Marry Me Again: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  “Home,” dad says, without a second's hesitation. “Don't want to spend a second longer on this damned island than I really need to.”

  Doctor Jameson's face tightens. Dad gives him a sour look and mutters an apology.

  “It's okay. He's been under a lot of stress,” I say weakly, looking at the physician.

  “Yes, yes, I understand. Well, the two of you ought to talk things over and try your very best to remain calm. We'll have more news for you this evening. Assuming this isn't anything to really be concerned about beyond the surgery, we can have it done in under a week, wherever you choose. The Warwick Report can be back on the air in no time at all.”

  “No, I'm taking time off,” dad snaps, his eyes going dark. “Whatever the outlook here.”

  I want to reach out, squeeze his shoulder, but I know him too well. He's always been so high strung, the sort of man who has zero tolerance for failure.

  “And if there's more to worry about?” I ask, fighting to ignore the sickly feeling building deep in my stomach.

  “We'll deal with that scenario when it's on the table.” He collects the x-rays and shoves them back in his folder. “I have some other business to attend to. Rest assured, Miss Warwick, your father is getting the very best care here. Not just because it's our duty, but because His Highness himself has requested extra attention to detail.”

  “The Prince?” I squeak, doing a double take. “Why?”

  “I don't know. He didn't divulge any further details, madame. He's requested nothing but the best to handle your father's case by name. Since I'm at the top of this field available at the royal medical center, well, here I am. Suffice it to say, His Highness cares very greatly about all his guests, and he's deeply sorry for the trouble your father ran into the other day.”

  “Trouble my ass.” Dad snorts, tips his nose up, and rolls over, facing away from both of us. “He can't possibly be more sorry than I am. Believe me.”

  “If you'll excuse me...” Doctor Jameson looks at the door awkwardly.

  I nod, and he's gone without another word.

  As soon as he's out, I take the chair next to the bed. Dad never turns around to face me, drifting off yet again after a few minutes.

  I don't know if I should be grateful he's getting his rest, or worried about his dark attitude.

  Just now, my own exhaustion catches up to me. Turning in the chair, I tuck my head against the back, and close my eyes.

  Prince Silas Bearington, and the fact that he might know me by name, is the last thing on my mind.

  I don't have a clue how long I'm asleep. It seems like evening by the time I'm awakened by a light tap on the shoulder.

  Looking up, I see Doctor Jameson standing over me, his face more grim than before. “Miss Warwick, could I speak to you outside for a moment, please?”

  “Of course,” I say, looking down at dad, still fast asleep in his nest of tubes and bedding.

  I follow him out and watch as he closes the door gently behind us. We're alone in the long corridor, where it's eerily quiet. I take one look at his face and know I'm about to get bombed.

  “What is it? What's wrong?” My heart moves ten times faster than my lips, pure adrenaline in every pulse.

  “Your father's growth is cancerous, Miss Warwick. A rare, aggressive cancer. Very difficult to eradicate in this area. Something I've never seen.” He pauses, as if he needs to stoke his bedside manner, to prevent cold scientific fascination from taking over. “I'm very sorry.”

  That's it then. Cancer.

  What was that word he used again? Aggressive?

  I'm devastated.

  Or else, I should be. The weird thing is, I just feel numb, standing there underneath the bright white lights overhead while the doctor waits for some kind of reaction.

  “How does this change things?” I ask softly.

  “He'll need additional treatment, of course. If it were up to me, I'd recommend a full round of chemotherapy immediately after surgery, a regimen we call...”

  I'm listening, but all the terminology washes over me. So does the pain, the disappointment, the sad realization our nightmare isn't over. I thought the worst was behind us when dad collapsed during his interview, and I fell into the royal bad boy's arms.

  No, it's only beginning. I couldn't be more wrong.

  “Let me assure you once again, Miss Warwick, your father is more than welcome to make full use of our facilities and expertise. We have plenty of experience working with American insurance. But just between you and me...” He pauses, looking around, and leans in when he's sure nobody else is around. “I told you this is rare. We have our own research wing, yes, and we're doing well, all things considered. However...we can't make miracles happen. If it were me, I'd go abroad. Opt for something more experimental. Only the best of the best.”

  Experimental? Abroad? Obviously, he's used to dealing with billionaire royals who never think twice about their finances. Even more obvious he doesn't have as much experience working with insurance as he let on.

  Despite his success, daddy isn't a rich man.

  He's done well as a journalist, sure. He's comfortable. But his last divorce took him to the cleaners not so long ago.

  He barely has the money for globe trekking and time off if he wants to keep his condo. Let alone for things like experimental treatments abroad.

  “I don't know if we can afford it,” I say, trying to stop the anger from creeping into my voice.

  Doctor Jameson cocks his head, quickly scratching his nose. He looks at me like I've lost my mind.

  I still can't believe it. How a perfectly normal trip, the highlight of dad's career, has turned into this.

  “Well, you certainly don't have to decide now, Miss Warwick,” the doctor says reassuringly. “You have time – a little time – before any difficult decisions need to be made. Know that they do need to be decided in a timely manner, though. As soon as you're able, if I'm frank. The quicker you move against this sort of the thing, the better his chances.”

  God. The people on this island all seem to have a way with being 'frank.' They're too honest, everybody from Prince Playboy to his subjects, and always in that haughty not-quite-English accent that makes me want to slap them across the face.

  You can't get angry, I tell myself. For dad's sake.

  “I understand,” I lie, right before a new worry takes over. “Should I tell him the news?”

  “No, no, that's my responsibility,” he says, surprise flashing in his eyes. “We'll let him rest awhile longer. I'll make the rounds later today, and inform him when he's awake. Better to get the shock out of the way so both of you can begin running through your options in earnest. I'll bring you more details about the experimental option, if you'd like. Now, if you'll excuse me...”

  You have no idea. I'd love to excuse you, Doctor Dick, and this whole stupid, pompous island.

  I'd love to excuse my father's cancer, his heartbreak, and these brutal heels still attached to my feet.

  Raw emotion paralyzes me while he disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone.

  Slumping against the wall, I try to hang onto the anger, the frustration. It's the only thing that's stopping me from breaking down into an ugly crying fit right here.

  That's twice as hard to hold back when I realize just how achingly alone I'm about to be. More lonely than I've ever been in my entire life once dad starts to go through treatment.

  Not to mention if it doesn't work. If, God forbid...

  No, I won't let myself think the rest.

  I won't let myself cry.

  I definitely won't let the scream I'm holding in out, even though it's tearing me to pieces.

  Several people walk past, nurses holding charts, slinging medical jargon back and forth. It's just another day for them, and why shouldn't it be?

  They belong in this twisted fairytale kingdom where even the Prince is bad when he isn't playing hero for the cameras.

  I want to go home. I want to he
lp dad get well. And then, I never want to hear about Saint Moore or any of the royal assholes running this place ever again.

  They've brought nothing but terrible luck into our lives.

  When I finally force myself to move, retreating to his room, my right foot is so numb it almost drags across the floor. My heel catches, and I barely stop myself from tripping yet again.

  I have to be more careful. I definitely need to pick some better shoes.

  There's no Prince waiting for me if I stumble again. And there damned sure isn't a glass slipper at the end of all this suffering. There's no reward, no magic, except my father's survival.

  I'll do anything to make sure he's got a fighting chance.

  GET PRINCE WITH BENEFITS!