by Ellie Hall
There were also things that held no purpose but simply reminded her of Sydney: his penchant for saving every newspaper ever printed (in case he needed to reference an article). The fact that he kept pens even after they ran out of ink (because they represented how much he’d written), or chipped tea mugs (well, she wasn’t sure why).
It was long after midnight by the time her eyes blurred and she flopped into bed. She’d call to have everything carted away the next day. She’d also have to spend a great deal of time cleaning and hire a crew to repaint and possibly do some updates to make the townhouse their new home.
Birdie was going to be shocked. But she’d also go through her toys and give some to children in need. Her little girl would be able to have friends over and be able to utilize the rest of the house—she could put her painting easel in the sunroom and her Legos in the den where she could build her little villages instead of having to put them away after playing every time.
Charlotte sighed. She was tired. As she laid there, her mind spun with the events of the last twenty-four hours: leaving Wyatt, meeting with the lawyer, her father, and the tornado that just blew through the townhouse.
She clicked on her phone, intending to listen to Sydney’s message.
“My darling Charlotte. It’s time for us to say goodbye, not forever because I’ll always be with you. But to the past. Move on from brokenness, mistakes, regrets. Remember that little pumpkin seed we tried to so hard to make grow?” Sydney forced back a laugh. “Birdie wanted it to turn into a carriage so she could go to the palace for the ball. Well, that little seed had to push its way out of the shell, sprout in the darkness of the soil, seek nutrients, light, and warmth all before it pressed its way into the fresh air. You, my darling, for all your strength and intelligence and caretaking of others must do the same thing. But for yourself. You’ve suffered enough. I fear that if that suffering becomes familiar you might get stuck and not move on. As my last wish, I ask you to open your heart. Let the light shine in. Feel the warmth. Let your love grow. No one ever regrets loving. It’s the other stuff that makes life messy and painful. But you’re strong. You can do it. We never leave the ones we love. Love is forever. I hope you let yourself find your forever.”
The tears came as they always did but that time not only because she missed Sydney, Charlotte had pressed through the soil, toward the sun, and had opened her heart. She’d let Wyatt in. She loved him, but they didn’t have a forever. Maybe love was enough
Her eyes drooped despite the tears. Sydney and Wyatt were the final pieces. She needed to let go of them. Her finger hovered over the delete button and then she fell asleep.
The next morning, Charlotte woke to the faint strains of a familiar song. She blinked open her eyes. It was after nine a.m. As she sat up, her body ached and she recalled the cleaning frenzy she went on during the wee hours.
From the hall, Birdie called, “Mummy, Mummy. Come quick.”
Charlotte threw off the covers and met Birdie in the doorway. She was still in her nightgown and took her mother’s hand, towing her through the house. She only paused once to look around.
“What happened to everything? Why’d you rearrange all of Sydney’s piles?”
“The hounds,” Charlotte answered around a laugh.
“Rupert and Roofus did this?”
“No, but they sort of inspired me to get all this cleaned up. We’ll do your room too and then, maybe—” Charlotte hesitated.
“You won’t be so sad.”
“Yes, that’s exactly it.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something else that won’t make you sad. You get a snog in the morning.” Birdie opened the front door and the dogs came running.
The bright pink Snogs frozen yogurt double-decker bus was parked in front of the townhouse. The love song from Will and Emma’s Wedding Eve party played through the speakers. Forever a love story. It reminded her of the first dance that night and the one on the porch of the ranch, when Wyatt held her and they swayed and the fireflies lit up the night. The first had been a public moment. The second, a private one. Right then Charlotte didn’t care about anything other than the fact that Wyatt stood on the upper deck of that big bus. He waved.
“Mummy, does this mean I can also have a Snog for breakfast?” Her eyes were wide.
“Just this once.”
Birdie stood at the window and placed her order.
The worker said, “I’ll bring it up when it’s ready.”
Birdie followed her mother up the stairs.
Charlotte smoothed her hair, feeling rather embarrassed to be on top of a bus parked in the quiet, upscale neighborhood and still wearing her pajamas. But another emotion quickly replaced it when she met Wyatt’s deep blue eyes. The intensity there, the way his gaze drank her in made her feel warm, adored, loved.
They met in the middle of the upper deck. He clasped her hand and took Birdie’s in his other one.
The three stood in a circle.
“Charlotte, I apologize. I’ve been a bloody numpty.”
Hearing him use that expression almost made her laugh, but his face was stony, torn up, just like her insides.
“The last I-don’t-know-how-many-hours have been the worst of my life.” He paused. Emotion streaked across his features. “But also, the best because I realized what I want most in this life. You, Charlotte. I want you in my life. I’m sorry I took off.”
The words woke up the butterflies in her stomach. “I let go of a lot of things late last night.”
Birdie nodded. “She cleaned the whole house. Well, it’s still a mess, but she’s getting rid of all of Sydney’s old junk.”
Charlotte nodded. “But I don’t want to let go of you.” She squeezed his hand and Birdie’s.
Just then the server brought her morning frozen yogurt cup. Birdie sat in a chair and happily munched away.
Wyatt smiled that charming, rugged, irresistible smile of his. “I will do whatever it takes to make this work. I will learn to speak French, learn to be a father, a husband, and I will learn not to try to escape when things get difficult.”
The butterflies started to flap their wings, tickling the inside of Charlotte’s belly. “I need stability and I think what you need is flexibility.”
He gripped both her hands in his. “What we need is each other.”
The butterflies took flight, lifting her heart right into the light of his words.
Their lips met in a kiss that meant relief, that meant love, good mornings and good nights, it was a kiss of time spent together and things to come. His fingers gripped the nape of her neck. Hers threaded through his hair. The kiss deepened for a brief moment and they both knew they’d share many more.
When Charlotte lowered onto her feet, she said, “But how can we make this work?”
“I won’t try to escape anymore because there’s no outrunning the truth, not even in a fast car or on a horse. And the truth is I love you, Charlotte. All I ask is that you take a risk and love me back.”
She smiled and those butterflies practically had a party. “I will, but the good news is I already love you, Wyatt.”
He pulled her into a close embrace. “We can spend holidays at the ranch and Birdie can ride Dusty Rose. I can fly back and forth as needed. The rest of the time we’ll spend here in London. We’ll rescue dogs and horses. We’ll drive fast cars and bumper cars.”
Her lips formed a thin line. “What about my island, Ile Amor?”
He tossed his head back and laughed. “Of course. We’ll go on many vacations. We’ll figure it out. We have a long time to try.” Wyatt lowered onto one knee.
Charlotte’s palms pressed against her heart because she was quite sure it was going to leap out of her chest.
“We have a long time to try because we have forever. Will you be my forever?” He held out a sparkling ring. “Charlotte, will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she said. She suddenly knew exactly how the characters in her story felt.
He gri
pped her fingers and slid the ring on then got to his feet.
The song Forever a Love Story continued to play in the background as they kissed again then pulled Birdie to her feet. The three of them danced on the top of the bus in the middle of the street on an ordinary Tuesday morning that became rather extraordinary.
Want to know what happens next in the Only Us world?
Read an excerpt from Only Love with a Billionaire,
book 4 in the Only Us Billionaire Romance Series to find out if Princess Ava finds love or if love finds her.
Chapter 1
Ava
Princess Ava of Concordia had it all: a noble title, she co-owned a castle in Concordia, and took residence in Burklingham Palace in London. She had access to a life of prestige and adventure, delight and ease. Not to mention, her wardrobe was fabulous.
However, there was one thing missing, or rather person, she never expected ever to see again. He’d disappeared, or rather deserted her, and she’d never forgiven him.
Rarely did a day pass when some reminder of their childhood and teen years spent together didn’t bring up a mixed bag of emotions: nostalgia, loneliness, sadness, and worry on one end of the spectrum and frustration, disappointment, and anger—as red as Ava’s hair—on the other.
She stuffed those feelings away, hid them deep down (or on the shelf behind her purses and handbags with labels like Louie Vuitton, Prada, and Gucci). Most days, and that one in particular, along with her Armani dress, she put on a smile and marched into the drawing room with her chin lifted and her shoulders squared.
When she met her brother, Oliver, who was recently crowned the King of Concordia, and Beatriz the Queen of England, her expression shifted to something between wariness and interest—eyes narrowed and eyebrow arched.
They spoke in hushed tones until Livingston, the butler, announced Ava’s arrival. She sensed they wanted her to do something—very rarely did they enjoy cups of tea with no strings attached.
Would they want her to attend a charity event? Participate in a boring meeting with other nobles, or gently remind her that she wasn’t married? Not that she was above those duties; she valued her role as a princess and was grateful for her position and influence—at least, that’s what she told herself. Like the big thing—person—missing from her life, she stuffed her true feelings away. However, those she hid among her sizable shoe collection—instead of with the purses.
Oliver and the queen straightened, exchanged a quick glance, and turned to Ava. Actually, her brother didn’t put the pressure on her in the marriage department. It was her guardian, the queen, who seemed to want to marry her off.
By commoner standards, Ava was far too old to have a guardian, but when her parents had tragically died when she was too young to remember, she was put into Queen Beatriz’s care. For that reason, many people thought she was British Royalty. After all, she’d grown up in the London palace and for all intents and purposes appeared to be a member of the local gentry. However, her parents were the previous King and Queen of the small but extremely wealthy northern nation of Concordia, where her brother and Penny recently replaced her parents’ role after many years of mourning as per custom.
Oliver had to marry to take the position and had endured a process of courtship with various royals-in-waiting. Although Ava was a princess in title only, she was relieved she wasn’t forced into any such union.
Livingston, the long-standing—and at least when Ava was younger, long-suffering—head butler, poured her tea. When she adjusted her napkin, he nearly flinched as though preparing for a blow of some sort. Of course, Ava had never punched him, but he’d endured more than a few pranks at her hands. It wasn’t that she alone was naughty growing up. She and her best friend aka her accomplice were naughty together. On their own, they were perfectly well-behaved children. Put them in the same room and they were a pair of menaces. But it was all in good fun and rarely involved anything that could’ve been dangerous—except that one time with the olive oil and bag of marbles.
The extent of the pranks aimed at poor Livingston must’ve resulted in a post-traumatic disorder. Ava made a mental note to do something kind to make it up to him. After all, it had been a decade since she and her partner in crime had taped a toilet seat shut, replaced his shaving cream with toothpaste, or swapped out his fiber pills.
Ava hadn’t changed entirely. She still longed to travel the world (and had made a few solo trips, flying under the royal radar).
She was well-known for laughter (though, those days it was rarely at anyone else’s expense).
She was fiercely loyal (and was thankful for the people who’d become her family after her parents passed).
She had a whip-smart tongue and didn’t take any nonsense (it was a second child thing).
“Good morning, Oliver. Your Majesty.” Ava nodded and smiled. Also, being the second child, she refused to indulge her brother with any formal forms of address. Sure, he was her king, but he had also been afraid of monsters under the bed when they were growing up (she may have instigated that a bit), had caught him picking his nose more than once, and they were as close as siblings could be—best friends, in fact. Had she been queen, she wouldn’t have expected him to refer to her by anything other than her name or one of his numerous nicknames for her: Avie, Avey-wavey, Tater Tot, and the list went on.
The queen sipped her tea.
Ava’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She’s spent much of her life in the queen’s company and had taken to reading her mood based off her greeting the way fortunetellers read tea leaves.
A simple good morning meant the opposite.
An inquiry into how Ava was doing indicated that it was indeed a good morning and the queen was burden free and could chat.
Silence meant something was afoot.
As for Oliver, he cleared his throat. Never a good thing.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Oliver repeated the throat clearing and then said, “I regret to inform you Uncle Garfield has passed away.”
It took Ava a moment to place his name on the family tree, of which she had three. There was her actual biological family, consisting of Oliver and Uncle Garfield. There may have been a few other distant relations, but they’d never been accounted for.
There was the British royal family tree, which she’d become unofficially part of when the queen took her into her care, and of course.
There was also the tree including friends who’d become like family—though one of the branches had broken off a decade previous.
Ava sighed. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”
“The authorities in Western Australia, where he’d made his home on the beach, have been in touch.”
She’d never met Garfield but had heard stories about the old, sunbaked relation. “He was the beach bum, right?”
Oliver tilted his head from side to side. “Unfortunately, a rogue wave took him out to sea. They recovered him, but per his wishes, his remains are to remain in his adopted country.” Once more Oliver cleared his throat as he explained the delicate situation.
“At least, now you don’t have to worry about him trying to seize the throne.” Ava was never one to dance around difficult things. She just avoided them or plowed right into them—for her, there was no in between.
“As if that had ever been a threat,” the queen said quietly.
Ava tried not to smile. It was true. Their uncle, who could’ve become the leader of one of the wealthiest nations in the world, preferred beach life. She shrugged. Who was she to judge? Although she took her duties seriously, she’d rather explore the world than be stuck in the palace or in an office day after day.
Oliver shifted uncomfortably. “This also means—” He paused to clear his throat.
“Do you need some water or fresh air or something? Enough with the throat clearing.” Since becoming king, Oliver had become more careful around his sister.
He pressed his hands against the table. “Ava,
this also means you’d take the throne if anything happened to Penny and me.”
Ava’s brow wrinkled. Her eyes narrowed further. She tilted toward him. “Pardon?” The words if anything happened to me blindsided her. Her mind fogged over with the memory of their parents’ passing. She’d never considered anything ever happening to Oliver. Although he’d been a little wild during his college years, he was her solid and reliable brother.
If she was stuck in a Mongolian jail, he’d have come to her aid (it had almost happened once, during her college years).
If she had bad dreams (like when she was little, he’d talk to her until she fell asleep).
She could trust him with anything, including her life (he was trained in defense and survived after a train crashed into a ravine; she knew he’d come through).
However, he’d changed since he took the throne. Lines appeared around his eyes that hadn’t been there before and a heaviness took place of his laughter and usually smiling face—a heaviness even though he was as fit as ever.
It was impossible for Ava to think about tragedy befalling her brother and sister-in-law. They were her family.
“This is part of my role as king that I do not like.” Oliver folded his hands.
“I agree, it’s tragic to think about Uncle Garfield, never mind anything happening to you,” Ava managed to say at last.
Oliver shook his head. “No, I mean this next part.”
The queen set down her teacup, tapping in for Oliver when he hesitated. “According to Concordian law, within six months of crowning, the heir to the throne, if a direct relation to the current king or queen, must be married or else they forfeit their rights of succession should something tragic befell the current reigning monarchs rendering them unable to rule.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t follow.” Ava tried to back up a few words but couldn’t parse them out.
“In plain English, you’ll lose your title unless you find a suitable match and marry by the end of the month,” Oliver clarified. Before Ava could protest, which she was about to do, Oliver said, “This is the part of my role as king that I do not like.”
