Page 66 of Princessa
Chapter 35
Stunning. Adorable.Perfect.
Three words that summed up my in-person impression of the woman who stood between me and what was meant to be mine.
After stalking her sad little Instagram page—okay, perhaps it wasn’tthatsad; she had over one-billion adoring followers—I had gained one piece of useful insight aboutThe Princess of Savannah.
Vulnerability.
And as she stood before me, fidgeting with her ugly necklace—pinkpearls, barf—I knew she’d be easily destroyed.
“You may want to sit down,A-ra-bell-a”—I loved fucking up her name—“because what I have is bound to knock you off your feet.”
She shook her head, arms folded over her almost nonexistent chest. “You’ve got about five minutes and then I’m calling hotel security.”
Her bite was feisty. Mine was venomous.
Some say revenge is best served cold. I say revenge is best served cold by a bitch.
“You know,A-ra-bell-a, before a few days ago, I’d not even heard of you. Then, that Royal Buzz story led me to your Instagram.Influencer of the Decade? Nice gig”—I examined my fingernails—“if you like a Kardash wanna-be.”
“Your point?”
I pulled up a chair and plopped onto the plush cushion, then opened my designer clutch to remove my cell phone. “You’ve got quite the following. A lowly herd of dedicated lambs whoheartevery stupid picture or video you post.”
The petite fashion maven rolled her eyes in disgust, but I could tell by the agitation painted all over her features, she was growing nervous.
Right where I wanted her.
“Trip to Paris: one million hearts. A picture of your kitten: two-point-five million hearts. And my favorite—a day at Savannah Smiles: five. million. hearts.” I turned my phone around, allowing her, admittedly breath-hitching, eyes to watch my fingers swipe through the too-many pictures and videos on her Instagram page.
Arabella stood there, still as a possum playing dead, save for the fidgeting and heavy breathing.
Prozac, anybody?
“Seems your peeps—young and old—look up to you. Consider you quite the saint with all the work you’ve done in your community. Oh, and then there’s your parents. So regal in their own right. Do-gooders just like you. Bravo because you and Grayson are indeed a match. Your work and influence mirror his and that of the people of Andorra. So kind. Loving. Family oriented.”
“Two minutes, then I’m calling security…”
“Tell me, what will your followers, your parents, Andorra citizens—the world—think of their preciousPrincessa, soon-to-be-bride of Prince Grayson, once their eyes capture this?”
Pressing play on the video I’d downloaded to my phone, I saw nothing but the color of confusion and shame fill her eyes.
“Oh yes, Grayson! You like it when I ride your cock, baby?”
Priceless, was Arabella’s look of disgrace.
“What…what is that?” She advanced toward me, grabby hands reaching for my phone.
I snatched it away, holding it close to my chest. “Tsk. Tsk. Hands off my property, please.”
“Where did you get that?” she snapped, lips quivering.
The question seemed warranted. I mean, it was supposed to be a private moment between her and Grayson.
But that day I’d gone to his suite for a chat, I’d come prepared to do damage—in the form of a teeny, tiny spy camera. Perks of being the beloved daughter of a used-to-be MI6 agent.
When I had asked Grayson if I could use his restroom, I knew he wouldn’t say no. I also knew the restroom was connected to the bedroom. So, after I waltzed in there, I planted a spy camera—size of a pea—on the dresser drawers facing the bed, ensuring it blended in with the drawer handle. I figured it would eventually catch the two of them fucking. However, I had no idea it would capture something so raw.
