Royal Surrogate, page 1
ROYAL SURROGATE 1
ROYAL HEARTBREAKERS
RENNA PEAK
EMBER CASEY
CASEY PEAK PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2024 by Renna Peak and Ember Casey
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.
CONTENTS
Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
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CHAPTER 1
Caspar
This is the second time I’ve been to Seattle in my life. The first was to attend a rather ridiculous party at the home of some new-money tech mogul whose name escapes me now. This time, it is for something much more important.
I take a bite of my fried fish as I gaze out the window overlooking the water. There’s something exquisite about the flavor of freshly cooked fish, though my surroundings are far from exquisite.
My brother recommended this place—best fried fish in the world, he said. Perhaps he’s right, but it’s difficult to enjoy it given the shoddy table I’m sitting at, not to mention what’s just happened.
I’m not usually one for a pity party. I’m heir to my father’s title—Guardian of Wintervale. It may not seem like much—after all, my cousins are princes of Montovia. But the title is mine by birthright, and I’m more than happy to take it when the time comes. Montovia might be a tiny country landlocked in the middle of Europe, but the small piece of it known as Wintervale will be mine.
But there are things that have been gnawing at me for some time. Sadly, it is only by the grace of my cousins that I even have Wintervale to my name. While this has always been a difficult pill for me to swallow, I know there is little I can do to change it.
And now both of my younger brothers have children. When Benedict’s daughter was born, I was unfazed. The small thing vomited more than she slept and cried more than she laughed. I couldn’t understand why anyone would want such a monstrosity in their life.
Then my brother Xavier discovered he had a young son. I’m not exactly certain what it was about the boy, but my thinking about children changed with that revelation, and I couldn’t help wanting a son of my own.
Certain other events may have affected me as well, but I’m hardly one to think of such matters.
I take another bite of my fish, staring out over the water. It’s unlike me to be so obsessed by anything. Even when it’s come to women, I’ve never been taken with a single one. There are beautiful women everywhere, and it’s always seemed to me that I was meant to experience as much of that beauty as humanly possible.
But having a son of my own… It’s taken over my every thought. It’s why I’ve come to Seattle. I was told the best legal firm for handling surrogacy was here, and their services didn’t disappoint. I spent the last several hours perusing their hundreds of files—women willing to bear a child for a price.
None of them were right, though. Even when I found one I thought might suffice, her file clearly stated that she wanted partial custody of the child.
That would never work for me. My surrogate will have to play a certain role in my life, at least for a time. I can’t merely produce a son without a mother—the speculation from the press would be outrageous, and I can’t be hiding in Montovia to protect myself from it.
No, I have a very specific idea of what I want. Need. My surrogate will have to be beautiful, of course. Highly educated and brilliant. Able to carry on an intelligent conversation—after all, she’ll need to play the part of my partner, at least until my son is born. And then she’ll need to quietly slip away, preferably somewhere no one will be able to find her, at least until the press forgets she ever existed in the first place.
My guess would be about a year. I’ll pay her, of course, the sum of her choosing. I find there really isn’t a price tag that can be attached to having a son of my own.
And that’s just it—he needs to be mine. I want her to have no claim to him whatsoever, and she’ll need to agree to that upfront. It’s hardly fair that a man can’t have a child of his own without having it grow for three-quarters of a year inside a woman.
I’m just not certain why this has been so difficult. The attorney at the law firm told me I was being unrealistic. That the child would certainly want to know who its mother was at some point. He clearly doesn’t understand anything, but he was certainly willing to take my money. We’ll just have to wait for the right one to come along, he’d said. It could be a month, or a year, or even longer.
I want a son now. I understand it will take some time for him to grow inside some woman’s womb, but I don’t want to wait any longer. I’ve even considered trying to woo some unsuspecting woman, and I’m sure I’d be able to, but the complications of something like that would be…messy. I’d much prefer to have a contract between us, clearly outlining the expectations I have of her.
Someone sits in the booth behind me. The restaurant—if one can call it that—is small, and though it’s mid-afternoon, it’s full of patrons eating trays of fried fish. I barely noticed the constant hum of voices over my own thoughts.
“That’s ridiculous!” The woman behind me must be on her phone. “You have to be kidding me!”
I glance over my shoulder, and my heart stops beating for a moment.
She’s breathtaking. Long, black hair covers her shoulders, and her sapphire eyes stare out at the water.
Her jaw clenches as she listens to whatever the person on the other end of her phone line is saying. “This has to be a joke.”
She doesn’t seem to notice me watching her, but I turn back to my table all the same. As beautiful as she is, I didn’t come here to entice some random woman into bed.
The thought startles me, and I must blink a few times to clear my head. Did I just tell myself I didn’t want to bed a woman on this trip? Perhaps I really have changed. Maybe I’ve finally matured…
But that thought is quickly forgotten when I hear the woman behind me again.
“A million dollars?” she says. “That’s a joke, right? Where the hell am I going to come up with a million dollars?”
CHAPTER 2
Renae
Damn it all to hell.
I drop my cell phone on the table, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the tears that are accumulating in my lower lashes. I don’t have time to cry. I have to think.
My basket of fries sits untouched in front of me. Normally, I’m the kind of girl who believes good french fries can fix anything, but not today. Even my orange Creamsicle milkshake doesn’t look appetizing anymore.
A million dollars. Where the hell am I going to get a million fucking dollars? I can hardly cover my rent these days, let alone save up that kind of money.
Joyce comes over, a coffee pot in her hand and a frown on her face. “Something bothering you, Rennie? That looked like one heck of a phone call.”
Normally, I’m only too happy to spill all the messy details of my life to Joyce—after almost two years of my regular visits to this restaurant, she’s become something of a friend—but today I shake my head.
“You sure?” She props her free hand on her hip. “Forgive me for saying so, Ren, but you look like you’re about to have a breakdown. Is it that manager of yours again?”
I wish this was just about Donald. How that pencil-dick of a human being ever got a job overseeing the academic libraries at Lake Washington University I’ll never know.
“No, no, nothing like that,” I assure her. And then, because I’ve never been good at holding things inside, I blurt, “It’s about my dad.”
I don’t have to elaborate. Joyce takes one look over her shoulder—presumably to see if any customers need immediate service—then slides into the booth across from me.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I take a deep breath and swallow the lump in my throat before attempting to speak.
“Remember that experimental treatment I told you about?”
Joyce nods. “From that fancy German doctor.”
“Yeah.
“Rennie, that’s great!” The enthusiasm in Joyce’s voice mirrors what I felt at the beginning of the phone call when I initially heard the news. For the first time in three years, I actually allowed myself to hope.
But that hope was dashed as quickly as it was allowed to bloom.
“Yeah, well, they won’t give it to him,” I tell her.
“What?”
“His insurance won’t cover the treatment because it’s ‘experimental’,” I say, disgust thick in my voice. “And apparently the treatment costs a million dollars out of pocket.”
Joyce’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “A million dollars?”
“One point two million, to be exact.” I’ve managed to crush the end of my french fry into mashed potato, so I toss it onto the plate. “Dad’s savings and retirement accounts are already basically drained at this point. And I’m funneling everything I can into paying for his physical therapists on top of what the state provides for his care facility, but unless Donald decides to give me an unexpected raise, I’m bleeding dry. I probably shouldn’t even be eating out.”
“You deserve a raise,” Joyce points out. “You practically run that library yourself. And you put up with entitled undergrad students all day.”
“If anyone deserves a raise here, it’s you,” I counter. “I know what kind of bullshit customers put you through.”
“Speaking of, I should probably get back to work.” Joyce slides out of the booth. “It looks like Mr. Baldy down at the end there is starting to get grumpy.” She pauses next to me, putting her hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “Don’t give up hope just yet, Rennie. Sometimes these things work out.”
She gives me an encouraging smile, and I smile back, but my mouth falls again as soon as her back is turned. I want to be hopeful, but I’m too much of a realist for that. Or maybe my aptitude for hope dried up the day my dad got in that accident three years ago.
I stare at my plate of french fries and my half-melted shake, trying to will myself to find my appetite again. If I don’t eat something before work, I’m going to regret it. But I can’t seem to make myself hungry.
My phone buzzes on the table. A knot twists in my stomach, the same way it does every time my phone rings these days, but when I see Donald’s name on the screen, I groan inwardly and make myself answer.
“Where are you?” he snaps as soon as I answer the call.
“What do you mean? I’m not coming in until one today.”
“I left you a message to be here at eleven,” he snarls back. “Some idiot pre-law students completely wrecked the reference section. Everything is a mess.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get everything organized again. Did Professor Kingsbury come by and pick up those research materials I gathered for her?”
“How am I supposed to know? Just get in here and do your job!”
“Will you double-check with Rory at the desk? Professor Kingsbury said it was time sensitive. I think she had a meeting with that researcher from Berlin—”
I’m cut off by Donald hanging up.
Cursing at him under my breath, I drop a twenty on the table to cover my lunch and tip and gather up my tote bag full of textbooks and reference materials. Donald has always mocked me for the reading and research I do—he likes to say our job is to “organize books, not read them,” as if reading is a dirty word—but I know I’m better at my job the more familiar I am with the information we keep. That way if a student comes in with a specific question about botany, or World War II, or the limbic system, I can point them to exactly the books they need. And in the meantime, I consider the chance to learn a fun perk of the position.
At least until Donald comes along and makes me want to stab my eyes out.
Fucking pencil-dick, I think as I rise from my booth. His bullshit is the last thing I needed today. Why can’t I catch a break? Why can’t the universe do one thing in my favor, give me one good thing without tainting it with some asshole boss or a million-dollar price tag? Just one good thing to—
I slam into someone—hard—as I turn to leave my table. My tote bag falls off my arm, the textbooks flying everywhere.
“Of course,” I grumble under my breath, dropping to my knees to gather my things. To the other person, I say, “I’m sorry. I’m just having the shittiest day…”
To my surprise, my victim crouches down across from me.
It’s a man—and a strikingly handsome one at that. His red-gold hair shines in the sunlight streaming in through the huge windows, and his blue eyes are startlingly sharp and arresting. And that jaw—I swear, I could cut diamonds on that jaw.
For a moment, I forget everything but him.
“I’m the one who should apologize,” he says, his words shaped with an accent I can’t place. “I ran into you.” He grabs a couple of my books and hands them back to me. “And I’m not having the best day myself. But from what I overheard, it sounds like yours might be worse.”
“You were eavesdropping on me?”
“Not on purpose. But you were speaking loud enough for me to hear.” There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and under different circumstances, on a different day, I would have called him charming.
“Well, thank you,” I say as I take the last of my books from him. “But I need to be going. I’m late.”
I rise, but unfortunately, he starts to rise at the same time. I wobble, trying to avoid bumping into him, but that only sends me careening backwards.
Before I can hit the floor again, though, the man grabs me and pulls me toward him. I collide with his chest, knocking him back to the floor, and somehow, as I’m flailing, my head comes up and my lips accidentally meet his.
I freeze.
For an instant, everything is hot and cold at once, and I’m too stunned to do anything but lie there, half-sprawled on top of him, our mouths pressed together. His lips taste curiously sweet and fresh for someone who was probably just gorging on fried food.
And then I come to my senses.
Scrambling, I push myself from him and practically leap to my feet.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That was a complete and total accident.”
“I’m not complaining,” he says with a charming smile, rising with much more grace than I did. “If that was an accident, then it was a very pleasant one.”
“It was an accident,” I insist, glancing around to make sure no one else saw. Most of the nearby customers are too busy with their meals and phones to even look up, but I spot Joyce watching us from the other end of the booths, her eyes wide.
“I’m sorry for running into you,” I tell him, my cheeks blazing. “Now I really need to be going.”
But he’s standing in my way, and he shows no intention of moving. In fact, his gaze is locked on my face.
“Is that your natural eye color?” he asks.
“What?”
“You’re not wearing colored contacts, are you?”
“No.” Okay, maybe he’s not so charming after all. Maybe he’s just weird. And now I’ve gone and accidentally kissed him and given him the wrong idea.
“You said your father is undergoing treatment,” he says, as if it’s perfectly normal to ask a stranger about their family’s medical issues. “That’s not for something genetic, I assume? I believe I heard you mention a physical therapist, so it sounds like he may have had some sort of accident or—”
“What’s wrong with you?” I demand, my humiliation giving way to defensiveness. He definitely got the wrong idea. “I told you, that kiss was an accident. I don’t even know you. I’m not having this conversation with you.”
