To Steal a Groom (Royal Billionaire Romance) (13 page)

He has to stifle a moan. As if he can’t take it anymore, he sweeps me off my feet, carrying me to bed like I weigh no more than a feather. Setting me gently on the sheets, he straddles me, his hips pressing against mine. I want him so much, want to feel his skin against mine. If I don’t, I fear I’ll go mad. But I seem to have lost the power of speech. Hooking my thumbs into his waistband, I pull his boxers down as far I as can get them.

A phone rings.

Damon pulls down my other bra strap, then tugs at my panties. It’s as if he can’t decide which to pull off first.

The phone rings again. I let my head sink into the pillow. “Can you turn that thing off?”

“It’s not my phone.”

Sitting up, I readjust my bra straps. Is someone really calling me? Why of all the times would they call now?

My bag lies abandoned in a far corner. Setting it in my lap, I dig to the bottom. I never use my phone. I’m amazed it has any battery left. Who even knows this number?

I pull out the ugly antique flip phone, and freeze when I see the area code. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.

Walking back to the bed, I sit on the edge farthest from Damon. As much as I’d like to be near him, I have the terrible feeling that this call could infect him somehow. I hunch over the phone half-naked as the number flashes on the screen. I feel like a kid again, scared and vulnerable.

“Grace? What’s wrong?”

His voice sounds so far away. I take a deep breath. They can call all they like, but they can’t find me here.

“I’m fine.” My trembling hands give away my lie. “I might have to take this call though.”

Do I really want to answer? We haven’t talked in years. In fact, I can’t remember a time when they called me. So why are they calling now?

My fingers hover until I can’t stand it any longer. I flip the phone open. “Hello?”

“Grace! We’ve missed you!”

I hate that tone they take on when they’re lying.

“Hi, Mom.”

“How are you, sweetie?”

I unclench my teeth. “Mom, I thought I told you not to contact me.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have sent me an invitation, silly.”

My throat goes dry. “What invitation?”

She laughs. “We’ll see you in half an hour.”

“Wait … where are you?”

The line goes dead.

“Grace? Grace! Breathe.”

Damon’s beside me, his arm around me. He shuts the phone for me. It feels heavy in my limp hand. I throw it across the room, as if it could come to life and snap at me.

“What is it?” He forces me to look at him. “What happened?”

“My parents,” I say dully. “They said they had an invitation, and that they’d see me in half an hour.” I focus on him, my eyes narrowing. “Was it you? Did you invite them? Don’t lie to me!”

“It wasn’t me. I promise.” He grips my hands. “Grace, I would never lie to you.”

“I know. That’s what makes it worse.” I can’t stop the tears that spill down my face. This is perfect. Just like them. They have to ruin everything, don’t they?

Damon rubs my back. “Just sit with me a minute. It’s going to be all right.”

I start laughing, almost hysterically. “That’s the thing, if you knew them you’d see how funny that is. With them, nothing’s ever all right.” Now I’m laughing and crying at the same time, which makes me hiccup violently. I wipe my eyes. “And now you think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I do think things will be fine. Even if your parents are here, it’s not like my father would invite them to live here. They’ll have to leave eventually.”

One last hiccup escapes me. “I don’t know if they’re even here. They’d have to fly, and plane tickets would cost a fortune. They wouldn’t spend money to see me.”

“Let’s wait and see. If they do show up, we’ll all be civil.”

“That would only work if they knew the meaning of the word ‘civil.’”

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think they could behave even for one night?”

“It’s not even about behaving, which they won’t, by the way. They don’t care about me. They’ve made that quite clear over the years. If they’re going to abandon me again, I want it to be on my terms.”

Damon smooths back my hair. “You said it’s been a long time since you’ve seen them. Maybe they really do miss you. At least give them a chance.”

I want to refuse, but I can’t resist those hazel eyes. “Okay. For you, I will.”

He checks his silver watch. “It’s almost time for dinner. Let’s get dressed.”

Collecting my dress and shoes, I’m grateful for the distraction of dinner. Once my parents called, my sensual mood was shattered.

Damon picks out a new suit and tie. It seems he can’t stand stepping into something the slightest bit wrinkled. I put his discarded clothes on a hanger for him.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says as he adjusts his tie.

“I don’t want these to get creased beyond repair, either. I know it would really set you back to buy another suit jacket.”

He smiles at me, offering an arm. “Ready for dinner?”

I frown at the door. I’m not sure I really want to go out there.

“I’ll be right there with you if they show up. And I’ll kick them out if I have to.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Damon’s promises are worth far more than mine, so I take his arm. We descend the spiral stair, crossing the main hall to the dining room. I scan the room, letting out a sigh of relief when I don’t see my parents lying in wait. Maybe they were just messing with me, but I half expected them to be lurking behind the curtains.

The prince takes a seat, but I approach the king. If my parents really are trying to crash a royal dinner, I need to warn him.

“Ah, Grace. I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”

“You have, Majesty?” Has he already heard about the invitation somehow? My parents haven’t tried to sneak onto the grounds, have they?

“Yes.” He glances over at Sarina, who is conferring with Marc in low whispers at the far end of the table. She looks up at me, piercing me with a glare. “I hear you dismissed Valda.” His voice is solemn. “May I inquire as to why?”

“Our fashion philosophies were not harmonious.”

“And?”

I gape at him until I find the sense to close my mouth. “And … I thought it best not to trouble her with such a burdensome task.”

The king lays a finger to his temple. “Why couldn’t you have just kept the peace?”

“I really tried. It just wasn’t working out.” Like the king could understand the importance of a wedding dress. “Besides, Sarina offering me her gown was just that, an offer, not an order. I don’t have to accept the offer, kind as it is.”

Darius closes his eyes as Sarina throws another black look our way. “That was to be the queen’s wedding gift to you. It is not wise to reject such a gift, especially such a sentimental gift, and especially not from your future mother-in-law. Have I made myself clear?”

“What would you have me do, Majesty? Do you want me to wear the queen’s dress even though neither your son nor I like the idea?”

“Do what you must to smooth things over. I do not enjoy chaos in my court. Do you understand?”

It might be nice if he offered a few ideas, but I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere tonight. “I’ll do what I can, Your Majesty.”

“That will be all. Take your seat, dinner’s about to arrive.”

And that may not be the only thing. If he’s so keen on family harmony, I’m sure he’ll love his soon-to-be guests. If he’s going to lecture me over something as personal as a wedding dress, maybe he doesn’t deserve a warning about the chaos that might walk right into his court.

I sit next to Damon.

“How’d it go?” he whispers.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“You did inform him that your parents may be arriving, right?”

I set my napkin in my lap. “He didn’t let me.”

“He didn’t let you?” Damon pushes out his chair. “Grace…”

He starts to rise as the double doors open. A herald enters, two people trailing him.

“Excuse me, Your Majesties?” The herald clears his throat, unnerved by two scowling monarchs. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow have arrived.”

10

The king shoots me an icy look. “Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow?”

“Yes,” the herald says, “from California.”

So they are here. They weren’t lying for once. My mom is hugged by a dress that’s much too short and far too tight, and covered in costume jewelry. She looks up at the chandeliers, no doubt wondering what they’re worth. Her jaw is moving ceaselessly, and I wince when I realize that she’s chewing gum.

I’m not surprised that my dad is sporting at least two weeks’ worth of stubble, but it is strange that he’s not wearing his usual wife-beater. It’s almost like a uniform to him. Instead, he’s wearing the only polo shirt he owns, the one that’s still crisp because he saves it for weddings and funerals.

Darius frowns. “May I see their invitations?”

I let my shoulders relax. There’s no way they have actual invitations. In order to enter the palace, guests need a royal request of their presence on paper or in speech. I’ll make sure that my parents get neither from Damon.

My dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled envelope. “Here you go.” He shoves it into the herald’s palm.

The herald presents the envelope to Darius, who picks it up between one finger and thumb, as if it could infect him. He glares into the paper, and I wonder if it could spontaneously combust from his anger.

My parents wait almost nonchalantly. Mom begins to tap her heel on the stone floor, not caring that the sound echoes through the room. My dad hums tunelessly. I can feel my annoyance rising by the second. How do they know just how to get under my skin?

It’s so strange to see them together at all. Their entire relationship is nothing more than a series of calculations concerning how much one can get from the other. I know they can’t stand each other. My mom sent countless beer bottles flying at my dad’s head when she felt in danger of losing a fight, and my dad always drained her bank account in revenge.

As if he can sense my thoughts, my dad puts his arm around my mom. I almost laugh at how fake their affection looks. But if they’re putting on such an elaborate show, there must be a reason. Knowing my parents, I won’t like the reason one bit.

Darius sets the invitations on the table. “These have the queen’s seal.”

“I didn’t invite them.” Sarina’s voice is low, dangerous. “But I think I know who did.” She fixes me with a stare.

“I didn’t invite them either!” There aren’t words enough to convey how much I wish an ocean still separated me from my parents.

Across the table, Marc winks at me. That bastard.

The king gives me one more suspicious look, then turns to my parents. “I apologize for the misunderstanding. It seems like your invitations were sent in error.”

This is it. He’s going to kick them out. I never would have guessed that the king could be my savior.

“However, I hate to be an ungracious host. As you’re technically my wife’s guests, I think it’s only fair that she have the final word.”

I catch the queen’s eye, giving a slight shake of my head. Don’t let them in. You have no idea what you’re getting into.

Her lip curls. “Of course they can stay. They’re about to be family, aren’t they?”

My mom blows a bubble, which pops loudly. The herald rounds up a pair of servers to set two more places at the table.

Damon glances behind us to the place where Nic usually stands guard, and frowns when he finds it empty. I hope he doesn’t find that too suspicious. I wish Nic were here too, in case someone has to put us all out of our misery and toss my parents out.

“Grace!” My mom nearly shouts my name. “I’ve missed you so much.” She hugs me so hard that she may have cracked a rib. I rub my side once she finally lets me go, trying not to choke on her perfume.

“And this must be your fiancé,” she says.

Damon rises to greet her. “How do you do.”

“Simply wonderful. Grace has told us so much about you.”

“I have?” I ask. “Then what’s his name, Mom?”

She laughs. “You’re hilarious, darling.”

“Don’t tease your mother, Grace.” My dad puts a hand on my back, leaning in to kiss my forehead like he actually cares about me. “Pleased to meet you.” He shakes Damon’s hand, and if I know my father, he’s trying to crush his bones.

The prince’s face remains placid. “Welcome to the palace.”

My dad releases Damon’s hand, and turns to the king. “Where are my manners? Thanks to our generous hosts.”

The king inclines his head. “I am Darius Alexander Lion III. Welcome to our city.”

“The name’s Rex. Seems I’m a king too, after a fashion.” My dad wipes his nose, then offers his hand to shake.

“Indeed.” The king takes it, but not before pinning me with another icy glare.

I give my dad a glare of my own. He ignores it, of course. I know he can turn on the charm when he wants to. The ignorant American is just another persona he can slip into when it suits him best. He must be angling for something, money no doubt. Maybe he thinks the king will pay to get my backwards parents to clean up their act.

My mom leans across the table to kiss the king on both cheeks, a bit too enthusiastically. “Desiree Sparrow. So pleased to meet you.”

Sarina opens her mouth to protest, but my mom swoops in to kiss her too. At a loss for words, the queen runs her hand across her cheeks.

Finally, my parents take their seats. I hope they’ll do less damage from a sitting position.

The queen looks down her nose at them. “Rex, Desiree, what do you do?”

My mom picks up the cup in front of her, sticking her pinky out at a sharp angle. “We run an organization that helps the less fortunate.”

By the less fortunate, of course, they mean themselves.

“What kind of work does that involve?” Marc asks.

“We find items that can be refurbished, recycled, or resold,” my dad drawls. “It’s not easy work, but it’s honest.”

I choke back a laugh.

Marc twirls a glass. “And who exactly does this charity benefit?”

“Why?” my dad asks. “Are you looking to donate?”