Romy Sommer - To Catch a Star - A Royal Romance to Remember!

“Hush! What if someone hears you?”

“So what?” He stopped his prowl, stood poised at her shoulder to whisper in her ear. “I’m good enough to bed but not good enough to stand by your side in polite company?”

Nina’s voice shook, but it was nowhere near as convincing as Teresa’s had been the first night they met. “Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?”

Even with the screenwriter’s words in his mouth, the answer was still the same as the one he’d had for Teresa. “No, I don’t. Because no one else has given me a damned thing unless they wanted something from me in return.”

He stroked his fingers down Nina’s neck. Her skin was smooth and warm. He wondered what Teresa’s skin would feel like. Probably cold as ice.

“Even you want something from me, Celeste, though you won’t admit it. But you know what?” His voice hardened. “You’re going to have to get down on your knees and beg me for it.”

Nina shook her head. “I won’t.”

Though he spoke his words for the microphone, and the brunette standing before him, he directed every line at the cold-eyed blonde who watched from across the room. He released all the pent-up rage she’d stirred in him when they first met. “Oh yes, you will.”

The actress stared at him wide-eyed. One beat. Two beats.

“Cut!” cried the director, jumping up from his seat behind the monitor. “That was incredible! I’m blown away, Christian. Do you think you can do that again?”

Christian nodded.

Nina’s eyes were still wide, her mouth parted just a little now. “God, you’re good,” she said.

“Thanks.” He bent to her ear, his voice a whisper he hoped even the sound man wouldn’t pick up. “You ever want to find out how good, I’m in the penthouse suite at our hotel.”

“In your dreams.” But there was an extra sashay in her hips as she turned and walked away, and the coy look she cast him over her shoulder spoke volumes. Christian grinned. Nina was definitely his kind of woman, and a man had to keep his options open, after all.

“Back to the top,” the AD shouted out to the room, and there was a mad bustle as everyone returned to their starting places amidst the AD calling out instructions for tweaks to the lights, a slower zoom in by the camera and “why the hell is there a wristwatch on that extra?”

If she’d thought Christian was grumpy that first morning, it was nothing on his mood the rest of the week. Until he’d had his second espresso, he could barely manage a grunted greeting.

And every day he got grumpier.

Teresa took it in her stride. She made sure his espresso was ready, that the car was out front, that his script sides were on hand, and she avoided conversation. She sipped her tea, read the morning papers and enjoyed the peace and quiet while it lasted.

“Didn’t you sleep well last night?” she asked on the fifth morning as Frank drove them to the palace. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, the sky lightening with a smudge of pink in the east. Though the morning rush hour had yet to start, she felt wired and ready to go. It was good to have a reason to get out of bed in the morning, even if that reason was something as trivial as making a movie.

Christian scowled back in answer.

As soon as they arrived on set he was hustled into his trailer, dressed by his wardrobe stylist, then handed over to the make-up artistes who had their own special truck, ready rigged with basins, mirrors and bright lights.

It was warm inside the trailer, crowded and noisy with voices and music from the make-up artistes’ MP3 player. Since it was still too early to run Christian’s errands, Tessa sat quietly in a corner and read the script as his make-up artiste Marie readied him for the cameras.

With Christian’s hair trimmed so short, she couldn’t figure out what took so long.

“They’re getting rid of my excesses,” Christian said, catching her eye in the mirror as Marie massaged moisturiser into his skin. He held her gaze a second too long, so that the blood in her veins began to fizz and bubble until she forced herself to look away.

“You really should sleep more and drink more water,” Marie chided. “All that partying is damaging your skin.”

“It’s the film lights that damage my skin.”

Marie giggled and glanced at Tessa who’d reached the last page and closed the script.

“If you want something else to read, there’s a pile of magazines under the basins. They’re mostly local rags, but I love all the pictures of the who’s who of Europe.” She sighed. “We don’t have any Dukes or Counts or Princes in the States.”

“And thank heavens for that.” Christian’s expression shifted from amused to bitter in a heartbeat. “Bunch of inbred brats.”

“Why do you say that?” Tessa asked, keeping her voice level.

“I met my fair share of them when I was a kid working for my uncle’s fishing-charter business. Self-indulgent and self-absorbed, the lot of them.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned his childhood on Los Pajaros. She should have pushed, widened the crack, but she was side-tracked by the sting. He’d said it like a barb, as if he’d known she was one of them. And resented it.

She returned to her seat and opened the magazine, paging blindly past countless faces she recognised. Her social circle was certainly incestuous. Everyone knew everyone. And yes, there were parties and social events, so many they seemed to blur together these days, but in that respect her life in Westerwald wasn’t much different from Christian’s life in Hollywood.

Except for one big difference. The people she knew were no more self-indulgent than she was. With privilege came responsibility and duty, and no one knew that better than the descendants of lines that had served their nations for hundreds of years.

Besides, who was Christian to lecture her about self-indulgence? He partied as if there was no tomorrow. Frank had told her at what ungodly hour he’d finally brought Christian and Dominic home from some nightclub in the early hours of this morning.

“What’s so engrossing?” Christian asked, swinging away from the bank of mirrors and holding out his hand to her for the magazine.

She’d stared at the same page for a full minute without paying the slightest attention to it. She looked now and blood rushed to her face.

Christian beckoned with his fingers. “It can’t be that bad. Let’s see it.”

She stuffed the magazine behind her back.

He beckoned again. “You know if you don’t hand it over I’ll have to come and get it?”

She had no doubt he’d do it too. Reluctantly she handed over the magazine. But not before she closed it. Christian took it and flicked through the pages.

And unerringly found the page she’d wanted to hide.

“Hey, that’s you!” Marie peered over Christian’s shoulder. “Who’s the hunk you’re with?”

Tessa’s blush deepened.

“It’s Prince Fredrik,” Christian said. He laid the magazine down in his lap and contemplated her. “It says your engagement announcement is imminent.”

“It’s an old magazine and we were never engaged.” They’d discussed marriage but Fredrik had never got around to proposing. Fate in the form of a blood test had intervened.

“A prince, huh?” Christian still looked at her strangely.

Unable to bear the hard scrutiny, she rose and wandered across to the shelves of cosmetic products lined up beside the basins. “Not anymore.”

“I met him at the welcome drinks party,” he said. “He was there with your friend.” He said it like a question.

“He and I… we separated by mutual agreement and there are no hard feelings. I’m happy that he and Kenzie are together now.” And for the first time she meant it. If Rik could overcome being disinherited and find happiness, then she could overcome losing the safety net he’d provided.