The Dirty Series 1(92)

“Your father and I haven’t been introduced.”

He throws his head back and laughs, then reaches across the table for my hand. “You’re damn right about that. I’m sure his feelings would be different if he knew you. But you know fathers. Stubborn mules, all of them.”

The joy and tenderness in his eyes when he looks at me…it’s enough to carry us through any bullshit with his father. I have to believe it is. My heart beats a little faster.

I’ve fallen. Hard.



After we finish our meal, Alec takes my hand as we stroll along the canal, watching the moonlight dance on the water’s surface.

“That’s a sight to see,” I say, twining my fingers through Alec’s.

“You’re a sight to see,” he says, wistfully looking into my eyes.

We haven’t been walking five minutes when running footsteps approach us from behind. I turn to see a pair of children, a boy and a girl—they can’t be older than seven or eight. Their parents, a young couple by the looks of them, are following along slowly behind them. The mother gives me a shy wave.

“Hello!” calls the boy, looking up at me. “Are you going to be the new princess?”

I laugh, but my cheeks flush red as I bend my knees so I’m on the same level as the boy. “Do you think the prince needs a princess?”

Alec’s chuckle tells me he approves of the idea.

“Will you sign your autograph?” pipes up the little girl, tight blonde curls bobbing, holding out a drugstore notebook and pen toward me.

“Of course I will. But I’m only a visitor from the United States. Are you sure you want my autograph?” I keep my tone light, but the sentiment gnaws me at my core. I’m not a princess, and despite how much I’m willing to fight for Alec, that could end up being our undoing.

“You’ll be a princess one day,” she says matter-of-factly.

“You’re very kind,” I say simply, taking her notebook and pen and signing my name in the prettiest handwriting I can. I also sign the boy’s notebook, and then Alec signs one for both of them as well, his name appearing as a regal scrawl next to mine on the page.

The parents approach and we exchange courteous introductions before they usher the two children away, chattering and pleased.

So that’s what it’s like to be royalty.

This is what Alec is like, playing a kind of indulgent father figure.

I blush just thinking about it.

It’s not until we turn to go that I see the photographer standing across the road, his camera rapidly clicking photo after photo of us.





Chapter Twenty





Alec



I’m in the middle of a daytime TV interview two days later when Nate steps up behind the interviewer and taps her on the shoulder, leaning down to whisper something in her ear.

She flashes an artificially broad smile at me, almost appearing to crack the thick layers of makeup she’s wearing to offset the bright camera light, and swiftly rises to her feet. “Thank you so much, your highness,” she says to me. “It appears we’ve run out of time, but please do visit us again soon.”

“You’re so welcome,” I say, shaking her hand. Denise is the lead anchor for Saintland’s biggest—and only—news network. She routinely interviews me once every few weeks.

I step towards the side of the set, and Nate is there to meet me. I shoot him an irritated look while I wait for the tech to disconnect the microphone pinned to the inside lapel of my jacket.

Once the man is out of earshot, Nate gestures for me to follow him to the exit.

“What’s going on?” I’m not sure if I should be concerned about the interruption or annoyed by it.

“The king has requested a meeting.”

“In the middle of a goddamn interview?”

“He doesn’t seem to care about the interview.”

“Yet he’s the one who insisted on scheduling all of them.” I roll my eyes.

Nate shrugs. I shouldn’t take my anger and frustration out on him. He’s only the messenger.

I’m silent during the short drive back to the palace, spending the time racking my brain trying to figure out the reason why my father needs to speak to me so urgently. So urgently that he would interrupt a media appearance that he scheduled. This can’t possibly have anything to do with the spontaneous meet-and-greet with that cute family Jessica and I signed autographs for after dinner last night, can it?

Surely not.

When I get to the council chamber, my father’s face is beet red, and his jaw is clenched tight.

“Your majesty,” I acknowledge, giving a little bow. I remain standing in front of his desk.

My father rises swiftly to his feet, his arms crossed over his chest, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes spark with fury.