Lord at First Sight (The Montevor Royals Saga #8)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

ANTOINE

Two Weeks Later

T he palace room for my second briefing is less formal than the one from last week. The sunlight streaming in through the tall windows doesn’t interfere with the room’s pleasant coolness. When you wear a suit rain or shine, you appreciate the little things.

Adam Von Dietz, head of the Mount Evor Secret Service, aka our spook in chief, stands at the far end of the room. He’s all business, as usual, arms crossed, and lips pursed.

Behind him, a screen displays a photo of a curvaceous Asian woman, undeniably hot but too sultry for my taste. Laura Yang. My bride.

I lean back in the chair. “Shall we start?”

“In a moment, my lord,” Adam says.

I’m all for meditative silences and giving the latecomers a few extra minutes to make it before the meeting begins. But, I also have three companies to run. Ever since the oracle named me the next key seeker, I’ve been making arrangements to minimize the need for my personal involvement in company business starting next week and for the rest of the summer. That means my involvement until then is at a maximum.

“Can I just check something with you?” I ask.

“Of course, Sir.”

I stare at Laura’s photo. “Over the next week, MESS wants me to get a tattoo, pierce my ears, and take an intensive acting class.”

“That’s right,” Adam confirms.

“After which, I am to parade myself on live television, and marry a woman who, we believe, has the seventh key.”

“That’s a good summary,” he deadpans.

I study Laura’s outfit on the screen. “Her day job is a bank teller, right? Why is she dressed like a cheap slut?”

“That picture is from her application to WAFS, Wed at First Sight ,” Adam explains. “She sees herself as an artist, a free spirit, and our theory is that she styled herself accordingly.”

Ah yes, she creates costume jewelry as a hobby.

“Are her designs any good?” I ask.

Adam’s lips twitch, but don’t smile—he doesn’t do those. “I would not presume to have the expertise required to judge the artistic quality of women’s ornaments.”

I open the file in front of me and skim through my own profile as if reading the description one more time will magically transform “Antoine Bellay, tattoo artist and parlor owner” into someone more like my real self.

I lift my eyes to Adam. “Do I absolutely have to be a tattoo artist? Couldn’t you make me a chess player or a tennis coach? I’ve never even held a tattoo needle!”

Not to mention how much I hate the idea of being on a reality show.

“That’s why you’ll train all week,” Adam replies smoothly. “It’s not rocket science.”

Frankly, I’d rather learn rocket science!

I’d fly to the International Space Station and wear diapers for several months without blinking an eye. I’d go to war as a foot soldier. Almost anything would be better than doing WAFS.

If only there was a way of bowing out of this!

But there’s none. The de Bellays have been loyal to the Crown for a thousand years. We consider it our sacred duty. Even Henri, my wayward younger brother the anti-royalist, did his part and fetched the sixth key. And now that Princess Felicia prophesied that I’m the next key seeker, there’s no way I’m bailing. The oracle saw me exchanging marriage vows with a French woman of Asian descent on a reality show called Wed at First Sight . In a separate vision, she saw that woman holding an antique music box. The key must be hidden in it.

Princess Felicia couldn’t make out the details of the box, but she got such a good look at the woman that MESS had no trouble tracking down Laura Yang among this season’s applicants. She is my Key to the Key.

I grit my teeth even as my father’s voice echoes in my head, “Antoine never falters.” My parents, my country and the Crown deserve my best effort, which is exactly what I’m going to give this mission. Because that’s what I do. I deliver. Father’s right. I don’t run from responsibility. I rise to the challenge and exceed expectations.

So, enough whining!

This mission is a boon, not a burden. It’s a privilege. In fact, it’s the greatest honor an Evorian can ever hope for.

The door opens and a man steps into the room. His dark hair is neatly trimmed, but there’s a hint of whimsy to his eyeglasses. A fitted linen blazer hangs open over a white tee, paired with tailored trousers and polished shoes. He looks expensive and artsy, the kind of man who belongs on a TV show.

“Viscount Antoine de Bellay. Pedro Monfort,” Adam introduces us.

Pedro leans across the table, and I shake his hand.

“Sir,” Adam says to me, “Pedro will be your liaison for this mission. He’s our inside man on the show.”

I size him up. “Ah, so you’re the mole on the committee of experts who made sure I was matched with Laura Yang?”

“Guilty as charged, my lord.” He smiles. “Do you mind if I call you Antoine for the duration of the mission?”

“I don’t, Pedro,” I reply. “We should keep it simple.”

“I’m going to do my best to make this experience as frictionless as possible for you.”

Adam sits down next to Pedro. “Pedro will oversee your transformation, Sir.”

“We have it all under control,” Pedro chimes in. “Acting classes, tattoo apprenticeship, makeover. By the time we’re done, you’ll be a regular hippie heartthrob.”

“Can’t wait.” My voice drips with disdain.

“Tattoo artist Antoine Bellay is estranged from his parents,” Pedro continues. “But not his brother.”

“I’ve read my file,” I tell him before he wastes any more of my time on things I already know.

He taps the digital screen, pulling up a fake social media profile. “Years of posts and replies, and even photos of your supposed work. Looks good, huh?”

I glance at the screen. There’s a picture of “me” at work, covering a customer in elaborate tattoos. The thought that I’ll have to ink my arms and torso makes my stomach churn. My only consolation is that my face and hands will be tattoo-free.

Grimacing in disgust, I look away from the screen. Outside the window, the palace gardens stretch far, purposeful and well organized. Like my life. Until now.

“Trust me, there was no other way,” Pedro coos as if reading my mind. “Laura was very emphatic in her application letter as to what kind of man she was looking for. If we kept your fake persona closer to your real one, there’s a risk she’ll reject you on Wedding Day.”

Adam nods. “We couldn’t take that risk. Not with how determined Kurt Ozzi is and how far he’s willing to go to get what he wants.”

As far as poisoning Prince Benjamin, setting the royal palace on fire, shooting Crown Prince Theodor’s helicopter out of the sky… I know.

Pedro flashes me a smile. “Cheer up, Antoine! It’ll be fun. Think of it as a Cinderella in reverse adventure.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You’ll get to be a commoner for a strictly limited time,” he explains. “The many perks include minimal etiquette, relaxed rules, and low standards.”

“I prefer strict rules and high standards,” I snap.

“Of course you do,” he mutters under his breath.

“There’s only one strict rule,” Adam interjects. “You can’t sleep with Laura Yang.”

Pedro’s head nods. “If you do, a swift and painless annulment by an Evorian judge will be off the table. You’ll need a classic divorce signed by Laura and validated by a French court.”

“The show’s production team will help with the paperwork,” Adam says. “Still, we want to minimize the variables outside of our control.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure them. “I have no intention of sleeping with Laura Yang.”

“She’s hot,” Pedro points out.

I cast him a condescending look. “I never let my dick do the thinking. Besides, she’s not my type.”

Adam’s lips quirk. “I’ve heard you’re dating Lady Celeste d’Alenq.”

Spying on upstanding citizens, are we?

Slowly, I shift my gaze to him. “Does anything escape MESS’s notice?”

“It does happen, regretfully,” he deadpans.

The truth is, Celeste and I aren’t exactly dating. At least not yet. I took her out to dinner a week ago. She’s smart, discerning and composed—a female version of me. Our conversation was easy. There were no sparks flying around, but, overall, the date went well. According to what her mother told mine, Celeste likes me. I’ll ask her out again when I’m back from France.

I refocus on Adam. “What’s the next step?”

“We’ve already scheduled your first session this afternoon,” Pedro replies in his stead. “You’ll learn how to hold a tattoo gun without looking like you’re about to perform open-heart surgery.”

“You’ve got this, sir!” Adam stands up.

“I’m not so sure.” I nod goodbye and walk out, drained and demoralized.

Cinderella in reverse, my ass.