The Torn Prince Read online

  “Oh, the pain of your life,” she quipped with irony.

  Kelsey Clegg was a nationwide literary phenomenon whose best-selling series of crime books had been made into a hit TV show. As its executive producer, she had to be at many filming locations, especially those crucial to the story.

  “Ha! Text me later. Let me know how it goes.”

  “Will do.”

  “And Rio? Make an effort, will you?”

  “Very funny. See you Friday at the gala.”

  With this, she cut the call, a smile on her face. She should be making an effort today, indeed. Though Humphrey had seen her at her most harried, with her minimal makeup having long disappeared, and despite him seeming to not have a problem with that, she owed him more.

  So, for today, she decided she’d deck herself out in a cashmere jumpsuit as she’d be mostly at her desk all day long. She also took special care with her makeup, adding a flick more mascara to open her eyes. She switched from lip balm to the rosy-berry hue of her lipstick, which always worked so well to bring out the olive undertones in her complexion under their best light.

  After sliding on a pair of pointy toe-ed ankle boots, she went down the stairs to the study on the first floor, where she grabbed her laptop bag, then sailed down to the ground floor. She paused on the edge of the reception room, viewing the kitchen with a dubious twist of her lips.

  The island did indeed look like a porridge bomb had gone off, and Nour was laughing away as Oksana tried to feed him the little still there in the bowl.

  The baby gurgled and waved at her, a plastic spoon clutched in one chubby fist. Perfect—he was in a good mood. She could get away with blowing him a kiss and shouting she loved him all the way to the front door. Not as fulfilling as a hug, for sure, but cashmere just did not do well with puree splatters, and she was a woman on a mission today.

  The roads were a bit of a pain this morning—and it would only get worse the closer they got to Christmas—and it took her over thirty minutes to reach the building she called work near Camden Market. Located near renowned nightclubs and artist galleries, Tempo was an NGO giving youngsters access to dance programs and a safe day care environment where they could just be themselves and have fun.

  Rio was its Executive Director, reporting to a board of directors which had Kelsey as its chairperson. She’d never thought she’d move to administration. She was first and foremost a yoga and dance teacher who’d joined the staff as an instructor.

  She’d figured out the windfall she’d received in the divorce would only take them a decade forward if she wanted the best education for her son. So, moving to this admin position had seemed like a godsend.

  She parked the Range Rover in the tiny side garage provided for the building and hopped her way to the front door. This early in the day, the youths who frequented the place wouldn’t yet have arrived to turn the interior into a thumping bass dance floor. Thank goodness for soundproof walls, which had cost them a fortune but had been so worth it. The vinyl shop next door had tolerated them before. Still, things were less frosty with the owner and the clientele now.

  Her staff, consisting of a few dance instructors, greeted her from the floor. Her assistant, Martha, got up when she strolled in. A large-size travel cup of steaming black coffee already in hand, Martha followed Rio into the office and placed the drink on the table.

  The woman rattled off the many tasks on the docket for the day.

  Wincing, Rio reached for the coffee and took a big glug so the caffeine would enable her to keep up with Martha.

  The first time she’d heard her assistant’s name, she’d expected a dowdy granny type.

  Instead, she’d met a bubbly blonde in her thirties who should’ve been named Tiffany or Annabelle or some other such effervescent name belonging to a preppy cheerleader.

  Rio rearranged the piles of files on her desk, trying to find the accounts folder she needed to review for the day. A knock on the still-open office door made her look up.

  A tall, gangly-limbed blond man stood there.

  “Humphrey,” Martha said with a wide smile. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

  Rio slanted her a quick glance before rising from her seat to greet him with a kiss on each cheek. “I was just about to call you.”

  He smiled. “Guess fate already knew, then, since I had this insane urge to drop by.”

  As one of their biggest benefactors, it wasn’t strange for him to pop in every so often. Though she would admit, he had been here a bit more in the recent months. Could this be a good sign for her?

  “Cuppa?” Martha asked him.

  “Wouldn’t say no,” he replied.

  The other woman left the room.

  “Sit, please.” Rio waved at the chair opposite the desk, knocking over a pile of folders in the process.

  He grabbed the papers before they could hit the linoleum floor.

  She reached for the files at the same time, and his hand landed on hers.

  It was warm, soft, and very smooth. Of course, as an aristocrat, he’d hardly ever put in a day’s work, and not the manual type. Aside from these sensations, nothing rocked her, not even slightly, let alone to her core. Raising her eyes, she glanced at his face.

  His kind smile obliterated that he looked more like the frog than the Prince Charming in the eponymous reference. Especially with his bulging grey eyes and broad shoulders not at all in proportion to his long, stick-thin legs.

  He had a good heart, though, and this she knew from having seen him so many times trying to help the kids who came to Tempo for a brighter chance at life.

  Files safely back on their pile, Rio and Humphrey sat down.

  Martha returned with the tea, placing it on the table. With a big smile, she left and closed the door behind her.

  Rio took a deep breath and bade her time as he took a sip of his tea. Best not to beat around the bush. She wasn’t a simpering miss by any length, and she wouldn’t turn into one today.

  “So,” she started. “About the foundation’s gala this Friday …”

  He put his cup down and faced her. “You’re going, of course. I doubt Kelsey would let you off the hook.”

  She laughed softly at this—Kelsey could indeed be scary when she wanted to. Now to take the plunge. Deep breath in. “I was hoping you could be my plus one.”

  He blinked for a second or two or three. “Are you …”

  “Asking you out on a date? Yes.”

  Well, that had come out easier than she’d thought. Guess she’d just needed to wade in.

  He blinked again, then his big smile overtook his pale face. “Sure.”

  A pang hit her heart. He seemed happy. While she wasn’t toying with him, she should let him know what it all boiled down to. Deception was one of the hardest things to get over and to forgive—something she didn’t want between them.

  “Humphrey … I’m not in love with you.”

  There, she’d said it. If he told her to go take a flying leap, then so be it. She would not con someone into believing they had a bright future with her to then pull the rug under their feet.

  He remained silent for a while, studying her, which made her squirm. Yet, she resisted the urge.

  Finally, he took a deep, audible breath. “I’m not going to blow up my own person by saying something like ‘yet’ or whatever. But I suppose you like me?”

  “I do,” she replied quickly. “A lot.”

  “Then that’s good for me.” He reached over, palm upturned.

  She reached out, placing her hand in his. Again, gentle warmth seeped into her where they touched.

  “I’ll be honest, Rio,” he said. “I’m not looking for love. Companionship, a nice person by my side. I’m okay with that.”

  She nodded. “Fine by me, too.”

  He smiled, then brought her hand over to drop a soft kiss on it. “So Friday’s a date, then.”

  “Sure.” As he got up and reached the door, she called out to him. “I won’t le
t you down.”

  He gave a soft nod. “I know.”

  When the door closed on him, Rio let out a breath and sagged against her seat. Everything still looked the same around her, but at the same time, it was all so different.

  With those last words, she couldn’t help but think they’d exchanged a promise to be together. Like a tacit agreement to a proposal which had been hovering in the room, yet not voiced.

  She glanced at her left hand, the third finger devoid of a ring for the past two years. There might not be a diamond there, but she could feel it—the engagement.

  Going into a marriage of convenience, yes.

  Still, she had her eyes wide open this time, and she would honour this man who was giving her a second chance so generously.

  Now, work. She had the whole day’s agenda to attend to. Plus, it seemed those hooligans they all loved so much had started to arrive, the percussive electronic notes of a Martin Garrix EDM track already thumping in the floor.

  Martha strolled in with a folder in hand. “He seems in a good mood.”

  Rio nodded. “We’re going to the foundation gala together.”

  “Oh.”

  She glanced up just in time to see the crestfallen expression on Martha’s face, which was replaced with a smile a fraction of a second later. For a moment there, Rio wondered if she’d conjured the look, if the grin seemed forced.

  She must be imagining things.

  She sighed, taking the thick folder, and placing it on the heavy pile of accounts documents already awaiting her on the desk.

  “Martha, do not let me out of this office until I give you the budget revisions for the coming year.”

  “Done. Coffee?”

  Rio nodded. “Keep it coming.”

  Hours later, and after about three large refills of her travel mug—who needed lunch when they powered on caffeine—a knock came at her door.

  For once, she’d been able to blip through the youngsters’ ruckus. Martha would come in and out soundlessly to top up her coffee. Why, then, would her assistant be knocking?

  She paused in her task and looked up, still seeing numbers blurring before her tired eyes. Great, she’d forgotten to get a new bottle of eye drops. She’d ditched the last one, which had been opened for a month already on Friday.

  “Someone here to see you,” Martha said through the ajar door.

  And without an appointment, indeed. Still, NGOs like this existed thanks to donors and benefactors. It wouldn’t do to send any prospective helper packing.

  She gave a soft nod and started to get up. The leg of her jumpsuit caught on the wheel of her executive chair. She peered down while trying to dislodge the delicate fabric before it got tangled to an irrecuperable mess.

  The air shifted in a strange manner as someone entered the office. A whiff of a light citrusy cologne hit her nostrils. It smelled like … No, she would not go there. There must be so many men who wore Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue.

  Pasting a smile on, she looked up, only for the gesture to freeze like a rictus on her face.

  There, by the door, stood a tall, lean man in a suit. The dark blue colour deepened his skin's rich chocolate tones, which stretched over taut, chiselled features, and a severe mouth one would think never broke into smiles.

  But he had smiled, for her, with her …

  Try as she wanted to shake her head, she couldn’t. Her pulse jumped. She’d never thought she’d lay eyes on him again. She certainly wouldn’t have expected to do so with him in this kind of attire when he’d favoured jeans and loose linen shirts in the time she had known him.

  Where those outfits hadn’t been able to hide the almost-feral streak in him, the suit took it to a whole other level. With his close-cropped hair—so different from the playful locs he used to wear in a loose ponytail at his nape—he looked like a billionaire tycoon who should be on the cover of GQ or some other influential magazine. His narrowed eyes highlighted his innate ruthlessness even more.

  Those eyes. Dark, almost black, and with a hint of grey-cast quicksilver when the light hit his irises exactly right.

  Eyes affixed on her right now, making her squirm, making her yearn, making her burn.

  He’d always had this effect on her. Ever since she’d first spotted him, he had stirred her insides and burrowed a place into her heart with every subsequent encounter.

  This man who’d loved and cherished her for one night and had left her in the lurch.

  “Switz.”

  The name came out with all the ice she could conjure. Steel infused her being like the adamantium coating the bones of the claw-handed superhero, the rapid beating of her heart slowing somewhat.

  “Rio.”

  The sound of her name flowing from his tongue was like a pleasure-drugged moan, a caress, wiping away her remaining stupefaction.

  In a blink, anger flared in its wake, shaking her up, igniting her blood with a different kind of fire—deadly frostbite rather than raging flames.

  “What are you doing here?” she bit out.

  She forced herself to stand tall and straight, grateful she’d worn the cashmere and lipstick which felt like armour, suddenly, when they’d been merely feel-good earlier. And praised be the heels which allowed her to stare right into the abyss of his dark eyes, without having to tilt her neck back too much.

  No way would she allow any emotion, any feeling, anything, to come through when she was forced to stare at him less than four feet from her.

  The man had almost made her lose herself, had toppled her world when she’d believed it had already been as topsy-turvy as it could get.

  “We need to talk,” he said softly.

  He’d always had this manner of speaking at such a low pitch where she thought she’d imagined his words, much less heard them.

  Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she tipped her chin forward. “About what?”

  The expressionless mask on his face didn’t move, his eyelids not blinking once. She would almost say he was as frozen as a statue.

  “About my child.”

  The wind got knocked out of her upon hearing this. So he knew … How?

  But he had some gall coming here to say this after the runner he’d done on her. Her eyes narrowed.

  “My child, Switz. My son.”

  “It’s … a boy?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say ‘daughter,’ did I?”

  “I have a son.”

  Finally, he blinked, and this incensed her more than anything else in the past few minutes, which was really saying something given how much he’d rocked her to her core.

  “You don’t.”

  “Rio …”

  She huffed at the hint of menace in the word. Who did he think he was?

  “He’s my son, Switz. Conceived with your sperm, sure, but he’s mine.”

  He stayed silent for a long second or two. “Means he’s also mine.”

  So that’s how he would play it? She hadn’t survived—thrived—on her own for the past eighteen months for him to just breeze in here today when the coast was clear to play the righteous prick with her!

  “He is?” she spat out. “Then where the hell were you when I found out we’d made him? The day he was born? All those sleepless nights and the endless doctor’s appointments—”

  “Wait, he’s sick?”

  He’d already taken a step in her direction, and she stopped him with a raised hand. “Check-ups and vaccination schedule.”

  “Thank God,” he sighed, his shoulders deflating a little as he stopped in his tracks, now just three feet from her.

  Rio blinked upon seeing this. “Thank God? That’s it? And what if he had been sick, Switz? What then? What would you have done? Oh, wait, you weren’t even here, were you? Makes absolutely no difference for you to waltz in here today like I owe you the world—”

  “Rio—”

  “I owe you nothing, Switz Bagumi! Nothing, you hear?”

  “Riona—”


  “And don’t you ‘Riona’ me now with that sweet tone!” A bitter laugh escaped her. “You know so well how to play the nice bloke card, don’t you?”

  “It’s not like that—”

  On a roll now, she paid only the slightest attention to the larger-than-life presence with which he’d crossed over the threshold. For once, she thanked the kids outside for their love of eardrum-ripping music.

  “It’s not like what, Switz?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She so wanted to sock him one for seeming like he was the one trying to hold on to control.

  When he finally looked her way again, the fire in his gaze almost made her want to take a step back. But she didn’t. She would stand her ground this time. For her. For Nour.

  “You didn’t tell me about him, Rio.”

  Seriously? He thought he could come here and throw this at her?

  “I would have … In fact, I was desperate to tell you.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  Her eyes almost boggled out of her face then. “Why? Tell me something—do you even exist, Switz Bagumi?”

  He huffed. “Of course I do. I’m standing right here in front of you.”

  Hai Rabba. Could any person be this obtuse? Not to mention the fact he’d made her call upon God like a good Bollywood drama queen. Did this incense her more, actually?

  “And what’s your real name, pray, tell? Coz I sure don’t know it!”

  “It’s Zed,” he bit out.

  She blinked at this, her mouth dropping open. Well, it was a start, but still …

  “Zed? Like the letter? Who the hell do you think you are? Some major hotshot artist like J Balvin or J-Lo who goes by just using an initial for their first name?”

  “It’s short for Zediah.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Hi, my name is Riona. At least a proper introduction, finally. Go on. You’re Zediah what?”

  Did he hesitate for a fraction too long before answering her?

  “Zediah Akiina …”

  “Man, I have been so far off from Switz Bagumi in looking for you.”

  “Rio—”

  “Don’t you Rio me! Don’t you dare!”

  Did she just get as undignified as projecting spittle when she said that last one? She hoped not. Though dragon flames would’ve been more than welcome, to burn to cinders this clueless idiot who stood there as if … wait a second. He seemed to have deflated to a mere man after standing there so mighty all along.