Crown Prince's Bought Bride. Maya Blake

      She closed the folder and nudged it an extra inch towards him, before straightening the specially engraved pens which had belonged to his father.

      When she was done, she looked him straight in the eye. ‘It’s time to take your true place as head of this kingdom. I know you won’t let me down.’

      One minute later, Remi walked out. And, as he’d rightly predicted, everything had changed.

      * * *

      Five more weeks.

      Maddie Myers resisted the urge to check her phone for the exact hour and minute before this nightmare was over.

      She should never have agreed to this preposterous proposition. So far every second had been hellish.

      But then her choices were severely limited. And when a Lamborghini sideswiping you compounded those woes by knocking the grocery shopping paid for with your last tenner out of your hands, you needed to take a moment to accept that things were truly awful.

      With luck in very limited supply in her world, she’d thanked every star she could name for escaping that horrifying incident with just a few unpleasant-looking bruises, the occasional twinge in her ribs that made it difficult to take a full breath and a sore arm.

      To be honest, Maddie was sure it was the shock of being nearly run over that had made her agree to Jules Montagne’s scheme in the first place. But by the time she’d downed that second restorative brandy she’d been in the darkest pit of despair, one that not even expensive booze could lift her from. So when the owner of the Lamborghini of Death had offered her a solution to her problems...

      Truth be told, at that point she’d been seriously considering the logistics of how to sell one of her kidneys, so a rich assaulter with money to burn had seemed the answer to her prayers.

      Nevertheless, it had taken her forty-eight hours to accept his deal. Probably because he’d been cagey about why he needed her in the first place. If Maddie had learned one thing in life, it was to look before she leapt. Blind trust was no longer a flaw that would tarnish her.

      She’d trusted her mother to stay and help the family she’d helped break apart. She’d trusted her father every time he’d told her he had his addiction under control. And Greg... He’d been the worst culprit of all.

      So when Jules had delivered that stony-faced ask no questions ultimatum her first instinct had been to walk out of the fancy wine bar he’d taken her to after nearly running her over, and never look back.

      But no matter how many times she’d checked her meagre bank account, or riffled through her belongings in the hope of finding something pawn-worthy, the balance had fallen far too short.

      With time running out for her father, she’d had no choice but to return Jules Montagne’s phone call.

      Of course his help hadn’t come for free. Hence her being once again dressed like a high-class escort, listening to him hold court among his circle of trustfundistas and minor royals in another VIP lounge as they guzzled thousands of pounds’ worth of champagne.

      She’d long since passed the life is so unfair and why me? stage. And after her mother’s shocking desertion Maddie had shrugged off there’s always hope too.

      ‘Hey, Maddie, smile! The way you’re staring into your glass, you’d think somebody’s died.’

      She plastered on a fake smile while the urge to scream burned through her gullet. True, no one had died. But the man who’d once been a strong, supportive father—a man now sadly broken by his failures—most definitely would, unless she pulled off this performance successfully and collected the payment due to her.

      Seventy-five thousand pounds.

      The exact amount needed for her father’s private kidney operation and aftercare in France.

      The exact amount Jules had agreed to pay her if she pretended to be his girlfriend for six weeks.

      She raised her gaze from her glass and connected with the gunmetal eyes of her pretend boyfriend. The man who barely spoke to her once they were away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi who dogged his every movement.

      ‘Smile, cherie,’ he insisted, with a hard, fierce light in his eyes.

      She tried again, aiming for authenticity this time. She must have succeeded. He gave a brisk nod and raised his glass to her before swinging back into whatever joke he’d interrupted himself in.

      Maddie breathed in relief, winced as her ribs protested, then went back to wondering just how long she could survive down this rabbit hole.

      The first time they’d gone out she’d heard one tabloid hack shout a question about Jules’s family—specifically how the queen felt about his behaviour. Maddie had asked him about it. He’d shut her down with a snapped response she was sure had been a lie, and reminded her of the ask no questions rule.

      The possibility that she’d struck a bargain with a minor royal had triggered unease. Media attention was the last thing she wanted.

      Despite needing the money desperately, she’d voiced her concerns. Jules’s suggestion that she wear headphones with the music turned up high to avoid the paparazzi’s questions, and keep her head down to avoid the camera’s flash had worked a treat. After all, she couldn’t answer questions she couldn’t hear.

      Maddie was sure that her perceived rudeness had earned her a disparaging label on social media. But the great thing about selling your laptop so you could buy food and using your phone only for emergency calls to avoid expensive bills was the blessed absence of the burden of social media.

      So here she was, firmly ensconced in Wonderland, with no inkling of why she was playing pretend girlfriend to a handsome, spoilt, maybe minor royal who travelled with two bodyguards.

      She watched him beckon one of them. Jules whispered in his ear, then loudly ordered another half-dozen bottles of Dom Perignon as the young guard headed to the back of the nightclub.

      In the gleeful melee that followed the arrival of more booze, very few people noticed Jules following his bodyguard.

      The sudden realisation that she’d aligned herself with a man who was headed down the same path of addiction as her father was enough to propel Maddie to her feet. She wasn’t sure exactly how she would deal with Jules Montagne if she caught him taking drugs, but her burning anger and anxiety couldn’t be contained.

      She was halfway across the floor when a commotion by the front doors caught her attention.

      Except it wasn’t a commotion. It was more a force of nature invading the onyx-and-chrome interior of the Soho nightclub.

      Two bodyguards, taller, sharper and burlier than the ones who followed Jules around, parted the crowd.

      The man who sauntered forward and paused under a golden spotlight nearly caused Maddie to swallow her tongue.

      Frozen in place, she stared unashamedly, certain that the faint tendrils of artificial smoke and strobe lighting were causing her to hallucinate the sheer magnificence of the god-like creature before her.

      But no.

      He was flesh.

      The quiet fury and electric energy blanketing him clearly transmitted through the muscle ticking in his jaw.

      He was blood.

      Royal blood, if the arrogant, regal authority with which he carried himself and the further four bodyguards who formed a semi-circular barrier around him were any indication.

      There was something vaguely familiar about him, although where she could possibly have caught a glimpse before of that square, rugged jaw, those haughty cut-glass cheekbones or those sinfully sensual lips eluded her.

      Eyes like polished silver gleamed beneath slashed dark brows, scanning the crowd as he continued to prowl through the semi-dark space.

      As