FF (March 2013) Nell Stark - The Princess Affair

Rhodes Scholar Kerry Donovan has never had anything handed to her on a silver platter. As she arrives at Oxford to begin her course of study, she is determined to make the most out of this latest opportunity. But when she meets Her Royal Highness Princess Sasha, second in line to the British throne, Kerry’s priorities are eclipsed by an attraction neither of them can ignore. “Sassy Sasha” is a tabloid favorite who appears to delight in scandalizing her people, but beneath her vexed public image, Sasha longs to be truly seen.

Will the tenuous connection she forms with Kerry be broken by the weight of the crown? Or will they find true love despite the forces endeavoring to keep them apart?.

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Sample

Chapter One

Her Royal Highness Princess Alexandra Victoria Jane—better known to her subjects as “Sasha”—pretended indecision. As she scrutinized the blond model who had provocatively posed herself to flaunt her barely-there bikini, the crowd held its breath. Even the two other judges sat in tense anticipation. The entire club was hanging on Sasha’s pronouncement. She had been teasing the animals adeptly all night, and now she held them in the palm of her hand. The power tasted even sweeter than her chocolate martini.
“Ten.” She spoke the word coolly as she raised the proper sign with a flourish.
The room erupted into screams and cheers. Sasha sat back in her chair and sipped at her glass, watching the host try to settle the masses. As their roaring subsided, he thanked the judges and congratulated the new “Miss Royal Flush.” Haloed in the center stage spotlight, the winning model met Sasha’s eyes and moistened her lips with the very tip of her tongue.
The man seated to Sasha’s left leaned over to brush his shoulder against hers. “What do you say, Sash? You, me, her, and a suite at the Four Seasons?”
Marcus “Finch” Finchley, star professional footballer for Manchester City, had been making crude sexual overtures to her for years—ever since his skill on the pitch had granted him occasional access to her social circles. His come-ons had only grown worse over time, and Sasha didn’t dignify him with a response. She drained her glass and rose from the chair, then allowed her protection officer to help her down from the stage.
“I’m going back to the VIP area, Ian.”
At times like these, she wished she’d been born a Tudor or a Stuart, who would have been well within their rights to order Finch decapitated. Then again, had she been born a Tudor or a Stuart, she likely would have already died some gruesome death herself.
Shouts of “Sasha!” greeted her passage through the throng, and she forced herself to suppress her irritation at Finch’s impropriety. It wouldn’t do to be caught grimacing on camera—especially when it only took seconds to upload an unflattering shot onto the Web. With a smile and a wave, she acknowledged her people while the paparazzi’s cameras zoomed and whirred around her.
As she approached the staircase, a bouncer held aside the chain. She ascended quickly, eager to escape the grasping hands of the crowd. The air grew cooler the higher she climbed, until she finally emerged onto the spacious balcony overlooking the dance floor.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” Ian offered her a bottle of water, and she took it gratefully.
“Fine. Thank you.”
But she wasn’t. By all rights, this event should have been entertaining. Royal Flush, one of the leading online poker companies, had spared no expense on their annual bash. When they had asked her to judge the swimsuit competition, Sasha had readily agreed. And then, her older brother, Arthur, had received his deployment orders. This was his last day in London until Christmas, and she wished she could have spent at least some of it in his company. The only reason she hadn’t decided to blow off this engagement was because Arthur was likely focused on soaking up every remaining second with Ashleigh, his fiancée.
“Sasha! There you are!”
She turned to the sight of her best friend and business partner, Miranda, who was tottering toward her in a zebra-stripe dress and matching four-inch stilettos. Miri clutched a brimming martini glass in each hand and proffered one as she approached.
“Hi, Miri.”
“Did you really prefer that blonde? Her face was too angular and that hair was just too severe. I liked the leggy brunette better. You know the one I mean, right? The third one?”
Miranda’s shrill chatter summoned delicate tendrils of pain that, if unacknowledged, would quickly put down roots in Sasha’s temples and flower into a full-blown headache.
“Are we talking about women or horses?”
Miranda’s plump lips rounded into a small “o” of dismay, and Sasha immediately regretted lashing out. She touched Miri’s thin arm with two fingers. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
Miranda peered at her suspiciously from under artificially-enhanced lashes. “You’re so cruel sometimes. Even to me. Your best friend. Why?”
A consummate socialite, Miranda was adept at navigating the complex political undercurrents of high society. Her priorities might be superficial, but she had a keen sense of loyalty and powerful influence within their social circle. Surrounded by people who either wanted something from her or wanted to bring her down, Sasha needed a person like Miranda who could help to sculpt her public image and draw prospective clients to her fledgling party-planning business.
She tucked a tendril of hair behind Miranda’s left ear. “Finch was being an ass earlier, and he’s put me in a pissy mood. I shouldn’t have lashed out.”
Miranda sniffed, but her rigid body language began to thaw. “What did he say?”
“Just some misogynistic prattle. We should plot our revenge.”
The use of “our” had been a calculated move, and it worked exactly as planned. Miri immediately launched into a laundry list of possible tactics, and Sasha was able to nod and smile while focusing most of her attention elsewhere. It would not do to be melancholy, and so she searched the crowd for a distraction. Preferably a tall, androgynous one. Sadly, most of the VIP section was filled with slick-haired men in expensive suits and emaciated women who clung to their arms.
Then the crowd shifted, and Sasha’s gaze was arrested by the sight of a spiky-haired brunette in a sports coat and jeans, a tie looped insouciantly around her neck. She stood conversing with David Sterling, the CEO of Royal Flush, and when she laughed at something he said, the spinning disco ball made her eyes flash.
Miranda had trailed off. “What are you—oh.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“One of those online poker players. I met her earlier, while you were judging, but I don’t remember her name.”
Thrilling to the hunt, Sasha took a long sip of her drink before beckoning to Ian. “I require a private room. Make the arrangements, please.”
“Certainly.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he raised his arm and spoke quietly into his wrist mic.
Miranda was crestfallen. “Already? But the night has barely even started! Let’s dance. You might find someone you fancy even more.”
“I’m not in the mood to dance at the moment.”
“So you’re just going to abandon me?”
“You know plenty of people here. You’ll have a delightful time.” Ignoring her crestfallen expression, Sasha pulled her into a quick hug. “Find Finch and exact our revenge. Tell me the whole sordid affair in the morning. Shall we meet at that new café in Piccadilly you like so much?”
The offer of breakfast seemed to mollify Miri. “Ten o’clock?”
“Perfect.” Sasha leaned in for a swift kiss on the cheek before setting off across the room toward Sterling and the poker player. Her approach did not go unnoticed—it never did—and the pair lapsed into silence as she approached. Sterling executed the brief bow from the neck traditionally used to greet members of the royal family.
“Good evening, Your Royal Highness.” In his designer jacket, collared shirt, and jeans, Sterling was a poster boy for casual chic. “Are you enjoying yourself, I hope?”
“Very much. Excellent party, David.” She angled her body toward his companion, detecting the faintest hint of a spicy cologne. “And you are?”
“Please allow me to introduce Nova, ma’am. The best online poker player in the world at the moment.”
Nova seemed nonplussed at the prospect of meeting her. Clearly, she had no idea of the proper protocols, and Sasha enjoyed the uncertainty that flashed across her handsome face. She liked having the upper hand.
“Dispense with the ‘ma’am,’ David. It makes me feel ancient.” She stuck out her hand and was gratified to feel a twinge of desire low in her stomach as Nova’s warm palm slid across her own. “Sasha. It’s a pleasure.”
“Likewise.” Their brief contact seemed to embolden Nova. “Do you play at all?”
“Poker?” Sasha gave Nova the briefest of once-overs, making it clear that she might be up for other kinds of games as well.
“Yes.” The syllable hitched ever so slightly.
“On occasion. My brother taught my sister and me when we were children. We would play for chocolate coins, much to the chagrin of our nanny who thought it wasn’t ladylike.”
Nova’s answering smile revealed two dimples in her cheeks that Sasha found irresistible. Thankfully, at that moment, the CEO of Smirnoff approached and engaged Sterling in conversation, leaving the two of them to themselves.
“It’s rather crowded, isn’t it?” Sasha said softly, careful to keep their bodies separated by a solid foot of air.
“Getting stuffy, yes,” Nova agreed.
When she licked her lips and visibly swallowed, Sasha laughed. “If your poker tells are that obvious, you should take care never to sit down at a table.”
The bloom of red across Nova’s cheeks was endearing. “Why do you think I play online?”
Sasha laughed, enjoying the easy banter. “That seems wise.” She drained what was left of her martini. When Nova’s eyes widened in clear appreciation, she smiled. But just as she was about to suggest that they move their conversation to a more private place, the cheerful chords of “Yellow Submarine” began to emanate from her purse.
“My brother,” she said apologetically as she reached for her phone. “Hi, Artie.”
“Don’t call me that.” The reply was automatic. “What are you doing right now?”
“I’ve just finished judging swimsuits and am currently chatting with a delightful poker champion. Why?”
“Forget all that. Come to Ashleigh’s flat. I’m having an impromptu send-off.”
“At this very moment?” She was torn. On the one hand, she wanted very much to finish what she’d just started. Nova’s refreshing lack of pretension likely meant she would be a very pleasant experience, indeed. But on the other hand, she would never pass up the chance to attend a farewell soiree for Arthur, especially since she’d only have limited contact with him for the next several months.
“Yes, right now. No excuses.”
Sasha disconnected the call and turned to Nova, allowing her regret to show. “I was hoping we could continue our chat elsewhere, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible now.”
“Is it rude to admit I’m disappointed?”
“Not at all. Perhaps we’ll run into each other some other time.”
“I hope so.”
Forcing herself to turn away, Sasha sought out Ian, where he waited near the balcony railing. “Change of plans. I’ll be going directly to Ashleigh Dunning’s flat. Will you inform the driver?”
“Certainly.”
After making her excuses to Sterling, Sasha followed Ian out a side entrance and slid into the cool leather seats of the black Bentley. As it pulled away from the curb, Ian angled his body to face her.
“Will you be staying the night at Ms. Dunning’s, ma’am?”
“No. I’ll likely not stay more than a few hours.”
“Very well.”
Sasha relaxed into the embrace of the seat and tilted her head just enough to examine her reflection in the window. The early September night was warm and its mugginess had deepened the natural wave of her hair. The near-curls lent her a more sensual air somehow. Even had Nova been inclined to resist, she never would have stood a chance.
Looking past her reflection, she watched London slide by, lights smearing together in a washed out blur. By day, the capital was orderly and proper—a resplendent, well-oiled machine whose heartbeat set the pace of English culture. Sasha knew how to navigate its gears and cogs, but she never stopped feeling like an outsider. By night, London’s veneer of civility slipped, revealing sharp edges beneath the glamour. Ironically, the darkness made her feel seen.
Her driver pulled up to the curb just outside the entrance to Ashleigh’s building, and Ian jumped out to hold her door, offering her a steadying hand as she stepped out onto the curb. When she smiled at him in thanks, his lips curled ever so slightly in return. When he’d first become her bodyguard almost two years ago, he had refused to show even a hint of emotion. Never able to resist a challenge, Sasha had thrown herself at him for months, intent on crumbling his stoic façade and gaining the upper hand. Finally, after a particularly egregious seduction attempt, Ian had grasped her by both naked shoulders and fixed her with a firm stare.
“You’re a charming and beautiful woman, Sasha,” he had said. “You don’t need to behave this way. But since you seem to need the reassurance, I’m sure I would have broken down long before now if you were my type.”
It had taken several seconds before she’d comprehended what he was trying to tell her. Relaxing in his grip, she’d thrown her head back and laughed.
“To be honest? You’re not really my type, either.”
At that, he had smiled at her for the very first time. “I know.”
Ever since that day, they’d had an unspoken agreement. Sasha stopped making Ian’s life a living hell, and Ian did everything in his power to protect her—not only from physical harm, but also from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. They weren’t friends, exactly. Ian’s sense of professionalism would never allow for that. But they understood each other.
Their mutual trust allowed him to wait in one of the armchairs in the building’s atrium rather than being forced to stand in the hallway outside Ashleigh’s flat. As the elevator sped toward the thirtieth floor, Sasha wondered who would be in attendance tonight. Arthur’s innate charisma won him friends wherever he went, but his inner circle was actually quite small. She hoped he’d invited only his closest confidantes.
When she rang the bell, he answered. Tall and broad-shouldered, he took up most of the doorway and immediately enveloped her into a bear hug. She ruffled his shock of hair to make him let go. As he stepped back, he had to push an errant lock out of his warm brown eyes, and she wondered how he would look when the Royal Air Force made him get a buzz cut upon reporting for duty tomorrow.
“Thanks for being here,” he said as they walked down the short hallway that opened into Ashleigh’s sitting room.
“You didn’t exactly give me a choice.” But she nudged him with her elbow to take any sting out of her words.
Arthur turned into the kitchen, where Ashleigh was pouring champagne into several flutes on a silver tray. Long, blond hair flowed down the back of her white blouse, nearly touching the fabric of her shimmery black pencil skirt. She turned with a smile and embraced Sasha as though they hadn’t just seen each other a few days prior at a family dinner in Buckingham. But that was Ashleigh. She had a way of making each person feel like the most important one in the room. At first, Sasha had been suspicious of her cordiality, but after years of seeing her at Arthur’s side, she had come to recognize that Ashleigh Dunning was one of those rare, genuinely compassionate individuals.
“Sash, hi! You look stunning. New frock?” Ashleigh held her at arm’s length and rubbed the material of one strap between her fingertips. “Velvet. Beautiful.”
“It’s an Alexander McQueen. Quite comfortable. I’ll have one sent over for you tomorrow.”
As Ashleigh protested, Arthur reached over her shoulder for the tray.
“You may as well just say thank you,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Once Sasha’s mind is made up, she becomes the immovable object.”
“It’s true.” Sasha let Ashleigh precede her back into the hallway. “My stubborn streak is the stuf