Forbidden Prince: A Brother's Best Friend Royal Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  There is a sudden and undeniable breeze. The surf is high, and I spend several hours in the afternoon riding wave after punishing wave back toward the shore. The day goes by in a dream, until the evening.

  Main Street is a spectacle. She had mentioned that they were targeting Naples residents, but I didn’t imagine it would look like this. Our tiny town is transformed into a sort of promenade for wealthy people. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen linger outside the gallery door, and a few wander down the street peering into the windows of our shops. Everything else is closed, just like always. I wonder if they think we’re quaint, or backward? I wonder if they think we’re ripe for some kind of takeover.

  “Dr. Warner?” comes a voice as I cross between parked Porsches.

  “Oh… Jen? Are you going to the opening?”

  Her expression clouds as she crosses her arms suspiciously.

  “No, I was just… Well, I mean, I wanted to see what it looked like, sure.”

  Her jaw works back and forth.

  “Are you going to the opening?” she asks pointedly.

  “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”

  “Some reason!” she scoffs. “No, not at all. Never mind.”

  I hear her snarl under her breath as she turns around and stalks off. Somehow, I think I’m going to need a new nurse in the very near future.

  The light from the gallery spills onto the sidewalk, a strange sort of glow. It seems almost futuristic. As I walk through the murmuring crowd, I feel as though I’m walking onto a movie set. People seem placed in organized groupings, gathered around pieces of art on the wall or on pedestals. Everything is lit precisely. Everything is curated for its best effect.

  Transformation isn’t the right word. This was a dusty and vacant hat shop two weeks ago. It had been a vacant hat shop for years and years, since before I went to medical school. And here, in the blink of an eye, it’s something brand-new. Something unexpected, totally evolved. Dropped right into the middle of downtown as though birthed from a single, utterly clear dream.

  She steps between clients, her fingers nervously tracing the line of her collar, her other hand perched on her hip. Her flame-colored hair sweeps under her jaw, framing an expression of sheer determination. Utter elegance.

  This was all her. I wonder if she realizes how magical this all is. I wonder if she realizes she has done the impossible.

  Suddenly she looks at me with a startled expression, smiling expectantly. My chest clenches in anticipation as I walk toward her.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” I say, my mouth dry.

  She smiles modestly, but I can tell she’s proud. I could see it on her face when Mrs. Cassidy trundles over to make a point of seeing us publicly. She wouldn’t just spy from the corner, oh no. Mrs. Cassidy wants us to know that she saw us next to each other.

  I feel Joanna stiffening, but I’m not going to act that way. After all, we’re both leaving in the morning. What’s the harm. As soon as we have Mrs. Cassidy’s full attention, I slide my hand over Joanna’s waist, possessively drawing her closer to me. I will pay for it later, I’m sure. Every woman in this town is going to make sure that there is a toll for this simple gesture, but at this point it seems completely worth it.

  As I expected, the old woman is aghast. But Joanna is more pliant. Perhaps it is the champagne, or perhaps it is the light, or perhaps it is her resounding success, but she leans into me, swaying against my body as though we have done this a hundred times.

  “Have you ever done this before?” she asks me suddenly, narrowing her eyes.

  “Done what, exactly?” I answer, curious how she read my mind so precisely.

  “Gallery openings…” she explains, and I am a little disappointed to find that we are not in sync. “Some people love them, some people don’t. Do you make a habit of it?”

  “It’s my first time,” I confess. “What should I be doing?”

  She shrugs one shoulder, reaching up to affectionately brush at my lapel with her fingertips.

  “Just stand there and look gorgeous,” she sighs. “Just be who you are.”

  People drift toward her, and she greets them and drifts away. The champagne is cool and wonderful, though I don’t normally drink. I watch her when she doesn’t notice, observing how she manages the crowd while directing Dusty and another woman who I think must’ve come from New York.

  Eventually the event comes to a close, and she celebrates by taking her shoes off, groaning in relief.

  “That was something!” she exclaims as she finally sinks into a chair. “Did you hate it?”

  “No, I didn’t hate it,” I answer honestly. “I think I enjoyed every minute of it.”

  She raises one eyebrow. “Really? I should keep you around. You definitely class up the joint.”

  Dusty shoots me a look and I just shrug. She disappears into the back room to assist Holly with the cleanup.

  “Sorry about that,” Joanna chuckles. “Those are my Manhattan manners coming out again, I guess. I just say what’s on my mind.”

  “I hope you always will,” I answer.

  “Careful what you wish for, Doctor.”

  She crosses her legs, taking her foot in her fingertips and massaging the sole. I feel like I should offer to do that for her, but something tells me that’s too familiar, too far. After all, today’s the first time she ever used my first name in public. I guess we’re not quite as intimate as I had led myself to believe.

  But I will have plenty of time to think about that in South America. Plenty of time to shed this temporary infatuation, or whatever this is. It’s just a risk of engaging in an unusual sort of client service, I think. I crossed several established boundaries with her, and so of course it has taken be some time to adjust. That’s all it is, and it will be over momentarily.

  When she looks up at me, her turquoise-shaded eyes are bright with what genuinely looks like affection.

  “So… I guess this is our last night together?”

  I nod slowly. “You’re leaving in the morning. So am I.”

  “Oh?” her eyebrows go up.

  “Costa Rica,” I explain. “A classmate of mine runs a clinic to repair birth defects. He asked me to come and do some good work… It’s very rewarding.”

  Her mouth opens and then closes. She seems startled.

  “I see. That’s… great! I mean, great!”

  “He does important work.”

  “Totally great!”

  Suddenly she stands, walking over to me and wrapping her arms around me. I embrace her automatically, dipping my chin to smell her hair before she pulls away, smiling tightly.

  She sticks her hand out and I just look at it for a moment.

  “Well… it’s been really great!” she says brightly, her voice thoroughly cheery.

  After a hesitation, I take her hand and shake it, formally. Finally.

  “You did a marvelous thing here,” I mumble, searching for appropriate things to say. She swivels her head, gazing around. “Oh, this? Well… I guess it did work out in the end. I guess it did.”

  “It certainly did,” I reply nonsensically.

  Why am I so tongue-tied? What is it that I want to say?

  “So, thank you for… everything, Dr. Warner. Thank you.”

  “Yes. You’re welcome,” I answer.

  Suddenly, standing here feels stiff and uncomfortable. I suppose she’s inviting me to leave.

  I guess it’s time to move on.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Joe

  Hannah gapes at me, her eyes wide, a gigantic coffee hovering in the air in front of her face.

  “Okay, where did you get that?”

  I glance down at my brocade pantsuit in swirling ocean hues.

  “Oh, this old thing?” I reply breezily. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Shit, you look hot!” Desi announces as she strides through the loading dock in a bright red sarong.

  “Wow, so do you! Red is your c
olor.”

  “I know, right?” she answers, shaking her head and glancing down at her outfit.

  “Martha says it’s too much for the gallery, though, so this may be the last time you see it.”

  “Oh, she said that?”

  I wonder for a moment if my outfit will be similarly edited. I do sort of look like a walking water lily.

  “Yeah, she’s just mad,” Hannah shrugs, tapping sullenly on her laptop. “Didi missed two deliveries while you were gone. It’s a good thing you did so well at the opening or you would be hearing about it, I promise.”

  “Oh yeah, congrats on that,” Desi chimes in. “We heard all about it. I’m glad you’re back, though. We’ve been swamped.”

  I slide a box cutter over the packing tape of a large parcel, carefully opening the box and removing the paper-wrapped canvases inside.

  “You’re swamped? What are you talking about? What did Didi miss?”

  Desi shoots Hannah a warning look.

  “Nothing, don’t worry about it,” she says quickly. “What have you got there? Are those more still-lifes? They better be Uglows or Martha is going to have a cow.”

  “Nobody says have a cow anymore,” Hannah giggles.

  Desi walks over with her hands out to poke at the parcel and I wave her off.

  “Yes, they are Uglows,” I sniff. “I saw the emails come through when I was in Florida. Now, what are we talking about? Are we missing shipments?”

  Desi and Hannah stare at each other and I see Desi shake her head, almost imperceptibly.

  “Okay, where is Didi?” I ask, frustrated. “I’ll just ask her myself. Is she in her office?”

  “Not likely,” Hannah scoffs. “It’s only eleven.”

  “That’s not like her,” I say, mostly to myself.

  “It is now,” Desi shrugs.

  Scowling, I reach for my cell phone and text her. Our last message was days ago, but I was so busy traveling back and forth I just haven’t had time.

  Where are you?

  I stare at the screen for a couple minutes.

  “Shit, she’s not even reading my text. Did one of you guys text her?”

  “Joe, can you take a look at this?” comes Martha’s voice from the gallery door.

  For a second, my name sounds strange to me. I must have gotten used to people calling me JoJo or Joanna for the last couple of weeks.

  Joanna. It’s probably going to be a long time before anyone calls me that again.

  “Hi Martha,” I smile as I walk over. Her eyes narrow as she looks over my outfit.

  “That is an amazing outfit. Who did you?”

  My mouth opens. “Um, well… It’s vintage. Just one of those things.”

  Her raven-black eyebrows arch imperiously. “You don’t say? I’m envious.”

  She’s envious? I marvel. Did that just happen?

  “In any case,” she continues, snapping back to business, “I just wanted to say thank you for all your hard work in Willowdale. Holly couldn’t have been more impressed. I’m really moved by your dedication, Joe. It didn’t even seem like you wanted to go.”

  “Oh, of course,” I breathe. “Whatever it takes, Martha. You know that.”

  She presses her lips into a tight vermilion smile.

  “That’s all right,” she finishes. “Send Didi to me, would you?”

  “Happy to,” I gulp.

  Martha turns on her heel and stalks away as I stumble back toward the receiving table.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Desi sneers. “Are you loopy? We just told you Didi isn’t here.”

  “Nobody says loopy anymore either,” Hannah announces.

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” I answer sincerely. “She caught me by surprise and…”

  “And you’re just used to picking up after Didi? Is that what this is? No matter which ball gets dropped, you go chasing after it?”

  I flinch, startled at Desi’s sudden shift into attack mode. I’m not sure what to say, so I just begin unwrapping the paintings in front of me and sulk.

  I don’t fetch balls, I tell myself. I’m not a Labrador.

  And yet, I think that stings because there is a little bit of truth in it. Covering for Didi is second nature to me. I’ve been doing it since grade school. Probably since before grade school.

  The truth is that Didi needs someone to fetch her. Something about her does kind of remind me of one of those red balls we used to use in gym class. The kind that seemed to bounce erratically, way higher and way farther than you would have predicted. One small nudge could send her veering completely out of bounds.

  Her mother wasn’t very good at chasing after her. She had a hard enough time keeping track of herself. I’m not sure what happened to her father, but he wasn’t around. Maybe ran off. Maybe chased off. Maybe he never knew about her in the first place. The subject definitely had a skull and crossbones warning sign over it that never was to be spoken aloud.

  Nobody assigned me this job to protect my friend, but I have always been happy to do it. I was happy to check her homework. I was happy to slip her a copy of mine when necessary. I was happy to sneak her home after curfew when she drank too much.

  I was really happy when she agreed to get on that bus with me to come to New York. I could see where she was going in Willowdale if she stayed there. Her life was going to be one crazy bounce after another in gradually tighter circles until she fell between the cracks, like a pinball in a losing game. At least in New York, the rules are different.

  The alley door closes with a bang and we all look up. Didi pulls a dramatic grimace as she hobbles through the door on crutches, her leg safely held off the ground, still in a cast. I don’t know what I was expecting, but after spending the last week fixing things she had broken, I guess I forgot her leg didn’t magically heal itself too.

  “Oh, hey!” she calls out, grinning madly. “You’re back! How was your trip to Hooterville?”

  I rush toward her, hugging her hello. She sways on her crutches and smiles up at me, blinking with bloodshot eyes and grinning happily.

  “I heard you just slayed them, JoJo,” she sighs, her voice slow and kind of sticky like molasses.

  “Yeah. I guess it all worked out.”

  “Oh, don’t be so modest! You killed it. It’s dead. You are the boss of this level.”

  “Didi, are you okay? You seem a little…”

  “Pshhhht,” she scoffs, leaning to one side and waving the other crutch in the air clumsily. “I am just fine. I am more than fine. You saved my ass!”

  “I guess I tried…” I answer, squinting at her. “Martha says she wants to see you… Hey, Didi?”

  Didi stops waving at Hannah and looks back up at me.

  “Hi, JoJo,” she smiles.

  “Don’t call me JoJo, okay?” I ask her in a low voice. “Didi… Are you drunk?”

  “Drunk?” she repeats, her voice rising. “JoJo, it’s like noon in the morning. I am not drunk!”

  She may not be drunk, but she is definitely something. She doesn’t smell like alcohol, though she’s acting really strange. Her eyeliner is clumpy and uneven, and she’s breathing through her mouth.

  “Are you high? I mean… Didi, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

  She twists her mouth to the side, giving me an insincere wink.

  “I know, Joe Mama,” she sneers. “Get it? Joe Mama? Man. I wonder why I never thought of that one before?”

  “Didi…”

  “I gotta go talk to Martha,” she announces, hobbling past me so close that I have to dodge one of her crutches. She makes it to the gallery door, swinging her cast back and forth.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Hannah pulling a face.

  “Is she always like that?” I ask when she’s gone.

  Hannah looks away quickly, concealing her expression. Desi purses her lips and glares at me, her fist on her hip.

  “Oh, you notice something different about her?” she asks me sarcastically
.

  “I don’t understand… Are you telling me there’s something different, or something not different?”

  “Desi, don’t,” Hannah pleads.

  Desi raises one finger to shush her. “No… I’m tired of this.” She turns back to me. “I just think it’s strange that you guys have been best friends since the womb, but you don’t know your best friend is an alcoholic. How is that possible, Joe?”

  I shake my head. “She’s not an alcoholic. She didn’t even drink today. Go smell her… You’ll see.”

  Desi runs her tongue over her upper teeth.

  “She didn’t even drink today,” she repeats acridly. “Because she still has painkillers from her leg. As soon as those are gone, she should be right back at it. I guarantee.”

  Defensiveness boils up in me from a dark well.

  “You don’t know what you talking about,” I hiss. “Didi has been through a lot. She’s not an alcoholic. I would know.”

  Desi raises her eyebrows accusingly. “Yeah, you should know,” she snaps. “Maybe you should think about it, okay? Maybe you do know, but you don’t want to say. Maybe you don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

  “You guys, let’s just stop,” Hannah suggests unhelpfully.

  “Yeah, I’m totally ready to stop,” I announce, snatching the packages off the table.

  “Maybe you should start paying attention!” Desi yells after me as I head back into the gallery, fuming.

  Pay attention? I marvel silently. Is she kidding me? I’ve spent most of my life paying attention to Didi.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sturgill

  On the table in front of me is a little girl, about three years old, sedated into painlessness. Two hours ago, she couldn’t breathe through her nose, and she is underweight because she hasn’t been able to feed normally for her entire life.

  All of that is about to change.

  As I carefully complete the final stitches that draw the top of her lip together, I think about the smile she will have now. Her nose is straightened; the glaring void over her baby teeth has been closed.