Royally Screwed Part 6

"Sebi," she asked, her voice growing wary, "what is wrong?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? I've been effectively disowned."

"What!?" she said, a string of French swearwords pouring out of her. "What happened? What did you do?!"

"Why do you a.s.sume I did something?"

"Sebi," she growled.

"I poked the bear," he admitted with a murmur.

"Sebi . . . what did you say that got Father to disown you?"

"That I did not want to be King. And do you know what he said? He said good, Anton would be King. Anton, Anastasia. Anton!"

"Wait, what?! Okay, hold on a second." He heard her pull the phone away from her ear and start talking to someone else. If he had to guess he'd say Roman had just entered the room.

When she returned he started talking, relaying the whole story of his morning. "And then, he checked us out of the hotel. We had to leave."

"Well where are you now?" she asked, sounding a bit worried.

"We're staying at the emba.s.sy's suite; though if I didn't have Sergei, I'd be out on the street."

"If you didn't have Sergei you'd probably have been disowned years ago."

"True," Sebastian agreed.

"Roman wants to know when you're coming home."

"Not soon. Not now."

"Well if not now, then when? You're not just going to run and hide are you?"

"I have less than three months to find a bride and get married," Sebastian said.

"Yes," his sister agreed, though in a patently slow voice that could not hide she thought he'd been struck dumb. "And don't you think you need to come to Sezynia to find one."

"No," he replied. "I have a better chance here. Father's influence is too thick there."

"This is about James Dean again, isn't it?" Anastasia said, annoyed. "Sebi, you are not James Dean. You need to stop living your life recklessly and with bikes and leather and att.i.tudes. Come home! Father will kill you if you marry an American, you know this, right?"

"Who cares," he murmured in rebellion, his hackles rising at her tone. "I don't want or need his approval. And marrying a countryman didn't really engender him to your choice, did it Ana?"

She started to speak but he cut her off. "No, I am staying. Give Mother my love. And keep an eye on Anton for me. If he or Prince Vlad knows what Father plans to do, they will become impossible. If they aren't the ones behind it."

His sister didn't speak for a moment and Sebastian wondered if she had hung up on him and his impertinent tone. "You never wanted to be King before Sebi. And Anton was your best friend."

"Was Ana. All of it past tense. Anton cannot win. He does not win!"

"Okay Sebi. My love to you," she murmured quietly.

"And to you."

Chapter 7.

Lane barged into the loft without so much as a knock. "What have you done for yourself today?" she demanded as she threw down her purse and grabbed an apple.

"Nothing. But yesterday I slept with a Prince," Kat answered dryly, still amazed that it was true.

Lane just rolled her eyes and gave her best friend a put upon look. "A little less sarcasm, please." They stared at each other until a slightly self-conscious smile grew on Kat's face. "You're serious? You got laid last night? Shut the Front Door!"

"Shut the front door? Really?"

"I'm trying to swear less. I made my mother a fu . . . stupid bet that I could stop swearing in time for her annual tea. If I make it through the whole day 'clean' then she won't make me go anymore and will give up trying to make me cultured. But that is so f.u.c.king off topic."

Kat opened her mouth to speak but didn't get a chance. "If it isn't Foul-Mouthed Barbie." Lane didn't even turn around at Blaze's comment, just flipped him off over her shoulder. "What, no string of profanity-laced comebacks? Are your batteries dying?"

Lane whipped around and a smile appeared on her face. "Like, OMG, it's like totally, like, Cliche Ken! Tell me Mr. h.o.m.os.e.xual Artist Man, what is it, like, like, to like, be like, a 'starving artist' because it, like, looks, like, super hard. I mean, like, you so don't even, like, have that starving part down. You must have gained, like, like five pounds, since, like, the last, like, time I saw you. Don't' worry, you'll, like, so get it right eventually. Like, totally. I have faith in you."

"If it wasn't laced with cruelty I'd say you walked right off of a California Beach. Way to blend in NYC. Which, by the way, what the h.e.l.l are you wearing?" Blaze replied, grabbing the apple from in front of Lane and rolling it towards him. She was too slow to stop him and he bit into it with relish.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" she asked, dropping the valley girl accent for her much drier, New York tone.

"Honey, look at you. Pink and purple bubble skirt, ridiculously flowered and tiered blouse, those sandals that even call girls trip in. The bug sungla.s.ses, the platinum hair, the huge purse. If a teacup poodle's in there I'd say Paris Hilton ate you up and spit you out."

She pointed a serious finger at him. "Hey, you know the hair's real." Blaze held up his hands in acknowledgement.

"I just love how you two get along," Kat murmured with a roll of her eyes.

"He started it," Lane whispered.

"He started it," Blaze mimicked back to her.

Lane crossed the room and stopped in front of the stool he was perched on. They looked at each other a bit wearily before she grabbed his face and pulled it towards her, laying a hard kiss on his mouth. "Anything?" she asked a minute later when they parted.

"Nothing."

"Eh, what do you know? You don't even check out my a.s.s when I walk away. I have a great f.u.c.king a.s.s." She turned towards Kat with a raised eyebrow.

"True. Though mine is better," Blaze said, biting into the apple again. "Did Kat tell you about her royal escapade yet?"

"No juicy details have been spilled. I'm gonna be able to retire before I hear this d.a.m.n story, aren't I?"

"Simmer down there sister. No need to swear." Lane rolled her eyes but Kat just smiled.

"Here, this guy. She slept with this guy." Blaze handed over his phone.

Lane whistled in appreciation. "Are you f.u.c.king serious? d.a.m.n girl, I so hate you right now."

"What are you guys looking at?" Kat asked, peering over their shoulders.

"Prince and the Pauper blog they follow the movements of European royalty. I was reading up on the guy that compromised the virtue of my little sister." The girls laughed at that but let him continue on. "I haven't decided if I should punch him or shake his hand. He's nicknamed the 'Playboy Prince.' He gets around more than a joint in a college dorm room."

"When can I meet this scrumptious man? Does he have a brother? When are you seeing him again?"

"Um, let's see. No way in h.e.l.l. A sister. And that's negotiable," Kat rattled off. "It's not the way you think." She gave Lane a haughty smile and left the kitchen.

"What do you mean it's not the way you think? What do I think? Blaze?" The pair of them followed her into the living room.

"She's not his girlfriend or his mistress. Or his f.u.c.k bunny or anything else that could be conceivably interesting. She's his little matchmaker, gonna help the s.e.xy Sezynian find a wife."

"What the h.e.l.l does that even mean?" Lane asked. Blaze shrugged his shoulders. She grabbed her apple back in annoyance and took a bite.

"You had to be there," Kat finally said in exasperation. They just stared at her. "I mean, he was begging, begging."

"He was begging you to be a matchmaker? Because you've proved yourself so worthily in that area?" Lane asked, full of skepticism.

"He was begging me to marry him I compromised."

"Okay," Lane yelled, throwing her hands up in the air, "wait a minute. Let me get this straight. A real f.u.c.king Prince, who's so gorgeous I think I just dropped dead looking at his picture, begged you to marry him. Really? Are you f.u.c.king kidding me? And you said no?!"

"You're definitely gonna lose that bet with your mom," Kat murmured.

"Priorities please Kat," Lane huffed. "What the h.e.l.l is wrong with your sister?"

"I couldn't marry him," Kat argued at the shrug of her brother's shoulders.

"And why the h.e.l.l not?"

"I barely know him. I'm not in love with him."

"Sweetie, these are the kinds of things you learn. Learn."

"Marrying a foreign dignitary who I barely know is not part of the plan," Kat said.

"Some of the best things never are. You can't live your whole life chained to plans."

"Whatever. You guys don't get it." They didn't have any respect for her methods but just watch them run to her when they were in trouble.

"Yeah, so don't. I mean, yeah. Good job on the new matchmaking business." Lane pumped her fists in feigned glee.

"Fine, if you feel that way then there's definitely no reason to introduce you. To the Prince or his cute a.s.sistant, who you'd really love. Or the handful of hard-bodied foreign bodyguards that follow him around."

"Cute a.s.sistant?"

"Older, rugged silent type; s.e.xy growl, strong chin."

"Maybe I was hasty in my judgment," Lane admitted.

"I can't believe you two," Blaze growled with a shake of his head. He grabbed the apple back from Lane and took it with him as he left the room in exasperation.

Sebastian lounged against the stairs in a patch of sunlight, waiting, perched half on, half off of the railing. He liked to think that he looked a bit like your average rebel, could have just stepped out of any of the iconic films he idolized. Of course his jeans weren't worn but expensively made to look that way. His leather jacket a tailored, high end garment with stylish zippers instead of the one size fits all bulky things easily wrapped around a pretty girl's shoulders. His tinted sungla.s.ses probably cost more than a night in the hotel he was loitering in front of. Sebastian looked like a rebel only in his own mind. To everyone else he was an expensively dressed man with entirely too much time on his hands.

The sungla.s.ses, at least, were coming in handy. He reveled in the glare bouncing off the stark gray pavement Sezynia wouldn't see sun like this for at least another six weeks. They were still having snowstorms at home. It was difficult to play the rebel when the temperature was below freezing; wearing sungla.s.ses that needed winds.h.i.+eld wipers of their own did not cut the devil may care att.i.tude he strove for. America did have a few things going for it.

"Ah, there you are," Sebastian said when he saw her exit, something else he mentally added to the America column. He kicked off of the wall with a languorous grace that she couldn't help but envy through the haze of surprise that stopped her short.

"What are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?" Kat asked, rattled. When did she become the person that tripped over royalty every other day? Would she run into the d.u.c.h.ess of York at kickboxing tomorrow morning?

"My people called your people."

"I have people now?" She started walking and he fell into step beside her.

"You have a boss. I have an a.s.sistant."

"You called my boss?" she asked, not sure if she was annoyed or impressed by that.

"Yes," he answered with a grin. "Well, Sergei did."

He didn't say anything else but continued to stare at her as they walked, and her anxiety level rose. "What, you just want me to pick out a girl on the street? ' Cause that's a whole different job."

"No," he laughed, his white teeth distracting her for a moment. "I think I can do a bit better than that. But you can't be a matchmaker for me if I'm not around, eh?"

"Not true," she mused. He gave her a devilish smile and she felt a bit rattled in spite of herself. "Are you going to follow me home?"

"Depends," he replied with a shrug.

"On . . . ?" He just kept walking, no urge to elaborate.

"On if you're going home." He winked at her as they arrived at the corner and waited to cross. Kat just shook her head, unsure what to make of him, the Prince that had already walked six blocks with her and seemed content to keep going.

"Are you going to try and change me?" Sebastian asked as the light turned and they quickened their pace to get out of the way of a cabbie making an illegal turn right into them.

"Are you actually going to change?" Kat countered back with a critical look. He just grinned. "Then why bother. Poor girl needs to know what she's getting herself into."

"Poor will not be it," he drawled back as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Not everything's about money you know." Life often seemed like it was, her life especially, but money wasn't everything. Or at least, when it came to marriage, to love, it shouldn't be.

"So nave," he joked with a skeptically pitying, though amused, look. "But I've got things going for me besides the money too. I'm debonair, s.e.xy, charming."