Royally Screwed(56)

“Thank you,” I tell them tightly.

And then Henry is brought in—he’s drunk, unsteady on his feet, his hair in need of a cut and a comb—and I war between concern and condemnation. What the fuck is wrong with him?

He zeroes in on Olivia with a stupid smile.

“Olive. You’re still here—I’m so glad. You can help me walk—I’m having a bit of trouble managing at the moment.” Then he flings his arms around her, almost making her knees buckle.

I yank him away from her and toss him to Logan. “Help him walk.”

Then I warn, “Behave yourself or you’ll be wheeled out on a stretcher when I’m done with you.”

He makes a face, mimicking my words like an eight-year-old, and my hand literally twitches to smack him. But I don’t. Because we’re in public—and while he has zero respect for his position in the world, I do.

Princes get the piss beaten out of them in private.

But I can’t stop myself from hissing. “Cocaine, Henry? Is that why you’re such a disaster, that what you’re into these days?”

It was found in the car he was traveling in—without security—with several “friends,” when they were pulled over for driving erratically.

He stands with Logan’s assistance and his bleary eyes rise to mine. “No,” he scoffs. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff—I’m high on life.” He rubs his forehead. “It was Damian Clutterbuck’s. I met up with him while he was on holiday in Vegas and he came to New York with me. I didn’t know he had it on him. He’s a…” His brow crinkles as he looks to Olivia. “What’s the word again? Pitz…patz?”

“Putz?” Olivia suggests.

Henry snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. Damian’s a putz.”

“You’re a putz.” I lean over him. “You’re being deported.”

“Oh well…thank God for diplomatic immunity, then.” He shrugs. “I was thinking of visiting Amsterdam anyway.”

“Oh no, little brother,” I warn him. “You’re going home. If I have to tie you like a hog and box you up in a crate to get you there, it’s the only place you’re going.”

He inhales deeply, like he’s about to announce something profound, but all he comes out with is, “You’re very cranky, Nicholas.”

I rub my eyes and shake my head. “Shut up, Henry.”

And then we head out the way we came in.





Because of the time, I take Olivia home before I deal with Henry. We park around the back just in case—although, since the NYPD has been assisting us, the crowds outside Amelia’s have been smaller. I walk her in, and Henry insists on tagging along.

I suggest locking him in the trunk, but Olivia—sweethearted as she is—overrules me.

And it looks like tonight is the night for little brothers and sisters, because when we walk into the kitchen from the alley, we find Ellie Hammond covered head to toe in flour and sugar. Her hair looks like a powdered wig from the Revolutionary period and “Pressure” by Billy Joel plays so loud in her earbuds, we can hear it across the room.

She bounces and sings to the music, tossing white powder on the counter…and everywhere else.

Then she turns around. And screams loud enough to wake the dead.

“Jesus Christ!” She yanks her earbuds out. “Don’t do that to me—you took like ten years off my life!”

Olivia looks around the room, blinking. “What are you doing, Ellie?”

The little blond smiles proudly and lifts her chin. “I’m helping. I mean, I know I’ve been doing the afternoon shifts but I figured, all this time you’ve been doing all the morning prep by yourself. So I got Mom’s recipes out and figured I’d help with that too. There’s only a few months left until I leave for school.”

Olivia’s face goes soft and grateful. “Thank you, Ellie.” Then she looks around the disaster area again. “I think.”

She engulfs the sugarcoated blond in her arms. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Ellie says into her shoulder.

When she lifts her head, she spots my brother, leaning against the wall. With wide eyes, she shakes the flour from her hair like a dog shuddering off water.

“Oh my God, you’re Prince Henry.”

“I am, pet. But the more important question is, who are you?”

“I’m Ellie.”

My brother smiles salaciously. “Hel-lo, Ellie.”

“She’s a minor,” I tell him.

And the smile drops. He pats her head.

“Good-bye, Ellie.”

Henry turns around. “I’ll go wait in the car, after all.” He yawns. “I could use a nap.”