Page 2 of Royal Cocktail

Leopold knew he could rule. His entire childhood had been a virtual schoolroom on diplomacy and how to lead a country. But it didn’t come naturally. Not the way physics and chemistry did. Not the way leadership came to Gisele, who would be a brilliant and beloved queen. She might be a pain in his ass, but his sister was truly remarkable.

But she was born a woman, and though she was the firstborn and three years his senior, the country’s ancient rule of agnatic primogeniture had been included in their constitution when it was adopted over a century ago.

It wasn’t fair, but very little about the life of a royal was. The world saw fame and privilege and servants and castles. All that was true, of course, but what most of the world didn’t see was the path. A golden road illuminated by intrusive spotlights and lined with chains, from which he was not allowed to stray. Maybe that was starting to change, but not fast enough to suit Leopold. And not fast at all in his small country.

And yet King Wilhelm had allowed him this small bit of freedom.

He sighed, feeling like a dick. Gisele was right. Their father understood the pressures and sacrifices of being a royal. And while Father fully intended to prepare the prince to rule the country one day, he also saw Leopold as a man, not just a royal. And because of that, he’d not only forgiven Leopold’s rebellious teenage years, he’d consented to letting Leopold study in Texas under the renowned quantum physicist, Jeffrey Malkin.

Leopold had assured his father he would behave, and yet last night he’d slipped away from Jürgen to go meet Skye. Or, at least, he’d thought he’d given his bodyguard the slip.

“We were just having a drink,” he told his sister. “Truly. It wasn’t a social media event. No one here even knows who I am.”

“My point is that it needs to stay that way. You start prancing around with this girl, and suddenly—”

“I told you. She’s just a friend.” He fought back a wince as he spoke the lie, his chest tightening with the memory of the brush of her lips over his skin. His pulse raced every time he touched her. Hell, every time he looked at her. She was a friend, sure. But even though they’d only met one short week ago, she’d already become so much more than that.

But no way was he sharing that fact with his sister.

Secrets.

He swallowed, feeling their weight.

The secret he kept from his sister about the woman he craved.

The secret he kept from Skye about who he really was.

He was navigating rocky terrain, and all he could do was hope that he didn’t lose his footing.

Chapter Two

Present Day

“I … can’t believe he’s … doing … this to me.” Skye Porter concentrated on speaking slowly, tears close to the surface. She took the last swallow of her whiskey sour—because today called for something stronger than her usual wine—then met Hannah’s eyes. “Doesn’t he get it?”

“He loves you, Skye. You know that.”

Skye shook her head, emotion pooling in her gut. Disagreement. Displeasure. Something like that, anyway. She turned in her seat, glancing around the friendly, cozy bar where they often met after work. It was warm and inviting. A welcoming place. The perfect place to come on a day like today when her work had gone completely off the rails.

All her life, Skye had wanted to be a particular kind of appellate lawyer. The kind who dug deep into theory and precedent. Who wrote briefs that swayed judges and changed history. Important work where she could live in a library with her books and thoughts, letting another lawyer actually stand up and make the oral argument, because no way did Skye want to be in that spotlight.

It was her ideal job, a dream she’d worked toward since childhood. And for the last two years she’d been walking on a cloud because she’d been living that dream.

Today, with a single announcement, her father had twisted that dream into a nightmare.

Hannah leaned forward, then reached across the small two-top to put a consoling hand over Skye’s. She gave a little squeeze. “You know I’m right.”

Skye exhaled, reconciling herself to the truth. “About loving me? I guess.” Words never came easy, but they were downright stubborn when she was agitated. Breathe. She took a breath, then another before continuing. “But he should have asked.” More than that, he shouldn’t have needed to ask. He should have known that her answer would be no.

“It’s not about … love,” Skye continued. She concentrated on speaking slowly, using all the techniques she’d been taught over the years, but hating the inevitable stops and starts between her words. “It’s—it’s about … fixing me.”

“You’re not broken.” Hannah’s words lashed out at Skye, and she immediately wanted to hug her friend for being so damn loyal even as she wanted to chastise her for being a naive idiot.

Because no matter what her friends or therapists said, Skye was broken. She’d been broken since she was five. Her brain banged and bruised in the same accident that had killed her mother.

“He thinks…” She trailed off, waiting for Hannah to lift her head and look at Skye’s face. It was always easier for people to understand her gravel-laden voice and slow, muddy words if they were both watching and listening. “He thinks that if this group understands me, then everything is just fine. And that … will ease his guilt.”

A presentation to a conference room full of international big wigs. General counsel for major corporations. Government leaders. Entrepreneurs and philanthropists. All potential clients of the firm coming to a day-long symposium, and Tarlton Anderson Porter had signed her up to speak to the group.