Royce: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Skye Darrel

  “And here I am. Congratulations.”

  “Rita makes a good pie.”

  “Mom is good with deserts in general.”

  “She’s worried about you.”

  April points at the sky. “Those stars are beautiful. Reminds me of our night in the mountains.”

  It’s a nice night but cold, and a brisk wind makes me shiver. I lean down, stroking her hair. "Are you feeling okay?"

  “I couldn’t stand it.”

  “Stand what?”

  “Mom’s need for hope. I know she needs it and I don’t want her to give up. But she drives me crazy sometimes." April meets my eyes. “You and her are alike.”

  “We love you. Your father does too.”

  “Dad understands, he never bothers me about cures and stuff. He's accepted my condition.”

  “No he hasn’t,” I say. “He hides it better.”

  “Listen to you, just met them and you've got it all figured out.”

  “We all care about you.”

  “What’d you guys talk about after I left?”

  “Lars Reijonen, a Norwegian doctor. He’s a geneticist. I’m not sure I understood everything your mother said, but gene therapy does look promising. It seems Dr. Reijonen ran out of funding before he could perfect a treatment, but if we can find him . . .”

  I can’t keep the flicker of hope out of my voice. Even though I know April is in no mood to talk about cures.

  Her eyes are on the sky again. “When I was fourteen, a doctor told me I’d never live to see twenty.”

  “But you will,” I say. “Your birthday is next month.”

  “Sweet of you to remember. Yes, I’ll make it to twenty. But my symptoms are getting worse. One more year, if I’m lucky. It won’t be a good year.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “My speech will start slurring in a few months. Six months from now, I’ll be in a wheelchair.”

  “April, stop it.”

  “I’m telling you the truth, Everett. I can see it so clearly now.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I don’t want to die in my sleep, you know? That’s common with ALS. Respiratory failure. I want to go out in style.”

  “You are not going out at all. First thing tomorrow I’ll look up Dr. Reijonen.”

  April snorts. “Look up Santa Claus while you’re at it.”

  “You’re being bratty, Ms. Finch.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” I run my finger down her throat. “Let’s go somewhere and I’ll cheer you up.”

  “I’m not depressed, Everett. I’m thinking clearly.” April pushes my hand off. “I heard your conversation with Mr. Thompson.”

  My stomach pulls tight. That explains her mood.

  “Eavesdropping,” April says. “So sorry. Sounded like you needed pointers on living with an ALS patient. I guess I can be hard to please.”

  “I only asked him for advice because of what he went through with his wife.”

  “You should listen to his advice. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t be together. Think about it. If we never see each other again, we’ll be frozen in time. We’ll be perfect.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Memories, Everett. We’ll have our memories. I’ll always remember you as the gorgeous asshole who had a change of heart. You’ll always remember me as your princess. We’ll be picture perfect. Forever. That’s how I want to remember you. That’s how you should remember me.”

  Every word she says stabs through my chest. I know what she means. It’s tempting—a perfect memory. No consequences. No sickness. It would be so easy. I can go back to Edmund and tell him it’s all over. I’d be returned to his good graces.

  “I don’t want a fucking memory, April. I want you. In sickness and in health, remember? I don’t care how sick you get. I don’t care if you’re pissing in diapers or breathing through a tube. I don’t care how you look. I’m ready for it, I won’t run away.”

  “Then why do you care about a cure so much?”

  “I don’t want you to die that's why. If there is even a shred of possibility, the smallest chance of finding a cure, I will chase it down to the ends of the earth.”

  “People often confuse possible with probable. It’s a misunderstanding of statistics. I’m surprised you would. When we met you were a big fan of statistics.”

  “I’ve changed.”

  “Yeah. You found out what a good fuck I am.”

  I grit my teeth before the flash of anger vanishes at once. I deserve her barbs. I wasn’t a good man when she met me, but I need her to understand I’ve changed. And she changed me. “You’re right,” I say lightly. “I like fucking you. I think about fucking you when I’m not fucking you, and when I am, I wish I could fuck you forever. Happy?”

  She rolls her eyes. “At least you’re honest.”

  “I love you. I don’t care about probabilities.”

  April rises on one elbow, her skin pale under the autumn moon. “You need a miracle cure because deep down you can’t accept what will happen to me. You need a future, but I don’t have one. Maybe I don’t even want one.”

  “I need a future with you in it.”

  “Just go,” she says. “I’m tired. Please don’t argue.”

  I look at her for a long time. “I’m not giving up.”

  She doesn’t answer and lies back on the grass, her eyes on the sky. There’s a faint smile on her lips.

  Chapter Fifteen

  APRIL

  The first two weeks of September come and go. I’ve made up my mind. On a Tuesday morning, I drive to the Royce Building without telling Everett. If I’d told him, he’d do something crazy, I’m sure. He’d try to stop me. He’d use all his charms to stop me from ending us. And I would let him. Because despite what I tell myself, I love him back.

  Always will.

  We’ve still been texting since that night at my parents’, but I’m more certain than ever I’m doing the right thing.

  I walk into the lobby and go to the front desk. The receptionist, a young guy my age, smiles pleasantly.

  “April Finch here to see Edmund Royce,” I say.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Just tell him I’m here. He knows who I am.”

  The receptionist makes calls.

  Viktor Harlow, that skull-faced security chief, walks out of an elevator with two guards. He takes me to a quiet corner where no one can hear us.

  “You are not welcome in this building, Ms. Finch. You are an interloper.”

  Interloper? I’m moving up in the world. “Edmund will want to hear me out, trust me. It’s about my relationship with Everett.”

  Harlow frowns. “Wait here.”

  The guy leaves me with the guards like I’m a dangerous criminal, and he comes back ten minutes later with the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “He will see you now, Ms. Finch.”

  “Great.”

  We ride an elevator to the thirtieth floor. Minus the guards. Harlow doesn’t even look at me.

  “Busy day?” I ask.

  “Every day is busy at Royce Innovations.”

  “No rest for the wicked I guess.”

  He throws me a glare as the doors open. I huff right back. We walk through a floor of glass-walled offices, modern and clinical, just like the lobby. He stops outside a black door marked CONFERENCE ROOM.

  Harlow opens the door. “Mr. Royce is waiting.”

  I go in. There’s a blond man standing at a bank of windows with his back to me.

  The door shuts.

  Everett’s dad turns around and looks me over. Then he sits down at the head of a long glass table that takes up most of the room. “I’m not surprised you captured my son’s attention.”

  His tone is dry. Sarcasm? Who cares.

  I sit two seats away.

  With his sandy hair and soft features, Royce Sr. doesn’t look much like Everett. But the resemblance to Sebastian is uncanny.

  Nothing soft in S
enior's eyes though.

  I’m about to speak when I notice a woman sitting at the other end of the huge room. Brunette, sharply dressed, high heels. She pays us no attention, reading something on her phone. Her purse on the table looks more expensive than my car.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  No answer from Edmund.

  “Portia,” she calls out, eyes still on the phone. “Everett’s mother. Don’t mind me, I’m only present as an observer.”

  Okay . . .

  Everett never told me much about his mom. Kinda strange having her just observing. I face Royce Sr. and try to ignore her presence.

  “I know who you are,” he says at last. “Do you know who I am? What kind of man I am?”

  The kind of man who’d dump his sixteen-year-old son at a slum in Bangladesh and call it parenting. That kinda guy. “More or less,” I say. “Everett says you don’t approve of us.”

  “You are dying, Ms. Finch. How can I approve of such a match? Not to mention your backgrounds are too—different.”

  At least he doesn’t mince words. “Yup, that’s me. Dying. Not rich.”

  “I appreciate honesty, Ms. Finch.”

  “So do I.”

  “Say what you came to say.”

  My next words are a struggle even though I’ve practiced saying them so many times yesterday. “Everett loves me.”

  I wait for Senior’s response. Laughter, disbelief. A quick line about how love doesn’t exist and I’m a silly little girl.

  Nothing. Nada. Not even a grin.

  “This is true,” he says. “Everett loves you greatly.”

  Wasn’t expecting that. “How do you know?”

  “When he first told me, I believed your relationship was some foolish whim he pursued. I was mistaken. He is prepared to sacrifice much for your sake. Too much. He loves you, and it’s a disaster.”

  I swallow the sour taste at the back of my throat. “It is a disaster, I guess. We're not right for each other.”

  Edmund studies me. “Interesting that you agree.”

  “I want to make a deal.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’ll break up with him, I’ll get him to stop seeing me. In return, your company leaves St. Jude alone.”

  “St. Jude Children’s Hospital?”

  “Yeah. You want to tear it down, right? Use the space to build some tech center.”

  “Curious. Why do you care about that hospital?”

  “They helped me five years ago. They diagnosed my illness. And I volunteer there now. There’s an eleven-year-old girl named Yvonne who has leukemia, she needs St. Jude. Other kids too.”

  “Noble of you,” Senior says.

  “I’m dying. It’s easy to be noble.”

  The hint of a smile forms on his lips. “You are . . . mature for your age.”

  “I’m the oldest nineteen-year-old you’ll ever meet. So about that deal?”

  “Ms. Finch, are you aware that St. Jude is named after the patron saint of lost causes? I've always thought it was a foolish name. It’s bad luck.”

  “Do we have a deal or not?”

  “Your terms are acceptable. End your relationship with my son. I’ll spare St. Jude.”

  Sorry, Everett, but it would’ve ended anyway. “Deal.”

  “I always honor my bargains, Ms. Finch. Keep your end, and I will keep mine.”

  “Great.”

  “Point of advice. I wouldn’t inform Everett about our arrangement. My son can be stubborn.” He says son like it’s a bad word.

  “I know.”

  Edmund offers his hand, and I shake it.

  As I leave, Portia glances at me. She nods once. I shrug and walk on. I don't go to church or anything, but if St. Jude the saint is out there floating around somewhere I hope he was watching.

  ◆◆◆

  THE HOSPITAL CAFETERIA is empty, and I find a seat near the windows. I called Everett twenty minutes ago to meet me here, right after I checked in on Yvonne.

  Her nurse told me that the cancer is in recession, and after a few months, the girl should be out of immediate danger. Yvonne will need a stem cell transplant, but her chances are good, a lot better than mine at least. I’m happy for her.

  Everett enters and walks over to me.

  I have no makeup on. My hair is pulled up in a messy bun. I’d picked the shabbiest clothes I could find in my closet this morning. Even Yvonne had said I looked different.

  He still beams when he slides into my booth. “Hey beautiful.”

  We haven’t seen each other since the dinner at my parent’s. Everett looks handsome as always, but dark lines shadow his eyes like bruises.

  “I wish you’d picked another place,” he says, reaching for my hand over the table. “Want to go somewhere else?”

  “Here is fine.”

  “April, it’s a hospital.”

  “This isn’t a date.” But I let him hold my hand. “Find a cure yet?”

  “I’m working on it. That doctor, Lars Reijonen, had made good progress on an ALS treatment before he stopped. Reijonen retired, it looks like. I can’t find any contact info or where he lives now. Still searching. He used to work for a biotech firm in Norway. His lab had finished animal trials. Reijonen was able to halt neuron decay in mice.”

  “I’m not a mouse, Everett.”

  “Much cuter than a mouse.”

  “Look, we need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  I take a deep breath and meet his intense stare. He’d looked at me the same way when we first met, those fierce eyes searching mine, and I feel the same pull as I did then. The memory makes me smile. I fell in love with Everett, and if I could do it over, I wouldn’t change a thing. That’s what makes the words I must say so painful.

  “We can’t see each other again.”

  Everett’s hand tightens around my fingers. “Why?”

  I want to tell him about the agreement with his dad. But Royce Sr. was right. Everett would never let me go if he knew. This has to look like my decision, and mine alone. So I’ll tell him a half-truth.

  “I can’t let you watch me die.”

  “Baby, we talked about this—”

  “So you should understand then.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t understand. I told you, it doesn’t matter how sick you get, you’ll always be you. Do I want you cured? Goddamn right I do. I want to grow old with you, together, every day for the rest of my life.”

  I pull my hand out of his. Tears prickle my eyes as I get up. “Sorry, it wasn’t meant to be.”

  He blocks my way.

  I kiss him on the cheek. “Don’t make this any harder for me, okay?”

  Everett stands aside slowly, his face a grimace. I make my way to the exit and I don't look back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  EVERETT

  I slam my brakes in the company parking garage. Rubber squeals over asphalt, my Audi sliding into the space between a Lexus and Mercedes. Near miss. Don’t care. Driving like a maniac relieves anger. I get that now.

  Hell hath no fury like me.

  I sprint to the elevator. During the ride up, I close and open my fists. When the doors open on the lobby level, I march straight to the security control center, where Viktor Harlow’s office is. I can’t get in touch with my father, but Harlow must know.

  April wouldn’t give up like that.

  I won’t let her.

  I need her like I need air.

  My father caused this. I'm certain of it.

  I’ve been calling the old man nonstop since I left the hospital, but all I get is voicemail. Viktor Harlow must know where the old man is. Harlow knows more about my father’s schedule than I do.

  I barge into the control room, walking past startled technicians sitting behind consoles and make my way to Harlow’s office. I shove the door open.

  “Where's Edmund?”

  Harlow stands up from behind his desk.

  My voice is too loud, but I don’t
give a shit.

  Murmurs pass behind me. Someone touches my shoulder. I turn around to see a company security officer giving me a look that says you shouldn’t be back here.

  “Please maintain calm, Mr. Royce,” the officer says. Here’s a man with my last name on his shoulder patch, telling me to maintain calm.

  I slam the door shut and face Harlow.

  “Where is my father?”

  “Dining at the Executive Lounge,” Harlow says. “Edmund asked not to be disturbed.”

  We’ll see about that. “What happened with April?’

  “I don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

  “You know. What did Edmund do?”

  “Do yourself a favor, Everett. Find another woman, a healthy one. Move on.”

  I walk around his desk. “There’s something you should know about me, Harlow. I never had a girlfriend until April. Never saw the point, I suppose. Now I see the point. Now I know what it means to feel.”

  Harlow’s face starts to crack. Alarm underneath.

  I edge forward. Harlow watches me like I’m about to pounce.

  “She came to us,” he says, stepping back. “Spoke with Edmund.”

  “About what?”

  “No idea, I wasn’t there.” There’s fear in his eyes. “It was only her, your father, and—Mrs. Royce.”

  “Portia?”

  “Yes.” Harlow takes another step back. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  I suck down a deep breath and think of April’s sad smile. Can’t lose control. It won’t help her, won’t change anything. Harlow is not the one I should be confronting. He’s only following orders.

  Just like I did before I met April.

  I leave the office, walk back to the lobby, and take an elevator to the Executive Lounge on the thirtieth floor. Ex Lounge is a restaurant and bar reserved for company VIPs. The hostess recognizes me and stands aside as I storm past the entrance.

  My father is the only one here, sitting alone at a linen-draped table near the windows. There’s a plate before him. Salad and a piece of grilled fish, garnished with rose petals. A bottle of wine. A half-filled glass. He’s staring out the window at the city skyline.

  I walk over to him.

  Edmund looks up with no surprise on his face.