My Royal Sin. Riley Pine

does Mr. X need me for at nine in the morning?” I ask.

      The man uncovers a platter of scones and croissants, another of fresh fruit. He then pours coffee into a porcelain cup and bows his head.

      “Shopping, miss. That is all I was told.” He smiles softly. “And you may call him, simply, X.”

      My eyes widen as I remember X’s mention of Monique Mantissa, of Benedict offering his credit card. I have never been the kind of girl to get worked up over material things, especially now that I must do whatever I can just to make ends meet not only for me but for my niece and my brother’s wife. But I just slept in a bed fit for a queen and am about to eat a breakfast fit for a king. Is there anything wrong with living like a princess for a day?

      To avoid the guilt that threatens to take away my moment of joy, I remind myself that this is all part of earning triple my fee, all of which I will use to support Camille and Lola. Camille’s teacher’s salary alone barely covers their rent, let alone the legal fees piling up since my brother’s arrest. With this job, I may be able to hire a proper advocate to represent Jasper—to prove his innocence.

      “Thank you,” I say. “And you may call me, simply, Ruby.”

      It’s strange to speak this name, especially to this man who looks at me as if he knows me, as if he senses that behind this name and position is a whole other life, a whole other story.

      He smiles another of his enigmatic smiles and bows before exiting the cottage, and I jump up and squeal at the sight of the feast before me. I lose my grip on the sheet, and it falls to the floor as I laugh and shrug. “When in preparation for seducing a priest yet not having to bed a stranger...” I joke to myself, and then I indulge in a chocolate croissant and the most decadent strawberries I’ve ever tasted—and try to forget the fact that I haven’t seen a painting of an angel or what Madam will do if I don’t find it.

      I fire off a quick text to The Jewel Box messenger service, asking if Madam will allow me to spend more time on the palace grounds to find what I’m looking for. The response is almost immediate.

      Enjoy your stay, Evangeline. I expect this means you will have good news for me soon, or else you know what to expect from me.

      My palm flies instinctively to the cheek she slapped the first time I questioned her.

      “Whatever it takes, Jasper,” I say aloud. “I will not lose you, too.”

      * * *

      When X extends a hand to help me from the golf cart and into a Rolls-Royce, he raises his brows.

      “What?” I ask, skimming the length of my own body, afraid I’d forgotten to dress myself after my feast.

      “Nothing, miss. It’s just—I’m looking forward to finding you something more befitting a palace guest.”

      I lower myself into the car as my cheeks flame and my eyes prick with tears. I try to swallow it all back, to not let him see his judgment get to me. But when X situates himself in the driver’s seat, the first thing he does is speak to me via an intercom.

      “My apologies, miss,” he says. “I meant no offense. It is just that if we are to be discreet, it is necessary that you do not stand out in a way that will make the staff ask questions.”

      I knock on the glass partition that separates us, and he lowers it as he turns to face me. His salt-and-pepper hair lies in neat waves, and that square, rugged jaw is both attractive and reassuring. Somehow I know that whatever happens today, X is on my side. Still, I need to set the record straight.

      “I get it,” I say. “I’m here to do a job. And I might not be entirely proud of what I need to do to earn a living right now, but I’m not ashamed of the way I look.” It’s a half-truth. Even if this wasn’t always me, I look and feel sexy in these clothes—in the boots. I just wish I was wearing it all for me and not as a means to an end.

      His brows draw together, and his jaw tightens. When he looks at me, it is as if he wants to say many things but holds himself back. “If my comment elicited shame, miss, then again, my sincerest apologies. I am your ally. I do hope you see me as such.”

      I swipe away a tear. “Thank you, X. And can we please cut it with the ‘miss’?”

      He smiles. “Of course, Ruby. You remind me of Princess Kate.”

      With that, he turns back to his steering wheel and leads us away from the palace grounds.

      * * *

      Belladonna Square is not unfamiliar to me. I’ve driven past it. Walked through it. But never have I stepped foot into one of the shops. It was nothing more than a tourist attraction the few times I’d been in these parts.

      “You know,” I say as the car rolls to a stop, “even when things were good, they were never great. My father died when Jasper was fifteen and I was only twelve. Jasper grew up and found work doing research at the art museum and I—Well, there aren’t many jobs out there for a girl who likes to paint.” Especially when her résumé basically reads like a telenovela.

      X nods.

      “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” I add. “I guess I’m just a bit overwhelmed is all.”

      He exits the vehicle and opens my door, offering a hand as I climb out. Then he holds out a black credit card.

      “You’re not coming with me?” I ask, eyes wide.

      He offers a soft smile and nods toward the closest boutique, a place called Cheri Cheri. “I called ahead and had them put aside all their Monique Mantissa pieces for you. Just go in and tell them who you are, and they will take care of you. This is your day, not mine. Go enjoy.”

      I can’t help but grin, a giddy electricity pumping through my veins. I reach for my bag and realize in all the excitement that I forgot it in the cottage, so I slip the credit card into the cleavage of my bustier.

      X chuckles, and I shrug.

      “Here goes nothing!” I say and let my confidence buoy me in the direction of the store.

      As I enter, my boot heels click on marble floors, and the place smells of jasmine. I close my eyes and inhale, a smile spreading across my face when I’m greeted by a soft, lilting voice.

      “May I...help you?”

      My eyes open, and there she is, a tall, lithe woman with a chic pixie cut, her ebony hair shining like satin.

      “Everything in here is Monique Mantissa,” I say, stating the obvious.

      She looks me up and down, her painted-on smile morphing into something more like a sneer.

      “Are you lost, miss? The Mantissa knockoffs are on Market Street. This is Belladonna Square.”

      Heat seeps into my veins.

      “I know where I am,” I insist, trying to still the tremble in my voice. “I’m here to shop.” I pull the credit card from my top and brandish it at her. “See?” I say, the volume of my voice escalating. “I have money to spend. On...on Mantissa. On whatever the hell I want.”

      She backs toward a marble counter, which must be where the transactions take place. “Miss, you have fifteen seconds to leave before I press the security button. After that, you’ll have just as long before the Edenvale Police arrive.”

      My eyes widen. “You’re serious. Aren’t you?” I ask incredulously.

      She snakes behind the counter. “You’re down to five seconds, miss.” Her eyes narrow. “Four...three...”

      I stumble back through the door and bolt to where X dropped me off, pulling at the handle of the door. It’s locked. Tears stream down my face as I yank at the door again and again until I feel strong hands grip my shoulders.

      I scream as X spins me to face him.

       He is my ally. He is my