I laugh, kissing my father’s cheek. He pats my hand and lets out a sigh. I can tell it’s killing him to leave the garden behind, and I do my best to sound confident. The most gardening I’ve done in the past six years has been killing a few house plants. An award-winning Royal Rose Garden should be a breeze, right?
My father nods and kisses the side of my head. “I know you’ll do great, honey,” he says. “You have a better touch with the roses than I do.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’ll do my best.”
“The Prince…” My father’s face pinches.
“What about him?”
“He’s… troubled.” Dad glances at me. “I think it would be best if you kept your distance.”
“Troubled?”
My father nods and takes a deep breath. “I know you can handle yourself, Jo. I’ll stop fussing. I’m a bit tired. I might go lie down for an hour before dinner.”
As I watch him shuffle toward his bedroom, my heart breaks all over again. I know that the only thing I can do for my parents is make sure the rose garden is well taken care of. I can’t heal my father or make him feel better, but I can provide that peace of mind.
WHEN IT’S time for me to leave in the morning, I pack up my things and give my parents another big hug. My mother drops me off at the bus station and asks me if I have enough money. I just smile and nod.
“I’m fine, Mom. Things are going well,” I lie.
“I’m proud of you.” Her eyes shine, and she holds my cheeks in her hands. She kisses my forehead, patting my cheek. “Thank you for coming back. Your father was relieved when I told him you’d take care of his flowers. The doctor said he had to relax as much as possible, so who knows? You might be helping him heal, too.”
“I hope so.”
After one last hug, I get on the bus for Westhill and settle into my seat. As the bus pulls out of the station, a warm buzz courses through my body. My chest feels light, and a smile starts to stretch across my lips.
I pull out my notebook and start jotting ideas down. I love this little book. It holds bits of scenes, turns of phrase that pop into my head, fragments of story ideas, and anything else that sticks in my brain. Interspersed between the pages are messy to-do lists and scratchy doodles.
As I write down my rush of ideas, they become too much to record in my humble notebook. Instead, I pull my laptop out of my backpack and open it up. I click to create a blank document, staring at it for a few thrilling moments.
Is there anything more beautiful than a blank page, ready to be filled with magical, inspiring words?
My lips curl into a grin. I don’t want to re-hash the book I’ve already written. Maybe the rejection letters were right. I tried to write a fast-paced thriller, but maybe my first attempt just wasn’t gripping?
For the first time in months, I want to write something new. Something fresh. I stare at the blank page in front of me, and my heart starts to thump. I glance out of the bus window at the passing landscape, and the words start to flow.
I didn’t even know the words existed inside me, but they come out like an avalanche. I can hardly type fast enough to keep up with my own mind. The two-hour bus journey goes by in a flash, and I look up from my screen, exhausted.
I’ve written three chapters of a new story—another thriller—and the spark of inspiration coursing like a wildfire inside me. I close my laptop and stuff it back into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I step off the bus. My smile is wide, and I have a bounce in my step. The bus driver helps me haul my suitcase out of the bus’s cargo compartment, and I glance around me.
Only two other people have gotten off in Westhill, and I immediately understand why. Westhill is a small village at the foot of the Westhill Palace. There’s not much here except a decrepit-looking community garden, a library, a shop, and a school. The houses look well-kept, though, and the air here is sweet and fresh. Intersecting the only road through Westhill is a street called ‘Palace Lane’.
Seems like an obvious place to start looking for the palace.
I drag my suitcase down the road, already knowing I made the right decision to come here. If the first few chapters of my new book are anything to go by, Westhill could be the birthplace of some of my best work.
At the end of the long road, there’s a tall, ornate, cast-iron fence. By the time I get to the gates, I’m sweaty and my arm is sore from dragging my suitcase. My heart speeds up as I get closer.
The gates are elaborate, with designs of roses and snarling beasts intertwined in them. The Palace estates are vast and sprawling, enclosed by the intricate fencing as far as I can see. In the distance, at the end of an even longer drive than the one from the town to the gate, Westhill Palace sits. It rests among well-manicured lawns and topiary, with beautifully flowering beds lining the entire drive.
My mouth goes dry, and I gulp.
The Farcliff crest is engraved on both pillars that stand either side of the gates. I take a deep breath, and then start walking toward the intercom on one of the pillars. I press the button and wait for a response.
“Yes?”
“Jolie Beaumont,” I say into the speaker. My voice trembles slightly, and I take a breath to steady myself. “I’m Marcel and Violet’s daughter. I’m here to tend the rose garden.”
The intercom clicks, and for a moment nothing happens. I frown, glancing around me. My parents warned the staff that I’d be here, right?
The early May sun is warming my back, and a bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face. After an interminable moment, the gates swing inward without a sound.
I take a deep breath, chewing my lip, and then I step through. My pulse hammers, and I can hardly believe I’m here.
Maybe I’m not a failure, after all. Maybe I just needed to find some time and space for myself—and maybe Westhill is exactly that.
I’ve only taken half a dozen steps when a car appears at the far end of the long driveway. Even from a distance, I can tell it’s a royal vehicle. I drag my suitcase off the road, and stand to the side, waiting for the car to pass. I take care not to step in the flowerbeds. There’s nowhere else for me to stand unless I want to crush all these flowers with my suitcase.
The car is travelling at high speed, zooming down the narrow drive faster than I would find comfortable if I were driving. I glance at the flowerbeds again, wondering if I can jump over them to get out of the way. They’re too wide, though, and I know I’d end up crushing the plants.
My throat turns dry, and I grip the handle of my suitcase as hard as I can.
The vehicle slows down only the tiniest bit as it approaches me. The windows are tinted, so I can’t see anyone in the car—but I already know who’s inside.
I can feel Prince Gabriel’s eyes on me like hot coals burning into my skin. I can sense his presence, and for the briefest moment as the car passes, I think I actually enjoy it.
The car zips through the front gates and I let out a sigh, staring after it. Then, I turn back toward the royal grounds and continue my long walk toward the palace.
GABRIEL
GLANCING IN THE REAR-VIEW MIRROR, I catch a glimpse of the young woman walking towards the castle. She drags her suitcase behind her with her head held high.
I come to a stop outside the gate and glance in the mirror again, watching her ass sway from side to side as she walks down the drive. Is she Marcel’s daughter? She has to be—I haven’t heard of anyone else arriving this week.
I wouldn’t expect the short, portly man with the frizzy white hair to have a willowy daughter like her. Her long, chocolate brown hair is gathered up in a high ponytail, cascading down to between her shoulder blades.
As if she senses my stare, the girl pauses and turns to look over her shoulder. I know she can’t see me, but it feels like she’s staring straight into my eyes. For just a moment, I forget about the celebration in Farcliff, about my brothers, about the past and all the memories that await me in the city.
I j
ust stare at the girl, and she stares at me.
We stay like that for a few moments, until Flora clears her throat from the back seat of the car.
“Who’s that?”
Turning back to the road in front of me, I let out a sigh. “No one.”
“Why is she at the castle?” Flora asks, twisting in her seat.
“She’s taking care of the rose garden.”
Turning out of the gates, I step on the accelerator and drive toward the city. Flora starts asking me a thousand and one questions about Farcliff, and I answer them as patiently as I can. It’s a two hour drive, but I can probably do it in an hour forty.
So, why am I slowing down?
I find myself driving slower than the speed limit, flexing and unflexing my hands as I make my way toward the capital at a snail’s pace. Even my daughter notices.
“Are you okay?” Flora asks from the back seat.
I glance at her in the rear-view mirror and try to force a smile. “I’m fine, Flora. You want to watch a movie?”
“No,” she answers simply, turning to stare out the window.
My hand drifts to my jaw, where that six-inch long scar mars my face. I rub it, remembering what happened the last time I was in Farcliff.
I remember the pain of the knife as it slashed my face. I remember the blood. I remember the shame.
Most of all, I remember the ice-cold fear that spiked through me when I thought I’d lost Flora.
Going back there is a terrible idea. She doesn’t even know what happened, and I’m bringing her back to the beginning of it all.
That stupid book started the chaos. If I’d have known that my ex would write some trash about our relationship, I never would have gotten involved with her. I knew she was just interested in fame, but I didn’t listen to my instinct—or maybe, I just didn’t care.
Until she got pregnant, and I became a father.
Then, I started to care. It wasn’t about me and my demons anymore, it was about Flora. My daughter. My savior. My life.
I ended up disgraced, scarred, and too afraid to set foot in my own home city—not that I’ve wanted to.
My heart beats a little bit faster as I slow the car down even more. A rickety old camper van passes me on the freeway, and the driver gives me a slight courtesy wave. I wave back, knowing the windows are too tinted for the driver to see me.
When we cross into the Farcliff city limits, sweat is gathering under my arms and I feel like I can’t breathe right. I snake through the streets, thankful for the darkened windows of my car.
People stare at the car—they know it’s a royal vehicle—but no one knows it’s me and Flora inside. That anonymity is a blessing.
I make it to the Farcliff Castle gates, which open without even questioning who I am.
They’re expecting us.
Flora lets out an excited squeal and asks me another slew of questions about the castle itself. Up the driveway I go, sucking in a breath as memories flood my mind. I do my best to answer my daughter’s questions, but I’m not sure I’m making any sense.
The castle looks just the same as I remember. It hasn’t changed a bit. I park the car near the wide front steps and exit the vehicle. A valet appears beside me, and I drop my keys in his hand with a nod. I open Flora’s door just as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She slips her hand into mine and gives me an encouraging smile.
“Did you bring the good luck rock?”
“Got it right here,” I say, patting my pocket.
“Good,” she nods. She squeezes my hand and we turn toward the castle. The heavy double doors at the top of the steps swing open, and my brother’s butler appears with a bow.
I take a deep breath.
Charlie, my eldest brother and the King of Farcliff, fills the doorway. For a moment, my nerves are almost too much to bear. Being in Farcliff is surreal.
But Charlie’s face splits into a smile and he starts bounding down the steps toward us. His kids beat him to it, though, dodging around his legs and flying in to hug me. I catch all three of them, laughing and ruffling their hair.
“Uncle Gabriel, you came!” Prince Charlie, the King’s eldest, smiles at me.
“Of course I came.” I cluck his cheek with my finger.
Their only daughter, Thea, slips her hand into mine. “Come inside. We made cookies for you.” She smiles at Flora. “Hi.” They’ve met at Westhill, but they haven’t seen each other for almost a year—an eternity in a six-year-old’s life.
My heart squeezes when I see Flora next to her cousin. Both girls are about the same age, but Flora is a lot smaller. It’s her illness. Failure to thrive, one doctor explained to me with a nonchalant glance. I fired him shortly thereafter.
The two girls study each other for a moment, and then Flora reaches over to give her cousin a hug. The top of her head just about reaches Princess Thea’s shoulder, and the two of them smile at each other.
Charlie winks at me and extends his hand for me to shake it. “Good to see you, Gabe. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I lie. He practically had to drag me out of Westhill by force, and I’m only here for two nights. As soon as these celebrations are over, I’ll be heading back to Westhill with my daughter.
Back to safety and isolation.
I let the kids lead me inside to one of the smaller living rooms, and I accept a burnt cookie from Thea. It looks more like a hockey puck than edible food. I bite into it—or at least, I try to—as Thea watches me with a hopeful smile.
“You like it?”
“Delicious,” I nod with a grimace as crumbs fall off my lips. I crunch through the cookie, slightly worried I’ve chipped a tooth. Thea grins, twirling in a circle.
Flora looks at her cookie suspiciously. “It looks burnt.”
Thea’s face falls, and Flora glances at me. I give her a loaded look, and she nibbles at the cookie before making an exaggerated noise and rubbing her belly. “Deeeee-licious,” she says.
Thea’s face brightens, and the two girls run off to play. My nerves crank up a notch as Flora disappears out of my sight, but I force myself to calm down with a deep breath. She’s in Farcliff Castle—arguably the safest place for her, besides Westhill.
Charlie nods to the garbage can. “Quick, while Thea’s not looking.”
I grin, tossing the calcinated cookie away. “She’s not quite a star baker.”
“Not quite, no,” Charlie laughs.
My brother hands me a beer and takes a seat next to me. Neither of us say anything for a while, until Charlie finally breaks the silence.
“Thanks for coming.” He glances at me, his eyes piercing into me.
My heart squeezes. How could I have considered avoiding this event? It would have killed him. I may be a recluse and a bit of an asshole, but Charlie has done everything for me and our brother Damon. He investigated our own father, and discovered that the former King had murdered our mother. After that bombshell, Charlie ascended to the throne even though he didn’t want to.
When things went to shit for me, he gave me Westhill Palace as my own.
My brother is a good man, and the least I can do is be here to celebrate his ten year anniversary with him.
Charlie clears his throat. “How does it feel to be back in Farcliff Castle?”
“Weird.”
The King grunts.
“Last time I was here, my face was sliced open and my picture was plastered over every newspaper.”
“I remember it well.” He glances at me and then takes a sip of beer. “You ever talk to her again?”
“Who? Paulette? Fuck no. If I never saw her face again, it would be too soon. I don’t exactly want to get my cheek slashed again, and I can’t put Flora in danger by being around her.”
Charlie makes a soft noise in agreement as the side door opens. Our middle brother, Damon, pokes his head through. His face splits into a smile when he spots me. He strides over to me, wrapping me in a hug. He’s gai
ned a bit of weight over the years, but the gaunt lines in his face have disappeared. He looks happy.
Surprisingly, I start to feel happy, too.
While I catch up with my brothers in the castle where I grew up, I feel almost comfortable. The fears that gripped my heart on the way here start to ease, and I even smile.
“So, the ceremony tomorrow will be televised.” Charlie eventually turns the talk to business. “We’ll start at the castle and then have a procession through the town.”
I sip my beer and nod. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”
“Just sit beside me and look pretty.”
“Easy,” I grin. “Even with a six-inch scar, I’m still better looking than the two of you.”
MY FIRST EVENING in Farcliff lulls me into a false sense of security. Coming back here is strange, but I feel almost comfortable. That night, I sleep in my old bedroom, and wake up with my nephews and nieces jumping on my bed. I eat breakfast with my family like a normal human being.
I keep Flora’s good luck rock in my pocket, and I touch it whenever unease creeps into my heart.
Flora seems happy here. She’s always gotten along with her cousins, but she seems extra excited to be in Farcliff. Her energy levels are high, and she has color to her cheeks. She looks healthy. For the first time since I received Charlie’s invitation, I start to think that coming back to Farcliff might have been a good idea.
But when the ceremony starts, I realize how wrong I am.
We begin in the Great Hall, and I see a face in the crowd that I hoped I’d never see again.
Paulette.
It’s just a split second, and then she disappears.
I blink, wondering if I imagined it. It must be my brain playing tricks on me. All those memories I’ve been pushing away are coming to the surface.
Paulette would never have been admitted to the castle. Of course it wasn’t her. It’s impossible. I’m seeing things.
Shaking my head, I turn back to my brother.
King Charlie makes a speech and spreads his arms wide to the crowd in the room. Applause erupts. I clap my hands and try to smile. My gaze drifts over to the spot where I saw my ex’s face.
Cruel Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 3) Page 3