Royally Wed: The Poser Read online

  Contents

  Also by Pamela DuMond

  About this Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Excerpt of Royally Knocked Up

  Excerpt of Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire

  Excerpt of The Prince’s Playbook

  Books by Pamela DuMond

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Part-time Poser

  Royally Wed Romantic Comedy: Book 3

  Pamela DuMond

  Pamela DuMond Media

  Part-time Poser

  (Royally Wed Romantic Comedy, #3)

  Copyright © 2017 Pamela DuMond ~ All rights reserved. Cover Design:

  The above books are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No parts of these books may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any other means, without written permission of the author, except in the use of brief quotations used in articles or reviews. You can contact the author at www.pameladumond.com .

  Published by Pamela DuMond Media

  Also by Pamela DuMond

  ROMANCE

  21st CENTURY COURTESAN series

  * * *

  TYCOON: A 21st Century Courtesan Prologue

  PLAYER #1

  MOVIE STAR #2

  BELOVED #3 - Coming soon

  HUSBAND #4 - Coming soon

  THE CROWN AFFAIR series

  * * *

  His Sexy Cinderella - A Crown Affair Prologue

  The Prince’s Playbook #1

  His Majesty’s Measure #2

  The American Princess #3

  The Duchess’s Decision #4

  PLAYING DIRTY ROM-COM Stand Alones

  * * *

  The Client

  The Matchmaker

  ROYALLY WED ROM-COM series

  * * *

  Part-time Princess #1 —Licensed as a CHAPTERS Interactive Stories Game.

  Royally Wed #2

  Part-time Poser #3

  Royally Knocked Up #4

  PLAYING SWEETER ROM-COM Stand Alones

  * * *

  Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire

  The Story of You and Me

  MORTAL BELOVED TIME TRAVEL series

  * * *

  The Messenger #1

  The Assassin #2

  The Seeker #3

  The Believer #4: Jack & Clara — STAND ALONE

  MYSTERY

  ANNIE GRACELAND COZY MYSTERIES

  * * *

  Cupcakes, Lies, and Dead Guys #1

  Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails

  Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys

  Cupcakes, Paws, and Bad Santa Claus

  Cupcakes, Diaries, and Rotten Inquiries

  Cupcakes, Bats, and Scare-dy Cats

  Cupcakes, Bars, and Rock Stars

  Cupcakes, Spies, and Despicable Guys - Also available to play as a Chapters Interactive Stories Game .

  Cupcakes, Screams, and Drama Queens - Coming soon

  NON-FICTION

  Staying Young: Simple Techniques to Look and Feel Young

  For

  * * *

  Caitlyn O’Leary

  * * *

  Your big, kind heart.

  Your hilarious sense of humor.

  Keywords.

  About this Book

  PRAISE for Royally Wed Romantic Comedy

  Five Stars “Why can’t I be a Part-Time Princess?! Amazing, I loved this book!!” ~ London Dreaming

  * * *

  Five Stars “Absolutely Freaking Hi - lar - ri - ous!!!” ~ Avid Reader923

  * * *

  Four Stars “This is a flirty fun read.” ~ Karen’s Book Haven

  * * *

  Five Stars “AHHHHH I LOVELOVELOVE this Book!” ~ Maryam Dinzly

  * * *

  Five Stars “Pamela's books are like potato chips, you cannot read just one…” Jenny James

  DESCRIPTION

  I used to be a cocktail waitress but then I married Prince Nicholas of Fredonia -- he of the abs so ripped I mend them with my tongue every night.

  * * *

  Now my life’s practically a party filled with hot romance, glitter and glam, and, and…

  * * *

  What do you mean Nick and I aren’t legally wed?

  * * *

  The Archbishop claims our wedding was performed by a charlatan, a poser priest. If the paparazzi gets ahold of this they’ll rip the royal family’s reputation to shreds.

  * * *

  Nick’s got obligatory guard duty so I’m traveling to Venice, Italy with Prince Cristoph and my party-hard Ladies-in-Waiting to track down the poser and shut this problem down now.

  * * *

  What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter 1

  “I don’t understand,” I said, pacing back and forth across the living room of the spectacularly appointed red brick townhouse in the capital city of Sauerhausen, Fredonia. Our gorgeous new home was a pricey piece of property situated next door to Crown Prince Cristoph’s posh pad. I looked out the two-story floor to ceiling windows straight into picturesque Centralaski Park, night lights beaming low in the fogged air above the running path that circled the pond in the near distance. “It’s like being a little bit pregnant. You’re knocked up or you’re not. We’re married or we’re not.”

  “Hell yes, we’re married, Lucy,” Prince Nicholas said. “Stop worrying! The nightmare, otherwise known as getting married, is in the rearview. Everything is in order. Everything is in place.”

  “Says the man who had three couches delivered to the new home but can’t make up his mind which one he wants.”

  The enormous sofas: one a rich chocolate brown tufted leather, another a crimson velvet pudding couch, and the third a sturdy, sensible tapestry, rested uncomfortably next to each other in the cavernous living room. They resembled in-laws from opposite sides of the family that didn’t like each other all that much, who had been corralled together for a family holiday.

  If I had to vote for a favorite sofa right now, it would be the one on which Prince Nicholas Frederick Timmel of Fredonia was currently sprawled. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that clung to his well-toned chest and back, highlighting his buff, built arms. A two-day shadow bristled on his face, and his thick black hair bordered on the longish side. One muscular hand absent-mindedly scratched our dog Tulip’s head. The yellow Labrador retriever gazed off into the distance as if the prince had hypnotized her, or perhaps fed her too many liver treats. Prince Nicholas of Fredonia was sexy as sin, and—in my humble opinion—good with tricks as well as treats.

  “Minor details.” He smiled at me and beckoned with his index finger. “At the end of the day this confusion will most likely be revealed as a clerical mistake. Let’s attend to the important matter. Which sofa do we pick for our new living room? I’m kind of leaning toward this one right now.” He patted the leather seat cushion next to him, as Tulip hopped off, stretched in down dog, and lumbered toward the kitchen. “Come over here, let’s get naked, give it a go, and see what it’s really made of. We can’t pick a wuss of a couch for, god’s
sakes. What kind of standards would we set for our children?”

  “You mean our dog?” I watched Tulip disappear around the corner into the kitchen, her tail wagging from her hairy behind like a metronome.

  “Today it’s the dog. Tomorrow it’s children,” Nick said. “Strong moral convictions, Lucy, start with the parents. I say we start here and now. You and me. Raising the bar. Setting standards.” He patted the leather again, and then gave it a suggestive slap. “While we do the naked horizontal happy dance.”

  “I can’t have sex on a leather sofa right now. I’m a practical girl and I need to make sense of this kerfuffle.”

  I ignored his beckoning finger and stomped back and forth across the rich, honey-toned natural woods lining the floors. Nick had purchased the new townhouse two weeks ago, before I marched down the aisle at the St. Francis of Assisi chapel. Before we were royally wed. Before some smartass, know-it-all fancy-robed guy wearing a bejeweled pointy hat, stamped “Null and Void” all over my marriage certificate and should have just stamped it all over my heart.

  The Archbishop Causesdesperdues left me not knowing for sure if I was married or not married to the handsomest man in the world, the Prince of Fredonia, the sexy, adorable smartass who had captured my heart and put a ring on my significant finger.

  “Aha. I knew it,” Nick said. “You’re too soft-hearted to go for the leather. I saw you bonding with the cows when we visited the Grand Duke’s estate in Edelweiss.” He stood up and walked over to the pudding sofa. He plopped down on it and put his feet up on the only coffee table in the room. “You stroked Flopsie’s head and said, ‘Don’t let them tell you this is only women’s work. Get the rest of the girls together, form a union, and then you’ll be a force to be reckoned with.’” He ran his hand back and forth over the red velvet. “You’re simply too in touch with the animals. Perhaps you’d prefer this one? I suspect it’s a cotton blend. It’s soft, sensuous to the touch, and yet firm—just like you.”

  “Well, those girls should band together,” I said. “Women are always working their asses off and still getting eighty cents on every dollar made by a man. For god’s sake, we live in modern times, and the gender gap is ridiculously medieval.” I peeked out the windows at the snow-capped French Alps in the distance and could almost make out the town of Friedricksburgh high in the foothills above the city. The postcard-perfect small town that was the site of my last two wedding attempts.

  My first walk down the aisle was here in Sauerhausen at the Royal Cathedral in an attempt to marry the wrong guy, Nick’s brother, Prince Cristoph. To my credit, at the last minute I copped to being a princess impersonator and said, “I don’t” instead of “I do.” To my chagrin, I made it all the way down the aisle before I decided to blow my own cover, and out myself as a phony, a fraud, a charlatan. That I was not Lady Elizabeth Billingsley, to the manner born, but instead Lucy Trabbicio, former cocktail waitress from the Southside of Chicago.

  “In the name of détente, I request that you bring that hot ass of yours over here, Lucy,” Nick said. He picked up the remote and aimed it at the flatscreen mounted high on the wall as he bounced up and down a few times on the cushions. “This piece seems well constructed. One can sit back and comfortably watch TV. But will it rock the Casbah factor?”

  “How can I worry about the Casbah factor when I don’t know if we’re married? We still haven’t gotten word from either the Archbishop Causesdesperdues or the state. I feel like I was hit by a cement truck, and dragged a hundred feet by that cold-hearted man and his stupid cape.”

  “I will not allow men in capes to take you away from me.” Nick sprang to his feet and walked a few steps toward me. He captured my hand and pulled me flush against him. “Step aside Superman. Move over Dracula. Be gone Archbishop Causesdesperdues. You, Lucy, are mine.” He tugged the clip from my messy bun, tossing it, and weaving his fingers through my long hair. He leaned in and kissed me on the lips. Hot. Long. Wet. Delicious.

  Good God, the man could sell ice to Eskimos.

  I reluctantly ripped myself from his smoldering lips and glanced up at him. “A guy who sends you a telegram while you’re on your honeymoon to inform you that you’re not married is not ‘Superman,’ I air quoted. “I prefer to call him ‘Bully Man,’ or ‘Rain on Your Parade’ man. Besides, I dare anyone to try and take you away from me.

  I journeyed down the wedding aisle the second time at the Royal Chapel in Friedricksburgh on my way to marry the right prince—his royal gorgeousness, Nicholas. But I was ditched, a bride left standing alone in front of the altar without a groom, holding a kiss-off note in one bejeweled hand. “What kind of mean people kidnap a man on his wedding day? Thank God, my Ladies-in-Waiting and I were able to track you down and rescue you.”

  “Color me eternally grateful, Lucy. How embarrassing that the kidnappers stuffed me blindfolded and zip-tied in the basement of some pretty-in-pink wedding planning joint. I thank my lucky stars every day that the paparazzi didn’t snap photos and plaster them everywhere. That reminds me: I’ve been meaning to talk with you about the blindfolded thing. I recently saw a documentary on cable about...”

  “Not now, Nick.” I gazed into his crystal blue eyes and smoothed a lock of black hair off his forehead. “I didn’t think I’d ever say this to you, but your cheekbones are looking a bit sharper these days. Did those horrible Weddings R Us people at least give you water and feed you?”

  “Briny water and stale bread for three solid days, Lucy. It’s a wonder I survived. I’m still traumatized wife, and I need soothing. Take off your clothes and have your wicked ways with me. Fuck me silly, Lucy, before it’s too late, and all hope is lost.”

  “Fine,” I sighed, kicking off my Uggs. “But only because I hate bullies. I’ll put up with a random asshole, flip the bird at an obnoxious driver, but bullies push me over the edge. Speaking of, I’m going to track down that nasty, petty archbishop, and stamp ‘null and void’ all over his head until he issues us a new marriage certificate. That’s the only way I know this thing will get resolved. If you want something done right, you do it yourself.” I yanked off my socks and pitched those on the floor as well.

  “I have a better way for you to blow off steam, my love.” Nick slipped his hand under my blouse, his fingers sliding up my stomach invoking tingling sensations that zipped down and performed cartwheels over my private girlie parts.

  “We can’t have sex on the leather couch,” I said. “I don’t think we can return it if we have sex on it.”

  “I know, darling. We’re having sex on the velvet one. I’m doing this for your own good, my love. I’m on a mission.” Nicholas dropped to his knees, pressing his lips against my stomach and nibbled my skin. The scruff of his black shadow was both rough and ticklish as he pushed my shirt up higher. His fingers grazed the hand-spun black lace of my bra, curving over the swell of my breast.

  My breath hitched as his muscular hands dropped to either side of my waist, grasped the top of my pelvic bones and abruptly swiveled my hips to face him. “Whoa! Slow up Ranger Danger!” I said, staring down at him. “Whiplash!”

  “That’s Captain Danger to you. Besides, it’s whiplash you’ll write home about,” he said, lightly slapping me on my ass, pulling me to him and sinking his lips onto my stomach. His breath was warm and moist against my bare skin as he trailed kissed down my abdomen.

  Heat flushed through my body like I’d walked into the steam room at the local YMCA and I had a pretty good idea where his mouth was headed. “What does this mission entail?

  “Search and Rescue. I’m still on the search part.” He tickled me, and I burst out laughing.

  No matter how stressed out I was, Nicholas always found a way to make me smile. This is why we worked. This is why I fell in love with him. This is why I was willing to fight for him. I smiled. “You missed a spot.” I pointed to the top button on my jeans.

  “I’m sorry, spot,” he said, unbuttoning them with patient fingers one by one, lingering bet
ween buttons to work his tongue lower. “Please don’t hold it against me.” He stopped, and tugged my jeans down over my hips, wriggling them down my legs.

  “Spot forgives you,” I said, kicking them off.

  “I love you, Lucy.” His teeth snagged the top edge of the lace of my bikini bottoms and he dragged them down over the tops of my thighs.

  “How did I score such a hot guy?”

  Tulip barked in the kitchen.

  “I haven’t scored yet, Lucy. But it’s bottom of the ninth, I’m rounding the bases, and heading toward home. I swear I can hear the crowds chanting my name.”