Royally Rearranged (Sweet Royal RomCom, #1)

by Emma St. Clair

But of course it hasn’t. I have to face the truth: I’ve been in love with my best friend for years, under the assumption he felt the same w...

The king makes a very un-king-like snort. “He’ll come to his senses soon enough.” “Who will come to his senses?” That deep voice, gravelly and low, slides through me, leaving heat in its wake, despite my icy heart. I turn to see Callum in the doorway. With her.

In a room full of royals, people I once considered family, the man I still love, I am the outsider.

either. I’m over the entire Elsinorian royal family.

Okay, maybe not Callum’s older brother, Phillip, or his younger sisters, Juliet and Henrietta. Though if Callum’s parents were so quick to turn against me in favor of Brit, his siblings will likely do the same. It feels like I’ve lost Callum and the family I always considered second to my own.

They already have a couple name: Britum. Terrible, but aren’t all couple names? Polls show approval ratings through the roof. People are voting to ship them, whatever that means, on Twitter. I’d like to ship her somewhere. Without a return address.

While the idea of losing Callum hurts deeper than I can admit, I can’t fight for a man who doesn’t want me back.

But standing on the other side of the door is the antithesis of Callum, and I stifle my urge to slam the door on Rafe.

The way he always addresses me is somewhere between a lover’s caress and the hiss of a snake. It’s not a title when he says princess, but a nickname. I can feel it.

His dark eyes rove over me, that ever-present smirk on his annoyingly full lips. He may be Callum’s opposite, but objectively speaking, both have good looks that should be unlawful.

With olive skin and regal bone structure, a chiseled jaw with stubble that always looks perfectly drawn on, and the kind of smile that makes women all over the world—literally—weak at the knees, Rafe is dangerously attractive.

I once saw a woman faint when he smiled at her during a diplomat...

His dark eyes always hold a spark of amusement and are framed with dark lashes to match his dark, wavy hair. I know better than to look directly into those eyes. That’s how he gets you, this devilish rogue of a royal.

The reality of Rafe inside my suite fills me with nerves.

He looks over the open, empty suitcase and the books and journal I’ve stacked on the large antique desk by the window.

“Getting to see the princess behind the curtain.” He runs a hand along the zipper on my leather suitcase. Sweat begins beading along my spine and lower back. I wipe a hand across my forehead.

Unlike the cloistered, structured life I’ve lived as the crown princess, Rafe has all the benefits of a title with none of the restrictions. And he has taken every advantage of both his wealth and freedom to indulge himself in every way he can.

Lavish trips. Ridiculous purchases like yachts, cars, and even a small German castle. And, of course, the one that sticks out the most in my mind, women.

It’s this last one that has me feeling so self-conscious as he strides over to the wardrobe, opening it to look through the dresses one of the servants has already hung up. When his fingers trace the bodice of a dress i...

I walk over and close the wardrobe, having to stand so close to him that I can smell his cologne. Spicy and ...

I’m not sure why, but the sight of Rafe in his white button-down shirt, dark pants, and socked feet, his head on the same pillow where mine rested minutes ago has me fumbling with words.

“Eating sliced cheese with a fork, Princess?” “How do you eat your cheese, Rafe? Do tell.” I take another bite, holding back a moan. I hadn’t quite realized the extent of my hunger. It’s all I can do not to shovel the contents of my plate into my mouth. His grin widens. “I like to use my hands.”

“I’m not a beast like you,” I snap, keeping my chin tucked to hide my red cheeks. “That’s quite true, Princess. You’re the picture of perfection.”

think back to the first time I remember meeting Rafe. It was years ago, and I had come to attend a lacrosse scrimmage to watch Callum play. He and Callum almost came to blows after Rafe winked at me, which made my cheeks turn into twin tomatoes.

Not much has changed—Callum and Rafe still hate each other and I’m still reduced to blushing like a kid.

He teases and flirts and almost never says what he means, to me or anyone else.

Then there’s the matter of the company Rafe keeps. Being as inexperienced and naive as I am, I can’t help but feel self-conscious around a man who is intimately familiar with so many women. At least, if the tabloids are to be believed.

My stomach twists. If I believe what they’ve said about Rafe in the past, has Callum’s behavior over this past year really been so different?

I’m sure watching a woman eat cheese with a fork doesn’t rank high on the list of activities Rafe usually does in the bedroom.

“Nice is never a word I’d associate with you,” I tell him, taking a small bite of a tiny sandwich triangle. “But you just called me nice,” he points out. “I said you were acting nice.” “Ah. You think this is an act?”

Rafe studies me. “But it does bother you—the idea that I might have hooked up with a woman at the tennis match and now am here, bringing you food?”

My gut reaction is to deny it. But I am bothered, and the only reason I can think of is that I’m transferring my twisted-up feelings for Callum to Rafe.

I’m jealous and hurt that Callum has been dating other women. I’m crushed that he’s with Brit when I thought we’d be getting engaged this week. And now, ...

“I couldn’t stand thinking about you, hungry and heartbroken.”

In a move as smooth as a panther, Rafe leaps up and pours me a glass of water from a silver pitcher on the cart. I take it from his hands, careful to keep my fingers from brushing his.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” You shouldn’t have noticed, I think, but I guess I was being obvious. Rafe’s knowledge—but even more, his kindness—has me feeling raw and exposed. When the glass is safely in my hands, he settles back in my bed. I try not to look at him there, lest that image take up permanent residence in my brain.

“Does it get tiresome being so selfish and pretending like you have no responsibilities at all?” I’m not usually so snappish. I don’t like the impact Rafe has on me. It’s even worse since my emotions are so volatile right now.

My cheeks flush again, this time with anger. Our eyes lock. A lesser man, or maybe a man who cared, might have been burnt to a crisp from my gaze. But Rafe only returns fire with fire.

A loud, echoing and off-key singing voice through the bathroom door breaks our starin...

I burst out laughing, one hand over my mouth. Rafe’s laughter joins mine, and I look up to see he’s standing, slipping on his shoes. “Leaving so soon?” I’m torn between relief and a surprising surge of disappointment.

I want to say something, anything, to make him stay as he crosses the room. But why would I want him to stay? We aren’t friends. We’re hardly acquaintances. Just two royals running in opposite directions in the same circles.

He pauses in the doorway but doesn’t turn back. Instead, he keeps one hand on the doorknob and lifts the other, running it roughly through his hair. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You deserve better, Seraf. Callum, as always, is being an idiot.”

I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to feel her guilt trip for not sharing my plans. Plus, I’m still hung up on the idea that she does know something she hasn’t told me.

Her sigh this time is deeper, bone-weary. “I knew that Callum wasn’t pleased about the arrangement.” Kill me now.

Someone, please, have the decency to run a sword through me or put poison in my coffee. Maybe drop an anvil on my head or a piano, like in one of those old cartoons. I wish the Elsinorian palace had a moat filled with crocodiles and a turret from which I could dive straight in.

I hate the word. It’s a luxury most royals don’t have. Other than those like Rafe, who have a title and money but no real power to wield, no throne overshadowing everything else. Money and power are like cages, or glass domes. Never have I felt this suffocating pressure as much as I do now.

Phillip is the heir and Callum the spare—he can exercise some freedom.

They actually wrote and signed a contract? I thought it was more of a casually spoken arrangement, not the legally binding kind. This makes everything feel so much worse.

Understanding washes over me with all the subtlety of a cold shower. He wasn’t a placeholder, some royal figure to be my date at an event. He was my parents’ backup plan all along.

Callum covers my hand with his, briefly, then pulls away. “That came out wrong. I just mean because we’re such good friends. You’re like family to me.”