by T. K. Leigh
Immediately following Nora’s and my return to Belmont, my father cleaned house, starting at the top with Dalton Peel, who he discovered had actually paid Nora’s mother quite a large sum of money to give the interview that nearly cost us everything. Instead, he brought on people who could modernize the Crown, make it relevant even in this day.
“I want you to be happy, Esme,” I tell her. “And if Marius makes you happy, great. But you’ve been here before. Been with someone for years, developed a relationship, even talked about getting married, only to change your mind when he kneeled in front of you with a ring. At some point, you need to address what’s causing you to constantly push away every man when you’re on the brink of getting engaged or married.”
She peers into my eyes. I expect a little more pushback from her. Instead, a smile spreads across her face before she bursts out laughing.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “It’s really bloody difficult to take you seriously right now.”
I look in the mirror at my sweater, seeing a knitting of Jesus in a birthday hat, a noisemaker in his mouth.
“‘Birthday boy’?” she remarks, reading the print on my sweater.
“What? Technically, he is.”
“Come on.” She stands and loops her arm through mine, leading me from the bedroom. “Let’s get back to the party. Wait until you see Nora’s sweater. You’ll love it.”
“Why? Did you help her with it?”
“And if I did?” She waggles her brows.
I glance at her sweater. “I should probably be scared.”
“Oh, you definitely should. But I think you’ll appreciate it even more.”
We continue down the stairs and toward the living room, the sound of laughter filling the halls, turning this once cold, empty palace into an actual home.
Just before we’re about to join our family for our Christmas Eve celebration, Esme stops me. “Merry Christmas, Anders.”
“Joyeux Noelle, Esme.”
I wrap her in my arms, kissing her cheek. Then I pull back, leading her into the living room. My father and grandmother sit on the couch with Hunter, doting on him, treating him like the toddler he is, not the future king.
A large tree stands tall in front of the windows, the plaza outside covered with a fresh coating of snow. Unlike years past when the tree in the private residence was designed by professionals, Nora, Hunter, and I decorated this ourselves with ornaments the palace receives from various schools throughout the country, as well as personal ones — Hunter’s handprint, a piece of cement from Route 66 I’d picked up, and even that first ultrasound photo of Hunter when he was still Little Pickle.
That’s when I notice something I hadn’t before. Another framed photo just below Hunter’s first ultrasound. It’s nearly identical to that one, except for one very important detail.
Slowly, I make my way across the room, eyes focused on the tree. The world seems to go quiet as everyone watches me.
I unhook the ornament from the branch, squinting as I try to make sense out of what I’m looking at. I glance from this black-and-white picture to the one of Hunter, then back again, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Congrats, Daddy,” Nora murmurs from behind me.
I whirl around to see her wearing a Christmas sweater of an oven over her stomach. But instead of only one gingerbread man inside, there are two.
“Are you telling me…” I swallow hard.
“I guess we’re overachievers. We’ve got the heir. But now we’re about to have two spares.”
My eyes widen as I sweep her into my embrace, kissing her deeply, wishing I could show her in some other way how much I love and appreciate all she’s done for me.
“Twins,” I say, a mixture between a statement and a question.
“Twins,” she confirms.
“Two at the same time.”
“That’s usually how twins work, Gabriel dear,” my grandmother interjects with a smile.
I shake my head, pulling Nora back to me once more. “This may be the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received. I’m sorry the rest of the girls weren’t able to be here to celebrate and share in the news.”
“They’ll be here for New Years. I won’t be able to really celebrate, but it’s okay. All I care about is having time with my friends. That’s celebration enough. And so is this.”
“What?”
She places her hand over her stomach. “Our growing family.”
I kiss her again, pulling away when I feel a familiar tug on my shirt.
“Mama has cookies in her belly.” Hunter points at Nora’s sweater.
“She sure does, bud. Do you know what that means?”
“Mama likes cookies!”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Esme mutters under her breath, to which everyone chuckles.
“No. It means you’re going to be a big brother.”
He looks between us for a beat, seemingly deep in thought. Then his expression brightens. “Okay. Can we open presents now?”
I blow out a laugh, marveling at how easy-going he is. “Of course.”
As I gaze around the living room at a scene I could have never imagined a few years ago, my heart expands, much like the Grinch’s did when he discovered the true meaning of Christmas.
When Nora forgave me after learning the truth of the role I played in the car accident that took her fiancé and unborn child from her, I thought I knew what true love was. When she agreed to move her world for me and acclimate to a life no one can adequately prepare for, I fell even more in love with her. Then even more when we stood in front of God and all our friends and family, promising to cherish each other the rest of our lives. But those are the big moments.
Love is also found in the small moments. In my opinion, those are infinitely more important. I find pieces of our love sprinkled throughout our history. In the memory of her smile as I pulled her hair free of her ponytail as we drove along Route 66 together as two strangers. In the memory of spending a lazy Sunday at Central Park, lounging in the grass as we talked about everything and nothing at the same time. And now as she looks up at me with more admiration than I think I deserve.
I remember what Esme told me when I first grappled with my feelings for Nora. “‘Maybe it won’t work out. But maybe seeing if it does will be the exact adventure you need to remind you what it’s like to fly.’”
There’s no doubt in my mind that my time with Nora so far has been the adventure of a lifetime.
I have a feeling the adventure is just beginning.
Thank you so much for reading Tangled Games! I hope you enjoyed the final book in the Dating Games Series!
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Rule number one of being a bodyguard: Don’t fall in love with the person you’re protecting.
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Royals - Lorde
Have I Told You - Matthew Mole
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Lonely - Violet Skies
Quite Miss Home - James Arthur
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I met him on the worst day of my life.
After ditching my wedding and hopping on a flight to Rome, all I wanted was to forget about the burdens that had been placed on my shoulders since birth.
I never expected to meet him.
Dante Luciano.
Mysterious. Rugged. Alluring.
And possessing an Italian accent so toe-curling it should be illegal.
He's everything my cheating ex-fiancé isn't.
Which is precisely why I make a proposition I never would have in my former life.
It was just supposed to be one night.
It wasn’t supposed to make me question my entire existence.
Maybe I should have dug deeper into who he was.
Maybe I should have asked more questions.
Maybe I should have realized the truth that was staring at me through his familiar eyes.
They say you can never escape your past.
They were right…
Possession
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Londyn
The butterfly effect in chaos theory states that sometimes insignificant events bring about extensive change, either good or bad. It’s the notion that a butterfly can flap its wings, triggering a chain of events that will lead to a massive tsunami, forever altering the face of the earth and the lives of those affected.
I’ve always been intrigued by the concept that a seemingly innocuous and everyday event could have major consequences.
What would have happened if Archduke Ferdinand had taken a different route through Sarajevo, thwarting a young nationalist’s assassination attempt, which eventually led to the start of World War I? Would some other event have been the catalyst for it, the world just a ticking time bomb? Or would society have continued living in peace?
What would have happened had the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna not rejected Adolf Hitler’s application to attend…twice? Would he have taken a different path, saving the world from his tyranny and hate?
And what would have happened if I hadn’t fallen in that crosswalk on a rainy day in Atlanta? Would I have carried on with my life, content with my relatively solitary existence? Or would our paths have crossed anyway, starting a series of events I never could have predicted in my wildest imagination?
I’ll never know. Because I did fall in that crosswalk.
Our paths did cross.
Our lives did intersect.
One seemingly insignificant event.
One meeting most people wouldn’t think twice about.
But one event that eventually altered my entire world.
“Don’t tell me you got the ax.”
I pull myself away from packing the few personal items from my cubicle at the interior design firm I’ve called home the past few years. Looking up, I meet Justine’s dark gaze, her expression awash with sympathy.
“I did.”
“Oh, Londyn…” Arms extended, she approaches, wrapping me in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I lean back, giving her a reassuring smile. “It was bound to happen when they brought in the efficiency experts.” I shrug, swallowing past the lump in my throat. It doesn’t matter how inevitable today was. It still hurts. “I’m one of the last hires. Not to mention I have the least experience out of everyone on the team.”
Justine rolls her eyes, flipping a few blonde waves over her shoulder. “Experience and talent are two different things. You can have years of experience but be a talentless hack.” She edges closer, lowering her voice. “Like half the people here.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay. Or at least I will be after I drown myself in a bottle of wine later.”
“That’s my girl.” She squeezes my bicep.
On a dejected sigh, I step away, scanning my cubicle, which is now devoid of anything personal. Except one.
Walking to the corner of my desk, I grab the small, framed photo of my parents and me from years ago. Twenty years to be exact. This was the last picture taken of us as a family before my mother was killed on this very date.
I think that’s why losing my job on today of all days has hit me so hard. Not because I’m now unemployed, but because of all the horrible memories associated with this day. Just once, I’d love to have a positive memory of June third.
“Well, I guess that’s it,” I say after placing the photo into my bag.
“It won’t be the same without you here, but I believe this is the best thing for you. You’re too talented to work here. I felt it the first time we met. You’re destined for greater things than designing kitchens and bathrooms in accordance with what our client saw on the latest HGTV show.”
I laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”
She pulls me in for one more hug before releasing me. “Drinks soon?”
“Absolutely.” I hold her gaze another moment before turning and making my way through the cubicle-filled space for the last time.
Sympathetic smiles greet me as I pass, other designers in tears as they pack up their own cubicles. I suppose I should feel lucky I’d only been here a few years before getting fired. Some worked here for ten or fifteen years. Have families to support. College educations to pay for. I don’t. I only have myself.
Once I reach the elevator, I press the down button. A car arrives almost immediately, and I hurry inside. When the doors close, I expel a breath, thankful to be alone at last. I lean against the wall, looking up at the florescent lights in the ceiling. Maybe Justine is right. Maybe I’m destined for bigger things than regurgitating the same design over and over. I’ve always felt my creativity stunted here. Maybe this is my chance to go out on my own, start my own firm, do what I want.
My head held high and a renewed outlook filling me, I step out of the elevator and into the lobby, waving to the guard sitting at the security desk.
“You, too?” Oliver asks.
“Me, too,” I respond, my lips quirking into a half-hearted smile.
“Sorry to hear that, Lolo,” he says in his deep baritone, using the nickname he made up for me years ago.
“It’s okay. You should know by now I’m a fighter.”
“I know. I’ve seen the photos of you in boxing gloves on your Instagram. There’s no doubt in my mind you’ll get through this.”
“Thanks, Ol.”
Noticing a flicker, I glance over his shoulder to one of the half-dozen monitors spread out in front of him, most of them containing surveillance from various parts of the building. But the far one is connected to the computer, a news website showing a live broadcast from a church I know intimately.
“Do you remember that happening?” Oliver inquires, noticing my gaze drawn to the screen.
I swallow hard at the split-screen feed, one side showing the memorial currently underway, the other displaying archive footage of white-sheet-covered bodies being rolled out on stretchers.
I should have expected a few news outlets to cover the twentieth anniversary of the shooting. It was a pretty big deal back then. The first mass shooting since Columbine, this time at a chu
rch. It still catches me off guard, though. I didn’t think I’d see coverage of it here in Atlanta when it happened in Virginia. Or maybe I just hoped I wouldn’t.
“It was horrific. Some known white supremacist walked into the church during a choir rehearsal and opened fire. Killed twelve people, including the pastor’s wife. Luckily, the pastor and their daughter were elsewhere in the church and escaped. Sawyer Ross was one of the survivors, too. Do you know who that is? That television preacher and civil rights activist?”
I keep my expression even. “I’ve heard of him.”
“It was all over the news,” Oliver continues, not picking up on my unease. “Such a tragedy. A senseless act of hate. But you’re too young to probably remember.”
I nod. “Yeah.” I turn my attention from the screen, peering out the large floor-to-ceiling windows at the torrential downpour covering the streets.
“Pretty nasty weather, isn’t it?”
“Got to love Atlanta in the summer,” I muse, shifting through my bag for my umbrella, but it’s not there. Just my luck. When I don’t need it, I practically trip over the damn thing. When I do, it’s nowhere to be found.
“Take mine,” Oliver offers, grabbing the umbrella from the side of his desk.
“That’s okay. The garage isn’t far.”
“Are you sure?” He tilts his head. “I don’t mind. You can just drop it back to me tomorrow on your way into…” He trails off, realizing I won’t be back tomorrow.