Royally Bad (Royally Wrong Book 1)

excitement. Mr. White shakes Theo’s hand, thanking him again.
“Come on, V-card,” he murmurs, grabbing my hand. Energy zings up my arm, as if I’ve hit my funny bone. My body fills with a not quite painful ache.
In the backseat of our own limo, I lean into Theo, resting my head against his shoulder until my glasses dig into my face. I don’t ever want to move. The white volunteer shirt sets off his tanned skin perfectly. I want to crawl into his lap and curl against his chest.
Instead, I distract myself with my phone, checking my social media sites, and because I’m on the clock, his public pages.
“Hey, look at this,” I say, and show him his Lookbook page.
His hair tickles my skin as he leans closer. I clear my throat and scroll through all the pictures of him with the kids. There’s one with him kneeling beside an adorable boy in a wheelchair. Theo’s grin makes my heart ache.
“You’re getting a lot of great comments,” I say.
Theo squints at the screen. He plucks my glasses off my face before I can say anything, sets them on his nose. I open my mouth, but the black frames highlight his beauty and, for a second, I can’t breathe. Nerd Theo is fucking hot.
Brow furrowed, he tries to read the screen before jerking his head back, pulling the glasses off and staring at them. “Vesper, these are—”
“Fake,” I say, and give him a sheepish grin. “You caught me. Do you need glasses to read?”
“I don’t read, remember?” He frowns at the glasses.
“You can though. You just won’t. You avoid anything that makes you look responsible or smart.”
“Is that why you wear these?” He offers me my frames. “Do you think they make you look smarter?”
“Maybe.” I take them, turn them over in my hands. The black lines. The clear glass. It all seems so stupid now. I slip them into my purse with my phone.
“Why don’t you tell your doctor you need glasses?” I ask Theo. “Or just get Lasik surgery?”
He slides away from me on the seat. “I told you. I don’t read. I barely passed high school. Flunked out of college. It didn’t interest me. What I don’t understand is why you wear fake glasses. You don’t need anything to make you look smart.”
“I put myself through college,” I blurt. “I worked at a bar. I got great tips.”
“I bet you did.”
“Theo...” I turn away. “Never mind.”
He catches my hand. “No. Tell me.”
“I kept my hair long. I was afraid to cut it in case I wouldn’t get as much attention. Wouldn’t make as much money.” I realize I’ve pulled my ponytail over my shoulder, and am stroking it. I stop. “One day, a guy comes in. Big spender. I flirted with him. He told me he owned a club, and was looking for a new bartender. Offered me a job.”
“Did you take it?”
“I went with him to his business in the big city. It was a club. Membership only—fifty-two thousand a year. Lots of girls in tiny dresses, and older men.”
“Sugar babies with their sugar daddies.”
“Yep,” I swallow hard. “That’s what people see when they look at me. Long legs, blonde hair. They think I could be a model, or a stripper, or…”
“That’s not all they see.” He finds the glasses and slides them back on my face. “Just because you’re hot as fuck doesn’t mean you’re not intelligent.”
That’s not what people see.
“And look at you now. Vesper Smith. Fixer. You make the bad boys good again.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You’re reforming me,” he insists. “And later this week, you’re gonna meet the queen of Sweden.”
I still. “You’re going?”
Theo shrugs. “Why not? She’s just a person.”
“She’s your grandmother.”
“Yeah, she’s been a fantastic grandmother so far.”
I put my hand on his knee. “Losing your mom must have hurt her.”
“It hurt me too. My dad never recovered.”
I wait, but he says no more. I move my hand from his knee. I should probably stop touching him so much.
But then he puts his hand on the back of my neck. Slowly pulls the hair band out, sifts his fingers through my hair. I close my eyes in pleasure.
“I like your hair. Though, I wouldn’t mind if you cut it.”
“Thank you.”
“You better come to Sweden with me. You look more like Swedish royalty than I do.”
“I don’t know about that.” I shift away from him to look out the window. We’re almost to the hotel, the crown jewel in the Kensington portfolio. Fifty-two stories high, overlooking Central Park.
How did I end up here? I feel like an imposter.
“One interview,” Theo says suddenly.
“What?” I pull my gaze from the park.
“I’ll do one interview. Set my story straight. After that, I just want to stay out of the press.”
“I can do that.” I smile back and pull out my phone, ready to schedule the interview before he changes his mind.
My Google alert pings. I scroll through the latest news bulletin.
“Shit,” I say.
“What?”
“Your uncle died,” I tell him as the Escalade stops at the grand entrance to Imperial Manhattan. “Congratulations, Theo. You’re now the crown prince of Sweden.”

6
The door opens into the storm of paparazzi. Cameras flash like lightning. The press screams from all sides.
“Mr. Kensington,” Evans shouts. Black suited men rush forward, surrounding us. Theo covers me with his body as we race inside.
“It’s all over the news,” Evans tells us.
“Fuck,” Theo runs his hand through his hair. “I’m sick of this. What do we do?” He and Evans turn to me.
“You’re the most newsworthy person on the planet right now. If you thought you were famous before…” I shake my head. “I’ll release a statement announcing that you’re grieving with the family. We’ll head to Sweden early.”
“What about the interview?” he asks.
“There’s still time for one. I can get you on Good News, America tomorrow. Hell, I can get you on air anywhere we want. But I know Reba Hamilton,” I name the head anchor. “She’d love to interview you, and she’ll be