The Duke and the DJ: a Sweet Royal Romance (The Rebel Royals Series Book 3)

by Shanae Johnson

  The Duke and the DJ

  The Rebel Royals Book 3

  Shanae Johnson

  Copyright © 2019, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.

  Edited by Alyssa Breck

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition April 2019

  Contents

  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

  About the Author

  Also by Shanae Johnson

  Chapter One

  Diego Zhi Wen de Bernadino, the Duke of Mondego, stood before his assembled staff. It was a big day for the ducal estate. His father's ancestors had ruled over the estate for hundreds of years since sailing from Spain and staking a claim in the island nation of Cordoba.

  The Mondegos were conquerors, leaders, fierce warriors who nobles and commoners alike turned to for guidance and protection. For generations, they’d held great amounts of land and governed over countless tenants. True, they'd plundered a few foes and even some allies, but they’d also invested in the land and its people and grown an empire.

  Zhi was determined that now that the dukedom had passed down to him at the tender age of twenty-five, that tradition would continue. The guiding, protecting, and investing bit. Not the other more distasteful and dastardly side of his kinfolk.

  “We have been charged with an awesome responsibility,” he announced from his place on the grand staircase. “I know these are trying times, but we are the House of Mondego.”

  Pride and loyalty shone on the faces of his staff. The males tilted their chins up in deference. The women’s smiles widened with honor. Zhi felt like a head coach in a locker room at halftime. He was certain that after his speech, his team would go out and conquer anything in their path.

  “We have traditions to uphold,” he continued. “So, we must buckle down and get to work. Best foot ever forward. Backward never."

  It was the Mondego way. It was also the family motto. It had been brought over from their Spanish ancestors, though the Spanish words were more poetic. But, still, it did the trick. His staff was ready to move mountains under his guidance.

  As Zhi went to put his best foot forward, a water drop fell on his nose. He looked up at the brown spot in the ceiling. He’d noticed it had spread since yesterday. In fact, it was spreading before his eyes.

  In his periphery, he saw the chins of his staff tilt up, way up until they all were looking at the ceiling. And then a deluge poured down on his head. The light fixture next to the spot short-circuited, and they were all in darkness.

  "I'll get the breaker.”

  "I'll get another bucket.”

  "I'll get a mop.”

  Covered in water from his head to his toes, Zhi couldn’t make out which members of his staff had said what. He only felt gratitude that none of the three adults that remained of the once dozens of servants and staff of the Mondego estate hadn’t run out of the door at the newest challenge of the collapsing estate.

  A towel was handed to him, and he wiped his eyes. Blinking clear of the water, Zhi saw that Oswald, the butler, had opened a panel in the wall. The lights were restored as he pressed a black lever. Oswald’s wife, Lin, carried in two empty buckets while her sister, Allana, plopped down a dry mop that was immediately dampened by the water at Zhi’s feet.

  He didn't have to command the skeletal staff that remained. They knew the drill. The estate had been in tatters for years.

  “Thank you, Mathis,” Zhi said handing back the towel to Oswald and Lin’s young son.

  Zhi rolled up his sleeves and started forward once more to see to the plumbing. His pedigree didn't lend to manual labor, but he'd had to learn these last few years. He’d learned to hang doors where all his life he’d had someone else open and close them for him. He’d learned to level tables and chairs where they’d always been set for him or pulled out for him to take a seat.

  Luckily, his degree in music theory helped in this particular repair. Instead of a resonate clanging, the pipes made a gurgling sound. It was a clear indication that there was a clog.

  "Snake," Zhi said.

  Mathis handed over the device. Zhi went about the repairs as the thirteen-year-old pulled up a YouTube channel on how to fix the plumbing. On the screen, the capable looking female plumber slapped a wrench in the palm of her hand as she explained the finer points of the job.

  Zhi found that women explained things in more detail than men did. Men typically just showed the steps with little to no instruction. Zhi had learned that lesson when he’d set about cleaning one of the fireplaces in the east wing and nearly burned the entire estate down.

  He'd watched tons of videos to fix roofing, flooring, even videos on how to manage an estate. He certainly hadn't gotten proper tutelage from his father who'd been in charge of the estate before him.

  The front of the Mondego estate was still gorgeous. The medieval towers and turrets were imposing in the early morning sky with the sun backlighting aged stones that made them glow copper. The stately home was bordered by woods and rocky hills so no one could see the travesty in the back.

  Zhi worked hard to keep outward appearances up. This work was typically done under cover of night so that the neighbors wouldn't see. But inside the once majestic place, the facade was quickly crumbling. Many of the guest rooms weren't fit to keep pets in. The ballroom needed an entire facelift. The kitchens were outdated. The list went on.

  When he was a kid, the Mondego estate was still majestic. It was because Zhi’s grandfather, Hernán Díaz, had still been in charge. Once the old man passed on and the dukedom changed hands, the crumbling began.

  Literally. The walls and plaster began to crumble. So had some of the flooring and a lot of the paint. But Zhi could only handle one thing at a time.

  He shoved the snake farther and met with resistance. A few more shoves, a couple of twirls, and he was able to push the clog clear.

  Zhi turned back to the gathered crowd with a look of triumph. Mathis held up his hand for a high five, which Zhi obliged with his free hand. The rest of the staff sighed with relief, shoulders dropping lower as though a burden had lifted. They were all about to disperse to tackle the next item on the day’s list when the doorbell rang.

  Zhi yanked the snake out in alarm. A gurgle of water gushed up, expelling some of the debris that had been trapped right in his face. The gunk slithered down his face and landed on his chest, right over his heart.

  He had no time to recoil or sputter. “Places everyone.”

  Again, they knew the drill. Oswald dashed out of his work shirt and sl
ipped on his service coat which always hung by the door for easy access. Lin dashed into the kitchen to put in a roll to make the place smell inviting and cover up the musky smell that permeated the walls. Allana and Mathis slipped out of sight.

  Zhi dashed up to his bedroom. He stripped off his shirt and cargo pants. He ran a towel over his damp body, but too many water droplets clung. It would not do.

  In the end, he slipped on swim trunks and a luxurious robe he'd taken from a hotel. He wouldn't dare step a pinky toe in the Olympic sized pool out back. He wasn't entirely convinced the Loch Ness monster hadn't taken up residence in that swamp.

  Zhi made his way casually down the stairs, affecting the air he'd learned from his father. Before he moved forward, a shout sounded from above his head on the third floor. Zhi froze. He knew better than to step back. There was not much he could do but wait and pray the beast above wouldn’t stir.

  A small woman with dark, bone-straight hair and wide doe-like eyes materialized from a room. She looked delicate and frail dressed in a vibrantly red silk top with a Mandarin collar. She made brief eye contact with Zhi, and he saw the same slate gray eyes as his own looking back at him.

  Wordlessly, a message was communicated from mother to son. Zhi nodded as his mother disappeared above the stairs to handle the monster while he went below to deal with the unexpected visitor.

  By the time he reached the bottom stair, the grumbles from above ceased. Zhi let out a breath of relief. The beast was assuaged. For now.

  Oswald appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a lanky gentleman who reminded Zhi of the nursery rhyme about Jack Sprat and his wife. This man was definitely portraying the role of the lean husband in the tale.

  "A Mr. Schiessl to see you, Your Grace."

  Zhi didn't know the name. But he didn't know many of the names of the people who stopped by the estate. His family no longer hosted parties on account of the former duke's condition. But they did receive visitors on account of the former duke's transgressions.

  What would it be today? Gambling debts? Unpaid contracts? Or worse, another demand for a paternity test?

  "I informed the gentleman that you were not at home to visitors." With his nose in the air as though he smelled something foul, Oswald did the perfect rendition of a snooty butler.

  "I'm sorry, sir," said Mr. Schiessl, putting on a snooty air of his own. "But you'll have to see me. It's an urgent business matter."

  "You will address him as Your Grace," Oswald snooted back.

  "I'm not Cordovian," said Schiessl. The man sounded decidedly Eastern European. Perhaps Austrian?

  "But I assume you have manners." Oswald glared at the intruder. A year ago, the butler would have never dared lose his temper. But these were trying times.

  Zhi stepped in before the snooting turned to fisticuffs. "I was headed for a swim."

  Oswald's gaze left their guests, and he rounded on Zhi in alarm.

  With a quirk of his brow, Zhi assuaged the man of the notion that he would actually get into the diseased waters of the pool. “But I can spare a moment."

  "I don't need a moment," said Schiessl, producing documents. "I'm here to serve you with papers."

  Zhi recoiled from the documents. Watching his father, he knew better than to touch paperwork. Oswald took the offensive documents.

  “As I’m sure you know, your father had many outstanding debts. A large number of them were with the Bank of Feldkirch in Austria.”

  Zhi knew of his father’s debts here in Cordoba, and in Spain, and in England, and America. This was the first he was hearing about Austrian debts. Great. More to add to his ever-growing list of both repairs and debts that need repaying with ever dwindling funds.

  “This debt was taken out five years ago. The collateral was the estate. It must be paid in ninety days or the entire estate will be forfeited."

  Zhi felt the blood stop in his body. It was as though Mr. Schiessl’s words had clogged his entire system because nothing moved. There was already so much debt and very little income. There wasn’t much in the coffers for a snake to move around and unclog.

  Mr. Schiessl didn't bother to wait for a response. He turned on his skinny heel and headed back out the door. The staff materialized from the corners.

  "We all knew this day would come," said Lin.

  "I just hoped it wouldn't be in my lifetime," said Allana.

  "But we'll rally," said Mathis. "You'll find a way. Won't you, Your Grace?"

  The kid looked up at Zhi as though he hung the moon. Zhi felt like he was hanging from the moon by his fingertips. Just one more ray of light and he'd come crashing down.

  He stared at the papers. He couldn't see how to fix this. He was sure there was no YouTube channel on how to go back in time and stop your father from swindling away an entire dukedom.

  Chapter Two

  Spin watched the sea of people moving like waves. She was the moon pulling at the gravity of the large open space. With a flick of her wrists, the bodies slowed like a retreating wave pulling at the tide. With the slide of her fingers, she brought them back forward, arms straining overhead as they reached up toward the high ceiling. The crowd of warm bodies drenched in sweat inhaled as she held the needle over the vinyl record. Then she let the beat drop, and the bodies crashed into each other.

  Being a DJ was life-bringing. She was heady off the power she commanded with just her hands and her ear for a good mix of beats. She looked out at the dance floor where she was the one making people feel, driving them into a frenzy, causing them to let loose their worries and woes and just be.

  Spin cradled her headphones in one hand and tweaked the faders with the other. Her own body bopped to the beat as the approaching change in tempo neared. This crowd got her. They felt the crescendo coming. They slowed their movements in anticipation. Spin could see the whites of their widened eyes as they held their breath.

  She aligned the tempos, holding onto the notes, matching the beats before mixing in the new track. When she let the needle drop on the new song, the crowd went positively wild. Spin threw her hands in the air and jumped to the bass along with them.

  As the sound came down, the applause drowned out the pulsing sound. Spin didn't take a bow. She never did after a session. It was the music and the muses that created this moment. It flowed through her as though God spoke to the crowd through her fingers.

  Spin stepped off the stage and received accolades from the partygoers. She took them all in humbly, as her mother had taught her. People could always choose not to listen to the sounds she created, but they would always pay attention if she made them feel something.

  Spin pressed her hand to her chest. The cool feel of the gem hanging on the chain reinforced the link to her mother. Spin knew the woman would be proud of her only daughter. If she were here.

  "Great set, DJ Spin d’Elle."

  "You set the roof on fire, girl."

  Spin gave high fives. She accepted sweaty hugs. She held out her hand for kandi when a girl slipped a few of the glowing bracelets over her wrist.

  Even after her set, Spin was still on a high. She sipped at her cola, letting the sugar give her a rush. Who needed drugs when music could make you soar with zero side effects?

  Though of course there were tipsy twits teetering in stilettos. Frat boys chugging beer after beer like it was Kool-Aide. And clueless stiffs dressed in what they thought was cool for a night slumming in a rave club.

  Those types of partygoers annoyed Spin. They were here for an experience. Music was her life.

  When a few of the frat boys made a beeline to her, Spin slipped behind the staging area. She was not into mama’s boys. She had no desire to take care of anyone but herself, and those boys clearly advertised that they were looking for a girlfriend to do their laundry and beer runs. No, thank you.

  Spin made quick work of the cables on the ground. She heard a thump and was sure one of her suitors had likely not been watching where he was going. Looking over her shoulder, she saw t
hat she was home free. The way was clear.

  "That was awesome."

  Spin jumped, whipping around to face forward. A tiny brunette stood before her where the back hall had been empty a second before.

  "Stop doing stuff like that, Lark.” Spin huffed, her heart rate pounding at its cage. "Keep your magic tricks on the stage where they belong."

  “This is a stage.”

  Spin reached out and gave the woman a playful shove. Glitter flittered from Lark’s shoulders like fairy dust. Spin looked at her friend quizzically.

  Lark shrugged, casting more glitter from her person. "Part of the new act. The Great Nitwitini thinks it adds to the magic. More sparkle to razzle dazzle them."

  "Well, at least he’s stopped trying to saw you in half."

  Lark rubbed at her belly and winced. That trick had not gone well during their practice sessions. The young magician never seemed able to get the hang of the oft-performed trick. Even Spin, who provided the music for their act, had been able to see through the illusion. As Nitwitini, or Northwood as his true surname was, grew increasingly frustrated, he also grew increasingly careless with the trick that included the use of a blade.

  Lark had put her foot down about it. Luckily, it was while her legs were still attached to her body. As a magician's assistant, Lark had been put through the wringer. Literally.

  "Are you sticking around here for the after after party?” Lark asked. “Or you headed out?"

  Spin shook her head. "Nah, DJ Satisfriction is up next."