Seduced by the Spare Heir

“Yes,” she replied, her voice taking the same tone as the nuns had used when he was in Catholic school. Serafia didn’t look a thing like Sister Mary Katherine, but she had the same focused expression on her face as she looked him over. The former supermodel had faded away and he was left in the presence of his new image consultant.

“Modern kings do not stay up until the wee hours of the morning and sleep until noon. They have a country to lead, meetings to attend and servants that need a reliable schedule to properly run the household. After breakfast, you’re getting a haircut.” She reached out for his hand, examining his fingernails in the dim lights. “And a manicure. I’ll have someone come in to do it. If we went to a salon, people would start talking.”

Getting up early, plus a haircut? Gabriel self-consciously ran his fingers through the long strands of his hair. He liked it long. When it was short, he looked too much like his toe-the-line brother, CEO extraordinaire Rafe. That wasn’t him. He was VP of their South American division for a reason. Since the news of Alma’s return to monarchy, he’d spent most of his time in Miami, but he preferred his time spent south of the equator. Life down there was more colorful, less regimented. He didn’t even mind the constant threat of danger edging into his daily routine there. Once you’d been kidnapped, beaten and held for ransom, there wasn’t much else to fear.

All that would end now. A new VP would take over South American Operations and Gabriel would take a jet to Alma. He’d be ruling over a country with a million citizens and dealing with all the demands that went with it.

What had he signed himself up for?

“I wish I had my tablet with me, but I’ll just have to make all my notes when I get back to my hotel. Sunday, we’re going through your wardrobe and determining what you can take with you to Alma. Monday morning, I’ll arrange for a private shopper to come to the house and we’ll fill in the gaps.”

“Now, wait a minute,” he complained, holding up his hands to halt her long list of tasks. He knew he could use some polishing, but it sounded as if Serafia was preparing to gut him and build him up from scratch. “What is wrong with my clothes? This is an expensive suit.”

“I’m sure it is. And if you were the owner of an exclusive nightclub in South Beach, it would be perfect, but you are Prince Gabriel, soon to be King Gabriel.”

He sighed. He certainly didn’t feel like royalty. He felt like a little boy being scolded for doing everything wrong. But he’d brought this pain upon himself. Spending time with his fantasy woman hadn’t exactly gone to plan. It had only been minutes since he made that decision and he was already starting to regret it.

“Are you dating anyone?”

Gabriel perked up. “Why? Are you interested?” he said with the brightest, most charming smile he could conjure.

Serafia wrinkled her nose at him and shook her head. “No. I was just wondering if I needed to work with you on dealing with any sticky romantic entanglements before you leave.”

That was disappointing. “I’m not big on relationships,” he explained. “There are plenty of women I’ve seen on and off, but there shouldn’t be any heartbroken women trying to follow me to Alma.”

“How about pregnant bartenders?” she asked pointedly.

Gabriel chuckled. His brother’s relationship drama had everyone in the family on edge. If he didn’t work out, the crown would be dumped on Bella and she was only twenty-three, barely out of college. “No pregnant bartenders that I am aware of,” he answered. “Or dancers or cocktail waitresses or coeds. I’m extremely careful about that kind of thing.”

“You always use protection? Every time?”

Gabriel stiffened. “Do we really have to talk about my sex life?”

Serafia sighed and shook her head. “You have no real idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you? From now on, your sex life is the business of a whole country. Who you’re seeing and who might be your future queen will be one of the first issues you’ll tackle as king. After that, fathering heirs and continuing the Montoro bloodline will be the chief concern of each of your subjects. Every woman you’re seen with is a candidate for queen. Every time your wife turns down a glass of wine or puts on a few pounds, there will be pregnancy rumors. Privacy has gone out the window for you, Gabriel.”

“There’s not going to be someone in the room while I father these heirs, is there?”

At that, Serafia smiled. “No. They have to draw the line somewhere.”

That offered little comfort to Gabriel in the moment. Each step he took toward being king, the more concerned he became. He wanted to be a good leader, but the level of scrutiny in every aspect of his life was suffocating. His hair, his clothes, his sex life... He could feel the pressure crushing against his chest like a pile of stones.

Serafia pointed to a pair of chairs nearby. “Why don’t we sit down for a minute. You look like you’re about to pass out and these shoes are starting to pinch.”

Gabriel pulled out a chair for her and took the one beside her. “I guess I just never thought about all this before. A few weeks ago, I was just a VP in my family company, someone with far-off ties to a country and a history most of us have forgotten all about. Then, boom, I’m a prince. And before I can adjust to that, I find out that I’m going to be king of the place. My life has taken a strange turn.”

She nodded sympathetically. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it’s just going to get worse. Once you’re in the spotlight, your life is no longer your own. But from someone who’s lived through it, know that the sooner you adjust to the idea of it, the better off you’ll be.”

* * *

Serafia hated to see Gabriel like this. He seemed like such a vibrant, fun-loving man, and the weight of his future was slowly crushing him like a bug. She was pushing him. Maybe more than she had to, at least at first, but he needed to know how things were going to be now. He would adjust to the crown much more easily if he understood the consequences of it.

“Is that what it was like for you? Is that why you gave up modeling?”

Serafia couldn’t help the pained expression she felt crossing her face. It happened every time her old career came up. She smiled and shook her head. “That was just a part of it.”

“Do you miss modeling?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said a touch too quickly, although she meant it. It wasn’t the glamorous business everyone thought it was. It was harsh, and despite how many millions she made doing it and how famous she became, there were still days where she was treated like little more than a walking coat hanger. And a fat one at that. “I’m not really interested in being in the spotlight anymore. It is both a wonderful and terrifying place to live.”

Gabriel nodded thoughtfully. “The runways and magazine covers suffer for your absence. I understand why you stopped after what happened to you on the runway, though. I can imagine it’s scary to come that close to death without any kind of warning. I mean, to go all that time without knowing you had...what was it, exactly?”

“A congenital heart defect,” she replied, the lie slipping effortlessly off her tongue after all these years.

“Yeah, that’s terrifying to think your own body is just waiting to rebel against you.”

Serafia stiffened and tried to nod in agreement. That would be frightening, although she really wouldn’t know. Her parents had done an excellent job spreading misinformation about her very public heart attack. Why else would a perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-old woman go into cardiac failure on the runway and drop to the floor with a thousand witnesses standing by in horror?

She could think of a lot of reasons, and for her, all of them were self-inflicted. Serafia had fallen victim to an industry-endorsed eating disorder, which had spiraled out of control leading up to that day. Anorexia was a serious illness, an issue that needed more visibility in the cutthroat modeling industry, but her family wanted to keep the truth out of the papers for her own protection. At the time, she had been in no condition to argue with them on that point.

Instead the word was that she’d retired from the modeling business to get treatment for her “heart condition” and no one ever questioned it. Instead of surgeries, her actual treatment had included nearly a year of intensive rehabilitation. She had to slowly put on thirty pounds so she didn’t strain her heart. Then she learned to eat properly, how to exercise correctly and most important how to recognize the signs in herself that she was slipping into bad habits again.

“Are you better now?” he asked.

That was debatable. With an eating disorder, every day was a challenge. It wasn’t like being an alcoholic or a drug user, where you could avoid the substance of choice. She had to eat. Every day. She needed to exercise. Just not too much. She had to maintain her weight and not swing wildly one way or another, or she’d put too much strain on her damaged heart. But she was managing. One day at a time, she reminded herself. “Yes,” she said instead. “The doctors got me all fixed up. But you’re right, I couldn’t face the catwalk again after that. After nearly dying, I realized I wanted to do something else with my life. I’m much happier with what I’m doing now.”

“Gabriel Alejandro Montoro!” a sharp voice shouted through the doorway to the patio. It was followed by several loud steps across the stone and a moment later, the figure of his younger sister, Bella, appeared.

“There you are. Everyone has been looking for you.”

Gabriel shrugged, unaffected by his sister’s exasperation. “I’ve been right here the whole time. And since when do you get to call me by my full name? Only Mama gets to do that.”

“And if Mama were here, she’d haul you back into the house by your ear.”

Serafia chuckled. Her memories of Adela were spot-on. “I’m sorry to monopolize Gabriel’s time,” she said, hoping to draw down some of his sister’s ire. “We were discussing the plans for his royal transformation.”

Bella eyed Serafia suspiciously, then turned to look at Gabriel. “Good luck with that. Either way, Father wants you inside, and now. He’s wanting to do some kind of toast and then he wants to see you out on the dance floor. The press wants a shot of you dancing.”

Gabriel stood with a reluctant sigh, reaching out his hand to help Serafia up. “And so it begins. Would you care to join me inside?”

“Absolutely.” Serafia slipped her arm through his and they walked back into the house together.

There were even more people in the room now than there were when she’d decided it was too crowded and gone outside. Nothing she could do about it, though. She stayed by his side as they cut through the crowd in search of his father. They found him standing by the bar with Gabriel’s cousin, Juan Carlos.

Serafia had never had much contact with the Salazar branch of the Montoro family, but she had heard good things about Juan Carlos. He had a good head on his shoulders. He was responsible and thoughtful. To hear some people talk, he was Gabriel’s polar opposite and a better choice for king. She would never tell Gabriel that, though; he had enough worries. Perhaps Juan Carlos would accept a post as the king’s counsel. He would make an excellent adviser for Gabriel or royal liaison to Alma’s prime minister.

“There you are,” Rafael said once he spied them. “Where have you...” He paused when his gaze flicked over Serafia. “Ah. Never mind. Now I know what has occupied your time,” he said with a smile.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said, returning his grin and leaning in to hug her father’s oldest friend.