Royally Duched Up: (Duched #3)

by Xavier Neal

  “Really?”

  Hugh joins the conversation. “Yeah. He has this insanely gorgeous estate in Italy and never leaves it.”

  “He has no reason to,” Dana insists. “Everything he wants is either there on his property or delivered to him. He spends most of his days just designing his next creations and deciding where he wants his vision to go. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s why I love his style so much. He doesn’t care what’s ‘in’ with other designers, he cares about what he wants the world to be wearing then makes it happen. It’s passion meets purpose meets dedication. And it’s not even about the money, ya know? It’s about fulfilling something inside of him.”

  I nod my head in respect.

  A man I can understand even if I can’t his gift.

  “Why do you know all of this?”

  “Fashion blogs mostly,” she confesses. “There’s one done by his daughter called ‘Diary of The Dapper Daughter’. Talks about the parties she hosts in his honor, the important people she’s met, her feelings about trends, and her time with him. I’ll link you! You’ll love it!”

  Doubt it.

  “While I completely love the show itself, my absolute favorite thing is the after party. It’s hosted in the basement. There’s music, drinks, food, and the models are positioned around the room striking one pose until what they’re wearing is bought. Only then are they dismissed.”

  “Weird…”

  “It took some getting used to,” Hugh agrees.

  “How many of these shows have you been to?”

  “Markay’s? Just one,” Dana informs. “Last year when Kellan gave us his tickets.”

  My eyebrows pinch together in suspicion. “And why did he do that?”

  “He said…and I quote, ‘I have something to do that’s so much better than a bloody fashion show’.” Hugh repeats with a chuckle.

  “And I stand by that statement,” Kellan abruptly enters the conversation. “Spending hours listening to Brie’s moans bounce off of my penthouse walls was so much more amazing than any fashion show could’ve ever been.”

  A blush hits my cheeks. “Kellan…”

  “What,” he less than innocently chimes. “It’s not like I told them what I was doing to have you make those sounds.”

  “Please don’t,” Hugh quickly adds. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” I wink. Shifting my body to properly face his better, I ask, “So is there like an announcer or music or do we silently watch men walk to the end and back to the sound of cameras flashing?”

  His chuckle causes me to snuggle in closer, desperation to be as close as possible increasing. “There’ll be music. Not announcers. You can talk, but refrain from shouting if possible.”

  “Will you talk to me through it?”

  His eyebrows dart up in surprise

  Put yours down!

  “I mean, I know I don’t usually enjoy listening to you talk about ties-”

  “Never,” he corrects. “You never enjoy listening to me talk about ties.”

  After giving him a short sneer, I continue, “But maybe it’s like sports. Maybe learning about fashion is better when it’s live?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So you’ll….try to teach me some things?”

  He nods, but begins to busy himself with something in his pocket. Before I question the odd movements, his cell is pulled out and he’s turning the camera on.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Documenting this moment for all of history of course.”

  I scowl. “Don’t be a dick.”

  “Love, if I were to say anything remotely close to what you just did, you would pull out the video camera and then play it back to me anytime it helped win you an argument.”

  Maybe…

  With a shake of the head, I lightly laugh. “You drive me crazy.”

  “And you drive me mad as well. It’s why we fit. Now squeeze in for a picture.” I scoot a little closer and tilt my head towards his for a selfie. His face frowns in camera. “Could you at least look like you love me and aren’t about to be hauled off to your death?”

  The moment I begin to snicker, he snaps our photo. To no surprise he takes another and another, each one capturing the two of us in playful poses or between laughs. Eventually, we end the session with a sweet kiss. I pull back with my grin still spread wide to see him beaming with such love I can’t help but mesh our mouths together again. This time our lips part and the world fades as our tongues reunite. His hand gently strokes the side of my face while mine mimics it.

  Music invades our ears and becomes the reason we drift apart. Immediately, a camera flashes revealing to us many photographers are snapping photos of us making out like teens at a pep rally. I giggle slightly embarrassed how he makes me often forget we’re being watched.

  My face falls against his shoulder and he chuckles, “At least if the show is awful, we gave them a good one.”

  Another laugh leaves me as I rotate my head to where the models will be gracing us momentarily.

  This is probably going to be one of the longest nights ever, but at least I know he’s willing to do whatever it takes to make things comfortable for me. To include me. To remind me I am as important, if not more than, anything else in his life. Why do I keep letting myself get worked up over Felicity when he’s done nothing but prove his love for me? Ugh. I’m working on it. First things first. Not dying of boredom while listening to remarks about stitching. Wish me luck.

  Kellan

  “I’m late,” I groan as I shove my laptop back into my shoulder bag. “Again.”

  Fourth time this week. Not fourth day in a row. That should give me credit, right?

  “It’s only nine thirty,” Felicity argues from the doorway where she’s waiting. “Relax. There’s plenty of time to still do….whatever it is married people do.”

  Beg for their wife’s forgiveness if you’re me or Kristopher. Part of me believes at this point, Brie and Soph might be planning a coup.

  I turn my desk lamp off. “The same thing you single people do, only better and more frequently.”

  “Doubtful.” Felicity laughs loudly. “On both accounts.”

  When I reach the door, she moves out of the way for me to lock it. “Look it up. Researches have shown those in a happy, steady relationship have better quality sex and have it more frequently in a year than those who are single.”

  “Key word is happy.”

  “Which we are.”

  You know, when I arrive home at the same time I say I will or when I arrive home at the very least before she’s already fallen asleep. Sadly, nine thirty falls in the ‘early’ night category for me. Often meetings with contractors and financial advisors eat up most of the day leaving the late evening or night for Felicity and I to hash out details or topics we hadn’t had a chance to. And while I still don’t…like Guy, I do know she’s not just waiting around for me, simmering in her hatred for being left alone. She’s studying or touring the changing art exhibits in the city or the next one over. Occasionally meeting one of the artists. Sometimes they have dinner together at his place or see a late movie, which then puts us home around the same time. Those outings make me cringe outwardly, but I trust Brie…Stop staring at me like that. I do.

  Felicity hums her opinion yet doesn’t actually argue.

  As we head for the front of the building, I shake my head again. “I can’t believe we’re still here.”

  “It’s really not that late, Kellan.”

  “We’ve been here since seven this morning.”

  She shrugs. “Well, I guess you’re lucky you married someone who is so understanding about your unstable schedule.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” I say with a smirk. “Hard work. Dedication. Patience or lack thereof at appropriate times is what I went through to be with Brie. The only things in my life I have ever put comparable amounts of effort into are my programs.”

  “I’m glad she makes you happy.”
/>
  The genuineness in her tone turns my head.

  “I mean…the hell you get at times simply for being with someone…different is defeating, yet it never seems to stop you or have you rethink your decision.”

  The elevator doors ding open. “There’s nothing to rethink. She’s the most amazing thing in my life. She has been since the moment we met.”

  Felicity offers me a smile at the same time we step inside. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll be saying the same thing at some point.”

  She doesn’t mean with me. Relax. I told you and I will repeat myself for the sake of your sanity, this is just business. Over the last couple of months we have dabbled in the friendship department, but not enough for you to groan about. There’s hardly any time to do anything other than work.

  “I have a date,” she announces with a smile.

  “Tonight?”

  After a brief nod, she adds, “He’s a physician. I met him on Tuesday while visiting Drew at Sinclair West for potential part time medical assistance.”

  “I’ve always used St. Cecila’s for medical.”

  “Having more than one option available is logical, Kellan. Everything doesn’t always work out with your first choice.”

  I bat away the instinct to question if she had a double meaning to that. “So…you’re going out with a physician…”

  The skeptical response causes her to snap. “Is there something wrong with that?”

  I shake my head at the same time the elevator allows us to exit onto the first floor. “No. I just…I never thought a physician would be your type.”

  “And I never thought an American art student would be yours.” Her comment catches a sharp look, which prompts her to finish with, “But it worked out for you. Perhaps a change of pace will work out for me.”

  Unsure of what else to say, I simply nod. “Perhaps.”

  It did feel a bit like she was making a stab, but then again the softness in her tone during the follow up sentence seemed to negate the harshness in the first half. Hm. It truly doesn’t matter. Felicity can date whoever she wants, whenever she wants, as long as Hannah’s Hope continues to be her first priority. Her commitment to staying late every night, even the ones I don’t, has proven it is.

  During my ride home, I spend the time studying a few more of the budget changes we’ve had to make. While I understand why Felicity decided to make the cuts she did, I can’t help but wonder if it was necessary. If there are other adjustments in different areas we could make.

  No. They really aren’t crucial. She switched the type of bedding for the dorms and toiletry products to cheaper brands. It’s a wise decision especially with the offered price discount in bulk, but I can’t help the fear festering inside that it starts with sheets and ends with entire programs like the humanities one we have been arguing about keeping on the curriculum. She feels it’s a waste. I feel it is an important step into cultivating the next generation into giving back. To breeding kindness. To remembering that a helping hand can go a longer way than expected.

  Vincent unlocks the doors and I state, “No need to walk me in. I’m fine.”

  He nervously shifts. “Protocol-”

  “Is outdated,” I insist, preparing for my exit. “If it makes you feel better you can watch me walk to the door like a bad blind date.”

  Vincent tries to hide his urge to smile.

  I hop out of the vehicle, hustle to the front door with his eyes plastered on me, and slip safely inside.

  One of the maids greets me seconds before Soph rounds the corner in just a sports bra and yoga pants. The sight of her round stomach in all of its glory tugs at something unexpectedly in my gut.

  No…It’s not what you’re thinking…At least, I don’t think it is. Too early for that. We’ve barely been married…

  “Boycotting clothes?”

  She gives me a smirk. “Could you imagine Kris’ face if I were?”

  With a chuckle, I make a hand motion at her lack of attire. “And you think this would fly over well?”

  Soph shrugs innocently. “It keeps me cool doing pre-natal yoga.”

  Amusement jumps onto my expression. “Please tell me my brother is doing it with you.”

  “He is.”

  “Oh dear God, tell me I can watch.”

  Soph slugs me in the shoulder. “Don’t be arsehole. He’s trying to be supportive.”

  “Does he wear his bra too?”

  The urge to laugh becomes harder for her to resist.

  “Maybe a pair of matching shorties?”

  Once a giggle successfully escapes, she shakes her head. “You’re in an awfully good mood considering you stood your wife up for family dinner again.”

  My shoulders fall. “Was she livid?”

  “Not as livid as I would’ve been considering this is the second time this week you missed dinner to discuss interior accommodations or what brand of cereal should be served.”

  “Actually we were discussing-”

  “Don’t care.” She lifts her hand to hush me. “All I’m saying is while you’re teasing your brother for attempting to amuse me by joining in on my work out at least he’s there. At least he’s around. At least I know our family means more than our company.”

  Guilt washes over me and I quietly sigh, “Message received.”

  Soph’s expression hardens. “Doubt it.”

  Rather than continue the conversation, she gives me a condescending pat on the chest, and resumes the path she was taking when I interrupted.

  Look, I remember almost losing her a few months ago. That’s not what’s happening here. Not this time. No. I am trying to include her in everything I can. To make time for her…for us. I’m not bloody Superman even if some of the younger children at MINOH believe it. Even he can’t stop saving the world to ensure he makes it home for dinner every night. So what if he’s fictional. I think you’re missing my point…

  I quickly travel up to our bedroom. With a deep breath, I open the door, prepared to apologize profusely when the sight inside shuts my mouth tightly. My body leans against the doorframe while I let the guilt from before run rampant. Seeing Brie’s beautiful sleeping face on top of her laptop bangs Soph’s speech around in my brain a little harder.

  Fine…Message actually received.

  Quietly, I close the door, place my bag on the wall beside it, and silently approach my wife.

  The soft snore seeping from her causes me to smile as does the stack of textbooks her arm is thrown over.

  I remember days like this when we were first together. Back then the nights were filled with endless sex and television, resulting in early morning studies that required something a little stronger than her hot chocolate. Back then you couldn’t pry me away from being at her side no matter how boring I found the subject yet now…I couldn’t tell you one thing that was on the test.

  Anguish begins to twist with shame, creating a knot so severe it tempts me to quit my biggest dream yet.

  How is it I can never balance the two things that matter most to me?

  My thumb gently begins to stroke her cheek. She sweetly hums at my touch and the pain pumps its way through my veins. In a kind voice, I attempt to wake her, “Love…”

  Brie hums again and leans her face against my hand.

  “Love…”

  She repeats the action once more.

  Abandoning the idea to disturb her just so she can deliver the ass chewing I more than deserve, I decide to simply transfer her to our bed in hopes she’ll sleep more comfortably.

  I lean down to replace my touch with a kiss, preparing to pick her up afterward, when she unexpectedly pops her head up and begins to recite, “Westburg! Fayeweather! Charlesvan!”

  Really bloody creepy…

  She shakes her head in an attempt to become more alert.

  When her bleary eyes settle on me, I state, “You’re pronouncing the last one wrong. It’s Charlesven.”

  Brie instantly offers me a sweet smile. However, the rel
ief of having me home quickly dissipates. “That would’ve been helpful while I was studying three hours ago.”

  My body leans against the edge of the desk. “My apologies, Love. Work-”

  “I know,” she cuts me off and returns her attention to the open book I didn’t see in her lap.

  Cautiously, I ask, “On the scale of one to banishing me to sleep on the couch for the remainder of the week, how upset are you?”