Royal Games (The Royals of Monterra) Read online

  ALSO BY SARIAH WILSON

  The Ugly Stepsister Strikes Back

  The Royals of Monterra Series

  Royal Date

  Royal Chase

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 Sariah Wilson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503950788

  ISBN-10: 1503950786

  Cover design by Damonza

  For Justin Baldoni, who plays my second-favorite Rafael (and who I kept picturing while writing this story), and for William Shatner, just because Captain James Tiberius Kirk is the coolest.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  “Genesis, you should probably sit down.”

  I dropped my overnight bag on the wooden floor. I had been traveling for the last nine hours, and I’d had two layovers and a long ride home from the airport in a very gross taxi. All I wanted to do was go upstairs to take a shower and a nap before my shift at the diner started. I had that horrible airplane smell in my clothes, and my poor hair had gone all tangled and frizzy.

  “Nothing good ever happens after someone says that,” I told Aunt Sylvia. She fidgeted in her chair, with her hands cradled in her lap. Her fingers were slightly bent and pointing up, trembling. My heart started to beat too fast as worry set in. “Is it your MS? Have you had another flare-up?”

  “Oh, no, I’m doing fine. It’s something else.” I couldn’t remember her ever sounding quite so anxious. Not when she told me my mother had died, not when she said the bank was planning to foreclose on the farm, not when she told me she’d been diagnosed with secondary progressive multiple sclerosis. She usually reminded me of the old maple trees outside of our farmhouse—despite everything she’d gone through, she was steady, strong, and unbending.

  She wasn’t making eye contact with me. I hadn’t known her to ever do that. It was freaking me out.

  “Please tell me. You’re really scaring me.”

  “I don’t want you to be angry, but I rented out the guesthouse.”

  Relief set in as I sat in the armchair across from her. “That’s a good thing.” We so needed the money. The taxes were overdue, we still needed to catch up on the mortgage, and we had some serious repairs to do on the house. We were already living tiny paycheck to tiny paycheck. We had sold off everything we could sell other than the land itself, and I was determined to do whatever I had to do to keep the farm with our family. There might have been a time when I would have just believed that we’d make it somehow, some way, but that was before.

  “How much did you get?” I asked.

  I had spent the summer and fall cleaning and painting the guesthouse to get it ready to rent. All that work felt worthwhile when Sylvia named a sum that was nearly double what we had hoped for.

  “But that’s fantastic. Why did you think I would be mad?”

  “Because there’s one thing that you’re not going to like.”

  I relaxed back into the chair. My aunt wasn’t usually overdramatic, but I supposed she was entitled to go there every once in a while. “What’s that?”

  “Who I rented it to.” She swallowed several times in a row, still nervous.

  Unless she had rented the place to my high school bully, Brooke Cooper, everything would be fine. And there’s no way that had happened since the Coopers lived in the biggest house in Frog Hollow.

  I mean, the only other person she could have rented it to who would make me upset would be . . .

  I sat straight up, my fingers digging into the armrests.

  “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.”

  She finally faced me, looking and sounding determined. “We needed the money, and I think all of this was just a big misunderstanding. He’s so nice and charming, and if you would just sit down and talk with him . . .”

  Her words trailed behind me as I stalked through the living room, into the kitchen, and out the back door. There was snow on the ground, but the sun was bright and beaming overhead, making my coat feel unnecessary. Typical Iowa weather.

  Three days. I had only been gone three days to be on some stupid morning talk show, again being forced to relive the most humiliating experience of my life. If I had my way, I would never do another appearance or interview for as long as I lived. Unfortunately, they were willing to pay, and I couldn’t say no to the money.

  This all started because Aunt Sylvia had insisted that I audition for a televised reality dating show called Marry Me. I’d been worried that I would be found, but she reminded me that the people I was afraid of didn’t believe in electricity or interacting with our “wicked” society in any way. Which meant no televisions. She assured me that there was no way I’d be discovered. No one would come after me.

  And it had been eleven years. Surely they’d given up.

  But I’d discovered there was another way to get hurt. After miraculously being chosen for the show, I had fallen hard for the male lead, the “suitor,” and he had been revealed to be a real-life prince. That had sent me into panic mode because if I really ended up with a prince, there was no way I could hide indefinitely. A life with him would be way too public.

  Not that it mattered, because as a final twist, the show revealed that the prince had an identical twin.

  A twin who had made me fall in love with him, while deceiving me the entire time.

  If there was one thing I couldn’t tolerate, it was a lying man. I’d already had my fill of lying men for this lifetime.

  I arrived at the small porch outside of the guesthouse and raised my arm, banging on the wooden door with all my might.

  The door jerked open, and there he stood.

  Rafe.

  Or, more accurately, His Royal Highness Prince Rafael of Monterra. Third in line to the throne, son of King Dominic and Queen Aria.

  The man who had broken my heart.

  I took a step back as my mouth went dry and my pulse exploded.

  I had thought I was prepared for this moment. After the show ended, he had sent so many bouquets of flowers I was pretty sure he had deflowered the entire state. He had bombarded me with texts, phone calls, and emails.

  Basically, he had tried in every way imaginable to apologize to me, but I didn’t want to hear it. I hardened my heart against him. I would never, ever let myself be hurt like that e
ver again. I kept as busy as I possibly could so I wouldn’t think about him and about what we’d shared.

  I had even managed to convince myself that I was over him. That he held no more sway over me.

  I was so totally and completely wrong. Because I was swaying, big-time.

  I had known this moment would come. I knew he wouldn’t stay away forever. He was one of the most determined, stubborn people I’d ever met.

  But despite all my preparation, I clearly hadn’t done enough. Because I was dumbstruck just from looking at him.

  He was my physical opposite. Where I was pale, with red hair and green eyes, he had black hair, light brown eyes, and olive skin. I was ordinary, and he was ridiculously and painfully handsome. I enjoyed playing sports, like soccer, but he and his brothers were dedicated working-out types, and it showed in his athletic build. He had at least four inches on me, and while I used to love looking up at him and how feminine it made me feel, now it bothered me. He was too much. Too masculine, too beautiful, and too Rafe.

  I hated that I still had a physical response to him. That my arms wanted to throw themselves around his neck, and that my lips were begging to kiss him. That I loved just standing near him because it made me feel better. Like I’d been trying to catch my breath for the past six months and could finally breathe again because he was here. It was both stupid and annoying.

  Realizing that I had been staring and not saying anything for an embarrassing length of time, I straightened my shoulders. My gaze settled on his silver-rimmed glasses. “No contacts?” I asked sarcastically. I needed to be angry with him. It was the only way I would get through this.

  His twin, Dante, didn’t wear glasses. And since Rafe had been pretending to be Dante, he’d worn contacts on the show.

  “No more contacts,” he said. His voice. I had forgotten about his voice. How deep and smooth and yummy it was, with just the slightest hint of an Italian accent.

  My knees started to shake, and I rebuked them. We’re angry, I reminded them. We are definitely not attracted to him.

  “No more deceptions,” he said.

  He took a step forward and my whole world slid sideways. I took another step away from him and he stopped.

  “What . . . why . . . why are you here? What are you doing?” I hoped he didn’t notice my wobbly voice.

  He studied me, and I resisted the urge to squirm under his gaze. It made me too uncomfortable. I had really thought I was much stronger than this. More capable of carrying a grudge.

  Finally, he spoke. “I came to apologize. I need to explain why I did what I did.”

  I crossed my arms, telling myself that the shivers I felt came from the snow surrounding me and had nothing at all to do with him. I didn’t want to hear his excuses, but if I didn’t let him rationalize his behavior, he’d never leave. “Fine. Explain.”

  “Not like this. Not while you’re angry.”

  I let out a dark little laugh. “Well, then you’re never going to be able to explain yourself.” Unfortunately, as I stood there, I was discovering that time had smoothed over some of the rougher edges, taking away most of my anger. But I couldn’t let him know that. If I did, he would so easily shatter all the defenses I had built up. I hoped I had more conviction in my voice than I felt because I couldn’t let him destroy my heart again. I wasn’t sure I could take it.

  He shrugged. “I’m willing to wait.”

  “For how long?” I asked, frantic.

  He didn’t say anything and again just stared at me.

  I covered my eyes with my hands and sighed. This was not happening. This just . . . could not be happening. This had to be some kind of waking nightmare. I pinched myself and then opened my eyes. Nope. Still there. “I don’t want you to be here. You have to go.”

  “I can’t leave. I signed a one-year lease with your aunt. Who is just as wonderful as you said she was, by the way.”

  A shudder of anxiety tore through me when he reminded me of all that I had shared, things I’d never told another person. I hated that he knew what he did.

  “One year?” I repeated the words back to him. He nodded. One whole year? Maybe they kept track of time differently in Monterra and it wouldn’t be as long as an actual year. Because there was no way I could do this for twelve months. And knowing him the way that I did, he really would stay the entire year. Rafe always kept his word.

  Christmas was only a couple of weeks away. He would leave then, wouldn’t he? He had to go back to his family’s palace to celebrate with all of his brothers and sisters. Then I remembered that he’d mentioned something about his oldest brother getting married at Christmas. He would definitely have to go home then.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I would just keep living my life, staying busy, and he could do whatever he planned to do and leave me alone. I would just have to call on my inner Spock and remain calm and logical. I’d make sure he kept his distance.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish, but let me tell you now that staying here for an entire year is going to be a waste of your time. I can’t forgive what you did.” I turned to go.

  “Genesis, per cortesia . . .” Italian. He had to slip into Italian. It always made my insides go all aflutter. He reached out to take hold of my arm, and my nerve endings exploded like a thousand glitter bombs where he touched me. I jerked away from him before I did something really idiotic. Like tell him all was forgiven and we should start discussing names for our kids.

  “Don’t,” I warned him, my erratic heartbeat pounding wildly in my stomach. “Don’t touch me. Just leave me alone.”

  In that moment I didn’t know if I was more upset with him or with myself.

  I started back toward the house, but I saw my aunt in the kitchen window, watching us with a worried expression. I couldn’t deal with her questions or further matchmaking attempts. Forget the shower and the nap. I would go to work now. I could use the extra hours after missing the last few days.

  Stomping through the snow-crusted side yard, I headed for my blue Ford farm truck. My purse was still inside the farmhouse, but my keys were in my pocket. It was an old habit of mine because I had a tube of pepper spray attached to the key ring and having it made me feel safer.

  Hearing Rafe’s footsteps crunching the hardened snow behind me, I hurried my pace and reached the safety of my truck. I loved Old Bess, especially because she had been my mother’s truck, but she was a temperamental thing. I said a small prayer to the vehicular gods before I slid the keys into the ignition. “Please start. Please, please start.”

  No such luck. Just a clicking noise. My heart thudded louder as Rafe came closer. “Come on girl, I promise to get you the premium stuff next time. You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  He was nearly to the truck, and I tried one more time, turning the key as hard as I could. Still nothing. The engine refused to turn over.

  “Really, universe? Is this how we’re going to play this?” I asked in frustration before laying my forehead against the steering wheel and taking deep breaths.

  He tapped against my window. So much for my dramatic exit. “Can’t one thing in my life work the way it’s supposed to?” I muttered as I manually rolled the window down. I probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything else in my life was currently falling apart around me. Why not Old Bess too?

  “It sounds like the battery is not working properly,” he said. “That happens a lot in Monterra. Starting an engine in cold weather puts strain on the battery. When is the last time you replaced it?”

  How could he just stand there, all gorgeous and serene, like nothing had just happened between us? Like he hadn’t just shattered my entire reality?

  “I don’t know.” I gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring straight ahead. Had he always smelled this good and I had just forgotten? Like summer, the ocean, soap, and sexy man all rolled into one.

  “I’ll go get my car and give you a jump start.”

  “No!” I yelp
ed. I waited a beat, willing myself to calm down. “I don’t have time for that. I have to get to work, and then there’s a town meeting where I have to report on how the church bazaar planning is going, and help the kids with the talent show rehearsal, and then I have homework, and I need to do my dailies in World of Warcraft and . . .”

  He stood silent, and I glanced up at him. To my surprise, he was angry. “I thought you were going to start telling people no.”

  I remembered that conversation very clearly. Months ago he’d told me I was doing too many things, and that was before I’d started deliberately trying to put myself in an early grave by being busy every minute of every day. He thought people in my town took advantage of my desire to help.

  “I . . . I can’t.”

  “Why?” he demanded.

  “I just can’t.” Partly because I had chosen this path to keep him off of my mind, but also because I honestly couldn’t explain why, when someone asked me for help, I never said no.

  In fact, the only person I ever managed to say no to was Rafe. I was about to tell him as much, but I decided against provoking him when I saw that Aunt Sylvia had moved into the living room and was now watching us from the front window. We were like her own personal reality show. I let out another deep sigh. We needed his money. He had apparently charmed her into liking him and giving him a lease. I just had to wait him out. I could be polite and distant until he went away.

  “I worry about you taking on too much,” he said in such a gentle way that my heart nearly broke all over again. He reached up to push an escaping tendril of hair away from my face. I felt the tips of his fingers burning up my skin and had to move my head away.

  “You don’t get to worry about me anymore,” I said, my seconds-old resolve to stay nice forgotten.

  He looked thoughtful. I glared at him while a smile played at the ends of his lips. “Let me drive you into town. I know where the diner is. What time will your shift be over? I can pick you up.”

  Logically, I understood that he was being nice. That this was a courteous and chivalrous gesture, and that if any other person on the planet had made it, I would have accepted. But it was Rafe. The still tender and overly emotional part of me did not want to be trapped in a car alone with him.