by Zoey Oliver
Forbidden Prince
A Brother’s Best Friend Royal Romance
Zoey Oliver
Jess Bentley
Copyright © 2018 by Zoey Oliver and Jess Bentley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This has been adapted from a previously published work.
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Thanks a million <3,
Jess and Zoey
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Dirty Little Secret
Dr. Stud
Chapter One
HENRY
“Man, I’ve missed this place. Missed you, too. I’m looking forward to catching up with you,” Spencer says, looking around the royal gardens. “It’s been too long.”
I pick up a black pebble from among the white stones of the garden path and toss it into the air, catch it, and toss it again. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t go skipping off to the other side of the world for months, chasing wild women,” I tease him.
“Like you’re one to talk.”
“What was her name again? Carly?”
My best friend shakes his head with a wry grin. “Candy.”
I let out a chuckle and whip the pebble with an underhanded toss at a bronze statue to my left. It zips through the air and makes a sharp ping sound as it hits the metal. “Seriously, man. What were you thinking?”
Spencer shrugs. “I was thinking… I don’t know. I wanted to try something different. Just go with the flow and see where it takes me. Be a beach bum for a while.”
“Actually, sounds perfect. Why’d you come back?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “It wasn’t for me. Eventually, I got bored of her.”
I catch the hint of something in his voice. Not boredom. Has Spencer hitched his horse to the adult wagon and decided to grow up? Some of us don’t have much of a choice...
We round a bend on the path, and to the right, through the trees, I see a line of cars pulled up to the main entrance of my palace. But that’s not what catches my eye.
“Hey,” I say, throwing my left hand up, landing it squarely in the middle of Spencer’s chest, causing him to expel a huff of air and come to an abrupt halt. “Who is that?”
He whips his head around. “Where? Who?”
I nod toward the front of the palace where an entourage is emerging from black town cars and limos, people spilling out onto the grass and stone walkway. “There, her.”
My gaze is fixated on a curvy young woman with a waterfall of thick, black hair spilling across her shoulders and down her back.
I watch as she smooths her dress regally and gestures at a stack of luggage sitting beside a vintage Rolls Royce. The suitcases and trunks are immediately picked up and carried into the palace by several men wearing my family’s livery — burgundy and gold three-piece suits.
Spencer steps forward and squints in the direction of the activity. “Uh, that’s Abi.”
I give him a push. “Yeah, right. No, really, who is that? I’ve never seen her before. And believe me, I’d remember.”
Spencer gives me sideways look. “Henry, I think you still have a hangover from last night.” He points emphatically at the woman. “That is Abigail.”
“Nooo… your sister? Little Abi? Annoying-as-shit Abi?”
My mouth falls open in disbelief. No way. There is no way that gorgeous woman — with graceful posture and sexy curves for days — is Spencer’s little sister. It can’t be Abi… not the tomboy covered in muck from playing in the garden ponds… the goofy kid who followed us everywhere and hid in credenzas to spy on her brother and myself… the frizzy-haired teenage tattletale who told on us when we snuck down to the boathouse to smoke cigarettes.
That was Abi. Not this raven-haired vixen giving out orders with poised confidence like she owns the place.
“Not so little anymore, is she? Still annoying as all hell, though,” Spencer says with a chuckle.
“Uh, no… she’s… definitely grown up. I mean, she’s… got…” I motion with my hands, swirling them in front of me to show an hourglass figure, and Spencer immediately whacks me across the back of my neck.
“Dammit, Henry. I don’t want to hear about that. And you — don’t get any ideas.”
I drop my hands to my sides, but I can’t stop staring at her, despite feeling Spencer’s disapproving gaze on me.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, my eyes tracking Abigail’s every move. “I’m practically celibate.”
My best friend nearly chokes on his laugh. “Right, Henry. Try selling that story somewhere else.”
“Sold it to The Inquirer last week, right after I did body shots off those twins from Doremont,” I say with a cocky grin.
It’s a lie, but Spencer doesn’t know that. It’s a lie that has credence, because that’s the guy I used to be, back when Spencer and I were inseparable. Now? I haven’t left the palace grounds in months except for official engagements. My nights of non-stop partying and seducing a new woman at every opportunity — those things seem like a lifetime ago.
The entourage makes its way up the wide marble steps to the grand entrance of the palace. Abi pauses and leans to the woman on her left, whispering something in her ear before continuing up the steps. I wonder what she’s saying… what her hair smells like… what her breathy sighs of pleasure would feel like against my skin.
Spencer rests a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been right there beside you, my friend. Between the two of us, we’ve divided and conquered this continent.” He nods toward his sister. “But she is off-limits.”
Oh, fuck me. Why did he have to say that? He might as well double-dog dared me. Spencer knows better than anyone that I’m relentless as hell and I always get what I want — especially if I’m not supposed to have it.
“I didn’t think she’d be arriving until tomorrow,” Spencer says.
“What’s she doing here?”
“Attending the harvest festival. Are you sure you’re not hungover?”
“No, I mean, she hasn’t come to one in years.”
“She’s been away at boarding school and then at university.”
“Ah, yes. But she hasn’t visited during summer or holidays. It’s been, what?” I try to remember the last time Abi visited the palace and do a quick calculation in my head. “Wow, seven years since I’ve seen Abi. She was a lanky kid with braces and wild hair the last time I saw her.”
“She’s graduated
now, with her Master’s degree. She finished prep school and her college program early. She’s whip-smart, that one. But anyway, my parents insisted she come this year.”
“It’ll be nice to catch up with her,” I say.
Spencer shoots me a warning look, but I shrug innocently and give him a Cheshire Cat grin. “Whaaat?”
“She’s gotten serious about settling down, so my mother’s decided the palace festival is the perfect opportunity for her to entertain potential suitors.”
“Oh.” I think on this for a moment as I watch Abi begin walking up the wide, stone pathway, her elegant dress hugging her curvy body in all the right ways.
I tear my eyes away from the mesmerizing sight for a second and squint into the sun to glance at Spencer. “So… she’s settling down? As in getting married? Why so soon?”
“She’s twenty-two. It’s not unheard of to get married at her age, Henry. My parents, and yours, too — they were all married younger than that.”
“True, but it was a different time then.”
“Maybe not so different.” He sighs heavily, and a look flashes across his face, accompanied by that same tone as before that I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Anyway, Abi does what she wants,” he continues. “My mother didn’t want her to attend university, thought it was a waste of time for a noble woman, but look how that turned out.”
Abi crosses the threshold of the doorway a moment later and disappears out of sight into the palace. I resist the urge to take off at a sprint, to run the length of the path in mere seconds and bolt up the marble steps just to keep her in view. I need a closer look, that’s for damn sure — and I’m going to get it, I don’t care how off-limits she is.
“I just find it odd that she’d jump straight from college to marriage. Doesn’t she want to do anything first? Travel? Have some fun? Maybe do something with her degree?”
Spencer kicks at the pebbles with his left foot then straightens up and lets out a big sigh. “I’m staying out of it. She’s an adult now, and this is what she wants, I guess. I’m just here to enjoy the festival, you know?”
I eye Spencer doubtfully, but let his comment go. Neither of us have ever been the festival-going type — especially not the overly formal Grand Harvest Festival, hosted annually by the royal family, going back more generations than I care to count.
As the King and Queen of Ostwyn, my parents are the current hosts, and they look forward to it every year— as they would, being the kind of people who revel in tradition and enjoy the pomp and circumstance of formal events. But the festival has never really been my cup of tea, nor Spencer’s. We usually skip as much of it as we can, except for the Black Diamond poker tournament.
But this year, rather than ducking out to a party in Doremont or heading off to one of the private clubs in Glogsten, I’ll act the part of my royal upbringing and be a gracious co-host when needed.
People have been arriving all week, flooding into the capital city for the festival. By the time the opening ceremonies commence in a few days’ time, the palace will cease to be a quiet place of refuge from the world and instead fill to the brim with guests and a jam-packed schedule of official events to preside over.
I’m facing thirty days of this relentless merriment — Grand Harvest is a month-long festival; precisely twenty-nine days too long for my taste.
But this time, a sweet little surprise has landed on my doorstep.
Perhaps I have been cooped up in solitude too long. Maybe it’s time to get back to doing what I do best, and flex my muscles, all of them. I could use a tasty diversion from this antiquated madness and Abigail looked absolutely delicious waltzing into my palace.
I bet she’ll look even better in my bed.
Chapter Two
ABIGAIL
I close the door to my suite and sag against it. The hard, cool surface feels nice on my back. I’ve been standing for eons, greeting visitor after visitor as they stopped by to say their hellos. “Please tell me that’s the last person for a while.”
My head assistant and best friend, Emily Morenzo, checks her phone. “I think so. That’s nearly everyone who’s arrived at the palace so far, according to the guest list, which the staff updated about an hour ago. But there will be more this evening.”
Striding into the adjoining bedroom, I look back at Emily. “Oh, I know. Believe me, I know.”
She gives me an empathic frown and tosses her phone on the chaise lounge. “It’s not too late to feign a dire illness. I’m happy to stand guard outside and warn everyone that you’ve got the plague or something.”
It’s a distinct possibility. Coming back home is like stepping a century or two back in time. If I were to claim sickness, it would be attributed to my frail female condition and the rigors of travel. Convincing Mom would be a different story. I reach the nearest window and begin tugging on the sash.
“Lovely thought, but I fear my mother would simply arrive with a biohazard suit and insist I join the activities, anyway.”
Emily snorts. “I can actually see that happening. What the Baroness wants, she gets. No stopping her.”
“Exactly. There’s no turning back at this point, unfortunately. Apparently, it’s been set in stone since before my birth.”
“So, what now? Would you like something to eat? Or shall I start unpacking your things?”
“Neither,” I say, tugging on the sash again. “Just come help me open this. I desperately need some fresh air. This room smells like mothballs and a century of dust.”
Emily joins me, and together we manage to get the stubborn sash to budge little by little, stubborn creak by stubborn creak, until the window is fully open, and a refreshing breeze is welcomed into the room. One by one, we open the remaining windows in the wide, spacious bedroom, all six of them.
“There,” she says when we’ve finished. “Better already. Well, the air is better, at least. Not so much anything else, unfortunately.”
As Emily commandeers the large desk in the corner of the sitting room and begins unpacking her laptop and a stack of files, I wander around the suite, a large, brightly decorated two-bedroom space in the north wing of the palace — my home for the next four weeks — looking at the paintings on the wall and nosing around in the drawers and cabinets.
Emily’s gaze roams around the room and she watches me with curiosity. She’s only a two years younger than I and I’ve grown to love her like a sister. We became fast friends many years ago after she took the position as my personal assistant just as I was beginning my university program. She’s never been to Pridemore Palace before. I’ve not visited here in all that time. Well, except for once, but Emily wasn’t with me then, and I didn’t stay long.
I feel heat rise across my cheeks as the memory of my brief visit flashes through my mind. I shake my head quickly, dismissing the vivid images. I’m sticking to my official story — this is my first return to Pridemore since I went off to boarding school. Otherwise, I’d have to explain why I came and went so quickly that day.
“I haven’t been here in seven years,” I say aloud. “It seemed so much bigger when I was a kid. Like I could get lost if I took a wrong turn.”
“I bet you were a real firecracker as a kid,” Emily says.
“How’d you know?” I ask with a smile. “I was a handful, that’s for sure. I used to hide in cabinets just like this one,” I say, nudging a long credenza with my foot.
My best friend tilts her head. “What for?”
“Oh, I was snooping on the adults. I loved sneaking about, spying on everyone. I made a game out it, pretended I was a detective.”
Emily smiles. “Abi, the case-cracking sleuth. I love it.”
I smile back, much more ruefully than Emily. “More like Annoying As Shit Abi. That’s what they called me. I would follow the boys down to the lake; they were the most fun to spy on. They were always up to no good.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “The boys?”
I shake my
head. “Just my brother and his friends.”
“Would this include the illustrious Prince Henry that I’ve heard so much about?”
I grab a throw pillow from the chaise and toss it at her. “Hey, I haven’t mentioned him that much.”
“Oooh, it’s not what you said. It’s how you said it. All dreamy-eyed and wistful.” Emily makes an over-the-top passionate face and raises her voice. “Oh, Prince Henry, you’re sooooo handsome.”
“You’re imagining stuff. I did no such thing.”
She throws herself across the desk with dramatic flair. “Henry, take me away… or just… take me. Please, now!”
“You are such a brat!” I say, but I’m already laughing so hard I have to lean against the credenza to catch my breath. “You make me sound like a silly teenager in a cheesy movie!”
Emily stands up, grinning ear to ear. “Well, you were a silly teenager then. Maybe you should revisit that before you get locked away in stuffy ball gowns and endless Ladies’ committee luncheons for the rest of eternity.”
I tilt my head, still trying to catch my breath. “What do you mean?”
“He’ll be here, right? Henry. This is his home. Maybe, I don’t know… you have a fun little tryst. A secret tryst, of course.”
I give her a get-serious look. “That is not happening.”
“Abigail, you need to let loose a little. Please, for me — have some fun before you’re married to Sir Stiffass.”
“As enticing as a distraction sounds, he doesn’t think of me that way. I was just the obnoxious little sister, the very uncool, awkward girl who tried to tag along to everything and told on them when they wouldn’t let me join in. Truthfully, I really was a pest.”