(Royally Kissed, #1)
Publication date: April 4th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Synopsis:
When a Texas gal punches a prince instead of curtsying, you know this isn’t your grandmother’s fairy tale.
Taking the bull by the horns is child’s play compared to ruling Malveaux. Yet here I am, a Texas girl turned princess, swapping tacos for a tiara.
Then I meet Europe’s most eligible bachelor, the irritatingly handsome Prince Alexander, and accidentally deck him instead of curtsying.
Oops.
I’d feel bad if he wasn’t such a self-satisfied jerk.
Now, I’m racing against a royal clock that ticks with the urgency of a preening peacock, trying not to let down my newfound country or my own wild heart. Alexander? He’s a walking contradiction, with a smirk that heats my blood and eyes that tell tales of a depth I didn’t expect.
Decisions aren’t exactly my rodeo, but this time, my choice could cost me my new crown—or lead to a love story that rewrites my happily ever after.
Will this Texas girl rise to the royal challenge, or is this one fairytale destined to end with the slipper never found?
The Princess Diaries meets The Hating Game in this in this dizzyingly romantic modern royal romcom for grown-ups, where an American girl’s unexpected ascent to royalty collides with a fiery romance with a hot neighboring prince. The Backup Princess is a closed-door romance with all the sizzle but without the spice, and a guaranteed happily ever after. It’s Book 1 in the brand new series, Royally Kissed.
Excerpt
“Hello?” I fumble with my phone to locate the torch app, which suddenly seems to have disappeared. “Who’s in here?” I demand, half expecting to find a murderer or some kind of psychopath, wielding a knife, ready to attack.
“Who are you?” an indignant voice responds.
Finally, I locate the torch app and flick it on, scanning the closet.
I suck in a breath as it illuminates a woman, her features lined with fear as she squints at me, her hands held in tight fists in front of her chest.
I relax. She doesn't look like a murderer or a psychopath, or even a ghost. Well, a little like a ghost. The woman is rather pale.
But there's something recognizable about her. The look in her eyes is like a deer in headlights. A beautiful deer. A familiar deer.
I take a step closer to her.
“Get back!” she screeches. “I’m warning you; I know tai chi.”
I press my lips together to stop a smile. “You know how to do slow, controlled movements at sunrise?” If I tried to keep the amusement from my voice it wasn’t much of an effort.
“I meant… karate. I know karate and I’m not afraid to use it!” She unfurls her fists and brandishes her flat hands at me.
A laugh bubbles up, and I do my best to style it out as a cough. “I come in peace, I assure you.”
“How do I know that?” She does a chopping motion with one of her hands, presumably to demonstrate her karate prowess.
“Why don't you put those weapons of yours down?” I reach for her hands to hold them in mine reassuringly. This woman is freaked out and I need to do something.
As my hands fold over hers she snaps them away, raises one in a fist, and before I have the chance to ask what she intends to do with that fist, she jabs it straight at my face.
“Argh!” I call out, my eyes watering as my nose throbs in pain that pulses painfully across my cheekbones. I stagger back, clasping my nose “What did you do that for?”
But no sooner have the words left my mouth when she yanks the cupboard door open and bursts from the room, her skirt billowing behind her as she rushes away from me down the hall.
“What the—?!” I trail after her, muttering in disbelief. Who punches someone in the face in a hallway cupboard when all they were trying to do was show they weren’t a threat?
Through watering eyes, I blink at her as she tears away from me down the hallway—only to fall flat on her face, her skirt billowing up behind her to expose her plain white cotton underpants, and her tiara pinging off her head and bouncing across the carpet.
Who is this woman and what the heck is she playing at?
My instinct kicks in, and before I have the chance to second guess myself, I hurry down the hallway to her aid.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Her eyes are wild as she yells, “Stay away!” She clamors back to her feet, clutching her head.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, and she shakes her head, her eyes searching the floor.
She must be looking for her tiara.
“It’s over there.” I point at the tiara on the ground, still in one piece.
She grabs it and turns back to me. “I—please don’t tell anyone.”
“Okay.”
She doesn’t say another word, instead she turns on her heel and dashes away, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight.
I stand, rooted to the spot, my brain scrambling to make sense of what just happened. I sought a brief moment of refuge in a cupboard only to be attacked by a beautiful woman in a tiara with an American accent.
My nose throbs painfully as realization dawns on me.
She's Madeline, the American here to claim the throne. The woman a nation has pinned their hopes on.
The woman who wields a strong right hook.
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