Royal Tryst: A Royal Bad Boy Romance by Ruby Steele, Virginia Sexton (3)

 

“I don’t think anyone is going to be looking at my feet tonight,” I say to Emily as a short brunette lady attacks the bottom of my feet, rubbing them vigorously with a large emery board. She’s already whittled half of my toenails off with a metal nail file. “Is this really necessary?”

“Your mother’s orders were for the full treatment, head to toe. If you think I’m arguing with that woman, you’re crazy,” Emily says from a chair in the corner of the spa, giving me a look. “So be quiet and enjoy being pampered.”

“I wish I could enjoy it,” I say sullenly. Over the past month, I’ve fallen farther and farther down the rabbit hole into a hellish cartoon mockery of my life.

She frowns at my words, and we share a sad, silent exchange. On a normal day, I might find this situation pleasant — soaking in a large pedestal tub filled with soothing lavender-scented warm water while being fussed over by no less than three spa attendants as I sip on an exotic blend of herbal teas.

But today, not so much. It’s been four days since my life as I knew it came to a hard stop. Four long, lonely, gut-wrenching days where I’ve cycled between despair and acceptance and anger. Publicly, I’m holding it together for my parents, who don’t ever need know about my tryst with Parker or how ambivalent I feel about Finley or how much I really just want to slip out of this palace, get on a plane, and disappear off the grid somewhere in Africa.

I’m functioning outwardly, going through all the motions, but inside, I don’t feel any more put together than I was the night of the meeting in the library, when the advisors showed me that dreadful folder of pictures and told me my only options were Finley, or Finley, or… Finley.

I’m already raw and frayed and broken into a million pieces inside, so being scrubbed and plucked to within an inch of my life by very enthusiastic attendants is not helping me feel relaxed or less stressed. Especially because every other second I’m thinking about why I’m here — preparing for my first big public appearance later this evening.

Originally, we were going to announce our engagement during the garden concert, but Finley’s face was a fucking wreck thanks to Parker’s handiwork. The announcement had to be pushed off a few days, which is fine with me. If it weren’t for the deadline of my birthday approaching and that atrocious agreement, I’d push it off for eternity. No part of me is looking forward to marriage with Finley.

Now were scheduled to make our public debut this evening, so our parents can present us during an awards banquet after a charity polo exhibition. Yesterday, mother took one look at my puffy red eyes and knotted, unbrushed hair and ordered me to the spa in Doremont to get cleaned up and made presentable.

Before she could ask why I looked so disheveled, Emily told her we’d had a girl’s night out, a bit of an early bachelorette celebration and we’d drank too much and that I’d gotten sick. My mother clucked her tongue, but let the matter drop with no questions.

The spa attendant places my feet back in the water, and I lean my head back, stretching my neck, which is tender from being yanked every which way as the stylist whipped it into a large pile of curls atop my head an hour ago.

“Lady Strathmore,” the tall, thin attendant says, hovering in the doorway to the soaking room, “if you’d like to dry off, we’re ready for you in the dressing room. Then our makeup artist will take over, and you’ll be all done.”

She flashes me a bright smile before leaving.

I sit forward in the tub, gathering piles of bubbles to me. “I bet most of the women who come here to get ready for a big event are nearly beside themselves with excitement — prom, engagements, weddings.”

“I’m sure they aren’t all happy,” Emily says.

“Ugh, that’s even sadder. Those are supposed to be joyful times, special days.”

A loud bang drowns out Emily’s response, and we both jump.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, craning my neck to see through the doorway into the other areas of the spa.

Emily’s on her feet, heading to the door, when a commotion of shouting and loud voices erupts.

“What on earth is going on out there?”

She peeks through the open doorway then steps back quickly, her face ashen. “Uh oh, we have a situation.”

“What is it?”

“Parker.”

“What?”

“He’s here ,” she whispers.

The voices get louder, and I look around the soaking room — the door doesn’t have a lock on it, and the room is spacious and barren, just a tub, two small tables holding towels and fancy bottles of bathing supplies, and a few low-slung reading chairs arranged on a plush, pale gold rug. There’s nowhere to hide, no adjoining room to slip into.

A second later, Parker appears in the doorway. Behind him are several spa attendants, looking back and forth nervously between Parker and myself.

“I’m so sorry, Lady Strathmore, His Highness barged in,” the head attendant, Cindy, says, standing on tiptoe to peek over Parker’s right shoulder.

I stare at him in astonishment. “Parker, for the love of God, what are you doing?”

He strides into the room and stops when he’s just a few feet away from me. “Leave us,” he growls, his eyes trained on me and his voice full of royal command.

The attendants quickly scatter as I steal a glance at Emily. She’s frozen in the same position she was a moment ago, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Should I go?” she mouths.

I take a deep breath and look back at Parker. He’s staring at me intently, and I feel my resolve weaken as I look at him… those eyes, that beautiful face.

“Please, just let me have a moment. Please, Sera,” he says softly, his voice choked with barely restrained emotion.

I nod at Emily, and she quickly slips out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

When we’re alone, I stand up in the tub, water running off of me in little rivers. I look at Parker as coldly as I can muster, but the longing on his face as he looks at my naked body sends a rush of heat between my legs.

“What do you want?” I ask, my tone clipped and unwelcoming.

“Is it true?” His eyes move up my bare torso to my face, where they burn through me.

I turn away from him and carefully step out of the tub. Keep it together, Sera. I can feel his eyes on me, following my every movement as I walk to the table along the wall.

“Is what true?” I ask, still facing away.

“Finley. Tell me that you aren’t marrying him,” he growls, his voice raw and guttural, edged with an anger I’ve not heard before.

I take a towel from the table and glance over my shoulder coolly as I unfold it. “I am marrying him.”

Parker’s composure collapses. He drops to one knee, his face buried in his hands, a sob rocking through him. I stare in surprise.

Don’t let this scene sway you, Sera. That sorrow isn’t for you. He’s just upset he can’t claim you as his prize. He only wants what he can’t have.

I look away and wrap the towel around me, steadying my resolve, repeating a mantra of determination over and over in my mind. I will not let him see how much he’s hurt me. I will not let my guard down. I will not fall for his charm.

“I have places to be, Parker,” I say, keeping my voice detached. I walk around the tub and start past him, heading for the door, looking to the side to avoid seeing him crouched on the floor in anguish.

But I don’t make it out of the room. He turns and grabs me, his hands on my hips.

“Let go,” I hiss, averting my eyes from his.

“No,” he says, his voice full of grit and fire. “Not until you tell me why. Tell me what happened.”

I make the mistake of looking down at him. His eyes are misty with tears, and his jaw is set hard and crooked, a desperation on his face I’ve never seen on him before.

A sharp stab of sadness rips through me, and I look away.

It would do no good to mention the photographs of the other women — we never had an exclusive arrangement. I never asked that of him, and neither of us brought it up.

Plus, who am I to judge? I’ve been entertaining suitors for weeks. Doesn’t matter that it’s not an activity I’ve chosen out of desire — I was technically still dating other people during our time together — actually looking for a husband when I wasn’t in his bed — so that’s hardly a chip I can toss at him, is it?

I’m sure with how frequently Parker goes through women, all of his conquests just run together, one unremarkable fuck after another. Why did I think I’d be any different? They meant nothing to him, just as my suitors mean nothing to me.

The difference is that I’m the foolish woman who fell for the untamable bachelor.

“It’s my fault, Parker. I let myself get too carried away with you.”

He stands up, his hands never leaving me. He slides one up to my neck, touches my chin. “Sera, look at me.”

I dart my eyes toward him. “What?”

He lowers his face and presses his cheek to mine, his skin flushed with heat against the damp coolness of mine. “Sera…” he breathes, his voice tender and raw.

I freeze, flight or fight kicking adrenaline through me, making my stomach clench and my pulse race erratically, but I can’t move. I can’t bring myself to pull away from him.

“Sera, my beautiful Sera,” he says, over and over.

My heart flutters at his words. My Sera . His touch has me reeling, and I feel dizzy. I close my eyes and draw in a slow, deep breath to steady myself, but he’s nuzzled against me, and the air at my nose is heavy with his scent — sandalwood and soap, musk and leather, blending together into the most addictive smell — one I’m powerless to resist. Underneath the towel, my nipples harden at the intoxicating, familiar scent of him.

“Oh God, I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs, sliding his strong hands up my back, across the towel, to my shoulders. He runs his lips along my cheek, down to my jawline, planting the most delicate of kisses, and then to my lips, brushing them tenderly.

Despite every ounce of determination I have, I turn my face toward him, part my lips, and allow him to kiss me. And oh , does he kiss me.

He starts off so gentle, little butterfly kisses at the corners of my mouth, his lips soft and slow. And they build, his kisses getting deeper and stronger, teasing and sensual, and then his lips are pressing against mine with a fiery passion, consuming and demanding. He groans and whispers my name, running his hands up my neck, into my hair. I melt into his arms as he covers my mouth with his, his tongue caressing the inside of my mouth, tasting me, searching and hungry.

“I need you, Sera,” he whispers, his voice crackling with desire.

I gasp for air, my heart pounding. Between my legs, there’s a slick, fresh wetness that has nothing to do with the water in the tub. The soaking room, indeed.

Parker’s kisses trail down my neck, his tongue tracing a hot line across my skin, his teeth nipping at me gently. I let out a moan, and he squeezes me tightly in his strong arms, lifting me off the floor. I wrap my arms around him. Three long strides, and he slams us against the wall, holding my left leg up to his hip, leaning into me with unmasked urgency.

His erection is straining against his pants, pressing into my sensitive, bare flesh under the towel. “I need you so badly,” he groans.

He runs his hands to my chest and yanks the towel down, his mouth on my breasts as soon as they’re exposed. He swirls his tongue against one nipple and then the other, sucking and kissing until I’m panting.

I reach for his belt and zipper, undoing it as fast as my trembling hands allow me. I want him so badly, he’s like a drug every fiber of my body’s been craving.

His cock is hot and hard when I wrap my hand around it and ease it out of his pants. I stroke him, savoring the feel of his thickness, of the smooth skin and heat in my hand. Words can’t convey how much I’ve missed him — his touch, his tongue, his voice whispering huskily in my ear.

Slipping a hand under the towel, he reaches between my thighs and lets out a long hiss when he finds me hot and wet for him. “Fuuuck, yes ,” he groans slowly, his eyes burning with lust.

He places his hand over mine and guides his cock between my legs, rubbing it against me. When it hits my clit I shudder and nearly come on the spot.

Parker’s lips return to mine with a fury, kissing me so hard I can barely breath. I clasp my arms around his neck and buck my hips against him. More, I need more.

He grinds into me, stroking the base of his cock as he slides the head against my clit. “Oh, God,” he breathes. “Sera, I want you. Please…”

I’m so close to giving in, saying to hell with everything and being with Parker the way I’ve fantasized about for years. I want him more than he knows. I want to be his, and only his. Only his … the photographs from the folder flash through my mind and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but a bolt of agony hits me right in the chest and a sob escapes my lips.

What am I doing? I’m playing right into his hands. All those women… I’m just a game to him. This new-found obsession with having me, after all the times he promised to never rush me? It’s because I’m so close to being unobtainable. He’s desperate for one last chance to claim me.

Parker’s breath is hot and needy in my ear. “Be with me, Sera. I need you so much.”

I release my grip from his neck, pulling my hands to my chest, the words of the advisors ringing painfully in my head. This is what he wanted all along. To draw things out until he could claim me like this, for bragging rights — right before I become another man’s wife. No matter how much I want him, if I do this, he’ll only be using me, and it will ruin everything for my family.

He nuzzles my ear, rubbing the head of his shaft against me, going lower and lower little by little. Even as terrible thoughts race through my mind, my knees have gone weak from his touch and my pussy is pulsing with anticipation of him sliding that thick, powerful cock of his inside me.

Goddammit. Tears well in my eyes as my heart shatters all over again. I’ve wanted this moment for so long, but this isn’t how I want it. This isn’t how I’ve pictured my first time, not with the images of all those women dancing in my head, not with this pain in my chest.

“Don’t give yourself to him, please,” he whispers. “Be mine, only mine.”

His words snap me out of limbo. I push my arms against his chest and shove him backwards. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” I cry.

“What?” He looks at me, bewildered as I grab at the towel, pulling it around me tightly.

“You just want to claim the prize,” I say softly, my body shuddering with sobs.

“What prize?”

“My virginity. I’m just another notch on your bedpost.” My voice cracks, and I look away.

“No, Sera, that’s not true,” he pleads, reaching for me.

I slink away from him, heading for the door.

“Just leave me alone, please, before you wreck everything,” I say, my voice growing firmer. That’s it. Be strong. You can do this.

“How ? Please tell me what I did wrong,” he begs. “I swear to God, Sera, I would never do anything to hurt you.”

I sniff loudly, my anguish giving way to anger. “How about beating the shit out of Finley? What was that, the jealous tantrum of a spoiled prince, used to getting whatever he wants?”

He swallows hard, his eyes lighting up fury. “He deserved it, Sera. You don’t know what he’s really like.”

“I bet ,” I snap, my face drawn into a snarl. “I bet you’d love to tell me just how awful he is. Him and every other man on earth who stands between you and this,” I say angrily, pointing between my legs. “Well, I don’t care what you think, Parker. You’re only making things harder on me.”

“Give me a chance, I’ll fix it, I swear.”

“You’ll fix it?” I ask, my eyes wide with incredulity.

“Yes. I mean, I’ll try my damnedest, I swear . I can’t stand to see you like this.”

I tap my fingers to my chest. “This is who I should have been from the beginning, not the weak woman who fell into your arms every chance I got. I should have been strong and said no to you from the get-go, for my own sanity and for the sake of my family, instead of indulging in my girlish fantasies.”

“You think that’s how I see you? Sera, you’re smart and beautiful and funny. You’re the most—”

“Stop it,” I hiss, cutting him off. “It’s not going to work, Parker. No matter what you say, or how sweetly you say it, or how desperately you want me to believe your lies — my virginity is not up for grabs. I’m getting married, so just stop it.”

He steps closer and grabs me, squeezing my arms. “Why? What is this obsession you have with getting married? We had a good thing going, didn’t we? I’m sure I’ve made mistakes with you, but we were having fun, weren’t we?”

“That’s the problem, Parker. Life’s not always about the fun. Sometimes, you have to do the right thing, whether it’s fun or not. My family is counting on me. Just like your country is counting on you. It’s time for both of us to grow up and stop sneaking around like infatuated teenagers.” I pull away from him. “Now, excuse me, I have people waiting on me.”

“Wait, Sera !”

I pause at the door and take a deep breath before looking back. His shoulders are slumped, and his eyes are pleading, desperate, but I keep my face blank and ignore the knots of longing twisting inside me.

“Please,” he says, “do one thing for me, just one thing, and I’ll stay out of your hair. I’ll leave you alone forever, if that’s what you want. Just do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Don’t marry Finley, please. I don’t understand why you’re in a rush to get married, but if you’re determined to do it, please , just pick anyone but him.”

I throw up my hands in exasperation. “Okay, why, Parker? Why shouldn’t I marry Finley, other than that you just don’t like him?”

“He doesn’t deserve you. He’s not a good person. He’s shady, and dishonest, and he’ll only hurt you, Sera.”

I swallow hard. “Funny, that’s exactly what I’ve been told about you.” I turn away from him and walk out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-One

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s a knock on the hard mahogany of my bedroom door. A fire burns in the hearth, but my private suites are quiet and dark, every other light extinguished in the West Wing.

I have a very, very limited list of approved visitors, so I don’t hesitate. “Enter.”

The three-hundred-year-old door creaks open, and I see a familiar silhouette.

“Spencer, my dear old friend!” I call loudly. “Come, have some scotch!”

Spencer halts in the doorframe, scanning the room.

I glance around as he does. Looks like the same as it did yesterday, and the day before, and every day since I was turned away from Seraphina’s door that night after learning I’d somehow fucked up the best thing to ever happen to me.

My bedroom is decorated with limp, shriveling honeysuckle blossoms strewn amongst the shards of broken vases. Smear marks dot the walls where the vases smashed against the plaster. Small pools of water marring the finish of the rich hardwood.

I’ve refused the chambermaids from entering. Leave it. It looks like my insides — a fucking wreck. I need it to remind me of the monster I am. The monster who does not deserve the love of a woman like Seraphina.

“Parker?” Spencer’s voice cuts through the darkness.

“Here.” I hold my bottle of scotch so the firelight catches the green hues. “Want a pull?”

I stare at the fire, mesmerized by the dancing flames, almost forgetting that my former best friend is still standing at the door. He can come or go, it makes no difference to me. I can drink alone just as easily.

There’s a long silence before I hear footsteps and then the rustle of fabric as Spencer takes the chair beside mine — a high wingback, nineteenth century antique.

“I heard you caused quite a scene at the spa in Doremont a few days ago,” he says after he settles.

“Probably. Sounds like me.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Of course I fucking remember,” I bark, shooting a glare at Spencer. “I remember every goddamn excruciating detail of your sister rejecting me for Finley motherfucking Prescott. But hey, there’s enough alcohol in this place — I’ll forget eventually.”

My bitter words hang between us for a long while and I return to staring at the fire. I haven’t seen Finley since the night the guards pulled me off him, but my fists are still sore from smashing into his chest and face, my knuckles bruised and covered with slow-healing gashes. Apparently, his face looked ten times worse than my hands, as there was no engagement announcement the next afternoon during the garden concert, nor the day after, nor the day after that.

It gave me hope, which led me to hunt down Seraphina at the spa, praying that Finley had just been spinning lies to piss me off. But it was a false hope. My heart shattered all over again when she slayed me with her words… I am marrying him . The announcement came later that evening, at an awards banquet in Doremont. I haven’t left my suite since.

“He’s an asshole,” Spencer says quietly.

“Who?”

“Finley.”

“I know,” I say.

He takes the bottle of scotch from my hand and picks up an empty glass from the small side table. If a man can pour scotch angrily, it’s Spencer Strathmore. The amber liquid sloshes in his glass.

“A real asshole, you know. Not the kind who gets mean when he drinks, or the kind that puts on airs and acts like a prick in front of the Council. I mean a genuine through-and-through asshole, Parker.”

“I know.” I take the bottle back from him and turn it up. “I’ve always known.”

“He’s being a total jackass to Seraphina.”

I grip the bottle of scotch so hard I’m sure it’s going to shatter in my hands. Spencer has brought my worst fears to my doorstep. His news stabs me straight in the gut. But what can I do? Seraphina wants nothing to do with me, and Finley is everyone’s golden boy.

“What the hell do you care?” I snarl at Spencer.

The rage burning inside me at the idea of Seraphina being mistreated is too big to keep tampered down. It pours out of me as I continue, my words laced with it. “I thought it was none of your business, that she doesn’t need anyone looking out for her?” I throw his own words back at him, the ones he said when the festival was just beginning, and my heart was still my own.

Spencer sighs and tosses back his drink in one swoop. “I’ve been a pretty shitty big brother,” he says quietly.

“About time you figured that out,” I growl.

He takes a deep breath and stares at the floor for a long while then opens the stopper on the scotch, pouring himself more. “I can’t believe my sister’s marrying that asshole.”

Spencer has no idea how badly I don’t want to believe it, either. It’s put me in a no-win situation, her insistence on marrying that fucking piece of shit. If I press forward with my investigation, she’ll find herself married to a man the world will quickly grow to despise, and the entire Strathmore family will be dragged through the mud. Worse, if I don’t pursue charges against Finley, it’s hard to tell what kind of pain he’ll put Sera through in private, safe from public outrage, free to continue his hellish behavior. The thought of it has crushed me completely. The only thing that dulls the pain even a little is the bottle of scotch — and the bottle yesterday, and the one before that.

I shake my head. “I can’t believe it either. But she’s determined, and I couldn’t change her mind.” I grit my teeth as the sounds and images from our conversation in the spa play through my head. “The goddamn Royal Army couldn’t stop that woman once she decides she wants something,” I say bitterly.

Spencer lets out a joyless laugh. “You really think she’s marrying Finley Prescott because that’s what she wants ? Because she loves him and wants to have his babies?”

My chest seizes, and my grip tightens around my glass. “So, what the hell is it? Why’s she marrying that scum?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Spencer waves his hands, the scotch in his glass sloshing wildly, a stalwart defiance in his voice. “Just stay out of it, Parker. There are things you don’t know.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know,” I snap. “Like did you know Finley is running that drug ring with Galloway Johnston?”

Spencer’s eyes widen.

“Oh yeah,” I nod emphatically. “They’re partners. I tried to warn you to stay away from him.”

“I’d heard a rumor here and there about that, but nothing concrete.”

“This isn’t just a rumor or smack talk,” I say, leaning forward in my chair. “Finley has a record a mile long, and I’m not talking about bar fights and speeding tickets. He’s had the money to pay people off and the political power to persuade investigations to get dropped. That’s the only reason everyone still thinks his shit is made of gold.”

“I figure people talk smack, you know? They probably say terrible shit about us, too. So, I just dismissed it.”

“It gets worse. He’s committed at assaults on women. Half a dozen, so far, that I’ve been able to uncover. Those are sexual assaults , Spencer. Is that the kind of man you want anywhere near your little sister?”

Spencer stares back at me in stunned silence, shaking his head. “Fuck,” he says finally, the word drawn out in a breathy sigh.

We sit quietly for a few minutes as Spencer digests the news.

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about it,” he says finally, staring at the flames in the hearth.

“Why the hell not?” I growl, my temper rising instantly. “Surely you still have some influence with Sera. Tell her about this shit — she’ll listen to you.”

He shakes his head. “There’s no point.”

My hands tighten into fists. “You’re her goddamn big brother, fucking act like it!” If he still doesn’t understand how much Sera needs him, I’m prepared to beat it into him, old friend or not. I’ve had it with his apathy.

“It’s not that,” he says. Spencer opens his mouth, closes it, and then tries again. “We owe a debt.”

I practically jump from my chair. “I’m fucking loaded, Spencer. What’s the debt? I can pay it. Name the price.”

The room is encapsulated by darkness and shadows, but the flickering firelight exposes Spencer’s watery eyes. “When has it ever been that simple?” he asks, defeat in his voice. He turns up his glass and drains it in one swallow.

“What?” I beg. “What the fuck are you talking about? If I don’t have enough, I’ll take every goddamn cent from the Royal Treasury, I don’t care.”

He just stares into the fire and shakes his head. “Money can’t solve this. Only Sera can.”

“Why Sera? What does that mean?”

He falls back against the upholstered high-backed wings, clutching the bottle of scotch. “The debt isn’t about money, it’s about her hand in marriage. Either she gets married before she turns twenty-three, or we’re all out on our ass. We lose everything — our titles, all our properties, our home, all our belongings. Everything.”

“What ?”

Spencer shakes his head. “Yeah, that was my reaction.”

He sloppily pours more scotch into his glass then sets the bottom on the floor as I stare at him, flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you tell me your family had run into trouble? How did you let this happen?”

“It’s not us, man. It’s some ancient agreement from the beginning of time apparently. And Finley is the heir to this legal abomination. It just came to light recently, but it governs the ownership of the entire Beauregard estate. We didn’t make this mess, we just have to live with it.”

It’s my turn to stare at Spencer in disbelief. My mind is reeling so hard it takes me a full minute to come up with words. “That’s… that’s just… damn .”

“Exactly,” he sighs, futility in his voice. “There’s nothing to be done.” He tosses his head and downs the scotch.

I feel the futility in my plea, but still. “There has to be something. I’ll have my legal team look into it, maybe get it thrown out of court.”

My friend leans over, feeling for the scotch bottle then gives up. He relinquishes his glass as well, setting it on the side table before fisting his hair between his fingers. “You can’t. I know you’re my oldest friend, but you’ll just make things worse.”

“Worse?” I yell. “Worse ? Your sister is about to be rammed by fucking Finley Prescott — for the rest of her life .”

Spencer catapults from his seat. “I don’t want to hear that shit, Parker.”

Without a second of hesitation, I rise from my chair as well, and Spencer and I face off in the flicker of firelight. “I don’t give a fuck what you want to hear, Spencer. You and me, we don’t pull punches.”

I give him a moment to respond, but all I’m waiting for is the briefest flash of bluster from him, and I’ll swing. I’m at the edge — my world is shattered just like the vases on my floor, and I’ve reached my limit with Spencer’s excuses. I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest and search his eyes, looking for any sign of a fight.

Spencer convulses forward and drops to his knees, and for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to vomit. Instead, feels along the floor for the bottle of scotch. And just like that, it snaps into place. The cognac in the library. The bourbon in the music room. The vodka and the gin. He’s been smashed every day he’s been here — and he was drinking heavier than usual before he left to go chase tail on the other side of the world, too.

My jaw clenches, huffs of air pouring out of my nose like dragon fire as I stare at him. “How long have you known?”

He slumps onto the floor, coming to rest on his ass, and hangs his head. “Since the beginning of the year. It’s why I took off.”

“So, there was no girl?” I pace in front of the fire.

“Oh, there was a girl — Candy. I wasn’t lying about that. She was a hot mess, Parker.” He looks up at me. “But it was still better than this. I just hitched myself to the first opportunity that came along and got the fuck out of this place. It was too much.”

“How do you think Seraphina feels?” I lean down toward him, fists curled, ready to make him swallow his fucking teeth for leaving her to deal with it alone, but Spencer waves his hands in surrender.

“I know, man. I know.” He crawls over to the bottle of scotch beside his chair, pulls himself up by the legs of the side table, fumbles for his glass, and pours another finger of the amber liquid. “I just wanted to have a normal life, you know? A life where my inheritance doesn’t swing on who my little sister fucks.”

He tosses back the shot and sprawls his legs out on the floor, back against the apron of the chair.

“You have to do something , Spencer,” I admonish.

Spencer’s laughter is near hysterical. It fills the empty corners of my suite and ricochets off the broken shards of the vases. “Really? I mean, fuck me, Parker, what exactly do you propose I do? Tell Sera that she can just go ahead and run off to Africa? That Mom and Dad will be just fine?”

I spin my empty glass on the side table, anger filling me again. “Yes. Tell her that.”

He swallows hard and when he speaks his voice is low and strained. “She wouldn’t go. She always puts everyone else first,” he sniffs, his voice cracking. “She’s too good for this family.”

“She’s too good for all of us,” I say, and the truth of my words sting, biting at me, even through the rage and the liquor.

A flicker of something nags at the back of my mind as I pace in front of the hearth. I think back through Spencer’s words, and it clicks into place. I turn to him. “Wait, did you say Finley is in charge of this agreement?”

My friend nods, his eyes watery. “Yeah, he’s the original signer’s descendant or some shit — the current legal representative of this old jackass, Goutley.”

Hope takes seed inside my chest and a small grin spreads across my lips for the first time in days.

Spencer looks at me, his brow furrowed. “Why are you smiling?”

“I have an idea. One that could free Sera from Finley’s hellish grip and fix this nightmare for your family for good.”

Spencer staggers to his feet, grasping the arms of the chair to steady himself. “What? What are you thinking?”

He needs to see. “Wait here,” I tell him before bolting out of my bedroom.

I dash down the hallway to my private office and burst through the door, heading straight to my writing desk. The moonlight streaming through the windows on this side of the wing provides enough of a pale glow to guide me to the spot.

Unlocking the bottom drawer, I pull out a large manila envelope holding all the information I’ve been able to collect so far.

Pierre has been an invaluable help with filling in the details and securing well-buried documents, adding to the growing evidence against Finley. I don’t care how careful Finley’s been or how much money he’s thrown around to make things disappear — there’s no man on earth who could hide for long from the head of my security team. If Pierre wanted to know about the volume and quality of every ounce of breath someone had drawn since birth, he’d find a way to get that information. As children, Spencer and I used to joke that only Pierre could track Saint Nicholas across the globe on Christmas Eve.

I jog back to my bedroom where Spencer is standing beside our chairs at the hearth. When I draw close, I hold up the bulky manila envelope, so he can see it in the glow of firelight.

“I know she won’t believe this coming from me,” I tell him. “But you’re her big brother, Spencer.”

“What is that?” he asks, his voice is surprisingly clear.

“It’s what’s going to make this problem go away, for good. But it has to come from you,” I stress, holding the thick package out to him.

He takes it from me cautiously. “Why me?”

“She wants nothing to do with me — you know that. Even if she would agree to meet with me, I doubt she’d believe any of this if I’m the one who shows it to her. But whatever, this isn’t about me. It doesn’t fucking matter if she never looks at me again. This is about your family and Sera’s future.”

“Damn, what’s in here? It’s heavy as fuck,” Spencer says, hefting the package in his hands. “A bar of gold?”

“Maybe, my friend. Those documents might prove to be worth their weight in gold.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“I’ll go through them with you and explain what I’m thinking.”

He makes a face and his shoulders sag. “Right now? I’m pretty fucked up, man.”

“Yes, now . Sera needs you, goddammit! Time for a cold shower and a lot of fucking coffee — it’s going to be a long night, my friend.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fuck my life. That’s the summary of everything about this meeting, this day, this week — hell, the entire month.

Once again, we’re gathered in the business annex, too many people stuffed into this small conference room for my comfort level, and once again, everyone is twittering on like birds, chatting excitedly instead of getting this meeting started.

The difference is that this time, I’m not fidgeting. I don’t care if the meeting starts or not. I don’t care about anything, really.

There is no naked, beautiful Prince waiting for me to rush to when things wrap up here, no hope for a future that doesn’t involve Finley Prescott, and no chance of ever seeing Africa again, not unless it’s to accompany my arrogant, callous husband on a hunting trip.

Three days ago, I dutifully took the stage with Finley at the awards banquet after the charity polo matches in Doremont, joined by both sets of our parents as they joyfully announced our engagement. I played the part, smiling and waving, even allowing Finley to hold my hand while we walked forward to the edge of the stage to be cheered by the crowd of foreign dignitaries and members of the royal court, celebrities and distinguished guests packing the room.

That was bad enough — seeing all my dreams fading away as I stood there, a smile frozen on my face, pretending to be delighted with my new fiancé — but I fear that moment on stage may turn out to be the highlight of our engagement. My gut tells me it’s going to be all downhill from there. Way downhill , like a boulder cracking off the edge of an overhang, hurtling down the mountain, taking out everything in its path.

Parker may have been using me for his own reasons, but he was right about one thing — Finley is not a good person.

Mere moments after walking off stage from the engagement announcement, he pulled me into an empty storage room behind the banquet hall and grabbed me, pushing his lips against me.

“What are you doing?” I shrieked, twisting my head away.

“No foreplay? That’s fine with me.” He stepped back and unzipped his pants. “Time to sample the goods. Get that dress off.”

“What?” I recoiled in disgust, clutching my arms across my body.

“Since I’m the one verifying the agreement, there’s no need to wait until our wedding night. So, let’s get to it,” he’d said, pushing down his underwear.

“I am not sleeping with you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You do know, if our marriage isn’t consummated, the agreement is considered breached, and the Beauregard estate is mine,” he said with a laugh.

“Fuck you,” I spat.

“Yes, that’s exactly what you’re going to do if you want your family to stay in their nice home.”

I stared at him with steely eyes, refusing to let my gaze lower from his face.

He just stared back, hands on his hips, waiting for my eyes to wander down to what he had on display, growing impatient.

“Now, Sera.” He reached down, grabbing himself. “Come on, get over here and get me hard.”

I nearly gagged at the thought but managed to disguise it with a firm shake of my head, desperate to not let him see the nausea and despair coursing through me.

He finally shrugged and pulled up his pants. “Fine, have it your way. You don’t want deep dicking right now — that’s fine. We both know who the whore is in this arrangement.”

He zipped his pants and opened the door to the storage room.

“Keep that virgin cunt to yourself for a while longer if you want.” He sneered, looking back at me. “But on our wedding night? It’s mine.”

With that, he slammed the door shut, leaving me standing alone in the storage room in utter shock.

Sitting in the meeting space, I shudder at the memory of that day behind the stage with Finley. He’s been even more intolerable and cruel since, but I can’t bear to think about it anymore. I’ve just been going wherever I need to be, doing whatever needs doing, numbly following my parents’ lead, feeling like a shell of who I once was.

Sir Eldridge clears his throat. “Let’s get down to it, shall we?” he says, and the room grows still. “Baroness, have you and Lady Seraphina chosen a wedding planner yet?”

My mother nods. “Yes, we interviewed several agencies and have selected the Thomasia Firm. They seem very capable of handling a large wedding on short notice.”

Sir Eldridge nods. “Very good. That brings us to the press release. It really must be taken care of as soon as possible. I realize, of course, that Finley’s injuries delayed things a bit, but we really do need to get the engagement pictures taken as soon as possible. The media packets should have been sent out as soon as the date was set.”

“The photographer is coming tomorrow,” my mother replies.

“Excellent. Now, other items of business…”

I tune out as Sir Eldridge goes down a long list. Items of business. That’s what this is, no mistake about it. Business. Not sacred vows of commitment, not love, not passion. There’s no desire or tender feelings or happily-ever-after here — just business.

My mother is so excited about the wedding, she’s practically glowing. It’s the best outcome she could hope for — a grand wedding to a wealthy man with good social standing. She was terrified I’d be stuck with an old geezer three times my age, or married off to a penniless pauper because no suitable bachelors would be available on such short notice.

If only. I’d take a sassy old man or a broke-as-a joke sanitation worker over Finley. Hell, compared to Finley, even Horace the Horrible looks like a winner.

As Sir Eldridge rambles on, checking off things with various people in the room, I notice my brother slip in the door, carrying a large manila envelope.

His entrance surprises me. He’s not attended a single meeting and has been incredibly disconnected about the whole situation. Instead of getting involved, he’s spent most of his time away, and when he did come home to Beauregard, he staggered in drunk, eyes bloodshot, reeking of a bender and no shower for days.

The day of the engagement announcement, he saw me leave the storage room in tears and cornered me, demanding to know what had happened — the first time he’d shown interest in my life in months. I told him about Finley’s cruelty, but he just shook his head and stalked away. By the end of the awards banquet he was so hammered my father had to help him to the limo. I haven’t seen him since — until now.

He’s standing quietly in the corner of the conference room, his eyes darting between my parents and myself. He clutches the envelope to his chest and licks his lips nervously as Sir Eldridge rattles on and on.

Finally, the senior advisor comes up for air, pausing to look down at the meeting agenda to see what’s next.

My brother steps forward. “Excuse me.”

Sir Eldridge turns, and all eyes shift to Spencer. “Sir Strathmore? Do come in, we’ll find an extra seat.”

Spencer holds up a hand. “That won’t be necessary. I actually need to meet with my family, alone — just my mother, father, and sister.”

I straighten in surprise and glance at my parents to see if they know what this request is about, but they look just as bewildered as I do. I turn back to my brother, and he’s staring at me, his cheeks flushed. Normally, I would chalk that color up to his drinking, but today his eyes are clear and his hands steady.

The senior advisor frowns and glances down at his list. “Would you mind terribly if we wrap up first, sir? We’re almost through the list of items that need to be addressed for the wedding of Lady Seraphina and Mr. Prescott.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No need to continue with the wedding plans. My sister won’t be marrying Finley Prescott.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?” My parents’ advisor rises to a high note and he does a double-take, his hand flying to his chest in astonishment. Everyone in the room stirs and murmurs fill the space.

“I request the room, immediately,” Spencer says, his voice even and firm. “Please leave me with my family.” My brother and the older man lock eyes, Spencer never wavering.

Tense seconds tick by as the two conduct a silent battle, but it is the older man who relents and sets his eyes dancing over the table as he quickly collects documents into a pile. “Very well. We will move to the library and finish the business at hand.”

My parents and I remain silent as Spencer thanks the assembly and the Council shuffles from the room, many of them looking back over their shoulders at us questioningly. He waits until the door is securely shut and then hesitates only a moment before pacing forward, tossing the manila envelope onto the table. It slides to a stop in front of my parents.

Father is the one who reaches for it, not questioning Spencer until he has a series of affidavits and high-resolution photographs in hand. His eyes narrow, and I see a light of comprehension.

“What am I looking at here, son?”

Spencer leans across the table and presses his fingertips onto the still bulging envelope. “This package contains ample evidence of Finley’s illicit activities. For starters, his involvement in a drug ring.”

My brother starts to pace the room. “I don’t mean selling pills to some college kids on the side. All those investments he claims to be making all his money on? It all traces back to the drugs he’s having smuggled into the country.”

My brother digs more papers from the envelope and hands them to our mother. Having managed our stock holdings for the better part of a quarter century, her practiced eye skims the small print littering the pages. She flips through the papers, scanning each one, glancing back and forth between the documents. “All these companies are just shells.”

“That’s right,” Spencer says. “His millions have been made dealing drugs, not playing the foreign currency exchange or investing in real estate. And that’s not the worst of it.”

This time, the papers Spencer removes from the folder — he lays them in front of me. I flip through them with growing horror. Hospital records, results from a rape kit. My hand moves to my mouth, my eyes wide. Several sworn statements from multiple women attesting to Finley’s unwanted advances and the violence with which he took what he wanted anyway, the dates spanning several years. The last of the papers are banking records of wire transfers to various accounts — women, investigators, judges. Incredible sums of cash, all linked back to Finley. Hush money to keep the assault charges from any further proceedings out of court.

I can’t form words. This is the man I’m to marry. It’s all too grotesque. I shake my head, tears coming to my eyes. I breathe deep, forcing back my nerves which are frayed to the breaking point.

My father’s voice is low and quiet. Dangerous. “Where did all this come from? My God. The drug charges alone could put him away for life.”

Spencer’s cheeks flush with righteous anger. “Yes, they could.”

“This has to be made public. Based on these records,” my mother says, sweeping another glance across the table at the stacks of papers, her jaw firm and the muscles in her neck tight, “Finley should have been in jail long ago.”

I jump as my father’s fist collides with the table. “Get my advisors back in here right now. I’m turning this over to the press immediately.”

“Wait.” Spencer holds out a hand. “There’s a better option. One that can fix this situation once and for all and ensure Finley pays for his crimes.”

My mother reaches out a hand to me. Clasping her trembling fingers to mine, she looks at Spencer. “What is it?”

Spencer taps at the manila envelope. “It’s all here. Like you said, enough to put him away for a lifetime. No parole. If the media got hold of this? They practically wouldn’t even need a trial.”

“That’s exactly why it should be released to the press. Mr. Prescott would have no chance.”

“And he knows it,” Spencer says. “Show him what we know. Threaten to expose all of this unless he nullifies that fucking agreement and returns all rightful ownership of the Beauregard Estate over to the Strathmore family — our titles, assets, investments, all of it. Tell him that he can buy our silence if he releases us from that contract.”

Father surveys the scattered documents for a moment and nods. “That could work, yes.”

I frown. “But we can’t let Finley get away with all this! Yes, he’ll probably nullify the Goutley agreement if we show him the evidence we have. But what about all these women?” I point at the pile of documents in front of me. “He should burn in hell for this. I won’t be the keeper of Finley’s secrets. No way,” I say, shaking my head.

“Ah, but who said we’d actually keep the deal?” my brother replies. “As we speak, a special counselor is being assigned to an investigative ministry that was quietly assembled in the court, with the sole purpose of bringing these charges to bear. As soon as Finley voids the Goutley agreement, they’ll be ready to take him down.”

I sit up straighter, a sprig of hope blooming. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent,” Spencer nods. He looks at me as he speaks. “A powerful friend has been gathering this evidence for a while, working to uncover all of Finley’s crimes so he can be brought to justice. I met with him yesterday. We stayed up all night going over these documents.”

My heart skips a beat. Parker. He’s talking about Parker. For a moment, a fire alights inside me. I want to race to him and throw my arms around him, smothering him in grateful kisses. Then I remember the photographs in the folder and the flame inside my chest goes out and my heart grows heavy once again.

“This plan will work. It’s solid,” Spencer says confidently, looking more alive than I’ve seen him in months. “Beauregard will be ours again and Finley will have no rights to anything in our family anymore — including Sera’s hand in marriage.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hands shoved deep into my pockets, I watch with a mingling sorrow and relief as the big white tent on the East Lawn is disassembled. The closing ceremonies were held yesterday, and most of the guests have departed. The palace is slowly returning to the silent, empty retreat I need it to be. Winter has settled into the breeze floating across the gardens, and its harsh nip gives me a shiver.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you you’d catch a cold standing out here without a coat?” The familiar voice of my best friend helps to dispel my foul mood.

I give Spencer a playful push as he draws up beside me. “The Crown Prince doesn’t get colds.”

He laughs and shakes his head then grows quiet. We look out over the activity on the lawn, watching a dozen workers carefully take apart the outdoor bandstand and load chairs into a box truck destined for the storage buildings at the far edge of the estate.

Spencer turns, giving me a long look. “You were right.”

“The Crown Prince is always right,” I counter.

This time, Spencer is the one giving me a spirited shove. “Soon to be crowned King, I hear.”

“At the first of the year,” I say with a nod. “Almost thought it wouldn’t happen, between knocking Finley’s ass out cold and the uproar I created at the spa — after keeping my nose out of trouble so long, I nearly lost the throne due to that.”

“We all do crazy things, sometimes. Especially over women. But Finley deserved every punch you landed, and then some. I’m sure the Royal Council understands that.”

“They do, now that things have come to light.”

My father has been awaiting this for a long while, ready to step down and enjoy his retirement, but he dared not until I’d proven my worth. With the documents I’ve provided to my father, the Royal Council, and the investigative ministry, I’ve been forgiven for my run-in with Finley and the scars his face will carry. The future of the crown has been sorted out and planning for the coronation ceremony is underway. All appears well on that front now. But it hasn’t brought me the sense of accomplishment I’d hoped.

The future of the Strathmore family is still up in the air. I can only pray that I’ve done more help than harm. Even though I won’t be able to and that my plan will provide Seraphina with a satisfying end to the hell she’s been in.

“But seriously,” Spencer says, his tone solemn. “I wanted you to know you were right — from the very beginning. My little sister needed me, and I needed a gut check. I was too caught up in myself. I was being selfish, I see that now.”

I shrug. “We’re all selfish, Spencer. Look at me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just kept chasing after her. I couldn’t let her go, even when I knew I should. I wanted her more than I’ve wanted anything — more than all the parties and all the women the world could offer. More than the Crown, even. I was selfish, and look at the hurt it caused.”

“But a good thing came out of it, Parker. If you hadn’t been involved, we wouldn’t have those documents, and Finley would still have the upper hand, in total control of our family.”

“Maybe,” I say, staring straight ahead.

“It’s official, you know. Just came from signing the last of the documents. The Goutley contract is null and void. Seraphina’s free of Finley and that abomination of an agreement.”

Relief pours through my chest. “Oh, thank God!” That was the last piece to fall into place, the news I’ve been praying to hear for days. “Thank you, Spencer, thank you .” My voice cracks, and I lay a hand on his arm.

“It was all you, Parker. Having Pierre gather those documents was damn smart. You saved her from that awful fate. Saved us all, really.”

I take a deep breath, inhaling the crisp air. It feels good. I haven’t breathed this free in days. Not when I froze fucking Finley’s international assets with a few phone calls to other heads of state, or made sure all his drug connections knew he’s now a liability. Not when I assigned a tail-for-life on that son of a bitch to make sure he never touches another woman. Not when I banned him from the palace grounds or appointed a special counsel to ensure Finley’s bribes have no reach within the court. Now that I know Sera is free, they can proceed with bringing him up on charges. There’s no way he’s wiggling out of facing the consequences this time. If he’s lucky, he’ll spend the rest of his days destitute and alone, living in some God forsaken prison cell, far out of my sight. And that’s still far better than he deserves.

Spencer and I stand in companionable silence, watching the uprights of the tent hit the ground.

“You don’t have to stop chasing her, you know?”

“No, Spencer.” I shake my head. “No, as you said, she’s finally free of this mess. Free of Finley, free of me.”

“She’s getting on a plane today, leaving for Africa.”

My shoulders sag. Is possible for news to simultaneously bring one immense joy and heartbreak at the same time? The sharp ache in my chest tells me it is. “That’s good,” I manage to croak out. “She’s wanted that.”

“If you don’t go to her now, you’re going to lose the opportunity to tell her.”

My throat tightens, and my eyes sting with the tears I refuse to let fall. I swallow hard, feeling the loss of her all over again. “She’s following her dreams — I’m not going to stop her. Besides, what am I supposed to tell her that I haven’t already?”

“That you love her.”

My spine goes ramrod straight, and my gut turns. There’s a growing pain in my chest that’s not letting me breath. I set my jaw as I look out over the East Lawn, determined to keep it together.

“You’re not invulnerable, Parker,” Spencer says, watching me.

I shift my eyes, studying him to see if it’s a throw-away comment or something deeper. I’m not sure. I don’t recognize my best friend much these days. We have a lot of catching up to do, him and I, now that things are settled down. “Invulnerable to what?”

“To this frost in the air, to the love of a good woman. To the messy, complicated existence of being human.”

I purse my lips and nod with a sigh. “I know that. I didn’t always, but I do now.”

“I know we’ve had our issues, Parker, but I know you. I’ve never seen you like this before over a woman, ever. Don’t you fucking tell me the Crown Prince doesn’t fall in love, because I see it all over your face,” he says, his words crackling with intensity.

We stand side by side as only men can, watching the corners of the tent being folded in on one another, unspoken volumes passing between us. We don’t dare to look at one another, not with mist in our eyes.

After a long while, Spencer takes a deep break and clears his throat. He smacks his head on the wrought-iron railing and turns to me with fervor in his voice. “Be selfish, damn it.”

“She deserves better than me. You know that, Spencer.”

“No,” he insists. “I don’t know that. You’re a good man, Parker. I didn’t listen when you told me Sera needed me. Don’t repeat my mistake. She needs you — I’ve seen it on her face, too. So just get the fuck out of here before I have to kick your ass.”

I do the only thing I can. I give Spencer two hard slaps on the back of his shoulder and turn to go.

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. A fresh start, which I so desperately want. I need to get as far away from Ostwyn as possible — and to do it as soon as possible. Fortunately, I’m about to get my wish.

As I walked through the airport terminal, there were scores of journalists and tabloid photographers angling for post-festival interviews and pictures of all the departing dignitaries and extended royal family. Only the royal press is allowed to enter the grounds of Pridemore Palace, so the regular media have had to gather here at the airport.

Very few approached me. As the daughter of a Baron, my title only impresses those who were born without the constraints of nobility, or those, like Finley, who are desperate to add any officiality to their status that they can.

So, the media mostly left me alone as I made my way through the airport, but when a couple small press outlets aimed their microphones and cameras at me, I smiled politely and rattled off a few lies about how delightful the festival was.

I wasn’t about to let the press or anything else make me late for the beginning of the rest of my life. Africa is calling, dammit!

So I kept moving, pushing through the crowd to the baggage check. My lone suitcase contains the barest of items — personal essentials, some jeans and shirts Emily lent to me, and a pair of boots I stopped along the way to purchase. I won’t need fancy ball gowns or high heels where I’m going, thank goodness.

There’s only one flight leaving for a connection to Johannesburg, and it’s smaller than the rest, so I’m waiting out on the tarmac for my turn to board instead of inside the heated terminals. I shiver in the chilly air and bounce from foot to foot, both to warm myself and to dispel my nervous energy.

Soon, I won’t be worrying about the coming snow, or attending royal festivals, or sleeping in big, empty beds that remind me how lonely I am without Parker.

I’ll be sweating my ass off all day and will consider myself lucky if I’m able to reconnoiter a field cot at night. It’s what I’ve signed up for, though, and I’ll happily sleep on the ground if that’s what I need to do.

Emily is staying behind for a few days to see to the transfer of our belongings from the palace back to my family’s estate. From there, she’ll work through the packing list. Most of my belongings will be kept at Beauregard, tucked away in storage indefinitely. God knows when I’ll ever want to return. The small remainder of items will accompany her to Africa when she comes to meet up with me, as soon as the non-profit decides which of the project locations they’re placing us at.

I’m not expected at the headquarters for several days, but I have no desire to stay here a moment longer. As soon as Finley signed the paperwork to void the Goutley agreement, I booked the first flight out.

Up ahead, a flight attendant is lowering the stairs to the small jet, and once they’re in place, she signals that boarding can begin.

The first few people in line shuffle forward and start ascending the steps, but they’re chatting and laughing and taking pictures of each other posing on the stairs. They aren’t moving fast enough for me.

Even light speed wouldn’t be fast enough for me right now. I’ve wanted to return to Africa ever since I left Uganda fourteen months ago, but even more urgently, I have to get out this country.

Everything reminds me of Parker — from the currency bearing his family crest to the goddamn street signs in that brilliant, shimmering shade of blue, which I swear the transportation department matched to his eyes. I can’t take it another second of it.

“Honey, are you sure you have our passports?” the woman in front of me asks a tall man beside her.

“Yes, dear, I’ve got them right here,” he says, patting a pouch buckled to his waist.

Walk faster, I urge them silently. Let’s go! My new life is waiting, people!

I never expected my return to Africa to be so bittersweet. I can’t help but feel that my departure right now is more about running away from my life than it is about chasing after my dreams.

But, whatever gets me out of Ostwyn. That’s my new mantra.

I hope the sweat and dust and back-breaking hard work of digging new water wells in rural villages eventually numb my memories of Parker and this heartache that won’t stop. I need the sheer physical exertion and geographical distance to wear away at them until they’re dull and faded.

“Holy shit, honey, look!”

I glance up at the whispered profanity of the tall man in front of me. He’s turned around, staring past me to the nearest airport terminal, frantically nudging the woman beside him. I look over my shoulder, but several large men are clustered together behind me, deep in conversation, and I can’t see anything from my place in line.

“What is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head, eyes wide. “It must be a movie star or the King and Queen or something.”

“What ?” the question leaves my mouth in a daze. I strain on my tiptoes to see past the men, but they are a wall of thick necks and bulky jackets. I finally duck out of line for a peek.

One glance and I know instantly it’s not the King or Queen, nor a celebrity.

Pierre and half a dozen other imposing members of Parker’s security team, dressed in their trademark solid black suits, have emerged from the sliding glass doors of the airport’s east terminal and are walking across the tarmac, their eyes scanning the small crowd in line for the flight. A few reporters are trailing them at a distance, cameras at the ready, microphones in hand, watching excitedly.

As I look, more paparazzi come running through the sliding doors of the airport. My eyes widen, and though I’ve been shivering from the cold, heat fills my cheeks. I step back in line, cowering behind the cluster of men who were blocking my view.

If his security team is here, I know Parker is probably somewhere nearby. What the hell is going on?

People around me stir excitedly, looking curiously at one another, craning their heads to see what the commotion’s about.

The thought that something might be wrong with Spencer or my parents hits me like an iron plate to the chest. It doesn’t make sense that Parker’s here unless there’s an emergency — he knows better than any that the airport would be crawling with press today.

I pull out my phone and check for messages, but there’s nothing. I breathe a sigh of relief, but my reprieve is short lived when I look up from my phone to see Pierre beside me.

“Good afternoon, Lady Strathmore,” he says quietly.

“Hello, Pierre,” I manage. Everyone is staring at me now, and I know my face is bright red.

“If you could accompany me inside, please.”

I don’t budge an inch. “What for?”

Pierre clears his throat and gives the tall man and his female companion a hard stare. They take a few steps back, but continue to gawk at us.

“I’ll explain inside,” Pierre says and motions for me to step out of line.

I resist for a long moment, my feet planted like anchors, but eventually acquiesce with a heavy sigh and join him. We walk across the tarmac toward the glass doors, the security team immediately falling in around us.

The crowd is murmuring and pointing, and reporters are scrambling along beside our little convoy, some running ahead to position themselves near the doors. They don’t dare approach me with their microphones, not with the Royal Guard surrounding me, but damn if they aren’t snapping a million pictures.

We step foot inside the east terminal, and Pierre makes a sharp right, guiding me down a small corridor. I glance over my shoulder to see the rest of the security team stop, turning and planting themselves firmly at the entrance to the corridor, blocking the reporters from following.

“Okay, now are you going to tell me what this is about?” I ask Pierre as we continue to walk at a rapid clip.

He gives me a kind look, perhaps the first time I’ve ever seen Pierre’s face soften. “I think you know, my Lady.”

He stops abruptly at a non-descript door and raps the wood with his knuckles. He doesn’t go in, but just swings the door open into the room and gestures for me to enter.

I realize my palms are sweaty and my hands are shaking. Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I walk through the doorway. Inside, there’s a scattering of sleek leather furniture, and a wet bar, with fine art prints hanging on the wall — a private lounge.

Parker’s standing in the middle of the room, staring at me. I try not to let the sight of him affect me, but my lip quivers as soon we lock eyes.

Dammit to hell . He looks gorgeous. His tailored blue dress shirt matches the bright flecks in his eyes, and there’s that tousled blonde hair and strong jaw, and those oh-so-familiar lips that made me melt into a puddle with every kiss.

“Thank you for coming, Sera,” he says quietly.

My stomach churns uneasily. “What is it? Is it my family? Is everything okay?”

“They’re all fine. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“About what? I have a flight to catch.”

He takes a deep breath. “I’ve heard that you won’t be marrying Finley.”

“That’s right.” My words are guarded and clipped, but I begrudgingly remember my manners. “Spencer told me you helped with that situation. I suppose I owe you a thank you.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t owe me anything. It’s I who owe you. I owe you the truth. What you do with it is up to you — and I swear, I’ll respect whatever you decide, but I need to say this.”

I straighten my spine, bracing myself against his words, but my knees are going weak just looking at his gorgeous face. “Parker, don’t.” I can’t handle another scene like the one in the spa. Walking away from him once was too hard.

Heedless, he presses forward, that wild look in his eye telling me he’s running off sheer adrenaline. “I can’t. I can’t let you go without telling you.”

“I said don’t , Parker.” Tears form in my eyes, but not the kind he wants. I’m in deep, soul crushing pain, and it’s because of him. Maybe, after a long life of privilege, he’s just not used to losing. But I’m not going to let him win me over this time, not even for a minute.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and paces across the small room. “I know I don’t deserve you, but you’re wrapped around my heart like a wild vine. For all my bluster and bravado, it’s this that’s finally cracked me — you. Being away from you is killing me. I can’t bear it.”

“Stop it,” I plead, tears streaming down my face.

He comes to rest in front of me, his expression twisted into a mixture of pain and joy. “I love you, Sera” he whispers. “I love you to the ends of the earth.”

I shake my head. “No ,” I cry, a sob rolling through my body.

“It’s true,” he says, his voice so tender it only makes me cry harder. “I know you’re better off without me, and I swear, I’ve tried to let you go. God knows I’ve tried. But I just can’t.”

I turn away from him, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands, digging deep to find my anger. I need it to fortify me, to push me forward. “I’m getting on that plane, Parker, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Sera, look at me, please.”

I refuse to turn my eyes to him. I remember all too well what happened last time I did, how I almost let him seduce me right there in the spa. “No! I’m not doing this again, Parker! Nothing’s changed.”

“Look… can we sit down together here, just you and me, and discuss this, please? Let’s just talk about us, okay?”

I grit my teeth, my chest racked with muffled sobs. “There never was an ‘us’ — it’s always just been you and every willing woman desperate to climb into your bed. I was a stupid fool to become one of them.”

“That’s not true! I’m the fool, Sera — me ! Not you!”

My vision is blurry, and my legs are trembling, but I make myself start moving. I inch my way to the door, refusing to look at him. “My flight’s leaving, I have to go.”

I open the door, a rush of cool air flowing into the lounge from the corridor. Pierre is at the end of the corridor with the rest of the security team.

“Sera!” Parker pleads.

I practically leap out of the room, but Parker catches my hand. “Let go!” I huff angrily.

“Here, please, just take this.” He presses something into my hand, and my fingers close around it automatically as I hear the final boarding call over the airport loudspeaker.

“I’m going to miss my flight,” I shout in a panic, twisting my arm out of his grasp.

As soon as I’m free I take off running, my heart pounding. If Parker makes me miss this flight, so help me, I’ll go back in there and strangle him with my bare hands — Pierre will have to pry me off him with a crowbar and drag me away in handcuffs.

I fly down the corridor, pushing past his startled security team like a matador, and burst through the glass doors back out onto the tarmac. Oh, thank God! The plane hasn’t begun taxing to the runway yet. A flight attendant is just beginning to raise the stairs of the plane.

“Wait!” I yell, waving my arms. “Please wait!”

Loud commotion erupts behind me, and I know a crowd of reporters has just spilled out of the airport, jetting across the tarmac after me. I hear them shouting my name, but I keep running as fast as my feet will go, toward the plane, toward Africa, toward a new life far away from Ostwyn and Prince Parker.

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

 

 

 

 

 

I walk out of the lounge, head down, hands in my pockets. It only takes a second for Pierre to join me.

“Can I do anything, Your Highness?”

I shake my head. “No, there’s nothing left to be done.”

“May I say, sir, that I’m very sorry to see this outcome.”

I give his arm a squeeze — the most affection he’ll comfortably allow. “You did well, Pierre. Thank you for your help — with the file on Finley and with Seraphina today. I appreciate it.”

He nods. “Of course, Your Grace, I’m always at your service.”

My heart is heavy, leaden and weeping, as we stroll up the corridor. Ahead, reporters are stretching and angling the best they can around my security team, trying their damnedest to get in a few shots.

Pierre pauses, pursing his lips disapprovingly at the ruckus. “Sir, I can take you out another way — I’ll have the car pulled around to the side exit. No need to swim through the sharks.”

“It’s okay, Pierre. If they want a show, let them have it. I’m tired of hiding. No matter what I do, my legacy will follow me until I grow old, or they grow bored of me.”

He hesitates, eyeing the crowd ahead with scorn, but relents after a moment and joins my side again. The security team parts to let us pass then falls in behind us as we exit out of the corridor. I turn toward the doors leading out to the tarmac and walk to the large glass panes, watching forlornly as Sera’s plane slowly rolls away to its place in line, waiting for a turn on the runway.

Behind me, the press is in a clamor, and I hear shouts and curses as the paparazzi trip over one another for position. Calls of ‘Your Highness !’ and ‘Prince Parker !’ ricochet off the glass in front of me.

“I hope Africa loves her as much as I do,” I say quietly, a prayer more than a comment to Pierre.

He nods silently, his back to the glass, keeping a watchful eye on the crowd of reporters.

“Prince Parker! Tell us what you’ve been up to!” a voice shouts over the din of noise.

I glance at my chief of security. “You know what? I think I will.”

Pierre raises an eyebrow. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

I turn to face the frenzy. There’s a momentary lull as they pause, waiting to see what I’ll do. Then the frenzy erupts again, shutters clicking and bulbs flashing, a barrage of questions thrown at me.

“Your Highness! Why are you at the airport today?”

“Prince Parker, can tell us why you were meeting with the Baron’s daughter?”

“Yeah, what’s the story with you and Lady Strathmore?”

I square my shoulders and draw a deep breath. I’m going to give them a story, all right. For the first time since that humbling Royal Council meeting when my Kingship was put on the line, I don’t care if I create headlines or fuel the gossip for the talk shows.

Today, I do whatever it takes to set things right.

If the media thinks I’m a lovesick fool, that’s fine.

Because that’s exactly what I am.

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

 

 

 

 

 

I stumble up the stairs of the small jet, practically climbing them on my hands and knees, and the stewardess helps me through the door. As she presses a series of buttons to pull up the steps, I pause to catch my breath, bent over, sucking in air. After a moment I realize the only sounds are my ragged breath and the low whir and clicks of the stairs sealing into place.

The silence inside the small plane is too heavy to be anything but intentional. I gather myself, straightening my shirt and brushing my windswept hair behind an ear, before I look up in order to make my way down the narrow aisle to my seat.

It only lasts half a second, but in that short span of time, every head on the plane is pointed in my direction, mouths hanging open, eyes staring at me. Then, as one, the passengers snap to and look away, entering back into conversations or opening a paperback.

“Right this way, ma’am,” the stewardess’s hand touches the small of my back, guiding me to my seat. “If you can get buckled quickly, please — the tower has signaled we’re next for takeoff.”

With a start, I realize I’ve been standing in the aisle, frozen in a state of teenage stage-fright. I manage to put one foot after the other — my legs suddenly feeling heavy as concrete — and scoot past a large gentleman to take my seat at the window. Reality coming back into place, I quickly fumble for my seatbelt and snap it into place and cinch it down.

As soon as one stewardess is gone, there is another. Her eyes are kind, but there is no pity in her voice, and I bless her for that. Her Ostwyn accent is clear as she speaks softly. “Water or some reading material, Lady Strathmore?”

“Sure. Yes. Thanks.” She’s recognized me, and I should be displaying better manners, but short sentences are all I can manage to croak out to keep from bursting out in a fit of ugly crying.

She politely accepts my confusing answer without asking for clarification and hands over both, favoring me with a gracious smile before she turns to the front of the plane.

The condensation of the chilled water bottle is cold and wet in my hand, and I realize I’m parched. I twist the top off and suck down three big gulps. There, that’s a little better. As I lift the bottle again, I glance around. A dozen people are stealing peeks at me, curious sideways looks. When my eyes meet theirs, they look away, only to turn their head and stare again a moment later.

I wiggle my butt and draw in my shoulders, sinking as far down into my seat as a I can. Lowering my head, I clutch the paper and unfold it, ready to bury my face inside the pages. Just ignore the stares. It’s a long flight — they’ll grow tired of looking at you eventually.

One glance down at the paper, which is supposed to help take my mind off all this, if only for an hour, and I have to stifle a nervous chortle — the kind of exasperated laugh that wells up from the bitter irony of a situation you thought couldn’t get any worse, until it does.

The lead story is devoted to the closing ceremonies of the Grand Harvest Festival. It’s plastered across the entire front page — and no doubt many of the pages inside, too, but I have no desire to see it. I shake my head and begin to roll the paper up, planning to wedge it beside my seat so it’s out of sight for the rest of the flight. But a small teaser across the top catches my eye: The End of Prince Parker’s Royal Escapades? Page 9.

My fingers twitch nervously, plucking at the edge of the thin paper. Biting my lip, knowing I shouldn’t, I open the paper with a flourish and skip straight to page nine. The heading is repeated at the top of the page, and there he is, the Crown Prince in all his glory staring right back at me. They’ve chosen a flattering picture — but is there really any other kind of Parker? — and his Royal Highness, gorgeous and in full-color is staring at me from the page. His hair is tousled, his eyes hard and unwavering, three days of stubble on his strong jaw, and his lips are parted as though he’s going to speak — or to groan in that throaty rasp that sets my insides on fire.

Suppressing a whimper and ignoring the tingling pulse between my thighs, I graze over the columns, not having the fortitude to slowly digest every word.

For months, Prince Parker has been lying low, rarely seen in public.

In an unusual turn, there have been no reports of troublemaking or scandal…

Except for the crowds entering for the Grand Harvest Festival, not one of his former female favorites have been reported past the gates of Pridemore Palace.

…his attendance documented in the minutes of every daily Council meeting for months now…

Is it true that our Playboy Prince is finally settling down to his role as this nation’s rightful ruler?

In this journalist’s opinion, there is only one explanation of what can reform a notorious lady killer with a penchant for trouble...

...who is she?

My heart matches my stomach in a rather unsavory palpitation as I flip to the last page of the article. Bile rises as the cornucopia of women is laid out before me. He hasn’t been particularly picky. Prince Parker likes them in all varieties. Blonde, brunette, thin, plump, evening gowns and short sundresses.

Of all the women Prince Parker has been previously linked to, no recent events bring any contender to the front of the pack.

With his reformed ways, does the Crown Prince have his eyes on a new woman?

Has a dark horse captured the Prince’s heart?

I try not to let my eyes linger over the pictures of him with other women. I console myself with the fact that they all feature the long haired, stubble wearing version of Parker, from before, when he was still the notorious bad boy fighting in bars and leading wild parties, from before he sequestered himself at the palace this year.

Even... holy shit !

I hold the magazine page up to my face for closer inspection. That blonde. I’ve seen her. Not in real life, but in this exact same picture. A picture from the folder Mr. Kingston handed to me as he convinced me to choose that snake, Finley Prescott.

It’s the royal stables, but the trees outside the barn door — they don’t have fall leaves coloring them like they did in the photo from the folder. No, the trees in the press photo are barren, and there is a dusting of winter snow on the ground. Not only that, but Parker — he’s the same Parker in the captivating picture which leads the article — long, wavy locks and a three-day shadow of stubble across his jaw. Former Parker, not current Parker with his shorter, tousled hair and clean-shaven face.

I lower the paper to my lap with shaky hands as my stomach turns slowly and a wave of nausea hits me. My mind is racing so fast I can barely breath.

Would he? Would Mr. Kingston, my parents’ trusted advisor, would he deceive me? If he thought it was for the benefit of the Strathmore family, yes, I believe he would.

Panic takes hold of me as the plane begins to move. I look out the window and see that we’re taxiing to the runway. Adrenaline surges through me, raw and insistent. My stomach is churning relentlessly, and I unbuckle, ready to make a run for the small airplane bathroom.

The large man beside me is looking at me with incredulity and people are craning their heads to stare openly again, but I don’t care. My life’s been swallowed up by a lie, and my sensitive stomach can’t handle it.

As I twist in my seat, my left thigh rolls across something solid. I reach under my leg, and my hand closes around a small glass vial. The shape and feel of it is familiar, and I vaguely recall Parker pressing something into my hand before I ran away. I must have dropped it in the seat in my haste to get buckled quickly. What is it?

I pull my hand from under my leg and bring it up, opening my fist. Nestled in my palm is a small perfume bottle, an artist’s watercolor of a delicate Japanese honeysuckle blossom decorating the glass.

I’m aware of the breath leaving my lungs in a rush, but my tight throat makes it difficult to take in more. My palm is sweating, and the glass is warm as I grasp the graceful curves of the bottle in my fingers and turn it over. Two words are etched into the glass with swirling, elegant script.

Marry Me.

My body and my mind go numb. I stare at the words. My eyes burn, and I watch in dumb astonishment as my fingers begin to tremble. Then it all happens at once. A series of sobs convulse in my chest, burning there as they pile up. “Oh my God,” I gasp, and the sobs escape. I can feel the eyes of all the passengers on me once more.

There’s a sideways motion of the small plane turning onto the runway, rocking me back in the seat, and every nerve in my body leaps desperately into a flurry of action. “Stop!”

I fling the seatbelt the rest of the way off my lap and stand. The stewardesses at the front of the plane pop their heads from behind the curtain.

“Stop the plane!” I shout.

The woman who helped me up the steps purses her lips, and shakes her head. “Ma’am, you need to sit down and buckle right now, we’re about to take off!”

The other stewardess, the one with kind eyes who recognized me, looks back and forth between her colleague and I, but I can see it on her face — there’s nothing she can do.

I reach for my phone and scan through my contacts. There. Pierre. Parker slipped his number into my phone back when we were still sneaking around the palace, stealing away for private trysts and secret rendezvous whenever we could.

I punch out a hurried message. Get me off this plane!

Time ticks by in slow motion as I wait for a reply. The first stewardess has disappeared back behind the curtain, no doubt to inform the pilots of my disobedience, and the second stewardess is making her way down the aisle toward me, her faced furrowed with worry.

Come on, Pierre, please see my message.

I lurch forward slightly as the plane hits the brakes in a rather dramatic fashion. A mixture of angry and excited murmurs rise from the passengers.

My phone dings, and a laugh bursts from my chest with hysterical relief as I see Pierre’s reply — a big, yellow hand with the thumbs up gesture. The hardass Chief Royal Guard of Pridemore has texted me back in emoji. Who the hell would have thought?

The stewardess reaches my seat and gives me a concerned frown. “Are you okay, Lady Strathmore?”

I hold out a hand. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m great, actually! But I’m so sorry — I need to get off the plane.”

“I’m so sorry, but that’s not possible.”

The curtain at the front of the plane whips open, and the first stewardess glares into the cabin. She gives me a disapproving frown, then nods at her co-worker and jerks her head toward the exit.

Laughter bubbles up again before I clap my hand over my mouth. She waves me forward and works to open the cabin door.

As I make my way up the aisle, I dip my head, bowing to the other passengers with apology. “I am so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

I reach the exit and turn back to them with a wave, my lips breaking into a wide grin, joy bubbling up from my chest for the first time in ages. “Have a great flight!”

Is this what it feels like to be in love? Giddy and scared and ready to jump off a plane if they don’t hurry up with those damned stairs.

The first stewardess glares at me as the doorway unseals and the steps begin to lower. “You must be something special, darlin’. They’ve halted all ground traffic just for you.” There’s a snarl in her voice and she continues muttering to herself as we wait for the stairs to lower, but no amount of grumbling is going to wipe this grin off my face.

I bounce on my feet impatiently and as soon as the stairs are lowered enough to create an open wedge, I poke my head out and scan the tarmac. A company of black suited men burst from the airport, Pierre at the head, pointing toward the plane and speaking over his shoulder.

A hand appears on Pierre’s shoulder, and he’s pulled to the side, exposing Parker. The plane’s steps finally touch the pavement, and I skip every other one as I stumble down them.

When he catches sight of me, Parker lowers his head and shoulders and rockets into a sprint. I can’t hear it, but a curse forms on Pierre’s mouth, and he takes off after Parker at a dead run, issuing orders to the security detail as he goes.

I run, and my legs and lungs are burning by the time we draw close. Parker opens his arms, and I fly into them, hitting his chest with such force it knocks him backward into Pierre. The security chief steadies us then steps back to give us space.

From behind the security team the airport doors have burst open, and dozens of paparazzi are spilling out. Photographers trying to snap pictures as they race toward us, journalist holding microphones, their suits flapping as they run, reporters shouting at their cameramen to hurry up.

But I don’t care who’s watching. I plant my lips on Parker and dive in. My hands are in his hair, and Parker squeezes me tightly to his chest, my feet leaving the ground.

I gasp in a breath, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave. I should have listened to my gut. I knew, I knew all along it wasn’t true! I should have—”

Parker’s lips crush against mine, drowning my guilt and remorse in one heady wave of passion.

“No more should have’s,” he says, sweeping a lock of my hair behind my ear, cradling my face in his hands. “I’ve had enough of those in my life. I want to move forward with you, not look back on should have’s. Can we do that?”

I nod as quickly as my jittering muscles will allow. “Yes. Please, yes!” It comes tumbling out in a torrid rush. “I love you, Parker. I’ve loved you my whole life. Of course, I’ll marry you – now, tomorrow, always.”

His eyes shine with tears as he stares at me with a wide, sexy grin, shaking his head in awe. “You are my everything, Sera.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is this real? Is this moment actually happening to me?

One minute, I’m pouring out my confession of love to the outstretched mics and recorders and cameras pointed at me, the next minute Pierre’s stepped away, speaking rapidly into his phone, his eyes flashing at me. And then he’s pulled me outside, and I see the plane stopped at the edge of the runway, and I know. In that moment, I know that my world just snapped back together.

The second I saw her standing at the open door of that plane, I was sprinting, running like my life depended on it.

And now she’s in my arms.

And this glorious moment — it’s not a stolen kiss, hiding around the corner in a darkened stairwell. No. She’s right here, kissing me in broad daylight with a slew of reporters and airport passengers looking on, stunned.

But no one is more stunned than I am. Because this beautiful woman is mine. My heart might burst with how amazing it feels.

And the words coming from those sweet lips set my heart soaring higher than any damn jetliner in this nation. Now. Tomorrow. Always.

I want to run through the airport and find a priest, a rabbi, an imam, a justice of the peace — I don’t care. Those lips on mine are everything I need. She’s beautiful in blue jeans, her hair blowing across her face, her lips red with passion.

“I want you to have it all,” I tell her. “Bouquets of fresh flowers and dancing and a gorgeous gown with a train thirty feet long.”

She laughs, and it’s the most carefree, delightful thing I’ve ever heard. “I would fall on my face in something like that.”

“Then skip the dress. I can picture it now — naked as a bluejay except for the veil. Mmmm, now that would be fantastic.”

Sera strikes my chest with a closed fist, but she giggles and gives me a sly grin. “It would make for interesting wedding pictures.”

“Oh, God. It would kill the poor royal photographer. He’d take one look at your gorgeous curves and just die from sheer amazement right there.”

The roar of engines fills the air, and she looks over her shoulder at the plane, resuming its course to the runway. Her smile falters as she watches, and I can see it in her face — standing here with me, newly engaged, might be making some of her wishes come true, but that plane is leaving with the rest of them.

That’s not going to do. I meant it when I told her I want her to have it all. She’s has already given up enough for others and put her dreams on hold too long — this is one thing she is not going to be sacrificing.

I motion to Pierre, who’s been watching the security team and the growing crowd like a hawk.

Instantly he’s by my side. “Your Highness?”

“How soon can the royal jet be made ready?” I say in a low voice as Sera turns to face the runway and takes a few steps forward, her hand shielding her eyes as she watches the plane.

“Where to, sir? Johannesburg?”

Pierre never misses a thing. “Yes, precisely,” I say.

He’s already got his phone in hand, messaging with furious speed. A moment later he looks up, the powerful whine of the plane barreling down the runway almost drowning out his reply. “The pilots report that once they’re on premises, it should only take about half an hour before we can get the bird in the air.”

He glances down at his phone again as it chirps with the arrival of a new message. “It’ll probably be a good two hours before the flight crew can get here — they were at the monthly Airguard training in Fresbey, sir, but they’re leaving now.”

I nod. “Perfect.”

“Your car is here, Your Highness,” Pierre says, nodding his head toward the airport. A shiny black Rolls Royce comes around the corner of the building and pulls up to us. I look back to Sera, whose gaze has lifted to the sky, following the plane as it streaks away through the air.

“Would you like to return to the palace or shall I arrange for a private lounge while you wait, sir?”

“Neither. I’m taking Sera straight to the jet. We’ll be in my cabin. We have… a lot of catching up to do.”

The briefest flash of a knowing smile moves across Pierre’s lips, but it’s gone a second later, replaced with his usual stern expression. “Understood, Your Highness.”

“Text me when the crew arrives,” I instruct. “But no one enters the hanger until you’ve got the all-clear from me.” I glance at Sera, soaking in her long legs and those long strands of dark hair whipping in the breeze, the way those jeans curve under her perfect, round ass. “I think we’re both a bit tired of being discreet and quiet, if you see what I mean.”

“Quite, sir.”

I don’t believe I’ve ever seen my chief of security blush, but a shade of red graces his cheeks as he turns and gestures toward the large hangar at the far end of the airport property, the one with my family’s gold and burgundy crest emblazoned on the side.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can’t keep my hands off Sera on the short ride to the hangar, so I don’t even try. I pull her to me, running my hands through her hair, over her breasts, across her smooth ass.

Sera throws a leg over mine and we entwine, lost in one another in the back of the Rolls. I release a long sigh of desire, and she takes my face in both hands and kisses me with such longing that I’m ready to lay her out on the seat and take her right there.

Instead, I press her to my chest, holding her tightly, a thousand thank yous flowing silently from me to the heavens.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Fly me to Africa?”

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you,” I say.

“How’s this going to work? Is the Crown Price of Ostwyn suddenly going to take up a shovel and start digging wells?”

I nod. “These hands can do more than just wave at people from the Royal motorcade.”

She blushes. “Oh, I know what those hands can do.”

The Rolls comes to a halt in front of the royal hangar, but I’m loathe to let go of her long enough to exit the car. But there’s a fire in Sera’s eyes, a desire that calls for me to answer, and I know she wants us to be alone — naked and doing more than just kissing.

Two short knocks sound against the darkened window at the passenger’s side. “Ready?” I ask.

This deliciously devilish grin comes over her. She slips her palm between us, cupping the bulge at the front of my pants. “Just as ready as you.”

I reluctantly release her, and she untangles her legs from mine. I knock a return signal on the window and the door opens, my chauffeur holding a hand out to Sera. I exit the car behind her and we walk quickly toward the reinforced steel door where I punch a code into the keypad. Metallic clicks sound off as the locks disengage. Inside, I flip on a row of switches directly to the right of the door, and the hanger comes to light.

“Oh!” Sera’s eyes pop open.

The huge jet is immaculate, the lights shining off its bright white finish. It’s no small puddle jumper. There’s enough room for the entire Ostwyn Press Corp and a detachment of Royal Guards to be seated as well as private cabins where the royal family can watch the cricket match or catch some sleep.

The forward hatch to the jet has been opened, awaiting our entrance, and I take Sera’s hand, eager to get her inside. We step onto the hydraulic lift and ascend through the air to the doorway.

We step into the jet, and Sera whistles. “Wow. Nice plane you have here, Prince Parker.”

She runs her hand across the burgundy and gold embroidery on the headrests of the plush leather seats in the press lounge and begins to sit down in the nearest one, but I smile and give her hand a tug.

“Not here,” I say. “This way.”

I guide her down the wide aisles, past rows of plush seating and flat-screen televisions, through several doorways, past the dining room, galley kitchen, two offices, and a conference room. I punch in the keycode to the door of the royal suite and whirl her inside. The king size bed is freshly made up with satin sheets.

The door clicks with a lock behind us, and I hook my fingers into Sera’s belt loops, urging her closer. Sera’s palms smooth up my chest, leaving fire in her wake. She grabs my button-up shirt by the collar and pulls me in for a kiss. The top two buttons on my shirt snap free and clatter to the floor.

Sera’s eyes go wide with a hand-in-the-cookie-jar, uh oh look. “Oops.”

I can’t hold my amusement in. “Well, well, what is this? Has Seraphina Strathmore finally lost her restraint?”

Her pretty eyes flutter down to the patch of exposed skin on my chest. “I guess I just don’t know my own strength.”

That’s something I’ll make sure she never forgets. “You’re strong. Stronger than me, that’s for damn sure.”

Sera’s hands run across my chest and thick shoulders then squeeze down on my biceps. “I don’t know… these arms are packing some serious power. I love how they feel wrapped around me.”

I give her what she wants — what we both want — encapsulating her in a tight embrace and pressing my lips to hers. She slides her hands down from my collar to where the second button of my shirt popped away. Her lips curl up into a smile as we kiss, and she pulls at the fabric.

More buttons tear free, and I decide to go for it. I let Sera go and finish the job, ripping the shirt down the middle and peeling it off. I pull my under-shirt over my head and toss it to the ground.

I give her an expectant look. “You next.”

Sera is no stranger to stripping for me, not after all the things we’ve done, but she still gives me a shy glance and bites at her bottom lip as she unfastens one blouse button then the next. She knows it’s different this time. She knows all of our waiting and teasing has come to this moment.

Her fingers tremble, but only slightly, and I try to decipher how much of that tremor is nervousness and how much is excitement. I know one thing — there’s no mistaking the deep-seated desire in those emerald eyes.

She slowly exposes her ample breasts, her fingers trailing over the soft swells as she pulls the shirt away.

“More,” I say, drinking in every inch of skin she reveals.

She keeps going, lifting it away teasingly slow until she gives a few sensual shrugs and it falls from her shoulders.

I know she needs this to go slow, but I’m coming to the end of my restraint. I can’t keep away any longer. I step forward and take her by the waist, pulling down a cup of her bra.

I take her breast in my hand, squeezing gently. Her skin is silky and yielding to my touch. Her nipple is firm and erect, calling for my mouth. I lean down and flick my tongue against it then suck the bud into my mouth. I’m rewarded with a long, low moan, and Sera’s hands sinks down, her fingers seeking for the button of my trousers.

I use the opportunity to slip my fingers under the back waistband of her jeans. I rub my hand across her firm flesh, massage her heated skin, and she wiggles her ass.

I need more of her skin against mine, and I move to her zipper as she undoes mine. We work together to undress one another, pulling at denim and slacks until the fabric slides down our thighs and onto the floor.

Reaching around Sera, I unclasp her bra, and her full breasts fill my palms. I sink down so I can take her nipples into my mouth, first one then the other. Sera’s fingers dig into my hair, holding me to her, her breathy moans pleading for more. But I keep moving down. Down the soft skin of her abdomen, down further to her belly button. I dip my tongue inside then trace a line to the band of her panties.

I crook a finger into the silky fabric, smelling her arousal, and pull the thin fabric down to her thighs. She breathes deeply, every lungful coming out in a sighing moan. Sera’s hips move toward me, her body pleading. Sliding a finger between her folds, I trace little circles around her clit teasingly.

A shudder passes through her body, and she tightens her grip on my shoulders. “Take me to bed, please. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

I stand to my feet, and Sera reaches into my boxer briefs. I twitch in her hand as she strokes me. “We’ve both been waiting too long for this.”

Dipping low, I pick Sera up, and she wraps her legs around my hips. It’s only a few steps to the king-size bed, and then we’re spilling on top of it. Sera scoots to the head of the bed, tossing her panties to the side before she stretches out on her back. I slip my boxers off, kicking them to the floor before crawling to her.

We’ve been here before. Her beauty laid out beneath me as I lay between her legs. I take a moment to admire Sera’s naked body – her breasts curve away from her chest, the firm buds of her nipples pointing at me. Her wide hips, plump ass, and those gloriously thighs, inviting to be touched.

I draw my eyes back up the length of her form as I lean over top of her, knowing that this time there is no limit to the amount of pleasure I can give her.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful, you know that?”

“Shhh,” she whispers, a devilish look in her eye. “No more talking — just doing.”

Sera lifts her back from the satin bedspread to meet me, drawing near, and I caress her face, letting my hand run down her jaw to her neck, gently sliding my fingers across her soft, smooth skin. The air between us feels charged with electricity.

I lower my face, and I kiss her, reaching for her lips, wanting every taste I can get. Sera runs her hand between us and lets out a little gasp as my hard cock slips between her fingers and nudges against her sex.

“That’s because of you,” I tell her with a grin. “It’s all your sexy curves, my Lady. They slay me every time.”

She bends her knees up and lets her legs fall open a bit, inviting me in. I caress her thighs and her stomach and lower my lips to hers for a deep kiss, doing with my tongue what I’m about to do elsewhere.

Sera moans and bucks her hips. “Now. I want you inside me right now.”

I nestle closer to her, rubbing her pussy with the head of my cock. I’m amazed at how wet she is for me. “Damn, woman,” I say admiringly.

“I’ve been thinking about this a long time,” she confesses, a throaty whisper as I slide my cock against her clit.

So have I. And I can’t wait any longer.

I lower my thick shaft to her entrance and push, ever so gently, and then with more force until the head of my cock slips inside her tight walls. Her legs tense, and she takes in a sharp gasp of air, looking at me, eyes wide as my girth penetrates her.

I hold myself there and kiss her until her breath softens and I feel her thighs relax. “I’m going to go slow, as slow as you need.”

She nods, and I inch in further, using all the restraint I can muster. I pause again, and she lifts her chin to me, mouth parted, and I flick my tongue along her lips and kiss her over and over as I thrust my hips gently, teasingly, entering her deeper little by little.

Her hands slide down my back, and she arches, grabbing my ass and pulling me into her. “More,” she breathes.

I rock my hips, working the full length of my cock into her, ignoring how badly I want to clench my ass and thrust, so ready to be completely inside of her, to be fully one with her. Instead, I watch her face carefully as I move deeper, ready to stop if she flinches even a little.

But she doesn’t. She parts her mouth and tilts her head back, closing her eyes, and lets out a long, low moan. “God, yes.”

I begin rocking my pelvis, sliding my thick shaft in and out of her tight pussy, my hand running across her body, caressing her stomach, playing with her breasts. I dip my head and take her nipples in my mouth one at a time, licking and sucking them as she begins to let out little moans over and over.

The sound of her pleasure makes me throb inside of her, and I pick up speed. It is the most glorious feeling, to finally be with her the way I’ve wanted to for so long, and I want it to be amazing.

I reach between us and press my fingers to her clit, stroking her in small circles. The muscles in her stomach clench, and she bucks her hips. “Yes, yes,” she whispers.

I stoke her clit and pump my cock into her faster. She moves with me, rocking her hips, squeezing her legs against me.

“Look at me Sera,” I say, desperate to see her pretty green eyes.

She peeks at me through heavy eyelids, her expression filled with lust. “Fuck me, harder,” she whispers.

I don’t hesitate to comply with her wishes, driving my hips harder, our bodies slapping together with the most satisfying sounds as I pound her sweet pussy.

“Ooohh, yesss,” she pants, bucking her hips and wiggling her ass.

I’m trying to hold out, but she looks so fucking delicious underneath me, with her back arched like that, her nipples hardened into points, and she feels so damn good I can barely stand it.

I thrust into her fast and hard, but I know I’m not going to last much longer.

“I’m coming!” she whimpers, and her face twists into the most beautiful expression of ecstasy I’ve ever seen.

Her legs shake, and she cries out, then her pussy clamps down on me as her whole body tenses into a powerful climax, and I know I’m done for.

My balls tighten, and I gasp, coming harder than I ever have before. I lay against her, holding onto her tightly, shuddering at the intensity of my orgasm as it rocks through me.

As soon as my breathing evens, I lift myself up so I can see her face and look into those emerald eyes. She has that beautiful post-orgasm glow I love to see her with, and my heart skips a beat as I look at her. My eyes get watery, and a lump forms in my throat as I lay with her. I’m so damn happy that I’m scared it’s just a dream.

“I hope it was worth the wait,” I say, brushing my hand to her cheek.

“Yes, so much,” she says, giving me a shy, gorgeous smile. “Was it good for you?”

“Oh my God,” I shake my head and give her a wide grin. “It was amazing.”

She bites her lip. “Really?”

I wrap my arms around her tightly. “Really. So damn good that we’re going to do that again and again and again. I’m not letting you out of this bed until I can last longer than a few minutes with you — but goddamn woman, it might take a lot of practice, because you are so fucking hot, I can’t handle it. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need medical attention by the time we land in Africa.”

She throws her head back with a laugh and swats at me. “You’re not just saying that?”

“Absolutely not. I swear on the Crown—” I move my hand to between her legs and give her a dead-serious look, “—this is the second-best thing on earth.”

She frowns and looks at me in surprise. “What’s the best thing?”

“These lips,” I say, brushing my finger against them. “From the first moment I kissed these lips, I knew I loved you, Seraphina Strathmore.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Want more of Prince Parker and Lady Seraphina’s story? They're engaged and leaving the country on the royal jet — what happens next? Visit them on location in Africa, attend the royal wedding, read about their steamy wedding night, and catch up with Spencer and Emily, too. for your copy of the exclusive epilogue.

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About the Authors

 

 

Virginia Sexton has been travelling her whole life - Europe, North America, the South Pacific — and prefers to call all of them home. She wrote and illustrated her first story, “The Banana Boat,” at age eight. To this day, it is one of her most cherished possessions.

Virginia has two writing companions, her cats, Pepper and Max, and enjoys sending pictures of them to her friends when she should be writing. Her hobbies include photography, salsa dancing, and cooking — especially if the recipe involves ham or she’s whipping up a batch of homemade marshmallows.

She loves strong, sexy men who smoke cigars, drink cognac, and know how to treat a lady… especially when she’s been naughty. Lighting a candle and burning some jasmine incense helps her get in the mood… for the next book.

Virginia writes the kind of stories she enjoys reading — steamy romances that always end with happily-ever-afters. She loves making an accomplished alpha fall hard for his perfect match, and thinks it’s delicious when he must work to win over her heart, while also making her knees go weak and leaving her breathless in all the right ways. You can reach her at [email protected]

 

 

 

 

Ruby loves coffee, kitties, and hot bad boys who fall head over heels for that one special lady. She writes sexy stories with plenty of heart, heat, and a touch of humor.

Equal parts sun-worshipper and snow-bunny, Ruby lives in the mountains of the Eastern U.S. with her own alpha hero (who is secretly sweet to the core). She loves when a man knows how to handle his wood… one of the reasons she was drawn to her husband, a master carpenter whose engagement present was a custom writing desk.

When she isn’t writing, Ruby enjoys spending time in her small garden, tending to the plants while daydreaming up new stories. When it’s dark outside, she likes to stoke a fire, pour some wine, and curl up with a steamy romance or watch Netflix with her honey. You can reach her at [email protected]

 

 

 

 

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