Săptămânile ce au trecut am citit fel de fel de romane aparte… thrillere, mystery, polițiste, some sci-fi and so on… not my usual, for sure! Nu sunt genuri pe care le ocolesc, doar că pur și simplu având un job de zi cu zi extrem de solicitant, prefer să mă relaxez prin lecturi ușoare, care nu-mi dau fiori și mă chinuie cu întrebări mult timp după ce le-am închis. Well… însă, vin momente când mai rup tiparul și mă aventurez pe tărâmuri complicate așa cum am făcut acum, iar după o mulțime de minuni, parcă parcă arunci un pic mănușa și ai chef iar de-o nebunie din aia dulce de ți se apleacă 🙂
Uite așa am dat eu peste “Royally Screwed” de Emma Chase. Mi-era dor de un roman de-al ei, de o poveste funny și a naibii de romantică, iar dacă un prinț face sacrificiul suprem pentru a se putea căsători cu femeia iubită nu e romantism, atunci nu știu ce mai e ăla.
Nicholas Arthur Frederick Edward Pembrook, Crowned Prince of Wessco, aka His Royal Hotness, is wickedly charming, devastatingly handsome, and unabashedly arrogant; hard not to be when people are constantly bowing down to you.
Then, one snowy night in Manhattan, the prince meets a dark haired beauty who doesn’t bow down. Instead, she throws a pie in his face.
Nicholas wants to find out if she tastes as good as her pie, and this heir apparent is used to getting what he wants.
Dating a prince isn’t what waitress Olivia Hammond ever imagined it would be.
There’s a disapproving queen, a wildly inappropriate spare heir, relentless paparazzi, and brutal public scrutiny. While they’ve traded in horse drawn carriages for Rolls Royces, and haven’t chopped anyone’s head off lately, the royals are far from accepting of this commoner.
But to Olivia, Nicholas is worth it.
Nicholas grew up with the whole world watching, and now Marriage Watch is in full force. In the end, Nicholas has to decide who he is and, more importantly, who he wants to be: a King… or the man who gets to love Olivia forever.
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“I’m not sleeping with you for money.”
“Because I’m not a prostitute.”
“Of course you’re not. But you’re young and beautiful, I’m handsome and rich. The more applicable question is why aren’t we fucking already?”
That is a strong argument.”
“Good God, why not?” I ask, horrified. “That’s a bloody sin.”
“You’re stunning, obviously clever – you should date often, and preferably with a man who knows how it’s done.” I rest my palm on my chest. “Coincidentally, I happen to be fantastic at it. What are the odds?”
“I love you, Olivia. I love you. And I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let you go.”
“Then in one move, I pick up his plate—and smash the apple pie in his stupid, handsome face. “Kiss this, asshole.” I straighten up and slap the check down. “Here’s your bill; leave the money on the table. There’s the door—use it before I come back with my baseball bat and show you why they used to call me Babe Ruthette.”
“MY MOTHER ONCE TOLD ME that time was like the wind. It rushes over you, passes you—and no matter how hard you try, how much you want to, you can’t hold onto it, and you can’t ever slow it down.”
And he’s looking at me like he never wants to stop.
“I didn’t expect…I mean, you’re lovely…b-but…”
“Wasn’t there a movie about a king who stuttered?” I tease him. “Was he a relative of yours?”
He chuckles. And call me crazy, but I swear Nicholas’s cheeks go slightly pink.
“No, stuttering doesn’t run in my family.” He shakes his head. “You just knocked me on my arse.”
And now I’m beaming.