by Nora Flite
“Hawthorne, what I said to Glen was the truth.”
“Jesus, if this is supposed to be you apologizing, you’re shit at it.”
He shook his head briskly. “Listen to me. It was the truth at that time. You weren’t meant to rule this place any more than I was when Hester threatened my life. My brother pulled open my eyes and showed me what a damn coward I was.”
My mouth went slack. “You weren’t a coward. You told me you didn’t stand up to him because you knew he’d be put to death for trying to overthrow you.”
“That’s what I convinced myself of.” Shrugging his massive shoulders, my father looked to the sky. “It helped me sleep at night. Then something happened that forced me to admit my own failure at being a leader.”
“What was that?”
He closed his eyes. “I became a father.”
I couldn’t speak, afraid that if I did, it would close up the hole that had opened, allowing me to glimpse his heart.
“When I was younger,” he said, “I rebelled against everything my old man was. I didn’t want to play the same political games he did. I believed he hated that I wasn’t as good as him, and that I never would be. I’ve always seen myself in you, Thorne.” He breathed in slowly, gathering himself, before facing me again. “We’re the same. Your flaws are mine. I wanted more from you, and when I feared it would never come, I shied away. Watching you grow up to be exactly like me . . . always running away from your problems . . . it scraped my soul raw.”
My voice was more broken than I wanted it to be. “Glen said I reminded him of you. I hated that.”
“I don’t blame you. I hated realizing what I’d done by abandoning my country. It wasn’t until we came here, and I saw how this place had fallen apart, that I grasped it was my only chance to make amends.” His arm came up, and he clutched my shoulder. In spite of his grim expression, I believe he was just as surprised as I was. “Hawthorne, I’m sorry. I tried to push you to be like me. No, better than me. But you saw through those desires even as a small child. You were never meant to succeed where I had failed, and putting that pressure on you when I’d run from it myself was unfair.”
I held his steady gaze. The lines in his skin, which I had associated with rage, now reminded me of all the suffering he’d gone through. All the pain that he’d lived with, the pressure to be a perfect son, brother, king . . . and father.
He thought he’d failed at them all.
I grabbed his forearm and pulled him in for a solid hug. “It’s okay,” I said, my brain getting smothered by nostalgia thanks to his warmth and heavy scent—memories of being knee-high, of when he would spin me through the air, sit me on his lap, read to me by the roaring fire in his study. I’d buried the good to more easily live through the bad. “You messed up. So did I. We’ve still got plenty of time to do it right.”
My father clutched me hard enough that the last air in my lungs came out in a wheeze. His beard scratched my cheek, he hung on so tight, like it was possible to make up for years of negligence with one hug. It wasn’t. And we both knew it. But this was a start.
Letting me go, he stepped back. His smile was weary, the corners of his eyes red and damp. “You’re right. We’ve got time to make it right.” He paused. “The years do fly by, though. It’s amazing to think that I’ll have two grandchildren soon.”
“Yeah. I know.” Palming the side of my neck, I laughed. “Hope Kain doesn’t get too upset that we’ll be stealing his spotlight. Speaking of . . . you might consider talking to him and the others. I get the feeling I’m the first to have a deep talk like this with you.”
He nodded gravely. “You’re right. All of you deserve better than what I’ve managed. It will be hard, though, with me being in Torino now.”
“I don’t know,” I said, grinning sideways. “You being king here has given us all an excuse to come around and enjoy the beautiful weather. This place really is gorgeous, you know.”
My father inhaled the sweet garden air. “Yes. It is. I missed it a lot.”
“Listen,” I said, kicking at the ground. “Nova and I are flying back to the States in a few days. Before we leave, do you want to . . . go . . . fishing?”
The bridge of his nose crinkled. “Fishing?”
“Yeah. I might have heard a story about you, a giant swordfish, and the Sandpiper.” As I spoke, my father’s expression smoothed. His blue eyes lightened, his head lifting. “Of course, the old sailor was probably senile. But I’d concede if I saw you in action.”
The understanding in his smile made him look younger. “I can’t believe they kept that damn fish.” Shaking himself, he focused on me. His joy became slyer, a strong arm circling my shoulder, pulling me in for a brief, forceful hug. “Son, nothing would make me prouder than taking you out on the water and kicking your ass.”
- EPILOGUE -
NOVA
All I wanted to do was sit outside in the gardens.
I remembered the first time I’d seen this place—the Badds’ estate. I’d been severely jealous of the green grass, the trees, the roses and horses both. It had made my concrete home feel more barren. Lifeless.
Lately, nothing about me was lifeless.
Though I was outside, I could hear the voices through the open windows of the mansion. The March weather was leaning toward the cooler side of spring. That was fine; at eight months pregnant, I was constantly overheating.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Without glancing at it, I knew everyone was looking for me. Sending a final look out at the gardens, I filled my lungs with the fresh air, then waddled into the back door of the house. The smell of sugar made my stomach growl. I followed it into the dining room. Pink and blue balloons were taped to every surface, some stuck to the ceiling next to giant Mylar baby heads. Groaning, I pressed my palm to the front of my loose shirt, enduring as my hunger made the baby thrash. “I’m starting to think this isn’t a baby in here. I might be the first woman to give birth to a typhoon.”
“Uh-huh. Sit down, and we can find out in a few minutes if that typhoon is a boy or a girl,” Carmina said, waving a napkin at me. I followed her instructions, settling into the cushion-covered dining room chair with relief. One of the maids poured me a glass of lemonade, then rushed off to refill the other guests before I could say thanks.
I could understand her hurry, though. Carmina had invited every single person even somewhat related to them for the gender reveal of Thorne’s baby. In a way I was thankful. I certainly had no one to invite.
After being charged with conspiracy against the crown, my parents and brother had been sentenced to fifteen years in the Maurine prison system. Larchmont had an extra twenty years added for attempted murder. Darla and Richard would be out the quickest, both of them having taken plea deals, revealing anything asked of them about my family’s plot.
That still left them serving five years each, minimum.
If someone asked me how I felt about it all, I’d have struggled to answer. Luckily, no one asked. They were always too excited to gab about the coming baby. The gender reveal party was almost pointless—I was due in a month, I’d gone this long without knowing. I could wait until the moment the baby was born.
Carmina, though . . .
Well.
After Sammy gave birth to her little girl, Carmina became obsessed. She’d dropped a thousand not-so-subtle hints about needing to know if she was getting another granddaughter, or her first grandson. Thorne had finally taken me aside, begging me to let his mom throw a party for us.
I’d never been good at saying no to him. The bastard.
“Nova,” Sammy said, swaying into the room and looking unfairly gorgeous for someone who’d had a baby five months ago. “Should we put the gifts in here with you, or in the living room?”
“I don’t need gifts.” I sipped the lemonade, worried I’d be hobbling to the restroom no matter how slowly I drank it. “I need someone to fast-forward me so this baby isn’t sitting on my bladder anymore.”
She laughed, pulling her sleeves up, bracing herself for some hard work. “Okay. I’ll put them by the toilet for you.”
“Sammy! No!” Carmina gasped, chasing after her out of the room.
Giggles exploded from my lips. I covered my mouth, then winced, a pair of tiny elbows . . . or feet . . . or both stabbing inside my belly.
“Later,” Thorne said, entering the room with Kain at his side. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”
Kain, cradling his five-month-old daughter, pursued his brother. “Someone has to take the job! I just assumed you’d go back to it, and—”
“Here she is,” Thorne said, cutting Kain off, crossing toward me. “I was worried someone had let you wither away without food, and I was right.” Leaning in, Thorne gave me a warm kiss—one a bit too passionate for company, but he’d never cared—and then handed me a cupcake. Half of the frosting was blue, the other half pink.
My stomach rumbled again. “Thank you.” I took a bite and wiped at my mouth with a napkin from the stack on the table. “What were you two talking about?”
Thorne shared a look with Kain. “Nothing that matters.”
“Tell her, man.”
Sighing, Thorne leaned against the back of my chair with his hip. “The Dirty Dolls is officially opening next week. The lawsuit was settled, all parties are satisfied, I guess.”
“Oh.” Blinking, I tried to read his face. “Are you worried I’ll be upset because you want to go back and work there?”
His forehead crinkled tightly. Bending low, Thorne kissed my temple, then my mouth—I knew he’d taste the sugary cupcake, but he licked his lips afterward as if he were enjoying it way too much. Like he was tasting me, too. “I’m not going back.”
“You’re not?” I asked, stunned . . . and secretly relieved.
“Of course. I’ve got more important things to put my energy into.” Reaching down, he palmed my belly possessively. My entire body thrilled, my scalp tingling.
“How nice of you to leave it to me to find a replacement,” Kain said, coming closer. He lightly jostled the baby, her eyes bright as ocean jewels when they moved to me. Her mouth was a pink dollop of jam. “You feeling okay these days, Nova?”
Leaning forward, I cooed. “I’m fine. Oh, but Kain, Julie’s more beautiful each time I see her.”
“Takes after her mother,” he said, winking. Then he paused, considering me. “Want to hold her?”
“Always.” Each time Kain and Sammy stopped by the estate since having the baby, I’d been taken with Julie. I couldn’t get enough of snuggling the little girl. It helped remind me that my swollen feet and late-night insomnia were worth it.
He passed me his daughter, helping settle her in my arms. At five months old she was a wonderfully chunky child, her round cheeks and arm rolls delighting me. When she reached up, chewing her fingers and smiling, my ovaries exploded. “Seriously. So cute.” I noticed Thorne was watching closely, his arm on the back of my chair. “You want a turn?”
“What, me?” Laughing, he held up his hands in defense. “She’ll have time to get sick of me. Let’s not rush it before she can walk.”
“Come on,” I said, kissing Julie’s forehead. “You’re her uncle. Use this as experience.”
Kain crossed his arms, his dark eyebrows furrowing. “If you drop her, you’re dead.”
“I won’t drop her,” Thorne scoffed. He became focused, taking the baby from me extra carefully. I wasn’t used to seeing him so nervous. In my husband’s strong arms, Julie looked tiny. He cradled her head, even though she didn’t need it. He treated her like she was a newborn. If my heart wasn’t already full of this man, I’d have made room for him.
“It’s time!” Carmina said, sweeping back into the room, a box in her hands. She led a train of people behind her. Several faces I knew: Francesca, Sammy, Scotch, Costello, Lulabelle—whom I’d met when Julie was born, and who clearly didn’t know how to talk to me. The older sister had said maybe five words to me directly.
Costello placed an iPad on the table, near the edge so it could get everyone in the frame. A few clicks, and he had a video call going.
Maverick’s wide jaw filled the screen. His face seemed bigger thanks to his huge grin. “I’m here!” he crowed. “I’m ready to know what my next grandchild is going to be!”
Carmina put the box on the table in front of me. Then she pantomimed kissing the iPad. “Honey,” she said sweetly, “you seem very excited. You didn’t put a bet on this, did you?”
“Of course not,” Maverick said, scowling. “What an awful thing to gamble on.”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re up to when I’m not there!”
“Nothing but work, darling. I promise.”
“When I come back there next weekend, I’ll know, so don’t lie.”
I giggled at their banter. It was obvious that, even with the distance, these two adored each other. Carmina made trips to Torino every month, staying for two weeks at a time. The rest of the days she lived at the estate with Thorne and me.
Francesca was here as well, but I sensed she was trying to figure out what to do with herself now that her other siblings had their lives getting off the ground. Lately, she’d dropped hints she might move to Torino to live in the castle with her dad as a real princess.
Maverick’s attention moved to me. Under his rich blue eyes, I shifted in place. “I’m thrilled to find out what Thorne and Nova are having. Let’s do this, the whole family is here.”
Family. My pleased smile hurt my cheeks.
“Here you go,” Sammy said, handing me a knife. The box was removed, leaving a round white cake on a plate. It had nothing to identify what color the batter was inside. But once I sliced through the frosting, revealing blue or pink, everyone would know what the baby in my belly was.
Our OB had sent the information to the bakery, ensuring no one but those bakers knew what I was having. That struck me as weird, suddenly—some strangers in a store, mixing batter, knowing what I was having before I did.
“Nova?” Thorne said my name gently. He’d returned Julie to Kain, and now he sat beside me, his hand in mine. “Having second thoughts?”
Looking at his worried mouth, at his tilted eyebrows and warm eyes, and feeling his concern in every molecule in the air . . . I wanted to say that second thoughts had gone out the window months ago. We were here, this baby was real and it was coming whether this cake was pink or blue or green.
Firmly I wrapped his fingers in mine, then around the knife. “Together,” I said. “Let’s see if we’re having a prince or a princess.”
Our rings touched, pressed tight as we cut into the cake. The room began clapping, squealing the second the blue-crumb center peeked through. At the same time, the little boy in my womb kicked me harder than ever. He was rolling, as if he was celebrating his own coming debut. Hearing all the people excitedly cheering for him before they’d met him.
And as I kissed Thorne, I knew our child had every reason to celebrate.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Kristen Carter
USA Today bestselling author Nora Flite firmly believes that the very best heroes are passionate, filthy, and slightly obsessive—which is why she features them in all her romances. Nora’s always been a writer, which means that you’ll have to pry her keyboard, pen, or some kind of magical future writing device out of her cold, dead fingers before she’ll ever stop writing.
Nora lives in Southern California, where the weather is warm and she doesn’t have to shovel snow—something she never loved in her tiny home state of Rhode Island. Nora loves to hear from her fans, so email her at [email protected], and visit her online at www.NoraFlite.com.
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