Chapter Six
Grayson
W hat the hell is this ?” my father roars, slapping a tabloid onto his enormous mahogany desk .
I lean in, just enough to read the headline .
“I’m Pregnant With Prince Grayson’s Baby !”
It’s in screamingly bright yellow print over a picture of me and some girl, dancing in a nightclub. Or, rather, she’s dancing — bent in half at the waist, ass up — and I’m standing there with a drink .
“Who the hell is this—” he checks the magazine again, “—this Dakota Williamson ?”
I squint at the picture, desperately trying to place it. Despite the headline, I sincerely doubt that she’s pregnant with my child. I may get my dick wet a lot, but I’m careful. I know perfectly well that half the women in the kingdom would love to bear my child for the support payments alone .
Call me old-fashioned, but I’d prefer not to have twenty different baby mamas .
“I’m not sure,” I say truthfully, and my father just glares .
“I’ll tell you who she is,” he says, his voice rising even more. “She’s some strumpet who’s the daughter of an equally useless brown-nosing earl who’s been a pain in my ass for years .”
I look at the picture again, and finally that night clicks .
Dakota gave great head, but I didn’t fuck her. There’s definitely no way she’s pregnant by me .
“She’s lying,” I say, and tell my father why, though I leave the details vague. It doesn’t seem to make him less angry, though, and he launches himself to his feet .
King Maxwell is still an intimidating man. Even though we’re the same height, same build, and I’m thirty years younger, he’s still got that aura of authority and power that comes with being king .
“I’ve had enough,” he proclaims, pacing back and forth on the expensive rug .
I don’t answer. I don’t think I’m supposed to, really .
“It’s time you settled down, Grayson .”
The sentence hits me like a punch in the face. Settle down? Is he kidding ?
The longest relationship I’ve ever had lasted two weeks, and that was only because the girl and I didn’t speak the same language. It was purely, purely physical, though I do still know how to say fuck me deeper in Russian .
But I got bored of Svetlana. It’s what I do, I get bored of girls and want to move on to the next one .
“Father, I — ”
“It’s not up for discussion,” he says, turning sharply in his tracks and glaring at me. “I’ve had it with your behavior, Grayson. At first, when you were more discreet, I could handle it. But now, like this — ”
He gestures furiously at the tabloid .
“This is a drain on the kingdom, the royal family, everything . And I won’t have it .”
I jump to my feet, fists balled at my side .
“You can’t just decree that,” I say .
He stops and just looks at me .
“Yes, I can,” he says coolly. “Just like I can decree that if you don’t stop bringing shame on our family and nation, you can be disinherited and your sister Aurora can become queen someday .”
He wouldn’t. He fucking wouldn’t .
But the look in my father’s eyes is telling me he’s not kidding. He might really do this, because as my father, he’s the only person I know more strong-willed and bull-headed than I am .
“We’ll do this the old-fashioned way,” he says when I don’t respond. “What do you say to a proper ball. We’ll invite every eligible woman in the kingdom, and you can pick your bride from there .”
The kingdom is very small, because otherwise there’s no way that would work .
“I’m supposed to choose after one night?” I ask, a sarcastic undertone creeping into my voice .
“No,” my father says, unperturbed. “You’re supposed to narrow down the pool of possible candidates after one night. I’m well aware that we’re no longer living in medieval times .”
Out of nowhere, I think about the waitress. I don’t know a thing about her — she wasn’t even wearing a name tag — but if she’s eligible, she’ll be there .
Fuck it. I’ll decree that all women have to come, just to make sure she’s there .
I still hate this plan. I don’t want to settle down with the waitress, I just want to fuck her once, make her writhe with the kind of pleasure that I’m somehow certain no one’s ever shown her before .
I want to see her pretty pink lips around my cock, those blue eyes looking up at my shyly while she takes me in her mouth, her blonde hair wrapped around my hand .
“All right,” I say, and for once my father looks surprised, like he was expecting a fight .
“Excellent,” he says, though he sounds suspicious. “We’ll set a date. The sooner the better. How about one week from tonight ?”
An image flashes through my brain: the waitress in an evening gown, low-cut and low-backed, hugging all her curves. A week can’t go fast enough .
“One week sounds good, Father,” I say .
He levels one finger at me .
“If a tabloid so much as prints your name between now and then, I’ll — ”
I hold both my hands up, palms out .
“They won’t,” I say, even as annoyance twists inside me .
The World Cup this weekend is definitely out. Goodbye beautiful Italian girls, goodbye eager stewardesses sucking my cock. Goodbye watching one girl ride me hard while her friend plays with her nipples from behind .
But strangely, I don’t feel that bad. I’m not sure I’ll miss it all that much, and I’m not sure why .
“I’ll have George start making the arrangements,” my father says. “And thank you for being so reasonable, son .”
I duck my head once, unsure what to say. My father rarely thanks me for anything .
“My pleasure,” I say, and then I leave his office .