Page 9 of Scarred Crown

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Julia

Anger bubbles up at his easy dismissal of my arrival and sleeping predicament. Where’s the chivalrous gentleman he was raised to be? Throwing back the flap, I step into the grassy path.

“I’m not returning to Bellerive without you!” I call to his retreating back.

He waves above his head in a dismissive gesture. Asshole. Probably headed back to the crown bunny at the fire who was sucking on his neck while I talked to Kafil. One whisper of ‘Your Royal Highness’ and women cream in their panties. I’ve seen it enough times, especially since Nick and I went to the same college.

Nick’s physical appearance is secondary to his princely status. That nugget of truth irked him in high school and likely college, but I wouldn’t know about that. Would a prince have women falling at their feet even if they looked like Shrek? Probably. But Nick is no Shrek, as much as it pains me to admit it. He works out obsessively, eats healthy, but drinks too much. He inherited the best physical characteristics from both his parents and like a fine wine, he’s aging extraordinarily well.

During college, he modeled ‘for fun’. His arrogant strut down a runway was a sight to behold with his shaggy brown hair falling over hazel eyes. Privilege oozed out of him. I may have been forced to watch those fashion shows on repeat by a friend or two. For a surprising number of women, his I don’t give a fuck attitude is a sweet elixir, impossible to resist.

However, there’s a difference between artfully tousled and a disheveled mess. He’s tipped the scales in the wrong direction. His hair’s too long, his beard untrimmed, and his clothes are rumpled. Not a single member of staff is here to talk him into caring about his appearance. It’s maddening for him to still be attractive, a magnet for women, when he’s not even trying. I huff out an annoyed breath in the empty tent.

“Hello?” Kafil calls from outside the zipped entrance. “I have your bags, Secretary Jensen.”

I unzip the flap and hold it open for him. “Thank you. You can call me Julia. There’s no need for the formality.”

“Right, yes.” He gazes around the tent and sticks my bags in the far corner. “Did Prince Nicholas tell you about the bed situation?”

“He did. Not to worry. He’s offered me his. I think he must be sleeping somewhere else tonight.”

Kafil frowns but nods his head. “Perhaps.”

“He’s back at the fire, is he?”

“Yes. Our American guest is very interested in Bellerive.”

I bet she is.

“Would you like tea or coffee in the morning? We deliver it an hour before we leave for safari.”

“We’re going on safari tomorrow?” A rush of pleasure flushes out my annoyance at Nick. At least if he won’t come home with me right away, I can enjoy a day or two of sightseeing before brandishing my winning card. It’s a sound strategy. Showing my hand too early will increase his suspicion about his father’s abdication.

“Yes. We’ve been following a pair of mating leopards. Prince Nicholas mentioned you have a keen interest in elephants? We should have no problem tracking some tomorrow.”

“Who doesn’t love elephants?” Though I suspect Nick said that in reference to his elephant shit comment earlier. His response to King George’s request to return is exactly as I predicted. There’s no way he’ll willingly come back to Bellerive with me.

“Tea or coffee?” Kafil inches toward the door.

“Tea, please. Thank you! What time are we leaving in the morning?” Exhaustion spreads across my body, and I stare longingly at the bed. Jetlag is the worst.

“Prince Nicholas requested we leave at seven.” He gives me a small smile. “I’m sure you’re tired from your day of travel.”

“I am, yeah. But I’m excited about tomorrow. I’ve never been on safari.” I might not be quite as excited about spending the day with Nick, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made.

“After three weeks with me, Prince Nicholas is an expert. If you have any questions in the morning, I am sure he can answer them.” He must see my uncertainty because he adds, “And of course you’re welcome to ask me too.” He unzips the tent and ducks out. “Usiku mwema.”

I frown, unsure what he’s just said. Goodbye? Goodnight? Tomorrow I’ll get a list of the local phrases so I can respond appropriately.

Once Kafil’s heavy footfall departs, I survey the room. There isn’t a suitcase in sight. Nick’s things must be packed away in the drawers and small standing closet. Well, if he’s going to make me stay here, he can damn well share his space. While I unpack my suitcase, I rearrange as many of Nick’s things as I can. The man used to be meticulous about everything having a place. Asking me where his things are will drive him nuts.

With a satisfied smirk, I grab my sleep shorts and T-shirt. Protocol demands I take the floor. I am, technically, an employee of The Crown, even if I’ve known them since I was a baby. If Nick and I were still friends, I wouldn’t even be hesitating at the side of the queen bed. I’d slide under the sheets with a satisfied smile, certain he wouldn’t mind.

But we aren’t friends, and so I’ll slide under the sheets in a few minutes with a satisfied smile for a different reason. He’ll be livid when he returns to his room and finds I’ve left the floor for him. Just to make his place crystal clear, I take the extra sheets from the small closet and lay them beside the bed, dropping a pillow at the head.

Perfection.