The King's Surprise Bride: A Royal Wedding Novella (Royal Weddings Book 2)

by Vivien Vale

  “Sure,” I say meekly and do as he asks, placing two pink-socked feet in each holster at the end of the examination bed.

  I take a deep breath and wait to see what happens next. Then, as if the universe is throwing me a lifeline, there’s another knock at the door.

  To me, this saving grace represents a wonderful interruption that might buy me some time to gather and compose my fraying nerves.

  Hopefully, I can bind them back together before the examination starts, even though I’m still excited to see the baby on the ultrasound screen.

  “Forgive me, doctor,” another nurse enters the room and states apologetically. “The father is here for the ultrasound.”

  The father?

  Carter!

  I glance towards the door with hope, and then I’m encompassed by a feeling of peace as I notice Carter’s friendly and familiar face.

  He walks through the door with cool and charismatic confidence. Thank God he’s here.

  I didn’t want to have to go through this alone, and now I don’t have to carry that burden on my shoulders any longer now that my angel in human form has come to save me.

  “Hi,” I give him a feeble attempt at a smile and try to focus on not hurtling myself across the room.

  Something still feels a bit off for me. I can’t really explain what it is, but the spectrum of colors is shifting from the array of a rainbow to…well…black and white.

  I can hardly think straight through my anxiety, but something about the way Carter greets me, and his movements seem awkward and out of place.

  He isn’t behaving like his usual cheerful self, and I’m ambivalent on what to make of the situation.

  It’s not like I have any extra time to dissect any of my thoughts or emotions, though, because the doctor slips on his blue latex gloves with a smacking sound that is brazen with finality.

  “Now that everyone is here, it’s time to begin,” he gives us a warm smile that should have reassured me, but as I glance over at Carter, something just doesn’t feel right.

  His behavior isn’t sitting well with me. The doctor flicks off the lights, and I glance over at Carter.

  “Is everything alright with you?” I whisper and give him an unconvinced glance that is dripping with uncertainty.

  He looks over at me and squeezes my hand. “Everything is fine.”

  I take a deep breath and lean back against the pillows while the doctor pulls out his magical little ultrasound wand.

  The screen lights up and exposes my belly, and the beautiful baby doing flips inside of my body.

  “Oh, wow,” I say and giggle, pointing to the screen. “Is that the baby?”

  “It sure is,” the doctor says proudly.

  Carter and I exchange a look of relief as we watch the movements on screen.

  “We’re going to listen to the heartbeat now,” the doctor informs us.

  “Okay,” I say as a fresh wave of nervousness washes over me. I hope that everything sounds good.

  A few seconds later, the glorious sound of horse galloping fills my ears and ignites my own heart with joy.

  That beautiful sound is coming from my baby’s heart, beating strongly with an elegance that brings me to a basket of tears.

  “Everything sounds great. It’s a nice, solid, and healthy heartbeat,” the doctor confirms.

  I grin at him through blurry eyes. “Thank you.”

  I glance over at Carter. He seems excited.

  By the time we walk out, his demeanor changes again. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It’s almost as if he’s disconnected from the moment.

  “Aren’t you happy?” I question him.

  He doesn’t look at me and flicks the unlock button on his key. “Of course I’m happy.”

  “Okay,” I say and glance down at the pavement below my feet.

  Something is still off about him, and I can’t shake the feeling. He moves around to the passenger door and opens it to help my rotund body climb inside.

  Before I start moving towards comfort of the seat, Carter picks up my chin and turns it to face him, drawing me in for a kiss.

  At first, I was unfazed.

  Then I notice it.

  The color of Carter’s eyes is not his usual deep ocean blue.

  These eyes are the wrong color.

  This isn’t Carter leaning in to kiss me intimately. This is Lawrence.

  Carter

  A fucking volcano eruption would have been less spectacular than my entry into Chantal’s drug dealer’s penthouse.

  To say my insides are boiling is an understatement. A fucking inferno is raging through me. It grows so fast I can barely stop myself from smashing everything in sight.

  Some lean, tall dude with too many pimples and bloodshot eyes tries to stop me.

  “Hey, man,” he starts then stops.

  Without a word, question or explanation, my fist collides with his face. I get him fair between the eyes, and he crumples in front of me.

  Like a rag doll, I toss him aside.

  I don’t feel sorry for him. What could I say? He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Feeling the adrenaline pump through me even faster, my eyes search the room. Where is the fucker? And what are all these dudes doing here?

  Another one steps in my way, and instead of punching him, I shove him to my left.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lose his fucking balance and grab onto something. That something was a vase on a display stand. Both go tumbling down.

  I stand there briefly, taking in huge gulps of air as I reel with anger. Both send volts of electricity through me and make me cloudy with disillusionment at the same time.

  The guy I shoved into the vase is currently in a heap on the floor, crumpled like a piece of paper.

  He stares up at me with an expression of horror, as if afraid to move a single muscle on the chance that I’d clock him so forcefully in the face it will send him into oblivion.

  In all fairness, he’s probably right.

  If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay right where he fucking is, like the deadbeat shithole pile of garbage he is, right there on the floor.

  Through some unstoppable force, I’m turning into the Hulk, a loose cannon with burly muscles that’s ready to tear anyone I see limb from limb, especially if they dare get in the way of my path of destruction.

  The guy on the floor, who I assume is the drug dealer, continues to stay right where he is, staring up at me with stone black eyes that look as if they’ve seen death a few times over.

  “I don’t mean any harm, dude,” he says meekly, and grimaces while placing his hands protectively over his head.

  So, he’s not going to try to stop me. Well, that’s savvy of him.

  I barrel down a narrow, poorly lit hallway and stop in front of a closed door. I don’t know what it is about this particular location of the house, but I hesitate, coming to a hasty stop right in front of it.

  Pins and needles of alarm spread across my skin like wildfire, and I prickle my ears to hear anything that might give off a clue to Chantal’s location.

  I know she’s in this room. My gut can feel it, and my pulse pounds in my ears like angry river rapids.

  At first, I try the door. I know my efforts will be in vain, but instinct tells me to attempt it anyway.

  Of course, the knob twists but is unyielding. I have two choices here: I could break the door down, further inflicting damage to this house, or I could call out to Chantal inside.

  I opt for option two. Perhaps I can put my negotiation skills to the test and try to persuade Chantal to cooperate.

  “Chantal?”

  My voice booms like a crashing wave to the shore. At first, there’s no response from the other side of the door. It’s like fucking crickets in a pasture.

  Nothing. Zilch. Only silence.

  “Chantal?” I call out again, this time using a more threatening tone.

  I hear a thump inside, and a female v
oice whispers, “Shit.”

  I press my ear to the door and frantically wiggle the doorknob. “Chantal, I know you’re in there. It’s Carter. I need to talk to you. Open this fucking door right now.”

  So much for trying to coax her like a fly to honey. My frustration and fury are getting the better of me.

  I lean back as I feel the door handle give way beneath my white-knuckled death grip.

  The door creaks open with timid trepidation and, finally, I’m face to face with a very doped-up Chantal.

  My eyes immediately trail down to her belly, which I notice is not swollen with a baby but remains flat as a board.

  Well, this is just fucking great, the icing on the cake. Chantal is most definitely not pregnant.

  Her eyes have dark circles under them, and her pupils are wildly dilated with a manic expression.

  Her cheeks are sunken in and hollow, and her skin looks so pale that it’s almost gray.

  “Carter!” She wails and throws herself at me, wrapping her scrawny, stringy arms around my neck.

  “Get off me,” I say in revulsion and try to swipe her away.

  “I missed you, baby,” she whispers in my ear, and her breath is absolutely rancid.

  Cringing, I recoil and stiffen my body, hoping that she’ll take the hint. I don’t want to knock her through a wall like I did to her little friend at the front door.

  I couldn’t want Chantal any less. I’m pretty sure that I’d opt to fuck a caked-in-dirt ape in the woods over Chantal right now, or at any time for that matter.

  “You aren’t pregnant,” I state coldly.

  She searches my eyes, hunting frantically for something. “Put a baby in me. Right here, right now.” She takes my hand and presses it to her pussy, and I instinctively shove away from her.

  “No, stop.”

  “Lawrence will never know the difference,” she hisses with a malicious smile on her face.

  I wonder if it’s the drugs talking and consuming every asinine thought in her brain.

  “What are you talking about?” I demand, pinning Chantal against the wall as she wiggles and squirms, grinning like a crazy woman.

  “You’re the same person, you and Lawrence, right? Twins. Identical at that.” Her sneer lets me know she’s trying to get a rise out of me.

  I have to maintain control of my emotions. She’s not going to win this battle. Not now, not ever.

  The thought of people not being able to tell a difference between Lawrence and myself is my biggest fear, something that keeps me up at night.

  Something captures my attention from my peripheral vision. It’s a dark figure, looming near and swiftly approaching the place where I stand, clutching Chantal’s wrists against the wall.

  It’s the drug dealer. Well, this is just fucking fantastic. As if I need more drama from wasted humans all around me.

  “Is everything cool over here?”

  He seems to have retrieved a fresh batch of confidence from somewhere, probably via a needle in his arm.

  I take my hands off Chantal and stand so close to the drug dealer that I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. He’s significantly shorter than me.

  He holds up his hands defensively. “Hey, man, I don’t mean any harm.”

  I shove my hand in my pocket and pull out my wallet. I take several crisp and fresh hundred-dollar bills and toss them to the junkie in front of me.

  It’s all the cash I have on me, and I have no fucking clue what Chantal might owe this prick. I’m not really here to settle her debts, but it’s a step in the right direction at least.

  “Listen to me very carefully.” I stand broodingly over the asshole and narrow my eyes in on him with dark aggression. “Never sell drugs to Chantal ever again. If I hear about it, next time, I’ll throw you through the fucking wall and make sure you never wake up.”

  It’s an empty threat. I don’t really plan on murdering this piece of seaweed, but I have to make him think I’m totally serious about carrying out the act.

  “Of course.” He holds his hands up again and chuckles nervously. “In fact, I can do you one better, man. I’ll make sure no fucking dealer I know on the street will ever sell to her again. I’m talking the whole east coast.” He gestures fanatically with his hands, then laughs. “Bitches be trippin’ all the time, am I right, homie?”

  I glare at him. “I’m not your homie.”

  “Right, of course…my bad, dude.” The dealer steps aside to let me through as I take smoldering struts back to the front door.

  If I have to spend another single fucking second in this hellhole, I might just snap.

  It’s only when I re-enter the atmosphere of fresh sunlight and the normal world outside that I remember where I’m supposed to be right now.

  Shit. I am very fucking extremely late for a doctor’s appointment with June. She’s going to be even more enraged than I was back in the dealer’s house.

  I jump into my car and speed down the street, tires screeching for at least half a mile down the road.

  I’m like a race car driver on a mission to the clinic, knowing in the depths of my heart that I’m failing June with disappointment by not being by her side to hold her hand.

  She’s new to all this and needs somebody by her side to help her through the scary parts. And I can’t believe I’m blowing the opportunity to see my child on an ultrasound screen for the first time.

  Suddenly, I realize I’ve wasted too much time on Chantal, and now I’m paying the price for it. It’s a cruel punishment I’ve inflicted on myself by not being there, and now, I’ve missed out on every part of the milestone doctor visit.

  When I arrive in the parking lot next to the clinic, I discover that things are even worse than I imagined.

  To my horror, a torturous scream wails inside my mind and it’s all I could do to close it and prevent the siren sound from escaping my throat at full throttle.

  I watch with dread as Lawrence presses June up against his car. They are kissing. Their faces are pressed together, and I’m going bat shit fucking crazy on the inside.

  Lawrence is the first to notice me walking towards them, my fists clenched at my sides and my head reeling with fresh fury.

  My brother locks eyes with me, and that’s when I notice the flicker of mischief hiding in his dark features.

  It’s obvious that he was kissing June on purpose to get under my skin.

  Guess what, twin brother? Your little act succeeded, and I’m fucking furious.

  June

  This can’t be real.

  The sensation of Lawrence’s lips…no, not Carter’s lips, but…

  No, this can’t be real. But I know it is, because the feel of Lawrence’s lips pressing forcefully on my own is too repulsive to be a dream or a hallucination.

  My imagination could never come up with something this horrid. Only a gruesome, ghastly reality would present something so sickening as Lawrence—a wolf in his brother’s clothing—shoving his dry, grotesque lips onto my own.

  This whole appointment was already going so far off the rails, with Carter not even coming with me or showing up and now…

  Gathering every bit of strength I can muster, I reach up and push against Lawrence’s shoulders, trying to get him as far away from me as possible. If only I could launch him up through the garage ceiling and straight into the sun.

  But I can’t even get him to budge an inch, and his awful lips are still on mine.

  He tightens his grip on me as his tongue probes my mouth, but I’m quick to put the kibosh on that. I press my lips firmly shut and push even harder. Get the hell off me!

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  I hear Carter’s voice echoing through the parking lot.

  Oh, thank god. My savior is here.

  “Hey bro, what’s it look like to you? I’m kissing June. I can see why you couldn’t wait to make her yours.” Lawrence winks at Carter, and I swear I can see steam pouring out of Carter’s ears.
/>
  He yanks Lawrence away from me by his collar and decks him soundly. Lawrence goes flying back and collapses on the pavement.

  I run to Carter’s side with a mix of relief and residual repulsion surging through me.

  I can still feel those creepy hands touching me. One thing’s for sure: I’ll need a scalding hot shower—or five—after this whole ordeal.

  “I know you’re a fucking dirtbag.” Carter nods at Lawrence, who’s now propped up on one elbow, cradling his jaw. “But what’s your excuse?”

  Carter reels around to face me, his blue eyes colder than I’ve seen them; just icy with hurt, betrayal, and anger as he stares me down.

  I’m stunned. I never thought he’d turn on me. Anyone with eyes must’ve been able to see that I was not enjoying that in any sense of the word.

  The shock and revulsion I was feeling is quickly turning into my own hurt and anger.

  “My excuse? Really?” I laugh.

  My laugh is not out of amusement or any sort of mirth. This laugh is a result of being flat-out gobsmacked.

  Is he really asking me this?

  Is he really accusing me of this?

  Because it seems like he’s doing exactly freaking that.

  Goodness. I’m almost ready to swear—in my head, at least.

  “Yeah, your excuse. For pawing at my brother.”

  “Okay, first of all, Carter. He was pawing at me. In case you missed me desperately trying to shove him away.”

  “What is he even fucking doing here?”

  “He came into the appointment! I thought he was you!”

  Carter’s face is falling into sadness. His pain is clear.

  But in the blink of an eye, he’s back to being calm and collected.

  On the surface at least. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him clenching and unclenching his fists. That’s when I noticed the bruises on his knuckles.

  It couldn’t be from punching Lawrence just now. There was way too much bruising for that.

  “What happened to your hand?” I gesture, reaching for him. Carter yanks his hand away before I could touch it.

  “None of your fucking business,” he growls at me. “So you thought Lawrence was me, huh? After all we’ve shared, you should at least be able to tell us apart by now! Instead, you let him corner you and plant one on your mouth like you’re his fucking woman!”