“When Camille was nine years old, I took her to Disney World.” Mom grins, and I brace myself for a story I’m sure is going to embarrass the hell out of me. “Oh, Ronan, she was the sweetest little thing. It rained on us the whole time, but my baby never stopped smiling. And how could she? Gosh, I’d give anything to relive that week all over again.”
She rests her chin on her hands and stares across the table.
“I’ve never been there,” Ronan says. “But I can imagine how magical it might be for a child.”
My mother swats at his hand. “Get out! You’ve never been?”
“Never had the chance,” he says.
Last night, Ronan told me about growing up at boarding school, how homesick he was the first few years, and how he never really felt close with his family because they were never together. I suspect the main reason he wanted to follow in his father and grandfather’s footsteps was to feel closer to them the only way he could.
“My goodness, well you’re just going to have to tag right along with us when we go next month.” Mom grins. “We’re still going, right?”
I nod. “We are.”
Ronan glances at me. He doesn’t smile, but I see a relaxed contentedness in his blue eyes that I’ve never seen before.
Mom checks her watch, pops up from the table and dabs her mouth with a paper napkin covered in flowers. “I’m running late for the library.”
“You don’t have to be there for another twenty minutes,” I say.
“Ten minutes early is still late to old Mrs. Edna Roush.” Mom swats her hand. “You know how she is. Hasn’t changed a lick in fifteen years.”
“Have fun,” I say as she steps into a pair of quiet-soled shoes and swipes her keys from the counter.
“I’ll see you two just before supper tonight.” She smiles, pausing by the door leading to the garage. She likes Ronan, which says a lot, because as sweet as my mom is, she doesn’t warm up to people that easily and she trusts no one. Mom nods and disappears into the garage.
I watch Ronan finish his breakfast, his napkin in his lap and his knife in his left hand. Even the placement of his orange juice glass is proper.
“What do you want to do today?” I ask, taking in the view of the exquisite man sitting beside me.
He finishes his bite and leans back. “Hang out with you. Do normal things.”
I laugh. “What kinds of normal things?”
“Anything we want. But first . . .” Ronan pushes his chair from the table, reaching for me and pulling me into his lap.
My hands hook behind his neck, and I lean in for a maple syrup-flavored kiss. I grin when his fingers trail underneath my shirt. The hardness that begins to poke from his low-hanging sweats is an open invitation I’ll gladly accept.
He closes his fingers around my ponytail and tugs until my head tilts back and my neck is exposed. Hot kisses pepper a trail from the underside of my chin down the side of my neck, and then along my left collarbone.
“You’re so fucking worth it, Camille,” he breathes between kisses. His hands unfasten my bra before sliding around to massage my breasts with his strong, soft hands. “You should know that.”
I pull his scent into my lungs over and over, my hips circling in his lap as a flood of arousal invades my sex. This man sends my body reeling like no one else can.
Ronan grips my ass, lifting me as he rises, and carries me upstairs to my room where my bed is all kinds of disheveled from last night’s romp. He flew in late last night, and we burned the midnight oil as if it were all going away the next day.
You don’t know what you have until someone threatens to take it all away. And then you fight like hell for it.
That’s exactly what Ronan did. He fought for me. I’ll never know what he saw in me that night at the masquerade ball, but I’ll be forever grateful he never stopped searching.
“You’re completely insane, you know that, right?” I laugh as he tugs his sweats down and I reach for his swollen cock.
“How so?” He crawls over me, yanking down my pajama pants and pulling me closer. My legs relax, spreading wide as my pussy pulses with pure anticipation. Ronan was inside me less than eight hours ago, and still I crave more of him.
“For leaving Washington.” I cup his face, pulling it close and kissing his perfect mouth. “For standing up to your family. For choosing me over everything.”
His lips graze mine before our tongues merge.
“No, Camille, I’d be insane to let you go. I’d be insane to walk away from the possibility of a future I might actually enjoy.”
My belly flutters.
“Are you still moving west?” he asks, gripping his cock and teasing it against my seam. He runs the tip up and down as I squirm.
I nod, biting my bottom lip as my nails dig into his biceps.
“Good. I’m coming with you,” he says, pushing himself farther inside. His rock hard cock fills me as he moves deeper. My hands drag along his back, resting at the smooth dip above his tight ass. “Say the word and we’ll go.”
EPILOGUE
Camille
{One Year Later}
Today’s the day I sell my soul.
“I believe I speak for an entire nation, Ms. Buchanan, when I say we’re on pins and needles as we wait for the release of your memoir. What made you decide to write this tell-all?” The woman interviewing me cocks her head and offers a look that makes me want to open up to her, but the concern in her eyes is for the viewers at home.
And she should be concerned. This book is going to change everything for a lot of people.
I never wanted to write it.
But what choice did I have?
“Well, Denise, I believe it’s important to know what goes on in our nation’s capital when no one’s looking.” I keep a light cadence in my words, just like I practiced all afternoon. My PR team says to keep my interviews spry to counteract the bomb I’m about to drop. It’s not every day that the carefully crafted images of an American blue-blooded family are shattered.
This is my big moment. I’m experiencing a historical moment in real-time. Clips of this interview will play out on countless documentaries someday, and my name will forever be linked to his. For better or for worse, I’ll be unforgettable.
Just like I always wanted.
“I’ve had the privilege of reading a few excerpts from your book, and I must say to the viewers at home, there are some extremely heavy allegations.” She repositions herself before resting her chin across the top of her hand. We’re just a couple of girls having a conversation. Denise Stone makes it easy to forget we’re being filmed for a nationally televised special, but I suppose that’s why she’s paid the big bucks. “What would you say to the naysayers who might accuse you of looking for a big payday?”
“We’re fortunate enough to live in a free country.” I deliver my lines like I rehearsed and ignore the fact that I’m melting under these hot lights. “No one has to read anything or believe anything they don’t want to. The only thing I’d like everyone to know is that my book, my memoir, is one hundred percent factual. Every word of it is true.”
I steal a quick glance behind one of the cameramen where Ronan stands and watches the interview, his arms folded casually. He gives me a nod that both reassures and empowers me.
This memoir, after all, was his idea.
“Now, in your memoir, Dark Paradise,” Denise says, “You claim to have worked as an escort in Washington, DC for five years before meeting the son of President Montgomery. Is that correct?”
“It is.” I smile, but it’s only for him.
“And the details of your love affair with Ronan Montgomery are all going to be discussed in your book?”
“That’s right,” I say. “When you strip away the scandal, there’s a really beautiful love story there. We wanted to share our story because we live it every day.”
“Now you two are still together, is that correct?”
“We are,” I say, holding
up my left hand and wiggling my ring finger. A radiant solitaire dazzles beneath the bright lights. “Going strong.”
“That’s quite an accomplishment, given the hurdles you two have gone through to get here.” She glances at her notes for a second. “In your book, you discuss in detail the threat placed on your life by the Montgomery family when they discovered your relationship.”
I nod, glancing at Ronan again. I still can’t believe we’re doing this, but a year ago, he asked me to trust him, and within a week, we were deep into the first draft of my memoir. And just as he anticipated, his mother refused to retract her claws, sending him letters and phone calls. They’d always start out sweet and unassuming, and as soon as she realized she wasn’t making headway, she’d spew venom and threats.
She never respected Ronan, nor did she take him seriously.
I bet she will now.
“Right,” I say. “There were bribes and intimidations. It’s all discussed in great length in my book.”
Denise tilts her head, her eyes squinting. “The release of this memoir during an election year–it seems as though it might be a strategic move. Would that be a fair assumption?”
I shrug. They say all’s fair in love and war. Everything about this is love and war.
“It was a decision Ronan and I made together,” I say. “We felt the American public deserved to know the truth, and we believe it’s our civic duty to share it.”
“You also have a stunning revelation to share in regards to the identity of your biological father,” she says. “From what I understand, his identity has only been shared with you in the past year?”
“That’s correct,” I say. “I haven’t met him yet, and I’m not sure that I want to, but I’m very familiar with his work . . .”
I don’t know how he did it, but Ronan managed to convince my mother to fork over the missing puzzle piece I’d desperately searched for my entire life. My father, for better or for worse, is Rupert Darlington, husband of Vice President Nanette Darlington and father of Lydia, who, it turns out, is adopted–which is a huge relief. She’s the last person I’d want as a half-sister.
Denise asks a handful of pointed questions, and I’m ready at the helm with scripted answers generic enough to not reveal spoilers from my book but still enough to leave the viewers at home satisfied.
Ronan stands still, watching from his place, and my strength is grounded in his calmness. For the past year, he’s been my rock, my protector, my most trusted confidant and my best friend. He moved to LA with me so I could pursue my dreams, and he’s perfectly content to stand back and let me shine. The spotlight is all mine, he likes to say. He never wanted it in the first place.
The producer signals for Denise to wrap up, and I’m flooded with an unreasonable amount of happiness. I just want to go home to my apartment with my fiancé, and hole up for a few days while the impending media firestorm we’re creating begins to brew.
Ronan said that publicly calling out his mother for her actions would keep her from ever acting on them. And it would more than likely ruin any chances she’d ever have of running for office someday.
I believe that’s what they call karma, even if we did give it a helpful little nudge.
“If I may, I’d like to read an excerpt from a chapter written by Ronan,” Denise says, pulling out a sheet of printed paper as we close the interview. “And I would do it all over again, changing nothing. A hundred times over, I’d give it all away for her. My kingdom for her heart.”
THE END
PREVIEW of ROYAL --- Releasing February 24, 2016!
BLURB
(subject to change)
His name is Royal, but he’s no prince charming. He’s not even a prince - though you could say I loved him once upon a time.
He was my older brother’s best friend.
Growing up, he sat at our dinner table every Sunday, teased me mercilessly, and pretended I annoyed him.
When I was old enough, he took me on my first date.
Royal taught me how to drive. Escorted me to my junior prom. Gave me my first kiss…amongst other things. He was my first taste of toe curling, all-consuming, can’t sleep love.
We had our whole lives ahead of us. There was never anyone else for me but him.
And then he disappeared. No letter. No explanation. Not even a goodbye.
My sisters and brother never forgave him, and my parents forbade me from speaking his name in our house ever again. For all intents and purposes, we were to pretend Royal Lockhart never existed.
I’ve spent the last seven years trying in vain to forget my first love, but just when I think I’ve finally moved on, guess who’s back in town?
Prologue
Demi, Age 10
{fifteen years ago}
“What are you doing in here, Royal?” I cross my arms and scowl so hard my face hurts.
His head pokes through the opening in the bottom of my tree house.
“No boys allowed. Can’t you read?” I point to the yellow piece of construction paper taped outside one of the windows. One of my little sisters drew it in red crayon and added a hundred exclamation points.
“Whatcha doing, Demi?” He ignores me. Boys are annoying.
“I think Derek’s calling your name.” My big brother uses that trick on me when he wants me to leave him alone. He always says Mom wants me. I don’t fall for it anymore, but maybe Royal will.
“I don’t hear anything.” He climbs the rest of the way inside my tree house, and goes straight for a box of Barbies in the corner. “You still play with these?”
My cheeks burn. “Nope.”
Sometimes.
“Those belong to the twins,” I add. I blame everything on my little sisters, and everyone always believes me.
Royal picks up a naked Skipper and checks her out from all angles. He’s so weird.
“Why don’t your Barbies wear clothes?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Ask my sisters. I told you, I don’t play with those.”
“What do you do up here?” He throws Skipper into the box and leans out a nearby window.
“None of your business.” I roll my eyes as hard as I can. “You need to leave. You can’t be in here.”
“Why not?” His smile makes my blood boil. Ever since Derek brought him home from school last month, all he does is mess with me. He doesn’t bother my little sisters. Only me.
“Fifth graders and fourth graders aren’t supposed to hang out,” I say.
“Says who?”
“Um, everyone at school.”
“What’s this?” He walks toward me and plucks a plastic crown off my head.
I blush. I’d forgotten I was wearing it.
“Pretending to be a princess?” He laughs at me. I want to punch him.
“I was trying it on to see if it still fit.” I try to grab it back but he pulls it away.
“Yeah, right, Demi.” He puts it on top of his dark brown hair. “How do I look?”
He smiles, staring down at me and lifting his fist just under his chin. He looks like a prince. In a good way. Like the kind in movies. But I’m not telling him that.
“You look dumb.” I swipe it off his stupid head. “Get out of here.”
“Doesn’t the prince get to kiss the princess first? I climbed this tower and everything.”
I stick my tongue out. “Gross.”
My heart beats hard in my chest. I don’t know what this means. Royal is annoying. He thinks he’s really funny and he’s not. All the girls follow him around on the playground at school, but I don’t think he’s anything special. I’d rather climb on the monkey bars or play tetherball than pay any attention to him. Hadley Mayberry had a pretend wedding to him at recess yesterday. I heard they really kissed. And then I heard Mrs. Quick put him in timeout against the wall. She called him Romeo. I don’t know what that means.
Royal walks past me, and my body won’t move. He looks at the ladder and then at me.
“Royal
.” My brother’s voice comes from beneath the wooden floor. “You up there?”
“Yeah,” he calls back. “Just a sec.”
I tap my foot on the ground.
“Demi?”
“What?”
Royal licks his lips and leans in to give me a peck on the lips.
I hate him.
I try to shove him across the tree house but he’s bigger than me so he barely moves. When he laughs at me, I slap him across the face. I’ve never hit anyone before. Not even Derek, and man, have I wanted to a couple dozen different times.
“Why’d you do that?” I wipe my mouth against my arm and then spit onto the dirty floor of the tree house.
Royal shrugs. “Because I’m a prince. It’s why my name is Royal. Princes kiss princesses.”
I know that’s not true. Mom said he’s a foster child. I don’t know what that means, but I know he’s not a prince. We don’t have princes in Rixton Falls anyway.
He won’t stop looking at me. It’s super uncomfortable.
I spit again. He laughs. I think he liked the kiss. He hasn’t tried to wipe it off yet.
“Don’t do that again.” I glare and step back. “Next time I’ll tell Derek.”
Royal’s face falls. Derek is his best friend. They’re like brothers. Sometimes I get jealous that Derek spends more time with Royal than me anymore.
He climbs down the ladder, stopping one more time to look at me. “See you at dinner, Princess Demi.”
Ugh.
He’s staying for dinner again?
I need to see if I can change places with Delilah tonight. I don’t want to play footsie with Royal under the table again. I want to eat my shepherd’s pie, then go upstairs, lock my door so he can’t bug me, and read my book until he finally goes home.
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