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The Prince I Love to Hate: The Heir Affair Book One

The Prince I Love to Hate: The Heir Affair Book One

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last updateLast Updated : 2021-10-03
By:  IRIS MORLAND Ongoing
Language: English
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2 ratings. 2 reviews
25Chapters
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Synopsis

Fast-Paced Plot

Mystery

Adventurous

CEO

Misunderstanding

Secret Love

Hidden Identity

Age Gap

"The Prince I Love to Hate is an absolute must read! This romcom will have you rooting for Niamh and Olivier right from their hilarious first meeting. - Harlequin Junkie Blog top pick This prince? He’s anything but charming. I’ve never been the girl who’s dreamt of a prince rescuing me from a fire-breathing dragon before whisking me away to his castle. So when I fly all the way to Ireland to find my long-lost dad, I have no intention of playing the damsel in distress to some dude. But the night I encounter—and accidentally wallop upside the head—Prince Olivier of Salasia, my plans are completely upended. This prince is the opposite of charming, though. After thirty seconds in his presence, I want to feed him to a dragon. But fate is a fickle b*tch. Before I know it, I agree to team up with Olivier in the search for my dad. As I travel across Europe with this actual honest-to-god prince, I wonder, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like I’ll be stupid enough to fall in love with Prince Charming."

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reviews

Cathy Frederick Holland
Cathy Frederick Holland
Awesome writer!!!
2023-04-30 03:54:37
0
0
Cathy Frederick Holland
Cathy Frederick Holland
Iris Morland is an amazing writer. Love her books !! Wish there was more of them!!!
2023-04-30 03:54:16
1
0
25 Chapters
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.The Prince I Love to HateCopyright © 2021 by Iris MorlandPublished by Blue Violet Press LLCSeattle, WashingtonCover design by Qamber DesignsAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Chapter 1
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said as the taxi driver stopped in front of the house.No, it wasn’t a house. It was a mansion. More accurately, it was an entire estate.The driver gave me a strange look. “You touring this place?”“Yeah, kinda.” I handed him a few Euros and opened the car door, rather wishing I could ask him to go with me. But he’d already driven off by the time I’d been tempted to turn around and ask him to tour the place with me.Okay, tour wasn’t the right word. Wrap my head around what I was seeing would be more accurate.I mean, I’d known that Grandda Gallagher had been rich—he’d left me a rather large inheritance, after all—but this rich? I’d somehow missed that memo.“He probably buried gold bars in the backyard,” my older brother Liam had said darkly before I’d flown from Seattle all the way to Ireland. “Along with all of the bodies.”As far as I knew, our grandda hadn’t been a murderer—just a judgmental arsehole, as Liam liked to call him. Or when Li
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Chapter 2
It was still early morning, and I had hours to kill before I could meet with Mr. McDonnell later that afternoon. My stomach rumbled ominously. I hadn’t eaten since I’d gotten on the plane over nine hours ago, and I was on the verge of getting full-on hangry.But I had no idea how I went about feeding myself in this place. Did I just…go to the kitchen? Or would some red-cheeked cook tell me to get lost? This isn’t Downton Abbey, I reminded myself. And you’re hardly Lady Mary who’s never made a cup of coffee on her own.I got dressed and, after asking an unsuspecting maid where the kitchen was located, made my way downstairs. I was afraid I’d gotten lost when I smelled food. I headed toward the scent of cooking meat, my mouth practically watering.Before you got to the main part of the kitchen, there was a smaller entranceway that looked like a gigantic pantry. There were cans and bags of all kinds of food, along with fresh produce in baskets. I snagged a banana and began to eat it.
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Chapter 3
I shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but despite the silky sheets and a mattress that could’ve easily fit four adults, I couldn’t fall asleep. Sighing, I sat up in bed and rubbed my temples. “Stupid jet lag,” I muttered to myself. I’d even taken a Benadryl, but all it had done was make me feel fuzzy-headed. Gulping down a glass of water, I went to sit in front of the fireplace—no fire, it was the middle of summer, after all—and after turning on a light, tried to read a book.But my brain kept bouncing from subject to subject. After I’d encountered Golden Man, I’d met with Mr. McDonnell. Months ago, Mr. McDonnell had written me a letter to inform me that Grandda had left me more than just the inheritance that had paid for my college education. When I’d written back via email, because this was the twenty-first century after all, Mr. McDonnell had sent his reply once again on actual paper.I didn’t understand his drive to waste money on postage, but per
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Chapter 4
The next morning, I considered calling Liam to tell him about the stranger in the library but then thought better of it. My older brother was way overprotective. Knowing him, he’d fly straight here to pummel somebody—anybody. Instead, I called Rachel, who’d been my roommate my last two years at Harvard and who now lived in New York City with her girlfriend Maddie. She was one of the most levelheaded people I knew. I could tell her that I’d met five blue aliens and we’d all gotten high on bath salts and eaten our weight in fish and chips, and she wouldn’t bat an eyelash. First of all, I gave her the short version of what I’d learned from Mr. McDonnell about my father and the mysterious clock I was now supposed to search for.“Do you even know what the clock looks like?” said Rachel.I was currently sitting outside, my cup of coffee having already gone cold from the chill wind blowing off of the water. “Um, I have no idea. It’s a clock. I’m assuming it has two hands
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Chapter 5
The library was large enough that it had more than one entrance. The entrance where I’d worked that afternoon was closer to my bedroom. Opening the door slowly, I peeked my head inside, but it was dark. I strained for any sounds, but once again, all I could hear was the wind. I blew out a breath. I needed to calm down, clearly. I flipped on a lamp on a nearby desk and went to grab the book. It had somehow fallen under the table I’d been working at. I crouched down to retrieve it when I heard a sound.This time, it wasn’t the wind. It was a door opening, but not the one I’d just gone through. As I listened, I heard footsteps and the faint creaking of boards. My heart was hammering. I realized I’d left the desk lamp light on, but if I turned it off now, it would alert the intruder to my presence. And because I was an idiot, apparently, I was too slow to slip out the door, because the footsteps were getting closer to my hiding place. I was now hiding behind an armcha
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Chapter 6
The following morning, I woke up just as the sun was coming up. I never woke up this early, but I had barely been able to sleep last night after my bizarre conversation with Olivier. I was almost halfway convinced I’d dreamed the entire thing. Yet as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and put on some pants and a sweater, I knew I hadn’t dreamed it at all.I hurried down to the kitchen. Not just because I desperately needed coffee, but because I needed information. The kitchen was already bustling when I entered. A few people glanced at me, but no one stopped me from coming inside. At this point, the staff knew who I was and either ignored me or occasionally inquired if I needed anything. I looked for red hair, my stomach sinking when I couldn’t find Cara. Instead, Mrs. Walsh stepped out from a walk-in fridge, a hand cocked on her hip. “May I help you, miss?” she said, all crispness.I had to admit, I was impressed at how perfectly ironed her apron was this early and how tightly
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Chapter 7
Three days later, Olivier and I were off to Paris. He’d tried calling this antiques dealer he’d sold his mother’s beloved clock to, but the number had been disconnected. Despite our best efforts at Googling contact info, all we had was an address in Paris for a tiny antiques shop that might not even still exist.Olivier had assured me he’d take care of booking the flights. Although I’d agreed to him financing this trip, I’ll admit, I’d expected that it would involve him paying for gas as we traveled to and from Dublin, not flying to fucking Paris! I’d told him that I’d find the money for the flight. The last thing I wanted was to feel like I owed him something.But before I’d booked my own ticket, Olivier came into the library to tell me, “I booked our tickets.”My face twitched. “Our? I told you I’d pay for mine.”He shrugged. “You can pay me back if you want.” He looked at his phone. “Five hundred euros.”My jaw dropped. “Jesus Christ, we’re just going to Paris! Did you hire a p
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Chapter 8
Olivier finally spilled his guts at lunch. We found a little cafe a few blocks from our hotel—it was too early to check in, so we still had our bags with us—and I was currently stuffing my face with pastries and drinking two lattes in a row.The city bustled around us: people walking and talking, cars going by, bicycles cycling past. The sound of French being spoken filled the air, although I heard a lot of English and other languages as well. Nearby was a couple sitting on a bench, both of whom were eating what looked like éclairs. Why hadn’t I ordered an éclair? I needed to do that ASAP.I’d practically stuffed my face with food—a delicious chocolate croissant followed by two different flavored éclairs, coffee flowing freely, and then a platter of macarons and petit fours that were so amazing that I nearly cried.“Are you even listening to me?” Olivier cocked his head to the side.“What was this again?” I held up a bun filled with some kind of preserves.“Brioche.” His lips twit
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Chapter 9
“I think it might be closed,” I said.“The windows are boarded up. Of course it’s closed.” Olivier, for his part, kept trying to peer through the small spaces between the wooden boards hammered to the windows. Like he’d be able to see someone inside. But he was so agitated, I wasn’t about to tell him as much.“Shit,” said Olivier. “Shit, shit, shit.”I yawned. “Yeah, pretty much.”We’d taken a taxi across Paris to find this antiques shop, the address of which Olivier had on a small piece of paper in his pocket. Despite both of our attempts to find the address on Google Maps, Google kept trying to redirect us to some random spot that turned out to be a broken-down bridge on the Seine. So we’d had to wander around on foot. Olivier had stopped to ask for directions—which made me grateful that he spoke French, but I wouldn’t tell him that, no way—but we got a lot of confused expressions. One man told us we were in the wrong part of Paris entirely. Another woman said that we were
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