Royally Rearranged (Sweet Royal RomCom, #1)

by Emma St. Clair

What exactly set me off just now? There are so many good choices. Was it seeing Seraf dancing with Callum and the look of dumb love on her face? Or when I got to hold her in my arms, pretending for a few moments that she was mine? Perhaps it was when she all but admitted to still loving the clueless prince. Or feeling her lips on mine—which really was such a gutsy and stupid and probably terrible move.

No—those moments may have factored in, but I think it was when I made it seem like my true feelings were an act, cheapening all my words and making them seem like pretense. And when Seraf called me on it, asking me what I wanted, I froze. That was my moment, and I choked.

I know why. It’s because no matter what happens here, my uncle has already poisoned it all with his favor. If I win Seraf over, it aligns with his goals, whatever they are. That can’t be good. And what...

The other option is what I told her—that I’d help her win Callum. I’m not sure what makes my stomach churn more. Especially because I know Seraf would probably be better off with the prince than me. “Are you out here gloating?” Callum’s voice brings a fraction of the tightness back to my chest. I drag...

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Cal.” I slide my hands into my pockets as I turn to face him, leaning against the wall and brushing my fingers over my mother’s ring. Callum stands a few feet off, looking ever like the Golden Boy, even in the moonlight. He’s the royal version of Captain America with all the blond hair and the square jaw and all those things that women seem to not just love but admire.

The reality is that down to his Disney prince heart, Callum is the real catch. No matter how much I want to hate him for being the one Seraf loves. “Serafina isn’t a competition, Rafe.”

He’s right, of course, and it’s clear my words have just confirmed what he thinks about me—that I’m trying to make Serafina’s affections into some kind of game, treating her as less than a person. I shrug, giving him an easy grin that I know will drive him mad. “Okay.”

He steps closer, crossing his arms over his chest. The anger and jealousy practically leak out of his pores. I hate it because it reveals the depths of his feelings for Seraf. But...

For years, I’ve wondered if he was in love with Seraf, the same way she clearly is with him. How could he not love her? I fell for her the first time I met her, when we were just children. Within mom...

Metaphorically, obviously, and she’s held it ever since. She has no idea, of course. That’s the thing about her. She’s winsome and charismatic, like a star burning so bright you can’t ...

Seraf is as angelic as her name. Gorgeous, with the kind of beauty that shines through from somewhere deep inside. Yeah, I know. That sounds like straight out of a cheesy love story. The thing is, it’s true. She’s also a little goofier than she lets on, has a sharp wit I’ve only just started to see her unleash, and has managed public humiliation with ...

And maybe I know all these things only from afar, since she’s never let me get close. But every moment I do spend with her only confirms my theories and deepens the feelings I have for her. Why can’t Callum see any of that? He doesn’t seem to. And yet, he won’t let anyone else have her. Least of all, me. “You can’t play with her,” Callum continues. “She isn’t one of your conquests.” “And you’d know about conquests, wouldn’t you? Seems you’ve been having your own this past year. Quite a change for the...

Hearing him talk makes my gut lurch. Is that how I used to sound? Is that really how I lived? Because being here, in such close radius to Serafina, all of that seems like such a cheap imitation, so incomparable with what she has to offer. I’...

Despite his callous words, he’s not living so differently to most men our age. No matter what he says, it doesn’t seem like Callum. My best guess—and maybe this is the therapy talking—is that something triggered his own streak of playboy behavior.

He’ll settle. And when he does, he’ll finally see what’s right in front of him. I just need to help nudge him in the right direction. Not because the dummy deserves it, but because it’s what’s best for Seraf. Isn’t that love? Wanting what’s best for the other person, even if it breaks your heart?

Plus, there’s the fact that Uncle wants me to break them apart. And anything that’s good for him is bad for me. Bad for everyone, really. His text from a few hours ago flashes through my mind: Hope you’ve made some he...

So, despite what I really want, I’ll don my Team Callum shirt and help the woman I love get the man she deserves. I’ll be the good guy, the hero, while casting myself as the villain. I raise my eyebrows. “Now you’ve brought home an American to meet the king and queen—interesting choice.”

“You actually care about her, then? I wasn’t sure. Not with the way you were looking at Seraf earlier.” The punch isn’t wholly unexpected, yet it still knocks me off-balance.

I groan, straightening up and rubbing my jaw. “Nice one. I’m sure Seraf would be impressed.” He points a finger at me. “Don’t you call her that.” “I can’t talk about Brit. I can’t say Seraf’s name. Any other women you need to claim just so I can’t? You’re the one who just told me this wasn’t a competition. Yet you’re acting like that’s exactly what it is. Maybe the rumors aren’t true about the arranged marriage between you and Seraf.”

“I will never be forced into an arranged marriage.” Each of his words is spoken with a fierce conviction. I tilt my head. “Even when it’s Serafina?” “Especially when it’s Fi.” His lips curl. “I wouldn’t ruin our friendship with some farce of a wedding our parents chose for us. But just because I’m not marrying her, that doesn’t mean you can step in. My warning still holds—stay away from her.” “You still think I’m that bad?”

“All my judgments of you come from experience.” True. What Callum knows of me from school is a spoiled brat, someone who cared little for others and rested on his titles and privilege rather than trying to live up to those things and possibly deserve them.

Sure, maybe a lot of my behavior over the years is due to losing my family and my uncle’s poisoning influence. I was a mess masquerading as a guy who had it all together without a care in the world. But whatever my reasons, whatever my baggage, I take responsibility. I still made choices—many wrong choices. Can I blame Callum or anyone else for seeing only my past? I could try to tell Callum how I’ve changed—about my breakdown, my therapy, the changes I’ve made ...

I don’t know. I would disappear to my duchy, but if I don’t perform for Uncle, I won’t have that for long. He’ll find a way to turn the conservatorship into ownership. Of that, I have no doubt. “You’re really not going to marry her?” “I don’t need to explain my actions to you,” Callum says. “You might want to explain them to Seraf. She seemed pretty surprised about Brit at the tennis match. Perhaps a little disappointed.” That’s putting it mildly. I saw her heartbreak, even if Callum didn’t notice. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this big dolt standing in front of me isn’t what’s best for her. But he’s still what she wants. She told you so.

“I’ve told you before—stay away from her! Don’t say her name! Don’t touch her! Don’t look at her! Don’t fill her head with your lies!” He is right in front of me now, his finger poking me in the chest. Everything in me wants to rise to this occasion, to return shout for shout, to curl my hands into fists the way I would have—and did—in the past. Instead, I turn the ring over and over in my pocket, trying to keep my focus there, to keep myself grounded in the moment, to remember who I am and who I’m pretending to be.

“You. Don’t. Care. About. Her.” Callum pokes me once more in the chest, then steps back. “You only care about yourself.” I walk up to a hornet’s nest and take a swing. “And what if I’m not lying? What if I actually do care about her?”

A sense of calm seems to wash over him suddenly, and Callum steps back, pacing away from me, dragging his hands through his hair before striding back to me, keeping a bit more of a distance now, as though he doesn’t trust himself to be close. “It won’t matter,” Callum says, his voice so low and quiet I can hardly hear him. “She knows who you are. And you could never be the kind of man who...

A man who has been so cowardly as to love someone from a distance and never tell her. But is C...

My heart seems to be fighting its way out of my chest and right up my throat. I slide Mother’s ring up to the knuckle on my finger, feeling the way circulation stops. I wait a few moments, then slide it off and pull my hands from my pockets. I head back toward the palace, bumping Callum’s shoulder lightly with my own as I pass him. “It seems that the decision is really up to Sera...

He says nothing, and I push open the door back into the palace, wishing I could believe that if it came dow...

As always, Rafe leaves me disconcerted and uncomfortable. Kat’s laugh pulls my mind away from the k-i-you-know-what. I spin to face her. “What?” “You’re imagining it, aren’t you? Replaying the moment his lips—”

“Rafe kissed you, and it was short but HOT.”

Kat tosses her tablet down on the chaise where she’s made her home for the past hour while we pored over my parents’ dossier on the potential husbands for me.

“Seems like you’ve dodged a lot of bullets,” Kat says. “But there’s one more on the list.” I throw my arm over my eyes as she picks up the tablet again. “I’m not sure I can take any more! I know too much!” Kat clears her throat. “It’s Rafe.”

“I’m not sure what your parents have dug up on him, but I think Rafe is a surprisingly decent man. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and despite what he said, I don’t think it’s an act or a game. I think he has feelings for you.”

The thought makes a thrill zip through me. “But he made it sound like it was all for show. To make Callum jealous. Which doesn’t even make any sense. Why would he want to help me with Callum?” “I can’t answer that, but I agree—his words and actions don’t line up. He wants you.” “But—” Kat swipes a hand through the air. “No more buts. Read his file … or don’t. But I hope either way, you’ll consider that Callum may not be your only—or even your best—choice.”

I realize I’m tracing his lips in the photo, like a total creeper. Maybe reading his file will help me not keep replaying that k-i-s-s over and over. If there’s something incriminating in here, maybe I’ll stop feeling all these swooping things in my belly that I refuse to call butterflies. It’s INDIGESTION. And this file could be like my antacid to settle me once and for all. Taking a breath, I begin to read.

Rafe. I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes closed. Can I face him right now? Though the information on his file wasn’t remotely incriminating, it tilted my world on its axis, or maybe tilted my heart. If my feelings for the duke were confusing before, they’re even more so now. One thing reading it did NOT do was remove the swooping, winged creatures in my belly. Or the way I’m instantly more aware of my lips at the sound of his voice.

Even with my back to Rafe, I can sense him approaching. I turn to face him, wincing as I do. Even with the donut pillow, I keep forgetting my injuries—at least, until I move. “Angel,” he says by way of greeting. “Devil.” I need to pretend like everything is normal. Like he didn’t kiss me last night and then basically take it back. Like I don’t know things about his past I shouldn’t know.

He looks, as always, handsome, and also, as always, like there’s a private joke I’m not privy to. Underneath all the things I’m feeling at the sight of Rafe, there’s an understanding that wasn’t there before. And guilt, because I know things I shouldn’t know about this man.

“I like you in glasses,” Rafe says. I forgot I had on my blue-light glasses I wear when on my laptop. Immediately, I rip them off and toss them on the desk as though they’re covered in spiders. Rafe opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up a finger. “Don’t you dare say a word about a sexy librarian.”

“Sexy librarian?” He tilts his head to the side. “I guess I can see that. I was thinking more along th...

Rafe could move now that the laptop is closed. He should move. But he doesn’t. He is right up in my space, caging me in with a hand on the back of my chair and one on the desk.

Being this close to Rafe certainly is like standing near an incinerator. Being this close means I also notice what appears to be bruising around his jaw. “Did you get into a fight?” “It’s nothing.” It’s not nothing, but before I can continue in my line of questioning, he continues. “I’d love to hear your thoughts,” he says, and if that statement weren’t enough to distract me from the bruise he doesn’t want to talk about, his breath warm on my cheek does the trick.

Rafe chuckles, pushing off the desk to move away. Does it mean my brain is broken that I immediately miss his close proximity? Probably. Brain damage from spreadsheets. Or from Rafe’s presence. Having him near me is like putting a magnet next to a compass. My needle has completely lost true north. I don’t turn to see what he’s doing but keep my eyes firmly trained on my closed laptop.

“The spreadsheets were a clue. But I know you have thoughts because you’re brilliant.” My cheeks warm with his praise.

bet you’ve been thinking about this all through uni. Your majors, French literature aside, were directly related to hot-button issues for Viore. I’d be willing to hedge my bets that you took some environmental science courses as well. Ones that maybe gave you food for thought on how to handle the sustainability and environmental standards of Viore’s copper mining.” How does he know that?

“How did you know all that? My parents don’t even know.” He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “Why not?” Because they wouldn’t believe I have something to offer, for one. My parents do love me, but they have a very firm set of expectations for me which are, at best, limiting. At worst? They’re sexist and patronizing.

Even if I spoke with them about the policies I’ve drafted and what I’m planning to include in my coronation speech, my position is far from theirs.

My dad pooh-poohs the idea of anything environmental, writing it off as nonsense. And as for my ideas of how to modernize Viore, how to rebrand the monarchy in ways that would shut ...

“They’ll hear my ideas soon enough,” I say, sounding defensive to my own ears. “I’d love to hear them now,” Rafe says. “C...