Scarred Crown (Bellerive Royals Book 2), page 27
My throat closes, and I can’t say anything, but I shake my head. If Nick doesn’t want me here, I don’t want to be here. He’s going to be okay, and that’s the most important thing. As long as he’s okay, we can retighten the bond that’s loosened between us. Patience. I just have to be patient and hold on.
“Just make sure he gets it.” My voice is garbled by unshed tears.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she mutters into the top of my head. She kisses my temple and squeezes me tight.
I close my eyes and let her affection provide a barrier, however thin, against Nick’s careless abandonment. This isn’t going to be forever. Maybe someday we’ll laugh about this—remember that time you ditched me? And then we’ll laugh and laugh.
But right now, all I want to do is cry.
I leave the hospital in a daze, and when I get home, Posey and I watch Christmas movies and drink too much hot chocolate.
My parents arrive home late in the day, and I ask if Nick got my present.
“He did,” she says, but she doesn’t meet my gaze.
Did he open it? The words stick in my throat, unasked.
For the rest of the day while we open our family presents and eat our meal, I check my phone, hoping for a message. A thanks or a come see me or anything that makes the void between us seem less deep and wide.
Not a single word arrives. When night falls, I turn off my phone and cry myself to sleep.
Nicholas
Taking a shift in the soup kitchen in the middle of Tucker’s Town, the capital of Bellerive, is a PR move my father has employed multiple times over the years. Whenever we’ve dropped our royal butts in the shitter, he’s used local outreach to drag us out. Given the lineup out the door and around the corner, I fear he might have utilized this place one time too many.
“I feel like I’m in a receiving line at a wedding,” Brice says as another person comes through and congratulates me on ‘making an honest woman out of Secretary Jensen.’ I didn’t even know people still used that expression. If Jules were here, she’d be horrified or amused. Bit of a tossup, actually.
“Should have made my wife come.” I suppress my laughter at the notion of ‘making’ Jules do anything. Another person murmurs congratulations as they take their bowl from me, and I give them a grin. “Fabulous news, isn’t it? We’re looking forward to celebrating with the whole island soon.”
“What’s Julia been doing since you two lovebirds returned?” Brice asks while he scoops another bowl.
Me. On every conceivable surface in any spare moment we’ve got. We’re on a sex binge, and I’m not even a little bit mad about it. Might even have a growing addiction to the feel of her naked body pressed to mine. God, I should not be thinking about her naked body right now. Bad idea, Nick. Bad, bad idea.
“She’s working on coronation stuff,” I say while offering the bowl to a well-wisher and subtly adjusting my pants with my free hand. It’s a good thing I’m actually happy about who I married while too drunk to remember or this mock receiving line would be torture. “The movers are hauling all her things to my wing of the palace tonight. We’re also supposed to be figuring out when we’re making our marriage Bellerive official.”
“All the pomp and circumstance?” Brice raises his eyebrows and fills another bowl.
Some drips over the edge, and I wipe it with a cloth before handing it over the counter. The last week since Jules and I got home has been a whirlwind of island outreach. Father wants to make sure the people of Bellerive aren’t too upset about my hasty marriage, and these informal social engagements give me a chance to spread the word that there will be a royal wedding soon.
“Apparently,” I say. “Have to give the people what they want.”
“So you two are solid?” Brice takes a moment to banter with one of the employees about the dwindling soup and excessive line outside.
I consider his question while I ladle more liquid into bowls. “We’re figuring it out.”
“Traditionally, that’s done before the wedding,” he says dryly when he turns back to me.
I resist the urge to punch him in the arm since we’re in public. Dad frowns on those public displays of affection. Any displays of public affection, actually. When we’re out in society representing him, we’re more figureheads than people.
“Alex has been in a foul mood since you announced at the royal family meeting that you’re seeing this marriage through.”
I ignore his comment about Alex because his feelings on my marriage aren’t my problem. Whatever happened with them before is nothing compared to what will be happening between Jules and me for the rest of our lives. Perhaps that should make me more charitable. I’ve been him. But I’m convinced he deliberately drove a deep wedge between me and Jules. Alex and I haven’t spoken since Jules and I returned last week and he caught me outside our father’s office. I’m not even sure Jules has spoken to him, but with the coronation planning, she’s bound to have things to discuss with him. I really wish they’d divided the secretary duties in the run-up to the coronation differently.
“I thought when the royal strategy meeting was called, we might be told the real reason Father is stepping down,” I say.
“You think Julia knows?” A frown creases Brice’s forehead for a beat before he looks up to grin at another customer.
“No.” I answer on instinct. “She’d have told me.” Maybe not at first, but the barriers between us have been coming down, brick by brick. If we’re going to make this work, we have to put each other first.
When I expressed surprise my father didn’t reveal the real reason he was stepping down at the meeting, Jules said that maybe he really did want to enjoy his golden years in peace. A perfect opening for her to tell me more, and she didn’t. There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
“She’s still Dad’s employee,” Brice reminds me.
“Not for much longer.”
“You’re going to ask her to quit?”
“I’m not having her work for Alex,” I mutter. “Besides, as my wife, she’ll be engaging in charity work, community outreach, all the things we do.” Every time I say ‘wife’, a shot of adrenaline zips through me. Marriage was never a serious consideration before Julia inserted herself back into my life. Now, wife is my favorite word.
“Suppose you could loop her into the foundation in Tanzania. Heard you two were flying a woman and her child over for some surgeries?”
“Elena and Bahati, yeah,” I say. The line is finally starting to dwindle, and I breathe a sigh of relief. My face hurts from pasting on this fake smile each time I deliver another bowl.
We serve the last customer, and one of the workers flips the sign from open to closed. Brice and I help tidy up the kitchen and do the dishes while our security detail prowls the front. Neither of us is the type to rush away as soon as the public aspect is done.
Brice opens the dishwasher and steps back as steam pours out. “What’s the deal with the surgery?”
“Two clubfeet. The waiting list for the surgery would have been two years.”
“Wow.” Brice shakes his head. “How old is the baby?”
“Just shy of eighteen months.” I finish drying a dish, and since we’ve been here so many times, I slot the item back into the right place. Gus, the man who runs this place, gives me a nod of approval.
“She would have gotten the surgery eventually. I suppose that’s good.” He shakes out his hand when he tries to pick up a dish that’s still too hot from the washing tray.
“The mother-in-law suggested to Bahati that Elena might be better off not existing at all.”
“Infanticide?” Brice leans against the counter and crosses his arms. “Illegal, but I don’t doubt it still happens some places.”
“People break laws all the time.”
“Desperation. Backed into a corner.” He sighs and runs a hand through his short brown hair. “The older I get, the more I appreciate how life is rarely black or white. We live in the gray areas.”
We finish the cleanup in silence and then shake Gus’s hand before following our security out the front door.
“I can’t imagine feeling such despair that ending a life is the right choice—especially the life of a family member,” Brice says once we’re in the back of the car. “Makes me want to save them all. If only we could.”
“Luckily,” I say, “Bahati didn’t follow the mother-in-law’s advice, and Julia’s bleeding heart led us right to them.”
“When do they arrive?”
“Next week. Kafil, my guide from Tanzania, is coming to act as a translator. Seemed the easiest way to make sure everyone felt comfortable and safe.” Julia suggested Kafil when we were struggling to find a proficient translator on the island. What was one more plane ticket?
“Maybe you should expand your Bellerive foundation there to encompass some of these surgeries with long wait lists.”
“The idea has crossed my mind. I was going to ask Jules if she wanted to help run it.”
Brice chuckles. “Why not? She’s already an integral member. Considering the idea was originally hers, I can’t imagine she’d turn the opportunity down.”
“I’m not entirely sure how attached she is to the secretary position.” In Tanzania, she implied she fell into the job and never left. But watching her organize and plan the coronation has made me appreciate how good she is. Just because she didn’t intend to do the job forever doesn’t mean she isn’t invested in the work.
“Yet another thing to figure out,” Brice teases.
The list does seem substantial and never-ending at the moment. Why wouldn’t it? Julia and I have only been back in each other’s lives for a few weeks. We went from barely speaking to married. Bound to be some adjustments. Nothing to worry about.
“We’ll be fine,” I say. “As long as we’re honest with each other, we’ll be fine.”
Julia is doing what she does best—directing the chaos. Movers are streaming in with suitcases of her clothes, personal items, and a few pieces of furniture. Most of what she owns is going into one of the royal storage facilities until we decide whether we’re staying here or inhabiting one of the vacant houses on the estate. My vote is for a fresh start on the property after a quick reno. Julia has been more reluctant to commit, and I’m trying not to let her lack of enthusiasm bother me.
She agreed to stay married to me, and she can’t keep her hands off me when we’re alone. I can’t expect everything to fall into place with a snap of my fingers.
Although I always thought I was the only one hurt the night of my father’s birthday, I’ve realized we both bear those scars. Fighting my attraction and trying to snuff out my love for Julia burned us both. Our fire blazed too hot to be contained.
So many stupid mistakes.
I’m not making any more. So if she needs time to adjust to this whirlwind we’ve spun ourselves into, I’m not going to let uncertainty get a foothold in me. She said what she once felt for me can be recovered. Stay the course. I know what I want, and right now I’ve got it. Don’t fuck up. Simple.
“Is it all too much?” Jules comes to stand beside me. She crosses her arms and bites her lip as more suitcases flow into the walk-in closet. Her silky shirt, which is begging for me to touch it, is distracting. What’s underneath her pencil skirt? I’m torn between hoping for commando and realizing my mental health is in trouble if she’s not wearing anything.
As for her stuff, she could literally back the moving truck up here and dump it all. I wouldn’t blink an eye as long as there was a surface to perch her ass on or bend her over while I find way number five to make her come so hard and fast she takes God’s name in vain. Just the thought makes me hard.
“No, I don’t see a problem,” I say with a hint of a smile as I peruse her from head to toe. Definitely panties. She’s been working.
“Get your mind out of the gutter.” She smacks me in the chest.
“How do you know it’s in the gutter?” I eye her with amusement.
She slides in front of me and pretends to observe the movers while her other hand reaches around her back to stroke me through my jeans.
She’s swept her hair into a ponytail at some point today, and her neck is exposed. Licking my way up might be a tad obvious with an audience. She’s likely to squeal. Instead, I lean down and scrape my teeth along her earlobe. Goosebumps rise on her arms.
The soft sigh she releases is barely audible, but I know exactly what’s going on underneath her clothes. Pert nipples. Dampness between her thighs.
When she turns in my arms, and I see the heat in her gaze, I could care less about movers or furniture or any of her things. Naked. She needs to be naked. I’m going to help her climb a mountain and then observe, fascinated, as she topples over it. Watching Jules come is my favorite pastime.
I nuzzle her nose with mine and hover my lips a hair’s breadth from hers. When she tries to tug me into a kiss, I sidestep her.
“Tease,” she mutters.
“Thank you very much, gentlemen,” I say, striding toward the movers. “Shouldn’t be too much more. You can leave the rest in the hallway. My wife and I will bring it in later.”
When the four movers exchange skeptical glances, I say, “We have some very urgent royal business to discuss.”
One of the movers smirks, but he doesn’t say anything except offer me a salute and send an appraising glance Julia’s way. Suppose I’ll have to get used to other people thinking my wife is hot. Can’t decide if that’ll suck or not. Thank God she literally has my name tattooed on her body.
As the last one shuffles out, I snap the locks into place. When I turn to face Jules, there’s a wicked glint to her expression. I love it.
“Urgent royal business to discuss?” Jules widens her eyes in mock concern. “Did something come up?”
“There’s a rising concern.” I prowl toward her.
“Will it be hard to navigate?” She traces the ridge of my erection and gazes up at me.
“We’ve got to get some rocks off. You can handle that, can’t you?” I kiss her temple and feather kisses along her hairline. Her silky shirt floats around my hands, and I slip it over her head and toss it toward a chair.
“Mmm.” She undoes the button on my jeans and unzips my fly. “Probably needs my full attention to satisfy all parties.”
“The party is just a little lower,” I say when she traces the edge of my boxer briefs. I unsnap her bra and send it sailing toward her shirt.
She leans back to make eye contact. “The party is in your pants? That’s the best you could do?”
I lift her up and carry her to the bed, tossing her into the middle. “It’s a very fun party.”
She giggles and crawls back toward me on her hands and knees.
Fucking hell. My brain better be recording this in high resolution for later. I toss my shirt over my head, and when she meets me at the edge of the bed on her knees, I frame her face and kiss her. After being home with her for a week and getting to do this every spare moment, it’s still surreal. The dream has become the reality.
I’m a lucky fucker.
“I was worried,” Jules says, her voice breathless, “that the party might need some resuscitation.”
My lips quirk into a partial smile. Her comment could be offensive or lead into something else I’m definitely not turning down. “A little mouth to mouth might be in order.” I kiss her again.
“Mouth to mouth?” she murmurs.
“Mouth to dick might breed more success.”
She laughs and pushes my pants and boxers to the floor. “Mouth to dick? Could get explosive.”
“Here’s hoping.”
She’s still laughing when she eases me between her luscious lips, and within a few swirls of her tongue, neither of us is in a talking mood anymore. I’m grateful to her ponytail for the second time while I watch her slide up and down my shaft. The clear visual coupled with her rhythmic hand, mouth, and tongue, and I’m in danger of having a very short fuse today. As much as I love this, there’s nothing better than sinking into her and hearing her moan of satisfaction.
Then there’s the way she looks at me as though she’s exactly where she wants to be—under me, on top of me, backed up against me—her expression soothes the lingering ache I try to pretend isn’t there. Can’t spend fourteen years believing something and get over it in a week.
“Jules,” I hiss when she rolls her tongue along my tip. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last.”
“Isn’t that the point,” she murmurs before licking up my shaft.
I chuckle. “I think the party has moved to your pussy.”
“A pussy party?” Jules strokes me and kisses her way up my body and along my neck to my earlobe. “Sounds juicy.”
“Let’s find out, shall we?” I push her back on the bed and make quick work of her skirt only to discover that she wasn’t wearing underwear. “Jules,” I groan and run my lips across her hip bones. “I’ll be walking around the palace with a permanent hardon if there’s a chance you’re panty-less under your skirts.”
“Perhaps we’ll run into each other in empty corridors a little more often,” she breathes out while her fingers dig into my hair.
She knows what’s coming, and I bet anticipation has made her soaking wet with need. I run a finger up her center and suck in a sharp breath. So wet.
“Please, Nick.” She squirms under my hands.
“How do you want it?” I rasp, and my lips are inches from her clit.
“Make me beg for it.”
I grin just before I cover her with my mouth. My favorite.
Julia
Nick is my drug, and I am an addict. There’s no other explanation for the sex haze I’ve been walking around in for the last two weeks. Fourteen years of pent-up sexual frustration have been released on the world. Or at least all over Nick’s wing of the palace.
