Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 61160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“I beg your pardon?”
“My mum taught me everything I know about deep throat techniques. You would’ve helped me make her proud.”
I blinked.
There’s no way she just said that…
“If you’re interested, I can give you a bit.” She smiled. “All you have to do is unzip your trousers and help me move my head.”
“I’d prefer if you focused on your breathing,” I said. “You look like you’re on the verge of vomiting on my floor. Again.”
“I just knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” She wasn’t listening to me at all. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be proposing to a Denmark princess or something? That’s what the tabloids are saying.”
“They’re quite mistaken.”
“Then why did you tell me your name was Matthew and you worked in finance?” She sucked in a deep breath. “Why did you lie to my face and deny me my lifelong dream of screwing a royal? Why would—”
She vomited on the floor mid-sentence, leaving our conversation unfinished.
The guard across from us opened an empty bag, and I lifted her head as the car coasted through the streets.
With every kilometer, the grey and rainy city softly taunted me.
The bistros laughed that I couldn’t step inside without drawing a crowd. Traffic pointed and whispered that I could never drive someplace alone without someone waving and taking pictures of the “Pretty Playboy Prince.” The tourist shops mocked my annoyance, placing “Royal Family” books in their front windows, showing me that my life’s story wasn’t mine to chart or write. It would always be narrated by authors I’d never read, published in high-glossy paperbacks that I never approved.
Ahead of me, the towering London Eye—a beautiful Ferris wheel that I’d always wanted to ride—snickered as it reminded me of my last attempt to board. The tabloids showed up in droves, taking pictures and shouting questions, and I abandoned the idea forever.
Often, random strangers approached me during my morning walks and gave me their unsolicited advice about my supposed “fucking bachelor ways,” my “stubbornness,” and my “countdown to the crown.” They honestly knew more about my family’s history than my real friends.
Well, the one real friend I had, anyway.
“We’re approaching the destination, sir.” A guard’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Allow them a few moments to clean the floor, please.”
Two staff members rushed through the back doors of St. Thomas Hospital, helping the woman onto a stretcher. Within seconds, a small team vacuumed and cleaned the carpet floor, and my failed escape was over.
The door shut, and the guard moved to another car.
“So?” Dillon looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Would you like to continue this experiment in another town, or would you like to attend the charity event that starts within the hour?”
“Neither,” I said. “Give me the third option of letting me drown in the River Thames.”
“I only give that to you if there’s a zero percent chance you’ll choose it,” he said. “You look like you’re at about sixty percent today.”
Eighty.
Before I could tell him to take me home, my phone sounded with a video call from the person I hated most.
My father.
“Good morning, Satan,” I answered.
“You look like utter shit.” His face appeared on-screen. “Where the hell are you?”
“Getting ready for a charity social.”
“No, that’s where you’re supposed to be. Everyone is here waiting for you as usual. Where are you really?”
Dillon pulled into traffic without me asking.
“I’m on my way.”
“Well, good. We’ll need to talk in private the moment this event is over. It’s very important.”
“You should probably look up what the phrase ‘in private’ means, then.”
“It means just you and me.”
“You and I.” I rolled my eyes.“It also means I won’t see bits and pieces of our conversation floating in the press days later. Strange how that always seems to happen…”
“It’s part of the game, son.”
“I’ve told you I’d rather not play.”
“It’d be a lot more enjoyable if you stick to the storylines we’ve set.” He smiled through gritted teeth. “I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult.”
“If you want to craft a story, call your favorite author and ask him to write it.”
“Funny.” He laughed. “You know, you’re sounding a lot like your late mother these days.”
“Tread softly, Satan.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“I’m just saying … Bless her poor soul.”
“At least she had one.”
“She did.” His fake smile widened. “Well, you’re old enough to remember how terribly things ended for her when she didn’t play by the rules,” he said. “The best you can do is learn from her mistake, and be a bit more grateful for this amazingly privileged life you lead. No one feels any sympathy for a man who has everything, and no one ever will.”
“You are aware that my mother thought you were a demon in disguise, right?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment from you,” he said. “You used to play with a demon toy set. It was your favorite for years.”