Royce: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Skye Darrel

  “I never told him I love you. I talked about you and he inferred. My brother infers too much for his own good.” This roughness sneaks into my voice like it always does when I assess what’s inside me. A defense mechanism.

  “Well,” April says. “Was it an accurate inference?”

  “I love you.” Those words have never left my mouth, not for anyone or anything.

  “If you really love me, you’ll stay in love. And if you’re not, then no harm done.”

  “April—”

  “Night, Everett.” The call ends.

  I put my phone away. “Sweet dreams,” I say to the air, walking to my apartment, my footsteps heavy.

  The lights are on inside. Sebastian is hunched over the kitchen bar, sipping a shot glass filled with a liquid the color of April’s hair. Fuck, I’m beyond obsessed if I even see her in my brother’s drinks.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. Sebastian’s usually at some glitzy nightclub at this hour, getting drunk of course. I can’t control his behavior. As long as my brother doesn’t embarrass the family or the company, he can do what he wants. That’s been our father’s unspoken rule since we were kids.

  “Checking up on you, little bro. Nothing beats drinking with family. Where’d April go?”

  “Home.”

  Sebastian smirks. “How is she?”

  “Good.”

  “You sampled her goods yet?”

  I walk over and empty his shot glass in the sink and snatch the bottle away. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

  “What, you don’t want to fuck her?”

  “Bas, if you weren’t my brother you’d be on the fucking floor right now.”

  “You must love her a great deal.”

  “What do you want? I have a long day tomorrow.”

  He gets off the stool and claps my shoulder. “Don’t lose focus, Everett. Dad wants the tech center built and he never liked delays. You have responsibilities.”

  “If you care so much, you should be in charge.”

  “I’m not the responsible sort. You’re the heir, little bro. Destined for greatness. Me? I have simpler pleasures.” My brother laughs as he leaves. “Don't stay up.”

  I plop down on the sofa and run my hands over the cushions where April had sat.

  Sebastian is right.

  He never had any desire to prove himself. He knows who he is. I, on the other hand, have a great deal to prove.

  But I wonder, if it came down to it, whether I would throw everything away for April. I shut my eyes and see her face in my mind.

  Chapter Six

  APRIL

  Time flies when you have a purpose. Some reason to get out of bed each morning beyond hey, it’s a new day. Mondays through Thursdays, I make the one-hour drive into the city and spend my time at St. Jude’s Oncology Unit.

  Cancer kids.

  I told Dr. Dixon I wanted to work with patients instead of paper, so she put me in a special mentorship program. A St. Jude version of Big Brothers Big Sisters. My Little Sister is an eleven-year-old girl named Yvonne who has leukemia. Acute lymphocytic leukemia, her nurse told me.

  The first day we met, Yvonne got out of bed and wheeled her IV stand over to me. We shook hands like it’s the first day of school.

  “I’m April,” I said.

  “Hi April. You’re pretty. How do I make my hair like yours?”

  Yvonne didn’t have any hair. It took me a second to realize she’d made a joke before we laughed together.

  She’s tough and adorable. We get along swell.

  I still attend Support Group every Friday back home in the suburbs. My parents would be upset if I stopped. Especially Mom. They love that I'm volunteering at St. Jude, but Mom always reminds me to take care of myself too.

  Then there’s Everett Royce.

  He calls me every day and I rarely pick up, but he never stops. Now and then, he’d stop by the hospital to see me, and we’d have coffee in the cafeteria. I make sure we always sit next to another filled table. We’d talk, but I’m careful to keep the conversations from getting too personal.

  Talk.

  Nothing more than that.

  June goes by in a blur, then the sweltering days of July. It’s summer, but it doesn’t feel like summer. My friends’ Facebook pages and Instagram feeds are stuffed with beach photos and party shots, fireworks and laughter. I could call up someone and join in, but I stopped living that life years ago. Whenever I show up somewhere people always pay me too much attention. A pitying attention I can’t stomach. They’re too kind or too sensitive, taking every precaution not to upset what they assume is a girly, delicate emotional equilibrium, and it’s plain exhausting for everyone involved. That’s another reason I don’t have a boyfriend. Good boys treat me like a wounded deer once they know about my illness, and bad boys avoid me like the plague.

  Summer hasn’t felt like summer in a long time.

  This summer, there’s the added complication of him.

  Everett and I settle into a routine that feels like a stalemate. Some days, I can’t stop thinking about him. Other days, I wish I’d never gone to his apartment. We are so different in so many ways.

  I’m not avoiding him exactly.

  Just afraid of letting him get any closer. It’s scary having someone love you like he does. I'm not even sure it's love. What he did to me was way too dirty. The way his eyes had smoldered when he hitched my skirt up, the way he licked me down there, the feel of his cock rubbing on my clit, that hot tide sweeping through my body when he made me cum. Every sensation.

  I can’t talk about it with anyone. Not my parents, not my friends. Only Camila suspects something happened. We grabbed lunch one day at Starbucks. “You look different, Finchy,” my cousin mused. “More womanly. You walk different. Did you, you know, do it with—”

  “Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you.”

  She sipped her iced latte through a straw. “You’re so adorable.”

  I could’ve strangled her.

  Everett. Me. We’ve turned into this big secret somehow. No, not somehow. I made it a secret. Everett keeps us a secret too. He told me he hadn't told anyone besides his brother, who’s been sworn to secrecy.

  Even Everett knows there’s something wrong with the idea of us.

  And I still haven’t told him about my illness.

  By August, my symptoms are getting worse. I feel a little weaker with every passing week, and the cramps in my legs and hands come more often.

  Maybe that’s why I get along so well with Yvonne.

  I don’t know what it’s like to live with cancer, but I know the feeling of having no control over the future. Here’s the thing, even if you're cured of cancer, there's always a chance it could come back. Doctors call it recurrence. A shadow hanging over you. It sticks with you forever, and I know what that shadow feels like.

  But like I tell Yvonne, it’s pointless to worry about the future. Live in the now. We both try to make every day our best.

  ◆◆◆

  “WHAT’S IT LIKE to have a boyfriend, April?”

  Yvonne’s voice startles me. She’s been napping most of the morning while I sat by her bed. I’m looking through my phone for a game app she might enjoy. This past week, Yvonne has been unusually silent. Her last chemo treatment didn't go so well, and she looks tired. “You’re way too young to worry about boyfriends,” I say.

  “Only curious.” She glances at the window. “I don’t think I’ll ever have one.”

  “Sure you will.” I put my phone down and try a smile. “Once you grow up you’ll have no shortage of boys. They’re not all that great, believe me.”

  “I’ll never grow up.”

  “You will,” I say.

  She slumps against her pillow, sighing at the ceiling. “This sucks.”

  “What sucks?”

  “Everything.”

  Today is one of the few days when Yvonne doesn’t have an IV line sticking out of her skinny arm. She’s
between treatments, so she looks better, but it’s only an illusion.

  “I wanna go outside,” Yvonne says.

  “You know you can’t. Maybe after your next treatment . . .”

  “I’ll be puking after my next treatment.”

  She’s right about that.

  Then I get an idea. St. Jude has a roof that’s accessible from the fire escape. I’ve seen other kids on this floor go up top when the nurses aren’t looking. Yvonne can’t leave the hospital, but we can still spend some time outside. It’s a great day out. I used to be an outdoors girl myself.

  “How about a picnic?” I ask her. “On the roof.”

  Her face lights up. “A picnic?”

  “Sure. An hour this afternoon can’t hurt. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

  “You’re the best, April.”

  Seeing Yvonne back to her old cheerful self melts my heart, and I tell her to stay put while I visit the cafeteria downstairs.

  I return with my backpack filled. Snacks, pastries, and four bottles of sweet tea. Yvonne’s sitting at the edge of her bed in her hospital gown, legs dangling over the side with her Chuck Taylors on. I’ve never seen her so excited.

  “Got everything?” she asks.

  “Yep.”

  I peek out of the room. The nurse down the hallway is busy at her station, and I shoot Yvonne a thumbs-up. There might be trouble if someone checks in, but we should be safe as long as we keep our trip under an hour.

  “All clear,” I whisper.

  Yvonne hurries over to my side. “Ready.”

  I grab my backpack and guide Yvonne by the shoulder as we sneak down the hallway to the stairwell exit. Butterflies swarm in my stomach. I feel like a kid myself again, carefree, filled with possibilities and ready for my adventure to start. It's funny, I can't remember when I lost that feeling, and I didn't realize I had until this moment.

  “Everything okay, April?”

  “Perfect.”

  We reach the exit, and I hold the door open as she slips through. Yvonne lets out a whew when we’re in the clear.

  Now comes the hard part. It’s a five-floor climb to the roof, and the steps look steeper than I’d thought. Yvonne shouldn’t be exerting herself, but she looks so bursting with life I don’t have the heart to make her turn back.

  “Sure you want to do this?” I ask.

  “So sure,” she chirps. “Race ya to the top.”

  “No. We’re taking it one step at a time, and you're staying by my side. That's not up to negotiation.”

  “Fiiiine.”

  The first flight of stairs is easy.

  The second knocks the wind out of me. Yvonne’s not even out of breath, but I get a tight feeling in my lungs and cramps stitch my side. I was sporty in high school but not anymore. When we reach the next floor, my legs feel like jelly and I use the handrail as a crutch.

  Yvonne sees me bent over and stops. “You okay?”

  “Never better,” I say, panting.

  We’ve been climbing fifteen minutes already, and I’m slowing her down. It’d be pretty dumb if we waste this precious hour climbing stairs. But we’re almost there. One more flight and we’ll be out in the sun. My breathing steadies, and I push myself up another step. Yvonne hops up ahead, her muscles working much better than mine.

  The thought hits me that if Everett were here, he'd carry me up the stairs like a feather. I smile at the thought.

  I push myself up another step. And another. My vision blurs, and my legs feels like mush, nausea rolling through my stomach.

  A sudden cramp pops off in my left calf, the pain burning sharp, and I lose my balance. My grip on the handrail slips away as I tumble back and land with a thump.

  The last thing I hear before I black out is Yvonne’s shrill scream.

  I FEEL A SOFT BED beneath and open my eyes to see a nurse leaning over me. Naomi Dixon stands nearby, her face anxious. And standing besides Dixon is a grim-faced Everett Royce. He must’ve come from his office.

  “How do you feel, Ms. Finch?” the nurse asks.

  “Not—bad.” I wince. My hip feels tender, and everything else is sore. There’s an ice bag tied to my ankle. But other than that I don’t feel bad at all. Then panic hits me. “Where’s Yvonne, is she okay?”

  “Back in her room,” Dr. Dixon says. She nods at the nurse, who leaves. "You had a bad fall, April. No serious injuries, a minor sprain in your right ankle. It should heal on its own in a few days. But please, no more strenuous activities.”

  No better place to take a fall than the hospital.

  But I’m in a heap of trouble If Dr. Dixon knows I let Yvonne out of her room. I’ll get kicked out of the mentorship program and never see her again.

  Dixon only smiles at me. “Yvonne told me what happened, April.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. She snuck out and you were trying to find her. Thank you, but next time please use the call button. The nurse will handle it.”

  “Oh. I will.”

  “You’re free to leave when you feel ready,” Dixon says. “I believe Mr. Royce wants a word with you.”

  My stomach flutters as Dixon leaves the room, and I’m alone, truly alone, for the first time in months with Everett.

  He looks furious. “What the hell were you thinking, April? You could’ve broken your neck. You could’ve hit your head. You could’ve fucking died.”

  “Please shut up. I'm not a dainty teacup.” I sit forward, cringing at the pain down my side.

  He touches my shoulder and keeps his hand there. “Careful.”

  “So Dr. Dixon called you?”

  “I asked her back in June to keep me informed of your status. I’ve been keeping tabs. My company owns this hospital, what happens here is under my watch.”

  “So what, you keep tabs on everyone working here?”

  “Only you,” he says.

  “I see. Stalking is caring, right? Psycho.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to make sure you’re safe.”

  “It’s a freaking hospital, Everett. Why wouldn’t I be safe?” I see the hurt in his eyes, genuine hurt, and it surprises me. “Nevermind. Thanks, I guess.”

  “That girl, Yvonne. Where are her parents? Dixon says you’re the only one who ever visits her.”

  “She’s from West Baltimore, Everett. The real Baltimore. Not the posh waterfront district you live in. Her dad’s in prison and her mother works two jobs. She has a brother in middle school. Their mother spends most of her spare time keeping him out of trouble. Everyone has problems.”

  “Brothers can be difficult,” he says. “Now tell me, what really happened in that stairwell?”

  My face warms. “I must’ve tripped.”

  “Yvonne said you just collapsed, like your legs gave out.”

  “Well . . .”

  A ringtone startles me. Everett checks his phone, taps Ignore, and puts it back in his pocket. It rings again.

  “Maybe you should get that,” I say.

  “It’s not important.” His hand on my shoulder slides to my wrist. “So you tripped on the stairs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s all? Nothing else wrong with you? If you need help, with anything, tell me.”

  “And what do you think is wrong with me?”

  Everett shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you have a drinking problem. My brother falls down often when he drinks.”

  I blink and stare at him. He’s deadly serious.

  “I’m not an alcoholic, Everett.” I almost laugh, but he looks so sincere it kills me. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m clumsy, remember?”

  “No one is that clumsy.”

  “Look, I’m fine now, and I don’t need your help. What time is it?”

  “Five-thirty.”

  I struggle to my feet and move away, but Everett slides his arm around my waist, holding me from behind.

  “I missed you,” he says.

  “Let go of me.” There’s
no conviction in my voice. “I’m serious. I should start home, my parents must be worried.”

  He holds me more firmly. “You’re not driving anywhere in your condition.”

  “Dr. Dixon said I’m fine.”

  “She said no strenuous activities.”

  “Driving isn’t a strenuous activity.” But my right ankle does feel sore.

  He sweeps aside the back of my hair, and I feel his lips on my neck, gentle and loving. My body goes soft.

  I should spin around and tell him off and slap him for good measure, but I realize how much I’ve missed him too. How good his touch feels. He kisses down to my shoulder as his hands slide over the swell of my hips.

  “Let me take care of you,” he says.

  A hard shape nudges my rear, and I know what that is. Heat flushes my cheeks. “Take care of me how?”

  “Whatever you want, Princess.”

  He reaches around to my belly. The idea of spending an evening in Everett’s penthouse apartment with my every need catered to does sound inviting, especially when the alternative is a one-hour slog through the worst traffic ever. “Okay.”

  “I’m at your command,” Everett says.

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “You’ll see.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re walking to the hospital garage. His phone rings again, but he doesn’t answer. It rings a third time when we reach his black Audi. Everett takes it out, mutters under his breath, and puts the phone on silent.

  “Is it important?” I say.

  “Right now the only thing that’s important is you.”

  I swallow as I get in his car. On the drive over to the Royce Building, I call Yvonne and thank her for the cover.

  “No biggie April. Going out was half my idea anyway. Didn’t want them to ban you from visiting me.”

  “When you get better we’ll go on a real picnic.”

  “If I get better.”

  Yvonne’s voice sounds so tiny it breaks my heart. “No if,” I tell her. “You’ll get better.”

  “Gotta go, nurse is coming. See you next week?”

  “Always.”

  The call ends. My chest feels heavy.

  “I couldn’t do what you do,” Everett says.