The-Sinful-King-By-Claire-Contreras-PDF

mean, the king handpicks his subjects. It’s a bit . . .
communistic.”
“Ah, your father is one of those.” His lips formed a small
smile. “I bet he has a lot of strong opinions about the way
things should be run.”
“He does. I mean, I guess everyone does, right?”
“It seems like the critics have more opinions than those
in o ce. You’d think if they want something to change,
really change, they’d run.”
“Is that why you ran?”
“Partly.”
“Well, then, I’m sure you’re doing a good job.”
He chuckled. He had a nice chuckle. Our eyes met again,
and this time, I found myself standing a little closer to him.
His smile turned serious after a moment of looking at me,
and I felt my own expression mirror his. Suddenly, I was
hyperaware of him—his height, his large hands resting
beside mine, seemingly inching closer, the way he smelled,
like delicious cologne and something else—and when he
parted his lips slightly, the hint of tequila on his breath.
“Where do you live?” he asked quietly.
“Right over there.” I pointed at the villa beside the one we
were in.
His eyes widened slightly. “You’re joking.”
“Not joking.” I laughed. “Why would I be joking?”
“I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“Do you come around here often?” I asked.
He must know the princes. I’d never been home to
experience these parties, but I’d heard enough rumors about
them. The princes were a staple here every summer. It was
their escape from the paparazzi and whatever else they were
supposed to be doing. Etienne knew one of them. It was the
reason we’d been invited to attend. The parties were
notorious for being invite-only. Cellphones were taken at the