VIRGIN FOR THE TRILLIONAIRE
TAKEN BY A TRILLIONAIRE SERIES
Ruth Cardello
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They’re at it again! Ruth Cardello, JS Scott, and Melody Anne come together for another royal novella trilogy. This is the first novella of a three novella set. Check the dates below for release dates on the second and third novella.
Escape with three new princes as only these NYT’s bestselling authors could write them.
Virgin for the Trillionaire: Ruth Cardello (April 25, 2017)
Virgin for the Prince: J.S. Scott (June 6, 2017)
Virgin to Conquer: Melody Anne (July 3, 2017)
The wild ride begins with Virgin for the Trillionaire:
Prince Ballasare Stephan Demande needs a bride before his thirtieth birthday or he’ll lose his crown. Unlike their barbarian twin island, Rubare Virgina’s royal family is above kidnapping and murdering as a means of choosing their queens. Historically, they’ve cultivated their own selection, ensuring the purity and perfection of each. Prince Ballasare wants more, so he comes up with a plan. It’s genius really. He invites three hundred of the most beautiful and intelligent virgins from around the world to his island under the guise of attending a conference. Those who are willing to stay and participate in a series of tests are offered a chance to win one million dollars. He can only imagine the joy that the woman he chooses will feel when she discovers he and his title are the real prize.
Jessica Quincy is at a crossroads career wise. She hadn’t expected anyone to actually read her blog posts about her lonely life. She certainly hadn’t expected Virgin Territory to go viral. But who can stay a virgin forever? And what does a woman do when she’s no longer what she’s made a career out of writing about? She takes a risk, that’s what. Jessica attends a conference that promises to end with one participant winning a million dollars. Any ex-virgin could start over with that kind of money.
She makes him laugh.
He scares, infuriates, and totally turns her on.
Unfortunately, on Rubare Virgina, being chosen by a sexy prince can have deadly consequences if you haven’t updated your blog.
COPYRIGHT
Kindle Edition
An original work of Ruth Cardello, 2017.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my friend, Missy. Never give up reaching for your dreams. They might not come true during a trip to an exotic island, but you’ll get there.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
CHAPTER ONE
“Three hundred. I didn’t know that many people would be at this conference. God, I hope they don’t ask us to say anything in front of the group. My armpits are sweaty just thinking about it,” a strawberry blonde said to the platinum blonde seated beside her at the round table.
“Shut up. You sound like an idiot,” the platinum blonde snapped in a low voice she probably didn’t think would carry as well as it did due to a lull in the conversation.
Jessica Quincy politely looked away. The two women had introduced themselves a few moments earlier as if their surname would be recognized. They’d been disappointed. Alia, seemed sweet with a shy smile. The other, Vida, was a coiled snake. The Charmagne sisters. Sisters. It was hard to imagine how they’d come from the same womb.
Their fame, if they had any, hadn’t reached the United States, but Jessica wasn’t about to mention it. She had empathy for anyone attempting to fit in. As the mathematically gifted daughter of a mechanic and an accountant, Jessica had spent most of her life trying not to stand out. She loved her parents, but they’d never quite known what to do with her. Her peers had accused her of thinking she was smarter than them, and her teachers had been intimidated by her ability to do difficult mental calculations with ease. During her younger years, she’d been shuffled from one special program to another, tested, and challenged, and rather than giving her confidence it had shut her down socially. She had a degree from MIT before most of her peers graduated from high school but was socially withdrawn. Several companies and more than one government agency had tried to recruit her, but she hadn’t fit in with the groups they’d introduced her to. Back then, at nineteen, she hadn’t wanted to be to be closed off in a think tank. She hadn’t been ready to join the corporate world. She was lost. She wasn’t proud of the choice, but she’d moved back in with her parents and hidden from the world. Her parents had pushed her to go out, but they really didn’t understand how difficult that was for her. As easy as school had been academically, the opposite could be said for friendships. The more she tried to make friends during high school, the more she failed. She was rarely invited to parties, didn’t comprehend the social norms expected of her, and found solitude the easier option. Over time though, solitude became isolation until she resented her gifts. For Jessica, intelligence created loneliness.
Desperately despondent, she started blogging. She’d used a fake name and began writing about the things that mattered to her: friendship, family, and her sexual journey or distinct lack there of. Her honest search for herself drew a large number of followers. One post in particular, the one she wrote when she reflected on what it was like to turn twenty-one and still be a virgin had gone viral. She wondered if other people were inexperienced and embarrassed by it. Responses had come in from around the world, stories from those who lamented everything from having never been with anyone to those who felt they’d been with too many.
So much guilt and shame. She no longer felt alone in her awkwardness.
Spin-off support groups formed around many of the topics. Virgin Territory started as many groups did, a small online conversation where acceptance was the norm. It soon took on a life of its own, though. Followers jumped from thousands to millions and the blog became a business no one had anticipated.
Helping others find their voice and their confidence became Jessica’s passion and purpose. After several years of anonymity, she finally put a face to her blog via video, and her life changed again. She was asked to speak at event after event. It was always the same; people who had previously suffered in silence came to connect with her. Some were virgins, some weren’t but said they connected with the loneliness of her journey. Like her, they had lived in a constant state of apology and wanted to be accepted—even if it was only by one other person.
Jessica felt for the strawberry blonde woman with the viper of a sister. “I know exactly how you feel, Alia. Public speaking used to terrify me.”
“It did?” Alia asked in a hopeful tone.
“Absolutely. I used to pr
actice speaking into a salt shaker just so I’d know what to do with my hands if I had a microphone. My mother had a dog, Sigfrid, who was my captive but encouraging audience. When I get nervous now I just imagine I’m talking to him.” She took out her phone and brought up a photo of the enormous Saint Bernard. “This is Sigfrid.”
“Oh, he’s beautiful,” Alia cooed.
Her sister rolled her eyes skyward. “If they call for someone to speak from this table, I’ll go. We don’t want to be eliminated on our first day.”
The condescending snake reminded Jessica of the mean girls in school who had taunted her for being different. They had taught Jessica to avoid competitions where she would stand out. I’m not a child anymore, though, and this isn’t a popularity contest. The One Woman Conference on the small island nation of Rubare Virgina was a week-long event where daily challenges and eliminations would culminate in one of the participants going home with a million dollars.
Six months ago, Jessica would have said she didn’t need the money, but her main income came from Virgin Territory and the speaking engagements stemming from it. That had all been good and freeing until she’d made the mistake of sleeping with a man she’d met on her twenty-third birthday. He’d approached her after one of her speaking engagements and lavished attention on her. He’d said all the things she’d dreamed a man would: she was beautiful, brilliant, desirable. At twenty-three, she’d thought she’d waited long enough.
She hadn’t expected the experience to be quick and disappointing. She also hadn’t expected him to explain that he couldn’t see her again because he was married. It had been a devastating slap to her confidence, one too crushing to share with her blog. From that day on, everything she wrote or said felt like a lie even when they were just words of support. People came to her with the expectation that they had something in common with her, and she hated feeling like a fraud. It was another layer of shame, but one she was determined to shed.
How? She was still figuring that part out.
Yes, the blog had brought in a decent income but not enough to survive. She’d needed to close it up and start fresh, but she hadn’t known how to make the leap until the invitation to the conference had come in. She’d decided it was time to pick herself up, dust herself off, and finally benefit from the skills she’d resented when she was younger.
Competition? Bring it on.
And, win or lose, I’m not going to let anyone make me feel bad about myself.
The program had said that day one was about networking. After a brief mixer, the women had been asked to choose their own seats. Jessica had been so busy listening to the stories of the women she met, she hadn’t applied any strategy to choosing her tablemates. The reminder to sit had taken her by surprise, and she’d joined the nearest group of women. She was quickly coming to regret that impulsive decision.
“Public speaking is as much about what you say as how you say it,” she said while looking directly into Vida’s eyes. “We also wouldn’t want our table to sound overconfident or crass.”
“Crass?” Vida’s eyes narrowed. “Who would know more about that than an American?”
A Canadian woman raised her hand in protest and said, “That’s not entirely correct. Geographically, I’m also—” then lowered it when Vida glared at her.
What is that woman’s problem? Without missing a beat, Jessica said, “Nationality is a fascinating concept, isn’t it, and so much a part of our identity. It shouldn’t define us, though. We can measure ourselves by all the ways we are different or by the ways we are the same.”
“You should measure yourself,” Vida said in a low tone, “then you might have had the salad instead of the steak.”
“Vida,” Alia cried and turned bright red.
The weight comment cut close to home. Weight had always been an issue for Jessica. Her parents had limited her caloric intake as a child, and she’d maintained that discipline into adulthood, but she would never be a size zero like the Charmagne sisters. Isn’t it time to stop hating myself for how I was born?
Jessica looked around the table. Like some United Nations beauty pageant, the seven other women were a range of skin tones but all stunningly beautiful. Jessica was ten pounds above her normal weight and pasty pale from a long New England winter.
Stop. No more shame. I refuse to let anyone undermine my confidence.
She leaned across the table and, with a bright smile, said, “Ugly comes in all shapes and sizes. Before you say more, you might want to find out how we’re being scored. I hope it’s not peer evaluations.”
One woman raised her napkin to cover a smile. Another nodded at Jessica in approval.
Vida said something in her native language and stood. “I heard we pass or fail as a table tonight. Excuse me. I’m going to move because I doubt any of you will be here tomorrow. Come on, Alia. We can do much better.”
Alia stood, but her head dipped in apology, and she stayed behind as Vida walked away. “Please don’t mark her poorly if you’re given a chance. She’s scared. It’s the stress of everyone relying on her. We came to win, and I don’t want to think about what will happen if we don’t.”
“Alia,” Vida called out.
Alia dipped her head again. “It was nice to meet you all. Good luck tonight.”
The table was once again quiet after she left. She felt bad for Alia, but thankfully, the lights of the conference room dimmed and a speaker came to the podium before she had much time to think about it. He was an older gentleman with gray hair combed into a conservative style and a dark suit that fit him perfectly. His accent was faintly English, but with other regional influences. “Welcome to Rubare Virgina. My name is Theo Fissolo. Consider me your personal concierge for your weeklong stay. Anything I can do to make your stay at the Collosal Hotel more enjoyable, please do not hesitate to contact me. My card is beneath your plate. I hope that you are all comfortable with your accommodations.”
There was a general murmur of agreement.
“Look around the room. You were each chosen because you represent the best and brightest your country has to offer. The next few days will not be easy, and many of you will go home disappointed, but you must not consider losing here as failure. Simply being invited to this conference should make you proud. Rubare Virgina has always understood that women are the heart of any society. While you are here, though, I must caution you that we do not have tourists in our country, and our culture has retained an . . . innocence . . . that we encourage you to respect. We ask that you remain inside the hotel unless asked to participate in one of our approved outings. All distractions we felt might hinder you have been removed. If anyone feels uncomfortable with the conference or the tasks we ask you to perform, simply request to leave. You will be flown back immediately. No questions asked. However, if you stay, I promise you that the monetary prize is inconsequential compared to the opportunity you will find yourself presented with. We wish we could keep you all, but there can only be one winner. So, first, give yourself a round of applause for making it this far and also applaud the lucky one of you, whomever she may be, who will stay in the end . . .” He flashed a white, smooth smile. “Sorry, my English is rusty. I meant to say win in the end.”
Jessica clapped right along with every other woman in the room. She was ready to take the next step with her life, and winning one million dollars would be a great first step.
“Now, I have a special treat for you. As proof that Rubare Virgina believes in advancing the position of women, the guest speaker tonight is a true honor, indeed. So, please rise from your seats to greet His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Ballasare Stephan Demande, eldest son and our future king. Please do not applaud his entrance. Instead, it is customary to bow your head in quiet deference. Some of you will not want to, and that is perfectly understandable. Adopting our customs is entirely left to your discretion.”
Three hundred women rose to their feet, but only about half bowed their heads. Jessica glanced around and noted that
Vida and Alia were among those who had followed the instruction. The women at her table had as well. She lowered her own even though it felt peculiar to her. She was comfortable honoring Rubare Virgina’s customs, as that showed warranted respect. She did wonder about the man himself though. Would he be arrogant like some of her college professors, or someone more approachable who earned respect afforded him?
There was a collective gasp when a tall, wide-shouldered, dark-haired demi-god strode across the stage to the podium. Every fairy-tale prince she’d ever read about paled in comparison to the real deal. He carried himself with an authority that matched his formal attire and title. He was dressed in a dark suit with a few glittering medals on his lapel. His blue eyes were bright against his olive skin, and his smile was easy and confident.
“Welcome,” he said in a voice sounding like an intimate caress. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to our country.”
She melted even while chastising herself for doing so. Wow. It was difficult to concentrate on much past the perfect lines of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the way he took the time to look several of the women in the eye. So handsome. Jessica didn’t know how they felt, but she was slowly being hypnotized by that deep voice of his.
I wonder what life is like when you’re that good-looking? And royalty? Women must throw themselves at him constantly.
She looked around the room briefly. Judging by the slightly glazed looks, she wasn’t alone in her instant adoration of the prince. Some looked unimpressed, but she doubted they were unaffected. Hell, a woman at the next table was the reigning Miss Universe from Chili, and she looked just as mesmerized by him.
Even a positive attitude requires remaining grounded in reality. No matter how much I may wish that flapping my arms could make me fly, jumping from a building while doing so will end badly. I need to focus on what I can realistically leave here with—the money. That’s the only prize I want.