The Controversial Princess (Smoke & Mirrors Duet #1)(5)
I point my champagne across the lawn, where my gay uncle is showing a united front with his wife while chatting to guests. “The King’s brother is as gay as the day is long,” I muse to Eddie. “His marriage is fake and loveless.” Moving my pointed glass to Aunt Victoria and Uncle Phillip, who are laughing and smiling, I rest my weight on my hip. “Aunt Victoria and Uncle Phillip, the wonderful Duke and Duchess of Sussex, can hardly bear to even look at each other, let alone talk. And then there is our wonderful brother, the perfect Prince John and his perfect wife, Princess Helen, who have all the ingredients of being the perfect successors to Father and Mother, except for one thing.”
“What’s that?” Eddie asks, truly interested.
“They have been married for eight years and still no heir.”
Eddie laughs. “Do you think our perfect brother is shooting blanks?”
“Not so perfect,” I muse, motioning a footman over and swapping my empty glass for a full one.
“Impossible. Like every other royal couple, they had fertility tests before they married. Maybe they’re just not compatible.”
“What’s not compatible?” Matilda joins us, and the three of us, the most normal three of the entire family, stand and sip champagne.
“John and Helen,” I say over the rim of my glass. “The heir has not yet got himself an heir.”
“Adeline thinks he’s shooting blanks,” Eddie adds as he looks across to our brother, who’s looking super official in a mess jacket, trousers, cummerbund, and black bow tie.
“Adeline is wrong,” Matilda counters, pulling both Eddie’s and my attention her way. She grins. “I heard Mummy talking with the King. Seems you will have a niece or nephew very soon.”
“She’s pregnant?” I ask, my champagne flute lowering from my mouth. Matilda nods. “Nice of them to share the news. When were they planning on telling us?” Just as I say those very words, my father calls for the attention of everyone in the garden, and I know it’s not to wish me a happy birthday.
“Now?” Eddie quips, grinning at me.
“First you steal all the attention, and now this?” I scowl playfully as Eddie wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple. “When can we have some real fun?”
“Patience, little princess,” he soothes me. “Duty first.”
We listen as the King makes an award-worthy speech, expressing his gratitude for such a wonderful family to support him in his reign as King of England, the same old mumbo-jumbo, before he delivers the exciting news of a new addition to the Monarchy. John’s wife circles her stomach with her palm, smiling at my brother. She is power-hungry, always has been. This will thrill her, being impregnated with what will be the second in line to the throne, meaning Eddie and I have slipped down the line of succession. Well, damn.
“That throne is getting further from your reach, brother dearest,” I whisper in Eddie’s ear, making Matilda laugh hysterically, followed quickly by my brother. “What?” I ask innocently, pouting. “You don’t want to be king some day?”
“About as much as you want to be queen.” He chuckles to himself and puts his green beret back on as he wanders across the lawn to join our mother.
“You two are terrible.” Matilda knocks my shoulder with hers as someone catches my eye. Someone I actually do recognize, though what he’s doing here is a mystery. “Is that Josh Jameson?” I ask Matilda, nodding discreetly through the crowds.
“You mean the actor? The hot American actor?” Her neck cranes to see, and then there is a small gasp from my cousin. “Oh, golly, yes. What is he doing here?”
“I have not the faintest idea,” I say quietly, taking a few small steps to the right to get a better view. I breathe in controlled, but exhale a little shakily. By gosh, he’s even more striking in the flesh. One is a little speechless. Twinkly blue eyes that harbor mischief and pure sex, permanently roughed-up brown hair, and scruff to match. He’s perfectly rugged and dangerously handsome. Josh Jameson. I sigh, smiling to myself, enjoying my new delightful view. He was recently voted the World’s Sexiest Man Alive and has an Oscar under his belt to boot. He is the perfect male specimen, every woman’s fantasy. A Hollywood poster boy. A bloody god. But to me, he is prohibited. The World’s Sexist Man Alive is off limits. Typical. I pout to myself as I continue to admire his fine form, silently damning my royal bones to hell and back. But then he looks in my direction and our eyes meet. I quickly turn away from him, a little taken aback by the blaze in his stare. What is he doing here?
“It’s the London premiere of his new movie soon,” Matilda muses, popping a canapé in her mouth. “I read it in a magazine.”
“But why is he here? At my birthday party?”
She ignores my question, her eyes widening somewhat. “Oh, gosh. Adeline, he’s coming over.”
“He is?” I feel my body straighten out, all the stressed muscles unkinking. “Why ever would he do that?” Josh Jameson’s face and body is splashed on millions of billboards and magazines across the world, his playboy reputation renowned, and now he is here? In the flesh? In a suit, looking all handsome and ruggedly distinguished? At my birthday garden party?
A slow, lazy smile stretches my red lips through my increasing fluster. Josh Jameson.