by Winter Scott
I continued painting like I hadn't just dropped a bomb on Carter.
His jaw dropped to the floor and it came right back up to form the biggest smile ever. That's what I was waiting for.
Carter stood up. “Are you joking, Taylor?”
“Sit back down and no, I'm not joking.”
Carter dropped back into the chair and sat still, his face beaming.
I put the last finishing touches on the painting and stepped back to take it all in. I couldn't have done a better job.
“Can I get up now and kiss my wife?”
“Get over here, you dumb brute.”
Carter rushed over and wrapped his arms around me. “I'm going to be a father?”
“Yeah and you better not fuck it up.”
Carter put his hand on my stomach. “I'm going to spoil the hell out of him or her. Do you know yet?”
I shook my head. “Still got a couple more months until we can find out.”
Carter showered me with kisses, choking my body with his arms. He stared at the painting, tilting his head side to side. “You were actually able to catch the surprise look on my face.”
“It came out perfectly.”
Carter turned to me and smiled. “I'll love you forever, Mrs. King.”
“Until the end of time, Mr. King.”
The End
Keep reading for another full-length novel, Royal Ever After
Royal Ever After
Copyright 2016 Winter Scott
All Rights Reserved.
Disclaimer: This ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is coincidental.
No section of this book may be copied or reproduced without the author's permission.
Description
Did I finally find my happily ever after?
Lucas was just another arrogant beast trying to get between my legs. It had been so long since I was last touched by a man. It was just a one-night stand. No harm done.
But it wasn't just a one-time thing. He couldn't keep his hands off me. His appetite was unending. The way I felt under his powerful weight, moaning his name. We never even left the bed.
But he never told me he was the crown prince!
Chapter One
Brooke
I slowly creaked open the door to European History 301. Mr. Capshaw's back was to the class, writing with marker on the white board. Classmates diligently took notes while Capshaw spoke about some war from long ago. It was becoming a habit of mine to be fifteen minutes late—I still couldn't figure out the train schedule.
I'd only moved to England a few weeks ago with a study-abroad program. Paris was on the top of my list but I didn't know a lick of French. England was the next best choice.
I hunched over and went down the row of desks, scanning for any empty spots. Students watched me as I sneaked by, some giggling and others scoffing.
Why did the whole world only pay attention to me when I was late?
A vacant seat sat all the way at the end of an aisle. Everyone shifted their feet to make way for me as I shuffled through. I passed by Tom and my heart almost jumped out of my chest.
I was sitting so close to him! He threw a smile at me and I almost melted. His tight graphic t-shirt showed off all his muscles. Why couldn't I get a guy like him?
I gently laid my backpack down and took my seat. Mr. Capshaw's back was still turned away— the teacher didn't notice me.
“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Ward,” he announced, turning around to face me.
Busted.
I flushed scarlet and sunk into my chair. The students around me laughed. Tom smirked at me. This had to be the most embarrassing moment of my life.
“Like I was saying before Ms. Ward interrupted us, it's time for your final paper.” Mr. Capshaw wrote Final Paper on the white board with a sad face next to it.
A collective groan echoed throughout the room.
Mr. Capshaw put up his hands in defense. “I know, I know. Most of you have been dreading this since the beginning of the year, but I assure you, it's not as bad as people have told you.”
My palms were sweating and I shifted in my seat. I'd heard that Capshaw graded these papers with an iron fist. Since it accounted for fifty percent of your grade, some students failed the class because of it.
“Let me explain what it's all about and then you guys can judge it. I think a lot of you will actually enjoy the process.” A kid on the other end of the room raised his hand. Capshaw dismissed him. “No questions yet. Let me finish.”
The kid put his hand back down. I pulled out my notebook and flipped to an empty page.
“Each and every one of you will be writing a twenty page paper on English royalty,” the professor said in his booming voice. The students looked at one another in confusion. “Pick one royal figure in history and focus on him/her. I need primary sources. I don't want some copy of a wikipedia article. So go to the library and gather as much as you can. I expect a bibliography at the end of the paper.”
“This is what history is all about. We could read endless books about what others have researched before, but until you do it for yourself, you can never really appreciate it. Now I'll take questions.”
A girl in the back raised her hand. The professor pointed at her. “Yes, Ms. Harper?”
“Does the person have to be a king or queen?”
“I'm glad you asked.” Mr. Capshaw walked over to his desk and pulled out a massive tome. “This is the names of all the lords and ladies. You can pick the lowest of the lowest or Queen Elizabeth herself. But I recommend you choose somebody you haven't heard of before. I'd rather not get fifty papers on Prince Harry.”
The girls all swooned.
A student in the front row raised his hand. “Have you ever met any royalty, Mr. Capshaw?”
The teacher looked offended but then smiled. “Of course not. You think the Queen comes by to hear my boring lectures? Anymore questions?”
The professor looked over the crowd of students. “Then I guess were done for the day. I'll be available for questions for the next couple of hours in my office. We'll skip next week's class and come back in two weeks when your paper is due. If you need any help during that time, feel free to email me.”
Everyone began gathering their things and leaving while I stayed at the front of the class. I approached the teacher as he crammed papers into his briefcase.
“Mr. Capshaw, I don't quite understand the assignment. Is this a profile or a summary of their life?”
The teacher grinned. “Ms. Ward, you can do whatever you want. You can make the focus as narrow or broad as you desire. My opinion is to pick something very specific like a romance or big event in their life.”
“What if I can't find what I need at the university library?”
“There are plenty of public libraries that can be of service. If you still can't find anything, come to me and we'll find you someone else.”
I smiled. “Thank you Mr. Capshaw. I'll do my best.”
Chapter Two
Lucas
My silver 64' Aston Martin DB5 rumbled as I weaved in and out of traffic. With the top down, nothing was better. On the road was where I belonged—a place where I could relax and truly be myself. Not stuck in a stuffy castle. The scenery zipped by me as I rode at a peaceful fifty-five km per hour. The sun peeked through the clouds and the air was crisp—a perfect day for driving.
Two checkered yellow and blue police cars sat off in the dirt on the side of the road—a speed trap. Three cops sat against their hoods drinking tea. One of them had a radar gun pointed right at my car. I quickly checked my speedometer and breathed a sigh of relief—I was two under the speed limit. I passed the officers and waved. One of them put his sunglasses on and jumped into his car, blasting the annoying siren.
Here we go...
Bullshit like this always happened in the countryside. The cops were corrupt as fuck. I had grown accustomed to getting flat on my s
tomach with my hands behind my back. But they would never arrest a prince...
I shifted the the stick-shift and my DB5 roared as it accelerated. The wind blasted through my shoulder-length hair and a grin stretched across my face. The police cruiser wasn't far behind.
I lived for this.
I sped up, taking turns hard and fast. My car swerved in and out of traffic, almost tapping cars as I passed by. The cop was having trouble following me. The two-lane highway didn't leave much room for passing. I looked behind me and raised my middle finger in the air. I gained some distance and pulled off to the side of the road behind some large bushes.
My heart was pumping hard as the police cruiser flashed by, his sirens still blasting. I waited in the bushes for another minute as the other cop car came speeding by. The police around here were pretty fucking stupid.
They weren't going to catch me today.
I pulled out of the bushes and began driving in the opposite direction. The heat would be on for the next couple of hours until the cops gave up their pursuit. I was on my way to pick up my brothers and I was going to be late.
John was going to give me a lot of shit for this.
Chapter Three
Brooke
The underground station let out right at the Goat House Pub. It was situated in an abandoned business district in the middle of town. Old cars stood in the front of the building in a nice and neat line. I couldn't keep the image of gross old men driving around out of my head. A cheap big sign with a goat was plastered above the door.
I checked myself in my compact. Don't drink too much, Brooke. You still need to work on that history paper. I darkened my makeup and let my hair down from a ponytail. I inhaled deeply and got out.
A guy in a leather jacket was bent over working under the hood of his truck. His red hair and beard stood out. He must have been a regular or something. He looked up at me and whistled, checking me up and down. I ignored him and kept on walking to the front. Guys were always trying to hit on me and it was best to just let it be.
“No need to go in there. I got all you need right here,” the dirty guy said, pointing to his crotch.
I almost gagged at the thought.
I kept on walking and opened the door to the bar.
A grand hall with floor-to-ceiling wood welcomed me. Pool tables stood in one corner and a large bar with a long row of beer taps. “London Calling” by The Clash played on an outdated boombox behind the bar. How fitting... What was this place? This wasn't like the other pubs I'd visited. Guys in smoking jackets sat on couches puffing on pipes. A few scantily-clad girls walked around wearing the shortest plaid skirts and tightest tops. How could they go out in public wearing that?
A man right by the door turned around and his eyes gazed up and down my body. Wearing a low-cut top was a bad choice. I steeled myself and wandered over to the bar and hopped onto a stool.
The bartender stood with his back to me, cleaning glass mugs. “Excuse me,” I said aloud. He didn't hear me the first time and I had to repeat myself.
Finally he turned around. I gulped. This guy was big and strong. His muscles were bigger than my waist—he could probably squeeze my neck until my head popped off. He ate girls like me for breakfast.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
My brain ran through the possible drinks I could order. Back in the “States” I would've ordered a tequila sunrise but beer looked like the only option at a place like this. “Can I get whatever brown ale you have on tap?”
The bartender turned his back to me again and continued cleaning mugs. “Gabriel, get this lady a Newcastle.”
Gabriel was in his mid-thirty's with a bald head and handle-bar mustache that looked way too silly. I wanted to giggle but his eyes told me that would be a bad idea. He handed me a small glass that was filled halfway. Gabriel glanced down at my cleavage and I felt a little uncomfortable.
I hesitantly downed the liquid that quenched my thirst. I'd only had beer at a few parties before so I was no expert, but my best guess was that it wasn't the best brown ale of England.
The alcohol hit me hard. “Ahem...can I get a water?”
Gabriel grunted again. He didn't say much.
I flushed with embarrassment. How could only one drink get me so tipsy? I walked over to the table, making sure to steady myself. My head was fuzzy but I felt amazing.
Everyone in the room was looking right at me, watching my every move. This place was so intimidating. I cursed Mr. Capshaw under my breath. This paper was going to be the death of me.
I took out my notepad and began recording possible people to do my report on. My notes were pretty sparse. Prince Harry or Queen Elizabeth were the only ones I could come up with. I tried to rack my brain for any other king or queen. The beer was doing its trick. Soon I didn't care about my paper.
I glanced around the room, focusing on the small details. Everyone seemed at ease—not a care in the world. Did anyone have a job? Did they just hang out here all day and drink?
The front door opened and in came another drunk My heart skipped a beat. This one was different: young, brown hair down to his shoulders, and a little scruff under the chin. He wore a tailored blue suit that definitely didn't belong in a pub like this.
This guy was hot as hell.
“Did I make it in time, guys?” he said with his arms outstretched in a v-shape. His British accent was to die for.
“What took you so long?” the guy who helped me outside asked him. “Mum and Dad are going to be waiting for us all at the house.”
“Well Charles, you know how it is when the cops are chasing you.” They clasped hands and flexed their forearms. They could be barbarians if we lived in a different time.
“Bullocks Lucas, you escaped them again?” Charles asked.
Lucas nodded.
“One of these days they're going to bloody get you.”
“Not in this lifetime, mate” They both heartily laughed and slapped each other on the back.
Lucas sat at the bar. “How's it going, Gabriel? Get me a drink. Mum and Dad can wait.”
Gabriel pulled out the same bottle of whiskey and poured him a shot. Lucas knocked it back and slammed the glass upside down on the bar.
Lucas threw a glance at me with his dark blue eyes, piercing my soul. My heart stopped and the blood in my veins froze. He was walking towards me!
Chapter Four
Lucas
Adrenaline still coursed through my veins as I parked my car at the pub. The cops weren't close to catching me. My royal blood would protect me anyways. There was no way I was going to waste even a year of my life sitting in a cell. If worse came to worse, they fine my parents. I swung the keys around my finger as I walked inside.
Being rich was harder than it looked. Everyone treated you differently. Nobody wanted to really be your friend. They only wanted your money. Family was all that mattered.
Charles greeted me and gave me the usual talk about the cops putting bracelets on me one day. Over my dead body.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone new. She wasn't the usual fare we got here at the pub: shoulder-length brunette, brown eyes, and innocent. You can tell the difference between the bad and the good—she was a good girl.
She had a gravity about her that pulled me in. I didn't even wait to ask who she was before I found myself walking her way.
“Name's Lucas,” I announced. Talking to women was like second nature to me. I could strike up a conversation with anyone.
The woman stared up at me from the table, not saying a word. I couldn't tell if she was frightened or just didn't care. She closed her eyes and gulped. “I'm Brooke.”
An American accent? Her voice was heavenly. I glanced down at her cleavage and felt a pang of desire in my pants. Foreigners were my cup of tea.
I shook her hand and felt a jolt of electricity zap through me. A feeling I'd never experienced before. I'd been with a lot of women—too many to count. A prince got whatever he de
sired. But this one was different.
“What are you doing in a place like this, love?” I asked.
“I'm a student at the university and I'm trying to avoid writing a paper.” Her eyes averted my gaze—I just needed one more look at that beautiful face.