Royal Heir (Westerly Billionaire #3)(8)
Rachelle laid it all out for Alisha, not prettying up any part of it. She wasn’t looking for approval from Alisha as much as the kind of guidance a good friend can give you when she has all the facts. Well, all the facts that mattered. She left off the part where she’d stood there on the red carpet, drooling over a prince.
“So, here I am. Do I go back in? Do I go home? I used to trust my instincts and follow my heart. Mark always said if you made a decision based on love, it couldn’t be wrong. I don’t know if I’m here for the right reasons. Am I really here for Eric, or is this about me?” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. “When I think about how I treated you last year, I feel guilty calling about this shit.”
“Stop, Rachelle. We talked that through. Of course you wanted to protect your mother. Of course you were concerned about Spencer. I look back at that time and see a hundred ways I could have handled the situation better. We can’t go back and change what we did, but we made it through. And we’re all still here. You can love someone and still need something for yourself. That doesn’t mean your intentions aren’t good. Brett said if anyone can reach Eric, it’s you. I agree. You love with all your heart. You fight for people, and sometimes you make mistakes, but we all do. Don’t change. I love you just the way you are.”
Rachelle blinked back tears. She didn’t want to add looking like a raccoon to how the evening was going. “Thank you. Linda is lucky to have a mom like you. When did you get so wise?”
“Wise? I don’t know about that, but I do know you. I know your heart. I’ve also learned a few things about love lately. It requires trust—and faith. You know why you’re in London. Even if Eric isn’t responding to you yet, have faith that he will. I’ve seen you reach students no one else could because you don’t give up. So, what do I think? I think you’re where you’re supposed to be.”
Opening her eyes, Rachelle looked around at the trash cans. “Technically, I’m still in an alley.”
“Okay, so physically, you’re not where you should be—but you know what I mean.”
“I do. Thank you, Alisha. You don’t know how much I needed this.”
“Oh, we’re not done. I want to hear every last detail about this code-red guy. I mean everything. You leave something out and I’ll fly over there to kick your ass. Got it?”
Rachelle chuckled. “Got it. I’d also like to start by apologizing for doubting that code reds exist. I thought you were exaggerating how you felt about Brett.” She described seeing Prince Magnus for the first time and then where their conversation had led.
“It’s like I said—when it’s the right one, you know. Nothing else compares to it.”
“I wouldn’t say he’s the right one. He is so wrong, so full of himself, you couldn’t imagine a person less right for me. I have no plans to talk to him again, but he’s gorgeous and a prince, so I suppose imagining us starring in a porn together is natural.”
Alisha burst out laughing. “I can see the title now: The Prince in Me.”
Only Alisha could take Rachelle from near tears to laughing until her sides hurt in the span of a few minutes. “That is so tacky I love it. How about Royally Screwed?”
“Or better than that: The Prince’s Virgin Bride. You could pretend.”
“Yes. That’s me. A twenty-nine-year-old virgin.”
There were some words a man could hear no matter how loud the competing noise was, and virgin was one of them.
Prince Magnus had been in a foul mood. He’d spoken at length with Westerly’s producer and learned that neither promise of money nor threats had ever resulted in convincing Westerly to make a public appearance outside of a premiere. Westerly didn’t even attend award ceremonies. He didn’t seem to have a goal he was reaching for or an enemy he was fending off. So far, Prince Magnus had learned nothing that would be of use when it came to convincing the actor to visit Vandorra.
When the lights had flickered, announcing it was time for everyone to head into the theater for the viewing of Westerly’s latest film, Prince Magnus had scanned the room for the woman he’d told himself he’d be better off avoiding. He’d felt an unsettling amount of disappointment at her absence, so he’d headed in the last direction he’d seen her.
He’d noticed an exit door propped open with a woman’s high-heeled shoe. He didn’t know any women who would hide out in an alley during a movie premiere, but she was American, and it was often difficult to predict what any of them would do.
Before he even reached the door, he recognized her voice. He listened for a moment to ensure that she was not in distress and then stayed because he had never heard himself described in such detail or with such candor.
His chest puffed with male pride at the knowledge that she found him physically pleasing, until he winced at her description of his personality. She deepened her voice in a mockery of their earlier conversation that was not flattering in the least.
The idea of the two of them starring in a private home video—which he would allow her to call porn if it pleased her—had him sporting a royal erection.
It was that last comment about being a twenty-nine-year-old virgin that confused him. She might have been joking. What he was conflicted about was what he’d prefer the truth to be. On one hand, the idea of being the first man to be with her was captivating. On the other, sex was a whole lot less complicated with an experienced woman who didn’t confuse intimacy with emotion.