Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  “We live in the greatest state to be homeless. Sunny Florida.”

  “Okay?” Her slim brows wrinkle, and the tears in her eyes make them look like the ocean.

  “We don’t have to worry about getting cold or anything. We don’t have to worry about snow…” I’m thinking hard, assembling a plan in my mind. “During the day, we fly under the radar—keep your head down, don’t attract attention. I’ll see what I can find us to eat. At night we can sleep on the beach. Or here, or hell, maybe one of these rich assholes forgets to lock his boathouse. Have you seen how nice some of these boathouses are? They’re like regular houses!”

  Her eyes go round with surprise. “Why are they like that?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Rich people are crazy. Some rich men even get their nails polished, and they aren’t even gay!”

  Air bursts through her lips, and she starts to laugh. I smile and pull her arm so she can lie down with her face on my bony, empty stomach. “Now get some sleep.”

  The rain is tapering off, and my little sister is laughing instead of crying. I don’t have any idea if anything I just said is possible, but I’m going to find out. I’ll be damned if I let another foster asshole touch her. It’s what Mom would expect me to do. I’m the biggest. I have to take care of us, and I intend to do it.

  Crown Prince Rowan Westringham Tate

  The navy fabric of my father’s uniform coat stretches taut across his shoulders. It’s the tangible warning sign his anger is rising, and the person addressing him would do well to shut up.

  “Monagasco has been an independent nation for eight hundred years.” His voice is a rolling growl pricking the tension in my chest.

  The last time my father started on our nation’s history, the offending party was thrown out of the meeting room by the neck. He’s getting too old for such violent outbursts. I worry about his heart… and my future. My freedom, more specifically.

  “I think what Hubert was trying to say—” The Grand Duke, my mother’s brother Reginald Winchester, tries to intervene.

  “I KNOW what Hubert is trying to say!” My father (a.k.a., The King) cuts him off. “He thinks we should cede our southwestern territory to Totrington! Even though their raiders and bandits have pillaged our farms along the border for generations!”

  Leaning back in my heavy oak chair, I steeple my fingers before my lips and don’t say what I want. As crown prince, I’ve attended these meetings for three years, since I turned nineteen. I’ve learned when to speak and when to discuss things in private with my father.

  I could say I agree with Reggie, we should consider a trade agreement with our neighboring nation-state, but I’m more concerned about the King’s health. I’ve never seen him so worked up before.

  “Independence at all costs,” he continues, his naturally pink cheeks even pinker. “We will not give those savages an open door to the control of Monagasco.”

  “No one’s suggesting—”

  “Shut UP, Hubert!” My father shouts, and I glance down to avoid meeting the earl’s offended eyes.

  Hubert’s sniveling voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and I privately enjoy my father chastising him. I’ve always suspected him of conspiring with Wade Paxton, Totrington’s newly elected Prime Minister, from the time when Wade was only a member of their parliament.

  “I’ve had enough of this.” My father walks to the window and looks out. “I’d like to speak to Rowan in private. You can all go.”

  “Of course.” Reginald stands at once, smoothing his long hands down the front of his dark coat.

  Tall and slender, with greying black hair and a trim mustache, my uncle embodies the Charmant line of our family. I inherited their height and Norman complexion. My father, by contrast, is a Tate through and through. Short, pink, and round.

  As soon as the room is cleared, he stalks back to the table, still brooding like a thunderstorm. “Reggie’s in league with them as well,” he growls.

  “Not necessarily.” My voice is low and level, and I hope appeasing. “My uncle does have an idea, and of the two, it’s the least offensive. Hubert would combine our countries and walk away—”

  “Exactly!” Father snaps, turning to face me, blue eyes blazing. “My own cousin, born and reared in our beautiful land. He’s been promised a place in the new government, I’ll bet you. They’ll throw the lot of us out—behead us if they can.”

  “I’m pretty sure beheading is no longer tolerated in western civilization.”

  “Harumph.” He’s still angry, but at least he’s calmer. “It would break your mother’s heart. The Charmants founded Monagasco. We can’t let those Twatringtons in.”

  His use of the unofficial nickname for our southwest neighbor makes me grin. Rising from my chair, I brace his shoulder in a firm grasp.

  “We won’t let that happen.” Our blue eyes meet. It’s the only feature we share. He’s a few inches shorter than me, but he makes up for it in stubbornness. “We’re flush with reserves, and the economy can change at any time.”

  His thick hand covers mine. “I’m doing my best to leave you a strong country to rule. The country I inherited.”

  “We would do well to reduce our dependence on foreign oil reserves.” He starts to argue, but I hold up a hand as I head for the door. He’s finally calm, and I’m not interested in riling him up again. “In any event, you’ll be around long enough to see the tides turn. Now get some rest.” I’m at the enormous wooden door of the war room. “We can’t solve all our problems in one day.”

  “Goodnight, son.”

  The tone in his voice causes me to look back. He’s at the window, and a troubled expression mars his profile. A shimmer of concern passes through my stomach, but I dismiss it, quietly stepping into the dim hallway. It’s enormous and shrouded with heavy velvet curtains and tapestries.

  I grew up playing in these halls, hiding from my mother and chasing my younger brother. I’m tired and ready for bed when the sound of hushed voices stops me in my tracks.

  “Pompous ass. He’s going to kill himself with these outbursts. We need to be ready to move when that happens.” The glee in Hubert’s sniveling voice revives the anger in my chest. I step into the shadows to listen.

  “By climbing into bed with Wade Paxton?”

  I recognize my uncle’s voice, and my jaw clenches. Is Father right? Is Reginald conspiring with that worm against the crown?

  “Wade Paxton would unite the kingdoms and make us both leaders in the new government.”

  “Wade Paxton is a thug.”

  “Not very respectful verbiage for the Prime Minister of Totrington, also known as our future partner.”

  “He’s no better than one of those mob bosses on American television. Savage.” Reggie’s voice is laced with snobbery. “He’d tax the people and change the very nature of Monagasco.”

  Hubert’s tone is undeterred. “Some things might change, but as leaders, you and I can help maintain the best parts, the heart of the nation. Once Philip is out of the way, of course, which could be sooner than we think.”

  My fists tighten at my sides. I’m ready to step out of the shadows and shake Hubert’s traitorous neck until his teeth rattle. The only thing stopping me is my desire to hear the extent of this treachery.

  “You’re right about one thing,” Reggie says. “Philip’s health is tenuous. We need to be prepared to act should a crisis arise.”

  “What about Rowan? If he’s not on our side, we could end up in the same position—and with a much younger king to wait out.”

  “Possibly.” My uncle pauses, and I feel the heat rising around my collar.

  “Wade has a plan for managing such a contingency. Should Rowan prove… difficult.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Reggie scoffs. “And Cal? Shall we wipe out the entire Tate line?”

  Hubert’s voice is low and wicked. “Perhaps being in league with a ‘thug’ as you put it has its advantages.”

  How dare these bastards! What
they’re saying is high treason! My body is poised to move when Reggie’s words freeze me in place.

  “I’m sure Wade’s tactics won’t prove necessary. When the time comes to do the right thing, we can count on Rowan.”

  Count on Rowan? Is it possible he thinks I would even consider a merger with Twatrington? Their voices recede down the corridor as my level of disgust and loyalty to my father rises. The king has had a difficult evening. I’ll let him rest tonight, but I will present him with this conspiracy first thing tomorrow. Reggie is right. When the time comes, I will do the right thing.

  Looking back, I had no idea the time would come in less than twenty-four hours…

  1

  Survival Skills

  Zelda - Six years later…

  Lifting my chin, I shove my pale-blonde hair behind my ear and straighten my shoulders as I enter the Hard Rock casino in Hollywood, Florida, five miles north of Miami.

  The carpet is a dizzying pattern of swirls and diamonds, driving my eyes up and through the large, open gambling space. Neon lights chase their tails around the metal slot machines, and the musical tones battle like dueling carousels.

  Since smoking is banned in bars and public spaces, the air is clear. I’ve only been to one casino where it wasn’t, and I went home reeking of cigarette smoke. Now all I catch is the faint scent of the citrus used to invigorate gamblers and make them stay longer. No clocks are anywhere to be seen, of course, but I know it’s nine, the precise hour I’m scheduled to enter this establishment and make my way to the roulette wheel.

  My flesh-toned, halter-top pantsuit is covered in tiny silver beads that shimmer in the flashing lights, and I carry a white alligator-embossed clutch. My hair is arranged in long, sixties-inspired curls, and my makeup is smoky cat-eye. A gold cuff and large yellow-topaz earrings complete the look. I’m somewhere between a Bond girl and Charlie’s Angels, and as I walk, I mentally note the positioning of the security guards.

  South Florida isn’t known for its gambling scene, and the Hard Rock is a small casino. It’s perfect for the scam we have in mind. I count only four men in suits with curly earpieces dotted around the space. They’re casual and easily distracted by a flirtatious wink or a nod.

  Seth is five minutes behind me. He’s the mastermind of this gig. We’re running a short con, but if things go as planned, it’ll yield enough payoff to keep the three of us in hundies for the next few months. Long enough for him to come up with another scheme far away from the crystal shores of Miami.

  This job only works once, so we have to get it right the first time or we’re done.

  An enthusiastic round of applause breaks from one of the card tables in the back corner, where I can only assume a patron won a minor victory over the House. It will soon be gobbled back up in his or her losses. Just as I pass the bar in the center of the room, I see Ava. She’s in a short black strapless dress that has a sheer panel over her slim, elegant shoulders.

  Her long dark hair is styled in a low ponytail that hangs in a dramatic curl over one shoulder, and a grey-haired man in a tux is leaning toward her grinning like a wolf. I spot his telltale earpiece, and a smile lifts the corner of my mouth. Good work, Little Sister.

  She blinks those emerald eyes at him, and I watch as her slim hand gingerly touches his forearm. She’ll keep him distracted for the next several minutes, and if she’s feeling brave, he just might discover his watch or gold cufflinks are gone an hour after she leaves him. He’ll never suspect her. Who would suspect her angelic sweetness hides devilishly light fingers?

  Only two other patrons are at the roulette table when I arrive. One is an elderly woman with silver-blue hair and a navy sweatshirt with “May contain alcohol” plastered across the front in white.

  She’s throwing chips around, vaguely distracting the dealer. Across from her is a guy who looks barely twenty-one. He’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeved grey shirt with a bit of shimmer in the fabric. As I open my clutch, he gives me a sly grin, but I turn to the stocky casino worker. His hairline is receding, and he wears an ill-fitting cummerbund.

  “Fifty in dollar chips.” I pass him a crisp bill.

  He slides me fifty round blue plaques the size of my palm, and I glance at the sign telling me it’s a dollar table. I’ll have enough time to lose a few rounds before Seth appears and the con begins.

  My heart beats faster. The rush of what we’re doing is more powerful than any drug, and the fine hairs on my shoulders tweak when I spot Seth’s auburn head across the room at the entrance. He’s dressed in a beige linen jacket and black slacks, and to complete the look, he’s added a pair of fake horn-rimmed glasses—very hipster.

  Reaching forward, the beleaguered dealer starts the wheel, and everyone places his or her bets. It’s a double-zero table, which is the least favorable to gamblers, so I place two corner bets and five chips on the black. The little ball clangs into play, spinning faster than the eye can track it around the wheel.

  “No more bets!” The dealer calls, passing his hand over the table.

  With a clatter, the silver ball shoots toward the center of the wheel, bouncing up once again to the rim before landing solidly on seventeen black.

  “I WON ONE!” The old lady screams, pushing both arms in the air. She does a little shimmy as the chips are quickly slid away and the winners paid. “I WON ONE! Did you see that???”

  I smile, not bothering to point out I doubled my stack of five. My job is not to attract attention, although with the way this crowd is dressed, it’s practically impossible. Mental note: Hollywood, Florida, is not Reno, Nevada. Dress down.

  “I’m feeling lucky tonight!” Granny doubles her stack of chips on a corner bet, and I leave my ten on black.

  Seth is at the table now, and he nods all around. “Mind if I join y’all?” His voice is loud, and his accent is exaggerated.

  I don’t engage. My role is that of cool disinterest, and I reach down to adjust my gold cuff bracelet. If all goes as planned, he’s about to hit a winning streak.

  “Y’all from around here?” He grins big at the old woman and the boy. “I’m from a little ole town in Kentucky.”

  “I’m from Dallas!” The lady answers equally loudly. “My church group took a bus all the way here!”

  Well, hallelujah. I look over my shoulder as Seth monopolizes the table. I don’t like leaving Ava alone in skeezy joints like this. A server appears, mistaking me for wanting a drink.

  “Gin and tonic,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice low.

  “It’s my birthday!” The young guy loudly announces. I’m beginning to think he may contain alcohol as well.

  “Well, I declare, let me guess!” Seth is really laying it on thick. “Twenty one?”

  “That’s right!” Baby’s ears pink, and he glances at me again.

  My eyebrows rise when he gives me another grin coupled with a wink this time. Dream on, little man.

  “Dealer, here’s a hyundai!” Seth announces, passing him a hundred dollar bill, and I almost do laugh at that intentional screw-up. “Mr. Bourie says to get in and get out fast. That’s the way to play roulette, right? Win quick and walk away?”

  “Who’s Mr. Bourie?” Grandma asks.

  “Oh, he wrote the book on how to play roulette and win. Steve Bourie. You have to look him up.”

  The dealer’s stoic face doesn’t change as he pushes Seth’s hundred into the drop box with a clear plastic paddle. A hundred plastic chips are shoved across to my covert partner in crime.

  “He actually says not to play roulette at all…” Seth continues getting cozy with the old lady.

  I reach down to adjust my gold cuff when a deep command from over my shoulder startles me.

  “Fifty,” the accented voice says, and a tall, elegant-looking gentleman in an expensive blazer leans beside me. I glance up as he straightens. He slides a long black wallet into his coat pocket, and a gold pinky ring catches my eye.

  He smiles, and I blink away, trying not to mov
e my panicked gaze to Seth. He hasn’t broken character yet, but with this intruder right behind me, it’s going to be impossible to activate the switch without being seen.

  A tremor of fear moves through my chest, and a tiny bead of sweat tickles down the line in the center of my back. I’m breathing faster, and I reach up to push another strand of hair behind my ear.

  “I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable, mademoiselle.” The older gentleman’s voice is right beside me, over my shoulder.

  “Not at all.” I’m irritated by his proximity, and I shift to the right to get away from him. The only problem is I’m now closer to Birthday Boy.

  Shit. Our plan is coming apart.

  “Why you sound like a foreign gentleman,” Seth says, attracting my unwanted tablemate’s attention. “Where does one get an accent like that?”

  “My accent is Monagascan, monsieur.”

  “I’ll be damned. I didn’t know they spoke French in Madagascar!”

  “No, monsieur, it’s Monagasco.”

  Seth has the man’s complete attention as I slide all my winnings onto the black space. The dealer passes his hand over the table.

  “No more bets!” he calls.

  I dip my finger inside my gold cuff and press the tiny button hidden inside. The silver ball immediately drops, bounces, and then swerves into the tray labeled fifteen black.

  “Holy shit! Ho-lee shit!” Seth hops off his stool and does a little jig. “I WON!”

  “SO DID I!!!” Granny looks like she might have a heart attack. She’s holding her chest heaving hard, and I notice a security agent drifting to where we’re sitting.

  We only have one more spin before we have to get the hell out of here. Odds against roulette players add up faster than any other game in the casino. Our winning streak can’t last long, or we’ll be detained and questioned.

  “I feel as if I’m playing the wrong end of the table,” Frenchie says, sliding closer to me.

  I’m trapped with nowhere to go. Another scoot to my right, and I’ll be in Mr. Twenty-One’s lap. Leaving my two hundred chips on black, I attempt to angle my body so it’s away from Frenchie’s line of sight.