Royally Arranged (Bad Boy Royals Book 3)

by Nora Flite

  She shuddered, clutching me around my broad back. Her nose tickled my earlobe. “That’s true. I’d rather not show my soon-to-be in-laws what you do to me when we’re alone.” Her fingernails scraped lightly over my suit jacket, making my cock twitch. “But . . . I have an idea for how we can make a different scene.”

  Baffled by her cryptic words, I let her pull me away from the dance floor, toward the live band. The grand piano was a polished chocolate brown. I saw my awed face in it as I walked closer. Most of the players had gone to take a break and eat, leaving just a violinist and some brass players to perform for the dancers. They all watched me curiously.

  “Go on,” Nova said, running her hand down my arm. “Sit.”

  Overwhelmed with disbelief, my voice cracked. “What do you expect me to do? Play it in front of everyone?”

  “I told you I’d love to hear you. I meant it.”

  “Sure, but here? Now?” Fuck, my heart was thumping wildly. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the piano.

  Gently but firmly, Nova put her hands on my shoulders. With her guidance I settled on the bench. Her fingers linked with mine, tightening pleasantly. “Do it,” she whispered, “for me. Please.”

  Swallowing the mountain that had made a home in my throat, I reached for the white keys. There was sheet music on the piano, but I didn’t need it. The thudding in my ears got louder. Through it I noticed the other players had stopped. Without their music there should have been audible chatter. There was none. The room had gone mute.

  I turned my head enough to see Nova. She was smiling. Waiting. Believing in me.

  I’m going to make a fool out of myself.

  Well. So what? If it made her happy . . . then . . .

  My fingers glided over the keys, muscle memory coercing forth music.

  Without raising my head, I knew people were watching me perform. The room was transfixed. I imagined that Larchmont was hoping I’d make a mistake and embarrass myself. With Nova at my side, her presence a constant strength . . . I realized I couldn’t fail.

  The last note hung in the air. It went on and on, sinking into my blood, my teeth. Seconds after it ended, the applause began; soft, polite, then finally enthusiastic. Spinning on the bench, I scanned the ballroom. My siblings were cheering, my mother clapping hardest of them all.

  The Valentines had grouped together. Each of them applauded, none of it genuine. But I’d expected that out of them. They didn’t matter to me. I kept searching until I found who I was after.

  There: my father’s lips were a crooked line. He sucked away every ounce of joy in the air, replacing it with a severe heaviness I couldn’t understand. Was he angry? Had I let him down somehow? I couldn’t see how—the whole damn room was exploding for me.

  Nova touched my wrist. “That was wonderful,” she hushed. The centers of her eyes were expanding. I sank into them, eager for the comfort her delight brought me. Let my father sulk. He was the only one.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” I said.

  “You were amazing.”

  “I was only okay. No one here seems to be a music critic. Lucky me.”

  “Thorne!” Francesca gushed, slamming into me on the bench. “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen! Wow!”

  Laughing, I scooted over so she had room to sit. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that Nova had receded into the crowd.

  Kain swaggered up, his arms crossed, his smirk in full force. “I haven’t heard you play in years. I’m surprised you didn’t forget how to do it.”

  “Like riding a bike.” Clapping him on the shoulder, I got up so he could sit beside Fran. “Go ahead. I can tell you’re dying to show off.”

  He snorted, but when he whispered in Fran’s ear, I knew I was right. In a synchronization born inherently to twins, the two of them began to play the piano in perfect harmony. It was a tune with lots of mistakes—a cringeworthy wrong key here and there—yet no one cared. Especially not Kain and Fran, who laughed heartily in the face of imperfection.

  Backing away, I started to look for Nova. Before I could find her, someone blocked my escape. “Son,” my father said, looming over me. In his pale gray suit, his eyes appeared lighter. “That was a risky stunt.”

  “It wasn’t a stunt.” I kept my eyes on his, not blinking. “It was something I’d always wanted to do. Now excuse me—but there’s a prettier face I’d like to spend the evening looking at.”

  As I started around him, I thought he’d stop me. He didn’t.

  Closing in on Nova, I reached out to put my arm around her middle. She twisted into my touch, grinning up at me. The chandeliers created a thousand gold diamonds beneath the surface of her dark pools.

  She looked beyond me, her smile fading. “What did your dad say to you? Was he happy with your music?”

  “That man is never happy about anything.” I kissed her quickly on her forehead. “Let’s dance.”

  Nova continued to stare over my shoulder.

  “Hey,” I said, cupping her chin. “It’s fine. Do I look like it matters to me?”

  “You’re right.” Holding my forearms, she pulled me to the center of the room. “Who cares what he thinks?”

  As I spun her around the glossy floor to the broken music my siblings created, I saw my father watching me again. He reminded me of a sponge that, long ago, had been full . . . but was now parched and waiting for more water. An empty man. Briefly I was struck by a twinge of sympathy.

  Then Nova wrapped her arms around my neck, her teeth glittering as she beamed.

  He told me to quit piano because it was a waste of everyone’s time.

  I’d thought he was right.

  Now, thanks to Nova, I knew he wasn’t.

  The night wore on. My calves had started to ache from all the dancing, so I’d dropped down in a chair along the wall. Costello joined me, both of us looking on as Scotch, Sammy, and Fran laughed in a small circle on the dance floor. Nova was nearby, and, to my relief, Sammy waved her into their little group.

  All of them smiled, plied by alcohol and good cheer. My heart swelled to see Nova looking so happy next to my family.

  Costello leaned toward me. “I can tell you care for her.”

  I shot him a scalding look, then stared back at the dancing. “Yeah. I’m obvious, huh.”

  “Not at all. I just recognize it because I’ve been there.” He wasn’t watching me, he was looking at Scotch where she was spinning in a circle, her dress a whirl of green. “I won’t tell you what to feel, like Fran is trying to. You can’t help if you fall in love.”

  I sat up like there was a rod jammed in my spine. “I never said I loved her!”

  He was still as a statue. “I know. You don’t have to say it for me to tell.” He closed his eyes, and in the ballroom lights, the long scar that crossed his face looked white as a dead fish’s belly. “Love is love. It’s in your heart, it holds on like a tick in your flesh. It can bring joy or ruin everything you hold dear.”

  My fingers dug into my thighs. “Why are you saying all this?”

  He opened his eyes, the bright blues freezing me to my chair. “Because you falling in love with Nova is only a problem if she doesn’t love you back.”

  “Hawthorne.”

  Twitching in surprise, I faced my father. He’d managed to sneak up on us. The creases around his mouth had deepened since I’d spoken to him half an hour ago. “It’s time. They’re waiting for you.”

  My stomach dropped off a cliff. “Oh. I hoped I’d be drunker first.”

  Maverick faced away, striding through the ballroom, creating a path for me to follow him through the people. Because he did expect me to follow him. He had every reason to; I’d gone this far.

  Costello’s eyebrows rose. As I stood, he gave my arm a quick grab. Then he released me. I couldn’t tell if it was meant for comfort . . . or if he’d instinctively tried to stop me from going forward with this plan. If it was out of worry for me or jealousy, I wasn’t sure.

&nb
sp; What is it like for him? For my father? Both were firstborn sons. Both had been fated to sit on this throne, and now, both had been robbed of it.

  This was happening to me.

  Not them.

  In a daze I passed through the crowd. There were angry glares, but there were also a few subtle head bows. To those people I was already king. They didn’t need the next few minutes of ceremony to feel it in their guts.

  On either side of the throne were two men dressed like priests. A third hovered in front, his hands holding a glass case at chest height. Inside it was a crown with dagger-sharp tips, the surface a dull bronze. The man holding it was shorter than me, thick and soft all over in a way his ceremonial robes didn’t hide. His aura was one of pure seriousness—the dry crackle right after a snowstorm, where the wrong sound could bring down an avalanche on your head.

  “Sit,” he said solemnly.

  Turning to face the ballroom, I settled on the throne. I’d expected it to be warm, but the lacquered surface was cool. Or maybe I was simply too hot, so anything would have felt cold in comparison.

  “Hawthorne Luca Fredricson.” His voice boomed over the crowd. “Second son of Maverick Julias Fredricson. You are hereby elected as ruler of Torino. By blood and lineage, you shall lead this country. We shall be your subjects. And we will pray for your long life, long health, and eternal protection. Long live the king!”

  Glass clinked above me as the case opened. The man lowered the heavy crown onto my skull. It touched my hair; the people swayed forward in a wave as they bent their knees. I wanted to crack some joke about how this felt like prom. But my mouth was too dry. My skin too slick. This moment had gotten away from me and it was no longer something I could make light of.

  There was a crown on my head.

  I was the king.

  - CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE -

  NOVA

  “That dress is beautiful,” Darla said, unable to hide her wonderment. Her light amber eyes were glowing as she watched me turn slowly in place in the wedding gown. The top hugged me like a corset, strapless and tight. Ribbons even whiter than the gown itself crisscrossed my spine. The bodice vanished into the full layers of lace and tulle.

  “Thanks,” I said, blushing, smiling too wide. “I just hope Thorne likes it as much as you do.” I sat carefully in front of the vanity, studying how my veil fit over my hair.

  “I don’t know why you care what he thinks,” Darla said. “It’s not like it matters.”

  “It does matter,” I argued.

  Her eyebrows moved up and down, her lips quirking. “Oh my. Is our frigid Nova in love?”

  My fingers busied themselves adjusting my earrings. “No,” I said, the word catching in my throat. “I’m not in love with him.” It wasn’t a full truth. It was the kind that, if cut into pieces, could still be identified as what it was from a single slice.

  “Remember why you’re doing this,” my mother said, standing behind me. Her hands rested on my shoulders; her nails were bright red on my snowy-white lace.

  I said nothing. Just stared into the mirror.

  “Please,” Darla snorted. “Knowing Little Miss Never Been Kissed here, you can expect that baby in a decade.”

  Neither of them had any idea what I’d been up to with Thorne. How we’d already done much more than kiss. That man had cracked me open, burying his fingers in my liquid core, and I’d healed back over with him sealed inside.

  I might not love him—yet.

  But he was a part of me now.

  Darla smoothed her palms down the front of her lilac maid of honor dress. “This is why you should have let me marry him, Mom.”

  “He picked me, not you. Let it go.” The acidic words exploded.

  Darla gaped at me in the mirror. My backbone was new to her.

  Our mom backed away. “Yes,” she said solemnly. “He picked you, Nova.” Turning, she motioned at Darla to leave the room. “Go. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Though I twisted my veil, pretending to be busy with it, I watched my mother approach me. I wished she’d left with my sister. The way my mother made me feel . . . it wasn’t afraid. Not quite. There was a fraction of my existence that tugged sharply when she came close, a craven, awful eagerness to please her however I could.

  “Nova.” She breathed my name out, letting it linger. When she stood behind me, she was so tall the mirror cut her off at her chest. In the smooth reflection she was nothing but manicured hands and a disembodied torso wearing the finest silk. “I know you don’t get along with your sister. But please don’t fight with her. We’re all in this together.”

  I looked down at the smear of makeup left over on the vanity. The girls who’d done my hair and painted my skin had left only half an hour ago. I wished I’d left when they had.

  “Nova.”

  “I know,” I said, still not lifting my head. “I’ll try not to fight with her. I just don’t like how she talks about me and Thorne.”

  Her grip tightened. “Is she right? Do you love him?”

  Glancing at the mirror, I focused on the stitching on her dress. “Is it bad if I do? Isn’t falling in love normal?”

  She grabbed the chair, turning it, making the legs scrape over the floor. I had no choice but to face her now. “Loving him might make things more difficult.”

  My lower lip pulled between my teeth. I started to bite, but she tapped my arm, reminding me not to ruin my lipstick. “How could love do that?”

  “Because no matter what, he can never do what I have for you. He can never make the sacrifice I have.” My mother trapped my chin with her fingers, and something in me twinged. “Nova . . . I’m your mother. The way I love you, and the way you love me, always comes first. I’m saying this only because I care. I worry that if you do come to love this man, that you’ll be confused over who you owe your allegiance to.”

  Unable to break her intense eye-lock, I gave a quick nod. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me, Mom. I promise.”

  Kissing her fingers and pressing them to the bridge of my nose, she released me. “Good. Now let’s hurry.”

  Standing up, I adjusted my gown. I could fix the way the tulle hung, but I couldn’t remove the wrinkles of worry in my heart. Eyeing her, I said, “Is there something you’re worried about? Something with Thorne or his family?”

  Considering me as she stood by the door, she tilted her head. “Nothing more than I imagine you’re worried about.”

  I half tripped in midstep. She knows I’m upset about them hating me. Her attention to detail had always been keen. It drove home the bitter reality between us and them. Suddenly I imagined Thorne’s family teasing him the way Darla had teased me. Were they instructing him not to get too close?

  Did he think that loving me would complicate things?

  That sobering thought settled in my belly like a bucket of wet sand. If I wasn’t already taking small steps, it would have slowed me down on the way to the aisle. My mother went ahead, servants escorting me toward the rose garden, where the ceremony was.

  This whole wedding . . . all these smiling faces and flowers . . . it was all a sham. I’d known that before boarding the plane to fly to Torino.

  I was here to do a job.

  It was okay if what Hawthorne and I had never evolved beyond sweaty fun.

  I could handle being married to someone without love.

  I could have a baby with him . . . without love.

  Couldn’t I?

  Lifting my eyes as I exited into the fresh air, I saw Thorne. He was standing at the end of the rose petals scattered along the white paper roll on the grass. The black tuxedo he wore brought out the richness of his eyes—it enhanced the hard corners of his shoulders and his slim hips.

  He was unquestionably male: powerful, stylish. Ever since I’d seen him shirtless, I’d thought about the tattoos he kept secret from the world. I knew they were there, covering every inch of his body, stopping only at his wrists and throat. I hoped I was one of only a few w
ho knew about them. It made me feel . . . special.

  He hadn’t blinked since our eyes had met. The sight of him washed away every doubt in my mind. I forgot what I’d been thinking about. I forgot how to breathe.

  An arm wrapped around mine firmly. My father looked down on me with benevolence. But I knew he wasn’t proud of me. He was happy he was getting what he wanted. That was all he’d ever cared about.

  I let him walk me down the aisle. Thorne’s presence was magnetic. Drawn to him, I was able to forget, for a little bit, that we’d only gotten to know each other recently. I could pretend we were old friends who had shared everything on their path to marriage.

  At his side stood his older brother. Costello looked like a silver sword someone had stuck into the ground, something from a legend that couldn’t be pried free no matter how hard you tried. The jagged scar across his nose enhanced the threat in his face as he observed my approach. This man loved his brother. He did not love me.

  Beside him was Kain. He, too, looked handsome in his tailored suit. He’d have looked better without the distrust seething in his glare. All at once I became aware of the other eyes on me. This family who thought I was their enemy, each of them here to support Thorne—but not our marriage.

  Hawthorne inhaled, the sound packed with a million things: hunger, lust, appreciation. Looking into his eyes was enough to lift away the darkness. His smile . . . the excitement and longing in his stare . . . it made me forget my fear.

  My father released me. Hovering in front of Thorne, his hands curled lightly at his sides. It was customary to shake the groom’s hand. I waited to see what they’d both do.

  Kurtis started to sway backward. He isn’t going to do it. But then Thorne reached out, snatching the man’s hand, gripping hard. He yanked him in close for a hug so theatrical that people in the audience who didn’t know them clapped. Both of them were grinning.

  I was close enough to hear Thorne whisper, “The only good thing you ever did was make her.”

  The fireball in my chest flared hotter.