Chapter 8 – Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
There are few people I hate in this world more than Samil Batorini. Unfortunately, I still have to deal with his ass more than I care to. He only ran for prime minister to fuck with me. I’m certain of it.
He had done his best to dissuade Nora from marrying me, but she wanted the crown, and her family wanted her to have it too.
I was indifferent at the time. I had known she’d make a good queen, as she was beautiful and smart and kind.
She had never annoyed me the way the other women who were vying for her spot did.
She had been my friend, and that gave her top marks over everyone else.
I had to marry. I was already king by that point, and since I knew love was never in my plans, I married Nora. Samil went ballistic. He threw a tantrum at our wedding and tried to stop the whole thing when he demanded Nora tell everyone she loved him and not me.
Only she hadn’t.
Nora had one fatal flaw, and that was me. Both as her husband and as the man she was in love with who hadn’t loved her back.
Samil naturally blamed me for her death.
Nora wasn’t supposed to have been on the helicopter when it went down, though no one had known that, not even Samil.
The children and I planned to board it after it landed, only it never made it that far.
It was determined that mechanical failure caused it to drop, and a gas leak caused it to explode. Mechanical failure and a gas leak.
The crash had cost me my queen. My children’s mother. And Samil, the love of his life.
So, yeah, he became prime minister to piss me off.
Messalina is a constitutional monarchy, but per our constitution, I am more than a figurehead, and Samil isn’t as powerful as he likes to pretend.
Nothing in this country gets done without my approval.
No law goes into effect unless I sign off on it.
It’s a system of checks and balances dating back to the country’s inception.
Samil’s been pushing me for months to sign a bill that would increase taxes after they had already been increased two years ago, and I won’t do it.
I’ve seen the numbers, and it’s not necessary at this point.
The country had a good year. Our exports earned double what they did last year. But he doesn’t see it that way. Greedy, shortsighted motherfucker that he is.
What this translates to is a morning from hell, going back and forth with him when I already wasn’t in the best of moods.
The nanny put me out of sorts. First, her fucking pajamas.
Those fucking pajamas that did little to hide the heaven beneath.
I haven’t been able to get the image out of my head since.
Then, her flirting with me. And me laughing.
She made me laugh. And smile. Which infuriates me to no end.
I never reacted to any of the nannies we had here before. Not one. Why her? Is this part of my curse? Lusting after the too-young nanny?
I realize everyone else is sold on her, but I am not. I don’t trust her or her motives.
So, naturally, because this is the sort of day I’m having, it is while Samil blathers on and I’m zoning him out, once again picturing the nanny in her pajamas with her full tits and hard nipples on display, that I hear my son screaming for me.
And what do I find when I run from the ballroom that’s doubling as a conference room?
The fucking nanny on all fours in a short skirt, the backs of her toned thighs revealed to all, and her succulent ass barely covered.
I had given her one directive this morning: stay away from the prime minister.
Out of all the places in the palace she could be with the children, she’s here.
Now this…
“Well, what do we have here?” Samil says, but it’s the way he says it that sets my teeth on edge.
Bellamy’s head whips over her shoulder, and she gives us a brilliant impression of a deer in headlights.
Aggravated beyond all rational thought, I focus on my son, heading in his direction.
But not before I plant my hand onto Bellamy’s lower back and force her ass down, because no fucking way am I letting Samil get any more of a show of her than he already has.
“Papa!” Zayer is all tears, but that’s not new for him.
My son was an infant when his mother died and had to be weaned from her milk immediately.
He doesn’t remember her, but I know he lost that physical connection and love when she died.
Now he’s clingy. With me, with the girls, with everyone. Not that I mind that.
I break for all he’s lost. All my girls lost, too.
I would have traded places with Nora so my children wouldn’t have had to live without a mother. I want my son to grow up to be strong and resilient, but for now, he requires some extra TLC. I scoop him up in my arms and shift him so I can see the tiny scratch on his knee that is hardly bleeding.
“Que s’est-il passé? What happened?” I wipe away the blood on his knee with my handkerchief and kiss the skin beside it.
“He tripped when we were playing hide-and-seek,” Sabrina answers instead of Bellamy, who looks just as clueless as I am. Not a good sign. Sabrina, my little troublemaker, gnaws on her lip.
“Did you hide over here on purpose?” I ask her.
Her big green eyes go round, and she nods shamefully, knowing she wasn’t supposed to.
“No dessert, Sabrina.”
“Yes, Papa.” At this point, I doubt she cares. That used to be the worst punishment on the planet, but now it hardly registers with her for how many times she’s lost the privilege. I’ll have to find something new.
Bellamy breathes out a rough breath.
I should be furious with her about this, but in fairness, my children know this palace like the back of their hands, whereas she does not. If they wanted to hide and be lost, they could, and no one would find them until they were ready to be found. Trust me on that.
Still, I don’t like that she’s here. I want her and my children away from Samil.
“I’m so sorry.” Bellamy’s bright blue eyes hit my shirt before she swallows and forces her gaze up to mine.
“They hid from me, and I couldn’t find them.
” She’s speaking in French despite the shake in her voice.
“I should have told them to stay away from here, knowing where your meeting was. That’s my fault. ”
“Yes. It is. None of you should be here.” If I could spank her for it just to see her lovely ass turn red beneath my palm, I would. Something about her tells me she’d enjoy her punishment as much as I would. I push thoughts of that away. She’s the nanny. Nothing more.
“Don’t be so hard on the girl.” Samil smacks my back like we’re chums, and I growl at him.
“In a palace this size, I can’t imagine it’s difficult to lose them,” he tells her when he has no right or business speaking to my nanny.
Or touching me. “I don’t think we’ve met before.
” He walks over to her and takes her hand, helping her to stand now that I’m holding Zayer.
“I’m Samil Batorini, the prime minister.
You likely voted for me.” He gives her his patented asshole wink.
“Oh. Um.” She stares down at her hand that he’s still holding before she slides it from his grip. “I didn’t, actually.”
I choke on a laugh.
“Impossible,” he exclaims in a teasing lilt, though I know him well enough to know he’s not joking at all. He doesn’t like that she just made him look a fool and that I laughed at it.
“No. I’m not Messalinian. I’m American.”
“American?” His gaze cuts to mine and I get a look.
A look I don’t like any part of. My nanny is young and strikingly beautiful, and he wants me to know he’s all over it while loving that I can’t be.
He returns his full focus to her. “And now you work in the palace as a nanny. What’s your name, mia bella? ”
Sabrina giggles. “That’s her name.”
Samil peers at Sabrina curiously then back at Bellamy, who is blushing furiously.
“My name is Bellamy Wright.”
“Ah. So Bella is correct. More of the Italian than French side of Messalina, I should think.”
Another look my way, and if I weren’t holding my son and my daughter weren’t standing beside me, I’d flip him off.
Or strangle him for the way he’s staring at Bellamy.
Meanwhile, the other men and women of parliament linger by the ballroom door, watching inquisitively.
I had sent Althea to run some copies of things that require actual signatures, otherwise she’d be here, taking care of all of this for me.
“Such a beautiful woman with a beautiful name, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Still, mia bella, we have to do something about your citizenship so you can vote in the next election.” Samil takes her hand back, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. “Will you join us for lunch?”
“No,” we say in unison. “I have to tend to the children,” she finishes, plastering on a forced smile for him. One that doesn’t touch her eyes. Nothing like the one she gave me this morning. That was genuine, and for reasons beyond my comprehension, it makes me prohibitively protective of her.
“Surely you get to eat lunch. Despite how unpleasant and intolerant your employer is, I know he has to feed you. Besides, I insist. A beautiful woman such as yourself, a foreigner in my country, I have to know everything about you. You can’t say no to me. I’m the prime minister.”
She looks panicked, unsure of what to do as he starts to move her along, and I see red.
My jaw tics, but I keep my voice even. “Let her go, Samil. Now.”
He gives me a malicious smirk. “Not this time, old friend. It is not your call to make.”
That slimy motherfucker.
Her arm gives a jerk as she tries to extricate herself from him for a second time. He’s not having it. Sliding in closer to her, he firms up his hold, and the way he’s making her undeniably uncomfortable and not caring has me biting out, “It is my call. She’s my employee. Let her go.”