He’s interrupted by a furious pounding on the front door of the apartment.
Alec sits upright, startled, and I throw my arms around his neck. It can’t be later than 6:45. Who the hell is trying to break his door down at this hour?
Another barrage of knocks shatters the silence of the apartment. “Prince—” A voice shouts, but I must be mistaking the word. Then there’s another shout. “Alec! Alec! Open up. Now!”
Chapter 12
Alec
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I roll Jessica off me as gently as I can and launch myself out of bed as Nate resumes pounding on the door like some kind of madman. She stumbles out after me and starts searching for her clothes, our bodies colliding as I fumble for something, anything, I can wear to answer the door and tell Nate to get the hell out of here. I grasp her by the shoulders and press her down so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You stay here,” I say, leaning over to kiss her jawline. “I’ll tell whoever it is to go the hell away.”
She gives me a smile, but there’s a rustle of fabric as I move toward the door, pulling on a pair of boxers as I go.
What in God’s name could Nate possibly need at this hour?
I sprint through the apartment, a strange combination of fury and relief competing in my chest. I’m pissed at him for interrupting my idyllic moment, but when I opened my mouth to tell Jessica my name, I didn’t have anything prepared. Where was the conversation going to go? I hadn’t decided whether or not to lie to her and try to drag out this trip as long as possible—because after last night, it’s all I want in the world—or tell her the truth and break her heart?
Saved by the bodyguard. Screwed by the bodyguard. Can’t it ever be one or the other?
The moment I pull open the front door of the apartment, Nate barrels in, his face red. His phone is out of his pocket in an instant. He swipes the screen once, taps once, and then holds it to his cheek.
“I have him,” he says in a terse tone, then shoves it back into his pocket, turns back to turn the deadbolt on the door, and only then meets my eyes.
“What. The. Fuck?” I say to him, my voice deadly. “I’m fairly sure that I was clear about—”
“All that’s done, your highness.” He cuts me off, his voice clipped and tense. “We need to go. Right now. Do you need help with your things?”
I hold both hands up, shaking my head. “What are you talking about, Nate? There’s no reason to—”
He takes me by the elbow and yanks me over toward the picture window in the apartment’s living area. It looks out over the street below. “Hey!” I try to protest. “You don’t have to fucking manhandle—”
“Look.”
He jabs his fingers pointing down to the sidewalk below, and I see why he felt it necessary to lay hands on my royal person despite the possible penalties, the first of which would be me, backhanding his foolish head.
The sidewalk below us is crawling with media and paparazzi.
I look across at Nate, brow furrowed in confusion. It’s not the first time I’ve come across that kind of crowd—as royalty, we’re in front of cameras quite often—but those were always scheduled appearances in Saintland. This is something else. “What are they doing here?”
“They’re here for you.”
“You’re sure?” This city has to be crawling with people who are far more famous than I am. Doesn’t that actor Matt Damon live here?
“Yes. They’ve been trying to get in the lobby for an hour so they can get pictures of you with the girl.”
“The girl?”
“Yes. Jessica.” Nate doesn’t have time for my irritation. “It appears that when you ended your date with Emmaline so hastily, you caused a bit of an international incident.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Why in the fuck would she—”
“Listen to me, your highness. We can discuss the details later. What you need to know right now is that the gossip sites know you’re here. The regular media has also latched on to this story, and they’re all waiting outside. It’s becoming a more pressing security issue with every moment that passes. We. Have. To. Go.”
“I need a few minutes.”
“You can say goodbye to her from the car.”
“Do I need to repeat myself?” I spit at him, my confusion turning to anger.
“Your highness—”
“Your highness?”
We both spin around to see Jessica standing at the edge of the room, her back to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Her face is a mask of confusion as she looks from me to Nate, then back to me again.
“Your highness?” she repeats, her voice rising another octave.
Well, that’s blown wide open.
“Jess, I—”
She narrows her eyes, crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Is this some kind of joke? If it is, tell me right now.”