Royally Rearranged (Sweet Royal RomCom, #1)

by Emma St. Clair

But maybe if he could only see me the way I’ve always seen him: as a best friend who could be more. We could be so perfect together. Maybe if Callum could look past the duty aspect of it all, he would see what I do … but then there’s the matter of Brit. As though summoned by my thoughts, she

Even Rafe, a man I hardly know or care to know, noticed when I was hungry and brought me a tray

of food. Rafe also recognized my heartbreak. But Callum is fooled by the thinnest veil, one I’m barely maintaining.

“Earth to Fi.” Callum takes my hand, and I wish he hadn’t. There’s still a part of me, despite everything, that longs for his touch, for him. But his fingertips are cool against my skin, and they don’t light a single spark of excitement or desire. I’m made of the same stone as the bench where we’re sitting.

I spin, crouching over him in the sand and finding those ticklish spots right on the sides of his rib cage. “Don’t you dare say innocent!” “I wasn’t—Fi! Stop!” His laughter deepens as he tries to fight me off, but the man is ridiculously ticklish and I refuse to let up. “Never!”

My tickling intensifies until he grabs my wrists in his strong hand and suddenly I’m flipped over on my back with Callum poised over me in the sand. My mood instantly shifts. He’s breathing heavy, smiling, his hair falling over his eyes as he gazes down on me. Desire hangs heavy over me, and I can’t drag my eyes away from Callum’s lips. We’re so close. This is one of those perfect scenes for a movie. He could just lean in, closing the distance, or I could—

I also look like I’m expecting. Even the uncomfortable one-piece shapewear that’s a corset style up top and bicycle shorts on the bottom does nothing. The weighty fabric hangs over the empire waist—belted with a gold cord used to hold back curtains, naturally—making it appear as though I’ve got a bun I’m trying very hard to hide in the oven.

Brit really might be an evil genius. She steals the prince, suffers two black eyes and twelve stitches in a swan attack, and then gets a princess to promote her dreadful line of dresses—all while potentially starting new royal baby rumors. Well played, Brit. Simply brilliant.

if you’re not married to someone titled by your father’s birthday—”

“Fine. According to your illustrious ancestors, you may marry anyone raised to peerage in any nation. From a prince or duke all the way down to a baron. Or whatever’s at the bottom. It gets confusing since the titles vary by country. Point being: pick a title, any title.”

Not according to my parents, whose standards apparently left only the Prince of Valdonia.

“Honestly, though. I’m surprised your families made this arrangement, considering how close Callum is in the line of succession.” She’s right, and honestly, I hadn’t thought too...

to King James and then to Phillip, before he had any heirs. It’s unlikely.” But not impossible. It would wreak havoc on both our kingdoms if Callum and I married and then something did happen to James and Phillip. I’m sure my paren...

I suspect my parents are going to have a hard time handing over the reins. But I don’t plan to be walked over.

As though sensing my protest rising in my throat, Kat holds up a hand. “No offense to your parents, but we can both agree they haven’t been helping the cause.”

My parents are not horrible people or bad rulers. They’re simply … detached. They don’t seem to consult or care about the people and they often make decisions without announcing them. And when it comes to modernizing anything, they simply refuse.

This goes for updating our mining practices or even considering the idea of opening up the palace for tours, two th...

Kat opens the door, and Callum steps through. He looks amazing in a black suit with the royal blue and gold military regalia of Elsinore. His smile falters when he sees me. He blinks much too fast as his gaze moves from the bottom of my dress upward. Right. For half a second, I forgot I was wearing drapes.

“Who am I wearing? This dress is from the American Homeland line created by up-and-coming designer Brit Malloy.” Did she have to be so literal with her designs

“Rafe,” I say through gritted teeth meant to emulate a smile. “How lovely to see you.” With hair as dark and shiny as a raven’s feather and eyes like sinful dark chocolate, Rafe de Silva is danger personified. Or, as Kat would likely say, sexy personified.

“Even lovelier to see you,” Rafe says, taking my hand. Without breaking eye contact, he presses his lips to my knuckles.

Rafe is like one of those itchy tags on the inside hem of a shirt, itchy and impossible to ignore. The best solution, obviously, is to cut it out. I’m not sure what kind of sharp blade will best rid me of Rafe.

He turns from Kat to give my dress a slow perusal. I feel even more exposed than I did walking down the grand staircase in front of the photographers. Wearing this thing is like having my own personal sauna. I swear the temperature underneath the fabric has risen ten degrees since Rafe has been standing here.

“What a unique dress,” he says to me, and his slow perusal makes me shiver. His fingers brush the material near my waist, and I bat his hand away. “Are these the drapes ...

He’s teasing, but it feels friendly and flirty somehow, not cutting. Still, I want to slap the smirk off his d...

“Any designer I know?” Rafe asks. “Perhaps one of Stella’s? Or Giorgio’s? Carolina’s?” Of course, Rafe is the kind of man who can name-drop designers. I perhaps should be more familiar, but I’ve let Kat act as my personal stylist for the past few years. She loves fashion, and I’d rather have one less thing to think about.

I’m sure Rafe is wearing one of those names he mentioned now. To me, men’s fashion is rather boring, but even so, Rafe wears the heel out of a suit. Not that I would ever tell him that. His ego would probably achieve liftoff and blast into space. “She’s up and coming,” I say.

“Actually,” Kat starts, and I don’t like the look in her eye, “Sera has a dress, but not a date to the ball.” Rafe arches an eyebrow. “Is that so?” “I don’t need a date,” I say through gritted teeth, narrowing my eyes at Kat. Kat’s eyes narrow right back. “You do need a date.”

Earlier in my room, I could have sworn that I saw a little bit of softness in Rafe. I must have been imagining it, because there are only rough edges to this man right now, and he’s rubbing against me like sandpaper.

“I simply promised to introduce Kat to the Viscount of Denbury, and I wanted to make sure she didn’t fall for your particular brand of charm first.” Rafe’s smug look turns positively insufferable. “You think I’m charming, Princess?” “I didn’t say that. I said you have a particular brand of charm.”

Rafe unbuttons his suit jacket, then spreads his arms wide, spinning in a slow circle. He even lifts his jacket with his back to us, and I wish I could say my eyes didn’t drop to his backside. Look away from the devil’s bum!

“Ouch!” she says, rubbing her side and giving me a narrow-eyed glare. “You looked too!” “Shut up!” I hiss. “Well?” Rafe asks, buttoning his jacket and looking far too pleased with himself. “Pass,” I say.

Rafe gives an exaggerated sigh. “Kitty Kat, put in a good word for me with Princess here, would you? She seems to think I’m some kind of devil.” “Oh, I know you’re some kind of devil,” Kat says. “Just a handsome one.”

Kat sighs, and we both watch his retreating form. As if he knows, Rafe flips the back of the jacket up, showing off his bum again. I scoff, but Kat giggles as he turns his head just enough to throw a wink our way.

I shake my head. “I feel like I need to take another shower.” Kat gives me a wicked smile. “So the duke does have an effect on you!” “Not that kind of effect! I don’t mean a cold shower! I meant to clean off from his slimy presence.”

I never did tell her how he stopped by my room. The whole thing seems like a dream, honestly—the playboy duke going out of his way to do something thoughtful for me. I’m not sure why I kept it to myself, but I’m certainly not going to tell her now. “I don’t know,” Kat muses. “Rafe seems different. And he defi...

“I’m just saying … you’re at a point where you should keep all viable options open.” “You’re considering Rafe as a viable option?” “He has a title. And a very nice—”

My stomach tightens with a sudden onslaught of nerves. The royal family has arrived.

The queen gives me a tight smile, which I return in kind. I’m not sure of where I stand with them, or where they are with my parents. I expect all of this to hit the fan when my parents arrive, unless I can sort it out first.

The king and queen are followed by Phillip. Where Callum is sunshine and smiles, the crown prince is serious to the point of being sour. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Phillip laugh. I must have witnessed a smile or two over the years, but for the life of me, I can’t picture it. He’s a tech genius, and I always feel like he’s designing microchips in his mind.

It’s easy to imagine him ruling responsibly over Elsinore, but he lacks all the warmth and personality that his parents and siblings have. He’ll be respected, but I wonder if he’ll be liked. This is only evidenced more as Callu...

He strides into the room smiling, and somehow looking even more handsome than he did when I left him upstairs not ten minutes ago. His blue eyes sparkle, his white teeth gleam, and light seems to exude from him. It’s almost as if he has a permanently atta...

When he catches my eye, he winks, and I feel a simultaneous lifting a...

I press my hand to my stomach as though that could quiet its churning. Callum’s two younger sisters are announced next and walk in together, hands clasped. Henrietta, aka Henri, and Juliet are more like Callum, but with wild streaks neither of their brothers possess. Despite being outspoken, Henri has a fairly good head on her shoulders, while Juliet is more like a lovely, wild horse. They look and act almost like twins, despite the year between them, and are each other’s best friends. They’ll need to find a matching set of brothers to marry someday.

At sixteen and seventeen now, they’re stunning young women and the picture of poise. I still remember them begging me to braid their hair while they talked my ear off about boys and school. They find me in the crowd and give me matching expressions of pity.

I’m sandwiched between Callum and the ancient and very deaf queen mother, with Rafe straight across from me. How did he earn a seat at the head table? As though reading my thoughts, he winks. This will be fun.

Callum leans close, and his proximity makes my head feel woozy, though I’m almost as aware of Rafe, whose gaze is fixed on me across the table. “Carrots—your favorite,” Callum says. “You remember?” “Of course. Hard to forget the time your mum forced you to eat them and they came back up.” Not helping my upset stomach. I set down my bread. “Lovely topic for dinner conversation,” Rafe says, and he must have bat hearing, because Callum was practically whispering in my ear. “I don’t think we were including you in it,” Callum says, and his mother frowns.

Over the years, the sense of unfriendly competition between these two has only gained momentum. Callum has always complained to me about Rafe, warning me away in no uncertain terms. But I wonder if there’s more to their history than Callum has shared with me.

“Serafina, do tell us about your studies,” the queen says, and I’m grateful for the question, which breaks up the tension. “We’re thinking of allowing the girls to go to uni,” the king adds. “We’d trust your judgment as to whether it’s a proper place for a princess, Serafina.” Henri and Juliet look at me with bright, pleading eyes. I can tell they’re clutching one another’s hands under the table. Probably because they’ve c...

Setting them loose at university might be the start of a Royals Gone Wild franchise. But given my current set of restrictions, I’m all for all the choices. “Yes,” Rafe says, “do tell us how you liked uni. You must have been a good girl, as I didn’t read much about you in the tabloids.” “Unlike some others at this table,” I fire back, realizing only after the words have left my mouth that they don’t just apply to Rafe but Callum as well. Beside me, Callum clears his throat and takes a sip of wine. Rafe’s smile widens...