20
Gabriel
The tile floor is cold and hard underneath me, but I don’t want to move. Jo’s skin is too warm and silky to want it anywhere except pressed against mine. We lay there, unmoving, until my phone goes off.
I stiffen. I know that alarm.
Jo senses the shift and crawls off me. I get up, swearing under my breath, and grab my phone.
“What is it?” She asks, reaching for her dress.
“Flora.”
I don’t have time to explain. I just throw my clothes on as a lump forms in my throat. Flora has a distress button near her bed, and if she’s pressed it, it means something is seriously wrong. Her lungs are infection-prone, and any sort of bacteria can leave her bedridden for weeks.
I’ve gotten sloppy. I used to be so careful with Flora, and she hasn’t had an infection in almost eighteen months. Now, I’m fucking my gardener and not taking care of my daughter. What kind of monster am I? I knew I was bad, but really?
This is a new low.
I can’t bring myself to look at Jo. The second my pants are fastened, I rip the studio door open. My shirt is still open, my tie lost somewhere on the floor. It doesn’t matter. I sprint down the hall toward Flora’s room.
Vaguely, I hear footsteps behind me, but my mind is spinning so fast I don’t have time to think about it. Blood rushes in my ears as I make it to Flora’s door.
I strain my ears for the coughing that I know I’m going to hear. Sometimes, she coughs non-stop for hours and hours. Seeing your baby girl cough up blood is one of the most harrowing things a father can go through.
But I can’t hear anything. My own heartbeat is too loud. I fall through the door as my stomach churns. The room spins…
…and Flora sleeps peacefully in her bed. I rush to her side, double- and triple-checking that she’s still breathing. My hand goes to my head and I let out a heavy sigh. On the edge of my daughter’s bed, a book rests on top of the distress button. I move it out of the way, glancing at the title—Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
I frown, putting the book down on the floor next to Flora’s bed. I stroke her cheek—just to make sure she’s okay.
A noise at the door makes me turn my head, and I see Jolie standing there.
“Is she okay?” She whispers.
“She’s fine,” I nod. For a second, I want to tell her to leave—to get out, and never come back. What right does my gardener have to be in my daughter’s bedroom?
I don’t say anything, though, and Jolie takes a step toward the bed. In a way, it feels good to have her here. Flora stirs, blinking her eyes open and making a soft noise.
“Daddy? Jo?”
“Go back to sleep, kiddo,” I say, stroking her forehead. “Sorry to wake you.”
My daughter frowns sleepily, rubbing her eyes. She looks over at Jo, and the creases in her forehead disappear. She smiles.
“I’m almost done with the book,” she says, reaching up to the top of her bed. When she doesn’t find her novel, she lifts herself up. I pick it up off the floor where I left it, and Flora smiles wider.
She glances at Jo. “I really like it.”
“It was one of my favorites,” Jolie responds softly. “I can’t believe you’ve read it so quickly!”
Flora shrugs. “I have a lot of time to read.”
My heart squeezes. Is my daughter starved for human contact? Is that why she’s befriended Jolie? Have I been wrong to isolate her like this?
“You’re lucky,” Jo winks. She steps closer to the bed and strokes Flora’s legs through the blankets. “Now you should get to sleep. Didn’t you tell me you your governess is giving you an exam tomorrow?”
Flora sighs. “It’s just math—it’s easy.”
I glance between Jolie and my daughter, snapping my mouth shut and frowning. How does Jo know so much about my daughter’s life? Even I didn’t know she had an exam tomorrow. And Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? I had no idea Flora would have been able to read something like that. My baby girl is reading books faster than I can.
Flora smiles at the two of us and closes her eyes, falling asleep in an instant. Jolie and I tiptoe out of the room. I glance at my gardener.
“I didn’t know you were spending so much time with my daughter,” I say.
Jolie blushes, averting her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?” My throat tightens.
“Jolie and I read together sometimes in the evenings. Apparently, she used to do it with my father.”
“You what?”
Jolie’s eyebrows draw together. She looks at me with those big, brown eyes of hers, and I can’t be mad. Jolie takes a deep breath. “I think she’s lonely.”
I glance at my daughter’s door, and my shoulders slump. “I know—but she’s vulnerable. Her lungs…” I trail off. Jo doesn’t answer.
Instead, she lets out a soft sigh, twisting her hands together in front of her.
“I should get going.”
“You don’t have to.”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “I think I should.” Jolie takes a step toward me and places her hand on my shoulder before kissing me gently on the lips. “Thank you for dinner… and everything else.”
Before I can stop her, she’s heading down the hallway and I’m left alone. I watch her until she disappears around a corner, and then I head toward my chambers.
When I strip down and lay in bed, I’m surprised to find that my mind is quiet. There’s no devil whispering into my ear—no insomnia tugging at my mind. I close my eyes and fall asleep.
The sun is high in the sky by the time I wake up. My body is stiff from sleeping so long—it’s more than I’ve slept in many months. I rub my fingers over my eyes and crawl out of bed. I wake up under a hot shower, and then pull on some clothing.
I’m supposed to meet with the Mayor of Westhill today to talk to him about the community garden, but all I want to do is find Jolie and carry her back to bed.
I glance at my watch. I still have two hours before I need to meet the Mayor, so I decide to find my rose gardener.
My attraction to her overrides everything else—sense, decorum, responsibility. It all flies out the window when I think about Jolie. I’ve taken her to my inner sanctum—the studio where even the maids aren’t allowed to go. I’ve let her into my daughter’s room, and I don’t feel angry.
Having Jolie’s bright smile and musical laugh fill these spaces is more refreshing than I could ever have anticipated.
Bertrand has left a croissant on my desk along with a cup of coffee that, somehow, is still warm. I gulp the coffee and take a bite of croissant before heading downstairs.
My face relaxes into a smile. That, in and of itself, is unusual. Smiles aren’t relaxing to me. They’re forced or cruel. Never natural.
But when I step outside, I smile. I walk around to the rose garden at the back of the castle, noting that the first flowers have started to bloom. Most of the buds have turned from solid green to having their colors poking out. Soon, they’ll burst open with color and scent, and my soul will be calm.
Walking toward the gates of the rose garden, I hear voices. Then, I hear that laugh of Jolie’s that I’ve started to love so much.
When I hear a man’s voice respond, I frown. Jealousy grips my stomach like a bright green claw, squeezing me from the inside.
Jolie is with another gardener—the tall, handsome man that always seems to have a maid or a female cook hanging off his arm. The one who had his arm around Jolie at the Westhill Town Fair.
Today, he’s making her laugh.
My eyes blaze. I push the gate open a little too forcefully, and the two of them turn toward me. Jolie’s eyebrows fly up toward her hairline. The male gardener inclines his head in a slight bow as his expression sours.
“Leave us,” I tell him, nodding my head to the gate.
The man’s eyes flash, but he does as I say. They always do as I say. No one questions me…
…except Jolie.
“What was that about?” Jolie asks when the other man leaves.
“What was what about?”
“Why are you so rude to people?”
“That wasn’t rude.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes before turning back toward the roses. Turning the hose back on, she angles her body away from me and gives me her back.
Rage flares inside me.
“You’d turn your back to your Prince?”
“Do you get off on acting like a total prick?” She looks over her shoulder, spitting the words at me.
“What? Do you like that guy?”
Exasperated, Jolie turns the hose off again and stares at me. “Like him? Harry Brooks? Are you serious right now?”
“Completely.”
“Your Highness, if you really must know, that guy kind of gives me the creeps. He’s not my type, all right? So you can forget about this whole macho, alpha-male act you’ve got going on.”
“You didn’t mind the macho, alpha-male act last night—or the night before.”
A blush blossoms on Jolie’s cheeks as she pushes her sleeves up. She bares her teeth, glaring at me.
“Are you going to hold that against me, then?”
This is what I do. I push people’s buttons until they push me away. I make myself so unlovable that rejection is inevitable. I make people hate me.
Jolie’s chest heaves, and I realize that I don’t want her to hate me. My heart grows in my chest, and I know that this is the first thing in my life that I don’t want to ruin.
“I don’t want you to leave,” I say quietly.
“Well, don’t make it so unbearable for me to stay here.”
I close the distance between us and sweep my hand into her hair, crushing my lips to hers.
21
Jo
When the Prince and I walk out of the rose garden together, Harry is hanging around the lawns, pretending to weed. Did he hear any of that?
Does it matter?
The Prince guides me around to the garages. He’s asked me to go along with him to meet the Mayor about a community project in Westhill.
“Are you sure you want to take me?” I ask. “Wouldn’t one of the more experienced gardeners be more use? I really just take care of the roses.”
“I want you.” His tone is final, and a quiver of delight passes through my stomach. Am I so weak that a simple, possessive display makes my knees knock together? Am I that pathetic?
When the Prince opens the car door for me, I decide that yes, I am that pathetic—and I don’t care. Every time he’s around me, my heart skips a beat. Every time I feel his gaze on me, heat sparks in the pit of my stomach.
When was the last time I felt this good? When was the last time I had something to look forward to? My life used to be one big rejection after another. Now, I have friends, a newfound family, and someone who makes me feel like the sexiest person in the world. Is it so wrong that I enjoy it for a little while?
I watch the Prince as he walks around the car and gets behind the steering wheel, and I realize that he makes me feel more than just sexy. Prince Gabriel has an intensity about him that makes me feel alive. Being around him is like sticking my finger in a light socket.
The Prince glances at me, arching his eyebrows as if to ask, ‘You okay?’
I smile. “Where’s your entourage? Shouldn’t you have a slew of bodyguards when you leave the castle?”
Prince Gabriel chuckles. “Why do you think I moved to Westhill in the first place? Can’t stand having people around me.”
“I guess you and I aren’t so different after all,” I grin.
We take off down the long driveway and the Prince places his hand on my thigh. My heart skips a beat—just as it always does whenever he touches me, or looks at me, or exists in my general vicinity.
His hand slides up my thigh, and shivers of pleasure run up my leg. We drive slowly, and I savor the delicious tension in the air between us.
We drive out of the castle gates and down Westhill’s Main Street—well, Westhill’s only street. The Prince’s hand stays on my thigh, and my heart continues to beat erratically.
The council office is a small building with a simple sign in front of it, sandwiched between the library and the barber. Prince Gabriel parks in front of the office in a No Parking Zone, and I’m reminded that I’m not with a regular man.
“You sure you want to park here?” I ask when we exit the car.
Prince Gabriel frowns. “Yeah, why?”
“It’s a No Parking Zone.”
The Prince’s eyebrows arch as his eyes flick to the sign before us. Surprise registers on his face, as if he’s never even considered that he’s not allowed to park somewhere.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says, nodding toward the council offices.
We’re greeted by the receptionist, a kindly old lady with curly, snow-white hair. Her cheeks are bright red, and she fusses over us from the moment we enter to the moment we step into Mayor Thornley’s office.
“Thank you, Margaret,” the Mayor says with a nod as she offers us coffee for the seventh time. “We’re fine.”
The woman bows, and then curtsies, and then bows again—before backing out of the room. Mayor Thornley greets us both with a warm handshake.
“Your Highness,” he smiles, before moving to me, “and you are?”
“Jolie,” I respond. “I’m a gardener at the castle. Nice to meet you, Mr. Mayor.”
“Wonderful!” He beams, glancing between us. “But please, call me Bob. Follow me.”
The Mayor has long, grey hair. It’s tied back in a low ponytail with curled ends. He has a thick, reddish-grey beard, and bright blue eyes. He looks like the type of guy who went to Woodstock. He leads us down the hallway and out through the front of the building, and I realize he’s wearing cargo pants and sandals.
Not exactly what I was expecting from the Mayor, but somehow fitting for a town like Westhill.
“His Majesty the King told me that you were interested in volunteering,” the Mayor says, smiling at the Prince. I glance at Prince Gabriel, surprised. He didn’t seem interested in volunteering when he asked me to come with him.
“Yes,” the Prince responds. “I’ve been wanting to give back to the town for a while now. You’ve been very good neighbors to me.”
The Mayor laughs, waving us forward toward a small patch of land on the other side of the library. He’s wearing a leather necklace around his neck, with what looks like a shark tooth hanging in the center of his chest. Wiry, grey chest hair pokes out of his linen shirt. Every step Bob takes seems casual but somehow purposeful at the same time. The gate around the community garden creaks as he pushes it open.
“Here we are,” he proclaims, smiling at us.
I look around at the rotting planks of wood that edge every garden bed, and the overgrown weeds that have taken over the space. The remnants of a collapsed shed are in the corner of the lot, with half a roof and three walls remaining. A rusty wheelbarrow is tipped over beside us.
I let out a heavy sigh, arching my eyebrows.
“It’s not much,” Bob agrees, “but it’s got potential. Kind of like me.” He laughs at his own joke, and waves us forward. “Now, over here in this corner, we get a lot of sun.”
The Mayor points to different features—if you can call them that—around the garden, smiling like a proud father. As we step through to the back corner of the garden, he grunts and touches a plant.
“Well, what’s this doing here,” Bob says under his breath.
As soon as the mayor touches the leaves, I know it’s a cannabis plant. My eyebrows jump up and I steal a glance at Gabriel, who’s expression is stuck somewhere between boredom and politeness.
“I need to talk to Neil about this,” the Mayor says to himself as he shakes his head. “I told him to get this out of here before today.”
I clear my throat, and the Mayor glances up. He lets out a laugh a
nd waves his hand. “Just some local horticulturalists,” he winks.
The Prince says nothing, but the edge of his lips twitch. I wonder why he works so hard to hide his emotions. Does he know it makes people uncomfortable? Maybe that’s the reason he does it.
Bob puts his hand on his hips, shrugging. “So, that’s it.” He looks at the Prince with hopeful enthusiasm in his eyes and a faint smile floating over his lips.
“What do you think?” Prince Gabriel asks me.
I look around the overgrown, weed-infested, collapsing garden, and I smile.
“I think it’s perfect.”
Bob chuckles, clapping his hands together. “I knew you’d like it. The town has been crying out for a little TLC.”
I nudge the Prince with my shoulder. He responds by sweeping his hand over my lower back, and heat floods my belly.
“We’ll start next week,” the Prince says, always serious. “I’ll get my gardeners to source some materials, and that should give you enough time to enlist the help of some residents.”
“We’re getting a bit of a late start—it’s the middle of June,” I say, looking around. “There’s lots of work to do. If we get lots of help from the people of Westhill, we could probably start planting in four weeks or so. We could plant a few veggies that might yield a crop before it gets too cold. Maybe some broccoli, spinach, radishes—that kind of thing.”
“Sounds fantastic,” the Mayor grins. “I like you already, Jolie.”
We walk back out to the street, and the Mayor’s sandals slap on the concrete sidewalk. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear, and I notice that he has a small, golden earring.
The Prince stiffens beside me, making a small noise. I follow his gaze to a car as it takes off from the other side of the street. The Prince watches it leave, and then relaxes.
Mayor Bob doesn’t notice anything. He walks with us to the royal car with a smile on his face, his sandals whacking the concrete with every step.
“Oops,” the Mayor says, pulling a parking ticket from under the Prince’s windshield wiper. “I’ll get this taken care of.” He winks at us, and I laugh again.
Knocked Up by Prince Gallant Page 13
