Charlene Sands - The Montoros Affair - The Princess and the Player / Maid for a Magnate / A Royal Temptation

“I’m sorry,” Will said earnestly. “You should definitely visit her. We can go out another time when you’re feeling more in the mood for company and conversation.”

Oh, so she was the problem in this equation? She scowled but didn’t comment because then she might say something she couldn’t take back about the stick up Will’s butt. “Sure. That would be nice.”

“Well, this may be an ill-timed invitation, then, but Rowling Energy is throwing a party tonight at my father’s house for some of our elite associates. Would you care to attend as my date? Might be less pressure and more fun than being one-on-one like this, trapped in a small car.”

How...reasonable. Oh, sure it was strictly an opportunity for Will to trot her out around his snobby business partners who only cared about whom he knew. She wasn’t stupid. But a party was right up her ally and the magic word fun only sweetened the pot. With enough champagne, she might even forget the whole setup reeked of royal responsibility and actually have a good time. Less pressure, as advertised.

Maybe she’d misjudged Will Rowling. “I have the perfect dress.”

“It’s settled, then.”

In no time and with only one internet map miscalculation, they found Tía Isabella’s narrow cobblestone street in the heart of Del Sol. Like a true gentleman, Will helped Bella from the car at the door of her great aunt’s rental house, and had a word with Tía Isabella’s housekeeper to ensure Bella would have a return ride home. The housekeeper promised to have a car sent from Playa Del Onda, so Will took his leave.

All in all, Will seemed like a nice, upstanding guy. He was certainly handsome enough and had gorgeous aqua-colored eyes. Too bad she couldn’t get the sexier, more exciting version she’d tripped over at the beach off her mind.

* * *

“Patrick James Rowling!”

James groaned and thought about ducking out the door of the sunroom and escaping Casa Rowling through the back gate. When his father three-named him, the outcome was never fun nor in his favor.

Actually, any time his father spoke to him it was unpleasant. Even being in the same room with Patrick Rowling reminded James that his mother was dead and it was his father’s fault. Time healed all wounds—except the ones that never should have happened in the first place. If his father hadn’t yelled at his mum, she wouldn’t have left in tears that night back in Guildford. Then his mum’s single-car accident would never have happened. He and Will wouldn’t have become motherless seven-year-old boys. The fractured Rowling family wouldn’t have subsequently moved to Alma, where James didn’t know anyone but Will, who was too shell-shocked to do anything other than mumble for nearly a year.

But all of that had happened and James would never forgive or forget.

As a result, James and Patrick gave each other a wide berth by mutual unspoken agreement, but it was harder to do when under the same roof. James should really get his own place, but he still wasn’t sure if he planned to stay in Alma, so here he was.

Patrick Rowling, the man who’d named his first born after himself in a moment of pure narcissism, stormed into the sunroom and shoved a newspaper at James’s chest with a great deal more force than necessary. “Explain this.”

“This is commonly known as a newspaper.” James drew out the syllables, ladening them with as much sarcasm as possible. “Many civilized nations employ this archaic method of communicating information and events to subscribers. Shall I delve into the finer points of journalism, or are we square on the purpose of this news vehicle?”

His father’s face had grown a deeper, more satisfying shade of purple the longer James baited him. A thing of beauty. James moved his half-empty teacup out of the line of fire, in case of imminent explosion. It was Darjeeling and brewed perfectly.

“You can dispense with the smartass attitude. I’ve had more than enough of it from you to last a lifetime.”

What he really meant was that he’d had enough of James doing the opposite of what Patrick commanded. But if James toed the line, how could he make his father pay for his sins? Of course, his father could never truly pay in a lifetime. The sad part was that James might have settled for an apology from his father for all the horrible things he’d caused. Or at least a confession. Instead, his father heaped praises on Will the Perfect Son and generally pretended James didn’t exist.

Until James managed to get his attention by doing something beyond the pale. Like whatever had gotten the elder Rowling’s dander up this time.

His father poked the paper again. “There’s a rather risqué photo of you on the front page. Normally, I would brush it off as further proof you care nothing for propriety and only your own self-destruction. But as it’s a photo of you with your brother’s fiancée, I find it impossible to ignore.”

“What?” His brother had a fiancée ? “What are you talking about?”

James shoved his father’s hand away and shifted the paper so he could see the front page. There it was, in full color. He whistled. What a gorgeous shot of Bella in his arms. Her hair all mussed and legs tangled in his. He might have to cut it out and frame it.

Wait... Bella was Will’s fiancée? This was news to James. Last he’d heard, Bella planned to see how things went before committing to marriage. Had Will even met Bella yet?

“Your timing is impeccable, as always. Now that we’re all caught up, please explain how you managed to create a scandal so quickly.” Dear old Dad crossed his arms over the paunch he liked to pretend gave him a stately demeanor, but in reality, only made him look dumpy.

Obviously they were nowhere near caught up.

“Maybe that’s Will—did you ever think of that?” James challenged mildly and went back to sipping his tea because he had a feeling he’d need the fortification.

“Your brother is with the Montoro princess as we speak and it’s their first meeting.”

Montoro princess . Really? James rolled his eyes. His father couldn’t be more pretentious if he tried. “If they hadn’t even met until today, how are they already engaged?”

Waving his hand with a snort, Patrick gave him a withering look. “Merely a formality. They will be engaged, mark my words. So as far as you’re concerned, she’s your brother’s fiancée. Will is quite determined to woo her and I’ve never seen him fail at anything he set his mind to.”

Despite what should be good news—his father had deliberately thrown the word fiancée in James’s face even though it wasn’t true—James’s gut twisted at the thought of Will and Bella together. Why, he couldn’t explain, when he’d been the one to suggest Bella should ring Will. Obviously, she’d taken his advice and rather quickly, too. He’d just run into her in town yesterday.

“Smashing. I hope they’re having a fantastic time and fall madly in love so they can give you lots of royal babies, since that’s the most important accomplishment a Rowling could hope to achieve.” The sentiment had started out sincerely but halfway through, disappointment had tilted his mood. James lived his life with few regrets but stepping aside so Will had a fair shot with Bella ranked as a decision he’d questioned more than once.

“Don’t change the subject. If you deliberately staged that picture with the princess to ruin your brother’s chances, the consequences will be dire,” his father warned.

James couldn’t quite bite back the laugh that burst out. “Oh, please, no. Perhaps you’ll disown me?”

What else could his father possibly do to him besides constantly express his displeasure in everything James did? Being signed with Real Madrid hadn’t rated a mention. Being named captain of the Alma World Cup team wasn’t worthy enough of a feat to get a comment.