I shake my head. “No, you’re right. I know you’re right. I’m just…” I sigh. “I’m just scared.”
We spend a few hours in the glade. Jolie brought a picnic, and the three of us eat sandwiches and drink water in the sunshine. After lunch, Flora’s eyelids droop, and I lift her up onto my back to carry her back to the car. She falls asleep as we walk back, and Jolie helps me load her into the back seat.
After I close the car door, I turn to Jolie. I cup her cheek in my hand and kiss her with all the strength of my feelings. Jolie has shown me everything that’s been missing in my life—softness, love, and courage. She’s shown me that I’ve let my fears for Flora overshadow everything—maybe even my fears for myself, too. I’ve lived the past six years afraid that I’d lose Flora, afraid that someone would trick me like Paulette did, afraid that I’d be alone and pathetic and foolish.
Now, I think I might have missed out on a richer kind of life.
So, I listen to Jolie’s advice. I take Flora with me next time I go to the Westhill Community Garden. Flora shakes with excitement, and I scan the streets. For what, I’m not sure. Maybe for a sign of the dark-haired woman I saw a few weeks ago—for the shadow of the woman who haunts my dreams.
Mayor Bob greets us with open arms, and Flora immediately befriends his sons. She digs her hands straight into the dirt and laughs more boisterously than I’ve heard in a long time. Jolie grins at me, and I relax.
After a time, I glance across the street and I think I catch a glimpse of the raven-haired woman. I freeze as my blood turns to ice, stifling my desire to grab Flora and take her back to the safety of the castle. The woman ducks behind a door without looking my way, but my pulse still hammers.
“You okay?” Jolie glances up at me, holding a shovel in her hand.
I clear my throat, nodding. “Fine.”
“Here.” Jolie hands me the shovel unceremoniously, once again forgetting that I’m her Prince—or maybe she does it on purpose. “Dig up this garden bed. I’ll get some fresh topsoil.”
Glancing once more at the door where the woman disappeared, I shake my head and get to work. When Jo returns with the rich, black soil, she looks over my work and nods, satisfied.
“Not bad for a Prince.”
“You know, I could have you thrown in jail for speaking to me like that.”
“I think you like it when I talk back. Gives you an excuse to punish me later.” Her eyes darken, and a smile teases over her lips.
“I will—and I’ll enjoy every second of it.”
Jolie grins, dumping her topsoil into the new garden bed.
I look around, making sure no one can hear us. Everyone is at work, and Flora is laughing with Bob’s sons. Mayor Bob himself is pushing a wheelbarrow toward the new compost bin in the corner
With just a few words, Jolie calms me down. She makes me forget about my ex—the one I still see visions of everywhere. She makes me forget that my daughter is sick, and that I’m afraid of losing her.
That night, I punish her in the best possible way, just like I promised her I would. Our lovemaking is frantic and wild, and when it’s over, we collapse into each other’s arms.
“Thank you for today,” I whisper into Jolie’s thick mane of hair. “Flora was happier than I’ve seen her in a long time.”
“Good,” Jolie sighs, snuggling into my chest. “She deserves to be happy—and you do, too.”
Jolie tells me that she’s leaving at the end of the week to go see her father, and I try to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. Am I so selfish that I feel bad she’s going to see her sick father? She’ll only be gone for two weeks.
But when she says that she’s leaving, for the first time in months, the demon reappears on my shoulder and starts whispering in my ear.
She’s not coming back, he says. She’s leaving because of you. Everything that happened over the past six weeks was a lie. She doesn’t care about you. She was using you.
Jolie falls asleep in my arms, and I stare at the ceiling until the sun comes up.
25
Jo
The day before I leave to visit my parents, the Prince comes to the Gardener’s Cottage, as usual. I get up from my desk to open the door for him. My heart does that funny little flip it always does when I see him, and I wrap my arms around him.
I love Prince Gabriel’s kiss. It’s as complicated as he is—sometimes soft, sometimes hard, and always all-consuming. As soon as his lips touch mine, everything else in the world disappears.
Pulling away from him, I smile. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Don’t go.” He nuzzles his nose against mine.
“I have to.” I smile sadly. “Dad isn’t doing so good.”
“I know—I’m just a selfish asshole.”
I disentangle myself from the Prince’s arms, shaking my head. “You shouldn’t say those things about yourself. You’ll start to believe them.”
The Prince smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He looks over my shoulder and nods to my computer. “Writing?”
“Oh, yeah.” I walk over to my computer and close the screen. “Just a new book I’ve been working on.”
I don’t know why I hide it from him. Maybe because it’s so different from anything I’ve written. Maybe I’m embarrassed that Flora inspired me, or I’m worried he’ll think I’m crossing a line. It’s not that it’s about Flora, but the main character is undeniably inspired by her.
“Don’t want me to read it?” His eyebrows arch. There’s an edge to his voice.
I frown, shrugging. “It’s just the first draft, you know? I’d be embarrassed.”
“You’re not writing about me, are you?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Don’t be so vain, Your Highness.”
The Prince stares at me for a moment, and then sits down on the couch. I’ve been waiting for the Prince to tell me to call him Gabriel, but he hasn’t. It feels weird to be sleeping next to him for almost two months now, and still call him by his formal title.
He doesn’t correct me, though, and I don’t push it. I sit down next to him, but he feels stiff. I try to kiss him, but his lips are cold. After a few minutes, the Prince stands up again.
“I’m going to let you pack tonight. I have some things to do at the castle.”
I frown. “Oh, okay. I was hoping…”
“See you when you get back.” He glances at my computer once more, and then disappears through the door. I look after him, confused.
What just happened? Did I say something? Is this because I wouldn’t let him read my book? Is he mad that I’m leaving?
I stand at the window, watching him walk back toward the palace. His shoulders are slumped and his arms look stiff. I take a deep breath and shut the curtains.
I always fall for the broken, complicated men.
I’ll deal with it when I get back. That thought makes me scoff. What am I dealing with? My casual relationship with the Prince? With my boss? Where do I think it’s going?
The only way this will end is in heartbreak. My heart breaking, to be exact.
I can feel myself shuttering my heart away from him. For a few blissful weeks, I’ve ignored the inevitable disaster of this little relationship.
Isn’t that my specialty? Turning any situation into a disaster? Failing at everything? Never finishing what I start?
I stopped my college degree halfway through. I failed at my writing career. I’ve never had a successful relationship. The only thing I finished was a book that was rejected by every single publisher I’ve ever sent it to. I have half a dozen unfinished manuscripts wasting away on my hard drive.
Why am I surprised that my relationship with the Prince is going to shit?
The Prince once told me that he ruins things. Well, that makes two of us.
I take a deep, shaking breath to try to steady myself, looking around my cottage. Sighing, I settle onto the couch and turn on the television to spend the night on my own.
When I get to Farc
liff, my mother meets me at the bus station and wraps me in a bone-crushing hug. I grunt, trying my best to survive her embrace until she pulls away.
“It’s good to see you, Jolie. You look beautiful. Are those for your father?” She points to a bouquet of roses that I snagged from the garden.
I smile. “And you.”
“But mostly him,” she winks. “Come on.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask as we head to the car.
My mother sighs, angling her head from side to side. “Oh, you know.”
I don’t know, but I don’t push it. We make it back to their tiny apartment, and the blow-up mattress is already set up for me. My father is in his room, lying in bed. He looks pale and tired, and most of his hair has fallen out.
“Oh, Dad,” I sigh.
“I don’t look that bad, do I?” He laughs weakly.
“Your father just had a chemo appointment this morning, so he’s feeling a bit nauseous.”
“Is that from the garden?” My father asks, nodding to the bouquet in my hands.
I nod, sitting on the bed beside him and handing them over. My father inspects the blooms and lets out a satisfied grunt.
“I knew I could count on you.” He clucks my cheek with his fingers, and I hand the flowers to my mother to put in a vase. Kissing my father’s forehead, I leave him in the bedroom to rest.
I find my mother in the tiny kitchen and lean against the wall. “He looks weak.”
“Just two more chemo appointments, and then we’re done with this round,” she says, not looking at me. “The doctor said he’s responding well.”
“That’s responding well?” I ask skeptically, nodding to the bedroom. “He can hardly lift his own arm.”
“It’s just the nausea, honey. His bloodwork has been good.”
Sinking down into a chair, I let out a sigh. My mother wraps her arms around me and kisses my temple. “It’s good you’re here, Jolie. Your presence will give him strength.”
“I hope so.” I force a smile, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. I knew he was weak—I could see it every time we had a video call. Videos don’t tell the whole story, though, and I wasn’t prepared for seeing him like this. My strong, boisterous father has been ravaged by his cancer. It breaks my heart.
That night, I lay on the air mattress and listen to the sounds of the city. It’s so much louder here than it is in Westhill. I’ve gotten used to sleeping in absolute silence, with the weight of the Prince’s arm across my body. The Prince doesn’t even have a phone, so I have no way of contacting him. I don’t even know if he’d want me to.
I fall asleep thinking of the Prince, and I wake up after dreaming of him. My mother is making eggs in the kitchen, and my father sits at the kitchen table, reading the paper. I roll off the partially deflated air mattress and groan as I pick myself up.
My father chuckles. “You’re not old enough to be making those kinds of noises.”
“That air mattress makes me feel like I am.”
“There’s always the couch,” my mother quips. I laugh.
Dad grins and pats a chair beside him. “I have a surprise for you—a thank you, for taking care of the garden for me.”
“I don’t need anything for that, Dad. It’s been great—really.”
“Still,” he smiles, pulling a sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “Here.”
I take the little folded piece of paper from him, flipping it over to see a name and a phone number.
“Jeremy Vickers?”
“An agent,” my father responds. He coughs into a handkerchief and then wipes his lips. “I knew his father through a book club years ago. Ran into old Marty at the hospital—he’s got the same oncologist as me. Bowel cancer,” my father sighs, shaking his head. “I said you wrote books and he said his son would meet you.”
“You’re joking.” My eyes widen, flicking from my father to the crumpled piece of paper. My hands tremble, and I try to swallow past a lump in my throat. Suddenly, my heart is hammering.
“Nope,” my father smiles. “Call him today. He said he’d make time for you this week.”
“No way.” I stare at the name on the paper. “Really? This is serious? An agent wants to meet me?”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I sent him the chapters you emailed to us. That new fantasy book you’re working on with the young girl protagonist. He said he loved it. It was exactly what he was looking for—those were his exact words.”
“He didn’t say that!”
My mother laughs, putting her hand on my father’s shoulder. He pats her hand and nods at me. “You’re a good writer, Jolie. You should believe in yourself more.”
I gulp again, and then laugh and throw my arms around the two of them. Tears fill my eyes and when I pull away from them, the first thing I think about is the Prince.
I want to tell him about it. I want him to read the book I’ve written—I want him to see Flora in the main character and be proud of his daughter. Maybe, I want him to be proud of me, too.
My cheeks already ache from smiling so hard. I clutch the phone number to my chest and jump up and down as my parents laugh.
“You deserve it, Jolie. Now call him, and get that book published.”
My father beams, and I realize that even though he’s weakened by the treatments, he’s still the same man he was. He’s strong, and resilient—just like his roses…
…and maybe, just like me.
If I’m made of the same stuff as my parents, maybe I’m not as weak and destined to failure as I’ve always thought. Maybe I haven’t had the right conditions to flourish.
Maybe this is my chance.
I meet with Jeremy Vickers two days later, at a restaurant in Farcliff’s city center. My stomach is in knots the whole way there. As I near the restaurant, I take a deep breath and try to steady myself.
My future is about to be decided.
Jeremy is a big man with an open, friendly face. He stands up when he sees me, taking my extended hand in both of his. He pumps my arm up and down two or three times, and then gestures to a chair.
“How’s old Marcel?” He asks, waving for the waitress. “Last time I saw him, he was just starting chemo.”
“He’s okay. His spirits are high, which is the main thing.”
“Good to hear. Cancer’s a bitch, isn’t it? My old man’s struggling. Never thought I’d see him like that. It humbles you.”
“It does.” I smile sadly.
Jeremy orders a bottle of wine from the waitress and then turns to me, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “So, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want to represent you.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
“Really. I’ve read the sample your father sent, and I think there’s a real gap in the market for your type of writing. I know for a fact that at least two publishers will be interested in your work.”
“Are you sure my father sent you my work?”
Jeremy laughs, opening his mouth wide and throwing his head back. Every movement of his is larger than life. He smooths his big palm over his thinning hair and grins at me.
“You and I are going to work well together, I can already tell.”
The waitress brings the wine Jeremy ordered, and we get some food. Jeremy Vickers is made to entertain. He makes me feel like I can take on the world, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I might not be a total failure.
Moving to Westhill was the best thing I ever did. Not only did it give me a bit of stability, it gave me the inspiration to write my best work—something I never would have written otherwise.
When our meal is over, Jeremy shakes my hand again. “I’ll send you the contract via email. Look it over and let me know if you have any comments. Then, we can get that book sold. I see big things in your future, Miss Beaumont. Big things.”
When I say goodbye to him, I can’t keep the smile from my face.
The one thing that really strikes me,
though, is that the only person I really want to share my success with is Prince Gabriel. I wish he had a phone, so that I could tell him how happy I am. I wish he was beside me, and that we could celebrate this together.
It’ll be ten days before I see him again, though. Maybe by then, my contract will be signed and my manuscript sold to a big publishing house. Maybe, when I see him again, we’ll have even more to celebrate together.
26
Gabriel
I didn’t think it was possible to get so attached to someone in such a short period of time. As soon as Jolie leaves, the castle is more depressing than it was before. I sit in the library, staring at the painted ceiling.
She’s been gone four days, and I haven’t heard from her. How would I? I don’t have a phone. Maybe I can ask that redheaded maid if she’s heard from her—but that would be admitting to the entire staff that there’s something going on between Jolie and me.
Do I care?
No, I decide. I don’t care if anyone knows.
It might put Jolie in an awkward situation, though, and the rest of the staff might start treating her differently. I know it would make her uncomfortable—and I do care about her comfort in the castle.
I let out a breath, squeezing my eyes shut. I care. How the fuck could I get to the point where I care? I’m not supposed to care. I’m supposed to fuck her and leave her. I’m supposed to forget her name. I’m supposed to ruin her reputation and not give a damn.
But I care—a lot.
Too much.
It bothers me that she wouldn’t let me read her work. A niggling voice in my head tells me that it’s because she’s writing about me. Soon, there’ll be another novel full of trash about me, another book for people to latch onto when they want to call me an animal.
It’s not the public’s opinion that bothers me—it’s that Jolie would do something like that to me.
Because I fucking care. About her, about us, about Flora’s love of her, about my own fucking feelings. I like her so much that it’s making me weak.
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