Free His Royal Princess: A Billionaire Boys Club Novella by Jessica Clare Page A

so loud that he had to hold his phone away from his ear. “The hottest rising hunk in Hollywood is dating a European princess. This is not going away, buddy. Not at all. You’re going to be in every tabloid possible. But if we make just the right statement, we can capitalize on things. Set you up for—”
    “No statement.” He needed to talk to Alex. Apologize. Something. She was probably devastated. Would she want to see him again after this?
    “Luke, we need to talk about this.” Beckee was now annoyed. “This is the biggest publicity you could possibly make for the movie unless . . . Wait. Could you hold off on dating her until the picture hits theaters?”
    “I’m going now,” Luke said, and hung up the phone. God, what a mess. He stared up at the ceiling of the hotel. Some days, it was a pain in the ass to be an actor. What had happened to the thrill of the role? Of losing yourself in another character? Of seeing your face on screen? Now it seemed to be lost in who was dating who.
    The moment he set his phone down, it buzzed with incoming text messages.
    Beckee:
What about an exclusive interview? Will u do one of those? Just a small TV show! One of the Late Nights. Not a big deal!
    Nick:
I can’t believe you’ve been going behind my back. After all I’ve done for you to make your career! CALL ME.
    Tony:
Hey, bro. I saw the papers about the princess. She bearding for you? Or is it the other way around? LOL.
    Beckee:
Media Weekly wants to put you on the cover!!! Can we make a statement? Please!!! Just a small one!
    He turned his phone off entirely. At least now the incessant incoming-text buzz would stop. He took a shower and dressed to head down to the hotel gym. Maybe working up a good sweat would get his mind off of the upcoming clusterfuck. He dressed in sweats and his sneakers, and, on a hunch, headed to the balcony and peered down below.
    The front of the hotel was mobbed with photographers holding cameras, waiting anxiously. Cars were blocking the narrow Bellissime streets as far as he could see, and horns honked as irritated drivers tried to push their way through the crowd.
    Fuck. That was for him?
    As he watched, a black sedan pulled up, two tiny Bellissime flags waving from the hood. The photographers clustered around it, and Luke tensed. Was the princess coming to visit him at his hotel? Surely that seemed like a bad idea, didn’t it? But he couldn’t pull away from the window, and he held his breath as the door opened.
    A man in a black suit stepped out. Frustrated, Luke pushed away and slapped the curtains shut. Now he was just being a mopey schoolboy, wasn’t he? He needed to get out of his own head for a bit. Definitely time to head down to the gym. He pulled out a music player and strapped it to his arm, and then headed down the hall to the elevator.
    It opened as he stepped forward, and standing there was a man in a black suit, a black chauffeur cap on his head. He looked surprised to see Luke. “Mr. Houston?” He held out an envelope.
    Luke pulled out his earbuds and examined it. “What’s this?” He’d been handed all kinds of weird shit on the red carpet, but this seemed like a plain envelope.
    “I believe it is an invitation, sir.” The man clasped his hands and waited.
    Luke fiddled with the envelope. When the man didn’t leave, he arched an eyebrow at him.
    “I’m supposed to wait for your response, sir.”
    “Ah.” Luke shoved his thumb under the sealed flap and ripped it open, then pulled out the card inside. It was plain eggshell colored, the national symbol of Bellissime on the front. The interior was neatly printed.
Your presence is requested by HRH Crown Princess Alexandra Olivia III for dinner tonight. A driver will be there to pick you up at seven sharp.
    Below the type, a note had been scribbled in a feminine hand.
I hope you’re not mad. Come see me tonight? I promise we’ll have more privacy here than on the bridge! Best, Alex.
    A slow smile curved his