The Duke of New York_A Contemporary Bad Boy Royal Romance

by Lisa Lace

  Dad shrugs. “Then do what you have to do, Cole. Only you know what’s going to make you truly happy. Whatever you decide, you’ll always be my son.”

  Sophie

  Twenty minutes late, Lena sweeps into Latte Latte, immediately apologizing. “I’m sorry I’m late, sweetie. The head chef from the downtown branch called to tell me there’s been some kind of electric malfunction. The whole kitchen is down.”

  “Oh, wow. Do you have time to be here?”

  She waves away my concerns with a sweep of her hand. “I’ve got Janet on it. What am I going to do anyway? I’m not an electrician.”

  I sigh wistfully. “God, I’d love your life.”

  “Latte?”

  My cup is empty. I guzzled down coffee while I was waiting, as well as a muffin—although the waitress has already cleared away the evidence. When Lena asks if I want a treat, I casually ask for a brownie and pig out. I’ve gained five pounds in the three months since Cole left.

  Lena returns from the counter with a tray of goodies and sits down beside me. We’re at the small round table by the window on low, well-cushioned chairs with geometric patterns.

  Outside, a young woman with blue hair and Doc Martens is trying to drag a stubborn basset hound down the street. Lena follows my gaze and laughs. “Have you considered getting a dog?”

  I make a face. “I thought spinsters like me were meant to get cats.”

  “Maybe you should break the mold.”

  “I could get a St. Bernard.”

  “No. I think you’re more of a Bichon Frise gal.”

  “Are you kidding? Those things look like pom-poms. If I’m going to get a dog, I want one that looks like a dog.”

  “A pug?”

  I laugh. “Hmm. Still not so sure. Maybe a nice terrier or something.”

  “Seriously? You nearly killed me when I spilled wine on your sofa. I feel sorry for any dog you get.”

  “Hey, that sofa was my one big splurge. Everything else was from thrift stores and Craigslist.”

  Lena smiles. “It’s good to hear you joking again.”

  I take a sip of my latte and smile. “It’s good to joke.”

  “How are you doing?”

  I shrug. “Funny enough, it’s easier getting over Cole the second time. You’re right. I just needed to get him out of my system.”

  It’s a complete lie. As soon as I wake up every morning, I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I’ve never felt more alone in my life. But I don’t want Lena to know. It’s bad enough that she’s seen me break down a second time.

  “How’s work? You must have heard about the promotion by now.”

  “I’ve had the interview. They’re going to tell us who’s been selected next week.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Not that I need to—you hold that place together.”

  “Thanks, Lena.”

  We chat about work and our parents for a while when suddenly, I’m distracted by something I spot out of the corner of my eye.

  On the windowsill next to us is a rack of papers and magazines. There’s The New York Times. Instinctively, I reach for it. Since Cole left, I’ve scoured every copy, just to get some idea of where he is and what he’s doing.

  I don’t need to scour this copy. Cole’s photo is on the front page, a credit to his work in tiny print underneath the picture. “Oh, my god,” I breathe. “He’s in Syria.”

  Lena’s eyes widen, and she grabs the paper from my hands. “Cole? I thought he was going to Sudan.”

  “He was there. One of his pictures was on page six last month. He must have moved on.”

  I look at the photograph. It depicts a line of soldiers with their guns raised marching by the cover of a brick wall. Behind the wall, the Syrian landscape is in full view. Smoke spirals from the ruins. It looks like a shot from World War II.

  “The story’s from Idlib,” Lena tells me, reading from the article out loud. “Two hospitals were hit by airstrikes by pro-Assad forces.” She looks up at me to see my reaction.

  My trembling hand is over my mouth, and I’m shaking. My stomach is in knots. I think about the last time Cole was shooting in a war zone in ruins like this. A building collapsed on him. I can’t help it; the tears stream down my face.

  Lena reaches across and closes her fingers around mine. “There’s nothing in here about any photographers being injured. Cole is fine.”

  “He’s out there, among all that chaos. Air strikes? What if he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  My heart is pounding so fast in my chest it feels more like it’s vibrating. I lay my hand over it, feeling it shuddering beneath my palm.

  “He’s a professional. He’s got a team with him. He’ll be there for five minutes and then onto the next story. He’ll be out of Syria by next week’s headline.”

  My tears turn into sobs. “I told him to go.”

  “He was always going to go.”

  “I could have begged him to stay.”

  “This is what he wanted,” Lena tells me firmly, brandishing the paper. “He wants this kind of adrenaline and adventure. It’s all he ever spoke about. He wants to be in danger. He wants to be in the action. This is the kind of stuff he lives for.”

  I try to calm down. I pick up a paper napkin from the holder and blow my nose. People in the coffee shop are casting awkward little glances in my direction. I’m making a scene.

  I take a few deep breaths and lower my voice. “I can’t believe he’s out there. It’s too real.”

  “It’s not your job to worry about him anymore.”

  “I’ll always worry about him. I love him.”

  Lena’s gaze is sympathetic; maybe a little pitying. “I thought you said you were getting over him?”

  I let out a long breath and raise my hands helplessly. “I love him.”

  She squeezes my hand. “Stop reading The New York Times, Soph. It’s making you anxious. If anything happens to Cole, you’ll know about it soon enough. It’ll be on the news. You don’t need to keep torturing yourself by looking at these pictures. Remember: he’s supposed to make it look dramatic and terrible. That’s his job.”

  “You’re right.”

  I fold the paper and stuff it back in the rack, hiding the photograph from view. “Let’s not talk about Cole anymore.”

  “We might as well. He’s all you’re going to be able to think about now.”

  “I can’t help it. I miss him.”

  “I know you do. But you sent him away for a reason, remember? He would have made you unhappy. Christ, he’s making you unhappy even when he’s not here.”

  “Sometimes I hate him,” I confess. “I think about how he strung me along and then cut me loose. I think about all the promises he made and how he broke them all, and I just—I hate him for it. Then, the second I see one of his pictures in the paper, and I’m reminded that he’s out there somewhere, I can only think about all the good times. He’s career-obsessed, but that’s his only flaw.”

  Lena scoffs. “Are you kidding? The man has an ego the size of Mars. He’s selfish and demanding.”

  “He has his moments, but far more often, he’s kind and caring. You can’t tell me that James is perfect all the time, that he never rubs you the wrong way?”

  “Of course, he does, but that’s different.”

  “How’s it different?”

  “Because he always puts me first, and I always put him first. That’s what love is, Sophie. If it’s not two-way, it’s not love. It’s obsession.”

  “You’re saying I’m obsessed?”

  “I’m saying that this isn’t what love is supposed to look like. You need to let him go.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  She offers me an understanding smile. “I know that.”

  “Let’s keep our fingers crossed that I get this promotion. At least then I’ll have a ton of work to help take my mind off Cole and whatever crisis he’s jumping into next.”

 
; Cole

  Damascus—or what’s left of it.

  I’m wearing a gray T-shirt, and I more or less blend into my surroundings. All of the sandy buildings are coated in ash so that the whole city is gray. Even the sky is overcast with clouds that billow like smoke. Even without a filter, my photos come out looking like they’re taken in black-and-white. It’s bleak.

  I haven’t seen devastation like this since Haiti, but this is hitting home much harder. No natural disaster has caused this chaos. We did this.

  I raise my camera and take photos of the ruins. In places, the front walls of the high-rises have been blown clean off, so that you can see straight into the skeletons of old rooms. Little remains now, although I can occasionally make out furniture in the dust.

  I shake my head sadly and turn to Matt, a member of my documentary team. “Street after street, it’s all the same. Is there anything left of this city?”

  “Not after everyone’s taken their turn at bombing the shit out of it—Turkey, Russia, Iran, Britain, us. I’m not surprised there’s nothing but rubble left.”

  Since I’ve been in Syria, I’ve seen tragedy on a new level. The civilian casualties are overwhelming. I’ve seen children covered in blood and ashes, searching for parents who are long gone, dead and buried under the rubble of whole streets.

  These ruins are the least of the devastation this city has seen.

  “Which country did this?”

  “We hear the missiles were from Israel.”

  I shake my head again, lifting my head to drink in the sight of the empty street. There would have been hundreds of apartments in these buildings. That must amount to thousands of lives destroyed. Those that didn’t die lost their homes. Some lost more than that.

  I take more photographs.

  I don’t need to wonder about whether what I’m doing is making an impact. I know that my pictures have made the cover of The New York Times more than once, and due to its relentless campaign highlighting the horrors we’re witnessing, the paper has raised both awareness and relief funds. I know I’m making a difference.

  But I still don’t know if I’ve made the right choice.

  I think about Sophie every day. When I accepted the job, I knew right away how much Sophie would miss me and worry. Yet I never considered how much I’d worry and miss her, too.

  I wonder if she’s doing all right and whether she finally got that promotion. I wonder if she’s back on the dating sites, sending out naughty messages in hopes of making a connection with someone. I feel guilty every time I think about her.

  “It’s harrowing stuff, isn’t it?” Matt says, interpreting the expression on my face as horror at the scene.

  I nod. “It is.”

  Matt frowns, raising his head slightly to listen. His brow glistens with sweat and dirt. Filled with sand and dust, his shaggy brown hair looks like straw. There’s a graze on his upper right cheek from dropping to the ground the day before to avoid being seen by a military patrol.

  “I think I hear vehicles.”

  My muscles tense, and I look around warily. Vehicles could be allies or enemies. Truth be told, photographers are always the enemy. Nobody wants the horrors of war to be highlighted.

  I squint to look out at the road to try and make out who might be coming.

  Suddenly, a searing pain shoots through my right shoulder. Bang. I let out a cry and lift my hand to where it hurts. I draw my hand away, finding it covered in blood.

  There’s a second shot. Bang.

  I turn around to see an enemy soldier on foot, a rifle pointed in my direction.

  Matt is on the ground. He’s lying face-down in the dirt, his head resting in a pool of blood. I know he’s dead.

  I run. Shots fire behind me. A bullet tears through my left abdomen. I stumble but know that if I fall, I’m dead. I press my palm down over the open wound and keep running. Another shot gets me in my left calf. I can feel the muscle being torn apart as the metal works its way through my flesh.

  Collapsing to the ground, I squeeze my eyes shut. Your luck has run out, Cole.

  What they say about your life flashing before your eyes is true.

  In my final moments, I’m filled with regret. I think about my mom, and how I wasn’t there when she died because I was taking pictures after a mass shooting. I think about Dad, and how he’ll probably hear the news from David, or maybe even the police. He’ll have lost his wife and son; he’ll be completely alone. I think about Dennis, and whether or not he’ll ever be able to make the same kind of money on his own. I think about Sophie, and how my death will be her worst fear come to life, even after she begged me to stay.

  As I’m faced with death, all I feel is guilt.

  I thought this is the life I wanted, but when I’m lying on the ground, three bullet holes in me, every fiber of my being in agony, I don’t feel like I’ve lived with purpose. I feel like I gave up more than my fair share to be here. I could have been happy back home.

  Since going back to The New York Times, I’ve had my doubts that I’d made the wrong decision, but at this moment, I know. I’ve made a huge mistake, and I’ll never get the chance to make it right.

  I can hear the footsteps of the enemy soldier drawing nearer. I know that he’s about to fire that fatal bullet through my skull.

  I’m sorry.

  Sophie

  When I arrive at Lena’s place, she leads me straight upstairs to her bedroom to show me a selection of three dresses. “What do you think? Which one?”

  “What’s it for?”

  A devilish grin appears on her face. “Well, little sister, I have some good news! Work on restaurant number six has just finished. It’ll open next month. I’m throwing a staff party to celebrate.”

  “That sounds like fun! What kind of event?”

  “Something a bit fancy! I was thinking I’d hire a nice venue and do some kind of black tie event with an open bar. What do you think?”

  “Sounds great. Can I come?”

  “You’d better. There will be dozens of available men there.”

  I laugh. “I was wondering when you’d start with this again.”

  “It’s been four months.”

  “I know.”

  “They say that the amount of time it takes to get over someone is half the length of the relationship. So this time around, you should have gotten over Cole in roughly two months, and I’ve given you four. That’s generous, considering you got ten years the last time.”

  I smile, even though it still feels raw. I’m glad to have Lena to distract me. It’s fun to joke around with her, even if I don’t have any plans to meet someone new. “I’ve got some good news, too.”

  Lena spins around with a huge grin on her face. “The promotion?”

  I beam back. “I got it!”

  She drops the dress she’s holding and sweeps me up into a huge, congratulatory hug. “Well done! I’m so proud of you! We’re going to celebrate tonight.”

  “A bottle of wine?”

  “Pfft! I’m taking you out on the town.”

  I laugh. “Out on the town? We haven’t done that since before you met James.”

  “Tonight, I’m feeling it. After all, only one of these dresses is for the staff party, which means there are two available dresses for us tonight.”

  I look down at the two designer dresses and make a face. “I wouldn’t dare wear one of those. They probably cost a gazillion dollars each.”

  “And you’ll look like a gazillion dollars in one. Come on, Sophie. When was the last time you let your hair down?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Then it’s decided. It’s Friday night, and we’re going to celebrate. James has kindly offered to be designated driver and pick us up later.”

  “You’d already planned this with James?”

  She chuckles. “No. But I know he’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “Fuck it,” I say, throwing one hand up in the air. “Let’s do it.”

  L
ena does a fist pump, which clashes with her clean-cut, business-chic look today. “Yes!”

  I laugh. “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere. Everywhere. Let’s hit the town and see where the night takes us. I’m craving cocktails. First though, let’s eat. Every girl knows not to go drinking on an empty stomach. I’m going to order a couple of pizzas.”

  “Mmm. Pizza sounds good.”

  “You look like you’ve lost a little weight, you know.”

  “Really?” I smile, running my hand over my stomach curiously. “That’s good. I’ve been trying to cut back. I’ve been going running, too.”

  Lena smiles broadly. “That’s great, Sophie. I was starting to worry about you for a while there. I’m glad that you’re pulling yourself out of your funk.”

  “It’s been four months. Cole’s not coming back. I need to get on with life. Besides, I’ve got a new role now. I’m going to be in all kinds of meetings and whatnot. I need to be looking my best.”

  “Ooh, it’s so exciting! My sister, the little superstar. Here, try this on.” She chucks a lavender number that looks like a 1920s flapper girl dress at me. It’s covered in layers of fine tassels.

  “Really?”

  “It’s in fashion!”

  I believe her. Lena is a Vogue devotee.

  I try it on, then shimmy in front of the mirror. It’s not something I’d usually wear, but I kind of like the way the tassels shake when I move. I experimentally wiggle my hips and laugh at my reflection. “It’s quite fun, actually.”

  “It’ll give you a reason to shake that booty on the dancefloor.” She pats my bum playfully.

  I laugh. “We’re going dancing now, are we?”

  “We’re going to have some fun.”

  I haven’t gone for a girls’ night out on the town in forever, and it feels good to be standing at a bar with a mojito in my hand. I take a sip, letting the warm rum and cool mint and lime slide down my throat. I have a pleasant buzz.

  We’ve ended up in Black Flamingo in Brooklyn. It’s a trendy spot with orange neon lights on the walls and a large bar with plenty of room to order drinks. It’s already packed to the rafters with clubbers, and the last of the diners in the restaurant are filing out. People are milling around the bar. Lena and I move away to get some breathing room.