Bree
Okay, so this just got weird. Leo swam out of the water as though his life depended on it, now he’s standing on the beach, dripping wet while he and his Uber driver have an oddly intense conversation. My only guess as to what this is about is that maybe she works for a gossip rag and she just got a shot that will cause a huge scandal for him back home.Hot Heir to Davenport Communications Slumming it with Chubby Single Mom.
Oooh! Or maybe he’s secretly married, and his wife hired her to keep tabs on him. Now his wife will have the proof she needs to tear up their prenup and take him for millions. I can just imagine the divorce papers, “Reason for Dissolution of Marriage: Infidelity on behalf of the husband with chubby foreign single mum.”
Okay, why in my nightmare fantasies am I so hard on myself? Geez, Brianna. Why not future lawyer or successful concierge or fabulous single mum? Note to self: once I pass the bar exam, I need to work on my self-esteem.
I stay in the sea feeling ridiculous as I tread water for a few minutes before deciding to go get dressed. The moment between Leo and I is clearly over which is a good thing, really, even though my lady bits feel like it’s the end of the freaking world. Like seriously, if they could talk, they’d be whining more than Izzy when she has to go to bed early on a Friday night. Swimming to the left, I exit the water about one hundred yards down the beach from them, then tiptoe along the sand as though that will make me invisible. I can’t help but hear Leo pleading with her and saying something about compassion and humanity and a special circumstance.
Yup. He must be a married sack of crap. I sure know how to pick ’em. My heart sinks to my heels, and suddenly the hot dog I ate is a lead ball in my gut. After a few minutes of writhing and shimmying in the bushes, I manage to squeeze out off my wet swimsuit and get dressed. My skin feels gritty with salt and my insides feel dirty for almost kissing a married man. I desperately want to go home to shower, then crawl into bed and hide under the covers.
The sun has almost disappeared, and as I sit down in front of the fire, I can’t help but wish whatever was about to happen in the water had happened (but without the wife waiting for him back home, obviously). Grrrr. How is it possible that my one shot at romance in over five years has turned out to be with a lying, cheating wanker? Well, most likely.
The woman is gone now, and Leo’s back at our campfire patting himself dry with his towel, an expression on his face that I can’t read. He seems to have the weight of the world on his shoulders as he wraps his towel around his waist and strips off his trunks. I watch him, temporarily forgetting what a dog he is as my lady bits take over my eyes and the rest of me. Oh God, please let that towel slip off so I can see if the south half of him is as impressive as the north.
No! That kind of info would be in no way useful to me. Well, unless he’s got a strange schlong or something—like if it’s misshapen, or if his balls are so huge, they dwarf his penis. Or if he has a dwarf penis. Oh, not like a little person penis. I would never use the word dwarf to describe a little person. Plus, I once read that they have regular-size penises (or is the plural for penis peni? No, it’s penises, isn’t it?). Anyway, by dwarf penis, I mean more like a dwarf rabbit, as in tiny.
Jesus, Bree! Stop thinking about penises. That particular penis is likely married so just forget it. He finishes pulling up his grey boxer briefs without incident, so although I don’t get to see his Full Monty, I now know hedoeswear undies—sexy man undies at that—which honestly doesn’t help my poor lady bits at all because that image is staying put in my sex-starved brain. Once his shorts are on, he tugs at the towel, revealing a very dressed Leopold.
“So,” I say, as he packs up his things. “That was weird.”
“Yes, I apologize,” he says, blowing out a puff of air.
“She’s not actually your Uber driver, is she?”
“No, she isn’t.” He pulls his T-shirt on, depriving me of the view of that body once again.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask.
He makes a low moaning sound, then sits down next to me. “It’s a long story, and if I tell you, I’m certain you’ll no longer have any interest in so much as riding the bike while I pump.”
I smile, and my face heats up a bit in spite of myself. Bugger all, this man has a hold on me. Clearing my throat, I say, “In that case, you should probably know that my very cynical imagination has already come up with two possible scenarios that are quite likely worse than the truth.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, he says, “So either way…”
“You’re basically screwed.”
“Brilliant.” He gives me a long stare before he says anything. “I’m not married or in a relationship of some sort, if that’s where your mind went.”
“Okay, good.”
“As you likely know, I have a bit of a…reputation back home for enjoying the good life, and by that, I mean parties, trips, women…”
Nodding, I say, “Go on.”
“A few months ago, I committed an egregious error in judgment and slept with one of the heirs to Sweden’s throne.”
My heart sinks to my stomach. “She’s not pregnant, is she?”
Shaking his head, he says, “No, she’s neither pregnant nor heartbroken that it wasn’t the beginning of a long and happy life together. We both knew where itwasn’tgoing from the start, but we weren’t exactly discreet about the location or timing of ourgetting to know each other.When the story got out, it was a source of great embarrassment to her family. Not so coincidentally, the King of Sweden decided it was time for their nation to rethink their biggest telecommunications provider.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound good.”
“Yes, not good at all. My father can ignore any faux pas of mine so long as it doesn’t affect his business.” He studies the sand in front of him. “His first impulse was to write me off completely, but my mother convinced him to use this as an opportunity to force me to grow up. He had his lawyer draw up a contract in which I’ve agreed to stay out of the kingdom, get a job and a place to live independently for a period of six months. No booze, no dating, no getting fired or quitting my job, no asking my brother—or anyone else—for money or assistance in meeting the necessities of life. Jolene is the person his lawyer hired to monitor my every move while I’m here. If she can prove I’ve violated my agreement in any way, I will be permanently and completely disinherited.”
My heart thumps wildly. “So did we just ruin your life back there?”
He stares at me for a moment, his expression soft. “Luckily, no. I think she has a bit of a soft spot for me, so instead of taking photos or video of what I think was about to happen, she called out to warn me instead. But if my life had ended up ruined, it would’ve been my own doing, not yours. I knew what was at stake, but I found myself…”
