Damaged Royals

by Hazel Parker

“Touring the world. Honeymoon stage. I’m pretty sure there’s a baby on the way.”

  I nodded my head, the news making hope shine. I refused to look at newspapers or watch television, but I did manage to get a glimpse once and saw a picture of the couple somewhere on the beach, locking lips. They looked absolutely happy, and it was more than I could hope for.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” I finally asked. “Did you want our special pancakes?”

  “What I want is an explanation.”

  “The letter…”

  “Was bullshit and we both know it.” He stepped forward again, leaving practically no space between us. His eyes snapped, and I realized that there was a certain energy I was feeling from his vibrating body. It was anger. “You asked me once if I wanted you—in fact, you pushed me to answer. So I’m going to push now.” There was a pause. “Did you leave because of my monster? Did you not want to deal with it anymore now that you’ve done your deal with the queen and got your money?”

  My eyes widened as I realized he must have found out about the deal, but not the full detail of it. I could have just said yes, and he’d have taken it at face value. Then he would walk away, and I could pretend none of this visit had ever happened and continue to my path of moving on.

  But that wasn’t fair to either of us, especially to him. Even me, because lying was just going to be hell on my conscience.

  So I lifted my chin. “I returned the money but got her offer for Kyle’s full education. And a gemstone, to pay all my debts. That’s it. If it’s that much of a problem, then I will return it when the time comes and when I earn enough money, but that’s between me and the queen.”

  “And what about us?”

  “No, I’ll answer your question first. I didn’t leave because of the deal. I left because it was the right thing to do, rather than staying there and continue waiting for handouts…and watching you get married to someone else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your stepmother wanted a good life for you—for you and Ben. Do you think I’m selfish enough to get in the way of that? I want that life for you, too, now that Ana might possibly be pregnant. You can now marry anyone you want. You can now live your dreams without the curse weighing you down, Lucas.”

  Or me weighing you down.

  “Was that all you wanted to know?” I asked. “Did you come here just for that?”

  He didn’t reply, and I couldn’t look at him any longer. It was so painful, knowing we were just going to have to say goodbye again.

  I nodded my head firmly. “Well, I guess I’ve made myself clear.” I made a move to turn around, but I didn’t even get a step in because his hand was on my arm and pulling me back. I gasped and faced him again, ready to argue. Panic was seeping into me, and I didn’t want him to see.

  But his next words replaced the panic with shock almost instantly.

  “What if I wanted to marry you?”

  “I’m sorry?” I blurted out. Wrong thing to say, but I wasn’t even sure if I was hearing things right.

  “Your letter said to find someone I love. And that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.”

  I gasped, unable to believe my ears.

  “I’m sorry I was so cold to you, but I didn’t want to risk it. And I’m being selfish now,” he growled out, frustration brimming in his voice and in his expression. “I shouldn’t have looked for you, but you have to understand—even in beast form, I see you in my dreams.”

  “What…what do you mean?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know what I mean. I didn’t want to risk getting you with child, knowing how that was going to turn out, but I had sex with you, anyway. You deserve better, Liz, but here I am, anyway. I might not get better for all I know, but I’m asking you, anyway. Was there ever any chance for you to love me?”

  The question was asked with that same hunger inside him, along with a vulnerability that had his voice going stone cold. It should have turned me off, should have made me drive him away.

  Instead, like a hot knife to butter, I melted on the spot and knew I was doomed from the very start.

  “I love you.”

  My words, said in a small voice, had him blinking—then, staring, like he couldn’t believe it. Like it was impossible. My heart ached again at the thought that no one probably ever said the words out loud to him. So I repeated it.

  “I love you. I didn’t know how to tell you, and I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way. I didn’t want to watch you falling in love with some suitable royal woman, and I needed to think about Kyle. So I had to leave.” My voice was shaking, and for the life of me, I couldn’t keep it steady. My feelings were pouring out of me in waves, threatening to take over. “And when I did leave, I still couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  Silence filled my confession, but I was too fascinated by the way his face transformed. The anger cleared bit by bit, replaced by shock and disbelief. Then there was a surge of that frustration again, as his hands took my shoulders to face me squarely.

  “I could seriously bang you for that.”

  I choked. “Bang, as in…?”

  His eyes widened. “I meant in the head. For being so stupid.”

  My mouth dropped. “I was being reasonable!”

  “No. You ran away from what we had.”

  He was right. He was too right.

  “I was scared,” I whispered, looking down. It was hard to admit it. Then I looked up. “You ran away, too.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s say we’re both idiots then.” His face sobered, and he met my eyes again. This time, I didn’t miss the emotion there, one that had my heart feeling so full. “Will you marry me, anyway?”

  It was the oddest proposal in the world.

  It was also the most romantic for me as my whole body burst with joy.

  This was going to cause so many problems. It would eliminate his chance for a royal alliance, and the scandal that would follow would be abysmal. But now that he admitted how he felt for me, the thought of him getting married to someone else just didn’t seem right anymore. It hurt.

  And I was tired of hurting.

  So I stepped even closer until our bodies were just a whisper away, feeling like the calmest person in the world.

  “I will, only because of one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It would prevent you from drinking alcohol, and you get to have sex with me. A lot. Isn’t that a good bargain?”

  My words had him choking—then, bursting into laughter right in the middle of that empty diner. I grinned. Then I opened myself up to him as he bent down for a kiss, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. He pulled me in, wrapping his arms tight around me, and the kiss turned hungry and intense before we reluctantly broke it.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Willis just outside, standing beside a limousine and obviously trying to look inconspicuous. I stifled a laugh and just hugged Lucas tighter.

  “I love you, Liz.”

  “Love you, Lucas,” I said in return.

  The queen was definitely not going to be pleased.

  But it didn’t matter because Lucas and I would get through this together.

  * * *

  Sneak Peak for J. S. Striker’s Shifters of SoHo Series

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  There was nothing worse than going to the office and knowing things weren’t going to go the way you wanted it to—at least, not in Jillian Jones’ opinion.

  She’d taken some sleeping pills last night in the hopes of getting a good night’s sleep, which she did. Then she’d woken up refreshed and showered until she was squeaky clean. She’d picked out her best outfit in her closet, this coral-colored ensemble that gave her the semblance of a figure and made her look extra cheerful. She’d even splurged on a cup of gourmet coffee from this newly-opened coffee shop, one she carried now as she entered the cast-iron building in the middle of her favorite neighborhood in the world.

&n
bsp; SoHo was meant to be appreciated in a beautiful early morning like this, with the hustle and bustle on the streets and the sun peeking cheerfully from clouds in the sky. Even the place she worked in was a vision meant to be enjoyed, and she glanced at all the artwork hanging on the walls now, hoping they would give her a sense of comfort.

  Instead, Jillian found her mood plunging down as she realized that the display had been changed yet again, replaced by tacky colors that clashed and made her want to cry.

  She straightened her shoulders, refusing to let it affect her. Nerves were already simmering in her stomach, but she tried her best to ignore it as she hurried over to where her boss’ office was. Jillian usually wasn’t this early for work, but the call had been pretty urgent, leaving her with no choice.

  Time to get it going, then.

  She knocked.

  Her boss, Roger Anderson, called out a come in in a muffled voice. She took a deep, inward breath. Then she turned the knob and quietly entered.

  Mr. Anderson’s office was small but cheerful—at least, it was when Jillian first decorated it. Now it looked like a child had taken a couple of paint buckets and randomly threw them around the wall and the furniture, and the sight was so offensive that it felt stifling.

  His girlfriend really wore the pants.

  There was a very severe expression on Mr. Anderson’s face when he indicated for Jillian to sit down, but she was too distracted by how his neon green desk clashed with the ancient oak chairs. Still, she offered him a bright smile, one he returned briefly and had her hoping against hope that this meeting wouldn’t be as bad as she expected.

  That hope was dashed when he opened his mouth to speak.

  “I believe you know why I called you in my office early in the morning, so I’m not going to dilly-dally. Jillian, I heard about what happened with Darla.”

  Even the name sent a shudder down Jillian’s spine, though she tried not to let it show. Mr. Anderson had been a widow when Jillian started working as an assistant curator for his art gallery six years ago. It had been right after college, and she remembered how impressed he’d been when he saw her resume and college credentials. She’d risen up to the top since then, become the director, and had been so focused on her job that she had no time for anything else. She enjoyed everything, enjoyed the feeling of being in charge and being surrounded by art, considering she was an artist myself.

  Well, occasional artist.

  Then things started to change just a little bit last year when the cheerful widow boss she had got charmed by one of the visitors—an actress named Darla who’d visited for one of the art shows. They’d made eyes that night and had been together since then, and really, Jillian had been very happy for him.

  Until Darla started taking over the changes in the gallery without her consent.

  Jillian still would have been fine with it if the changes were remotely acceptable. But the once white walls turned purple, and the marble floors were covered with the most garish rugs she’d ever seen. When she first saw them, her first reaction was horror, followed by going over to Darla to try to reason with her.

  The woman ended up lashing out at her and telling Mr. Anderson that Jillian was picking on her. Jillian still let her get away with it, still managed a smile on her face even when all she wanted to do was return the gallery back to its classy state. But no, she remained polite and professional.

  Until last night happened.

  Last night, Darla had tried to redecorate the walls yet again and ended up ruining one of the paintings they had—a beautiful sunset scene from one of her favorite artists. It had made Jillian so angry that she completely lost her shit, calling Darla all kinds of insults before the red haze faded from her head. Realizing what she’d done, she then began apologizing, but it was too late.

  And now, here she was.

  “I apologize for that, Mr. Anderson,” Jillian said, grinding her teeth. “But you know how important that painting is.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” He slid a paper across the desk. “I just proposed to Darla, and we’re getting married in a month. I don’t want any conflict, and as much as I hate to do this…I have to choose my future wife.”

  She didn’t even have to look at the paper to know what it was. Jillian shot him a pleading look, unable to believe this was happening. It felt like her world was crashing down on her, and she couldn’t do anything to pick it up.

  But maybe Mr. Anderson could help her pick it up.

  “Mr. Anderson, I’ve been working with you for six years. Is there any chance this can be fixed?”

  Her heart dropped when he shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Jillian. But this is for the best. I’ll return your painting to you and give you a couple months’ compensation. It’s the least I can do.”

  And she knew, at that moment, that there really was nothing she could do.

  Jillian had messed up bad.

  * * *

  Dear Miss Jones,

  We have read your resume, and we must say we are very impressed. We would love for you to come see us in our art gallery this Friday morning. It will be a very casual interview, and we look forward to meeting you.

  Mr. and Mrs. James Grimshaw

  The letter came when she least expected it—exactly two weeks after she got fired, brooded, tried to look for work, found none so far, and brooded again. She still had savings to get her by, along with Mr. Anderson’s compensation, but her SoHo loft-style apartment wasn’t exactly cheap, and she knew she was going to run out of money soon. She refused to ask for money from her parents, who were retired and living a comfortable life in Massachusetts.

  Jillian didn’t want to get too excited, but the feeling surrounded her anyway as she found the address and entered yet another cast-iron building at the southern end of the neighborhood. The gallery was smaller than the one she used to work in, but her wariness was replaced by pleasant surprise when she saw that the inside had white walls and a tasteful display of modern art.

  The pleasant surprise grew when the owner’s wife, Mrs. Paula Grimshaw, met her right away and warmly shook her hand, obviously recognizing her.

  “I have heard all about you! I’m so delighted to meet you, Miss Jones.”

  “Please, call me Jillian.”

  “Then call me Paula.” The woman beamed. She was drop-dead gorgeous with her blond hair, blue eyes, and knockout figure, and Jillian found herself staring. “Can we discuss everything in my husband’s office?”

  Jillian nodded her head, and it wasn’t long before she was ushered into an office just as classy as the gallery. They were just about to get started when a man came in, and Paula’s smile widened as she began to make the introductions.

  The owner and Paula’s husband, James Grimshaw, wasn’t what Jillian expected. He was short and…well, not handsome, with a face filled with pockmarks that were deep and dark. He did give off an aura of authority with the way he stared with those piercing black eyes. Jillian tried her best to be friendly, but he barely talked and was almost rude before slipping out of the office, leaving his wife to discuss the details.

  There was no interview really as Jillian was given the details of the job offer right away. Her mind boggled at the salary offered, as well as the benefits. Before she knew it, she was nodding her head and agreeing to the deal, unable to believe this was happening so fast. She found herself really warming up to Paula as she was taken to a mini tour around the small space and the paintings they housed.

  Then Paula brought something up that had Jillian blinking.

  “Pardon me for being so blunt, but I have to say that I’ve really admired your painting back in the old gallery it was displayed in—I mean, before they took it down. The Moonlight River?”

  “Oh. Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Jillian’s painting had been bought by Mr. Anderson on her second year working there but taken down last year after some kid tried to mess with it. It was kept in storage until now, and
it still smarted that her old boss thought returning it without asking for the money in return would make her feel better. She forced herself to stop thinking about it.

  “Thank you.”

  “Will you sell it, by any chance?”

  Jillian tilted her head. There was a hint of eagerness in Paula’s voice that she didn’t expect, and the proper answer would have been to say yes. But she held back, not wanting to appear too excited. In all honesty, she didn’t want to look at the painting after it was returned, and she didn’t think the idea of displaying it and seeing it again here was a good one. But it was one of her firsts, and she wasn’t going to get rid of it.

  “I actually have some other paintings at home that you might favor better. Would you like to see them?”

  Jillian thought she saw a flicker in the woman’s blue eyes, but she might have been imagining it as it was gone so quickly.

  “Of course,” Paula replied cheerfully. “I’d love to see all your paintings. Please bring them, too.”

  The woman was so nice, and Jillian found herself getting a good feeling about this new job. They chatted some more before the meeting ended with a handshake and she was told to start on Monday.

  “Bring Moonlight River, you hear me? I want to see that painting. I’m obsessed with it.”

  There was that hint of eagerness in her voice again, and Jillian still couldn’t understand what the big deal was. But it didn’t matter. She walked out of there in a daze, feeling like her world was starting to become bright again.

  They said that a downfall could take a while to recover from, but Jillian’s only lasted two weeks before she got this good news. It scared her a little bit, but she also couldn’t contain the excitement surging in.

  She needed to celebrate, pronto.

  Because she was so giddy, Jillian practically skipped as she neared the harbor, where some of her favorite restaurants were. Maybe she would get a big-ass steak and a slice of gooey chocolate cake. Or maybe she would try a new restaurant. As she thought of her options, she also vowed to herself that she would do anything to make this work—including trying to charm the rather unpleasant Mr. Grimshaw, who was probably just misunderstood and actually nice.