Heroes Ever After Boxset: Books 1-3

by Alana Albertson

My eyes darted between my father and Ryan. Was this truly happening? My own fairy tale was coming true.

  Ryan was at the altar, and my father had given him my hand in marriage.

  “But what about Miguel? And our country’s military?”

  “I talked to Miguel, and he understood. Our countries have always had arranged marriages, but . . . times have changed. I’m the king, so I decided to act like one. As for our military, Ryan and I had a detailed discussion on how we might fix it. And since he will be your husband and a prince, I will consult with him on managing it in the future.”

  Well, that worked out better than I could have asked for. Miguel would’ve spent our marriage at the casinos. At least Ryan had expertise to lend to our country.

  “I’m so sorry, Papa. I love you so much. I just didn’t want to disappoint you. Or endanger our country. You don’t know what this means to me. Thank you!” I wrapped my arms around my father’s neck, and he kissed me softly on the cheek.

  The priest stepped forward. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

  My father presented me. “I do.”

  Ryan offered his hand for my father to shake, but my father embraced him. Then Ryan kissed my hand.

  The guests gasped and whispered among themselves. I was well aware that this scandal would be the talk of Santa Cariña for months. And for once, I didn’t care what the tabloids thought.

  I stared at Ryan through my veil, completely speechless. Ryan pulled me closer, motioning for the priest to wait.

  “You look beautiful, Princess. I told you I was never letting you go. But you were forced into accepting one engagement, and I’m not going to make you marry me if you don’t want to.” Erik handed him a ring, and Ryan knelt before me. “Will you marry me, Princess Giselle Katherine Garabaldi of Santa Cariña?”

  I gazed at the ring, a small princess-cut diamond.

  It was just perfect.

  I choked up. Ryan must’ve purchased this ring himself, though I was certain my father would have offered him a priceless family heirloom. “Yes. A thousand times yes!”

  Our guests erupted in applause.

  I wanted to kiss him and jump into his arms, but we had a ceremony to start.

  For the rest of the wedding, I was in some sort of haze, incredulous that this had really just happened to me. Where were we going to live? Would he still deploy? But the details did not matter. All that mattered was that we would be together.

  Forever.

  When the vows began, I choked back tears. But when the priest offered me a script to recite, I pushed it back. Ryan and I had forged our own path—I wanted to be bound to him via my independence too.

  “Ryan. You are the most handsome, bravest man I have ever met. God shined down on me the day he placed you in my path. You are the only man I have ever loved, and the only man I will ever love. I vow to be faithful, honest, and loyal to you every day of my life.”

  Ryan wiped away a tear.

  “Giselle, meeting you was the best thing that has ever happened to me. My entire life, I’ve yearned for someone to love, someone who would love me in return, and that someone was you. You are completely out of my league, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of your love. I plan to honorably serve your country as well as I serve my own. I never imagined myself as a husband or a father, but now I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

  My heart couldn’t take much more. Was this real?

  “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.”

  Ryan finally lifted my veil and gave me a slow, sweet kiss. I never thought I’d kiss his lips again. Now I would get to kiss them forever.

  “May I now present to you for the first time ever, Prince Ryan Shelton and Princess Giselle Shelton.”

  He took my hand, and the crowd cheered. My aunt was crying, Lucia was giving me a thumbs-up, and even my father looked pleased.

  Ryan led me out of the church and into the horse-drawn carriage. A dozen white doves were released into the sky.

  This was the most glorious day.

  “Ryan! I love you! I can’t believe you came back for me.” I gave him a cheeky smile. “But . . . you didn’t have to break into the castle. That was a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

  “Nope. I needed to show your father that he was at risk and that I was worthy of you. You didn’t honestly think I’d go down without a fight, did you? I’m a SEAL. You’re mine. I’m the only man who’s ever touched you, and I’m the only man who will ever touch you.” He cupped my face and gave me a long, sensual kiss. “I fucking love you.”

  We kissed again, and I lost myself in him. I was the luckiest girl in the world.

  “But what are we going to do? Where are we going to live?”

  “I made a deal with your father. When I’m training in San Diego, you’ll live with me, though he insisted on buying a property in Coronado. When I deploy, you’ll return to Santa Cariña. I’ll also take all my leave here. And I’ll find some retired SEALs to begin working on the military.”

  “You’re the best.” My emotions overwhelmed me, and I began to cry. Tears of happiness, shock, joy, and fear all blended together.

  Ryan pulled me to him and clutched me to his chest.

  “I love you, babe. I’m going to make you so happy. I’ll make all your dreams come true.”

  I looked up at him, his face so handsome. His masculine jawline, strong chin, whiskey-colored eyes. Within his broad chest beat the heart of a warrior. “My dream wouldn’t be complete without you in it.”

  He smirked. “By the way, you were wrong.”

  Here we go. Been married a minute, and he’s already calling me out.

  “About what?”

  “You said if I kissed you, I wouldn’t turn into a prince. Look at me now.”

  I laughed. “Well, you aren’t just a prince. I’m an only child, remember? One day, you will be king.”

  Thank you for reading The Princess & The SEAL!

  I hope you loved Ryan & Giselle.

  Would you like to read a bonus epilogue about Ryan & Giselle?

  Click here:

  Want another great fairy tale retelling? Read the next book in the series.

  The Swan and The Sergeant

  Inspired by The Ugly Duckling

  Meet Bret! Though the ugly duckling is now a beautiful swan, the girl I fell in love with is long gone.

  Read about Bret & Selena:

  Available now: Book 4 in the Heroes Ever After Series

  The Swan and The Sergeant

  ONE CLICK The Swan and The Sergeant now!

  Turn the page for a sneak peek!

  XOXO

  Alana

  The Swan and The Sergeant

  An-Nu’mānīyah, Iraq

  I ripped open the care package from my mom. The contents tumbled out onto the tent’s dirty floor—socks, lip balm, sunflower seeds, a magazine clipping, and a San Diego postcard.

  Dear Bret,

  I miss you very much. Benny asked me to send you this article. I really wish you would consider his offer. Please stay safe.

  Love, Mom

  I swallowed hard. A neon sticky pressed onto the wrinkled page had a message scrawled on it from my former master dance coach.

  Bret, m’boy,

  We’ll make it worth your time.

  Cheers, Benny

  I barely recognized the sixteen-year-old boy in the magazine picture. My shoulder-length, wavy blond hair was slicked back, not shorn in a “high and tight” like my current haircut. There was no sign of the tattoos or muscles that currently defined my body. My golden skin stained from a bottle, not the harsh sun of Iraq.

  My breath hitched at the sight of the other person in the photo. My arms were wrapped around a curvy young girl with long, wavy jet-black hair. The jade Latin gown she wore matched the color of her almond-shaped eyes.

  Selena Martinez.

  But now she was nothing li
ke the sweet, awkward girl I had fallen in love with years ago. A quick skim of the page reaffirmed that for me, revealing a drop-dead gorgeous blonde posing in a bikini with a sultry pout on her heart-shaped face. If it wasn’t for her eyes, I would swear it was a different woman.

  Selena was now a reality star, a complete smoke show. Men around the world lusted after her. But for that one moment in time, she had been only mine.

  I pushed her out of my mind, tossed the article aside, and removed the nine-mil pistol from my holster to clean it.

  Lance Corporal Hernandez walked by me and snatched the page off my cot. After staring at it, Hernandez’s face brightened.

  “Hey, Staff Sergeant, this you?”

  “No, it’s my clone who’s also named Bret Lord.” I slid the rail back on my weapon and began disassembling it.

  “You danced with Selena Martinez? Did you hit that?”

  “Shut up, Hernandez or the one getting hit will be you—with the buttstock of my rifle.” I grabbed the paper out of Hernandez’s hands and smacked him on the side of the head. The kid didn’t flinch.

  “Staff Sergeant Twinkle Toes. Hey—can you hook me up with Selena? I’ll be her boy toy. I love her. Man, she’s smoking. Has the nicest ass. Not like all those skinny Russian chicks on that show.” He nodded to himself with an eyebrow dancing. “Selena’s on my list. She’s Latina, too. We’d be perfect together. What was she doing with a gringo like you?”

  The thought of a bunch of Marines jerking off to pictures of my first love made me sick. “Hernandez, you’re way out of line.” I reassembled my pistol.

  “My bad, Staff Sergeant.”

  I grabbed the article, my pack, and my rifle. It was impossible to get some privacy in the tent. I could sit outside in a sandstorm—even that sounded like a welcome retreat from my immature men. I walked about five hundred feet, then plopped down in the hot sand.

  The red sky hung above me, obscured by smoke from the nearby town. I struggled to catch a glimpse of the distant mountains. Sand seemed to pelt down from the heavens, blinding me and settling into every crevice in my body. I closed my eyes against the sting of the sand and turned my thoughts to Selena.

  Was she the diva the tabloids made her out to be? Even after ten years, I could almost smell her buttery-coconut scent. A welcome change from the overflowing shitters, toxic diesel, and stench of my fellow Marines who hadn’t bathed in three weeks.

  The deep popping sound of shots from a nearby AK-47 roused my ears.

  I stilled.

  As a marksmanship instructor, I could distinguish the sound of any weapon system. These shots weren’t the lighter, faster rounds of my men’s M16s. Looking past the palm trees that peppered the dismal scene of dilapidated shacks, I tried to get a location on the origin of the gunfire. Probably just some insurgents outside of base. The rules of engagement were clear—I couldn’t stop them from killing each other even if I wanted to. And I definitely wasn’t going to endanger the lives of my men.

  The sandstorm let up, and I reached into my pack to grab dinner. Spaghetti with Meat and Sauce was my favorite Meal, Ready-to-Eat, even if it did taste like chalk. Maybe I’d get lucky, and it would come with cinnamon apples for dessert. I opened the box and laid out the day’s bounty: cherry-blueberry cobbler, potato sticks, wheat snack bread, plain cheese spread, lemon-lime beverage powder, and accessory pack “A”: coffee, creamer, sugar, salt, Tabasco, a moist towelette, toilet paper, chewing gum, and matches.

  I opened the cooking bag, placed the spaghetti pouch inside, filled it with water, and then leaned it against a rock to cook. Ha—here I was dining out of a pouch in hell, and Selena spent her days noshing at Michelin-starred restaurants.

  I stared at the picture of Selena and me winning the U.S. National Youth Amateur Latin Ballroom Championship. Selena was now the star of the hit series Dancing Under the Stars. My childhood sweetheart was plastered on magazine covers, billboards, and advertisements. The details of my life back then had faded away from my memory. Being at war made everything a blur.

  I took a swig of water from my CamelBak and downed two anti-malaria pills: one blue, one pink. The Marine Corps assured the troops that they were safe, but I’d bet the pills caused my daily headaches. Then again, maybe the migraines were just from the hundred-degree heat.

  Staff Sergeant Ray Wilson emerged from the tent and sat beside me. Even though I wanted to be alone, I was happy to have my friend’s company.

  “Slim Jim?” Ray offered.

  “Sure.”

  As I ripped the plastic off the snack, Ray nodded at the magazine article lying in the sand. “What’s that all about?”

  I grunted. “A month ago, my mom told me the judge on Dancing asked her if I would consider doing the show. He just sent me a note.”

  “For real?” Ray took a bite of his own Slim Jim. “You’d have to be stupid to give up this paradise of sand and gunfire for the mansions of Hollywood. Your mother does realize you’re a Marine, right? You can’t just leave the Corps and go on reality television.”

  “That’s what I told her. But she has this crazy idea that the Marine Corps would let me do it for one season—like a recruiting tool. I doubt that, but I could use my vacation leave. Remember that kid on American Pop Star?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t he gain like thirty pounds and fail his PFT?” he snorted, and I shook my head.

  “He did. But I’d be dancing eight hours a day—I’d be in even better shape.”

  He gestured up and down my frame with his Slim Jim.

  Can you still dance, Patrick Swayze?”

  “Good enough to teach some teen mom from MTV how to cha-cha. But I’d be the laughingstock of the Corps.”

  “Maybe not. I mean, you are the only Devil Dawg who happens to be a ballroom champion. You could be that all-American hero. The pretty face that recruits a load more boys to join the rest of us here and get shot at.”

  “If you think it sounds so great, I’ll tell her you’ll do it.” I hated the public’s obsession with the “celebrities” on those shows. Young kids who became millionaires for making sex tapes or wasting their days doing nothing but going to the gym, tanning, and partying. Influencers posting thirst traps on their social media. Meanwhile, my buddies and I were out here in hell, dodging bullets.

  I checked my spaghetti. Done. I dug into the warm, gooey meal.

  Ray shrugged. “The only dance I know is the latest TikTok, and something tells me I’d be more of a target for that than I am for being a Marine in Iraq.”

  “Ha.” I had no desire to ever dance again. Once I joined the Corps, I had found my calling. “Nah, I’d rather stay here with my men. I wouldn’t even consider it—if it weren’t for Pierce.”

  Ray blinked hard. “What does the show have to do with Pierce?”

  “I promised him that I’d take care of his family if anything happened to him. If I did the show, I could earn some money for them.”

  “Dawg, you’d do that for them? That would be crazy.”

  “He’d have done it for me.” Pierce would’ve done anything for me. He had already proven that.

  We sat there in silence.

  Ray nodded toward me. “Pierce was a good dude. You should do it.”

  My hands were sticky with sweat. “I can’t. I’d make a fool out of myself.”

  “Man, it wouldn’t be that bad.” Ray stretched out against a rock. “And you can go check out your ex-fiancée—she is Maxim’s Sexiest Girl Alive. Even if she’s with that pretty-boy dancer.”

  “Dima? That guy’s a jerk. He was one of our coaches. But I would never get back together with Selena.” Though she seemed sexier than ever, I had no desire to go there, not to the luscious curves of her breasts, the round globes of her ass, or golden waterfall of her hair.

  A relationship between us could never work out. She was too focused on her career—always had been. Then again, I was married to the Marine Corps. I wouldn’t allow myself to get tempted by the fame and money of Hollywoo
d.

  Ray rolled his eyes. “Well, you never know. Maybe she’s changed.” Ray broke out a bag of Skittles. “I’ll go with you. Can you request Beyoncé as my partner?”

  I laughed. “Not sure if Jay-Z would like that. Or your wife.” Ray had one of the good ones. His wife was any Marine’s dream. Beautiful and faithful, Nia raised their four children while Ray was away. She was the head of the Key Wives’ Club, and still had time to send Ray the best care packages, hence his endless supply of Slim Jims.

  After Selena, I vowed never to get close to anyone again, at least not until I left the Corps. I needed to focus on guiding my men—not get distracted wondering if another man was keeping my girl’s bed warm while I fought a war thousands of miles away.

  Ray stood up. “Nia’d be cool with it. She loves the show, man. Do it.”

  I didn’t answer. I stuffed the article back into the pocket containing my “If I should die” letter.

  The roar of more rounds boomed through the sky. Sweat soaked my cammies, weighing them against my chest. I couldn’t see anything, but the rumbling of the helicopters overhead told me this was no training exercise.

  I didn’t say a word, but I knew what was about to go down. A fire built in my chest and adrenaline took over. Moments like this made all the sacrifices of war worth it—knowing my life meant something, and that I was responsible for not only protecting my men but also ensuring the safety of Americans back home. I tossed the rest of the food into my pack and gathered my weapons.

  We leaped to our feet. We raced into the tent as if hounds were on our heels.

  I screamed at my men. “Grab your weapons and take cover!”

  ONE CLICK The Swan and The Sergeant now!

  About Alana

  ALANA ALBERTSON IS the former President of RWA’s Contemporary Romance, Young Adult, and Chick Lit chapters. She holds a M.Ed. from Harvard and a BA in English from Stanford. She lives in San Diego, California, with her husband, two sons, and five rescue dogs. When she’s not saving dogs from high kill shelters through her rescue Pugs N Roses, she can be found watching episodes of Cobra Kai, Younger, or Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team.