A Prince of a Guy (Red Hot Royals #1)(13)

He took a deep, dragging breath and looked at Melissa, who was still crying. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

Eyes full, she blinked at him. A hiccup racked her belly.

“I’m really sorry,” he added.

She studied him, then lifted her arms. “Hug.”

“Melissa—” But she was already crawling up his body, forcing him to do as she’d demanded and hug her. In his arms, she felt little and defenseless. Sweet.

And he’d scared her.

He felt about two inches tall.

“Love you, Uncle Sean,” she whispered, yawning widely, setting her head on his shoulder.

Sean’s throat tightened. “Love you, too.” Make that one inch tall.

But then Melissa lifted her head, clutched her stomach, turned a distinct shade of green and said, “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?”

“I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, dear.” Carly looked over at them. “How many chocolates did you eat?”

“All of them.” And then threw up all over him.





4




THAT NIGHT, Carlyne locked her bedroom door and sank to her bed with a grateful whimper before so much as removing her shoes.

She needed to take off the heavy, itchy wig, remove her colored contacts and strip down before she fell asleep, but she could hardly move.

Despite her utter failure today, despite her exhaustion, she felt…happy. The work was harder than anything she’d ever done, yet it exhilarated her to be stretching herself. Trying at something.

Baffled at that, and more than a little confused about why she wanted to work like this when she didn’t have to, she rolled over and dove through her bag for her cell phone, which she’d turned off when Sean had hired her. She turned it on. It was late, but that was her fault. She’d let Melissa sample the homemade play dough that morning and then a million or so chocolate kisses at Sean’s office. Was it any wonder the poor child had gotten sick all over him?

Then again in his car on the way home?

And once more in the living room?

Sean had been pretty gracious about the whole thing, really. He hadn’t yelled again, though she could tell he’d wanted to. Instead, he’d scooped up Melissa—careful to hold her at arms’ length—and had assured her she was okay.

Melissa had taken one look at him and had listened. She’d calmed down. She’d even wanted to hug him again, but Sean had managed to avoid that without hurting her feelings.

Just watching the two of them, Carly had felt that strange tightening in her throat. They didn’t seem to know the particulars of what their relationship entailed, especially Sean. But he’d never walk away.

Had she really compared him to the men in her family?

She’d been wrong, very wrong. Her parents had rarely been around, certainly not when she’d been sick. It was something she’d always ached for when she’d been hurting—warm, secure, loving arms. She’d rarely gotten them.

Melissa had no idea how lucky she was.

“Poor little rich girl,” Carlyne berated herself, pushing away the melancholy memories. No one in their right mind would spare a moment of pity for her.

On her cell phone, she punched in the numbers she knew by heart. “Francesca,” she said the moment her assistant answered groggily. “How are you?” she asked in their native French.

“How am I? Terrific. You, on the other hand, you have problems.” Francesca never held back to spare Carlyne’s feelings, which was the biggest reason they were so close. “In fact, let me list them for you. You’ve run away from home….”

“I did not.” Carlyne glanced at her still-shut door and lowered her voice. Wouldn’t do to get caught speaking French. “Look, we discussed this when I called you yesterday. I’m all grown up, Francine, so it’s entirely different when I go away. I’m…on vacation,” she said, unwilling to try to explain the mission she was on.

“Uh-huh. Vacation. Without any money, without a car, without—”

“Look, I didn’t call for a lecture. I could have called home for that.”

“Speaking of which, you might want to actually try that. Your parents have called looking for you. So has your cousin.”

“Yeah, only because they need me for something or another. It’s not as if they miss me.”

Francesca went quiet for a moment, and Carlyne winced at how pathetic she’d sounded. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

“What’s the matter? You sound different.”

She was different. She was Carly here, not Carlyne.

“Carlyne? Your mother is worried about that banquet you’re putting on for the international press.”

Heaven forbid her mother would call just to say hello. “Tell her everything is done. I’ll earn her thousands for all those charities.” And she would. It was Carlyne’s specialty, coaxing rich people to part with their money.

“And your grandfather—”

“Needs something, too, no doubt. Francesca. Help.”

“What do you need? A way to get home? I can come myself, or send—”

“No, I don’t want to leave.” Not yet. She’d wanted a break from her life. A glimpse at how everyone else lived. Well, she’d had more than a glimpse. No one knew her. No one treated her like glass. No one expected cool sophistication and smooth elegance. No one expected her to be anything or anyone other than Carly.