Rich Boy: A Royal Landlord Romance (Blue Collar Bachelors Book 5)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  Instead, he presses one last kiss to the tip of my nose as he reaches into his pocket and slips a small scrap of metal into my hand…My apartment key. He turns and walks away.

  I watch the back of his head as he disappears down the stairs and my heart breaks a little more with each step.

  He didn’t promise to call me once he lands. He didn’t suggest that we keep in touch. It really is over.

  A well of tears breaks free, pouring from my eyes as I race to my living window. I watch the stone-faced security guard open the back door of the armored limousine for him. He sinks onto the bench before the guard closes the door and rounds the vehicle to assume his place in the driver’s seat. A few minutes later, the motorcade has begun its procession, each car peeling away from the curb in an orderly fashion.

  I stand at the window until the very last car disappears into the night. My heart shatters completely when my eyes lose sight of Xavier for good.

  And I’ve never been afraid to dance alone. But tonight, I just wish that Xavier was here to hold me in his arms as I sway.

  35

  xavier

  I fucking hate this place.

  Portraits of my ancestors line the cold, stone walls of the tall corridor. I can almost feel the condemning stare of each and every one of them beaming down on me as I stomp down this wide, echoey hallway in the palace’s east wing. Fuck ‘em all. I keep my head high and my hand buried deep in the pocket of my trousers as I stride toward the meeting I’ve been summoned to.

  A uniformed guard flanks each side of the soaring wood and iron double doors. Each soldier positions his right hand at his temple in salute before I can even say a word. The door is opened for me and I march right through. My stride is arrogant. Powerful. Pissed off. But the sight awaiting me on the other side of the wall weakens me instantly. It nearly brings me to my knees.

  “Grandmum…”

  And now, I’m not so angry anymore. I’m horrified.

  I hesitate, stopping short of the bed to properly observe her. Lying completely still in the mammoth-sized four-poster bed, she looks tiny enough to fit in my pocket. She’s a mass of weathered skin and sharp bones and not much else. Even with a light blanket covering her lower body, I can see her knobby knees protruding from beneath the sheets. Her eyes and cheeks are sunken in.

  I’ve never imagined my grandmother in this frail state. She’s always been the strongest woman I know. Seeing her like this feels wrong. So wrong.

  The hawkish eyes of a dozen or so guards follow me as I venture closer, padding lightly on the balls of my feet. “Grandmum…” I sit my hand on top of hers.

  She stirs. Weak brown eyes blink up at me. It takes a few seconds for her to orient herself and then I see a flicker of her usual self flash behind her eyes.

  When she opens her mouth, nothing but a croak comes out. She motions for the cup of water at her bedside and a servant rushes forward, holding a straw to the old woman’s lips.

  She makes another attempt to speak. “You came back…” she says hoarsely.

  I sink onto the stool beside her bed. “Did you leave me any choice?”

  It’s selfish of me to be resentful. Because ultimately, this is bigger than me and my disappointment and my aching heart. The future of an entire nation depends on me being here, having this conversation right now. I know that. It it doesn’t mean I’m not angry as hell.

  Angry that I just walked away from Sadie. That I didn’t get to claim her the way I wanted to. That I silenced her when she tried to tell me how she feels.

  People look at the royal family and all they see is privilege. But the sacrifice I just made—leaving that girl behind—tears through my spirit.

  Grandmum rolls her weak eyes. “Don’t come in here with that self-pitying rubbish. Grab a handkerchief, soak up your tears and man up!”

  We glare at each other for a long beat. It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting any sympathy here.

  Eventually, she cracks and thrusts her bottom lip forward in a petulant pout. “And I’m your grandmother, dammit. What kind of crud doesn’t visit his sick grandmother?”

  Her words are a blunt reminder. It’s so easy to forget; this isn’t just about power and succession. There are family dynamics at play. She’s right, first and foremost and above all else, she’s my grandmother.

  My shoulders slump and my head drops in shame when I sigh. “Sorry, Grandmum…” I grumble unenthusiastically. “What I don’t understand is why you’re busy railing against me when your son is about to be carted off to prison.”

  Her wrinkly hand swipes through the air dismissively. “Oh, hush. No one’s about to be carted off to prison.” I slide my fingers up over my forehead.

  I freeze, my fingers tangled in my messy hair. I can’t be hearing correctly. “Wait—you’re just going to let him get away with this?”

  “He’s my son.” She sounds weak and I’m not just talking about the feeble tenor of her voice.

  Her family is her soft spot and I guess we all go to different lengths in exploiting it. But what my father has done is beyond merely deplorable. It’s criminal. Treasonous, even.

  “He tried to kill you!” I roar and the windows shake.

  The foul words still shock me as they roll off my tongue.

  He tried to kill her. My father tried to kill my grandmother.

  Because in his estimation, the old battle axe was taking too damn long to keel over and vacate the throne. He and his booty-popping wife were so damn eager to twerk their way into power that they didn’t care if they had to trample my grandmother to get there.

  When the specialists brought in by the palace doctors began running focused tests, they discovered that the Queen wasn’t merely deteriorating because of old age. She was being poisoned. They kept this information quiet while the Royal Protection and Security Unit of the Ridgeland police force tracked down the source of the venomous agent and persons involved in the conspiracy to administer it to the monarch.

  All shit hit the fan when they realized that her own damn son was at the middle of the entire scheme.

  Grandmum should want his fucking head on a platter. The laws on the matter date back to the dawn of our nation. Conspiracy to murder the monarch is a crime punishable by beheading. Instead, she’s letting him walk?

  “He was stripped of his right to inherit the Throne. That’s sufficient.”

  I scoff indignantly. “That’s a slap on the wrist given what he did.”

  “He’s been punished appropriately…Execution is not the proper punishment. Not for my son.” Her voice is firm. The decision has been made. And even in this poor state of health, she’s still the Queen and her word is final. If I don’t like it, too bad.

  I roar. “You can’t let him get away with this! What will the people think? How is the country supposed to respect the monarchy when we let him off the hook for such an egregious act? And based solely on the fact that he’s your son?”

  The nurse looks away uncomfortably. The butler standing next to her shuffles on his feet. Ideally, I’d be having this conversation with my grandmother in private but with the things that have been happening around here lately, I think it’s for both of our protection that we have witnesses present. With the current state of affairs, these fiercely loyal guards and servants wouldn’t leave their Queen even if I ordered them to.

  She sits up just a bit, her weight propped up by her knobby elbow. “I don’t recall you complaining about betraying the nation’s trust when I was busy burying the sins you committed.”

  Ouch! The old lady is extremely handy at slinging insults, aiming them right where it hurts. But when she sees the wince in my expression, she instantly regrets her words.

  “I should not have brought that up,” she says remorsefully. “Forgive me.”

  Even after eleven years, the wound is still raw and sore. For both of us.

  Still, I try to act unaffected, to pretend that I’ve parted ways with the guilt and the regret over what I did.


  I stand from my seat and press a kiss to her cold cheek before turning for the door. “We’ll finish this chat later, yeah? You need your rest.”

  “We have lots to talk about, Xavier,” she says insistently. “Now. It can’t wait.”

  “Grandmum, you need to build your strength back. I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your official duties.”

  She frets. “Where was all that damn concern when you took off in the middle of the night and left for America without uttering a word to a soul?” Even in her state, she’s still feisty as hell.

  I roll my eyes. “We both know you’ve had security tailing me since the beginning.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” she says in a clipped tone.

  “It’s not irrelevant. It was a complete invasion of my privacy,” I counter.

  “Oh chap.” She wears a pitying look in her eyes. “You are heir to the throne. You think I'd have you staying in some dinky unsecured location in some backwoods American town without protection? So you could be kidnapped and held for ransom? Privacy is for commoners. You are on the cusp of becoming king.”

  A boulder of discomfort settles on my chest at that proclamation. “No,” I say carefully. “I am Crown Prince. You are the Queen. You have at least a dozen or so good years left in you.” I swallow hard, my mind shrouded in bitter denial. “I’m not on the cusp of becoming anything.” Try as I might, I can’t manage to force the air of panic out of my tone.

  She shakes her head ruefully. “With the state of my health, there’s no way I can continue to fulfill my duties. I have to abdicate the throne.”

  A truckload of boulders tumble in on top of the one already crushing my lungs. “No, you can’t abdicate.”

  Her eyelids flutter with impatience. “At this point, it’s not a choice, Xavier.”

  Now, I’m the one shaking my head as disbelief rattles me. “I—I’m not ready.” I begin pacing at the foot of her bed. I ran from this kingdom because my duties as second in line were too heavy. And now this? The ultimate rise to power? Becoming King? It’s the last thing I want right now.

  The Queen sighs wearily. “Then, make yourself ready. Quickly. There isn’t much time.”

  I stop pacing. I glare at her, lifting my voice in anger. "I'm on the brink of a goddamned identity crisis, Your Majesty."

  Her voice is harsh and cold. "This country is on the brink of a constitutional crisis. Will you be a leader and put your people first or will you be a common boy thinking only of yourself?"

  The room falls deafeningly still. The only sound to be heard is the sound of water crashing in the stone fountains in the courtyard below. I press my eyes shut and collapse back onto my stool. “Fuck…”

  The Queen breaks out into another coughing fit and her nurse is right there, adjusting her pillows and feeding her more water through the straw.

  When the wave passes, her eyes meet mine again. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, chap. But this isn’t just about you. It’s about a nation. About the future of Ridgeland. Your people need you.”

  Her words call out to me, each syllable hitting home. I have to do this even though I’m scared as hell.

  Her voice softens and for a moment, she’s not the Queen, the most powerful person in the country. She’s my grandmother, sweet and caring. “You are ready. You just won’t let yourself acknowledge it.” A soft breath flutters from her mouth. “You don't see yourself as you are, chap. You never quite have. It's your mum's fault. The way she ran for the hills the minute you were born. And your father—he's my son but he was never worth the paper his name was written on. But the trouble was always with them, your parents. Not with you. I wish there was a way to make you understand."

  I drag a palm down my tight forehead. “You rest,” I tell her, giving her cold hand a tender squeeze. “I’ll leave you now.” With a knot in my belly, I move toward the exit.

  “Wait!” she calls, her weak, clammy grip tightening slightly on my hand. I watch her. “We have to talk about Lady Yolanda.”

  Defensiveness prickles at the back of my neck and my shoulders. “What about her?” I ask cautiously. Sadie’s beautiful face flashes before my mind. Her warm smile. Her caramel eyes. That cascade of long chestnut hair.

  My grandmother’s eyes narrow, like she knows I’m going to hate every word that’s about to pour from her lips but she plans on saying them anyway. “Every king needs a queen, Xavier…”

  With those sharply-delivered words, the Queen snaps the last thread of hope I’d been holding onto, the irrational optimism that maybe I could somehow have Sadie and fulfill my duty to my country, too.

  I spin toward the door so fast that I knock over my stool with a loud smack. I don’t bother picking it up. My mind grows frantic as I burst out into the corridor. I stomp away from the Queen’s quarters under the judgmental glare of all the bastards who came before me.

  36

  sadie

  And this is a picture of me and Harold at the Ridgeland Port Tower.”

  Ethel slips me a picture of Xavier’s security man with his arms thrust out in front of him and his panicked eyes slanted at her face as she leans over the edge of an iron railing to snag the selfie. He looks terrified that the old lady is about to slip from the tower. He’s poised to jump after her even if it means they’d both end up a pile of mulch on the streets of the city spread out beneath them.

  I pass the picture off to Natalie who’s seated on the couch beside me. Her eyes fix on Harold's face. "Jeez—he's huge. Weren't you intimidated?"

  Ethel grins slyly. "Don't mind the wide shoulders and the massive arms and the robotic stare. The man is a big teddy bear...if you push the right buttons. If you know what I mean."

  No, Ethel. I do not know what you mean. Nor do I want to know what you mean.

  Natalie and I exchange a look.

  Yes, eight days after Xavier’s departure, my landlady is back from Ridgeland with a forced European accent and suitcase full of memories. Memories she’s determined to share with me. The minute she landed, she was at my door, more sociable than ever.

  “This is a picture from the Wessler Abbey Oyster Fest. It took some convincing but I managed to get Harold to enjoy a few oysters with me. It was a very sensual experience. The way that man sucked on that slick flesh, I couldn’t help but imagine it was me and him, spread out in—”

  Change the conversation! Quick!

  “So what do you think of the renovations?” Natalie chirps. "Xavier did most of it himself.”

  And just hearing his name makes my heart clench painfully.

  Dammit. I hate myself for missing him so much. Everything reminds me of him. When I close my eyes, I see his smile. When I crawl beneath my sheets, the scent of his skin overwhelms me.

  We never had a title. There was never anything official between us, but it was real. Every kiss left a stamp on my heart. Every word he said is tattooed on my brain.

  I don't know how I'm supposed to get over him.

  The landlady’s eyes bounce around the room as if she’s only just noticing all the upgrades. “It’s pretty,” she says uninterestedly. “Just make sure to keep an eye out for your rental increase notice, Sadie. These new hardwood floor planks don’t pay for themselves.”

  “We’ll see about that rental increase,” I grumble under my breath.

  “Oh, speaking of Xavier…I almost forgot!” Ethel bends suddenly and scoops up her handbag sitting at her feet. She straightens a moment later with a crumpled envelope in her hands. She stretches it out to me. I freeze. My heart picks up the pace and my fingers shake when I see my name written in Xavier’s scribbly cursive on the envelope. “Prince Hottie made me swear on my life to give this letter to you.” She hauls up her bag and heads for the front door.

  My fingers clench on the piece of paper like a lifeline. I stand suddenly. “Uh, I’ve got to go, uh…”

  Nat looks as anxious as I do to discover the contents of the letter. “I’ll come with you,” she offers see
ing how fragile I probably look in this moment.

  “No.” I give her a soft smile. “I need to read this on my own. I just…I need a minute.”

  She nods in understanding. “Of course. I’ll be right here if you need me.” She gives my forearm a soft squeeze and gets comfortable on the couch. Meanwhile, I slink off to the bedroom and close the door softly behind me.

  I sit on the edge of the mattress and take a deep breath. I delicately lift the seal on the back of the envelope and pull the sheet of thick, crisp stationery from the envelope. Closing my eyes, I bring the paper to my nose. If I squeeze my eyes tight enough, I can almost smell the subtle hint of his cologne on the paper. It makes me shiver. After a moment of trying to will my heart to slow down, I break down and unfold the paper. I swallow hard as my eyes move to the words on the sheet.

  My Darling Sadie…

  Three words in and my eyes are already tickling with tears. How am I going to make it through the three pages in my hand?

  I knew that walking away from you go would be difficult. But I had no idea it would hurt like this. Every day without you is like pulling myself through hardening cement and it’s most definitely not becoming easier with time.

  Anyway, I’m not writing this letter to extol about how much I am suffering without you. I’m writing it just on the off chance that you feel a fraction of the pain I feel. Because the worst part of this all is wondering if I hurt you. Darling, if I did, I need you to understand something. I need you to understand that I’m not the man you have built up in your head. I’ve done unforgivable things. Things I never had the courage to tell you face to face. I was afraid you’d realize what a terrible person I am and that you’d decide to cut me out of your life.

  As you can see, I’m a selfish bastard.

  My heart thumps because I can’t imagine what it would take for me to stop wanting more of him, all of him.