by Xavier Neal
Royally Duched
Xavier Neal
Duched #2
Royally Duched
Duched #2
By Xavier Neal
©Xavier Neal 2017
Cover by Angie Merriam
All Rights Reserved
License Note
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization from the author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in a court of law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication: To the Universe...Thanks for helping me keep my chin up so the crown doesn’t slip.
Note From The Author:
This book breaks the 'fourth wall', meaning it talks TO the reader. The bold italics portions are the character speaking to “YOU”.
Hope you enjoy.
-Xavier
“You look like hell,” my father’s gruff voice states over the sound of the beeping machines. “I thought I was the one who had a heart attack.”
Apparently having your heart broken can cause the same disheveled look. Think the doctor would be willing to offer me anything for my pain? Yeah. Yeah. I know I did it to myself, but do you really blame me? I did what was best for him.
I sniffle away the tears I’m fighting, drop the pen I’d been using to doodle Doctenn’s flag on my paint stained chucks, and sit straight up in the chair. “I sent mom and Candice home, so they could get some rest. I promised I would call them the second you woke up again.”
He tries to shift in his hospital bed to get a better view of me. “Then as far as they’re concerned this is just a very vivid dream. Got it?”
My lips attempt to form a smile.
“By the look on your face I can tell that you’re upset about more than just me in this bed.”
“None of that’s important right now.” I reach out to place my hand on top of his. “The only thing that matters is that you’re alright. How do you feel?”
He groans in discomfort. “Little pain, but I’m sure it’s going to pale in comparison to the ass chewing your mother is going to give me now that I’m in a more lucid state.”
“And Candice.”
His eyes shut in irritation at the mention of my sister’s name. “This is just going to jump to the top of the list of why she thinks we should be a fish only household. What are we bears?”
The joke successfully steals a chuckle from me.
At that point his eyes open and his head turns back to me. “There’s my little girl’s laugh…” He gives my hand a squeeze before he demands, “Tell me why you’re here without Kellan.”
No. Casually mentioning it’s because Kellan’s own father is a racist prick doesn’t seem smart. The man just had a heart attack a couple days ago. I’m not going to be responsible for angering him into a second one.
“Tell me why you’ve been crying.”
“Dad-”
“Brie, I know all those tears weren’t because you were scared I wasn’t going to wake up. If that were the case you would’ve nipped them in the bud yesterday when the doctor explained to the three of you everything would be fine as long as I made a few life style changes.”
“Wait. You heard all that? We thought you were asleep.”
“I was faking,” he casually states. “Wasn’t quite ready to deal with your mother continuing the doctor’s lecture.”
Ladies and Gents. My father at his finest.
I finally offer him a smile. “I sent them home shortly after that.”
“And I got some actual rest then.” He winks. “Now, stop changing the subject. Tell me why Kellan’s not here with you.”
After taking a long deep breath, I announce, “I told him to go back home.”
My father merely continues to stare waiting for more information. When I don’t rush to explain, his eyebrows pinch together. “Why? Did he do something wrong? Do I need to start an international incident?”
Pretty sure our break up won’t destroy the US-Doctenn relations they’ve happily shared for centuries.
“He…” The words struggle to develop. “He didn’t do anything wrong. He was…actually amazing about the entire thing.”
“What entire thing?”
I swallow the shame attempting to suffocate me. “Can we not talk about it, Dad?”
His face hardens. “You need to talk about it, Brie. It’s not healthy to cry yourself to sleep because you’re upset about something. If it was just a basic fight, I know he’d be on the other side of the door groveling and your mother would’ve given you advice already, but because he’s not and because I know what my daughter looks like when she’s upset, it means it was something bigger. Much bigger. Now talk.”
“I met his family. His brother and sister in law loved me but his father….” My fingers knot themselves together. “Well, his father thinks it would best for their family and country if we stopped seeing each other.”
“Does the reason have anything to do with the pigment in your skin?”
Leaning back against the chair, I weakly reply, “Yes.”
He lets out a hum, turns his head to stare at the ceiling, and falls silent.
I have to admit I’m not a huge fan of that combination of actions. Growing up it always came after deciding that grounding me wasn’t good enough, that a stronger lesson needed to be taught. Like when I was seven and would chew my carrots up and then spit them into my napkin before ultimately throwing them away. He decided rather than just giving me extra dish duty, I would start a garden with my mother’s help, grow the vegetable, cook it with her, and then eat it. Somehow he concluded if I realized the effort people go through to provide us with the food we put on our table, maybe I would appreciate it more. It worked. I never spit my carrots out again. In fact, I ate them without complaining. Sure, I hate cooked carrots to this day, but when I got a little older, I found a love for raw carrots dipped in ranch dressing. I did learn gardening is one of the many skills related to food I do not possess. Candice on the other hand has all green fingers. Also learned that leaving a seven year old in charge of sautéing carrots is a good way to ruin your favorite pan. I told you! I’m not a good cook!
“Dad, I know if this were a normal situation, I wouldn’t have walked away. I would’ve stood beside him. I would’ve been willing to look past a racist parent, but it’s not normal. Kellan is a freakin’ prince of a real country and he has to do whatever is best for the throne. More importantly for his family. I gave it a lot of thought before I walked away from him, and I know in my heart I did the right thing. If he would’ve chosen me, he would’ve lost his entire life outside of me. His country. His kingdom. His career. His…family. And yeah he doesn’t get along with his asshole father now, but someday they most likely will. He loves his brother. His sister in law. They’re going to have children someday and he’s going to want to be around his nieces and nephews.” There’s another tickle of sadness in the back of my throat. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. I damn sure don’t want to be the reason he has to bear the reality of losing both of his parents. I won’t break a family apart.”
All of a sudden my father turns his face to me, brown eyes swarming in warmth.
Is that…pride? Proud that I thought about someone other than myself? Looked at the bigger picture? Ugh. Now I sound like King Asshole. Hey, just because I did the right thing, doesn’t mean I have to like it or that I can’t make snarky comments about it.
“You’re going to be th
e reason it finally gets put back together.”
My face instantly develops a sarcastic expression. “Okay Yoda. I think the drugs are kicking back in…”
He gives me a short smile. “The true roots of change always start small, Brie. Remember that.”
Yup. His medication is definitely kicking in.
Eager to switch subjects, I pull my phone out of my jean shorts pocket. “Speaking of change, how about we send mom a text and let her know you’re awake?”
He grumbles. “I’m gonna miss fried chicken.”
“I know, Dad. I know.”
I swipe the screen on my phone and longingly stare at the text message waiting to be read.
No. I shouldn’t open it. I should just delete it. I should just close my eyes and hit the delete key…
My fingers betray me.
MY Prince: I miss you every minute I’m not with you.
The words allow the tears I had been fending off an all access pass to my face.
Dad questions softly, “You alright?”
I brush away the tears and delete the message, regret instantly settling in from looking at it. “Yeah. I’m fine…”
Okay, so I’m not fine, but someday I will be. It’s only been a couple of days since we split. It’ll get easier. I mean it has to…right?
“Grumpy. Party of 1,” Sophia mocks, gently bumping into me as she arrives at my side. “Would you care for a booth or a table?”
Don’t laugh. It wasn’t funny.
When my expression doesn’t waiver, she allows her own to join mine. “Seriously? No comeback? Not even a crack about be me being a shitty hostess?”
I shake my head.
“Your tie is crooked.” She points to the bow tie that feels more like a noose than a neck accessory.
I hate bowties almost as much as I hate these useless events. Bow ties, outside of Time Lords are not cool. They’re obnoxious and resemble an outdated style. Again. Like these events.
After realizing I’m not going to go through the effort to fix it, she reaches over and does it herself. In a low voice, she tries to comfort me. “It’s going to be alright, Kellan. It’s only been a couple of weeks. She just needs a little more time. She’ll come back around.”
Just a couple of weeks? Is that all? I’ve begun to lose track of time. Honestly, some days I’m not even sure if the sun has risen or set. The curtains aren’t drawn. The lights are not turned on. If it wasn’t for the obnoxious ‘Are You Still Watching’ feature of Netflix, I wouldn’t even be truly aware time had passed whatsoever. Please do not ask me what I’ve been binging…I’d rather not say. Just know when watching television on Amazon that feature is not there and it’s glorious.
Her arms slip around my right side and she begins to drag me away from the corner I had been lingering in. “Come on baby. You’re not supposed to be in the corner.”
I keep my feet planted. “I like it here. Less people bother me. Plus the lighting is shitty for those who keep trying to take my picture.”
Soph glances around, immediately spotting the people I am referring to.
I’ve been actively avoiding social media at all costs. Our publicity team has taken it upon themselves to post updates on my behalf. The excuses are ridiculous. Let’s see, in the past two weeks, I’ve been severely under the weather, too tied up in work engagements, and I think Kristopher posted something about poor service during my travels. Lies. All of them. I’ve barely the left the penthouse downtown. The only reason I even know they’ve done that is because Kris sends me the updates. He also has taken it upon himself to show me some of the blog posts around the country that are wondering why my girlfriend and I aren’t posting photos any more. The mystery seems to still be a hot topic. Some people are declaring we broke up while others are declaring I’m suddenly ashamed to be seen with her. Me? Ashamed?! I’m the bloody one who has to talk himself out of posting my undying love for all the world to see every time one of those articles makes its way across my phone. I could care less about my father’s wishes on the matter. I don’t do it because I respect Brie’s. God, just her name makes my heart hurt.
She sends the two women lingering nearby a stern expression to dismiss themselves. They immediately put their phones away inside their clutches, give their attire an unnecessary touch up, and walk away. My sister in law looks back up at me and tries a second time to get me to move. “Let’s go get a drink.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Should you even be drinking? You know…given the pending situation.”
Soph gives me a pointed look. “For the record I hate mopey Kellan. The old Kellan would’ve said something about making sure I get drunk or that your brother gets drunk because that’s what worked for a few cheerleaders back at the university.”
My face twitches a smirk.
Now that would’ve been worth laughing over.
We arrive at the corner section of the open bar after just a few short steps. Politely, she orders, “A glass of champagne, please.”
The bartender, who bears an uncanny resemblance to Mark-Paul Gosselaar, nods before turning to me. “And for you sir?”
“Whiskey.”
“Gonna put the sour in it yourself?” Soph teases under her breath.
“Preference, sir?”
“Wilcox. Top shelf. Neat.”
Once he’s stepped away, she sighs, “You hate whiskey.”
“I also hate bow ties, stuffy parties, and rooms full of overdressed, pretentious bigots, yet I have to pretend to enjoy all of those things, so why not whiskey as well?”
He promptly places our beverages down in front of us and I toss a tip in his glass.
Sophia has one sip of the sparkling drink and gags. “This is awful…”
“It’s champagne…”
“It’s dry.”
“It’s always been dry. It’s champagne.”
“Yes, but this tastes like someone muddled up the process and didn’t add sugar but bitters instead.” She quickly sets the drink back on the bar. “I don’t know what the hell they did wrong or what the hell that actually is, but it damn sure isn’t champagne.”
She flags down the bartender and prepares to order something else when my brother’s voice overpowers the situation from a few feet over. “Soph, sweetheart! Come over for just a moment.”
With a moan of unwillingness, she mumbles, “Excuse me. I have to go smile like a perfect princess in Santa Claus’ face…”
My eyes cut the white bearded old man a glance. This time I allow myself to flash a full smile.
His nose and cheeks do look quite rosy. Leave it to my family of all people to be friends with the actual Santa Claus. Perhaps he could find my father a heart this year? Don’t bother searching for him. He wasn’t required to attend this….wherever we are. His sons were sent to represent the crown. I had no intention on showing my face either, but I was ambushed by the pushy, little tattooed diva that is over there counting her teeth rather than participating in the conversation she was summoned for. She understands the moments of when she is to be seen and not heard. She hates it, yet she puts up with it for my brother. Was that it? Was that the real reason Brie left me? She hates it as well but doesn’t love me enough to put up with my father? Damn. There’s that pain again.
“Excuse me?” A woman in a sleeveless black gown grazes my arm. “Are you here alone?”
Reluctantly, I nod at the same time I dust off the spot on my jacket she touched.
“Wanna order me a drink?”
“No.”
Her jaw drops, but I grab my glass and stroll off without any additional participation in the conversation. I walk straight past my brother to where I can admire an array of items for auction displayed in glass cases. While nothing in them catches my interest, there is a sight I instantly find myself gawking at. Two rather well built men with tanned vanilla skin are each standing on one side of a coffee colored woman in a bright red backless gown. One has his arm snaked around her waist, the other seems
to be casually caressing one of her ass cheeks. Her face turns to the gentleman caressing her behind and seems to light up.
Are they…
“Kellan Kenningston?” A feminine voice interrupts. Grudgingly, I turn away from the fascinating situation to a lanky blonde with too much blush.
Where is the five-year old responsible for the monstrosity?
“You’re Kellan, correct?”
“Do I know you?”
She folds her hands in front of her. “We met earlier this year?”
I continue to stare blankly. “Is that meant to be a question or a statement?”
“Statement.”