Royally Duched (Duched #2)

by Xavier Neal

  “That doesn’t have to be an ot-oh,” I inform her sweetly. “It’s art. It’s your art. It can be as wild and wacky as you want it to be.”

  She gives me a bright smile and returns to coloring.

  I immediately take notice of the other children in the room, stealing glances, but still not approaching.

  At least someone in here isn’t terrified to talk to me…

  Rather than push them to join us, I decide tempting might be easier. At the same time I begin to empty my art supplies onto the table, I loudly announce, “I’ve got all sorts of other art supplies too. I brought some magical water paints. Sparkly crayons. Macaroni. Buttons. Puff balls. Glue. Construction paper. Some cool socks to make puppets. Plus, I brought puff paint.”

  The little girl stops her actions and leans over to inspect the objects cluttering the table. “Glitter?”

  My face scrunches. “No…I tried! But the doctor’s all said no glitter.” She frowns, which pushes me to lift the puffy paint. “But glitter puff paint on the other hand….approved!”

  All of a sudden, several of the on lookers, make their way over. Within minutes, the art area is overflowing and expanded to the floor. Some of the mothers have joined us, busying themselves with making sure lids get closed and praising everyone’s individual artistic expression. In a dreamlike haze, I get lost in the laughter shared from painting robots and tigers. I giggle as we have monster versus superhero sock puppet fights. I grin from ear to ear, while explaining the different art materials along with slipping out random facts about famous artists, which some of the older children seem to be excited by, while the mothers are impressed. A few photos are taken of us by the nursing staff and a couple of the moms, but the lack of actual media coverage during the festivities is highly appreciated.

  It’s more than enough to have an entire country constantly speculating about who you are solely based on how you dress, smile, and what you eat. I don’t need them here judging me on how I laugh or how much glue I use on my macaroni sailboat.

  My attention lifts to the little redheaded girl in the corner watching from afar. She seems interested enough to keep stealing glances, but too shy to join the crowd. After losing my third monster vs. Superman puppet fight, I grab some paper, some crayons, and one of the coloring books and make my way over to her. I brace my back against the wall beside her. She immediately tenses and holds her breath.

  In a polite, quiet voice, I say, “My name’s Brie…like the cheese.”

  She giggles at the reference but doesn’t make eye contact.

  “Wanna color?”

  Her tiny pale fingers twitch at the question.

  “Maybe draw? Do you like to draw?”

  Slowly, she lifts her face to mine. “Drawings my favorite…I’m not very good at it though.”

  Hearing her declaration causes me to frown. “As long as you love it, that’s all that matters….Wanna draw together? I like to draw too.”

  She slowly nods and takes the offered paper along with the coloring book for something to draw on.

  I place the box of crayons in front of her for easy access. “What’s your name?”

  “Amelia.”

  “What a pretty name,” I insist, eyes on the drawing she’s beginning. “How old are you, Amelia?”

  “Seven.” With more grace than I’m expecting she draws the outline for a human body. At the same time she switches crayons, she questions, “Are you really a princess?”

  Casually, I pull my knees to my chest, thankful the length of my summer dress is long. I wiggle my toes inside my chucks. “Not exactly. I’m going to be one, technically, but that’s only because I’m going to marry a prince.”

  Her hands continue to flow flawlessly creating a build I know quite well. “Prince Kellan.”

  “Yup. Have you met him before?”

  She beams, nods, and grabs another crayon.

  Why am I not surprised he has fans this young?

  “I wish I could marry a prince,” she sighs, now adding clothes to the man.

  With a shrug, I question, “Why can’t you?”

  For the first time since she started drawing her actions cease. Bemusement brushes her expression and she simply shrugs in return.

  “You can do anything you want to do,” I start, realizing how commercial it sounds. “Draw. Dance. Marry a prince. All it takes is a little bit of magic…”

  She returns to adding Kellan’s suit to his faceless body.

  It’s totally him.

  “Magic’s not real.”

  “How do you know?” I counter.

  This time when she stops, she looks up at me. “Because grownups say so.”

  “Hm…I’m a grownup and totally believe in magic.”

  Her head tilts at in me disbelief.

  “Magic is your imagination.” My explanation gets a skeptical response. “If you can imagine it, it can be real. Some grownups are just too busy being grownups to remember that.”

  The words put a bright smile back on her face. She lowers her attention back to her drawing. “I wanna wear a pretty long gown like Elsa from Frozen.”

  Me? I would’ve wished for her ice powers.

  “And I want to play in the snow with my sister again.”

  The addition of information shifts by body in sadness. “Where is your sister?”

  “At school,” Amelia answers nonchalantly. “Someday when I get a new heart I can go too.”

  I press my lips together and relish in the fact she said when as opposed to if.

  And don’t you dare try to take away her hope or tell me I’m wrong for saying your imagination is powerful. It is! Miracles happen all the time…Why not imagine one and watch it happen? More importantly, why stop a child from imagining one when there’s so little for them to hold onto?

  She finishes his facial features. “Tadah!”

  Actually impressed with her work, I nod. “That’s really good!”

  “It’s Prince Kellan.”

  Told you.

  “I made it for you, so you always have a picture of him,” Amelia offers me her artwork after labeling it with his name.

  Flattered at the gesture, I awe over the creation. “Will you sign your name? I want everyone to know who made it.”

  Another bright smile crosses her face and she writes bubble letters of her name in the corner.

  All of a sudden, a familiar voice states, “I don’t think my nose is that big.” Our eyes lift at the same time Kellan squats down to our level. “However, my suit is stunning. Fantastic work.”

  She giggles profusely and he winks.

  “I think your nose is much bigger,” I tease and her laughter continues. “I think Amelia was being too kind.”

  “She’s always been too kind,” he states, eyes landing on her. “At least she has to me…Hello Amelia.”

  “Hello Prince Kellan,” she coos.

  “And how is the prettiest girl in the Shepard’s wing today?”

  Her face lights up even more. “I’m not the prettiest girl here. Brie is.”

  Kellan cocks a grin. “She is the prettiest woman. You my dear are the prettiest girl.”

  Oh…swoon…

  Amelia blushes but I whisper my agreement. “He’s absolutely right.”

  After a moment, she says to him, “You haven’t come to see me in a long time.”

  He nods. “I know. I’ve been a little busy these past few months.”

  “You went to find a princess.”

  “I don’t know that I went to find her, but I definitely did.” Kellan flashes me a soft smile. “I’m very lucky…”

  “You are,” Amelia giggles. “She’s nice.”

  “Thank you,” I politely state.

  “And pretty.”

  Can we keep her?

  “Absolutely agree,” he chuckles. “Plus, she lets me eat ice cream straight out of the bucket.”

  The little girl gasps.

  Is that not a normal thing?

  �
�Unfortunately, we have to get going, but before go, what do you say, we all take a picture together and then I’ll have Nurse Terry print it out for your room. That way you each have a picture to remember today?”

  “Okay!” She squeaks.

  The three of us move the art materials out of the way and squeeze into the frame. Kellan takes several to insure he gets a good one. Before we have the opportunity to get up, the other children come rushing over, desperate to be in a picture too. Like the softy he is, he allows them to smother us with their tiny frames in an attempt to take a selfie. Amelia places herself in my lap and I thoughtlessly wrap my arms around her for a hug.

  Don’t start singing the old nursery rhyme about first comes love…then comes marriage…then comes….adorable little redheaded girls I wish we could adopt.

  Once everyone is pleased, Kellan helps me onto my feet and leads us over to inform the nurses we will be leaving the art supplies as a gift for the adolescents. They express their gratitude as do the mothers for having additional activities for their children. The kids give us sweet goodbyes and the joy in their voices nestles itself deep inside of me.

  I definitely had more fun than I thought I was going to…

  Kellan’s hand grips mine the moment we are in the hallway. Our eyes lock and sighs, “Watching you in there was beautiful. You were a natural.”

  Curiosity cocks my eyebrow. “How long were you observing my job performance, boss?”

  “Long enough to know two very important things,” he counters.

  “Which are?”

  “One. Working with children is truly an effortless pursuit for you. They loved being around you. That is honestly the happiest I’ve seen those children since I’ve been visiting.”

  Pride wiggles my body. “And two?”

  Kellan licks his lips in a familiar fashion, takes a step towards me, and whispers in my ear. “Two. It is an absolute turn on to see you so bloody happy…”

  When he leans back for our eyes to reconnect I know exactly what he has in mind.

  You probably do too by now.

  After a brief elevator ride in which his hand enjoys caressing up the back of my thigh, we exit, take a sharp turn to the left, and fly down the hallway.

  When we reach the room Kellan intended, he promptly proclaims, “You two wait outside for a moment. We have something to discuss in private.”

  They nod their understanding and I’m jerked inside before I can object.

  He doesn’t allow for my question to be asked. His lips pounce with precision and uncontrollable volition. He claims my tongue at the same time his hands claim my hips, planting me against the wall just to the left of the door. I fight the instinct to moan loudly in excitement. With his mouth still frantically devouring mine, he allows his hand to sneak underneath my dress, and graze the outside of my thong. The growl that’s released is primal. Desperate. Roughly, he wedges my legs apart and slips past the barrier blocking his true intentions. The first thrust knocks my head back against the wall, as I silently cry out. In a barbarous oscillation of pumps of his finger and wild rolls of his tongue against the tender spot on my neck, Kellan breathlessly conquerors my pussy, every hard push of his palm the perfect amount of pressure to cause the explosion he’s craving. Just moments of savagely being taken without care or concern of who can hear us or who could see us is all it takes to send me spiraling into the lecherous, orgasmic abyss.

  He frees my neck from his clutches and groans at the feeling as well as the sight of my body breaking for him. I helplessly pant yet he growls, “I don’t think I can make it home before we finish this…”

  My bottom lip weakly tucks between my teeth.

  “Kellan?” There’s a sharp knock on the door that steals our attention. “It’s Doctor Eisenberry. I need my office. Are you finished?”

  His eyes coat in aggravation from having to lie. “Yes. Give us just…one moment, please.” Kellan reluctantly removes his hand and whispers, “I’m having you for lunch. Just so we’re clear.”

  I fix my dress and lean forward to tease. “Hope you stay this hungry the whole ride home…”

  He groans his frustrations again before giving my ass a swat.

  A little during office hours never hurt, right?

  “Of course I don’t mind meeting in person to sign the papers with you, Mrs. DuPont-”

  “Kitty,” she snickers in her high-pitched voice.

  I’m not calling her that. There’s no way in bloody hell that nickname is coming off my lips.

  “Right,” I brush off the correction as the SUV comes to a halt. “Unfortunately, I can’t today. I’ve got plans to meet my fiancé and the wedding planner. Tomorrow?”

  “Brunch?”

  Because the best business seems to only happen around then in my country.

  “That sounds lovely. I’ll call my secretary to make a reservation at The Willow for us around ten. Will Mr. DuPont-”

  “Dick.”

  I grit my teeth to prevent saying the wrong thing.

  Please, don’t laugh. This is difficult enough. How the hell I’m going to make an entire meal avoiding their names is beyond me, but I have to. I need their support. My program needs their funding. With it not only will we back on budget after weeks of scrambling to get there, but I’ll actually have a little room to wiggle. Expand the program just a tad to include a little more for them. And all it will require is having brunch with nicknames people give their genitals.

  “Will he be joining as well?”

  “Of course,” she coos, her French accent heavy. “I don’t do anything without my Dick’s approval.”

  That makes two of us. What! I couldn’t resist!

  “I completely understand. I will have my secretary contact yours with time and confirmation this afternoon.”

  The door opens at the same time she suggests, “You should bring your fiancé with you! We’d love to meet her, especially if she will continue working on the program with you.”

  I slide out of the vehicle with a smile on my face.

  It’s a relief to hear someone wants to meet her. That she’s actually welcomed. There have been offers I’ve had to pass on by people who were willing to be donors as long as she kept her distance from the program. Even if she hated helping with MINOH, which just to be clear she doesn’t, I would pass on principle. I don’t want my program of hope built on a foundation of hatred.

  “I will see if I can bring her along.”

  “Perfect,” Mrs. Dupont sighs. “Look forward to seeing you two tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  “You as well.”

  Once the call has ended, Vincent questions, “Should I park the vehicle, sir, or will you and Miss Brie be headed out?”

  Unsure of the answer, I state, “Why don’t you leave it parked here for a few minutes while I figure that out?”

  He gives me a nod. “Yes sir.”

  I swiftly make my way past him and into the palace, heading straight for the sitting room they’ve been meeting in to discuss wedding plans. As I approach the door that’s ajar, I quiet my steps, and slightly peer around it not wanting to interrupt. To no surprise, the wedding planner, Cassandra, is rambling on at Brie whose head is tilted to the side with her eyes unblinking.

  My fist braces against my lips to stop from laughing out loud.

  There’s an unexpected bump against me proceeded with Soph questioning, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Watching Brie snore with her eyes open.”

  Soph steals a peek of the sight and snickers. “An impressive skill. Wish she could teach me how to do that. It would make listening to Kristopher’s conversation with your father about trading policies at least tolerable.”

  I glance down at her. “And by tolerable you mean nonexistent since you would be asleep.”

  “Precisely.” We exchange smirks and she adds, “You really should get in there and be a part of that. It’s absolutely dreadful and no one should have to go through it
alone.”

  Honestly, I never imagined Brie would be handling so much of it by herself. When I originally imagined us planning our wedding, I imagined us doing it. Fighting over wines and whether or not to serve smoked salmon pate with bruschetta style bread or gourmet crackers. Seeing the look of horror on her face at just hearing the description of what pate is. I envisioned late nights of laughing, intertwined with sex, and ultimately letting her have whatever she wanted. I hate that everything has taken another turn. I hate that I’ve had to sacrifice our wedding planning to save my program. Most of all I hate knowing deep down inside how miserable it is truly making her.