“No statement.” He needed to talk to Alex. Apologize. Something. She was probably devastated. Would she want to see him again after this?
“Luke, we need to talk about this.” Beckee was now annoyed. “This is the biggest publicity you could possibly make for the movie unless . . . Wait. Could you hold off on dating her until the picture hits theaters?”
“I’m going now,” Luke said, and hung up the phone. God, what a mess. He stared up at the ceiling of the hotel. Some days, it was a pain in the ass to be an actor. What had happened to the thrill of the role? Of losing yourself in another character? Of seeing your face on screen? Now it seemed to be lost in who was dating who.
The moment he set his phone down, it buzzed with incoming text messages.
Beckee: What about an exclusive interview? Will u do one of those? Just a small TV show! One of the Late Nights. Not a big deal!
Nick: I can’t believe you’ve been going behind my back. After all I’ve done for you to make your career! CALL ME.
Tony: Hey, bro. I saw the papers about the princess. She bearding for you? Or is it the other way around? LOL.
Beckee: Media Weekly wants to put you on the cover!!! Can we make a statement? Please!!! Just a small one!
He turned his phone off entirely. At least now the incessant incoming-text buzz would stop. He took a shower and dressed to head down to the hotel gym. Maybe working up a good sweat would get his mind off of the upcoming clusterfuck. He dressed in sweats and his sneakers, and, on a hunch, headed to the balcony and peered down below.
The front of the hotel was mobbed with photographers holding cameras, waiting anxiously. Cars were blocking the narrow Bellissime streets as far as he could see, and horns honked as irritated drivers tried to push their way through the crowd.
Fuck. That was for him?
As he watched, a black sedan pulled up, two tiny Bellissime flags waving from the hood. The photographers clustered around it, and Luke tensed. Was the princess coming to visit him at his hotel? Surely that seemed like a bad idea, didn’t it? But he couldn’t pull away from the window, and he held his breath as the door opened.
A man in a black suit stepped out. Frustrated, Luke pushed away and slapped the curtains shut. Now he was just being a mopey schoolboy, wasn’t he? He needed to get out of his own head for a bit. Definitely time to head down to the gym. He pulled out a music player and strapped it to his arm, and then headed down the hall to the elevator.
It opened as he stepped forward, and standing there was a man in a black suit, a black chauffeur cap on his head. He looked surprised to see Luke. “Mr. Houston?” He held out an envelope.
Luke pulled out his earbuds and examined it. “What’s this?” He’d been handed all kinds of weird shit on the red carpet, but this seemed like a plain envelope.
“I believe it is an invitation, sir.” The man clasped his hands and waited.
Luke fiddled with the envelope. When the man didn’t leave, he arched an eyebrow at him.
“I’m supposed to wait for your response, sir.”
“Ah.” Luke shoved his thumb under the sealed flap and ripped it open, then pulled out the card inside. It was plain eggshell colored, the national symbol of Bellissime on the front. The interior was neatly printed. Your presence is requested by HRH Crown Princess Alexandra Olivia III for dinner tonight. A driver will be there to pick you up at seven sharp.
Below the type, a note had been scribbled in a feminine hand. I hope you’re not mad. Come see me tonight? I promise we’ll have more privacy here than on the bridge! Best, Alex.
A slow smile curved his mouth. Boy, she didn’t waste any time, did she? It was a bold move, and a ballsy one for the shy princess. He imagined she’d seen the newspaper, and she probably knew he had, too. She was pushing Go on things, then. If he was truly interested in her—mob of photographers hounding them and all—she was giving him an opening. If he wanted to back off, he could decline the formal invitation without too many hurt feelings.
He folded the invitation shut again and glanced at the waiting man. “Casual or formal?”
“Palace casual, sir.”
That probably meant not black tie but still formal. “Please let the princess know I will be there.”
The man nodded and stepped back into the elevator.
Luke waited until the man left, and then tucked the envelope into his pocket. He was grinning. Tonight, he’d get to see Alex again. Sly princess.
He couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Three Weeks Later
“It’s a royal media frenzy,” Beckee said into Luke’s ear. He sat in the backseat of the sedan that had been sent for him, and his publicist chatted his ear off, excited. “Ever since Will and Kate’s marriage, people have been nuts over royal families of any kind. The fact that Princess Alex is young and pretty and you’re freaking Luke Houston? The papers are crazy here.” He could hear Beckee shuffling things on her desk. “I’m inundated with requests for you to talk to people—Barbara Walters, Oprah, you name it. Inundated!” She sounded thrilled.
She was inundated? She didn’t know the half of it. Luke grimaced as he glanced out the window of the slowly crawling sedan. The media was even worse in Bellissime. It seemed like photographers and reporters from every country in Europe had sent a team to try and get a photograph of him and Alex together. They pestered him at the hotel. They clustered around the doors when he went to the set. They mobbed the car every time Alex sent for him for one of their dates. People had actually started camping out in front of the royal palace gates, trying to get a picture of him (or her). He was beginning to feel like he couldn’t head to the restroom without a posse of bodyguards following him. Privacy was quickly becoming a thing of the past, and Luke had thought he would be used to it after years of climbing the rungs in Hollywood.
Turned out that dating a royal princess escalated things into an entirely different stratosphere. Hell, they even had helicopters following them around, hoping to get the scoop.
Was she worth the media frenzy?
Hell yes she was.
Alex was an utter joy to be around. He’d never met anyone quite like her. She was fun, playful, intelligent, able to hold a conversation about anything he threw at her, and always managed to surprise him. She was utterly confident in social situations, but shy when it came to him and kissing. Luke was utterly addicted to her. He dreamed about her at night, thought about her when he woke up, and was having a hard time focusing on the movie because he just wanted to spend more time with Alex. She consumed him, and he’d never been like that around other women.
Beckee continued to babble in his ear, but he wasn’t really listening. He was back to thinking about Alex, his favorite pastime. Tonight she wanted a quiet dinner alone in the palace, because they’d been mobbed at the last restaurant they’d tried to go to (despite disguises). There were royal gardens, as well, and Luke had been daydreaming about sneaking Alex away into them for a bit of late-night heavy petting. They were constantly surrounded by people, so it was hard to get intimate—though not for lack of trying on both their parts. It was like there was an electric connection between them . . . and people kept flipping the switch to Off. Damn frustrating.
“Do we want to make a comment about the superhero script you’re considering? Get the fans going?”
“Hmm?” Luke tried to pay attention. “Which superhero script?”
“There’s more than one? The big tentpole production!”
Actually, he’d gotten four in the last week, all either action- or blockbuster-type roles. He was thrilled, of course . . . and a little disappointed because he hadn’t gotten them for his acting merit, but because he was dating a princess. All of this had made him incredibly cynical about his job, and even more wary of the fans. If this was what the media would be like, maybe he’d be better off on the B-list than reaching for the A
-list.
Not that he had a choice in that matter at the moment.
The sedan crawled up to the palace gates, and sure enough, there was a cluster of people waiting there. In addition to the regular photographers, there was a barricade set up and several teenage girls were holding up signs: WE HEART YOU LUKE! BELLISSIME’S FAVORITE ACTOR!
Aw, hell. “Let me let you go, Beckee. I need to go sign some autographs.”
“Go forth and conquer the people, sweetie!”
He hung up and tossed his phone onto the seat next to him. “Can we stop for a minute?”
The driver—Alex’s driver—frowned back at him. “I’m not sure that’s wise, sir.”
“It’s kind of a thing. I try not to disappoint kids. I’m just going to sign a few autographs and take a few pictures and then I’ll be back.” He figured that if anyone waited hours to see him, the least he could do was sign an autograph. Plus, it was bad karma to disappoint fans. The paparazzi? He didn’t give a shit about them, but when there were fans involved? He wanted to make them happy. He remembered being a kid and being starstruck by the big names. Hell, he remembered being starstruck his first day on the set.
The car stopped and Luke got out, waving.
The crowd of girls behind the barricade screamed, posters shaking madly. The palace guards at the gate frowned but didn’t leave their posts.
“I can only stay for a minute,” Luke called out to the crowd as cameras flashed and phones raised in the air. “I just wanted to say hi to everyone and to thank you for your support.” He moved forward and photos of him were thrust in his direction, along with Sharpies. He grabbed the first one and greeted the fan, signing the picture and then leaning in for the obligatory selfie.
Happy squeals of joy told him he’d brightened a few people’s days, and he reached for the next picture. The crowd shoved against the barricade and it wobbled, causing one of the guards to move forward. A few of the people in the back started shoving, and a camera got awfully close to his face.
“Everyone calm down, please,” Luke said, keeping his best smile on his face. “I’ll sign for everyone, okay? No pushing, please.”
“I love you, Luke!” someone wailed in the back.
“Love you, too,” he called back, and the audience broke out into laughter.
Luke signed another picture and leaned in for a selfie. The girl at the front was short, and so he squatted down by the guardrail so they could be face to face. The crowd surged again, and someone grabbed his shirt. Other hands grabbed him, and the squeals grew deafening.
A moment later, a hand yanked backward and his head cracked against the metal of the railing. A blinding flash of pain went through his head and then everything went dark.
***
“Mr. Houston’s been hurt.” Lady Margaret raced into Alex’s chamber.
Alex jerked up from her dressing table, where she’d been contemplating her phone. The queen found them unseemly, but Alex kept a private one for “just in case” and Luke liked to send her the occasional text. She’d been re-reading some of them in a lovesick moment. She tossed down the phone and tightened the sash on her silk dressing robe. She had a date with Luke soon, and was just about to get dressed. “He what?”
“He’s been hurt. He was signing autographs just outside the gates and some fans attacked him. He hit his head against the barricade and was knocked unconscious.” Margaret wrung her hands. “What should we do?”
Her heart clenched painfully. Oh, Luke. Please be okay. “Take me to him.”
“But . . .” Margaret sputtered. “You’re not dressed!”
Like that mattered right now? Alex hurried out of her room and down the stairs, Margaret trailing behind her. “Where is he?”
“They brought him into the Green Parlor, I believe.”
“And the royal physician? Has he been called?”
“I don’t know—”
“Find out,” Alex barked, racing down the last few stairs and running for the Green Parlor. “And tell the palace secretary that I need him!” They’d have to make a statement of some kind before things went out of control.
She burst into the parlor a moment later, her heart hammering in her breast so loud that she thought it might break through her skin. There he was, lying on a mauve settee, his face utterly pale, limbs hanging over the edge of the seat. A guard held a bloody cloth to his forehead, and another paced nearby.
Oh, dear god.
The two guards immediately looked away as she raced to Luke’s side. “It’s a head wound?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The one guard coughed and pointedly avoided making eye contact with Alex as he held the cloth to Luke’s head. “He hit the barricade rather hard. The crowd grew unruly very fast.”
“The doctor has been sent for,” she said, taking the cloth from the man and lifting it to peer at the wound. There was so much blood, but she knew head wounds bled a lot. She wouldn’t panic. “Has the crowd on the street been dispersed?”
“The captain of the guard is handling that right now, Your Grace.”
“Good.” She caressed Luke’s cheek, looking for other wounds, but he seemed to be all right otherwise. He was breathing regularly, too, thank goodness. Her heart stopped hammering and she began to take control. They would be looking to her. “I’ve asked Margaret to bring the doctor, and the secretary will be coming by. I want this room guarded, and not a peep of this is to spread beyond the palace. Do you understand me?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Both guards bowed.
“One of you get some water and some fresh cloths. The other please remain outside the door. No one is to come in other than Margaret or the people that I’ve mentioned. Where is the queen today?”
“I believe she is out at a ribbon cutting, Your Grace. Your mother is on vacation in Greece.”
She nodded. Good. It was less to worry about. The smaller she could keep this, the better. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
The guards left the room and she was alone with Luke. She arranged his legs and then took off his shoes, trying to make him comfortable. There was a small embroidered pillow on a nearby chaise, but there was already one pillow under his head and she didn’t want him to move if at all possible. She fidgeted over him as she waited for fresh cloths and water—or the doctor.
This was all her fault. Alex gazed down at his handsome face and resisted the urge to press her mouth against his. Instead, she took his hand and twined their fingers together.
Things were going to have to change, that was clear.
Luke’s eyes fluttered open and he squeezed her hand. “Hey, Princess.”
“Don’t move,” she told him softly. “The doctor’s on his way.”
“I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.” He started to get up, but Alex froze him with her iciest princess look, the one she used only in dire situations of insult. “Or I’ll lie down here and let you tend to me.”
“Better.”
By the time the doctor arrived, Alex had carefully bathed much of the dried blood from Luke’s forehead, changed into a dress that Margaret brought her, and issued a statement from the palace. The media was to be informed that Luke had taken a small tumble outside the palace gates and would be remaining on the grounds under the doctor’s care until further notice, and that the injury was not expected to be serious.
It was that whole expected thing that was rattling Alex. She didn’t know much about head wounds. She remained at Luke’s side and held his hand as the doctor examined him.
“You washed the head wound?” the doctor asked, frowning. “You should have left it for me. It could have caused issues if there was an abnormal amount of bleeding.”
Alex stiffened. “Is there?”
Luke squeezed her hand again. “I’m fine. Really.”
The doctor shone a penlight into Luke’s eyes and th
en made him follow his finger. “His pupils are the same size. Doesn’t look like a concussion. That gash will need a stitch, though, and we’ll want to supervise him for the next several days to ensure there’s no swelling in the brain.”
Swelling in the brain? Alex’s heart started thumping nervously all over again. “I want round-the-clock care for him,” she insisted. “If you have to call additional colleagues to the palace, do so. I want Luke to have the best care.”
“You’re going to break my fingers if you squeeze any harder, Princess,” he murmured to her.
Oh. She released his hand, and then fussed with the throw blanket she’d tucked around him.
The doctor nodded. “We’ll make sure he’s not overstimulated. No phones, no television, no reading for the next while. Just relaxation.”
Luke tried to put a hand to his head. “I’m shooting a movie.”
“Not right now you aren’t,” she said tartly, and grabbed his hand before he could touch the wound. Turning to the doctor, she told him, “He’s staying here until further notice.”
The doctor’s gray brows drew together. “Your Grace, I’m not sure that’s appropriate.”
She arched a brow at him. “I’m the one to decide what is appropriate or not. Am I not the crown princess?”
The doctor flushed. “Of course, but you are also an unmarried young woman—”
“This is the twenty-first century, not the first. I can stay under the same roof as a man without flinging myself upon his loins.” When the doctor’s face began to turn purple with embarrassment, she softened her voice. “Luke will be under care at all times, and we will have him constantly chaperoned. His room will be guarded and he will be accompanied everywhere. We’ll make additional statements to the press if necessary.”