The Royal Treatment by MaryJanice Davidson

'Jeez, I've got five kids-one of 'em's bound to get knocked up, or knock someone up. Does His Majesty not wish the succession to-' And you've heard him, all this 'as long as she's healthy and wants kids' bullshit-' That Yank magazine-People, is it? He's made their Most Eligible Bachelor issue since he was drinking age, so don't tell me he couldn't get a date if he wanted to. 'He's going to be thirty this year and he's not even looking. 'Well, what the hell's he waiting for?' The king jumped up from his seat by the fireplace and paced the room in his agitation. '-can the prince not choose his own wife?' 'Your Majesty, since you did ask my opinion- and as your servant I am most grateful for this rare opportunity to air my views-' 'Scuttle out of the reach of your mighty wrath?' Usually people just sort of.' King Alexander made a vague gesture.

She yelled at me when she found out who I was. She's tough, she's cuter than hell, and she's a no-nonsense kind of gal. There's gotta be one.īefore she could figure it out, she fell asleep. She hung up and kicked off her shoes, then flung herself onto the amazingly plush bed again.

She picked up a receiver, just for the fun of it, and instead of a dial tone heard a cheerful female voice say, 'Yes, Miss Krabbe?' Big windows-bigger than her!-that looked out to an emerald green lawn roughly the size of New York's Central Park. A bathroom, a room just for hanging out in, a bedroom. He left, moving like a tall, tanned ghost, and she climbed out of the downy bed-took a while!- and prowled the suite.Ĭream walls with gold trim. It's the dry air in here.' He hack-hacked into a closed fist. 'Would you like to meet Prince David before then?' 'Gotta sing for my supper, huh? Well, fair's fair.' 'If you have need of anything,' he told her, 'just pick up the phone.

This was slightly less startling than the first time. What's-his-name's face appeared above her. She flung herself toward the bed, twisted in midair, and disappeared in a billow of down comforters. And it's Christina, not ma'am.'Īfter six hallways, an elevator ride, and four doors, she was standing in a small suite of rooms. 'Is every guy in this country over six feet tall?' It was like shaking hands with a plank of wood. She put a hand on her chest to slow her now-galloping pulse.

The Royal Treatment by MaryJanice Davidson