. But when he starts to tear it open I put my hand on his. “You can’t open it until after we’re gone—it’ll ruin the surprise. But I promise it will be all right. I swear on my life.”
My eyes drift from Logan to Nicholas. “Trust me.”
And I want him to—so much. I want to do this for him, give him something he hasn’t had. Something he’ll remember always: freedom.
Nicholas looks at the helmet, then at Logan. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Ah…you could get assassinated and the three of us will hang for treason.”
“Don’t be silly,” Nicholas scoffs. “We haven’t hung anyone in years.” He smacks Logan’s back. “It’d be the firing squad.”
Tommy laughs.
Logan doesn’t.
James is Switzerland.
“Sir, please—if you’d just listen—”
Nicholas uses what I’ve come to think of as “the voice.”
“I’m not a child, Logan. I’m capable of surviving one afternoon without you. The three of you stay here, and that’s an order. If I catch a glimpse of you or find out you followed us—and I will find out—I’ll ship you home to guard the fucking hounds. Do I make myself clear?”
The guys nod, unhappily.
And just a few minutes later, he slips the helmet over his head so no one will recognize him while we walk through the lobby to the hotel’s exit.
“Welcome to Coney Island!” I fling my arms out wide as Nicholas locks up the motorcycle. “Known for its epic roller coaster, just-clean-enough beaches, and hot dogs that might give you a spontaneous heart attack but taste good enough to risk it.”
He chuckles. And holds my hand while we walk toward The Cyclone. No one gives us a second glance, but Nicholas keeps his eyes down or on me, just the same.
“So…how does it feel to be out…without them?”
He squints against the sun. “Strange. Like I’ve forgotten something. Like that dream when you show up to class without your trousers. But it’s…exhilarating, too.”