“You have ten seconds,” I said, trying to sound much braver than I really felt.
He looked me square in the eye and said, “My name is Nikolay Rostov. I am the crown prince of the House of Rostov, future king of Kosnovia. I hereby claim you, Rebecca Monroe, as my wife and future queen. You and I shall produce an heir that will carry my family name far into the future.”
I just blinked at him and said, “You have got to be shitting me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Nick
This royal kidnapping was not going as well as I’d hoped it would. I had no idea how my father and grandfather had managed to take their wives so easily, but Rebecca was giving me a look that clearly said she wasn’t going to simply roll over and submit.
“You arrogant asshole,” she said. “Did you really think you could stumble into my bar and feed me that line of shit and expect me to just lay down and spread my legs for you?”
“Well, I believe I am supposed to tie you up first,” I said in a sad attempt at humor. I could see her face turning red. Her hands were clenched so tightly on the table her knuckles were white.
I held up my hands. “Please, just let me explain.”
“I have a gun,” she said, gritting her teeth, “and I’m not afraid to use it!”
“Rebecca, Becca Boo, please.”
Her face froze in anger for just a moment, and then she pushed back the smile that toyed at her lips and said, “What did you call me?”
“Uh, Becca Boo?”
She grinned and shook her heard. “What kind of kidnapper says Becca Boo?”
I made a goofy face and let my shoulders go up and down. “A very bad kidnapper?”
She covered the smile with her hand and shook her head at me. She let her green eyes burn into mine for a minute and then said, “You’re really serious, aren’t you? You’re not just an arrogant asshole; you’re a crazy arrogant asshole.”
I had to admit, if I had been sitting in her chair, I probably would have thought the same thing. I had to try to convince her otherwise, for the sake of my family and my country.
I held up my hands and did my best to sound rational. “In my country, it is tradition that the male takes the woman they want to marry and produce an heir with. My father took my mother, my grandfather took my grandmother, and so and so on back hundreds of years. I am the last Rostov male. The bloodline ends with me if I don’t take a woman and produce a son.”
She studied my face as I spoke, as if trying to weigh the truth of my words. She said, “You are serious, aren’t you?”
I gave her a nod. “We are one of the few monarchies left, and there is a movement by the people to remove my father from the throne and end the reign of the final Russian monarchy. If that happens, my parents will be exiled and will live out their days in shame.”
“But if you get married and produce an heir?”
“It may have no effect at all, but my father thinks a royal wedding and a royal baby would endear the monarchy to the people again. Especially if I were to wed an American woman.”
“An American? Why an American?”
“My father believes the shallow Americans would stand with the Rostov family if the heir was half American. Like Princess Grace of Monaco. No one even knew where Monaco was until the prince married the Hollywood starlet.”
“Well, I’m no Hollywood starlet,” she said with a smile. The anger had left her face. Her eyes were soft in the glow of the candlelight. “So, let me get this straight. You want to kidnap me, force me to marry you, and have a baby.”
I nodded. “When you say it, it really does sound silly.”
“Does it have to be in that order?” she asked.
I glanced up to find her smiling at me.
CHAPTER TWELVE: Rebecca
Nick looked up at me with his big brown puppy dog eyes. “What do you mean, does it have to be in that order?”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I couldn’t believe what I was about to say.
“I mean, for all practical purposes you’ve already kidnapped me,” I said, shrugging with my hands in the air. “I can’t go anywhere. The weather is holding me hostage, so technically we can call it a kidnapping. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He nodded and licked his lips. “Yes. I suppose that does qualify, technically.”
“So the question becomes, do we have to get married first or can we practice making babies now?”
I know, I couldn’t believe I said it either. I followed it up with this: “I have to be honest, your highness. I’m on the pill, so the chance of getting pregnant the first time would be a miracle. But I’m willing to try if you are.”
We both blinked at my words, as if our brains were mutually processing their meaning. It wasn’t an hour before that I was thinking it would take a miracle to make me leave this place behind. Maybe Nick was right. Maybe this was fate.