Royal Package - Lili Valente Page 0,6
father was a famous movie star who ran off to Tibet to “find himself” and never came back, and my mother is a well-respected pediatric heart surgeon. Growing up, my brothers and I were tutored by some of the best and brightest minds in the arts and sciences, and I was coding my own video games with my little brother Nick before my head was large enough to hold up the kid-size crown my grandfather insisted I wear for our weekly meetings in his office.
By the age of twelve, I was updating Gallantia’s tourism site, determined to make the world love my country as much as I did. By fourteen, I’d worked with my grandfather to refurbish the river casinos, transforming our capital city of Baden Bergen into an international destination for high rollers and their families.
And at sixteen, I launched the Royal Package PicsWithFriends account, beaming a spotlight on my homeland that drew the gaze of the entire planet and changed the course of my life.
Within a few months, ad revenue from sponsored content on the account—mostly from companies hawking luxury clothing, swimwear, and headphones they were dying to see draped on princely bodies—eclipsed my generous royal allowance. And yes, I’ve donated every penny I’ve received to charities in my country, but I’ve also enjoyed every second of my affiliate-sponsored jet-setting around the globe.
I’ve lounged poolside, skied pristine slopes, and hiked into jungles in more countries than most people can name and brought my troublemaking younger brothers along for the ride. Nickolas and Jeffery can each be a pain in the arse in his own way—Jeffery because he keeps his cards so close to his chest, and Nick because he’ll show his cards to anyone—but they’re also my best friends. Born within four years of each other, we’ve been partners in crime from the day Nick came home from the hospital.
Which makes the current state of collective insanity even harder to stomach…
“I seriously can’t believe you’re on board with this,” I say, dragging my dropped jaw off my chest. I thought an afternoon at the exclusive Mountain High casino resort pool would put my brothers in a more compassionate frame of mind, but so far, not-so-good. “Imagine you were the ones being sold into marital slavery.”
“Oh, please. She’s a sweet, beautiful, accomplished woman,” Nickolas says, popping a cherry into his mouth and chewing lazily. “And a blonde, so I’m not sure what you’re complaining about.”
“You do like blondes,” Jeffrey rumbles softly.
“I do not like—”
“You do, too,” Nickolas says, cutting me off before I can defend myself. “I can’t remember the last time you dated a brunette or a redhead. You’ve got a type, brother, and Elizabeth is it.” He spits his cherry pit into the air and bats it into the bushes with his straw, making the cute girls on the other side of the casino pool giggle.
Everything Nick has done this afternoon has made the girls giggle, including choking on his paella and getting toilet paper stuck on his shoe on the way out of the bathroom. He could probably belch a Hamlet soliloquy and the ladies would still be swooning at his feet.
All three of us have been genetically blessed—thick dark brown hair, green eyes, and olive skin that bronzes perfectly in the sun—but the gossip blogs swear our baby brother, with his twin dimples and impossibly long eyelashes, is the prettiest of the Von Bergen princes.
Nick’s the beauty, bulky Jeffrey’s the brawn, and I’m the brains, a weight that rests heavily on my shoulders as I struggle to scheme my way out of this nightmare without a shred of help from my siblings. My brothers aren’t stupid—quite the contrary, they’re usually too clever for their own good—but they don’t worry about the future the way I do.
Neither of them is going to be king.
My country is depending on me to make wise decisions, to steer the ship of our nation, and to maintain the peace and prosperity my citizens enjoyed under my grandfather’s rule. I have a sacred trust to uphold, and I do my best “upholding” when I’m in good spirits.
I will not be in good spirits if I’m forced to marry Elizabeth Rochat.
We’re a match made in a sad, moldy basement where dreams go to die. But for some reason, my brothers don’t see the truth that’s so obvious to me.
Therefore, I’ve made a list to convince them it’s their royal duty to help me put an end to this charade.
I whip out my