Royally Rearranged (Sweet Royal RomCom, #1)

by Emma St. Clair

When have I ever really let myself FEEL like this? It’s incredibly freeing, even if it hurts. The lessons on being a proper princess, on presenting the perfect image, may have struck too deep. I’ve caged myself, more than the rules and stipulations ever have. Even in private, even amongst those I trust. I really have been an Ice Princess. Like Elsa from the movie, I’ve made conceal don’t feel my motto. And I’m sick of it!

Now, they feel like the truest sounds I’ve ever made. This feels like the best kind of therapy. That is, until a voice and movement from the shadows makes whatever’s left of my heart stop beating. I gasp. “Feel better?” Rafe. Recognizing his voice doesn’t stop me from reacting in a panic. I jolt, losing my balance, and find myself tumbling heels over head off the sofa backwards. I land bum-first with a crash and a crunch on what is—or was—probably an antique coffee table covered in expensive trinkets. Based on the pain radiating from my nether regions, what feels like broken glass or wood splinters are now embedded in my arse.

Rafe’s dark chuckle matches his dark shadow, looming over me. “I wanted to have an effect on you,” he says. “Just not this kind. Here, let me help.” The last thing I want is help from this man.

“You’re like a vampire,” I spit, “always lurking about in dark shadows, emerging only to frighten innocent young women.” “I’ve been called worse,” Rafe says. “Take my hand, Angel.”

refuse, slapping him away. The pain in my arse has removed any sense of decorum or patience. It feels like a burning porcupine has quilled me in the butt. And I don’t want to even think about what I’ve broken. Everything in the palace is either some kind of h...

Rafe, of course, looks every bit as composed as he did earlier. Though I still see amusement in the tilt of his lips, there’s concern in his eyes. “Are you hurt, Angel?” “Stop calling me that. I’m no angel!” He clears his throat. “Serafina, let me help you. Please.” Something about hearing my full name on his lips makes me obey. Or maybe it’s the please. Possibly just the fact that I actually do need help.

He pulls me to my feet, and as he does, I feel a slight tug, hear a rip, and suddenly I’m falling into Rafe’s arms, feeling much lighter than I was moments ago.

We both freeze, eyes locked and faces inches from each other. His hands are warm on my lower back, and I’m clutching his—for the record, very nice—biceps. Cool air touches my skin in far too many places. I close my eyes and speak first. “My dress is gone, isn’t it?” His eyes flick down and then immediately back up. “Yes.”

“I think we could blame Brit for being such a terrible designer. Or perhaps the king and queen, for not having sturdier furnishings. I plan to leave the palace a strongly worded two-star review.” A laugh bursts out of me, and I rest my forehead on Rafe’s shoulder while my shoulders shake. But even this movement makes me more aware of the painful splinters.

“I’m only commenting on the dress, Seraf. Even in something so obviously a travesty of so-called fashion, you still look beautiful.” Oh. “Don’t look so suspicious of my compliment.” “Who said I’m suspicious?” “I can read you better than you think.”

A beat goes by in which he studies my face. I tell myself that I’m letting Rafe continue to hold me close because the moment I jerk away, he’ll see the ridiculous undergarments I'm wearing, and I’ll never hear the end of it. But it’s surprisingly nice being in Rafe’s arms.

His smile widens, and his voice is soft. “You’re thinking that the moment I let my guard down, you’re going to kick me in my crown jewels.”

He’s remarkably accurate, and I stifle another laugh. “Well done, Rafe. Maybe you do know me better than I thought. Now. Why did you come here?” “Not to get you out of your dress,” he says, and then his eyes take on a devilish twinkle. “At least, not like this.” “Rafe,” I hiss. His expression gentles into something more sincere, and his hands flex on my back. “I came to apologize.” Not at all what I was expecting...

“Well, now I’m amassing a list. I truly didn’t mean to scare you or to make you fall through a table. But I came to apologize for hurting you with my words about Callum. I know you’ve been hurting, and I didn’t mean to hurt you even more. I just hoped you’d see for once …” I’m almost desperate to hear the words he doesn’t say. “See what?” He shakes his head and meets my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I know you’re hurting, and I twisted the knife even more. Forgive me?” “Why do you care if ...

I make Rafe wait another moment, which seems only fitting, despite the new way I’m starting to see him. “I forgive you.” His shoulders slump with relief. “Thank you.” He looks thoughtful for a long moment, maybe even a little sad. “You really love Callum, don’t you?” I drop my gaze to his shoulder and the deep black of his suit. “I suppose I always have.”

When I think back over my conversations with Callum since I arrived, I’m also beginning to question how well I truly know Callum, or if he even knows me. My “love” in hindsight now seems … thin. More like a fairy tale, a childish dream, than anything substantial. “That’s what I thought,” Rafe says, and I should correct him.

“You’re in nothing worse than a bathing suit. Probably a little more coverage, actually.”

He’s right, though there’s something far more embarrassing about being exposed in my shapewear. It feels more intimate somehow, even if the one-piece undergarment has more fabric than a bikini. My cheeks are positively flaming. No man has seen me in any undergarments. Ever. And this is Rafe … who has likely seen countless women in much less. Things that were sexy, for show, not meant to smooth over any imperfections. I laugh, and it sounds more than a little bitter. “Honestly, this is probably more than you’re used to seeing women wearing.”

“I honestly think I’m going to need a physician.” “Is it that bad? I’m so sorry, Seraf. Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Probably because I got caught up in bantering—flirting?—with Rafe. A fact that makes me feel even more intensely embarrassed. “Please. Tell me what I can do to help you. The last thing I want is to see you hurt. Especially at my hand.”

I’m seeing the Rafe behind the mask. And it’s so much harder to resist than his charm. I can resist flirtation and see it for what it is. This? A man who honestly cares enough to seek me out when I’m nursing a broken heart? It’s enough to shatter my defenses completely.

Except I’m supposed to be winning Callum, not falling for Rafe. And it’s not like Rafe is even interested in me. He’s being a friend, at best. This is what friends do for one another. Or … maybe not. Maybe I’m just being bewitched. Watch out for Rafe, Callum told me earlier. He’s up to something.

shake my head and attempt a small smile. “Who is this serious, responsible guy, and what did he do with the playboy devil?” Rafe’s grin is slow, and it makes my stomach flip. “Aw, Angel. Did you make the mistake of typecasting me into just one role? You should know I can play many parts.” “I guess I’m starting to see you in a new way. I’m not sure who you are.” Rafe leans closer, and for just this moment, his breath on my cheek makes me forget all about my pain, my undergarments, and Callum. “I’ll be anyone you want me to be, Angel.”

Before he can move away, I move up on tiptoes to be closer to his ear, despite the twinges of pain. I’m not sure what makes me do it, other than an urge to see if I can throw Rafe off the same way he’s done to me.

“Right now,” I tell him, smelling the woodsy spice of his cologne, “I need you to be the man who calls the royal physician to help pull shards of glass and wood from my bum.” He begins to chuckle, and it’s at that very moment when Callum bursts through the door, a royal guard in tow, The Dane looking sheepish. I gasp, realizing at once how compromising this position looks, Rafe and I in each other’s arms, me in ...

Possibly the only thing worse than falling through a coffee table and getting splinters and shards of porcelain and crystal in your bum is having a physician cut off your shapewear, then remove the pieces one by one with a pair of tweezers. It’s been thirty minutes, and I swear the man will never finish. I guess it’s true that I don’t do things by halves. Kat watches from a chair in the corner like I’m the evening’s entertainment, eating some kind of crisps she procured from who knows where. If she were a gif, she’d be the one of Michael Jackson throwing popcorn in his mouth, grinning.

had an emotional breakdown, broke a table, then had Callum burst in on a moment that looked far more intimate than it was. Callum and Rafe almost came to blows, pulled apart only by The Dane, who was then pulled off by Callum’s personal protection officer. (At least, Callum’s PPO attempted to pull The Dane off. I’m pretty sure The Dane let himself be removed as he’s got a good foot in height and girth on Callum’s man.)

“See who it is!” I hiss at Kat. “But under no circumstances are you to let anyone inside this room!” There may be a curtain hiding my backside, but there’s no hiding the rest of me. She opens the door a tiny crack. “What do you want?” I assume by Kat’s tone of voice that she’s speaking to Rafe and I drop my head into my hands. “Just let him in,” I say. But it’s a golden-blond head of hair that peeks through the door. I swallow, and a whole host of nerves zip through me. Kat steps aside to let Callum walk inside. He gives me a shy smile, his eyes flashing concern.

The crown prince has great forearms. Whoop-de-do. They don’t compare to Rafe’s biceps. That thought jolts me, and I almost drop my hold on the front of the gown.

“Just an antique table that’s two hundred years old.” I groan, dropping my head to the table. “What else?” “Only a few small trinkets, really.” “Such as? How small? What’s their worth?”

“A ceramic tea set from the King of Spain that was a gift for my nana’s wedding. No worries.” “I broke an irreplaceable wedding gift from the now-dead Spanish king? But, sure. I won’t worry.”

With a casual tone that sounds a little forced, Callum says, “I have to ask—what were you doing with Rafe? It looked rather … cozy.”

“I fell through the table. Rafe helped me up.” Callum’s eyes drop down, taking in the bare skin on display. Every exposed inch breaks out into goose bumps at his gaze. His cheeks turn pink and his lips tighten as he meets my eyes again. Kat is grinning in the corner. “And what happened to your dress?” he asks. “When I fell, the fabric caught on broken pieces of the table. It sort of ripped off when I stood.”

Only … I’m no longer certain how I feel. Earlier, when Rafe asked if I loved Callum, there was a tiny whispered voice that felt a lot like truth. And it said no.

For the second time that night, a door flies open, interrupting a moment. Rafe, looking disheveled and distraught bursts inside the small exam room. The Dane and Callum’s PPO are right on his heels, looking like they want to kill each other as much as Rafe. The room is hardly large enough for all these men or all the testosterone.

Kat grins delightedly, and the physician frowns from around the curtain. “You can’t all be in here,” he says. “Remove him,” Callum says to his protection officer. “He stays,...

The Dane gives me a nod of his square jaw, and he follows the other officer out. The moment they’ve gone, Rafe removes his jacket, draping it over my shoulders as he gives me the strangest embrace of my life.

It’s hard to be hugged when you’re lying on a table, trying to hold a thin gown over your otherwise naked body while a man behind a curtain is pulling Spanish royal porcelain from your derrière. Still, I appreciate the coverage of Rafe’s jacket, and the warmth of his embrace. His lips find my ear and I almost squeal. My eyes are probably like saucers, and Callum’s look like he could start a world war with the anger brewing in his. “Just go along with it,” Rafe whispers. And then he brushes his lips over mine in the quickest, most shocking, and somehow hottest kiss of my life.

If I weren’t still holding my gown and now his jacket in place, I would have grabbed Rafe by his shirt front and pulled him back for another. Because you can’t just kiss someone like that! And you can’t just STOP kissing someone like that! What does it mean? And how did he manage to put so much tenderness,...

try to regain some semblance of control, but it’s nearly impossible. My cheeks are flaming red, my breath short, and my lips are aching for more contact. My eyes meet Callum’s, and if I wondered if he looked jealous before, I have no doubt now. His gaze is heated enough to start a fire as he turns to glare at Rafe. Kat leans forward in her chair, and I can almost hear her chanting, Fight! Fight! Fight!

“I’m so sorry,” he says, tracing a fingertip over my cheek. “Are you all right? I’ve been so worried. I would have been here sooner, but they wouldn’t let me back to see you.” “That’s twice you’ve gotten by The Dane. Perhaps I need to up my security.” “Perhaps when it comes to you, I won’t let anything hold me back.” Rafe’s words aren’t teasing, not like mine were. If anything, his tone and his eyes are intensely serious.

Callum interrupts my racing thoughts. “More like, when it comes to getting what you want, you’ll stop at nothing. No matter who gets hurt in the process. Look where we are.” “It wasn’t Rafe’s fault,” I protest, unsure why I’m defending him. Technically, it was his fault, even if it were an accident.

“Thank you, doctor, for that most thorough update,” Rafe says, and I can hear the smile in his voice even before I glare up at him. “And for taking such good care of my Seraf.” My Seraf. It shouldn’t thrill me to hear him say that. This is all some kind of elaborate game or prank. I’m just not sure who’s winning, who’s losing, and who’s being pranked. “Rafe,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I’ll take care of her from here,” Rafe says. He holds out a hand to Callum, as if to say, no hard feelings, old buddy, old pal. Callum practically sneers at Rafe’s extended hand, glances at me one more time with an inscrutable look, and leaves the room. The door slams behind him. “Bravo!” Kat says, clapping as Rafe bows. “And … scene,” Rafe says. “Convincing, no?” My stomach dips. These last few minutes—which I guess were some kind of performance—almost had me convinced.

Rafe grins. “If you didn’t notice, Callum is burning up with jealousy.” “Practically a molten lava river of jealousy,” Kat agrees. I scoff. “Callum’s just angry because he hates you.”

A few days ago, I hated Rafe too. That feels like a much simpler time and a much simpler emotion than the conflicted tangle of things I feel for the man whose jacket is still draped over my shoulders. “It’s true,” Rafe agrees. “He can’t stand me, and he most especially can’t stand the idea of you with me.” “Yes, but—” “Seraf, I may be your best bet to help you win your prince. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Isn’t it?

My lips are still buzzing from his kiss. Which was … just for show? I definitely bought it. No wonder Callum did. And Rafe did and said all this because he thinks I want Callum. What if I don’t want Callum? What if I want someone else? “Is that what you want?” I’m not sure where the question came from, but it sounds strangled and hangs in the air like a spectre.

Rafe’s mouth opens, then closes. His brown eyes glow with an intensity I feel echoed in the very center of my chest. His jaw tightens, as though he’s straining to hold back his words, or maybe to compose them. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs.

As I stride away from the medical rooms in the palace, I find myself tugging roughly at the buttons of my shirt. I just need … air. Space. Something. Everything feels too tight, from my suit to my skull. It’s like a set of walls are slowly and almost imperceptibly closing in on me. I make a beeline for double doors leading to one of the many terraces and push outside, taking deep breaths of early summer air. What did I just do? Did I really just kiss Seraf—and then make it seem like I was only trying to help stir Callum’s jealousy? “You really are a Royal Rogue.”

I say the words out loud, because I need to hear them. I’m a verbal processor, and with few people in my life I could trust until my therapist, I’ve got years’ worth of bottled-up feelings to let out. Which apparently translates into talking to myself on palace terraces nearing midnight.

Usually, that object is the ring I always keep in my pocket. But it was my mother’s wedding ring, and right now, I’m not sure I could handle the reminders it brings.