Page 26 of Princessa
“Was it a large sum of money?”
“The equivalent to one-million US dollars.”
Nodding, I fiddled with my earring, encouraging him to go on.
“As a way to settle the debt, an arrangement of sorts, was made.”
“What sort ofarrangement?” I asked, not wanting to believe anyone would actually settle a debt with an arranged marriage.
“If by my thirty-fifth birthday I haven’t yet married, Lady Iris Godiva—their agreed-upon betrothed—would become that wife.”
I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief. “Okay, so what if she were married? Then what?”
“Then my parents would have to approve of another or they’d have to choose someone they deem suitable for me to marry.”
As fascinating as it was, his story still didn’t paint a picture telling me why he was so hellbent on not marrying Iris, regardless if the marriage was arranged. Was she ugly? An alien with one eye? A zombie with three boobs?
Toying with a loose thread on the blanket, I shrugged. “Still doesn’t explain why you refuse to marry her.”
“When I left for university, Iris slept with every royal she could wrap her fucking legs around, including my then best friend, Prince Drake of Monaco.” Anger and hurt flashed in his eyes. “The conniving snake was desperate enough to try and sleep her way to the throne back then. Now older and still very single, I believe Iris is even more desperate.” Grayson looked to the sky as if it would open up with a floodgate of answers to all of life’s problems. “The love I have for my family, country, and royal name is far too great to allow some washed-up harlot in, simply because some older-than-shit verbal arrangement, compounded with an archaic rule, says so.”
My heart stiffened in my chest and I realized then just how screwed up his situation was. I also realized just how easily I’d begun to fall for him.
Back in my room, I couldn’t sleep. Anxiety had me antsy, pacing the floor, heart racing, the ability to breathe, forgotten.
It had been a long time since I’d had a panic attack that forced me out of bed. Several years, in fact. But I knew its trigger far too well.
Stress.
A new city to live in, new resort responsibilities, and a new guy who drove me to the brink of pining-for-him insanity.
Inhale…exhale, Arabella.
In the past, whenever an attack sprang up, I’d run to Mama or Camille and if they weren’t available, I’d call Lauren. Bright-red numbers from the clock’s display on the nightstand showcased it was nearly midnight. It wouldn’t be fair to wake Lauren, and knowing how cozy Camille and Finn were getting, I definitely didn’t want to call her and potentially risk breaking up their private party.
Mama was the next viable option on my list, yet if she knew anxiety had me riled up, she’d go straight into full-time worry mode.
This will pass. Inhale. Exhale.
The last time a batch of anxiety percolated, I was in Paris and Grayson direct-messaged me on Instagram. Oddly, that simple exchange of messages with him chased the looming attack away.
Glaring at my cell phone on the nightstand, I eschewed the idea swirling around in my head. I couldn’t callGrayson. I mean, what would prevent him from thinking a call from me at the stroke of midnight wasn’t a booty call? Besides, he was probably fast asleep anyway, right?
Only one way to find out.
Biting my nails, I padded over to my bed and plopped on the edge facing the nightstand. Eyes squinted, I stared at the cell phone. Maybe a text message wouldn’t hurt?
Arabella:Are you awake?
Dots danced around on the screen just as fast as the beats of my heart. At this point, I wasn’t sure if my racing pulse was the fault of the panic attack or the anticipation of his reply.
Grayson:Yes…everything okay?
Arabella:Can’t sleep.
Can’t breathe. In fact, I’m probably dying,is what I wanted to say, heart pounding, thundering in my ears.
One nanosecond later, my phone rang, Grayson’s beautiful name flashing on the screen.
“Hi.” The one-syllable salutation bounced out of my mouth in a high-pitched squeak.
“What’s wrong? Why can’t you sleep?” His soothing voice dripped with concern.
I squeezed my eyes shut, almost too embarrassed, too ashamed about a stupid fuckingflawthat caused me to text a prince in the middle of the night. “I-I”—the words were lodged deep in my throat—“I’m having a panic attack.”
“Tell me your suite number.”
