The Duke of New York_A Contemporary Bad Boy Royal Romance

by Lisa Lace

  Some kind of trance music bellows through the speakers. Lena is already swaying to the beat with one hand in the air. I’m more conservative, cradling my mojito and looking around curiously. I feel out-of-place.

  A girl looking like she’s just come from a rave walks past, wearing a neon yellow vest-top and calf-high furry boots with her hair in colored dreadlocks. I see a lot of beanies and man-buns, and a lot of younger patrons who don’t look twenty-one.

  “I feel old.”

  “WHAT?”

  “I FEEL OLD.”

  “Start dancing—it helps!”

  I sway my hips to the music as best I can. It does feel good. The rum in the mojito and the satisfying shimmy of my tasseled dress help me to unwind. Before long, Lena and I are having a whale of a time. I feel young.

  After about an hour of dancing, two men approach us. They’re both average to handsome. One is taller and dark-haired; the other is slightly shorter and red-headed.

  The redhead leans in toward me and raises his voice into my ear. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  I’m taken aback and laugh. I can’t remember the last time a stranger offered to buy me a drink. I look around just in case he’s actually talking to someone else, but, sure enough, he’s asking me.

  I suppose we’re not too dissimilar in age. The redhead is probably in his early thirties. I look over to Lena and see that the dark-haired guy is speaking into her ear, too. Lena catches my eye, grins, and puts her thumbs up.

  I turn back to the redhead. “Okay.”

  “Mojito?”

  “Thanks.”

  He leaves to get a drink and my stomach knots with nerves. Whenever I’m with Lena, I always end up doing something I usually wouldn’t.

  She’s dancing alone again now. The guy talking to her seemed less interested once she’d shown him her wedding ring, but she’s happy to take a step back. She hangs out by the DJ and watches from a distance as the redhead returns. This was her plan all along.

  “I’m Vic.”

  “Sophie.”

  We have to shout at each other to be heard, so neither of us says anything more. Vic starts to dance close to me, moving his body close to mine. I dance with him but try to keep a respectable distance between us.

  When the second mojito kicks in—on top of the drinks we had elsewhere—I let our bodies make more contact. I link my hands together behind his neck and let him put his hands on my hips. We swing side to side to the beat. I shimmy in my purple dress. I see him admiring me. It feels kind of good.

  Then, he leans in for a kiss, and panic kicks in. I instinctively press my hand against his chest and push him away. “I better find my sister. Thanks for the drink.”

  I squirm my way through the crowd and back to Lena, who’s seen the whole thing. She looks disappointed. “What happened?”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  We keep dancing, but it’s not as much fun as before. A man trying to kiss me only makes me think of Cole. I wonder if he’s still in Syria. I’ve taken Lena’s advice and stopped reading the papers.

  I down the last of my mojito and grab Lena’s hands to dance, hoping it will ward off any more potential suitors.

  I’m not ready for anyone else. I’m not over Cole.

  Cole

  After a week in a US medical center in Syria and a torturous flight home, I’m thankful to be in a US hospital. Even if the food does suck.

  According to the doctors, I’ve been extremely lucky. The bullet through my shoulder and leg didn’t affect any major organs, and although the third bullet settled low in my stomach, the medics got to me fast enough to prevent sepsis. After three invasive operations, everything has been patched up and all bullets removed.

  Providing there are no further complications, they tell me I’ll make a full recovery.

  David has told me that there will be a position waiting for me when I recover. I told him no thank you. I should never have taken the job in the first place. I’m ready to go home.

  Everything hurts. My last operation was only yesterday. My belly has been cut open and stitched up again three times. An ugly array of stitches runs in a neat line above my left hip. More stitches hold together my left calf and shoulder.

  All I can do now is sit in this hospital bed and wait to recover. At least I’m in a private room. It’s sparse and clinical, but a damned sight better than the medical base in Syria. It’s clean, there are enough resources to go around, and there’s even television and Wi-Fi.

  The nurse comes in to check on me. “Hello, my darling—how are we doing today?”

  I try to sit up and wince at the effort. My left arm is in a sling, but even when I bear weight on my right arm, I can feel the strain in my stomach.

  “Let me get that for you.” She comes and plumps up my pillows for me. The nurse’s name is Estrella. She’s a Hispanic woman in her early forties with a perpetually sunny disposition and a willingness to pass the time chatting with her patients.

  “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome. Is there anything else you need? Your next meds are scheduled for one p.m., but I can give you more before then if you’re really suffering.”

  I hold up my hand. “I think I’ll make it to one.”

  She smiles. “You’re a trooper. I’ve known patients who make more fuss over a broken finger.”

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve been victim to the occupational hazards of my career.”

  “I know. We were talking about you at the nurse’s station. You’ve got your own Wikipedia page—did you know that?”

  “I didn’t.” Yes, I do. I check it regularly.

  “Says a building collapsed on you five years ago. It’s hard to believe you went back to it after that.”

  “I’ve always loved it.”

  “You’ll be back to it again when you’re out if here then?”

  I shake my head. “I think it’s time to hand in the towel. This close call has made me realize a few things about what’s really important.”

  “There’s nothing like being shot at to get the revelations flowing.”

  “I’ve got a lot of people to apologize to.”

  “In my experience, people have a hard time holding grudges against those who nearly died.”

  “I hope so. I really screwed up.”

  Estrella pats my good shoulder warmly. “That’s why the Lord gives us second chances.”

  “It’s not my first second chance.”

  “Hmm. Better not screw it up this time, then!” She offers me a slightly teasing smile. “By the way, there’s a visitor for you.”

  I frown in confusion. “A visitor?”

  “A man with square glasses. Should I let him in?”

  “Thanks.”

  Estrella refills my water jug and then disappears from the room. A moment passes, and then my visitor enters.

  I’m surprised by who it is but glad. “Dennis.”

  Dennis smiles, lifts up an old, battered digital camera, and snaps a shot of me in my hospital gown.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going for the Pulitzer. ‘Renowned photographer shot three times.’”

  “Catchy headline.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  Dennis pulls up a chair at my side and sits down. He’s smiling like we’re friends again. I’m relieved—I could use a friend right now. “You’ve got yourself shot, huh?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “I came as soon as I heard.”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

  “I was pissed at what you did, but you’re still my friend. I wasn’t crazy enough to hope you got shot. Does it hurt?”

  “Like hell.”

  “You’re getting some stories to tell the grandkids, though! Survived a building falling on you and getting shot three times. That’s pretty badass.”

  “I don’t feel badass. I feel like I’ve been through a blender.”

  “You look like you’
ve been through a blender.”

  I laugh. “Thanks.”

  “I hear you’re lucky to be alive.”

  I nod. “It’s almost a miracle.”

  “What happened, exactly?”

  “Matt and I were out shooting in Damascus when we heard vehicles approaching. We both turned to see which army was coming, and while our backs were turned, soldiers came from behind.”

  “I heard about Matt. I’m sorry.”

  A stab of guilt pierces my stomach more painfully than the bullet. I just left him there.

  “They say he died instantly.”

  “What an awful way to go.”

  “He had the calling, too. I know he wouldn’t have had regrets.”

  “And you? Do you have regrets?”

  “I should never have left.”

  “Being shot changes your mind pretty quickly.”

  “I knew I’d made a mistake the day I told Sophie, and again when I told you, and again when I told my dad. You were right, Dennis—I do suck people dry.”

  “I’m sorry I said that. It was a bit much.”

  “Sorry that you’re one of the only people to call me out on my bullshit? Don’t be. Maybe if it had been said sooner, I’d have learned not be such an ass. I might have made some better choices and not be here right now, shot to pieces and wondering where the hell I go from here.”

  “Why didn’t they kill you too?”

  “The vehicles we heard approaching? US soldiers. I got lucky. They got the enemy soldier to surrender. Saved my life. They got me straight to the medical center within minutes. If the timing had been any different, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”

  “If only Matt had been standing in front of me.”

  “You can’t think like that. You were in a war zone. Everyone knows the risks.”

  I still see his body lying there. “You’re right. We all knew the risks.”

  Dennis rubs his knees like he doesn’t know what to say next. “What are you going to do now? Do you still have a post at The New York Times?”

  “David swore he’d hold a position for me. He says he owes me one for stepping up after we lost Edward. Plus, the paper is covering the medical bills.”

  “That’s good, then. You’ll be able to get straight back into it when you’re up and running again.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going back.”

  “Another near-death experience was finally enough to make you want to steer clear of all these crisis zones?”

  “When I was lying there after being shot, all I could think about was all the people I’d let down by going there in the first place: my dad, Sophie, you. I’m not scared of being shot again or injured—I’ve simply learned that my place is here. The people I love are here.”

  “Do you think you can ever really be satisfied being a wedding photographer?”

  “I was happy.” I want to shake myself when I think about it. “Being with Sophie again, I was happier than I’d been in years, but I thought that I’d never be able to get over giving up something I’d worked so hard for. Truth is, working my ass off doesn’t mean it’s worth the effort. I’m not willing to make the sacrifices it’s taking to keep my career alive. The people in my life mean more to me than the thrill I get from being in the thick of it. Christ, I’ll learn to ride a motorbike or something and get my kicks another way.”

  Dennis grins widely. “I’m glad to hear it. Does this mean you’ll be coming back to Tanner Photography?”

  “Would you still have me?”

  “I never wanted you to go.”

  “I’ll come back—on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re not my assistant anymore. We’re going to be proper partners, fifty-fifty if you’d go into business with a selfish ass like me. I’ve taken you for granted, too. You’ve always been a good friend.”

  “Any day.” Dennis grins contentedly. “Thank God. I suck at getting business. I need you here, man.”

  “I won’t go anywhere again. I swear.”

  “What are you going to do about Sophie?”

  I let out a pained sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve thought about calling her while I’m here but haven’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It feels too much like I’m playing the pity card. Last time we reconnected, it was through misunderstanding, and I played it all wrong. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m trying to manipulate her again.”

  “What are you going to do, then?”

  “Wait until I’m on my feet again, then try and win her back.”

  “Do you think she’ll take you?”

  “If I were her, I wouldn’t. But Sophie’s not me. She’s got a kind heart.” I feel guilty even as I picture her sweet face. “For once in my life, I’m not going to take advantage of that. I’ve taken her for granted for too long. If she takes me back again, I will worship the ground she walks on until the day I die, and if I ever feel like I’m falling short, I will fix it or walk away to give her a chance to find someone who does treat her right. I will put her first forever.”

  Sophie

  I start in my new role as branch manager tomorrow. It’s a big step. After deciding not to go to college, I always felt that I would never get as far in life as if I’d gone. But now, it seems, everything has fallen into place. The promotion comes with a sizeable pay rise and a team of twelve to manage. It’s an incredible opportunity.

  So why don’t I feel lucky?

  It’s easy enough to know the answer to that question—Cole. Life without him isn’t the same. No matter how much I resent him for leaving, I still love him. I still question whether it was ever fair of me to ask him to choose between me and his career. What kind of woman who loves a man tells him to set his passions aside?

  I wonder if the conversation could have gone another way. Maybe we could have made it work.

  Stop questioning yourself, Sophie. You made your choice.

  I’m lying on my bed in silence. My fingers are itching to pick up the remote and switch on the news, but I resist. I haven’t watched the news or read a paper in months. It’s the only way that I can get through life without thinking of Cole every second of the day. Every time I see a news story revealing a tragic or horrific event somewhere in the world, I imagine Cole out there, and I can’t concentrate on anything else. For my own self-preservation, I stopped tracking his every move through the headlines and TV news stories.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  I rise to my feet and go to answer it. I’m not expecting anybody, but maybe Lena has stopped by for a quick visit.

  I ready a smile on my face and open the door. When I see who’s on the other side, my heart soars, then races. My mouth grows dry and tears spring to my eyes. Joy, relief, uncertainty, anger—so many emotions battle within me, but the most prominent is love.

  “Cole.”

  His skin is dark with a new tan. His hair is a shade lighter from being in the sun. He’s wearing blue jeans and a navy T-shirt. I can see the old scar from his injury in Haiti on his inner forearm, but apart from that, he looks perfect.

  I’m so relieved he’s alive and well.

  I want to fall straight into his arms, but I hold myself back. Falling straight into Cole’s arms always leads to heartbreak.

  He’s looking at me like I’ve never seen him look at me before. His eyes are full of wonder, glistening with tears; his expression is wavering. Whatever he’s about to tell me is going to come from the heart.

  “Sophie—”

  Cole

  It’s been only months since I last saw her, but I drink in the sight of her like I’ll never see her again. I take in her fair hair, unbrushed, unstyled, and unstraightened, yet framing her face with soft perfection. She looks so much like the girl I met in Pisa. I take in her sky-blue eyes, wide in wonder, her long lashes fluttering as she blinks in confusion and shock. Her mouth is slightly open in surprise
; her lips are soft and sweet.

  She rests one hand on her throat like she’s catching her gasp. Her nails are bitten down to the flesh, the only sign that she’s been worrying. Apart from that, she looks great. Her body is slim and toned. She’s wearing a silky nightdress and a wraparound robe, ready for bed. I can smell her perfume.

  Her expression shows pure amazement. “Cole.”

  “Sophie.”

  “You’re here.”

  I reach out for her hand. She doesn’t pull away. I think she’s still in shock. Her whole body is frozen, although her eyes track my every move. She can’t take her gaze from my face.

  “I know I’ve had more chances than I deserve already, and you have no reason to trust that anything I say is true but being away from you has put things into perspective for me. I realize what a fool I’ve been. I know I’ve said that before, but this time it’s different. I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

  She’s silent, drinking in every word. I can see tears suspended in her eyes. Her breathing is shallow and fast. She’s pale.

  “While I was in Syria, I was shot. I came closer to death than I’ve ever been before, and while I was lying there, certain that I was going to die, I experienced a moment of complete clarity. Right then, as I was on death’s doorstep, I didn’t care about any of those things that I’ve always said were so important.

  “I wasn’t thinking about the legacy my photos would leave, or what kind of impact I’d leave on the world. I didn’t regret the ten years I was shooting weddings instead of chasing violence and disaster.

  “All I could think about was how much I’d sacrificed to be there with that camera in my hands, and I knew I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. I put so much time and energy into building my career that it felt like I had to keep chasing it, or else I’d failed. I convinced myself that it was my purpose in life, and I’d be letting down not just myself, but the world if I didn’t pursue it.