Royal Mistake #4: Royal Mistake, #4

By Ember Casey and Renna Peak

I’m faced with an impossible choice: Montovia deserves an heir who will do anything to serve his country, and Victoria deserves a man who will put her above all else. I can’t be both. It’s impossible.

But I also can’t give her up. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything like I want Victoria. And even though circumstances try to tear us apart, I can’t stay away—and impossible or not, I can’t put off my choice any longer.

New to the Royal Heartbreakers books?
Each series contains a complete romance story and can be read on its own, but the following is the chronological order of our books:

Royal Heartbreaker series (Prince Leopold + Eleanor Parker)
Royal Mistake series (Prince Andrew + Victoria Simpson) 
Royal Arrangement series (Prince William + Princess Justine)
Royal Wedding Fiasco (special release)
Royal Disaster series (coming soon!)
Royal Escape series (coming soon!)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casey Peak Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386340997

Book preview

Victoria

It’s been eight days since I left the palace in Montovia. Eight nights since I’ve slept .

The sky is only now beginning to brighten from the sun rising behind the nearby hillside. I don’t need to look at the clock to know my replacement at the shit convenience store job I’ve taken will be here soon and I’ll be able to go back to my motel room.

Working at night doesn’t seem to make much of a difference—I don’t sleep any better during the day than I do at night. I even made a trip into town to buy a bunch of pillows, thinking that maybe if I had something in my arms it would be enough. But even stuffing enough pillows under the covers to make it feel like there’s someone else in bed next to me isn’t enough. Every time I close my eyes, I only see Andrew. And every time sleep finds me, some disaster strikes—my plane crashes, I fall from a building, or some animal is chasing me through the forest. After the nightmares wake me, it’s pointless to even try to close my eyes.

Who needs sleep, anyway?

I’m leafing through the latest edition of Celebrity Spark Magazine—my first story about Andrew’s weird bridal pageant is in there. There’s no attribution though—my name is nowhere to be found in this week’s magazine. I guess Andrew was listening to me after all. He never did hear a fucking word I said, but he was listening to that part, at least.

The front door jingles and I don’t look up—it has to be Ray, the guy who works day shift. It’s so rare that anyone comes in here at this hour—at any hour, really—that there’s no reason for me to think it would be anyone else. Considering my aunt and uncle took out the gas pumps several years ago, no one stops here much. If they didn’t own the land and the building, they probably would have gone out of business a long time ago.

I flip another page of the magazine, ignoring the portrait of Lady Clarissa that stares back at me. The person who’s entered walks up to where I stand and slams something on the counter in front of me.

I blink a few times when I see what it is—a medicine bottle. I look up at the man—it doesn’t take me long to recognize it’s Andrew, but he’s wearing sunglasses and a backward baseball cap.

I laugh—it might be the first time I’ve laughed in weeks. What are you wearing?

He glances over his shoulder, his expression guarded. I can’t risk anyone recognizing me.

My smile widens. "Who would recognize you? There’s no one here."

He sets his jaw. I realize that. But one can never know who might come in at any moment. Should someone recognize me, they could easily capture a photograph—

I interrupt with a roll of my eyes. "Well, Your Highness, I’m willing to bet that even if someone did come in, they’d think you looked a little like Prince Andrew. They wouldn’t think you were Prince Andrew. Because what the hell would Prince Andrew be doing here in this podunk town? I stare at him. What are you doing here in this podunk town?"

He pulls off his sunglasses and glances down at the pill bottle on the counter. These pills do not work.

I think you might have me confused with your future sister-in-law.

He lifts a brow. Meaning?

I shake my head. Meaning, I’m not a doctor. What do I know about your pills?

It is the same medication the palace physician gave to you. He said it would help me to sleep. It has not.

Well, you didn’t need to come all the way to Oregon to tell me that. We do have telephones, you know. And, as backward as I found Montovia, I expect they probably have other doctors there for second opinions.

He stares at me. "Are they helping you to sleep?"

You think I’d be working night shift at my uncle’s convenience store if they were?

He frowns. Then you, too, should have sought a second opinion. He pauses. Or perhaps you shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.

My stomach twists at the memory of what happened the day I left Montovia. Sorry, Your Highness. You seemed a little busy for a farewell. And you were pretty clear about how you felt about me that morning, so I didn’t see the point.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. He finally opens his eyes again. You do not understand what is happening. I need your help.

I very much doubt that, Your Highness—

And while I have you speaking to me again, I would very much like it if you would stop with the formalities. He pauses. Victoria.

I close the magazine and put it back in the rack next to the register. How did you even find me? It’s not like I left a forwarding address.

No, you did not. Your editor had an address in Oregon as your emergency contact information. It took some doing, but I was finally able to find a phone number yesterday. And when the woman I spoke with—your aunt—confirmed your location, I came straight here.

I lift a brow. "You flew? Yourself?"

He shakes his head. No. It was the same craft that took the two of us to Montovia the last time. He glances at the bottle of pills. I took two of these before I left. And drank two glasses of brandy afterward. It did nothing.

I nod. I think the airplane I was on has permanent indents where my fingers dug into the armrests the entire flight. I lift a brow. "And I took three before I drank my two glasses of wine."

He nods. My flight home would be infinitely more pleasant if you were to join me.

I shake my head and motion around me. And leave all this?

His lips curl up the tiniest bit. I realize it’s a lot to ask. I’m willing to double your salary.

Hm. I can’t help but smile. "You realize, of course, that doubling zero still makes my salary zero."

He nods and a small smile finally forms on his lips. You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Simpson. I suppose I can offer you quadruple your salary, then.

I laugh, but my smile falls as soon as I see he’s serious. "I’m not going back to Montovia, Andrew. I’ll be happy to talk to you about writing your stories, but you don’t need me there to do it. You can send me the details and I can write them from here. It isn’t like I have much to do in my off time. And I can write them the way you want. I’ll make everyone care."

I need you in Montovia.

I shake my head. "You do not need me for anything more than writing your dumb story. And I can do that in my sleep. I frown. If I slept," I say under my breath.

"Everything is falling apart. I need you to assist me with several things that can only be dealt with in Montovia."

No. You’ve already said I mean nothing to you, Andrew. I stare at him. "You don’t need me."

On the contrary, Ms. Simpson—

He’s interrupted by another jingling of the front door. Andrew’s eyes widen and he grabs the pill bottle, shoving it into his pocket before he puts his sunglasses back on and turns to pretend he’s looking at the magazine I just put back on the rack.

Ray, the dayshift cashier, lifts a brow. Everything okay here, Vicky?

I nod, forcing a smile. I grab my bag before I head out the door—I don’t even give Andrew another glance.

He follows me out and strides up beside me as I walk down the sidewalk. Vicky?

"Don’t even think about calling me that. Only a very small number of people are allowed to call me that anymore. I look over at him. And no one in my professional life."

He lifts a brow, but says nothing.

We walk down the block in silence. There’s a small park next to the motel where I’m staying, and I lead us there, finally stopping at a picnic table.

I sit down and motion for Andrew to do the same.

He sits and takes off his sunglasses again. He looks up. I don’t believe I have ever seen trees so tall.

I smile. Redwoods. Tallest trees in the world.

He gawks at them before he looks back at me. I thought the redwoods were in California. His brow furrows. Are we not still in Oregon?

I nod. They grow here, too. The little seedlings we sell in the store say they’ll grow anywhere.

Ah. He smiles. Then I can purchase the lot of them and grow my own redwood forest in Montovia?

I shrug. I suppose.

He nods. "Then that’s what I shall do. And