Billionaire's Princess: A Standalone Novel (A Royal Alpha Billionaire Romance Love Story) (Billionaires Book 2) Read online

  BILLIONAIRE’S PRINCESS

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Claire Adams

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  PROLOGUE

  EMMA

  I was ten years old when I began plotting my escape. That was the day that I realized other people had real lives that made them genuinely happy.

  It was my birthday and a young, energetic photographer named Lynn Scalia came to the palace to take photos of me and my siblings. She spoke Spanish fluently, but she told us she was from the United States and had grown up in a place called Nevada. She wasn’t our usual photographer, but someone the photographer had taken on as an intern, and she was already being sought after all over Europe.

  My mother didn’t like her on sight, so instantly, Lynn became my hero. Even if I hadn’t taken to her simply to spite my mother, I would have been drawn to her. I didn’t understand it then, but I know now that some people have a magnetism about them that attracts other people into their orbit. Lynn had that.

  The first thing I noticed was her striking beauty. Everything about her seemed to glow, and most attractive of all was her smile. It was warm and radiant, and she laughed easily.

  No one in the palace where I lived laughed easily, not even us children. My mother rarely even smiled. When she did, it was only because her position required it. Her Majesty the Queen was born into the royal family in Greece and her marriage to my father, who was a Duke at that time, was arranged. He ascended to the throne of a small island just off the coast of Spain and they settled into a life of riches and ease based simply on their DNA.

  My mother began having children; I was the first. According to the laws in our country, the eldest child would ascend to the throne regardless of gender, and the others would ascend in order of birth if an heir of the king or queen was not born or of age when the current ruler passed.

  In other words, I would follow my father on the throne, becoming queen and only relinquishing that title upon my death, at which time if I had a living child, he or she would be crowned. If they weren’t eighteen at the time of my death, then the next in line for the crown would be my sister Elena, until that child came of age, and so on.

  I didn’t want to be queen…ever.

  When I thought of queens, I thought of my mother. When I thought of my mother, I thought cold and indifferent. I didn’t want to have a cold heart like her.

  I knew even at ten years old that when I did have children, I would be the kind of mother that gave cuddles and read bedtime stories and didn’t pass off my responsibilities to a nanny or other staff. In my family’s travels, I’d seen that and ached for it. My children would never want for their mother’s love.

  I knew that other places existed, and I knew that there were other ways of life. Although I didn’t fully understand “normal” people, I knew that I wanted to be one, so badly.

  That summer day when Lynn came to take our photographs, she spoke to my siblings and me like we were real people and not royal children she had to defer to. She made me realize places existed where people smiled because they were actually happy and not because it was expected of them. I wanted that, not a pinched up face like my mother’s.

  I began that very day planning and plotting. Six months ago, I turned twenty-one, and by the night of the ball held at the palace in honor of my birthday, I had it planned down to the last detail and was ready to act.

  I had always known there was no way I’d be able to pull it off on my own. Over the years, I recruited “sympathizers” that would be instrumental in my plan. Unfortunately, my sister Elena, who is two years my junior, was not one of them. So many times I’d considered telling her and begging her to go with me, but she was too much like my mother and I knew that she’d tell on me and ruin my plans.

  My brother Viktor was nine years my junior, and I adored him. It was going to break my heart to leave him, but he was too young to go and I knew that staying would break my spirit a little more every day until it was irreparable. Before I left, I wrote a letter to each person in my family and anyone else I was close to. One of my co-conspirators would deliver them once I was long gone. I could only pray my little brother would read his and someday forgive me for leaving.

  That night, one of our maids, a young lady named Sophia, was dressed in a replica of the gown I was wearing. Her hair was swept up into a dramatic bun as I’d been wearing mine, and I’d given her my jewelry as well. From a distance, she looked just like me.

  She waited in the library until Luca, a young member of the Royal Guard working with me, told her it was time. As she put on her mask and headed out to the ball, I changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and hoodie. It was the first time I’d worn jeans in my life.

  Luca then led me down through the old tunnels underneath the palace that I was never allowed to explore as a child. My heart was racing, and I was sweating. I’m not sure what percentage was anxiety and what percentage excitement.

  I followed him until we came to a door that opened to the beach surrounding the palace. A small boat was waiting for me with my things already loaded inside. When I got off that boat in Spain I had my new identity in my hands, as well as an airplane ticket to the United States. As I stepped onto the plane, Her Royal Highness Doña Ariana Maria Madrigal was left behind forever – I hoped.

  Emma Mendez stepped off the plane hours later in Las Vegas Nevada. She was there on a work visa to begin an internship with a famous photographer who had traveled the world in her twenties and thirties, and now in her forties had opened a studio in Las Vegas. That photographer’s name was Lynn, and she was still my hero.

  CHAPTER ONE

  EMMA

  PRESENT DAY

  I loved taking pictures, but not so much pictures of people. People were Lynn’s specialty. She started me out doing still life photography, and since then she’d gotten me several gigs with food and travel magazines about Las Vegas.

  This day was my first stint photographing people professionally. I had two subjects scheduled, one day after the other. This appointment was with a young girl named Hope, and we were doing her senior photos. She wanted them done at the Bellagio near the fountains, so part of what we dealt with was the crowds of people and trying to keep from getting them in the shots. I had never done that sort of thing before, but I wasn’t very worried about it.

  The second appointment, however, was with the owner of several of the casinos in the city. Lynn told me that he was a billionaire and one of her most important clients. I was a nervous wreck and a little confused as to why she’d send me. She had so much more experience, and if this guy was as rich and powerful as she said, you would think she wouldn’t want to risk me screwing it up.

  I didn’t argue with her, though. I never argue with Lynn. It is because of her that I had the life that I loved.

  As Hope walked in right on time with her mother, it was easy to see that these
two came from money. Hope was dressed similarly to the way I used to dress daily: in a designer dress and shoes. Now, I wear jeans or sundresses. I’m happy to leave the fancy designer gowns to others.

  Hope’s dress was made of lace and was a light, peach color that accentuated her skin tone nicely. She had her dark-brown hair swept up on the sides and long curls cascaded down her back. She looked beautiful, but as I snapped the photos one after the other while occasionally asking people to move or waiting for them to walk by, I couldn’t seem to capture her. I felt like I was shooting still life all over again.

  “Hope, what do you like to do?”

  “Do?” She wrinkled her pretty nose.

  “For fun, like sports or hobbies.”

  “Oh, I like cars.”

  I smiled. If I lived in America for a thousand years, I don’t think I’d ever understand their fascination with cars. I’m sure we have some of that in Europe as well, but of course I wasn’t exposed to anything like that. “Cars, that’s good. Would you mind going for a little walk with me?”

  “Um, no,” she looked at her mother. The older woman nodded and the two of them followed me down the street and into Planet Hollywood. I saw Hope’s face and knew she got it at once. There was a classic car show going on at the mall between Planet Hollywood and the resort it connects with.

  I had Hope walk from car to car, and as she did, my camera fired rapidly. She stopped at each one and gave me a dazzling smile, twirling around occasionally and even sitting in one of the convertibles after getting permission from the owner. Sometimes, I’d pose her next to one of the cars and walk all the way around her, taking pictures from every angle. I suddenly felt like I was in my element. I really got into it, and by the time we’d finished, both Hope and her mother were smiling and giggling.

  Lynn was already gone for the day when I got back to the studio. I dropped off my equipment before I got into the little Mitsubishi I’d bought a few months ago and headed to my loft. I’d found the loft two months after getting to Vegas. Before that, Lynn had let me stay with her and sleep in the guestroom. I loved Lynn, but listening to her and her “gentlemen” down the hall most nights got old quickly.

  My loft was fairly cheap and within walking distance of work for those ambitious mornings when I craved sunshine and exercise. I loved it. It was small, but warm and welcoming. I’d decorated it since I’d moved in, trying to give it a taste of who I am.

  As soon as I got in the door, I kicked off my boots and dropped my purse. Still in my socks, I padded toward the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine I had there. It was more expensive than a girl in my position should be able to afford, but it was one of the few things I allowed myself to splurge on.

  Before leaving home, I had already set up an account in the states in Emma’s name. I had quite a bit of money that would technically be considered stolen by the crown. I didn’t think of it that way. Had I stayed, I would have spent more than what I took in a year on clothes and other items that a princess needs. I would also have been given a substantial allowance, as well as the huge trust fund I’d receive when I turned 25.

  Telling myself those things made me feel less guilty, but I still rarely used the money. It was there for emergencies…and wine, I suppose. But in the grand scheme of things, the only money that really meant anything to me was the money I worked for.

  I poured the wine into a glass and took a sip of it. I closed my eyes and just let it sit on my tongue for several seconds before I finally let the smooth, cool liquid run down the back of my throat. I took it over to the window seat and sat down to look out over the city.

  Las Vegas had understandably overwhelmed me at first. But I had come to love the hustle and bustle, the neon lights at night, and most of all, the anonymity of it all.

  I slid open the window that faced out toward the north end of The Strip. I could hear the traffic and happy voices carried up on a light breeze. It was the other thing I loved about this city. People were mostly on holiday, so most of the time what you heard around you was happy chatter. It was so different than what I’d been used to.

  I took another sip of the wine and looked around the loft. When the windows were closed, my little haven was a quiet one. There was a fireplace in the center, separating the kitchen from the living room. I rarely needed it, but it gave the place character. I’d situated a long, tan couch around it, and on the mantle sat my collection of ceramic angels.

  I’m not sure why, but angels always fascinated me. When I saw one in one of the shops that stood out to me for some reason, I bought it. Lynn teased me about it, telling me I’d have to move back into a palace to house them.

  When I moved in, the landlord allowed me to paint. I painted the walls a deep, warm burgundy in the living room and a pale, happy yellow in the kitchen. The floors are all wood and I’d collected colorful throw rugs that I’d situated here and there. The art on the walls are all framed photographs that either Lynn or I had taken. It was nothing fancy, but it was comfortable and warm, and that’s what I had been going for.

  I finished my wine and made myself a sandwich. I took it over to the antique desk in the corner and sat down. Opening my laptop, I took the memory card from today’s shoot out of my pocket and slipped it in. The photos of Hope filled the screen, and I smiled as I clicked through them.

  There were only a few that would need a lot of editing to take out the people walking by in the background, but for the most part, they were gorgeous portraits. The fact that Hope was beautiful certainly helped, but I had to give myself credit for doing a good job.

  My smile didn’t fall off my face until I got to the last photo. Standing near a shop in the background and seeming to look right at me was a well-dressed man in his forties with jet black hair and eyes the same color. His eyes were soulless and I knew them.

  His name was Miguel Esparza, and he was the son of one of my father’s top advisors. He was the man my father expected me to marry when I came of age. Miguel lived on the island that used to be my home and I was almost positive that he was here, looking for me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  NICHOLAS

  I was just about to tell Lynn I couldn’t wait any longer when I turned toward the entrance of the studio and my breath caught in a silent gasp in my throat.

  A woman had just hurried in carrying a camera bag and looking harried and out of breath. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun, framing a face with very little make-up and flawless, tan skin.

  Her eyes were what really held my attention in that first glance, though. They were a dark-chocolate brown with flecks of gold floating around in them. They were so large that even from several feet away, I could see the color clearly. They were the kind of eyes that romance novelists make millions off, talking about men falling into them. I could have drowned there in that moment.

  Her full lips were turned down in a semi-pout and I was almost overwhelmed by the desire to bite the bottom one. I felt a surge of blood rush to fill the front of my pants, and I realized that I had to pull it together. I was an important man in Vegas, and this was a professional shoot. I’d never even slept with Lynn, and that wasn’t something most of her associates could claim. But if this woman was the photographer that would be taking my picture, staying professional was going to be damned hard.

  She smiled, and there was no way to stop the second rush of blood. It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out from the lack of it in my brain. “Hello. I’m Emma Mendez. I’m so sorry that I’m late.”

  Before I could speak, I heard Lynn’s voice as she came out of the office behind me. “Oh, Emma, there you are, honey. Was the traffic terrible on The Strip?”

  Emma took her eyes from my face, leaving me wanting, and put them on Lynn. She looked confused. I got the feeling Lynn was trying to give her a ready-made excuse for being late. She didn’t need to do that for my benefit; I’d already excused the beauty for an
ything she’d ever done or would do in the future.

  She opened her mouth and closed it again. She looked unsure what to say, and as she put those gorgeous eyes back on me, my predatory instincts caught just a whiff of desire. She was looking at me the way I was looking at her. She could feel the attraction, too, and I decided then and there that my hiatus from women had ended. I had to have this one.

  Smiling, I took a step toward her, held out my hand, and said, “Hello, Emma. I’m Nicholas Vansant.” She shifted the bag she was holding and held her right hand out toward me. Instead of shaking it, I brought it to my lips. I kept my eyes on hers as I brushed them across the back of her hand. My lips felt hot and I saw a flicker of heat in her eyes. There was desire in them and I may have even felt her shudder.

  I suppressed a smug, satisfied smile as she gently pulled back her hand. It was probably good that she took it away since I’d already envisioned myself kissing all the way up her arm to that long, sexy neck.

  “Um, nice to meet you, Mr. Vansant. And again, I’m so sorry I was late. The studio is down the hall here.”

  “Please, call me Nick,” I said as I gestured for her to go ahead of me. I saw her glance at Lynn as we passed. Lynn had a self-satisfied look on her face. I wondered if it was her intention to set me up with this gorgeous creature. If it was, I owed her a bottle of champagne or one of my best-looking bodyguards. Knowing Lynn, she’d take the latter.

  Emma turned into the third door down the hall and said, “Right in here.” There were some nature photos outside of the room. They were framed in black and all seemed to be shots of the Painted Desert. It was a place that had been photographed probably millions of times, but something about these was different.

  “Are these yours?” I was sure they weren’t Lynn’s. She was an amazing photographer, but an outdoors woman she was not.