Only A Night With A Billionaire (Only Us Billionaire Romance Book 2) Page 7

  She sat up in bed in a cold sweat. She crossed the room to get a breath of fresh air when she heard the door leading to the hall open. She froze. Was Addie checking on her or was someone else snooping? She’d hid her wallet with all the information about her identity away but what if someone found it? She tucked into the shadows by the drapes hanging from the four-poster bed.

  The light of a phone swept the room as the person crept toward the hearth and then crossed to the dressing table. The light beamed when they turned around and stalked toward the closet.

  Penny’s breath was shallow and her heart thundered. Perhaps it was a guard, checking on the valuables. She didn’t dare move and was glad the blankets on the bed were lumpy and looked like she was still under them.

  Then Penny worried it was a thief, out to take the jewels the queen had so graciously loaned her. Torn, she didn’t know what to do. Confront the sneak? The guard? Cry for help?

  She wrung her hands and all she could hear was the pulse in her ears until the sound of something breaking interrupted the otherwise silent night.

  Without thinking, she crossed the room, but the person slipped into the hall. Penny peered left and right but the hallway was empty, dim. She threw on the lights but everything in the room and her closet was as she’d left it.

  She suspected someone in the palace was on to her. Perhaps they thought the real Penelope hired an impersonator or Penny, an outsider, had somehow infiltrated the royal gentry.

  It was time to leave despite Oliver saying it wasn’t easy to escape the palace. She’d figure out something. She stuffed her belongings in her bag. As she changed into the clothes she’d arrived in, she thought about their meeting in the hall and how the flirtation in his smirk, the sparkle in his eyes like he enjoyed what he saw, and the low tones in his voice made her shiver and feel warm all over at the same time.

  She needed some crush-be-gone spray to get him out of her system like she’d jokingly used back in high school. Leaving was the only other option. Like the prowler who’d been in her room, she too snuck into the hall.

  The palace was like a maze with its many long corridors, doors, and rooms. Penny took several wrong turns, passed a door behind which there issued terrible snoring, another with someone giggling, and a third with a shaft of light spilling into the hall. As she hurried by, the light brightened, and then someone with a dreamy British accent that was slightly rough at that late hour called her name. “Penelope?”

  As she turned, she slid her bag behind her back.

  “Are you sleepwalking or sneaking to the kitchen for a midnight snack? If that’s the case, I’ll join you.” He stepped closer and wore a pair of joggers and a T-shirt that hugged the muscles hidden under the suits and formal attire he typically wore. His biceps were toned and the muscles rippled as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  She stiffened.

  He moved even closer and leaned in so she caught the clean, fresh scent of his recent shower.

  “Or are you running away?”

  With his close proximity, her breathing was suddenly something she had to think about. Inhale, exhale. “Robbing a cookie bank?” she ventured, recalling her dream. How was she going to explain the situation in a way he’d understand? She wasn’t a gold digger like her mother. She didn’t want to upset the queen and she’d gotten so deep into the role she wasn’t sure how to get out of it.

  “Is everything alright? Are you homesick? Is the pressure too much because if so, trust me, I understand. But there’s no use running away from who you are. It always has a way of catching back up. I know this first hand.” His voice was that low whisper, that lullaby that soothed her.

  “It’s just that I’m not meant to be here.”

  “The queen told me stories of her sister, how she was flighty, free-spirited. I understand that you may feel like you don’t belong here but you do. Just as much, no, more so than Genevieve. Did she get under your skin?” Oliver looked both ways down the hall and then said, “We can talk if you’d like to step inside.” He gestured into his suite.

  “Are we allowed in each other’s rooms?” The thought of being in his space, alone, at night, made her think of things that put boys before baking. But she couldn’t deny the feeling that fizzed inside either.

  Oliver chuckled. “Officially, not until marriage. It’s old-fashioned but unofficially it might be better to talk in there than out here in case anyone overhears.”

  “Maybe for a minute,” she said, hesitantly before crossing the threshold and setting her bag down by the door. If she stood in the hall any longer someone was bound to pass and ask what was going on.

  The suite was enormous, possibly triple the size of hers. More like an apartment. It was decorated in the rich style of the palace with antique furniture, woodwork, and gold details, but there were also touches of a boy, a teen, and a young man: a kite strung up on the ceiling, a soccer pennant, and a basketball hoop on the back of a door. There were also stacks of books everywhere.

  “Liverpool fan?” She pointed to a soccer poster.

  Oliver nodded. “Practically from birth. My mother was from Liverpool. You said you played football, which is your team?”

  “I played soccer—”

  “Same ball.” He winked, lighting her up inside.

  “I’ve never been to a professional game. I guess I never had a team.”

  “We should do something to remedy that. As it stands, I suggest Liverpool.” His smile was irresistibly cocky.

  She felt warm all over. The fire that crackled in the hearth didn’t help. Above the mantle was a framed painting of a couple, a king and queen, holding a baby.

  She gazed at it, awash with sadness that Oliver lost his parents at such a young age.

  “Ah, mother and father.” His voice held a warm fondness.

  “And you,” she added.

  “It’ll return to the castle with us. Me. I mean. The painting.” He swallowed hard. “The queen thought it would be nice to have them looking over me while I was here.”

  “I bet you miss them.” She wondered about her own father often: if he was a kind man, generous, caring. Probably not, considering he’d ditched her mom and two babies. Then again, her mother wasn’t particularly amiable unless wealth was involved.

  “I didn’t get a chance to know them. They were killed in a train wreck, but they were together and that’s what’s important.”

  “You don’t remember anything about them?”

  Oliver shrugged. “I’ve seen videos and what struck me most was how they made each other smile and laugh. It was obvious they were in love.” Oliver went quiet as though pondering something.

  Both of his parents gazed lovingly at him in the painting. His father’s arm was around his mother’s shoulders as she held the baby.

  The rush of the last days hit her then as she sat by the warm fire, once again with Oliver, Prince Oliver. He made her smile. She’d made him laugh. But it was all fake and she felt terrible.

  “Oliver, I know your parents would want that for you—a love like the one they shared.”

  “Unfortunately, even the ruler has to follow the rules and an arranged marriage is the one I will enter.”

  “But in this process don’t you get a say at all who’s picked among the royals-in-waiting?”

  He squinted. “The queen is my guardian until I’m king and she has the final say.”

  “But you’re an adult.”

  “It’s written in the Concordian Articles. Had my parents survived, I would’ve served under them until I married.”

  “A bride of your choosing.”

  “Of our choosing. For instance, if I selected someone like Genevieve, they would’ve stepped in and guided me differently.”

  “But you don’t think the queen will?”

  “Like a good monarch, she’s thinking about what will be the best alliance between our nations. If I’d been left in the care of the queen of Sweden, she likely would’ve picked a group of Swe
dish royals-in-waiting and assessed to see which is the best match for our countries. You see?”

  “I do but—”

  “But you object. I do too. I believe in love. True love. Like my parents had.”

  Penny’s heart swooped and dove into her stomach, plunging her depths of what she knew to be right, honest, and real. She opened her mouth to spill the truth because she owed him that much.

  Oliver’s gaze dipped to her lips and he bit his own.

  At that one look, she melted inside. Her resolve and thoughts turned to goo. The muscle in her chest was on overload. Warmth radiated from the inside out.

  He stepped closer, close enough that his breath whispered across her cheek.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and closed her eyes. This was her chance to come clean before things went further.

  “I should—” she started.

  “We should—” he said.

  Her legs felt wobbly and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to move if she wanted to. She felt a swoon coming on and her breath caught.

  “Penelope.” He inhaled as he leaned closer.

  Just then, from the hall, came the sound of smashing glass, startling them both.

  Oliver sunk back and scrubbed his hand down his face. “There she goes again.”

  “There who goes?”

  “Genevieve. She paces outside my door at all hours, probably hoping I’ll invite her in.”

  “But that’s against the rules.” Penny panicked, wondering how she was going to get back to her room or out of the palace for that matter. There was a checkpoint going in, surely there was one going out.

  “I suppose I’m willing to break the rules, occasionally.”

  She didn’t want Genevieve to have any other dirt on her if she discovered Penny had been in Oliver’s room late at night. That was a recipe for drama.

  “Where were you really going, anyway?” Oliver asked, eyeing her bag. Then he held up his hands. “Wait, don’t tell me. The less I know the better off I am.”

  Her shoulders involuntarily dropped.

  “About your sneaking around—the cookie bandit—, not about you in general.” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

  “I should go though.” Her pulse throbbed. Her breath was unreliable. She wanted something she shouldn’t want. She’d never have.

  “Regretfully.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was a question or if he regretted her departure. Parts of her, most of her, did regret having to leave but the other part regretted going to the palace in the first place because she was in a situation she didn’t know how to get out of.

  “Good thing I know this palace inside and out.” He opened a door that passed through a closet. On the other side was another hallway. “Secret entrance. Now, if you go that way and down three doors, you’ll be at your suite.”

  They each stood against one side of the doorframe. If he’d been a regular boy, she’d long for a kiss goodnight. But he was a prince and she was just a regular girl.

  “I’ll make sure you get in alright.”

  “I’m sure I’ll manage.” As she turned to leave their hands brushed.

  Oliver’s fingers traced over hers as though telling her he wanted to hold her hand or maybe she just imagined it. But the tingles there lingered, tracing lines of electric attraction up her arm, into her chest, and then her belly as she cast him one last gaze over her shoulder as he stood in the doorway with a charming smile on his lips.

  And just like that, Penny’s escape was thwarted and she returned to her room. She checked under the bed and in the closet but no one was sneaking around or hiding. Nonetheless, she turned on all the lights and went back to sleep with them blazing as brightly as the yearning in her heart.

  Chapter 10

  Oliver

  Oliver flopped into bed but he didn’t pull up the coverings. He was hot, blazing, filled with longing. For Penelope by his side. To hear her sweet voice. To smell her fresh and cocoa-filled scent. For her eyes on him. Her touch. Her lips.

  He couldn’t get her out of his mind. And to his surprise, he didn’t want to.

  When he woke in the morning, her presence remained in the room. Her eyes had flitted among his belongings. Did she wonder about him too?

  As he went about getting ready and preparing for another day spent with the royals-in-waiting, he felt like she was still there by the hearth as she looked warmly at the painting of his parents.

  As he exited to the hall, he detected her by the door, on the edge of fleeing and staying.

  She was everywhere but with him. He needed to do something to change that but could he convince the queen?

  His valet waited with an agenda for the day, outlining the blocks of time allotted for each of the girls. He wouldn’t see Penelope until two pm and his heart sank. It felt like an impossibly long time. It also felt impossible. He had a no-royals rule. Perhaps he was just smitten, taken by her exotic, adventurous spirit. Probably after adjusting to royal life, she’d become like the rest of the women he’d dated: boring, condescending, and elitist.

  Odelia met him after breakfast along with Winston.

  “What do you have planned for me today?” he asked. “Something exciting or daring?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Let me try again.” He cleared his throat. “It’s eight am and I am here to spend the day with you, Odelia, doing an activity of your choosing. What’ll it be?”

  She smiled and shrugged.

  Winston stepped forward. “It was rather difficult to make the decision but ultimately, she opted for a movie, Sir.”

  “In the morning? Unconventional, but the chairs in the palace theater are comfortable.” After his unexpected rendezvous with Penelope, he hadn’t gotten the best sleep. Perhaps he could take a nap.

  He spent the next hours in bored silence watching a bland documentary about a shoe designer. He’d have rather visited the factory or practiced walking in heels, for bloody sake. By the time the film was over, his rear was numb, his eyes burned, and he longed for fresh air.

  He met with Colette next who suggested a picnic in the palace garden. They took a walk afterward and although she was pleasant, she was unusually quiet and repeatedly checked her phone.

  “Colette, do I strike you as someone who’d enjoy an absurdly long movie about a shoemaker? Not an elf, like in children’s stories, but a documentary.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Would you say princes are overrated?” Perhaps commoners were more interested in partnering with him than royals—not that he’d object if he had the option.

  “Not particularly,” she repeated.

  “Am I boring?” he asked next. Maybe she thought so and could offer some insight.

  “Not particularly.” She checked her phone again.

  “Are you a robot?” he asked with a straight face and confused by her repeated, two-word answers.

  This got her attention and she looked up. Faint traces of amusement hid under the placid mask she wore. “I most certainly am not. At least I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “You give the same two-word answers and check your phone often, perhaps plugging into the motherboard?”

  She giggled. “No, I was just checking to see if I got a message.”

  “From the queen?”

  She giggled again. “No.” She stopped on the path, flustered. “Earl Barnsworth.”

  “Ah, yes, we met several years ago at a polo match and I believe he was in attendance at the Royal Gala last year. Respectable chap.” Then it dawned on him. “Oh.” He looked to her for confirmation.

  She wore an apologetic smile. “I know he’s below my station but he is a respectable chap and so much more.” She sighed.

  Oliver recognized the longing in her eyes.

  “Then you’re not part of the royals-in-waiting by choice.”

  She shook her head rapidly. “It’s an honor. I did not mean to give that impression.”

  �
��But your heart belongs to another.” He risked the truth about her love for the earl.

  “Yes,” she said. “It does. I’m prepared to do what is necessary but…” she trailed off.

  “Believe it or not, I understand.”

  “You do?” She clasped her hands together as though praying.

  He nodded.

  “In that case, I think Penelope and you would make a great pair. She’s offbeat, as they say, but when she first saw you, the look on her face—”

  “She fainted. I thought it was from fright. I hadn’t realized I’d lost my looks quite yet.”

  Colette waved her hand dismissively. “No, my good, Sir. That was a proper swoon. I would know.”

  From several meters away, a bell rang, signaling the end of the hour.

  Oliver couldn’t help but smile.

  “It’s your turn with her, isn’t it?” Colette asked.

  “Indeed.”

  “The expression on your face tells me you ought to be careful and hold onto something solid.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “You don’t want to faint and hit your head.”

  “Do you mean to say I might swoon?”

  She smirked.

  The pair’s laughter followed them into the palace where they met Penelope, waiting by the grand staircase.

  Colette waved to them as she swept up the carpeted stairs to the guest suites.

  “It looks like you had a nice time together.” Penelope’s smile was strained.

  “Picnic and a walk through the gardens. Quite lovely in fact.” But he was most happy to be back with her and learn that true love existed, despite noble titles and royal decrees. He admired Colette for telling him the truth but he wasn’t sure he was ready to do the same. But he was ready to bake some cookies. Oliver led her toward the kitchens. “I have to admit something to you. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “You’ve never baked?” she asked.

  Was it that shocking? He’d been called spoiled but didn’t think it was that big of a deal.

  “I’ve never even boiled water.”

  “In that case, this is going to rock your world.”