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Love Story Box

Royal Escape

Royal Escape

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The hot mess everyone knows as Princess Lili is falling in love with one man and having wild monkey business with another. Yeah, I mean me. I’m the hot mess.

The Pickles finish out their royal trifecta in JJ Knight's bestselling Pickleverse.

Royal Escape is a hot, hot, hot romantic comedy about a runaway princess, a man who can’t keep his hands off her (as long as he’s wearing a mask), a meddling Pickle family who hires a fake princess without realizing she's a real princess, and a story twist that everybody sees coming — except the donkeys.

"This isn't your typical princess pretending to be a commoner story. There are hilarious moments, serious ones and LOTS of HOT, HOT steamy moments! Trust me, this book is a must read book for sure." ~ Sassy Southern Book Blog

Also: The ebook version is exclusive to Amazon in Kindle Unlimited. Find it there.

Royal romance. Princess seduced by masked man. Many, many high-steam love scenes.

  • Ebooks and audiobooks are delivered instantly via email for you to send to your preferred ereader, phone, or device.
  • Unsigned paperbacks are made to order at the printer and shipped direct to you.
  • Signed paperbacks and book boxes are hand packed by us in Texas and ship in 2-3 business days.

Book Summary

Ever get in a love triangle with yourself?

I'm Jesse, the guy Princess Lili is talking about up there. You know, falling for one man, wild stuff with another.

I'm also (spoiler alert) the Masked Man she's been meeting at parties. And, well, we've been busy.

I know she's torn. She's already run away from me, the Jesse version, and then run TO me, Masked Man edition.


I need to tell her that both of the men she's been seeing are me.

There might be two sides to her. But I"m meeting them with both sides of me.

It's just -- I'm afraid if I tell her, I'll lose her.

Jesse me might be able to paint and sculpt through the pain. But the Masked Man?

Without her, he will burn the world to the ground.

Read Chapter One

Chapter 1: Lili

I might be the only princess in history to stow away on her own private plane.

But here I am.

I crouch in the bottom of the suitcase closet, wishing I could cut off my legs.

Or maybe, I guess, cut a hole in the wall for my legs.

I’ve been curled up for close to eight hours in various pretzel positions.

And I’m about as flexible as a skillet.

Then, of course, we hit turbulence.

My head bangs against the back wall, and I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle a yelp. I can’t let the flight attendant hear me.

The pilot doesn’t speak over the intercom to calm the passengers. There aren’t any. There’s only him on board, plus Ruby, the flight attendant.

And, of course, me, hidden in the bottom of the closet.

I want to climb out of here and lie on the bed.

And pee.

No, no. Not on the bed.

There’s a fancy bathroom at the back of the plane.

But Ruby will spot me, and she’ll report me in an instant. Ferron, the pilot, would probably turn the plane around.

I have to be clever and careful. Because at some point, my parents, the King and Queen of Avalonia, are going to notice that their youngest princess is missing.

By then, I need to be buried deep in New York. My brother Leo, the Crown Prince, evaded the palace guard for almost a year.

It’s my turn.

I check my phone. It’s 6:58 a.m. New York time. We’ll be descending soon. I switch screens to bring up my USA BUCKET LIST. It’s everything I want to do while secretly in America.

1. Lose my virginity. This should be easy. I’ve watched dozens of American movies about dating and sex. I just need to look across a crowded room and spot the guy who will carry me into a romantic sunset.

2. Meet normal people. No one can know I’m the Princess. I want to live a regular life.

3. Have a killer 21st birthday. First one on my own. I have two weeks to make something happen.

Hopefully I won’t get caught before then.

The sudden bounce of the landing gear makes me lose my grip on my phone. It clatters on the floor and I snatch it up, holding my breath.

But the plane taxis to a stop, and no one comes for me.

I ease the closet door open. There’s a clear view of the cockpit.

Ruby’s there, talking to Ferron. “How long are we stopping over?”

“Just long enough to fetch the rest of the Pickle family.” Ferron tucks his cap under his arm. He’s in full uniform even though there aren’t any passengers.

They move toward the side of the plane with the exterior door. Several mechanical noises echo back, including the ka-chunk sound of the stairs dropping into place.

“Are we going into the city?” Ruby asks.

“We have a car coming,” Ferron says. “I need to do post-flight.”

The two of them return to the cockpit.

I place my knee on the carpeted floor. It’s bliss to stretch out after eight hours tucked in a ball. For a moment, pins and needles shoot through my feet, but I manage to stand up, crouching low.

I wasn’t able to bring much, just an overstuffed backpack. I slide it onto my shoulder and pull my hood over my head.

As I tiptoe through the plane, Ruby and Ferron talk in the cockpit. I pass the dining table and duck behind a row of seats. Their backs are to me. The door is open. The stairs are down.

This is it.

I race for the exit, and my feet fly down the steps. I’m not sure which way to go. I can’t be seen and the flat tarmac is endless.

I adjust my bag and walk swiftly away from the plane, opposite where Ruby and Ferron might spot me through the cockpit window. Maybe I can hide until their car takes them away.

I head toward the nearest outbuilding, but I’m spotted by two men on a four-wheeler.

Oh, no.

They zip toward me and squeal to a stop.

“Where did you come from?” one of them asks.

I wave vaguely at the small planes. “How do I get to the terminal?”

The man stares at me for a moment. He’s older than my dad, wearing a cap and a bright yellow and orange vest. “Your pilot just left you out here?”

“Yeah. Told me I could walk, but I don’t think that’s allowed?”

“It’s not.” He frowns, then jerks a thumb at the seat behind him. “Hop on. We’ll take you.”

“Thank you.” I don’t waste a second climbing on board. The cool wind whips my hood as we race across the tarmac.

So far, so good.

When they drop me in front of the terminal, I sit on a bench and pull out a phone with a US SIM card. I acquired it by making a chirpy video on Instagram for the company.

I’ve been a secret social media influencer under the name Indigo Flame for over a year. I’ve been amassing gift cards, credits, and contacts, waiting for this moment.

Now I can finally use it all.

I load the first of my stack of Uber gift cards into the app, then call a ride to a small boutique hotel in Chelsea. It’s owned by one of the biggest lifestyle influencers, and my personal hero, Monica Best. She has millions of YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok followers.

She set up the hotel as a center for the artists and influencers she finds interesting, and I’ve had an invitation for a week-long stay waiting for me for months. While there, I hope to meet other people in the biz, get leads on other hotels that will have me, and ride the wave as long as I can.

I have no choice, because even if I had access to royal bank accounts or credit cards, it would be too easy for the staff to track my movements.

I have to do this on my own.

The car ride is long, and I peer out the windows. I’ve been to New York before with my family, but this one will be so different. I can do anything I want!

We pull up to a three-story building. It’s brick with tall windows lining each floor, the sashes painted in vivid orange, green, and red. It looks modern and bright.

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head inside. The foyer repeats the exterior colors, an enormous painting filling a wall behind the check-in desk.

A young woman waits behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

I realize I should have put on my Indigo wig before entering. I look like me! I tug my hood low on my forehead and keep my chin down. “I’m Indigo Flame.”

Her eyes light up. “Oh! Indigo! Do come down for a selfie when you’re settled!”

“Sure.” I’ll be sure to look like Indigo then.

“I see Monica has comped you a week stay. Did you download the app for the hotel?”

“I did.” I turn the phone screen to her.

She strikes one more key. “I see you! You’re all checked in. Room 233. Your phone is your key. So excited to meet you.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

I head for the stairs. Each step is painted a different color, gradually shifting from green to orange to red like a mango.

The air smells of fresh citrus. Everything about the colored wallpaper, the asymmetrical mirrors, and the wildly patterned floor fills me with excitement.

I’m here! I made it!

And nobody knows who I am. Nobody expects me to produce an ID with my social media handle.

I couldn’t have come up with a better scheme.

But I better get my wig on and apply my makeup. Then I’ll log into the influencer Discord chat and let everyone know I’m here.

I can’t believe I’ve done it! Leo will be so proud.

I sober for a moment. I left my brother behind right as his first baby was being born. There was no better moment, though. The entire castle was in upheaval, and the plane was empty, heading to the US to fetch more of his wife’s American family.

I wave my phone at the door and the latch pops open. The interior is amazing, all cool greens and natural textures, like I’m inside a head of lettuce. In fact, the room smells faintly of fresh produce.

I drop my bag on the bed. Pee first! The bathroom is as bright and green as the main room, and utterly photogenic. Monica knows how to maximize the Instagram potential of a space.

That taken care of, I open the curtains and realize I’m peering out the windows I saw from the street. Below, people walk the sidewalks. There’s a flower vendor, a crepe shop, and two clothing boutiques. I can go anywhere, look at anything. No guards. No rules. No decorum to follow.

It’s paradise.

I pause in front of an unexpected door in the center of the side wall. I’m used to suites. Does this room have another room?

I twist the deadbolt and try to open it, but it doesn’t budge. I jerk and shake it, then realize there is another latch that drops into the floor. I bend down and lift it.

The door opens to reveal — another door. But this one doesn’t have a knob. That’s odd.

I run my hands along the edges. Did Monica build a puzzle in this room? I believe it. She’ll do anything to get social media play. Maybe I have to figure out what to do to get to the bonus room.

This door rattles just like mine did when I pulled on it. Is this part of the puzzle? I press my ear against the wood to listen.

Then suddenly, the door flies open, and I fall onto the floor on the other side!

My face smashes into orange carpet. It smells like an orange, too. I lift my head. “What in thunder?”

There’s a mandarin duvet on the bed. Orange walls, textured to look like the inside of a peel.

Then, right by my cheek, two feet.

Man feet. Square nails.

Pants, no cuffs. The hem lands exactly where it should, custom tailored.

I rise to my hands and knees, shaking off my fall as I lift my head. The pant legs are tapered and crisply ironed. The belt is Italian leather. The shirt is pale green, the cuffs rolled up to reveal strong, tan forearms.

The neck is unbuttoned.

Then I see his face.

Good Lord. He’s gorgeous and blue-eyed with sandy hair. He must be a model, comped a stay by Monica. I’d comp him anything he asked for.

He stares at me with an odd expression of amusement. “Falling for me already?”

Worst opening line ever.

But yes, yes, I am.

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