Forbidden Prince: A Brother's Best Friend Royal Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  Everything starts now, and I don’t want to forget a moment of it.

  The French doors to the conservatory are wide open, and I see over a hundred people in the wide, enclosed space. Ferns and rose garlands hang from the ceiling with white lengths of satin twisted around the trees, all lit with fairy lights. The white carpet extends to the far end, where a handmade vine arch stands, crafted by the same farmer from Shelter Cove who provided us with our first breakfast.

  My heart flutters in my chest, and I feel the twins swimming around each other, fluttering too. They must know how exciting this is. They can probably sense my joy, my nerves, my anticipation.

  Ethan’s smile is so wide and sincere, it brightens the room. And I step onto the white carpet, everyone turns to face me, but I can’t see any of them. Only him. Only this man that I wanted for so long, who I wanted before I even knew what it was to want a man. To love a man. Here he is, right in front of me.

  The Justice of the Peace wraps a length of ribbon around our clasped hands, murmuring the sacred words, promising a life together as good as we can make it, if we both swear to do our very best.

  Does he?

  He does.

  Do I?

  You bet I do.

  “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife,” he says finally. “You may now kiss your bride!”

  In front of everybody, Ethan reaches forward, taking my cheeks in his strong hands. He pulls me to him, smiling, kissing my lips with a tenderness that takes my breath away. I shudder with delight, feeling the twins shuddering within me.

  We turn back to the crowd, lifting our clasped hands above our heads in triumph. The room erupts in applause and I look from face to face. My parents, so happy. Bea, grinning and clapping. Aden pumping his fist above his head. Even Mr. and Mrs. Mercer, smiling and waving, wishing us the very best in our life together.

  Like a fairytale. A dream come true.

  CHAPTER 25 - EPILOGUE

  ETHAN

  In the middle of the night, Ava gets up out of bed, shuffling toward the bathroom and clicking on the light. It’s only the second time tonight, but I watch her anyway, with her nightgown swaying back and forth, lazily stretching her arms over her head.

  She would hate to know that I can hear her peeing, but I totally can. I’ll never bring it up. But the bathroom is right there, and she did leave the door open a crack. I don’t know why, but it’s charming. Everything she does is charming. Every pound she’s put on, every strange craving for olives and ice cream, every out-of-control emotion that takes her over like a band of wild horses.

  It all just dazzles me, like some kind of slow-motion miracle in progress.

  I hear the tap go on and the toilet flush at the same time. I think that she thinks that if she does them both at the same time, the tap camouflages the sound of the toilet. She is still quite modest, sometimes shy, even. I think it’s just her nature.

  She flips the light off, then flips it back on again. The tap goes on again, then back off.

  “Oh,” I hear her say. I push myself up on my elbows, waiting for her to reappear in the doorway.

  The door swings open, and I squint against the blinding light.

  “Hey, babe? You awake?”

  “Everything all right in there?” I call out, sitting up and swinging my legs to the side.

  “Yeah, um… I think my water just broke.”

  Suddenly, I’m completely awake. Alert as a human being ever can be, buzzing with excitement. I grab the hospital bag off the table where it’s been sitting packed and ready for weeks. I help her into her shoes and out to the garage.

  For now, she is smiling. From what we know from the birth education classes, that could change at any second. Every few moments she sucks her breath through her teeth, then lets it out slowly. Her fingers dig into the palm of my hand. She is stronger than you might think, but I don’t flinch.

  At the hospital, an orderly greets us in the emergency room with a wheelchair and directs her into it. She holds her belly with both hands underneath, smiling as she breathes through puffed cheeks.

  “Have you been timing your contractions, hon?” the orderly asks her as we stride briskly through the hallways, careful not to wake up anybody who might be sleeping through this.

  “Every three minutes,” she replies.

  “Seriously?” I ask. “Already? That fast?”

  She glares up at me with her cheeks puffed out. Little drops of sweat dot her upper lip.

  “Never mind, baby. I was just asking!”

  “Okay, here we are!” the orderly announces, wheeling us into a spacious delivery suite. It barely even looks like a hospital room, with a terrazzo floor and tasteful wallpaper. There’s an armoire on one wall, and the bed even looks like the sort of thing you might have in a really nice hotel.

  The orderly gives her a gown and instructions, and two more nurses show up. They scribble on the whiteboard near the door, efficiently communicating with each other in some kind of secret code. I help Ava onto the bed and press my lips against her forehead, inhaling deeply. She squeezes my hand.

  “I’m just going to apologize in advance for anything I might do or say in the next few hours, okay?” she tells me.

  “You just let loose,” I suggest. “I’m a Marine. I can take it.”

  I swear the nurses just rolled their eyes.

  Dr. Lopez arrives in about an hour, strangely casual about the whole thing. I’m sure she sees this sort of thing every day, but can’t help but wonder if everything is under control. Yet, everything goes more or less the way the instructional DVD said it all would.

  The anesthesiologist arrives to give her an epidural, and Ava calms somewhat. Pain becomes pressure, or so they say. Less pain, anyway. The heartbeat monitor pings at regular intervals. People wander in and out, executing their plans in a well-rehearsed dance.

  And I just stand here, holding her hand. Offering her ice chips. Wishing I could be more useful.

  It seems to happen almost too quickly, and her legs are up in stirrups and we’re all cheering for her to push. I slip my arm around her to help her half sit up, wishing I could do this for her, amazed that any human can do it at all.

  She pushes for a long time, or maybe it’s a short time. Everything is terrifying and exhilarating. I’ve never seen anything like this. Everyone’s yelling, Ava most at all. There are moments where I think she’s terrified, but somehow she gets through it.

  “That’s it! You’re doing great, Ava! One more push!”

  Ava grits her teeth as she bears down, and three people gather on the far end of the table.

  “Yes! You did it!”

  I search her face, meeting her eyes. She lets out a long breath and looks up at me, smiling. As soon as I see that she’s okay, I dare to look over my right shoulder.

  Dr. Lopez stands up just as a nurse brings a blue blanket underneath the tiny body that she holds in her blue-gloved hands. A swirl of dark hair crowns the head, and the tiny arms box at the air.

  “Which one is that?” Ava pants.

  “I think that’s our son!” I say, choking back a wave of tears.

  “Sure is!” Dr. Lopez announces. “And he is perfect. Absolutely perfect! You ready for his little sister?”

  Ava steels herself, nodding determinedly. I can’t believe she is going to go through it all again, but she is. Everyone readies themselves, and she bears down, grunting and moaning, using every ounce of strength to bring our daughter to the world.

  She lies back, exhausted, sweating, and relieved. I wipe her forehead with a cool cloth, stunned beyond words.

  “Go,” she whispers hoarsely. “Look at them. Tell me they’re okay.”

  “Oh, they’re completely okay,” Dr. Lopez interrupts. She rolls two plastic-walled bassinets next to the side of the bed. “See? Totally okay. You did good, Mama!”

  Ava shifts to one side, somehow finding the strength to gaze upon our beautiful children who are already sleeping,
snug in tightly swaddled blankets.

  “You can hold them,” the delivery nurse suggests.

  Ava looks startled. “We can? Just like that?”

  The nurse chuckles, lifting the little girl from her bassinet and placing her gently in Ava’s arms. Ava cradles her automatically, stroking the edge of her face with the tip of her finger. She looks up with me with expression of surprise and delight.

  “We made this, Ethan. Isn’t it amazing?”

  The nurse appears in my side, bouncing my son gently in her arms. She nods at me encouragingly.

  “Go on. Take him. He’s been waiting a long time. You can hold him.”

  I hold out my arms, but then I’m suddenly unsure. “What if I drop him?”

  The delivery nurse rolls her eyes. “Big strong guy like you? I think you can handle it.”

  “They never trained us in this in the Marines,” I grin. She holds my son out, placing him in my arms. I curl him against my body, not too tight, as a rush of love and fear floods every cell in my body.

  “Oh, wow,” I say.

  “Right?” Ava asks me.

  We stare at each other for a long time, silently exchanging a wordless conversation about how strange this is, how wonderful it is. How there could be nothing more perfect in the whole world than this love here, today.

  I’ve been a lot of places, and I’ve done a lot of things. But I’ve never had a family like this. I never really knew was possible. Now that I have found this kind of love, everything is perfect.

  Copyright © 2018 by Jess Bentley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Preface

  Joe (Joanna)

  I’m sure it’s my dad or one of his crew coming to ask me a question, so I sweep across the living room in my bare feet, flinging the door open with a smile. And I’m frozen on the spot, not sure what to say.

  “I got your prescription,” Dr. Warner explains with a tense smile, holding up a small pharmacy bag. His broad, muscular frame shadows the door, showing off its angular shape.

  “Oh, of course,” I mutter, holding open the screen door with my palm. “And you brought it here?”

  He squints, his eyes darting to my bare toes and then back up again.

  “You probably forgot that we do house calls,” he explains, his voice friendly enough. “I know that’s probably not a thing anymore in the big city.”

  “Um… would you like to come in?” I offer, trying to remember my regular manners.

  “Thanks,” he murmurs, walking past me. As his body moves past mine, I get a whiff of his office: antiseptic, wood-scented, deeply masculine. My hand reaches out to steady myself as I go woozy again.

  “Hey, are you all right?” he asks, steadying me under my elbows. His gaze sweeps over me from top to bottom, inspecting me. Examining me.

  “I’m not used to this heat anymore,” I explain. “But thank you for bringing the prescription. I have so much to do… I’m sure I would have forgotten.”

  He guides me to the sofa and pushes me gently, indicating that I should sit down. He disappears into the kitchen and I hear the refrigerator door open. In moments he reappears with two glasses of sweet tea. I didn’t even make that, so I have to assume my mother was here stocking the fridge at some point.

  “Drink this slowly,” he directs me, his features concerned but analytical.

  I do as he says, because I can’t think of a reason not to. The tea coats my tongue in sweetness, cooling my core immediately.

  “I’m fine, really,” I insist. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  “The gallery,” he nods.

  I notice he’s not drinking his tea. He’s watching everything I do, probably taking my pulse with his mind or something. Somehow, just having a professional in the room makes me feel a little less anxious.

  “It’s just a lot of work. More work than I was expecting,” I explain. “I mean, it’s all under control now. There’s a whole crew getting it done. But I just need to stay on top of it and make sure everything goes all right.”

  “That’s a lot of responsibility,” he remarks.

  “It’s my job,” I snap defensively. “It’s what I do every day.”

  He raises his eyebrows and leans back. A smirk twists the corners of his mouth.

  “You really are very tense,” he repeats. “I can help you with that.”

  Silence douses the room like a light going out. I force myself to breathe.

  I am only here for nine more days, I remind myself. Nine days, and then I am gone.

  “It’s never worked before,” I venture, clearing my throat. “Are you sure you can actually do it?”

  He smiles, his cheeks crinkling confidently.

  “I am 100 percent certain,” he nods. “Are you telling me there is some kind of problem?”

  “I don’t want to come back to your office,” I say in a rush, ignoring his question. “I don’t want to create… gossip. I don’t want the whole town talking about how I started coming to your office over and over again, okay?”

  His eyebrows go up. “Over and over again? Is that what you think we’re talking about here?”

  I’m not sure if he’s teasing me, so I decide to just plow on and say what I want to say. Why did I say over and over again? I am not really sure.

  “The point is I don’t want people to gossip about me. People in this town gossip. You know that.”

  “I do,” he nods.

  “And I’m only here for a little while. Nine days.”

  “Understood,” he confirms.

  “I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before,” I say quickly, aware that I am beginning to babble. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I don’t want this on my insurance or anything. But I understand you have a valuable… treatment. Something that could help me relax or whatever. And since I’m leaving soon, I just thought—”

  “Joanna,” he interrupts me.

  “Joe!” I correct him immediately, incensed.

  He shakes his head. “I’m not going to call you Joe,” he announces. “That’s not your name around these parts, all right? Jen says you’re called JoJo. I can call you that, or Joanna. Your choice.”

  My breath catches in my throat. The audacity of this man! Absolute chauvinism. Florida-brand chauvinism, pure and simple.

  And yet, what of it? Of all the things that have gone sideways in the last couple days, is being called by my name some big tragedy? There are bigger hills to die on.

  “Joanna will be fine,” I growl.

  “Perfect,” he smiles. “So it sounds like we have a treatment plan outlined?”

  “An absolutely no-strings treatment plan?” I add, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “Completely,” he affirms.

  Despite my irritation, I appreciate the attention and the affirmation. That’s more of that doctor-patient training, I suppose. Whenever he praises me, no matter how small, I respond like a puppy.

  “Okay, well, I guess I was a little tense in your office this afternoon,” I admit.

  He crosses his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. His hair sweeps over his face lightly, a bit of a country boy look. I’ve gotten used to staring into the faces of men whose hair has been glued into complete submission. This looks more like something I might like to touch. Eventually. I mean I don’t see us holding hands or mussing each other’s hair.

  “A little tense?” he jokes. “You ran out of my office like your ass was on fire.”

  “Oh? Is that your clinical diagnosis? Ass on fire?”

  He shrugs. Every time he moves, I can see the width of his shoulders. He really doesn’t look like a doctor. He looks like an actor playing a doctor.

  “I’ll bet you I am not
like any doctor you ever met.”

  I nod, curious if he’s reading my mind or what. Is that another doctor trick?

  “So… I thought maybe you could—”

  He holds up his hand, cutting me off in midsentence. My lips snap back together as though I am a puppet and he just pulled my strings taut.

  “I know exactly what you need,” he tells me in a firm voice that leaves no room for negotiation. “Just lie down on the couch, please.”

  Trembling, I do as he says.

  Chapter Two

  Joe

  A few months before...

  Popping the collar on my trenchcoat, I stuff my hands in my pockets and dash into the crosswalk, hurrying against the rain. It wasn’t supposed to be a full-on downpour. It was supposed to be a light rain, the kind that would curl my hair just a little bit. The kind that meant I got to wear this great vintage trench, with the buckled belt that I tied so sassily around my waist.

  “Shit,” I mutter as puddle water sloshes into my peep-toe heel. “Just great.”

  My hand automatically twitches toward the strand of hair that’s tickling my eyebrow, but I know if I touch it now I will just make it worse. There is a fine line between damply tousled and pathetically half drowned. I hope I make it there in time.

  Everybody on the sidewalk gives me that glance, that drive-by sort of scrutiny that you get in Manhattan. We are all a little suspicious around here. It’s as though you’re always taking a snapshot of everyone you see on the street, just in case you need to pick them out of a lineup later.

  But I notice that no one looks particularly alarmed, nor particularly offended. So I haven’t gotten too waterlogged yet, I hope.

  I can feel my wet skin scraping against my shoe. I better get off my feet soon or I’m going to have blisters the size of half dollars. Flexing my toes, I try to minimize the squelching sound and lengthen my stride. Not sure that will do me any good, but it can’t hurt at this point.