Royally Arranged (Bad Boy Royals Book 3)

by Nora Flite

  It had been an awful experience for everyone involved. It only got worse when, after she’d recovered from her wounds, Lula had run away in the middle of the night. She’d been seventeen—the only one of us who’d never gotten her crown tattoo. It had been intentional. Her silent rejection of our royal blood.

  Her absence had hung over us. The rift between my siblings and I had only grown wider with time. Then, just last year, Lula had appeared on our doorstep out of the blue. She’d said she’d missed us.

  But she didn’t miss the danger associated with our family.

  Ultimately, it wasn’t shocking that Lula hadn’t shown up here. But it still stung.

  Costello grabbed my forearm, pulling me farther from the cars. When he spoke, he kept his voice low, for our ears only. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  I shrugged out of his grip. “I didn’t call anyone. What could I even say? You, of all people, know how dire this situation is.”

  He didn’t respond, he just surveyed me in that judgmental way he was good at.

  I was compelled to keep talking, terrified of the silence creeping in. “I didn’t call because there was nothing to discuss. I’m the only one who can wear the crown. The only one who can marry Nova Valentine. That’s just the way it is.”

  Unable to handle my brother’s intense blue eyes, I looked behind us. Sammy was talking with Scotch; the two of them laughed, Sammy’s hands lovingly caressing her round stomach. As I watched, Scotch touched her by her navel. She was feeling the baby kick.

  It’s on my shoulders to keep everyone safe.

  Costello’s eyes burned into my skull. Meeting his stare evenly, I shrugged. “It’s seriously fine. Ma’s thrilled. She never expected me to get married, you know? Good ol’ blackmail, making dreams happen.”

  His frown remained solid. Reaching out, he gripped my shoulder, fingers digging in. “You should’ve called me. Or messaged me. Thorne, I’m your brother. I was worried about you.”

  I almost pushed his hand off me. Almost. Somehow his touch was giving me strength beneath my new burst of guilt. I couldn’t deflect when faced with his honesty. “Thanks. But you don’t need to worry, okay? It is what it is.”

  He clenched my shoulder harder, then dropped his hand to his side. “How has it been living under the same roof as them?”

  Them. The Valentines, people my brother hated more than even I. Last winter, when Darien had gone off the rails and attacked Gina at the club, Scotch had stepped in and saved her life. It had been a bloody mess that ended with Darien accusing Scotch of trying to kill him. The Valentines had gone on the offensive. It was a miracle no one had died.

  Thinking about Darien made me think about Larchmont . . . then Kurtis . . . then Richard. Valencia and Darla swirled at the bottom of the toilet bowl in my mind. All of these people were awful in their own crazy ways.

  All but Nova.

  “Let me pick my words tactfully.” I paused. “It’s been shit.” Costello cracked a half smile. “The only saving grace is how big this castle is. I don’t have to see anyone if I don’t want to.”

  He glanced at the huge structure. “It’s strange to imagine Dad growing up here.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “And Nova?” he asked, studying me with new interest.

  I locked my knees. “She’s . . . good. Nothing like her family. You’ll understand when you meet her.”

  Costello scrutinized me more intently. I squirmed. “I do want to meet her. I don’t think doing that will change what matters, though.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “She’s a Valentine.” Ducking his head, my brother walked away from me. “That makes her our enemy.”

  - CHAPTER NINETEEN -

  HAWTHORNE

  The coronation party took place in the grand ballroom of the castle. The staff had started preparing for the event two days ago. They’d done as much cooking as they could, my mother helping to organize the menu, pick colors, anything they’d let her get her hands on.

  And though she’d only arrived recently—never mind being quite pregnant—Sammy jumped into the fray to show off her party-planning skills. I knew her wedding business had taken off soon after she’d helped make Francesca’s dress last year. With her own marriage last winter, the honeymoon, the baby on the way . . . I didn’t know how she found time to brush her damn hair. Who could manage so much? I was overwhelmed with juggling the list of things my father continued to send my way.

  It had gone on that way since I’d moved into the castle. It only got worse after the engagement became official. Whenever I thought I could dodge some boring meeting with another elected official, or business mogul, or son of a son of some other son I could never keep straight . . . Dad would send a new maid darting after me to drag me where he wanted me to go.

  But today? Today was different.

  Instead of being called on to do things, people kept stopping me to ask how they could help. The reality of me becoming king had sunk in. The servants wanted to gain whatever favor they could, in any way they could. My shoes for the coronation had been shined by five different people already.

  It was strange to be fawned over. Having my siblings around, busting my chops, helped me feel stable. Between breakfast and lunch I’d harassed them all, which was easy, since they’d been put up in my wing of the castle. I could even hear Fran while she shouted about how she’d forgotten to pack the perfect dress for the event tonight. It was like being back at the estate. Like being home.

  Then everyone kicked me out so they could get ready for tonight. Now I studied myself in front of my floor-length mirror, adjusting my red tie, wondering what else I could do to fill the time. I was fully cleaned, shaved, changed. What was left? Maybe I could write a speech. Did I have to? Were they expecting that?

  Fiddling with my phone, I sat on the bed.

  Me: Are you getting ready?

  Nova: Hour three of my hair and makeup. I might starve before they finish.

  Her response made me grin.

  Me: I’ll mourn the loss in my speech. Do I need a speech, by the way?

  Nova: No. But you can still write something about me, anyway.

  Me: Shouldn’t you write about me? I’m the one becoming king.

  Nova: Nope. Do it to show your modesty. Make it poetic.

  Me: I’ll write about how pretty you sound when you come. That’s poetry, for sure.

  The word bubble popped up, then vanished, multiple times—she was typing, then erasing her response.

  Nova: Saying bye before the makeup artist stabs my eye out because I keep giggling.

  Turning my phone off, I spread out on my bed. She’d been joking . . . but I didn’t think it would be hard to write poetry about Nova. The way she moved through my dreams each night was a sweet verse all its own.

  I wasn’t looking forward to tonight.

  But I was looking forward to seeing her.

  Even so, in the end, I waited until fifteen minutes after the party began to make my way toward the ballroom. All excitement aside, I knew any good socialite never arrived on time. Tweaking my cuff links, I rounded the hallway that spilled out by the foyer.

  Nova was facing away from me by the stairs. Her dress was bronze, embroidered with silver diamonds around the shoulders and hemline. It hugged her the way a lover would in private. The way I wanted to.

  “Boo,” I said in her ear.

  “Oh!” She jumped, giving me a disapproving squint. It was brief, though—I watched in wonder as she absorbed the sight of me. I did the same to her, loving how amazing she looked whether she was dressed up or lounging in a bathrobe.

  “Come on,” I said, leading her into the gigantic ballroom. “You can ogle me inside. They’re waiting for us.” I didn’t need to say who; she knew I meant my family.

  Silver strings of stars dangled from the arching ceiling. Along the wall were black banners with the red crown I knew so well. They were placed strategically, the majority of them clustered
around an elaborately carved throne at the far wall.

  It was where I would sit when I was finally crowned.

  Seeing it, my blood began to race. Nova must have sensed my reaction, because she snatched two champagne flutes off the tray of a passing servant, handing me one. “Here, liquid courage.”

  “Thanks.” I drank it down in one swallow. “Feel free to hand me those all night long.”

  “I’m not sure you want your first impression as king to be you stumbling around drunk.”

  “Why? At least these people would know what to expect going forward.” Handing off the empty glass to one of the many servants crisscrossing the room, I waved at my mother. She was standing among the growing crowd, talking to every single person who would give her their time. She’d always been good at these events.

  “Who are all these people?” I whispered into Nova’s ear.

  She smiled, waving at someone as she whispered back, “Every important person this country has to offer. The guards outside must be doing overtime to make sure no one sneaks into this party.”

  A bright flash on my left side half blinded me. “Important people includes the damn paparazzi, huh?”

  “Of course. The locals are going to want to see pictures of you being crowned, Thorne.”

  “Everything feels like a media circus here.” We’d reached my mother; I hugged her, nodding to the strangers surrounding her. “Ma, you’re looking lovely as usual.”

  Grinning, she adjusted her peacock-green dress. “Always so kind. Thorne, this is Lane Southerbie, Earl of Ducop. Lane, this is my son Hawthorne.”

  Lane looked to be my father’s age, his hair wheat blond and gelled until it glistened. His handshake was feeble. “Pleasure,” he said. “And this must be Nova Valentine, your fiancée. Loved those engagement photos.”

  Nova slid her arm around mine. I thrilled at the sensation. “Thank you,” she said. “We loved them as well.”

  “It’s always nice when a photographer can get their work out so quickly. Do you like when things are done quick, Hawthorne?”

  Nova’s smile fumbled. My mother looked surprised, eyeing Lane like she’d spotted a spider in his hair. Whoever this Earl of Wherever was, he was making it known that he thought our engagement was suspiciously sudden.

  “Excuse us,” I said, looking Lane up and down. “I think we should go eat before we lose our appetites.” With my palm on Nova’s hip, I walked us away from the group.

  She stared straight ahead. “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Yes, I did. He was an asshole,” I mumbled.

  Her pink lips inched higher. “Most of them will be.”

  Unsure who else at this party would try to figuratively spit on our feet, I headed toward the only people who, while not fans of Nova, were predictable. “Hey,” I said as we drew up beside my siblings where they were standing in a circle. “Some party, huh?”

  Kain smirked. “Whoever they’re throwing it for must be really important.”

  “I heard he’s a dick,” I laughed. Pulling Nova closer, I gave everyone a meaningful look. “This is Nova Valentine.”

  My little sister lifted her nose higher. “The bride-to-be. I’m Francesca.”

  Nova crossed her hands at her waist, tipping her head politely to each person as she spoke. “No need for introductions. I know who you all are.” Costello narrowed his eyes—Nova widened hers, knowing she’d phrased that all wrong. “I hope you’re enjoying Torino.”

  “We are. But I wish we could stay longer and see more,” Sammy said.

  Kain bumped her gently with his elbow. “If you hadn’t spent all morning helping Mom decorate this room, we could have.”

  Sammy shrugged sheepishly. “I’m a sucker when people ask for help.”

  “You did an amazing job,” Nova said, gesturing at the decorations. “The staff were happy to have some direction that was . . . modern. There haven’t been any parties here in a long time.”

  Leaning into Costello, Scotch gave the wide room an appreciative smile. “That’s too bad. It’s the kind of room that’s meant for big events.”

  “Hopefully there will be many more in the future.” Nova peered up at me as she spoke. “Torino has been in need of a fresh face leading them. Now they—we—have it.”

  I was frozen under her vote of confidence. Costello’s blue eyes flashed, fixing on something behind me and Nova. I moved aside in time to see Valencia approaching. In her long red dress with its golden-scaled front panels, she reminded me of a cobra ready to strike.

  Her hooded eyes rested on me, then my brothers, my sister, and the others. “Nova,” she said, her voice bubbling in her throat in a way that some would find sexy, but I just found irritating. “There are some people who want to meet you. Come with me.”

  “Right, okay.” Pressing her palms together to say she was sorry, she then spread her hands and waved at everyone. “Sorry! I hope I can get to know you all better before the wedding.” She hesitated long enough to kiss my cheek, leaving a hot flush on my skin as she strolled across the ballroom beside her mother.

  Everyone stared after them. Then they stared at me. “I hope that’s the only polite exchange I have to make with her mom,” Kain muttered. “Not sure I could keep from rolling my eyes.”

  Sammy focused on me. “Nova seems nice.”

  “She is,” I insisted.

  Fran squinted at me over a glass of champagne she’d just snagged from a passing tray that I regretted missing. “You might be marrying her, but you don’t have to fall in love with her. She’s a Valentine. You know how they are.”

  “Don’t act like she’s manipulating me, okay? She doesn’t have any more choice about this marriage than me.”

  Fran pointed with her chin at Nova. The young woman was laughing at something one of the people chatting with her had just said; her head was thrown back, a hand to her chest.

  “Doesn’t exactly seem miserable about her situation, does she?” Fran whispered.

  I didn’t answer. There was nothing I could say anyway. Nova was either good at pretending to have fun, which was dangerous . . . or she was actually enjoying meeting these “important people” her mother had dragged her off to make small talk with.

  Studying the pair from afar, I was able to notice the similarities between Nova and her mother. They had the same softness to the curve of their noses—a richness in their honey-golden irises. Nova only lacked her mom’s height and willowy frame. Unnerved by their shared traits, I desperately searched for differences in them.

  Darla sidled into the frame. At first I was bothered, but then I began to breathe easier. Darla looked so much like Valencia that, by comparison, Nova became a black sheep. The younger woman’s curled hair was the same shade and exact same length as Valencia’s. And when Darla laughed—louder than anyone else in the room—I saw the same wicked gleam in her face that her mom wore like perfume.

  Nova didn’t laugh like that. Never.

  From out of nowhere, Larchmont slid into their conversation. He dipped to give his mom a kiss on the cheek. Then, after he hugged Darla, he saw me watching them. At first his smile drooped. The hatred swimming in his face was unmistakable.

  With me looking on, Larch lowered to Nova’s height, giving her a fierce embrace. He never tore his eyes—or his sneer—from me the whole time. Like the rest of them, Larch was dressed in a well-made outfit. Black, which he seemed to favor.

  Richard broke through the crowd to join them. Larch whispered in his brother’s ear; both of them surveyed me now.

  Next to me Fran said, “Remember, you’re not just marrying Nova. You’re marrying her family, too.”

  Larchmont winked from across the room. Taking a glass from a tray, he held it to his shoulder. To anyone looking, he was toasting me. But I knew when he straightened his thumb on the edge of the glass, passing it in front of his neck, he wasn’t wishing me well.

  He was imagining he was cutting my throat.

  - CHAPTER TWENTY -r />
  HAWTHORNE

  The live band in the corner played as we ate. After the food was served, the music became lighter, catchier—encouraging the attendees to dance. I jumped right into the fray, happy to have something to take my mind off things.

  Each time I twirled Nova, I spotted the throne waiting for me on the other side of the room. There was a wide space around it where no one dared to draw closer. The damn thing might as well have been under a spotlight.

  “Are you okay?” Nova asked.

  “Better than ever,” I lied, scooping her up, spinning her easily. Her dress fluttered in the chandelier lights, transparent, blurry, like a hummingbird’s wings in flight. It made me think of the day she’d pleaded with me to give this a shot. To choose her.

  When I set her down, she dug her fingers into my sleeves. Her heels skidded on the slippery floor. “You’re nervous.”

  “Me? No, God. Never.” I tried to make her move; she dug her shoes in harder.

  “I know fear when I see it. What I’m wondering is if you’re nervous about the coronation . . . or about the wedding.”

  I started to respond. Flicking my eyes to the throne, then back to her, I sighed instead. “Why would you ask about the wedding?”

  “Because of them.” She swung her hips, moving us so that I was able to see the rest of the room. Though they were dancing apart from each other, I spotted my family without much struggle. Fran was eyeballing us over the shoulder of some random guy in a tux. Costello and Scotch were more subtle, but barely.

  Grabbing her hips, I pulled her against me. “You think they hate you.”

  “They do hate me.”

  “Well, so what? They hate a lot of people.” I grinned, but Nova didn’t. “Listen . . . they don’t hate you. They hate your family. Give them time, they did say you were nice.”

  “Nice.” She tasted the word, and though she didn’t look comforted, she did finally smile. “You said that, too. Do you think that’s all there is to me?”

  Chuckling, I brushed my palms up her spine. Lowering my face to her cheek, I kissed her smooth skin. “You’re more than just nice. But the things I love about you aren’t exactly easy to show off to a whole room.”