Powerful Prince

Chapter 1 Hypocrite. My stomach was now in knots and I could barely breathe. Had I read that right? I blinked, but my screen still had the word hypocrite as the most liked comment from this morning’s post. I sank onto the bed and my face was hot. Here I was in Vegas, in a five-star hotel, and my eyes were misting. Sometimes, living my life for the world to see was too much. My hotel room had a fleur-de-lis pattern embossed in the rug, with a black guard rail and a step separating my bedroom from the living and dining area of the suite. Seriously, this upgrade was unexpected and awesome. I’d snapped pictures and gone online to share these digs with my followers, but then I saw this. And I can’t stop the tears. I re-read the entire commentary on my blog. I could deny or delete this, but the post was from Cristiane, an online friend. Or someone I thought was a friend. Everyone needs to stop reading Nicole Steel’s Modern Life blog as she’s a hypocrite. She gives all this relationship advice and it turns out she’s never been in a relationship or even had s*x with a guy. My secret was now out there and my skin was raw. As a teenager, I thought living my life online was a means to escape, but now … it was like I’d built my own glass prison. Granted, it was usually a pleasant prison where I traveled, spread my message of hope to the world, and only sometimes did I lose my ability to breathe. Like now. And I’m supposed to meet a potential client in about ten minutes, but right now I can’t breathe. In the back of my mind, I’d always feared that one day everyone would know. Now the time was here. I closed my eyes and ran my hands through my brown hair. Virginity was a choice, too, and it was still modern. But Cristiane and many of my followers who had unsubscribed disagreed. If I lost my people, I lost income. I knew I should probably cancel the meeting and figure out how to fix this disaster. My phone rang. My heart was pounding but I grabbed it and saw that it was my sister Olivia. She knew me. I answered fast and, without a hello, I said, “I am so angry.” “The video link?” “Yeah,” I said and wiped my face. Cristiane had video of me telling Stephen—a guy I’d met last year—that I’d not sleep with him because I was a virgin. He was clearly the wrong choice for a boyfriend if he’d recorded that and sent it out to bloggers. If this wasn’t my life, if someone else had asked for my help with this problem, I’d tell them to close the screen and breathe. Yet, I didn’t seem capable of following that advice. Olivia quickly said, “I wanted to call you before you saw it.” “Too late,” I answered, and jumped off the bed. One person’s comment shouldn’t stop me. Now it was time to explain to my followers that I was a virgin, but that it was still modern and true and authentic. And it wasn’t because I’d never had offers. This was who I was. Though, right now, part of me wondered what having privacy might be like. Influencing was a dream for so many. At thirteen, I had the bright idea to become an online star. I had followed that passion to spread my message to do good in the world, even in the smallest ways. So here I was. What to do now? Being honest with yourself and having no delusions was the biggest message on my blog. Personal self-awareness was always the seed to doing better in the world. That’s how I got started. Olivia’s voice echoed as she said, “Snap out of it. You have a presentation to do and you’re amazeballs.” A laugh escaped my throat. If she was here, I’d hug her. But I said, “You don’t have to flatter me. I think the comments have a point.” “You are not a hypocrite.” No. I absolutely was not. Honesty was part of my Modern Life blog. Social media and vlogs were about facing everything, even when the truth hurts. It was time for me to step up. Privacy was for other people, like my sisters. Not for me. This was something I’d have to answer now. I sucked in my breath. I had to figure out how to brace for this storm. “Look,” I said, “I have to get my head on right for my meeting. Talk to you soon.” My sister was awesome, but I only had a few minutes and I needed to draft what I’d say and how I’d talk about my choices. We said goodbye and I opened my online drive to get a blank page. Time to figure out the words for my answer. I closed my eyes and meditated on the question. Again, the wish to just stop my constant updates and disconnect hit me, but I let the feeling wash. I’d never get that wish. I’d be no good at a nine-to-five job. Once I could breathe properly, I opened my eyes and started. Dear Reader, I’m sure you read the comment and saw the video from Christiane. She was right about one thing. I am a virgin. It’s a life choice I made long ago. I’m for s*x if that’s your choice, and that’s still legitimate. I have not indulged in s*x because I believe my body is pure, and I have my amazing life because I honor that I’m a vessel and it’s my job to bring light to the world. And when I have s*x, I want it to be with someone who also understands that his job is to bring light into the world. This is probably a little narcissistic, but maybe I just want that spark. I want the feeling that, whoever he might be, he is someone I want to have in my life, forever. The truth is more basic, and I’m spinning circles right now. I want to make love because I’m in love, and not join physically with a guy for any other reason. Another example to show what I mean: For clothes and shoes, I’ll refuse to wear 99% of what’s out there because I’m presenting my mood of the day to the world through what I wear. I can’t imagine being less picky when it comes to a guy, either. The worst part of the story, though, is that I’ve never felt that spark. At least not yet. I still have hope that one day, whoever he is, the right man will appear in my life. And if you have suggestions for who my partner might be, please let me know. I want to one day find the one I love. Yours, Nicole Steel Owner of Modern Life I hit “Save Draft” and glanced at my clock. Five minutes till my meeting. I washed my face, grabbed my black pants, and ensured my pink cotton t-shirt, which read “Live Your Best Modern Life” over my website logo, was free of wrinkles. Meeting a prospective client meant it was better to be branded. I checked that my ponytail was smooth and grabbed my laptop and cell phone. I checked the contact info app again so I could quickly screen whoever this mystery client might be. My sister had hooked me up with an expensive instant background check app that just needed a name or a photo to identify someone quickly. I’d follow my gut with a little help from technology when I met with a stranger. The Venetian hotel was large, but I always insisted on a public meeting. I found the coffee shop in the busy lobby of the hotel and set up my laptop as I scanned the area around me. Most of the guests were dressed casually in t-shirts. However, an older bald man in a black suit and with a stiff, fast walk headed right toward me. Was this older gentleman the client? I hoped so. His problems would be easier to figure out. Other clearly upper-class, older clients had contacted me, and I’d successfully helped a few of them reduce their carbon emissions and live healthier, happier lives. He tapped the seat back as he stood in front of me and asked, “Are you Miss Steel?” I nodded and motioned for him to sit down and join me. He followed directions, but his shoulders were rigid and I almost offered him a napkin to ensure the top of the table in front of him was clean. But instead, I closed my laptop and asked him, “Are you my new mystery client?” He folded his soft, perfectly manicured hands on the table—he obviously moisturized—and said to me, “No, miss. I’m his butler.” My eyes widened and I leaned closer as I asked, “He has a butler, in Vegas?” “Yes.” He tipped his head toward the lobby and elevators as he said, “If you will come with me, I will escort you to the meeting.” I shook my head and put my phone on the table. Then I folded my hands like his, to put him at ease, and said, “I thought we were having the meeting in the lobby, in public.” He sniffed, like I’d offended him. “His highness prefers a more private setting.” My skin now had a buzz. Had I heard that right? I wished I’d ordered a water as my throat was dry now. I asked, “His highness? As in a prince? I was insisting on meeting in the lobby because of the lack of identification in the email proposal.” Mr. Butler said, “That’s wise.” I tugged my ear lobe, free of any earrings now. Maybe I should ask him for his ID first. I pushed my phone to the side and asked, “So who is he? Let me check him out online at least before I join you.” He nodded. I picked up my phone and snapped his picture for a fast check, too, as he said, “You are meeting with Prince Ryder Kristoff of Norden.” The app confirmed that I was sitting with Gio Montpelier, personal associate of the royal Kristoff family. My heart raced as I remembered headlines even I had seen. “Didn’t he get married in Vegas, like, yesterday?” Gio’s lips thinned as he said, “It’s been annulled.” I typed in Ryder’s name to see if there were crimes or things to watch out for. I had heard his name before, but honestly, I avoided gossip and only knew the headlines from scrolling for blog ideas. I raised my eyebrows and stated the one thing I remembered as the app showed a clear record. “And he’s been accused of fathering two children.” Gio leaned closer. “DNA tests proved both claims were untrue. Does he qualify for the meeting now?” My breaths were short. I should probably refuse this. My Modern Life consultations weren’t designed to help a player who was already content with his life choices. However, I decided to take a chance. A picture of him and me together, and the fact that we’d had this meeting at all—now that might get me some clicks and help me over the problem of Cristiane’s comment and video. I packed up my laptop and phone, stood up, and tugged at my t-shirt to smooth it. “Yes. I’m not dressed for a meeting with a prince, though.” He glanced up and down at me as we walked through the decadent lobby that probably seemed way too gaudy and American to a royal servant and his master. “You’re fine,” he said. “I’ll be serving brunch, not caviar.” Right. Besides, I was representing my business, and snapping a picture as myself would be better for the blog. I ignored how my hair stood on its ends as I realized how selfish I was being right now. He pressed the button for the elevator and my mind raced as we waited. As the doors opened, I asked quickly, “Okay, one more security question, though. What is your name?” He used his card to access the penthouse floor and said, “Gio Montpelier.” I took my phone out and said, “Your background check matches.” The floor lifted and my skin was getting goosebumps. Seriously, today I was meeting a prince and here I was in sneakers. Gio kept his hands behind his back and said, “You’re a good researcher.” “I should be.” I tucked my phone back in the bag and bounced on my feet. When the elevator stopped, we stepped off and headed to a double-door entry. As we took our last steps, I swallowed and said, “But I should mention, I have an app and a subscription to a quick background check service, so I could make sure that you’re not crazy, and you’re who you said you were.” He took out his card and waved it in front of the door panel. The light turned green as he said, “You’re smart. I hope his majesty notices that about you.” I almost trembled. I was never like this, on pins and needles with excitement. But I shrugged and said, “Well, I’m here to advise him, if he wants to listen to my advice and change his life, which probably won’t happen. But that is up to him.” His blue eyes had a glimmer in them for the first time, but he said nothing as he led me into the living quarters designed for the rich. There were two floors in this gold room, with black railings around the second level, so whoever was above could look down below. A crystal chandelier shimmered with light above me. “Smart girl,” he said. “You see his majesty’s options, without ever meeting him. Good luck, Miss Steel.” My stomach was in a huge knot. Seriously? I turned toward him as he headed for the door and said, “Wait. Why did he take a meeting with me?” He turned as he opened the doors and said, “His father has threatened to cut him off if he doesn’t change, so he’s under pressure.” The recent headlines about a rich, out-of-control prince played in my mind. I wished now that I had clicked on them to read more. I sucked in my lips as I thought, and then let them out and said, “Okay. Thank you.” Gio bowed like I was important and then said, “I hope we see more of you around, Miss.” Probably not. I helped people who wanted my help, and my brain screamed that a self-indulgent prince was the opposite of what I looked for in a client. He’d ignore everything I’d say. Rich boys tend to be happy as they are, even if they actually aren’t. Then I heard footsteps. My heart was practically in my belly at this point, but I gazed at the stairs and waited. First, I saw polished black shoes. Tailored black pants that showed off leg muscles. A tucked-in white shirt that didn’t hide six-pack abs. Next were broad shoulders. It was a build only a soldier or a gym buff might keep. But then I lost my ability to breathe. Those blue eyes of his had my knees melting. Thankfully, there was a table beside me to rest my hand on to keep me upright as he approached. The air around him had a warm smell, like where the beach and the forest meet. I blinked and reached out to shake his hand as I said, “Hi.” He sailed past me and headed into the kitchen area and put a cup under the coffee machine. I pressed my outstretched arm down and took a step toward him as I asked, “Hello?” He let the coffee pour into his cup and then held out a second cup like that was a question. I massaged my forehead and followed him to the kitchen as I asked, “Do you speak English?” “I speak,” he said, as he poured me a cup of coffee. My lips were dry so I let out a small sigh and waited. He handed it to me and pointed to the creamers and sugars. Then he said, “I’m just confused. I told my staff to keep all pretty women out of my sight.” Wow. My entire body heated, and it wasn’t the coffee. I’m sure my face turned red in a blush as I grabbed the plastic honey package that wasn’t green at all. I added it to smooth the bitter coffee and said, “Well, you set up a meeting with me.” I looked up at him and those blue eyes of his pierced through my soul as he said, “I …?” Then he blinked and asked, “Are you Nicole Steel?” I traced the back of my neck and almost giggled like I was in the sixth grade at how he said my name. Luckily, I held that back and took a breath before I said, “In the flesh.” His eyes perused my figure and I seriously felt a zap rush through me, until he pressed his lips together like I’d offended him. “You look like some yoga-loving, only-grapefruit-for-breakfast type.” My heart thundered now in my chest but I placed my hand on my hip and c****d it to the side as I said, “I eat more than grapefruit, but once in a while, that’s fine for breakfast.” He rolled his eyes like he’d pegged me as a flake. “Figures.” I stepped toward him, but that was a mistake. My entire body surged with instant desire. I retreated, but then I lifted my chin. “My social media, blog, and vlog teach people how to live clean, healthy lives and be their best versions of themselves. It’s not just about diet and exercise, but about every choice we make, and how doing the right thing is important.” He waved both hands in the air like we were done. “Look, if all you’ve got is diet and exercise tips, I’m already exercising regularly. I don’t see how we’ll work together.” Obviously, he didn’t listen. I gulped my coffee. It was so hot that it almost burned me, but I needed something. A friend once told me that drinking hot liquid acts as a natural means of cooling the body down. I finished and put the cup down as he sat on his couch like he’d relax and enjoy his coffee. “Are you exercising to be like Batman or something for your kingdom?” I asked. His lips curved into a smile and revealed dimples. Damn. He had some power to make my skin feel alive. “At least you’re funny,” he said. I moved closer, but noticed my hips were swaying. I crossed my arms and pretended that whatever was happening to me had stopped already. “Did I offend you in some way?” I asked, raising my eyebrow. He sipped his coffee and his body was relaxed and open as he sat there, like I didn’t affect him at all. He said, “I told you, I don’t want any more pretty women in my life.” I tilted my head and asked, “Why? Because you’re afraid you’ll fall in love and marry me?” Seriously? I should have said “Thanks for the compliment, but I should be going.” Why does the proper thing to say always hit me second? I gritted my teeth and refused to bat my eyes. He shrugged. “I don’t fall in love.” I resettled my bag on my arm, knowing I should just spin on my heels and leave. But instead I asked, “How can you be sure?” Damn. That sounded like a schoolgirl. Did every woman revert to the i***t version of themselves near him? Was that his superpower? He stood like he’d escort me to the door for being such a fool. “Because no one is really in love. It’s all just a justification for sex.” I pressed my hand on his shoulder. Big mistake. His muscles were hard, like missiles about to explode. I yanked my fingers off him like he was a magnet that I needed to separate from and I said, “You sound just like my sister.” “At least you know someone reasonable,” he said. “Where is she?” I walked beside him toward the door and said, “Happily married now and on her honeymoon.” “Good women usually go out of circulation fast.” He opened the door for me. “Well, this interview is over now. Thanks for coming.” Fair enough. I’d f****d up getting this contract. I saluted him and said, “Sure. Well, it was nice talking to you. Goodbye.” He stepped into the hall with me and then waved. At least he was polite. I sashayed back down the hall. Tomorrow I was so checking out of Vegas. No contract, and still on my own to deal with the crisis of faith my readers were having over my virginity. And not even photos of me with a prince to offer as a back-up plan. This was all too much. The moment I stepped onto the elevator, I could at least breathe again. This was the most important thing I could do to calm myself down. I inhaled deeply and counted my breath out with my eyes closed to find my center.