The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1) by Iris Morland (learn to read books TXT) 📗

Da’s lips lifted in a wan smile. “You know he’s the Hereditary Prince of Salasia, then? The only son of Prince Étienne?”

“Yes. He told me so himself not soon after we started traveling.”

Da smoked in thoughtful silence. He seemed calmer today. “How’s Liam?” he said suddenly.

“Liam? He’s doing well.” I said the words with an edge, knowing that Da hadn’t even bothered to ask about my brother yesterday—or in the twenty-two years he’d been on his own. “He’s married, you know. He has two girls, and he’s a professional photographer. He lives in Seattle.”

Da let out a puff of smoke. “Good for him,” was all he said.

“Yes, good for him. He’s very dedicated to his family. He’d do anything for them, and he’s sacrificed a lot to raise me.”

Sighing, Da stubbed out his cigarette and regarded me. “You’re mad. Understandable. I’d give you an explanation, but what would it matter? What’s done is done.”

“Most people would give an apology.”

“Is that what you want? You want me to say sorry, give you a hug, and tell you everything’s good? Lass, I know you don’t want that. You’re obviously smarter than that.”

I had half of a mind to storm out of his apartment. Or at the very least to throw one of his ashtrays at his head. But I didn’t want him to see how much his words hurt me.

He might be my father biologically, but beyond that, he was only a stranger. Liam, and then my uncle Henry, had been my fathers in Connor’s stead.

“You said you know about your handsome prince. Did he mention to you that he’d come to see me this morning? Based on your face, I’m going to venture to guess that that is a no.”

“Why would he come to see you without me?”

“Because I asked him to.”

I felt like a broken record. “Why? To discuss the clock?”

Da let out a rough laugh. “The bloody clock. No, it’s not about the clock. Not precisely.” His smile was wry now. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No,” I said, irritation lacing my voice.

He reached over, pulling a metal pin from the shelf below the coffee table. He fiddled with something on the back, his tongue touching his teeth. Then a moment later, a little drawer popped open near the bottom of the clock.

He handed it to me. Inside the tiny drawer were papers. I touched the edge of one.

“Read what’s on them,” said Da.

I gently extracted the papers. Unfolding them, I discovered that they were letters. My heart pounded in my chest, and I was glad I was sitting down, because I felt a little dizzy. Licking my dry lips, I began to read the first letter.

It was addressed to someone with the initial A, dated over twenty-five years ago.

My darling, I know we can overcome anything. We’re meant to be together. I love you with all of my heart.

The letter was signed by C.

I looked up at Da, but he just gestured for me to keep reading.

I unfolded another letter, and my eyebrows rose to my forehead. This letter was more explicit. I want to lick your lovely tits, suck on your toes. I want your cunt dripping into my mouth. Meet me in rose tower on the south lawn tonight. 

I blushed to the roots of my hair, mostly because Da was watching me read this. Geez, talk about awkward.

The letter also included a line that stood out to me: Do you think you should keep the baby?

The last letter was essentially a farewell. C wrote that he was moving to Belgium and that he wanted to end things. Although he’d enjoyed his time with A, these things couldn’t last forever. She understood, yes? This time, though, the writer had addressed the receiver not as A, but as Alex.

“Okay, what are these all about?” I said after I’d folded them up and had returned them to the drawer. “You wanted me to come over here to read some dirty letters from some randoms?”

Da smiled. “Not from some randoms. Those letters were written to Prince Olivier’s mother, Princess Alexandra. And not from her husband.”

“What?”

“Don’t you understand already? Your golden prince is a bastard. Look at the dates. A year before Alexandra married Prince Olivier’s father.”

If it started out as a fairy tale, it didn’t last long. My parents stopped sharing a bed by the time I was five years old.

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I didn’t, until I spoke with Olivier this morning. He doesn’t have much of a poker face, you know. It didn’t take much for him to confirm those letters were addressed to his mother and that the dates would line up with his own conception.” Da waved a hand. “Oh, he didn’t say as much. But he said enough for it all to line up.”

I couldn’t breathe. Olivier was a bastard? But these letters, if they were written to his mother, were damning. Had she been pregnant when she’d met Prince Étienne? Had he known?

“What do you want?” I said to Da. “Money? Because Olivier already told you he’d pay any price for the clock.”

Da sighed, like I was too stupid to understand everything. “Why do you think I wanted this clock in the first place?”

“How about you tell me, since you’re the one with all of the answers,” I shot back.

“I knew you’d be a handful.”

“You weren’t even there when I was born. You ran off, remember? Did you even know that Mam had had a girl?”

“I got her letters, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The admission hurt. I could almost, almost, forgive him if he’d somehow fallen out of contact with my mom and had had no idea I’d existed. Well, except he’d known about the pregnancy. No matter how I tried to justify his actions, there was nothing that could make them acceptable.

I suddenly wished I’d never come here to find him. The only silver lining in all of this was that I’d met Olivier.

“I wanted the clock,” said