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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 20 - Steal Me Away

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Drake is back... but that doesn't mean that it's a happy reunion...

Word Count: 4,300

Rating/Warnings: M (shouting, guilt-tripping, dangerous driving, swearing in multiple languages, one over-heated kiss)

Chapter theme song:

Chapter 20 - Steal Me Away

I whirl around in disbelief. "Drake...!"

He's stood before me with two days' worth of stubble, regarding me with a long-suffering look.

But it really is him.

And I feel my heart swell, even though I can tell that he's not exactly best pleased to find me in a random antique shop in the middle of Rome.

The muscle in his jaw twitches. "I turn my back for one goddamn minute and—"

"What are you doing here?" I blurt.

"I can ask the same of you, Gale..." he counters, folding his arms over his chest. "Because this sure as shit ain't no bridal boutique."

My chin lifts on its own accord. "I decided to make a detour."

"Jesus fucking—" He rakes his hand through his hair. "Did you leave your brain in a ditch somewhere in the process?"

My eyes widen. "Wha—! No! I—"

"The city is crawling with paps!" he almost shouts, jabbing a finger towards the door. "Who are looking for any excuse to make a meal out of you! Did you not think for one second that—?"

"What?" I counter heatedly, stepping up to him. "That I should cower and hide instead, like I'm to blame for it all? I told you — I refuse to let these people—"

"Well, it would've been a damn sight better than making me chase you across half the fucking city!"

"Why were you even chasing after me?" I demand, my own ire flaring. "You're supposed to be in Dubai!"

"Been there, done that, got the jet lag to prove it," he hits back sarcastically. "But just because I'm gone doesn't mean you suddenly have carte blanche to fuck off on your own."

"Says the person who walked off without so much as a 'see you later'..."

His mouth hardens. "I didn't want to—"

"Also, I'm not on my own," I continue testily. "Allard and Schweitzer—"

"—are fucking fired," he cuts in, suddenly darkened mocha eyes flashing. "They should never have—"

"Ch'è qualche problema?"

"No!" Drake and I snap in unison.

The old man falls mute before muttering something disparaging under his breath.

I continue staring at Drake, heart thumping and chest heaving in the wake of our dust-up.

He glares back unblinkingly, jaw clenched as the tension rolls off him in palatable waves.

I reach up to adjust the strap of my tote indignantly. "So much for trusting each other, huh, Walker?"

"Dammit, Gale," he growls. "That's not what—"

Grabbing the wrapped box off the counter, I stomp past him without a backwards glance. "See you back at the embassy."

He has some nerve, showing up out of the blue t—

I barely make it two steps before he's grabbed me by the arm.

I open my mouth to retort...

...but I'm not given a chance to get a word in edgeways, because in the next instant, he's slammed me against his chest, laying claim to my mouth with a ferocity that's on the verge of being savage.

The fight whooshes out of me as my arms fly up to wrap themselves 'round his neck, even as I feel his fingers dig against the soft cotton of my dress, pulling me to him like a long-lost ship to anchor.

"Christ, girl," he growls against my lips. "You send me off the edge of reason..."

"I'm... sorry..." I gasp, clinging to him helplessly as he trails down the line of my jaw. "I didn't mean to—"

"Ah... l'amore... non è bello se non è litigarello."

Drake starts as he gets clapped roundly on the back.

Peeking up, I see the shopkeeper smirking at us conspiratorially while ambling past.

"Err... Sì," coughs Drake, pulling back from me. "Sto certamente imparando che a mio spese..."

The man laughs in response. "Non capita a tutti?"

"You speak Italian?" I gawp, feeling a flush creep up my cheeks as the old man throws us a wink over his shoulder.

"Uh... Yeah..." Drake mutters, running his hand over the back of his head somewhat sheepishly. "With Bast."

"Oh." I glance between him and the old man. "What did he say?"

"An old proverb," Drake says, looking just as embarrassed as I am feeling about the fact that we'd inadvertently let our dirty laundry rip in the company of a complete stranger. "Love is not beautiful if it does not quarrel."

My cheeks redden further. "I-I see..."

"It's kind of a compliment..." he admits, shooting a sidelong glance over at the man, who's now busy dusting some shelves. "But we should probably get out of his hair."

"Definitely...!" I chirp, diving towards the saving grace of the exit.

"Err... La saluto," offers Drake on his way out. "E scusi il disturbo..."

"Eh!" comes the scoffed response. "Chi non risica non rosica. Ma è meglio stare attenti con lei! Donna buona – vale una corona."

"Lo so..."

"Everything alright?" I ask as Drake joins me on the baking pavement.

"Yeah," he assures me, not quite meeting my eye. "Just giving his two cents..."

Something flashes across his face, too fast for me to read.

But before I can ask him about it, he's already marching me across the square.

"What about Allard and Schweitzer?" I protest, trying to squint behind me as Drake navigates us 'round the incessant stream of sightseers. "Are they—?"

"I sent them back to the embassy," Drake replies, yanking me back as a pair of kids dart out in front of me.

"You didn't actually fire them, did you?" I gasp.

"Sure as hell thinking about it," he mutters, moving us forward again.

"If it's any consolation, they did try to talk me out of coming out here..."

"Clearly not hard enough."

"I can be very persuasive when I want to be," I remind him.

He lets out a low breath. "Don't I fuckin' know it..."

"Look," I say, coming to a stop and turning to face him. "I get you're pissed—"

"That's putting it mildly."

"—but don't take it out on Allard and Schweitzer," I tell him flatly. "They didn't do anything wrong... and I actually get along with them."

He holds my gaze for a long time before answering. "They're not your friends, Gale."

"Maybe not in any conventional sense," I admit. "But getting me a security detail had been your idea, Walker. And I know I was against it initially, but Allard and Schweitzer have been able to be there for me when you haven't."

His mouth hardens.

"And I know that grates you," I continue quickly, before he can cut me off again. "But we knew from the start that this was going to be the case, so if you do need to leave, then I'd prefer to be left with people I can trust. And I trust Allard and Schweitzer — with my life. Which is actually saying a lot."

He holds my gaze for what feels like a full minute before answering. "I'll think about it."

"That's it?" I demand in disbelief as he grabs my wrist to pull me after him again. "After all that, you're just going t—?"

"I said I'll think about it."

I glare at his back. "You're a dick."

He rounds on me like a wolf. "I'm a fuckin' realist. And the reality is that Allard and Schweitzer messed up. Big time. And I don't care how much you like them, or how many times you've braided each other's hair—"

My eyes narrow. "That's not—"

"—because none of that fucking matters out here! What matters — the only goddamn thing that matters — is keeping you safe. From the paps, from the aristos, even from your ownfucking self, if you're about to do something stupid. And at that, they've unquestionably failed. So, no. I'm not about to cut them a break. Especially not on your say-so. Because the stakes are too fucking real, and I'm not gonna let anyone play dice with your life. Least of all the people whose one job is to look out for you. Got it?"

I force myself to blink back the sudden tears in my eyes. "Yeah..."

"Good," he grunts. "Now get on."

Glancing past Drake, I spot what is very literally the last thing I'd expect to see him with.

I scoff up at him. "In your dreams, bud."

"Gale," he warns, reaching for one of the helmets that's hanging from the black and white moped's frame. "I'm not in the fucking m—"

"Well, neither am I," I hit back tersely. "So, you can take that deathtrap of a Vespa and shove it."

"First off," he counters, tossing the helmet at me. "It's a Piaggio. Second, the only reason I had to resort to this is because you decided to bail."

I catch the helmet irately. "So, you're saying that this is my fault?"

"Damn right, it is," he confirms, extracting a second helmet from the storage compartment nestled beneath the seat. "It's got all of 50cc so it's underpowered as fuck."

"Then why the heck did you get it!"

"Because it's the fastest way to get around the city."

I snort at him. "You mean, it's the fastest way to get into an accident..."

He prays for deliverance under his breath. "Gale, for the love of Christ, will you just—?"

"No," I declare, folding my arms. "The last time you conned me onto the back of your motorbike, I literally thought I was going to die. And after seeing how everyone in Rome drives, I have no interest in—"

"You drive, then."

Drake's unexpected offer pulls me up short. "Wait. What?"

He pulls a set of keys from his pocket. "It's a one-time offer, Gale. Either you take the wheel, or I do. But you've gettin' your ass on this sorry excuse of a bike, one way or another."

"I..." I swallow thickly. "I don't know how..."

"I'll walk you through it," he assures me. "There ain't much to it."

"Somehow I doubt that..."

"Clock's tickin', girl..."

I heave a breath before shoving my head into my helmet. "Okay, fine. I'll do it."

"Figured you would," he murmurs, holding the keys up. "You know where these go?"

"Up your ass," I retort, snatching the keychain from his hands.

The corner of his mouth twitches — whether in amusement or annoyance, I can't tell.

Not that I really care. I can be a jerk, too. But, I figure that at least with me driving, we won't rack up any speeding tickets or near misses on our way back to the Cordonian embassy, which is where we are staying for the two nights that we are in Rome for.

Walking up to the moped — admittedly with more swagger than I'm actually feeling at this moment — I grab the handlebars and swing my leg over the middle of the frame.

After a quick inspection, I locate the ignition switch and slot the key in.

But before I have a chance to try and turn the engine on, Drake's hand appears in my line of sight.

Reaching between my legs, he opens a hidden compartment in the frame. "For your bag."

"Oh," I say in genuine surprise, taking my bag off so I can tuck it away. "That is actually kind of neat."

"Last thing we need is for you to lose your stuff..." he drawls, shutting the glove box back up.

As he straightens again, his arm brushes the bare skin of my knee. And despite (or maybe because of) the unresolved tension shimmering between us in the wake of our heated reunion, I can't help but feel a familiar zap of electricity course through my nerves at the inadvertent contact.

"No kidding..." I concede, somewhat hoarsely. Clearing my throat, I add, "So... umm, what's next?"

"Grab the break and turn the key over as far as it'll go."

"So, kind of like a car," I surmise, following the instructions. "Why isn't it starting?"

"Because you only turned the electronics on," Drake advises. "To kick the engine off, you need to disengage the kick stand, and then press the start button."

"Jesus Christ, this is complicated..." I grumble as I scoot off the seat so I can try to figure out how to do what he just said.

"No more complicated than sailing a yacht," Drake counters, watching my antics from the safety of the pavement. "Just give it a shove ."

"How will that—?"

"It's got a rear-mounted kickstand," he says. "You disengage it by rolling the bike forward."

"Right," I grumble, feeling like a total idiot. "Because that's so obvious."

Maybe I should've let Drake drive, after all...

"You still holding the break?"

I snap my head up as I give the handlebars a hard push. "Huh?"

A squeal erupts from my mouth as the moped suddenly lurches forward beneath me, and I have a moment of sheer panic as I wrestle with the hunk of metal to keep from crashing to the ground.

"I told you to hold the break..."

"You could've been more specific!"

He lets out a low breath. "You good?"

"Yeah," I huff, finally managing to find some semblance of balance with an uncooperative moped stuck between my legs.

"Turn her on, then."

I scan the buttons in front of me. "Err..."

"The one by your right thumb."

Shifting my grip, I extend my thumb out to press the button...

"You still holdin' the break?" Drake asks.

I quickly tighten my hold on the left-side break. "Yes."

Drake eyes me unconvincedly. "Just checking..."

I stick my tongue out at him.

"Hey," he objects. "You're the one who wanted to do this, Gale."

"Yeah, everything is my fault today..." I grumble as I press the start button.

The moped sparks to life beneath me, and I feel a massive rush of achievement.

"I did it!" I cry, meeting Drake's eye with an unadulterated grin.

He quirks a brow at me. "Y'know you're still stationary, right?"

"Shut up."

Drake steps up to the bike with a shake of his head and flips out the passenger foot rest. "Last chance to bow out gracefully, Gale."

I glance over my shoulder at him. "If you're trying to pull some kind of reverse psychology on me, Walker—"

"Wouldn't dream of it..." he assures me dryly, mounting up as well. "But my word is gospel, y'hear?"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," I say sardonically... while trying to ignore the heat of his body and the instinctive urge to lean back into it as he settles down on the narrow seat behind me.

Because as much as I missed him, and as glad as I am that he's back, our volatile reunion has served as a stark reminder that we never finished our conversation back in Applewood. Not only that, but thanks to the almost break-neck speed at which things have been happening, the list of topics for discussion has only grown since then.

And the last thing I want is for us to fall down the same toxic hole that we did in the wake of Christian's surprise reveal in Valtoria.

I just have to hope that we'll be able to squeeze in some much-needed couple time before even more things pile up between us.

Not to mention, I'm desperate to know what had happened with Tariq in Dubai... and whether Drake's record-fast turnaround was a sign of some much-needed success, or even more demoralising failure.

But, first things first: getting back to the embassy in one piece, without the paps chasing us.

I feel Drake roll his eyes at me. "Wrong salutation, but never mind... Now. We're gonna do this slowly and gently. There's a lot of people around, and we don't need you on the front page of the Sun again because you accidentally torpedoed a toddler."

My throat constricts. "Y-You saw that?"

"You'd be hard pressed to find someone who hasn't," he mutters. "But right now, your focus needs to be on driving this thing. So, eyes up front and ignore everything else."

I swallow down my nerves. "Okay..."

"Your right hand controls the throttle. Your left hand controls the break," Drake instructs. "For the love of God, don't mix that up, or I'll be on the phone to your patents explaining why you suddenly need skin grafts."

I wince involuntarily at the gruesomeness of that particular image. "Got it."

"It's a mistake you'll only make once," he warns grimly. "To get going, twist down on the throttle while slowly easing up on the break. Don't jerk it, or you'll face plant into the speedometer."

"Anything else?" I ask, somewhat nervously.

As anticipated, driving a motorbike is a lot more nuanced than Drake made it look back in Cordonia. And I'm having some serious second thoughts about this whole thing...

"Keep your feet off the foot-stand until you've got enough momentum to stay upright."

"How will I know that?"

"You'll feel it," he assures me. "Like on a bike."

I bite my bottom lip.

"Hey," he says, brushing his fingers across my hip. "You got this, girl."

The familiarity of Drake's touch — even though it's fleeting — unwinds something in me. Because it's an unspoken reminder that no matter what may be going on around us... or between us, it's not going to come in the way of the promise that he made me.

I suck in a steadying breath. "Okay. Here goes."

Readjusting my grip on the handlebars, I twist my wrist down. Feeling the engine start to rumble with increased vigour, I gentle ease up on the break.

The Piaggio begins to creep forward.

"Watch the road, not the instruments," Drake cautions from behind me.

Lifting my eyes up, I carefully navigate us 'round the oncoming pedestrians, keeping my feet suspended alongside the moped, in case I need to make an emergency stop.

But, as we move away from the iconic landmark, the crowd starts to thin out, and the street widens. Passing a fruit and vegetable stand, I let go of the break fully, the bike pulls forward eagerly. Feeling slightly more confident, I add a bit more gas so I can finally lift my feet up without capsizing our delicate operation.

"Not bad," Drake approves. "You just gotta relax a bit."

I flush inadvertently. "I am relaxed."

"Your shoulders say different. You're driving like Quasimodo."

"Oh." I make a concerted effort to straighten my posture. "Better?"

"Yeah. But now you need to drop your elbows."

"So much for this being easy..."

"It is," he insists. "Once you get the hang of it."

"You and your technicalities, Walker..." I grumble.

"Everything's got a learning curve," he reminds me. "But we just might make a Hell's Angel out of you yet."

I snort back at him. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Evil Knievel. We haven't made it back to the embassy yet."

"Then you might wanna knuckle down for this next part."

"Why? What's—?"

I get my answer as we round a corner and come parallel to a busier-looking road.

Great...

"Right here, then first left," Drake advises as we approach a somewhat complicated-looking three-way intersection.

"Umm... Okay..." I mumble, eyeing up the noticeably faster-moving traffic on the main road with more than a bit of trepidation.

"No one's gonna give you room, so you'll have to gun it," comes the no-nonsense tip from behind me. "The indicator is by your left thumb."

A Fiat whizzes past, but the next car is some distance away. Taking a breath, I flick the indicator on and twist down on the throttle to merge into the gap.

"Move over one more," Drake shouts over my shoulder. "You're taking up the bus lane."

"Where the heck does it say that?" I demand, casting my head around in confusion.

"On the sign we just passed..."

"Was it invisible?"

"Hey," counters Drake. "You wanna argue with me, or a cop?"

"Neither," I concede sourly, making the switch to the left-side lane after a quick check in the mirror. "But they could've made it more obvious..."

Drake scoffs. "It's Rome. The bastards are trying to catch you out."

"Clearly," I agree, taking a left at the traffic lights...

...straight into a two-way fork in the road.

"Umm... What now?" I squeak, trying to hedge my bets as much as I can in the rapidly shrinking room that I have to make a decision before I run into the curb.

"Stay left."

I start to turn the bike, only to yank it back violently with a yelp as a car that I hadn't realised was trying to overtake me blows past with a scream of its horn.

"Vaffanculo!" yells Drake, throwing his hand out angrily at the other driver.

"Ohmygod..." I rasp, my entire body shaking in the wake of the near miss.

"Fuckin' asshole," gripes Drake. "You okay?"

I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat. "I... think so."

"If you need to pull over..."

I shake my head. "No. I'm fine. I just..."

"...get a kick outta playing chicken?"

"I don't do it on purpose!"

"You sure?" he asks dryly. "'Cause you definitely seem to be making a habit of it..."

I open my mouth, but quickly think better of it... as Drake has a point. I have had a few too many near misses lately. "Sorry... It isn't intentional. I thought that since I'd left the indicator on, that—"

"I know," he assures me, laying a hand on my hip again. "I'm not blaming you. But all the calls you've had had been too close. And..." His fingers tighten against the material of my dress. "I just don't want you to—"

"I know," I concede softly. "I don't want that either. And I'm not normally this accident-prone, I promise..."

"Except when your blood sugar's low," he corrects wryly.

His words cause me to clench my eyes together in consternation. "Damn it, the croissants..."

In the whirlwind of Drake's surprise reappearance, I'd forgotten all about the primary reason for sneaking away from the bridal boutique.

"What croissants?" queries Drake.

"The pistachio ones I was supposed to get from this little bakery next to the fountain that the Italian President had recommended."

I feel Drake's disbelieving gaze knife into the back of my head. "Seriously? That's the reason you were out playing hooky?"

"One of them, yes..." I reply evasively.

"Putain de merde..."

"Apparently they're very good..."

Drake mutters something under his breath. "Pull over."

My eyes widen. "What? Why?"

"Because it's past noon, and you're clearly starving."

"I'm fine," I insist, even though the only thing of substance I've had since this morning was the cup of coffee on Olivia's jet. "I'll just grab something when—"

The Piaggio lurches to a stop as Drake slaps a hand on the break. "No. You won't."

My eyes widen as my feet fly out on instinct to steady the suddenly stationary moped. "Why not?"

"Because the staff at the embassy already have their work cut out pulling together tonight's dinner, so the kitchen is off-limits," he explains, hopping off the back. "And you won't be able to take two steps outside to grab a sandwich without picking up a pap tail."

"Then why have we stopped in a dead-end alley?" I ask in disbelief as Drake pulls the moped it onto its kickstand while I'm still sat gaping at him from the seat.

"Because we just passed one of the best restaurants in Rome," he states. "So, I'm buying you lunch."

His cinnamon-laced eyes meet mine, and I see a sudden flash of rawness in his gaze... a silent plea entreating me to say yes. Which means this is about more than just food.

"Okay," I accede, wondering what could've prompted such a sudden change of heart. "But what about the paps? Aren't you worried we'll get spotted?"

"See any people?" asks Drake, reaching across my lap to turn the ignition off.

"No, but—"

"Exactly," he affirms, pocketing the keys. "This is one of the few places in the city where you ain't gonna bump into a reporter."

"How do you know?"

"Because apart from the fact that Sugo actually makes its own pasta, it is also a stone's throw from Parliament," he explains, offering me a hand to help me off the bike. "Which means that pencil pushers from every level of government come here to ink deals over carbonara, so no one — staff included — is gonna mess with the status quo."

"Sounds like something out of a mafia movie..."

"Where d'you think Hollywood gets its ideas from?" he drawls, pulling his helmet off to stow it in the under-seat compartment. "Places like this. Which is why no one will bother us here. Especially not the paps. It'd be a death sentence for this joint if their tight and discreet ship suddenly sprung a leak."

"Good to know," I acknowledge, unclipping the clasp of my own helmet. "But how did you even find out about this place? Let alone got in?"

"Leo," Drake replies, taking my helmet to clip it onto the handlebar. "He's on a first name basis with the chef."

I quirk a brow at him. "Sounds like there's a story there..."

Drake extricates my bag from the glove box with scoffs. "It's Leo. There's never not a story. But let's get you inside first. Before you pass out on the pavement."

"I'm not going to—" My stomach rumbles in pointed disagreement. "Okay, I am hungry. But where exactly is this place? There's nothing here apart from the back-ends of buildings..."

"Have I ever let you down when it comes to food?" he asks with a raised brow.

"No..."

"Then trust me."

The story continues in Chapter 21 - Coming Soon!

A/N: Translations for the Italian below:

Ch'è qualche problema? - Is there a problem?

Ah... l'amore... non è bello se non è litigarello. - Ah, love... It is not beautiful if it does not quarrel.

Err... Sì. Sto certamente imparando che a mio spese... - Err... Yes. I am definitely learning that the hard way.

Non capita a tutti? - Don't we all?

Err... La saluto. E scusi il disturbo... - Err... Farewell. And apologies for disturbing you.

Eh! Chi non risica non rosica. Ma è meglio stare attenti con lei! Donna buona – vale una corona. - Eh! No risk, no reward! But you better take care of her! Good woman – worth a crown.

Lo so... - I know...

Vaffanculo! - Fuck you!

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walkerdrakewalker · 2 days

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for someone so "mysterious" drake is genuinely the most predictable than them all!! 🤣

love this!!

All That She Wants Chapter 2: Waylaid

Series: All That She Wants

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for this chapter: Riley x Drake

Word Count: 827

Rating: M

Warnings for this chapter: sexual innuendo, infidelity

My other stuff: Master List.

Drake Walker was nothing if not predictable.

Every morning started with a protein shake, followed by a five-mile run. He worked out regularly in the gym with the rest of his unit, but on his days off he could be found poolside.

Swimming was good cardio and a nice way to change up his workout routine.

He pulled himself out of the water and headed for his towel.

“Looking good there, Walker.”

He froze, towel in one hand, water still dripping from his body. He’d know that voice anywhere. Struggling for composure, he forced his body to move. He toweled off quickly as he turned toward her. “Hey, Brooks. What are you doing out here in the middle of a workday?”

“Relaxing. I decided I needed a little me time, so I took it.”

His eyebrow arched as he tried to figure out why she was giving him a pass for the use of her maiden name. She usually reminded him promptly and imperiously that her name was Rys now.

As if he could forget that detail.

She held up a glass of iced tea with an inviting smile. “Want some?”

Shivers cascaded down his spine at the teasing lilt in her tone. His mouth went dry as he fought against every instinct that he had not to let his eyes wander over her body. He cleared his throat and glanced away before nodding. “Sure.”

“Well, come on then, sit.” She patted the outdoor chaise lounge next to her.

He sat down gingerly as he checked her out surreptitiously from his peripheral vision.

She was still just as beautiful as she had been all those years ago when he’d walked into that bar in New York. He had made his play for her during the engagement tour.

She had fucked him on a pool table and then gotten engaged to his best friend without so much as a conversation in between.

Riley gave him a scintillating smile as she handed him his own glass. Iced tea was a drink she had brought to the palace with her from America. Not that he was any stranger to it, being half Texan.

All of which begged the question, why did she have two glasses? He glanced around the pool area but saw no one else present. Was she waiting for someone? But if so, why offer the second glass to him?

Pushing his nerves, and his questions aside, he reached for the glass, his fingers brushing against hers, sending an electric jolt sparking through him. He dropped his eyes away from her as he muttered a barely audible, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she purred. “And what do I get in exchange?”

His head snapped up, his eyes frantically searching her face for clues about this new development.

Was she flirting with him?

The thought sent a thrill of excitement racing through him, chased by a wave of pure terror.

His feelings for her had never changed, but her feelings had always been, and remained, a complete mystery to him.

She was never rude to him. She was always polite. Quite often friendly. But never flirty. Not since that night in Paris.

Had that night meant anything to her? Or did she view it as a meaningless fling? He didn’t know, and he’d never asked.

His heart was pounding in his chest like a jackrabbit on Red Bull as he sat the untouched glass on the table next to him and then leaned toward her. “What do you want?”

She leaned forward as well, closing what little distance was left between them. Her head tipped back to peer up at him with a sparkle in her eyes that he had seen once before. His gaze dipped to her lips as her tongue darted out to moisten them, then darted back to her eyes as she whispered, “What if I said…. you?”

A million questions exploded through his brain. He knew he should ask why, or at least why now. It would be prudent to inquire what exactly she meant by him. His body? His heart? For an hour? Forever?

So many questions tumbled through him, but none of them found their way to the tip of his tongue.

The heat in her eyes gave the most immediate answers he needed. She wanted him, physically, right now.

Drake Walker was nothing if not predictable and perhaps the most predictable thing about him was his loyalty to Liam Rys. Which made his next move almost unthinkable, but the deepest desire of his heart was being dangled in front of him and he was taking it.

He was afraid any undue conversation might kill the unexpected opportunity that had just inexplicably opened up in front of him. Pushing his emotions deep down inside, something he was an expert at, he returned her seductive smile with one of his own as he stood and offered her his hand. “I’d say, what are we waiting for?”

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walkerdrakewalker · 3 days

Text

the starting was hilarious 🤣🤣

really good ending!!

Isle of Misfits Chapter 11: The Final Cut

Fandom: Mostly TRR but a bit of others sprinkled in, as well as some OC's from the first few chapters.

Series: Isle of Misfits, Round Robin 2024, hosted by @choicesprompts

Word Count: 1,981

Drake turned his head to take in Liam standing in the doorway, but he didn’t release Bertrand’s collar. “Not now, Li. I need answers first!”

“I…that…” Bertrand fumbled with the remote control, rewinding then pausing on a close-up of him with the redhead wrapped in his arms. “Look!”

Drake glared at the TV screen for a moment, and then the frown lines on his face eased. He released Bertrand and took a step back. “Oh, that’s not Liv.” Even from behind, he could tell it wasn’t her. He knew every line and curve of her body. If he had paused it sooner, he would have realized his mistake.

“Wait.” Olivia pointed to the date in the upper corner of the screen. “It couldn’t have been me. That was the night I was at that ribbon-cutting ceremony with Raleigh.”

Raleigh Carrera had gotten his shit together in record time. A thorough cleansing of alcohol from his room and a handful of public appearances had put him back on top of his career. He was off on a world tour with firm dinner plans with Olivia and Drake the next time he was in the country.

Drake whirled on the elder Beaumont. “Are you cheating on my sister?”

“No…ah…” Bertrand turned ten shades of red as he stammered and stuttered. “She…that is…. I mean…”

“What is it, man? Spit it out already!”

Bertrand wanted to fall through the floor, but he managed to grit out, “The redhead is Savannah! She…. ah…”

Drake looked like he wanted to commit murder. “Did you make my sister dress up like that?”

“What? Heavens no! It was her idea!”

“Her idea?”

“Yes! This time, she wanted to be a redhead. Last month it was blond…she…ah…sometimes she likes to…um…. role play and…. well…”

All the blood drained from Drake’s face. “Shut up! That’s enough! No one needs to hear anything else!”

Olivia’s delighted laughter cut through the air. “I didn’t know little Savs had it in her. Good for her! Get it, girl!”

Drake shook his head. “Liv, no.”

Bertrand’s face had gone purple as he fought the ignominy. Clearing his throat, he changed the subject. “I think we should address Madeleine’s poor judgment.”

Madeleine gaped at him. “My poor judgment? How about asking why there are reporters on a private island? What about that?”

Bertrand gave his lapels a sharp tug as he regained his composure. “Oh, there will be a thorough investigation into that! Which still doesn’t answer the question as to why you would take one of our clients out in public outside of a prearranged appearance when our policy clearly states—”

“Pfft!” Madeleine flicked her fingers at him. “I didn’t read your employee handbook as I am not your employee! I am here at the behest of the king!”

“Yes, well, about that.” Bertrand straightened his shoulders as he turned to face Liam. “I allowed her to come here to help as a courtesy to you, Your Majesty. However, I’m afraid that I must inform you that the countesses’ services are no longer needed.”

“Of course,” Liam inclined his head slightly. “The Leviathan Group is your business. I’m sorry if I overstepped. I simply wanted to help my brother—”

“Which you did, by sending him here, to me. No other client has been allowed to have friends or family visit during their time with us. Please, Liam. Let me do my job.”

The king looked like he wanted to argue for a moment and then his shoulders slumped. “Yes, of course. I am sorry. I should also apologize for agreeing to help Trystan and then not being able to follow through.”

“It is of no consequence.” Bertrand waved him off. “Liv was able to step in. You have an entire country to run. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Seriously?” Madeleine fumed. “You know what? That’s fine. Get someone else to help Mr. never met a responsibility he couldn’t ignore or run away from. I’ll be on the next boat back to the mainland.” She spun on her heel and was gone.

“Thank god!” Leo commanded everyone’s attention as he slapped the newspaper again. “But what are we going to do about this?”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to take you under my wing personally,” Bertrand assured him. “And since your wife is here, we’re going to enlist her help.”

Bertrand didn’t say it out loud, but he was fairly certain Katie was the security leak. Reporters had most likely followed her to the island. Though Liam was also a possibility. This was why friends and family weren’t supposed to visit.

Leo rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure she’s even speaking to me right now.”

“Well, have you tried explaining to her why you were in that bush throwing up outside a Beverly Hills mansion at three a.m. while she was at home with two infants?”

“How the hell was I supposed to know there’d be a reporter there?”

“But why were you there in the first place? With that woman?”

Leo shook his head vehemently from side to side. “That woman just helped me back into the house because I was too drunk to stand on my own!”

“I believe you.” Bertrand clasped a hand on his shoulder. “But you still need to answer why you were there in the first place. For your wife and yourself, honestly. Katie shouldn’t be here, but since she is, I’ve arranged some couples’ counseling for you, and I don’t want to hear any arguments about it.”

Leo opened his mouth, then shut it again. He nodded. Couples’ counseling sounded good. He didn’t want to lose the family he was in the process of building. They meant too much to him.

“Okay, good!” Bertrand squeezed his shoulder tighter, then released it and slapped him on the back. “Why don’t you go talk to her right now?”

Leo nodded again. “Thanks.” He stopped in front of Liam on his way out. “I’m sorry I was such an ass about coming here. You might have saved my marriage, so…thank you for that.”

“I love you, man,” Liam told him as he pulled him into a hug.

“I love you too, little bro.”

After Leo had left the room, Liam shifted from foot to foot awkwardly before blurting out, “So, what’s this about Riley and Max?”

Drake’s jaw clenched. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Li, but I saw them together this morning. Max was coming out of her room this morning. Early this morning!”

Liam stared at him in wide-eyed panic as his mind whirled with ways to mitigate this breach of decorum. He knew he could tell Drake anything, but his eyes flicked to Bertrand and Olivia as he scrambled for a cover story. “Ah… he was there to deliver an update about Leo. I was in an early meeting, so I asked him to deliver it to Lady Riley instead.”

Liam held his breath as he waited to see if they bought the story.

Drake’s eyes narrowed. It had been really early. But if Liam didn’t want everyone in the room to know his business, then Drake would respect that, so he simply replied with, “Okay. That makes sense.”

Liam’s body sagged with relief. He wasn’t ready for the world to know about him and Max or Max and Riley, much less him, Max and Riley as a throuple. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Drake. But next time please come to me with any concerns instead of blurting them out in front of others. It’s how rumors get started and I can ill afford those at the very start of my reign.”

Drake gave him a curt nod. “Of course. Sorry.”

Liam waved dismissively in his direction. “Your heart was in the right place. We’ll talk later.” He turned from Drake to Bertrand. “I’m going to say goodbye to my brother and then I promise not to come back unless you invite me. I should have trusted you from the beginning and stayed out of it.”

“I appreciate the trust you’re placing in me, Your Majesty.”

Drake watched Liam leave, then turned to Olivia. “Are you ready? I thought we could grab some—”

The redhead sauntered closer to her boyfriend and ran a hand down his chest, “I would love to do whatever the end of that sentence is but first….” She glanced back at her business partner. “I need to talk to Bert about something real quick. You go on. I’ll meet you in my room in ten.”

He gave her a salacious grin as he pulled her in for a kiss. She started to melt into him before remembering they weren’t alone. Mostly because Bertrand cleared his throat to remind them. She pushed him away with a teasing grin. “Go on. I’ll be along soon enough.”

When Drake was out of the room, she turned to Bertrand with a steely glare. “Would you like to tell me why the west wing has been closed off since our first night here?”

Bertrand’s body jerked. His eyes widened. “Oh… ah… we just aren’t using—”

“Cut the shit, Bert!” Olivia crossed the room to stand defiantly in front of him. “When I can’t sleep, I walk. I saw the ambulance that night. There were no lights, no sirens but I know what I saw.”

Bertrand let out a long sigh as his shoulders slumped. “It will be a relief to tell someone. One of our guests, an aging actor looking to make a comeback, was… done away with that night.”

Olivia blinked. “You mean murdered?”

Bertrand nodded. He had told Max it was a bad dream…. and it had been. But it had also happened.

“And you swept it under the rug because a murder the first night of your new business venture would be bad publicity?”

He nodded again.

“Any clues who it was?”

“Well, the young lady that found the body disappeared later that night, along with her entourage.” It had been a miracle that no one other than him had heard her scream. Mostly because he had been the only guest in that wing, having insisted on complete privacy.

“Do we know who she was?”

“She was Natalia Karanova, here under the pretense of being the personal assistant to another guest, Krista Rodriguez. But upon further investigation, it turns out she is also the granddaughter of an actress murdered on the set of the 1980 movie The Deepest Cut.”

Olivia tilted her head to one side in contemplation. “Was she even alive in 1980?”

Bertrand shook his head. “No. But her mother was and by all accounts, she was never right again after losing her mother at such a young age. She struggled with lifelong depression and eventually took her own life. She named our esteemed guest in her suicide note.”

Olivia sucked in a breath. “That would be motive.”

“Indeed.”

“So did you tell the police?”

“No.”

“No?”

He shook his head again.

“Why not?”

“Because I read the news article about what happened to that young, aspiring actress. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, but perhaps her murderer did. The evidence was clear, but fame and money made it all just go away.”

“Wow, Bert. I didn’t know you had it in you!” She gave him an approving smile. “Good for you!”

“So, you won’t tell anyone?”

“My lips are sealed.”

******

Three weeks later, Leo discovered in therapy that he had been self-sabotaging his whole life because of deep-seated insecurities stemming from a childhood of neglect, abandonment, and mental abuse at the hands of his father.

He cooperated with the rest of the program, repaired his public image, and, more importantly, his relationship with his wife.

He returned home to California with her and their two children and they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

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walkerdrakewalker · 3 days

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take care of yourself more power to you❤🫂

and wherever your friend is he is at peace in a better place💕

Loss

Sorry, this one isn't fanfiction. A sudden loss of someone you care about can really put you through an emotional rollercoaster. Recently, a friend that I worked with passed away suddenly and very tragically. He deserved so much better than how he was taken from this world. Now, even weeks later, there are still moments where I feel like it isn't real.

Daily, when we used to get to work at the same time, we'd walk in together and at lunch we'd always be laughing about some random story we told each other. Work feels different. I can't even sit at my desk at 8am because every time the pharmacy door opens and it's not him, it chips a little piece of my heart away, and the realization hits me, he's not here anymore. I can't bring myself to delete his number out of my cell phone or my last texts to him, or take down the directory at my desk that has his name and extension on it.

I thought you may be able to relate to that feeling, too, which is why I tagged my regular list. I hope that you don't mind.

Yesterday, I said goodbye to you.

Did I want to?

No. Goodbyes I have learned over the years are seldom happy, and this one shook me to my very core, because you were stolen from us prematurely.

Your season on this earth ended way too soon, my friend.

My heart breaks for the life you should have had, and the dreams that you were working towards that didn’t get the opportunity to come true.

Why?

Why—- is the singular question in all of our broken hearts from the profound loss of you all of us are feeling.

I replay the last conversation we had in my mind on a loop, and wish I would have said more meaningful words to you. That was really our last conversation?

But, there is solace in knowing I was there to listen to your words, to you.

I miss you.

Already.

Deep down, I know somehow, some way, our paths will intersect again.

So yesterday, I said farewell for the moment to you.

Did I want to?

No. But I had to, for now.

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walkerdrakewalker · 3 days

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...damn liam fuck off😭 never knew i could hate a character just based on one chapter 😭🤣

All That She Wants Chapter 1: Riley's Dilemma

Series: All That She Wants

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Riley x Liam in this chapter. Riley x Drake coming and possibly Liam x Olivia.

Word Count: 644

Rating: M

Warnings for this chapter: none

A/N: I know I haven't written much lately. This song has been stuck in my head and then this happened.

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley’s eyes cracked open and squinted in protest against the brightening dawn streaming in through the windows. She rolled over to find the spot next to her still warm, but already empty. Her gaze traveled across the room and wistfully took in the sight of her husband as he walked from the ensuite to the walk-in closet, towel wrapped around his waist.

“You could come back to bed,” she invited.

His eyes flicked in her direction, then quickly away as he shook his head. “No time for that. I have an itinerary to keep to.”

“But Liam…” she climbed out of the double king bed that had become entirely too big over the past eight years and made her way across the room to him, swaying her hips as she went.

“Riley, I don’t have time for—”

She ran a hand through his hair and then down the broad expanse of his chest as she leaned in with a seductive whisper. “We could make another baby.” She had been tracking her fertility, and she knew she was ovulating. Today was a good day for conception.

He removed her hand from his body and turned away from her with an annoyed sigh. Grabbing a comb, he quickly arranged his hair back to immaculate. “We’ve talked about this. Cordonia has an heir and a spare. I’ve done my duty to the crown. I don’t want any more children.”

“But—”

“If you want another baby, find someone else to father it.” With that, he turned on his heel and was gone. No goodbye kiss, no nothing.

She released a breath of frustration as she looked at herself in the mirror. The red silky negligee hugged her curves and set off her tanned complexion rather nicely.

She turned from one side to the other, examining her reflection critically. Sure, she was a little heavier than she had been on their wedding day eight years ago, but she had given him two children. She was still reasonably fit, young, and attractive. So why didn’t her husband want her anymore?

Tears welled up in her eyes. She brushed them away angrily. She knew why.

Fucking Olivia Nevrakis, that’s why.

Storming back to the bed, she threw herself in it and lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling.

She was lonely. Once upon a time, she had focused all the attention that her husband didn’t want on their children. Now they were older and in lessons much of the day, leaving her at loose ends.

Maybe Hana could come for a visit soon. Maybe she should call her mother. If Liam was going to ignore her, the least he could do was give her another baby to keep her occupied. A sweet, cuddly, bundle of joy that would love her back.

As she lay there feeling sorry for herself, an idea presented itself to her.

She sat up as her eyes widened.

She swiped her phone from the nightstand and punched in Mara’s number. “Send me the guard schedule for the day.”

She had barely pressed the end button before her phone dinged with the requested information. She opened the attachment. Her fingers ran down the list, searching for one name in particular.

He wasn’t working today. A smile crawled across her face. She knew exactly where he would be.

She called down to the kitchen with instructions and then texted her assistant to clear her schedule for the day.

After breakfast in the nursery with her children, she kissed Ellie and Xander, turned them over to the tutors for their morning lessons, and returned to her room to get ready for the day.

An hour later she stood in front of the mirror again, this time in her most flattering swimsuit. She smiled at herself, pleased with her decision before wrapping a sarong around her waist and heading out the door of the royal suite.

If Liam wouldn’t give her a baby, maybe Drake would.

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walkerdrakewalker · 7 days

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Behind Closed Doors Extra

Series: Behind Closed Doors

Fandom: The Royal Romance

The incomparable @secretaryunpaid has done it again! This graphic captures my favorite moment from chapter one!

Thank you so much, my friend, for always brightening up my day with your talent!

My other stuff: Master List

Tagging under the cut

@karahalloway, @harleybeaumont @alj4890 @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone

@walkerdrakewalker @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @twinkleallnight

@lovingchoices14 @tinkie1973

@secretaryunpaid @irishgrl2022

@kristinamae093 @tessa-liam @gabesmommie1130 @queenmiarys

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @jared2612 @belencha77

@dcbbw @amandablink @indiacater

@bebepac @twinkle-320 @mattiematt1234

@queen-arabella-of-cordonia

@emersyn-in-cordonia @lunaseasblog

@hollygirl1269 @mainstreetreader @ohmyeightpastlives @gardeningourmet

@sillydg @phoenixrising0308

@3pawandme @21-wishes @73geenalove @jennieausten

@princessleac1 @kachrisberry @tornbetween2loves

@fangirling12566 @pinklipsandmasonjars @savannahdix

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walkerdrakewalker · 14 days

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...thats... a lot of information to digest in just one chapter 🤌🫡

Isle of Misfits

Chapter 10: Dealing with the Paparazzi.

Fandom: TRR x Platinum x OH x CoP x TNA x ?

Series: Isle of Misfits, Round Robin 24, hosted by @choicesprompts

Characters:

TRR – Liam Rys, Leo Rys, Olivia Nevrakis, Madeleine Amaranth

RoE – Katie Rys

TNA – Sam Dalton

Word count: 1240

The phone pinged.

‘1 new message’

Leo sighed and picked up to read. He was tired of explaining himself to Katie. The world never understood him or his desire to live a care free life. The paparazzi won’t let him breathe. But he thought Katie would understand. She would always know. He had tried to be honest with her, always.

He was struggling to stay abreast sailing through the rough waters when his brother decided to take the corrective action for Leo’s deeds . He was forced into this PR stunt of a circus with his childhood friend, Bertrand, playing the ring master. And as if Gods had not had enough of entertainment, he was paired with his ex, Madeleine! Just perfect!

Coming out of his reverie, he tapped his fingers on the home screen to check the new message .

‘Meet me at the beach restaurant in 10minutes to collect your dossier .

Countess Madeleine .’

“Better than having Sam Dalton as a mentor” he consoled himself. “His brains function through that Rocket in his pocket. At least Madeleine has her head over her shoulders.”

He dragged himself out of his bed. Sharp after 10 minutes he presented himself in front of the Countess.

“What do you plan to do with this?” He lifted the heavy bundle of papers filed into a folder neatly. ‘Prim and proper. So much like Madeleine.’

But Madeleine’s reply was totally off beat. “why you have not shaved?”

Leo shook his head as if trying to decipher. “What?” He moved his fingers through the over grown messy beard.

Madeleine scoffed, “ Let me make it clear Leo. You are constantly under lens.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t want.” He cut her off.

“You were the crown prince.”

“And I abdicated.” He tried to prove his point.

“Doesn’t matter. You can’t change who you are born as.”

“Why?” He pulls his fingers through his sandy blonde hair In frustration.

“Prince Harry abdicated too. But he is always in news.”

Leo scowled, “For heavens sake! Can’t they let me live in peace?”

“Only if you don’t give them chance to rip through your peaceful personal life.” She air quoted.

He nods in agreement. “And I can see, you are here to tell me, how.”

“Now you are talking business.” Madeleine smiled.

Leo closed his eyes for a moment. He had to do this for Katie, for his children. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what am I supposed to do?”

“You need to look perfect when you walk in public. It shows that you are leading a perfect and happy life.”

Leo smirked, “Yes it’s a very happy life.”

“Make it look like one and I can tell you, they will stop chasing you.”

“Fine! What next?”

“I have appointed a valet for you. He will help with your attire, hair and your over all appearance. You will not leave your room before he checks you.”

Leo rolled his eyes. He had no other option but to accept what was thrown at him.

For the next hour he went back and forth over the plans Madeleine had laid out for him.

******************************************

Bertrand’s office next day

Olivia was seated across Bertrand, discussing their next modus operandi. Olivia had successfully completed her task with Raleigh Carrera and was now assigned to the case of the exiled crown prince, Trystan Thorne, of Drakovia.

An urgent knock on the door brought them to a halt. They both looked at each other. Bertrand voiced, “Come in” , wondering who was their uninvited guest for the meeting .

Leo stormed in and slammed a tabloid onto the desk in front of Bertrand. Olivia stared back at Leo’s fuming face while Bertrand looked in confusion, “ What does this mean?”

“Open and see for yourself.” Leo pointed out his finger.

As soon as Bertrand picked the newspaper and unfolded it, his eyes went wide with shock. Olivia leaned towards him to peer into the news.

The newspaper had images of Leo and Madeleine sitting in a cafe. The first one had Madeleine gleaming at Leo and the second one showed them shaking hands near the exit. The tag line read ‘Former crown prince Leo Rhys, spotted with his ex, Countess Madeleine, at leisure on a private island. Do we smell something burning in Katie Rhys’ sweet home?”

A smile played on Olivia’s lips.

“Seriously?” Leo asked looking at Olivia’s reaction.

“It’s not about you.” She fanned away with her hand.

“From what I can see, it’s definitely about me.” He turned to Bertrand angrily, “This is how you were going to help me save my image and my marriage?”

Olivia spoke instead, “Its not his fault. Madeleine should have been more discreet while planning her meetings.”

Just as on clue, Madeleine stepped inside the office. “Speak for yourself. I know my job well.” She snatched the tabloid from Bertrand’s hand and glanced at the pics, dismissing it in an instant.

She focused on Leo, “ This is the reason I insisted you need to dress up properly. Had you been in a formal attire, this would have been ignored by the media as just another business meeting.”

“Great ! So now it’s all my mistake? You know what my mistake is? Trusting you guys with my future.”

Bertrand replied in a calm note, “I think you are over reacting. It’s just two pics, we can change the flow of events. My PR company can assure you, we are good at turning the waves in your favour.”

Before he completed his sentence, the doors to his office opened with a bang. Drake barged in raging in anger. “The hell you turn things only in your favour. You Beaumonts are the most mean and selfish men walking on this damn planet.” His voice echoed across the halls outside the office.

Bertrand’s eyes roamed behind Drake to check if there were any audience at his doors. He settled his gaze back on Drake. “May I know the reason for this intrusion?”

Drake sneered, “You call yourself CEO of a PR firm yet you don’t have updates of the newsflash on TV channels across Cordonia?”

Bertrand gave Drake an irritated glare and picked up the remote to switch on the flat screen hanging on the wall across his table. The screen brightened up with flashes of red haired lady bouncing on a dance floor. All of them in the room knew that was Olivia but the next few moments left everyone’s mouth hanging open.

Bertrand came into the frame trying to dance. He made some lewd gestures and then grabbed Olivia into a smooch.

Leo and Madeleine jolted back at Bertrand. Even Olivia had shock written all over her face. Definitely she was drunk that she didn’t remember this incident.

Bertrand gulped and fumbled with the remote to switch off the TV. He didn’t want to listen or let others in the room listen to the reporter’s remarks.

“I... I ... I can explain”, he said nervously.

Drake sprinted to him in two steps and held him by collar. “How many times are you going to explain? First my sister, then your back stabbing brother took Riley and now you target my girl friend?”

“Riley is with Max?” The baritone voice from the entrance of the office brought everything to standstill. They all turned to see Liam standing in a thunderstuck state.

Tags : @angelasscribbles @alj4890 @tessa-liam @lizzybeth1986 @3pawandme @annabellewynter @bascmve01 @bebepac @busywoman @dcbbw @choicesficwriterscreations @harleybeaumont @iaminlovewithtrr @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @neotericthemis @mom2000aggie @phoenixrising0308 @princess-geek @sazanes @secretaryunpaid @sfb123 @sillydg @tinkie1973 @txemrn @walkerdrakewalker @rubiwalker @703cowbarn @kyra75 @likealotus @kskvb20 @marietrinmimi @aussiegurl1234

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walkerdrakewalker · 18 days

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Catch and Release

I’m back, Tumblr! Unsure if anyone even realized I was gone, but I have missed sharing stories with you guys. I am slowly easing my way back into writing on a somewhat semi-regular basis; currently working on a couple of items on my WIP Wishlist, and Stormholt.

First up is a story that is my “hold my beer” response to a recent conversation I had with @ao719 about how Liam would never be a cold-hearted asshole EVER, even in the face of betrayal. This is a rewrite of the Drake and candles scene during the Homecoming Ball, sans assassins.

This is a one-shot, but already toying with an alternate version ….

THANK YOU to all who read this over in parts and pieces! The key smashes and follow-up questions reminded me why I love writing, and sharing on this hellsite.

To those who will read this, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated more than you realize.

Please excuse any and all typos, grammatical errors, and missing/extraneous words. MS Editor rates this piece as 99% error free.

Song Inspo: Fine Line, Harry Styles

Pairings: Liam x Riley, Drake x Riley

Rating: M for Mature for a smallish, unripe lemon

Word Count: 3,213

I can’t breathe.

My arms are stiff by my sides, hands tightly clenched into fists. The pain in my heart aches and pulses with every breath I draw. The rage that boils my blood also tightens my throat. Images flicker through my brain, snapshots of the scene I walked in on. Even as my mind reels from the betrayal and my heart falls into a million pieces that shred me from the inside out, I still try to justify and deny.

My eyes are fixed on my fiancée who still sits on the edge of her bed; her eyes are trained on her slip-covered lap. I notice the fingers of one of her hands comb through her hair; the other hand lays limply against silk sheets.

Her skin is golden in the candlelight, her hitched sobs mixing with the crackle and hiss of the wax torches’ flames. For reasons known only to Drake and Riley, there are dozens of lit candles covering nearly every available surface. No lamplight, no overhead lighting.

Just candles.

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and the only woman I’ve ever hated.

No. I don’t hate her, not really. But in this very moment, I see why crimes of passion are committed.

Drake. Naked. Kissing her neck before their lips lock in a heated kiss.

Riley. Clad in only a slip. One of her hands stroking his member as she slides to her knees.

“Liam,” she says softly in a quavering voice.

I shake my head slowly. “No, Riley. Whatever you have to say right now, I don’t want to hear it.”

She swings her leg; it’s a nervous habit she has. One of the swings increases into a stretch and I wonder if it’s deliberate. Her leg is long and tanned; my eyes take in a luscious thigh leading into a toned calf that flows into a shapely ankle. Her perfectly manicured toes point downward as she arches her foot.

Her limb is suspended for a moment too long before it falls.

The moment it takes for my cock to stiffen and butterflies to take up residence in my stomach.

She turns her face towards me; I see her lipstick smeared across her mouth, shiny streaks on her cheeks, and regret in her eyes.

Regret. Not remorse.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” Her voice is thick with tears.

Our relationship has been littered with apologies … always from me … beginning with our first meeting. If I could, I would laugh at the irony that the one apology I find myself repeating stemmed from accusations of the American suitor being unfaithful to the future King.

The rumors weren’t so unfounded after all.

This is her first admission of guilt and/or wrongdoing our entire time together.

She has no choice.

I attempt a deep inhale, but my chest is too tight.

The wedding is in one week.

“Yes, Liam yes!!! A THOUSAND TIMES, yes!”

Tonight is the Homecoming Ball; a celebration of many things, including our engagement.

I caught her … them … the woman I love madly, truly, deeply and the man I trust more than anything in the world … preparing to indulge in an act I consider so sacred, I have never dared to ask her to perform it while we are merely engaged.

I manage to choke out a single question. “Why?”

Her shoulders slump as her head falls forward, causing her hair to cover her profile. “It hasn’t been going on long; it started on the Engagement Tour. I told him in Vegas that what we had would have to end.”

I watched her leave the stag-and-doe party arm-in-arm with Drake Walker. My best friend, with whom Riley wanted to have a fling. She swore it was a one-time affair; she was so much in love with me, but she wished to satisfy her curiosity.

I attempted to leave first, but I was not only one of the honorees, I was also King.

Per traditional protocol, the King is the last to leave.

So I remained behind, drinking copious amounts of American liquor, making small talk in a loud voice so as to be heard over noisy music, and dancing with women I had previously rejected.

All while Riley spent the night with another man.

“But it hasn’t,” I interrupt harshly, abruptly.

Her gaze lands briefly upon me, an irritated scowl marring her features. “I don’t love him,” she says simply, as if that excused everything.

I turn away from her; as disgusted as I am, I still find Riley Brooks distractingly desirable. I say that as if we’ve been treading this road of infidelity and discovery for years and years. Except it’s only been months since we first met, and if I hadn’t come looking for her this evening, I still would be none the wiser.

She was in my arms, kissing me deeply as we waltzed our way around the ballroom barely an hour ago.

We beamed brightly at each other and the crowd as the gathering toasted us with champagne and strawberries.

I smoked a celebratory cigar with Drake.

An hour ago, I was the luckiest man in the world. I was happy.

Now ... I’m heartbroken.

I stumble my way towards a wingback chair, pausing to shrug out of my dinner jacket and drape it across the back of it. I sit heavily, legs spread slightly apart; I push off my shoes and undo my tie while maintaining eye contact with my fiancée.

“I’m highly upset with you, Riley. This … this has hurt me. Deeply.”

“I know,” she whispers as the back of her hand swipes at errant tears. “Other than promising that this will never happen again, what can I do to make it up to you?”

The pad of my forefinger taps my chin thoughtfully as my eyes scan the room. I see the flames flicker and dance in silhouette against the walls. One of Drake’s shoes lies on its side near her night table.

When I cleared my throat to announce my presence, his eyes had gone wide as his face paled. Drake gathered his clothing, trying vainly to make eye contact with Riley; however, she was suddenly fascinated with the pattern decorating the carpet.

I could practically hear his unspoken question to her: What does this mean for us?

In less than a minute, my “best friend” was half-dressed and ran out, not speaking one word to either me or Riley.

“I’m not sure. You know I harbor trust issues about being open, honest … vulnerable, with women. No one’s ever wanted Liam for Liam; I have always been merely a conduit to bigger and better.”

And apparently, best friends.

“Liam, I love YOU. Not your moniker, not your wealth. Tonight … with Drake … was a moment of weakness! YOU are my bigger and better!

I arch an eyebrow. “Whatever the excuse, your love for me doesn’t diminish the lust you have for him.”

She has the decency to look ashamed.

“Please, Liam! It won’t happen again, I swear it! You mean too much to me! Just tell me how to make this up to you!”

Her pleas are urgent, not fervent. Insincere, almost.

I find the lack of apology perturbing.

It is obvious she has no idea the jeopardy she has put me, and our relationship in. Very few at Court are in favor of our impending nuptials due to the simple fact that a union with a foreign commoner yields nothing for the Crown. A marriage with Riley does not increase Cordonia’s landholdings; it does not give the country seats at tables where we are already overlooked; I, and by extension Cordonia, gain absolutely nothing from this.

Riley is the only winner here.

And I don’t care.

The last thing my country is worried about is its fiscal health. Our prosperity is guaranteed for the next 80 generations without investments and development. All I wanted from Riley was her love and loyalty; with that, I would be able to scale mountains and slay dragons. But even the bare minimum I require is too much for her to give.

But I’m in love with her. Even now, I can’t not be with her in some fashion. I need to know that she is still mine, even if only in the basest of ways.

I unfasten my belt buckle and undo my pant button; my cock is uncomfortably hard. I crook my finger, beckoning her to me, wondering how many times the woman I have put first, the woman who influences my thoughts, actions, my very decisions has given me sloppy seconds.

An expression fleetingly crosses Riley’s face; I am uncertain if it’s hope or smugness. After a moment’s hesitation, her walk of shame towards me is contrite, yet confident. Like a child who knows they’ve done wrong but realizes a way of escaping punishment.

I tug my zipper down before slipping my hand inside to release my raging erection. The head of my cock is purplish in the muted lighting and pre-cum leaks from the tip. My hips arch upwards as I begin to pull my pants and underwear down. My eyes glance up to see Riley standing expectantly before me.

It reminds me of our first meeting in that bar in Brooklyn.

“A little help would be nice,” I quip with a small smile that doesn’t feel quite right.

She kneels before me, pulling and tugging at my trousers and silk boxers. My eyes are trained on the rounded tops of her cleavage as my hand slowly slides along my member. Once Riley’s task is finished, she looks up at me with repentant eyes.

“Do you forgive me, Liam?” Her voice is hesitant, her tone tentative.

I lean forward, the back of my fingertips caressing the curve of her cheek. “I’m in love with you, Riley. There’s nothing to forgive,” I assure her in a soft whisper.

She leans into my palm. “I love you so much. I’ll never lie to you, or hurt you ever again,” she promises.

I aim my cock towards her plump lips, still smeared from her earlier kiss with Drake. Small halos of smoke wreath her hair.

“Would you … could you … perform oral on me?” My voice is shy, hesitant. Even in the face of her obvious infidelity, I am uncomfortable asking her this.

Her eyes fill with relief that forgiveness would come so easily, and wariness at the request. “You’ve never asked for that before.”

I lock eyes with her before quietly replying, “We’re betrothed.”

She nods in understanding. If that act is good enough for her lover, it’s certainly good enough for the man who will make her Queen.

Riley places her palms flat against the top of my thighs; her head dips and I feel the tip of her tongue lightly lick my balls. It tickles, but no mirth escapes my lips. Without thought my hand drifts to the top of her head, fingers combing through her soft hair.

The flat of her tongue licks wetly up the underside of my cock while she cups a hand to fondle my balls. I stare down at her cleavage, the rounded tops of her breasts teasing me as they rise and fall in time with her breathing and ministrations.

My head falls back against the chair’s headrest when her mouth opens wide enough to engulf half of my cock. When she has a tad over half of me in her mouth, she hollows her cheeks and snakes her tongue around my erection while stroking its base.

Memories and images flash in my mind as my hand tightens its grip on her hair.

Kismet.

The Masquerade Ball

Hedge Maze

Cronuts

Forgotten Falls

Deep pants escape my lips as I simultaneously lift my head and slide down further into the chair; my hips arch upwards. Riley’s head bobs as she sucks me. A thin line of drool ekes from a corner of her mouth. My cock eases deeper down her throat, and my hand pulls and pushes at her head to get to take all of me.

I close my eyes as her warm mouth tightens around me.

Coronation Night

Fydelia

Barn Raising

Italy

Her gagging breaks my reverie and hardens my cock even more. I sit up, my palms pressed against either side of her skull as I begin fucking her mouth. Her eyes are closed; bliss or boredom, I don’t know. Her lashes are dark against her skin.

“Look at me,” I order in a voice that isn’t mine.

Obediently her eyes open; her jaw and chin are wet with spittle and pre-cum. She continues to suck me, emitting low moans over my member. My strokes get faster, longer, rougher. My balls are heavy, and I feel a tightening in my muscles before the last image flashes before me.

The scene I walked in on.

With a harsh yank, I pull her even further down onto my cock as I push myself down her esophagus as far as I can. A primal yell rips from my throat as an intense orgasm comes over me. My body shudders and convulses as ropes of white cream pulse out of me.

As my seed fills my fiancée’s mouth and spills down her throat, I forcefully tug her hair so she is looking up at me; her eyes are questioning.

It takes me a moment to compose myself and catch my breath. I watch Riley swallow all that I have given her.

“The engagement is off. Our relationship is over. I am finished, do you understand me?” My voice is gravelly, tone firm. “You shall retain your title of Duchess, and ownership of Duchy Valtoria, but you will never be my Queen.”

Fright and fear fill her eyes. The heels of her hands press deeper into my flesh as she attempts to pull away from my cock, but I don’t relinquish my hold.

“A press release will go out tomorrow afternoon, after security and housekeeping move you and your belongings to the South Wing. I think you will appreciate being closer to Drake Walker.”

I release Riley’s hair, and she falls back on her haunches.

“WHAT are you talking about??” she demands angrily.

I stand and begin collecting my clothing; I step into my boxers, glancing over at her.

“I trust you fully comprehend what I just stated. I believe I communicated openly and honestly what our next steps are. Already, I have offered you more than you or Drake have ever given me.”

I glance at her left hand; the engagement ring glints in the light. “I would like my ring back, please.”

I am tucking my shirt into my pants when I see her rise from the floor and come at me, fists flailing. Her pummels upon my arm and shoulder are no surprise.

“YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” she rasps as her fists beat on my shirt. “YOU JUST SAID THERE IS NOTHING TO FORGIVE!”

I do not defend myself against the attack; I merely sidestep and continue dressing.

“And there isn’t. I will once again assume the guilt and blame for your lack of transparency and communication. But this is the last time. We’re over.”

I reach for my jacket from the back of the chair and begin to pull it on. Riley’s face is twisted in rage and hurt; her eyes are narrowed into slits.

I look her over impassively and hold my hand out, palm up. “The ring, Lady Riley.”

“FUCK YOU,” she shrieks. “This is ALLLL your fault, and you KNOW IT! If you had never picked Madeleine …”

“I picked her because neither you nor your lover felt the need to tell me what happened in Applewood, something I have never been offered an assurance or reason for. I made a decision for your safety and protection with absolutely no context. I have apologized and explained this to you over and over and over again.”

Riley blanches before playing her last card. “My BEST protection would’ve been with you, under your care!”

I cut my eyes at her. “Presumably you were too busy justifying spending all of your time with another to even consider that I was the doing the very best I could in a situation that I was blindly thrust into.”

“My engagement to Madeleine was the most viable protection. With all eyes on me and my fiancée, it took the target off you, and freed up our friend circle to freely pursue Tariq with the aid of my HEAD GUARD!”

I jostle my hand impatiently. “The ring,” I remind her.

Her mouth hangs open slightly, her eyes baffled as she slowly pulls off the engagement ring. Her fingers hover above my palm before dropping the jewelry into it.

“Liam, why are you doing this to me? To us?” she asks brokenly.

I am slipping the ring into my jacket pocket; I pause to look up at her in puzzlement.

“Me? You did this, Riley. You have been holding onto one incident our entire relationship while committing multiple transgressions against my love for you. You accepted my proposal. You betrayed my trust when it was unnecessary. I’ve been the one saying sorry, being tormented by guilt, feeling less than for not being there to protect and defend you. And the whole while, you were with Drake.”

“I was single when I was with Drake!” she hollers.

“Were you single after accepting my proposal? Were you single tonight when you were getting on your knees for him?” I challenge in a cold voice.

Riley looks around helplessly before offering more feeble excuses. “I was tipsy! He caught me in a moment of weakness! I SWEAR to you, it’ll never happen again!”

I am at the door, my hand on the doorknob, twisting it.

“Liam, you still love me! I never stopped loving you. We can work through this!” Her words are rushed, laced with desperation.

But they strike a nerve, sparking hope.

My head drops and my eyes close; my feelings and her words tumble in my brain. I breathe out a deep sigh and turn to look at her.

“You want me to forgive you, yet you have never forgiven me.”

The door is slightly ajar and light from the hall spills into the doorway; chatter and merriment from the party can be heard. It muffles the last break of my heart. But I do not leave immediately. Instead, my hand falls from the knob, and I deliberately make my way back to her.

The merest of fractions separates us. My eyes take in her tousled hair, ruined makeup, her curves and swells making an hourglass of the slip.

I pull her in for an embrace, which she eagerly responds to. Her body fits perfectly against mine as it always has. Familiar scents assail my nostrils: strawberry shampoo, coconut rose lotion, jasmine and vanilla perfume.

I wonder if I’m making a mistake.

“Riley, I am in love with you but it’s apparent that even with all my wealth and resources, it isn’t enough for you. I’m not enough for you. We both deserve to be people who will find us ... sufficient, not supplemental.”

She is silent as tears fill her eyes again; I brush them away from her lashes and cheekbones before I place a gentle, lingering kiss on her forehead.

Her lack of reassurances and promises tells me I’m not.

“Thank you for giving me the Drake Walker treatment,” I say politely as my eyes burn from smoke and unshed tears.

And I let her go.

Her hand reaches for me, but she lets it fall as she watches me exit the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

Tagging: @jared2612 @marietrinmimi @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @beezm@gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @gardeningourmet @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890 @lovingchoices14 @lady-calypso @choicesficwriterscreations @queenjilian

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walkerdrakewalker · 19 days

Text

Behind Closed Doors Chapter 1: The Invitation

Series: Behind Closed Doors

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for this chapter: Riley x Max, Liam x Max (he hopes)

Word Count: 916

Rating: R for mature themes

Warnings for this chapter: sex is alluded to

A/N: I teased this one a long while back. Finally had some inspiration for it, so here's the first chapter!

A/N2: This story explores a bit of relationship anarchy. Here's a link if you want to learn more.

Series Premise: Six people come together in a kaleidoscope of shifting boundaries.

My other stuff: Master List.

Riley’s eyes widened as her mouth fell open. “Wait…you want me to go to the palace with you?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded, “I need a wingman, Riley, and you’re really good at it!”

“But—”

Max took in her hesitation and a startling thought occurred to him. “Oh! Is this awkward because we…because of…”

“Oh, good god, no!” Riley threw her head back and laughed. It was a full-throated belly laugh. Her hand landed on his bicep as she leaned forward to catch her breath. “I love you, Max. Truly, deeply, madly, but as friends! You know that!”

“I know.” His fingers scratched at the freshly shorn hairline along the back of his neck as a flush raced across his face. “I just wanted to be sure…after what happened last month…”

Riley stepped closer and traced a finger across his lips. “I don’t regret it if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He shivered as her touch sent a sliver of desire sparking through him and, without much conscious thought, his arm shot out to pull her in even closer. “Does that mean we can do it again sometime?”

She laughed again as she gazed up into the cobalt-blue eyes that were as familiar to her as her own emerald-green orbs. Max had been her best friend since they met in a ridiculously overpriced private kindergarten.

Neville Van Couer, big for his age and just as disagreeable then as he was now, had yanked Max’s stuffed octopus from his arms and was holding it above his head, taunting him with it.

“Please give back Sir Inks a Lot.” Max’s trembling voice betrayed his fierce determination not to cry. “My mom gave him to me.”

“Oh, are you going to cry, little crybaby? It’s just a stupid toy. I tell you what—”

“Give it back.” A firm, uncompromising voice cut in.

Neville spun to find the interloper. His malicious grin widened when his eyes fell on the slight girl with the wispy brown hair. “And what are you going to do about it if I don’t?”

Without warning or preamble, the girl moved. She darted forward so quickly that Neville had no time to process what was happening. A sharp blow to his stomach sent him pitching forward, grabbing his midsection as the toy was ripped from his grasp.

“Here.” The girl thrust the plushie out to Max.

He wiped the moisture from his tear-streaked cheeks with one hand as he reached out for his beloved Sir Inks a Lot with the other. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave him a bright smile that washed all of his sadness away. “My name’s Riley. Want to play with me?”

“We can do it anytime you want.” She assured him. “It’s not like we’re not good at.”

Max smiled at the reference to their romantic and sexual past.

They had lost their virginity to each other in high school and spent six months exploring everything the other had to offer. Then Max had confessed to being bisexual and wanting to explore with other people. Primarily men. His relief when Riley had agreed to break up romantically but remain friends had been overwhelming. She was and remained the closest friend he had.

A month ago, they had gotten drunk and fallen into bed together. It had felt good, comfortable, and familiar. He loved her.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t in love with Liam and that’s why he needed her support at the upcoming Beltane Ball that the palace held every year.

His arms tightened around her. “So to be clear, you know I love you and you’re okay helping me try to get Liam’s attention?”

Her grin widened until her cheeks hurt. “Boy, yes. Did we or did we not discover relationship anarchy at the same time?”

Giddiness crashed through his chest. The idea that you could love people but still remain autonomous was brilliant enough. Add in the deconstruction of things like relationship hierarchy and mono-normativity and, well, it had been paradigm-shifting.

“Okay,” he nodded as relief washed over him. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Riley!”

“I know.” She leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips.

He melted against her for a moment, then drew back. Because he had to know for sure everything was okay between them. “Then why the hesitancy when I asked you to go to the ball with me?”

“Because I’ve never been to the palace, silly!” Her family was insanely wealthy, but not noble.

“Oh, yeah!” Max tended to forget the difference in their social status. Mainly because it didn’t matter to him. People were people and titles like Duke and Count meant nothing when it came to what kind of person someone was. After all, Neville was noble.

“Oh, yeah! I mean…what do I even wear? Do I need to know how to curtsy? What if—”

Max cut her off by jerking her back into his embrace. “Don’t worry, padawan. We have two weeks. I’ll teach you everything you need to know!”

“Great!” Riley bounced on her toes, excitement swirling through her midsection.

The palace! What an exciting adventure!

She threw her arms around him. “We could make a week of it! Go into the city. Shopping, dining, museums, the theater….”

He dipped his head toward her, his lips bare inches from hers. “Can we share a room?”

“Oh, we’re going to share a lot more than a room!” she assured him just before their lips crashed together.

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walkerdrakewalker · 19 days

Note

So... how would your pairings do? lol

A Bird in Hand

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x Riley

Rating: G

Warnings for this chapter: none

Word Count: 392

A/N: I feel like Liam does not sit in traffic and that gave me a whole idea!!

My other stuff: Master List.

“Seriously, what’s the holdup?” Liam grumbled as he lowered the partition.

“Sorry, sir.” His driver gestured to the gridlock traffic sprawled out in front of the limo as far as the eye could see. “But I think we’re stuck for a while.”

“Shit!” Liam swore softly under his breath. In Cordonia, they cleared the roads when he needed to travel somewhere, but this was California and he had little recourse.

Unless….

He closed the partition and pulled out his cell phone with a mischievous grin.

Riley’s eyes narrowed. “I know that look. What are you up to?”

“Getting us to dinner on time.” He winked at her.

Riley shook her head from side to side. She knew Liam was a prince and used to getting his way, but he was on her home turf this weekend. He was about to get a lesson on how little his title meant in her world.

Spago Beverly Hills was the place to eat for everyone who was anyone in Hollywood and they did not hold reservations.

He finished typing into his phone and returned it to his pocket with a satisfied smirk. Riley Brooks was a woman not easily impressed. The American version of royalty, one of Hollywood’s brightest stars, she already had the world at her feet. He had to up his game.

He was determined to woo her, win her, and wed her.

She smiled at him, and his heart tried to leap out of his chest.

Riley leaned forward and patted his hand. “Really, Liam. It’s okay. We can just go to—what is that noise?”

The smug grin on Liam’s face got bigger. “That’s our ride!” He slid the moon roof open as a helicopter hovered in the air above them. A ladder fell out of the sky and clattered on the roof of the limo.

Riley’s mouth fell open. “You have got to be kidding me!”

Liam pulled himself through the moon roof and onto the top of the limo before reaching back and offering her his hand. “Oh, I’m dead serious. Shall we?”

She shook her head in amused astonishment. Delight and mischief spiked through her as she took his hand and let him help pull her through the opening in the car’s roof.

This man was a complete adventure, and she couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

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walkerdrakewalker · 27 days

Text

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 19 - Field Day

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: It's off to the bridal boutique, but Harper and Olivia have a secondary agenda...

Word Count: 6,100

Rating/Warnings: M (royal bitchiness, possible emotional abuse, kidnapping, threats of murder)

Chapter theme song:

A/N: So, I have tried to keep everything as realistic and accurate as possible in terms of the locations that are touched on in this chapter. The only thing that is made up is the antique store. As usual, translations for the French and Italian are at the end.

Chapter 19 - Field Day

The five-minute drive to the bridal boutique is every bit as excruciatingly awkward as can be expected.

"What part of we are already running late is so difficult to comprehend?" derides Madeleine before the limo door even shuts. "When I tell you to hurry, I expect you to do exactly that!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Madeleine," stammers Penelope tearfully. "The heel of my shoe became caught on—"

"Save it!" the Countess of Fydelia snaps. "If you cannot do something as simple as totter down a corridor without breaking your neck, then frankly, I do not see how you are supposed to be of use to me."

Penelope's face turns whiter than a sheet. "I—"

"As lest you forget, I took you on as a lady-in-waiting as a favour to your family, given the historically close personal relationship between our fathers," Madeleine reminds her with a steely edge to her voice. "But that does not mean that I cannot send you packing just as easily. And if you do not get your act together, then that is exactly what will happen. Am I clear!"

"Yes," Penelope whimpers, lowering her gaze.

"What was that?" demands Madeleine imperiously.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And the same goes for the rest of you," adds Madeleine, casting the haughty gleam of her gaze over the limo. "One misstep — proverbial or otherwise — and you are gone. Not just from my employ, but from court as well."

Shifting my gaze over to Hana, I see that she is just as perturbed as I am about this borderline psychotic power-trip.

Talk about being a queen bitch...

Olivia scoffs from her seat in the corner. "How about you try making a threat you can actually carry out..."

Madeleine bristles. "As Queen I will have the authority to—"

"Do exactly what Christian permits you to do," Olivia interjects flatly, examining her nails. "As lest you forget, you will only ever be a queen consort — not queen regnant."

The Countess of Fydelia's eyes narrow. "That is but a technicality."

"I still wouldn't overplay my hand," Olivia cautions with a smile. "Wouldn't want to get caught out on a technicality now, would you?"

Madeleine glares down the length of the limo like a viscous viper.

"Didn't think so," smirks the Duchess of Lythikos as the driver pulls the vehicle to a stop...

...and the paps immediately descend on us like a swarm of black flies.

"What the—?" I blurt, catching the flash of the cameras through the blacked-out windows. "When did they get here?"

"Five minutes ago," replies Madeleine tartly, slotting a pair of shades on.

My jaw drops. "You... told them where we were going?"

"Of course," she affirms as the Royal Guard who had been riding shotgun manages to squeeze his way through the human press to open the door. "Royal patronage elevates the esteem and profile of any institution. It is only right that the press should be invited to cover the visit."

"Like that's the only reason..." I mutter as Madeleine steps out of the limo and the roar of the crowd becomes deafening.

"Contessa!" several people shout. "Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore!"

"It's horse shite, by the way," Olivia advises as she slides past me. "The only thing she is looking to promote is herself."

"Well, she definitely seems to be succeeding..." I admit, watching the Guards struggle to hold the photographers back as Madeleine sashays her way towards the doors of the boutique.

Olivia scoffs. "It's an act of desperation. Nothing more. She knows she is on thin footing with Christian... and the public."

"Great..." I groan, pulling Drake's blue aviators from my clutch as I, too, exit the limo.

Rather than being an unfamiliar one-off, it seems like yesterday's altercation at the Apple Harvest Festival was actually the opening salvo in a concerted campaign of media brinksmanship that Madeleine is determined to win.... at my expense.

Yet, I'm just not sure I have it in me to play her contrived publicity game. The paps have already up-ended my life more completely than I would've ever thought possible, so the last thing I want to do is pander to their voracious appetite for scandal.

"Duchessa Harper! Duchessa Harper!" the photographers shout as I step out onto the sidewalk. "You made it to Italy! What do you think of the city so far?"

"You did not travel with the King and future Queen! Were you forced to make alternative arrangements because of your argument?"

"Will you attend the opera tonight?"

"When was the last time you spoke to your family? Is it true you cut all ties with them?"

Gritting my teeth, I force myself to keep my head down and my feet moving forward as the invasive questions zing over my head like bullets. Camera bulbs flash in my face as the photographers press in, trying to get that front page close-up...

...and that's when I spot him.

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat as recognition hits me like a punch in the chest.

Oh, my God, the photographer from Applewood!

He's standing in the second row, regarding me almost casually, like a tourist at a zoo, faded red baseball cap slung backwards over his head, just as in the picture Ana de Luca had saved on the flash drive.

Our eyes meet and I stumble to a stop, unable to tear my gaze away, my morbid curiosity overpowering my senses even as the paps close in around me...

...but then I feel the warmth of a hand on my back and the sound of a familiar voice brings me back to earth.

"Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle," Allard assures me, appearing at my side to shield me from the press invasion.

Glancing up, I see that Schweitzer has taken up position in front of me, using his body like a blocker to force a path through the crush.

Curling into the safety offered by my Guard's no-nonsense attitude, I let them whisk me into the boutique.

"Thank you..." I say sincerely as we pass through the doorway into the foyer.

Allard relinquishes his hold on me with a nod. "Certainement. Vous allez bien?"

"Yeah..." I reply, heart pounding as I try to recollect my bearings. "I just—"

"Oh, my gosh!" gasps Hana, stumbling into the boutique behind us. "That was horrible!"

"C'est le bordel!" agrees Kiara as she and Penelope manage to squeeze themselves through the press before the Guards shut the door. "Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?"

"She wasn't," Olivia replies flatly, shooting an accusatory glance over her shoulder at Madeleine, who is already being given a queen's welcome by the boutique's owner.

A tense silence descends as we all process this assessment.

"I... I suppose we should go through," Hana suggests eventually.

"Oui," Kiara affirms with a huff, smoothing the front of her dress. "Sa Majesté expects our assistance."

Penelope glances uncertainly towards the fuss being made over Madeleine. "I don't think she's expecting mine..."

"Don't be silly!" Kiara admonishes, looping her arm through her friend's to tug her forward. "She just had a petite éclat. Every bride gets nervous and she is under a lot of pressure to maintain constant perfection. But that is why we need to help her, non?"

Penelope looks like she's about to disagree, before finally acquiescing with a sigh. "I just miss Merlin and Morgana..."

"J'sais..." consoles Kiara, patting her reassuringly on the back of the hand. "Hopefully once the tour is finished, Madeleine will allow you to send for them."

"I doubt it..." Penelope mutters meekly as they join Madeleine in the store proper. "She said she hates yappy little dogs. You don't suppose they have anything here with poodles on them, do you?"

"I don't think this boutique specialises in that type of lingerie..."

"Oh..."

"I'm sure they have some pretty floral designs, though!" Hana offers encouragingly. "Italian lace is known around the world for its intricate rebrodè detailing."

"Yes, because that's what men care about on the wedding night..." Olivia mutters dryly, turning towards me. "You coming, or what?"

"Huh?" I ask, snapping my head up. "Umm... Yeah. Sorry."

"You better be," she snips disdainfully as she starts down the foyer as well. "I refuse to be the only sane participant in this clown show..."

I glance warily back towards the front of the boutique, where the paps were still battling each other, trying to snap a shot of us through the tastefully curated window displays.

"What?" Olivia objects after a beat. "No snide comment? No wry clap-back? You're not conveniently coming down with a sudden fever, are you?"

"I... I saw him," I admit, tearing my gaze away from the feeding frenzy outside.

Olivia grabs my wrist to yank me to a stop. "Saw who?"

"The photographer," I say tightly, pulling my arms around myself in a bid to stop myself from shivering, despite the record-breaking temperatures outside. "From Applewood."

"Dion Guillard..." clarifies Olivia, staring at me intently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I nod.

Olivia purses her lips. "He could be here on his own volition, or because someone invited him. Either way, we should make use of this opportunity."

"How?"

"By making him an offer he can't refuse," she replies slyly, pulling her phone out.

My eyes widen. "You mean right now? But Madeleine—"

"Has enough sycophants coddling her already," she counters flippantly as she quickly types up a text. "We only have one chance to do this. Do you want the truth, or not?"

I swallow down the lump in my throat. "I do."

"Good," she nods, slotting her phone away again. "You don't mind if I borrow your hunks, do you?"

"Umm..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," she responds, clicking her fingers authoritatively at Allard and Schweitzer. "Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes."

Before I have a chance to respond, Olivia has already spun on her heel and is striding towards the rear of the store, my two Guards in tow.

"'Kay..." I mutter under my breath.

I have no idea what Olivia's plan is... much less how she thinks to arrange a clandestine meeting with the photographer under Madeleine's nose while there's an entire army of paps parked outside watching our every move.

But I've learned during the course of the social season that the Scarlet Duchess is as enterprising as she is resourceful, having pulled a number of successful ploys in a bid to advance herself in the competition. And Drake seems to trust her implicitly, otherwise, he wouldn't have asked her to keep an eye on me while he's off in Dubai.

So, it looks like I'm just going to have to trust her, too.

Taking a deep breath, I move towards the other end of the shop floor, pretending to peruse the various items on offer while I wait for the allotted time to tick down.

Luckily, Madeleine is busy loudly shooting down each and every lingerie option that is presented to her by both the boutique staff and her increasingly frazzled ladies-in-waiting, so nobody really notices when I announce a pretend visit to the restroom.

Slipping back out into the foyer, I move as casually as possible towards the back of the store, knowing that the paps are still watching me like hawks through the windows.

Rounding the corner, I allow myself to speed up a bit, casting my gaze left and right, looking for Olivia...

...when I'm suddenly yanked into a dimly-lit storeroom stacked with cardboard boxes and plastic-wrapped veils and dresses.

"Hey! What the—?" I protest as the door is shut promptly behind me.

"You're late," Olivia informs me dryly, clicking the lone light bulb on above us.

"Sorry, I had t—"

I reel back in horror as my eyes land on the bound and gagged form of Dion Guillard perched on top of a box of lingerie.

"Oh, my God!" I gasp. "When the heck did this turn into a kidnapping?"

"Ten minutes ago," she replies breezily.

I drop my head in my hands. "I am going to jail... I am literally going to jail..."

"Oh, ye of little faith..." Olivia admonishes, stepping over to the photographer.

He shrinks instantly back from her.

My brows shoot skywards. "Jesus Christ... What did you do to him?"

"Nothing," she shrugs. "Yet..."

A chill runs down my spine. Apparently, Olivia's reputation is more than well deserved...

"I presume you know who we are?" she asks Dion levelly, coming to a stop in front of him.

The man nods tightly, brows bunched together beneath the line of his baseball cap.

"And your current circumstances leave you under no illusions as to the lengths we're willing to go to obtain — by force, or otherwise — the clear and unvarnished truth?"

His gaze slips to meet mine for a second sliding back to Olivia's to give her the barest of nods.

"Good," she smiles, reaching towards him. "Then this will go that much faster."

In one quick motion, she yanks the scrunched-up handkerchief from the photographer's mouth, making him wheeze.

"Sa mère la pute de—"

"Who are you working for?" Olivia demands, folding her arms.

Dion spits on the floor next to her feet. "I'm a freelancer. I work for—"

"We know who you are," Olivia interjects with a wave of her hand. "You're a lowlife slug who's willing to do anything to make a name for himself. You demonstrated as much when you sold compromising photos of my friend here to the press. The question is, who hired you?"

Dion scoffs. "Nobody hired me. I work for myself! That is what I've been trying to—!"

"Liar," Olivia accuses. "We know you didn't just stumble upon this by yourself. Who's your client?"

"Nom de dieu..." he disparages under his breath. "I told you already, I—"

Olivia is suddenly up in his face, knife pressed to his throat. "And I didn't like your answer."

Dion jerks back instinctively. "Your petite friend is correct... You are going to jail..."

"They'll have to find your body first," she tells him silkily. "What little will be left of it, anyway... Because no one here is going to the police. And I'm sure that your so-called friends out the front will secretly be glad for your unexplained loss. The freelance photography business is oh-so cutthroat, after all..."

"Tu es une salle grace..." he snarls through clenched teeth.

Olivia presses the knife tighter. "Then you should know that it's not in your interest to test what's left of my patience..."

Dion laughs bitterly. "À quoi ça rime? You say already that you will just—"

"What if we paid you?" I interject, stepping forward.

Olivia's head snaps angrily around. "Harper, stay out of—!"

"Paid me?" the photographer cuts in, eyes swirling to meet mine with interest.

"To give us the information we're after... voluntarily," I clarify, in a bid to avoid the impending bloodshed. "And to sell us the photos from Applewood."

Dion frowns. "I already sold the pictures to the papers..."

"Not all of them," I correct, hoping against hope that my gut instinct is correct and I haven't just torpedoed Olivia's interrogation for nothing. "You only sold the ones you were told to sell — the ones that fit your client's narrative."

Dion seems to assess me in a new light. "You come prepared... Fine. I'll do as you ask... for five million."

"Ducats?" asks Olivia.

"Euros."

I very narrowly catch my jaw from falling to the floor at the sound of the obscene price tag.

"You've been paid once already," counters Olivia. "The highest we can go is one million."

"Four," insists Dion, somehow managing to find the balls to negotiate even with a knife pressed to his throat. "There are a lot of pictures."

"Which no one else is willing to buy, so two is our best and final offer."

"Three," declares Dion. "And I'll forget this conversation ever happened."

Olivia purses her lips for a moment, before whipping the knife away with a flourish. "Fine. Start talking."

Dion lets out a low exhale. "I received a call some days before the Jamboree. The person had a tip on one of the Prince's suitors, and said it would make big news if it got out. Naturally, I was interested."

"Who was this person?" I ask.

"I don't have a name," he replies. "The tip was anonymous, and the call came from a hidden number."

"Was it a man or a woman?" Olivia queries.

"A man."

Olivia and I exchange a glance. Tariq or Godfrey.

"How did you get into Applewood?" I ask, turning back to Dion.

"A security pass was delivered to my apartment. No return address," he adds before either of us can ask.

"And that didn't seem suspicious?" I press.

"Demoiselle," he scoffs. "I am a paparazzo. I am not going to... How you Américans say? Count the teeth of a dog?"

"Look a gift horse in the mouth..." I correct dryly.

"Once on the estate, I took some pictures of the Jamboree — in the event, you know... nothing came of the tip — but then I received a message on my phone that the suitor in question was on her way back to her room with her paramour, andI should make myself ready."

"How did you know which room to go to?" I cut in.

"There was a blueprint of the manor included in the same envelope that provided me my security pass," Dion explains. "It was your room that was marked."

His words hit me like a kick to the guts.

It's been clear for a while that my run-in with Tariq has been anything but chance. But to learn the malicious extent of the planning that had gone into setting it up makes me want to actually puke.

Who was sick enough to even think up something so twisted?

"What then?" asks Olivia, diverting Dion's attention from my momentary muteness.

He shrugs. "I took the photos, and left."

"How?" I croak in disbelief. "How could you just stand there while—?"

"I am a journalist," he shrugs apathetically. "My business is to be impartial..."

"You watched me get assaulted," I hiss through trembling lips. "There is nothing impartial about that!"

He shrugs again. "Affairs are messy. Maybe you should choose your lovers more carefully."

I feel my fists clench at my sides as I take a step forward. "He is not—"

Olivia's hand pulls me back. "How did you deliver the photos?"

"There was no delivery," Dion counters with the same level of nonchalance that he's exhibited since he started talking. "I selected the best pictures and put them out to offer to the newspapers. The Sun offered the most for them, so I sold to them the exclusive rights to publish."

"That's it?" queries Olivia. "No one else was given copies?"

Dion scoffs. "Absolutement pas! Selling copies to anyone else would violate the license agreement with the most influential tabloid newspaper in the country! Why would I put myself out of business? I am not an idiot..."

"You didn't send any samples to the person who tipped you off?" I press, having finally managed to regain my composure somewhat.

"Non," he insists. "I said before — he was not a client. I have no obligation for him. And even if I did, I have no way to contact him because—"

"—the conversations were anonymous," I finish wearily.

Apart from lending credence to our suspicions that Godfrey may have had a hand in the set-up, this conversation has confirmed literally nothing.

The people involved in the plot have been too careful in covering up their tracks.

Which means that all our hopes now rest with Tariq... and Drake's ability to find him.

Dion nods. "C'est correct. And I told you everything you asked. We still have a deal, yes?"

"On the condition that you hand over all the remaining photographs — including any digital and backup copies — and disappear off to a godforsaken island somewhere," Olivia clarifies.

Dion nods eagerly. "Naturellement. I always desired early retirement."

"Good," she approves, cutting the bonds from his wrists with a cold smile. "Otherwise I will personally ensure that you don't live to spend a single Euro of your newly acquired millions."

The flash of the wicked-looking blade so close to his groin causes the photographer to blanch involuntarily. "Je le jure."

Olivia flashes him a cold smile. "We'll be in touch..."

"You're just letting him go?" I hiss into Olivia's ear as Dion pushes himself up.

"Unless you would prefer to dump him in the Tiber?"

I reel back. "What! No! I just—"

"Your instinct was right," she advises softly, as Dion gathers his bag and Allard escorts him back out. "He is an opportunistic shark. He just had to be made to believe that he was fleecing us."

My eyes widen. "So, you played bad cop deliberately."

"As you said, this is my area of expertise," she smirks. "And I knew you would not be able to keep your sentimentality at the door."

"Umm, thanks... I think..." I mutter. "But where are we supposed to get three million Euros from? We may both be aristos, but neither of us is Jeff Bezos..."

"The Palace has a designated slush fund set aside for these sorts of expenditures," Olivia assures me breezily, slotting her knife away. "Since you are now a member of the royal family, we'll just send the bill to Jonathan."

I slant her a wry look. "I'm pretty sure that's not what either he or Christian had in mind when they decided to clean up my image..."

"Oh, please!" she admonishes, stepping back out into the corridor as well. "As recently as last year, Constantine was authorising expenditures of five to ten million Euros to stop pictures of Leo shagging B-list actresses on top of various vehicles making it onto the front pages. Three million Euros is trump change for the Rys."

"If you say so," I concede, my mind still reeling from astronomical sums of money that had been so casually bandied about. "Let's just hope Dion doesn't screw us over..."

"He won't," she assures me. "Nobody is stupid enough to cross a Nevrakis."

"The people who blackmailed you did..." I remind her cautiously.

Olivia's mouth tightens as we reach the end of the corridor. "Which was their first mistake. And one that they will pay for dearly."

"You never actually told me what they threatened you with on the night of the Coronation Ball..."

Olivia glances at me sharply. "The less you know the better."

"But—"

"It is for your own protection," she insists. "You haven't played this game long enough to know how to handle something so... explosive."

My eyes widen. "What? More explosive than—?"

Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. "What did I tell you on the plane?"

"Sorry..." I mumble through her fingers.

She withdraws her hand. "If — on the very slim chance — I require assistance, I'll ask for it. In the meantime, you should rejoin the bridal parade."

"Why? Where are you going?" I ask as Olivia moves towards the back loading doors.

"None of your business," she ripostes, disappearing outside.

"Bye to you, too..." I snip as the door slams closed in her wake.

Olivia may now be on my side, but she is still as caustic as ever.

Turning back towards the main part of the boutique. I barely make it four steps before Madeleine's shrieks of outrage — and the sound of breaking glass — echo down the hallway.

"How many times do I have to tell you, no thongs! They are ribald and tasteless!"

"Yeah, no..." I mutter under my breath as I promptly spin on my heel to head back towards the rear of the store.

I don't care what Kiara may have said earlier; I have no interest in spending the rest of the morning being trapped in a bridal boutique, being screamed at by Madeleine. I have much better things to do with my time... and sanity, especially given that I'm still trying to mentally and emotionally process what the photographer had said. And after everything else that's happened in the past twenty-four hours, a small break would definitely go a long way in diffusing my pent-up stress.

Admittedly, a part of me feels bad for leaving Hana behind to suffer the full brunt of Madeleine's tirade, but trying to pull her away as well would only jeopardise my chances of making a successful getaway. I'll just have to think of some other way to make it up to her.

Not wanting her to get into any unwarranted trouble on my account, I decide to pull out my phone to send her a quick text letting her know that I'm not feeling well, and that I'll hopefully see her at the opera in the evening.

Slotting my phone back into my clutch, I push the back doors of the boutique open with a decisive shove, and step out into the sunshine.

Letting my eyes adjust to the brightness outside, I find myself in a small courtyard. On a whim, I turn back towards my Guards.

"Which way to the Trevi Fountain?" I ask, pulling my sunglasses back down over my face.

Allard and Schweitzer trade glances, clearly uneasy with this request.

"Demoiselle, that is not a prudent—"

"—way to get lost in the crowd?" I counter. "I can't think of a better one. If I don't advertise myself, no one will know I'm even there. Especially while the paps are tied up on the other side of the building."

My Guards don't seem convinced. "Commandant Walker left specific instructions to—"

"I'm not planning on disappearing on you," I assure them. "I just want to make a quick detour to grab some pastries, and check out the fountain. So, which way is it?"

Perhaps seeing that I'm not going to be swayed by any cautionary counter-argument, Schweitzer gives Allard a one-shouldered shrug of acquiescence.

Allard pulls a face before finally resigning himself as well. "Par ici," he says, indicating the far side of the courtyard.

"Thanks," I chirp with a smile, setting out across the cobblestones...

...and promptly get the heel of my stiletto pumps stuck in a crack between the stones.

"Eugh," I grumble, as I manage to wrench myself free after a brief battle. "I really didn't think this through..."

"Would Demoiselle require a taxi?" asks Schweitzer as he helps steady me from behind.

"I was hoping to walk..." I admit sheepishly.

"Via Borgognona is nearby," Allard suggests. "It is a well-known shopping street, though quieter than the more famous Via Condotti. Demoiselle might find more... comfortable footwear there."

"Not to mention some more appropriate clothes in general," I gripe, already feeling the tight fabric of my pencil dress start to stick to me. "How far away is it?"

"Just around the corner."

I flash him a bright smile. "Perfect!"

With Allard leading the way, and Schweitzer holding my hand, we manage to cross the courtyard without further incident, and sneak past the paps still thronging the front of the bridal boutique without getting spotted.

Crossing the pedestrianised thoroughfare, my Guards usher me down a narrower street that is lined on either side by cream-coloured buildings casting some welcome shade in the midday heat.

We pass a smattering of tourists and locals, but luckily everyone seems to be too absorbed in their phones or personal conversations to pay any specific attention to me.

And — more importantly — as Allard promised, the street is composed entirely of fashionable-looking independent boutiques.

"Let's try this one," I suggest, indicating the arched entryway of a store with an Italian name that I do not recognise, but which nevertheless seems to have several options for sandals on offer. And — given the scalding nature of the weather — an open-toe option is definitely appealing right now!

Stepping into the air-conditioned entranceway, I am immediately greeted by an immaculately made up woman with a severe ponytail, who starts questioning me in rapid-fire Italian.

"Umm..."

Luckily, I am saved from the embarrassment of trying to cobble together some kind of inappropriate response with the very limited — and wholly unhelpful — Italian that Bertrand had managed to teach me on the plane by Allard, who steps deftly up to my side.

"Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe."

"Che tipo de scarpe?"

"Sandals," I say, having understood the gist of the question. "No heel."

"Prego," the assistant says, flicking her hand towards some minimalist shelving.

"Gracia," I acknowledge with a smile.

Moving over to the indicated section, I quickly assess the options...

...and nearly die when I lay eyes on the price tags.

"Eight hundred Euros...?" I gripe under my breath "For a few scraps of leather...?"

But then my eyes land on a pair bejewelled, gladiator-style sandals.

Given my limited window of opportunity to sneak in some sight-seeing before people start to question my absence, I don't have the luxury of being able to hunt for a bargain. And if I'm going to end up forking out this much money on a pair of shoes, I'm at least going to spend it on something that I like the look of.

And these sandals definitely fit the bill.

Decision made, I pull out my phone to quickly find out how my normal US shoe size converts to the vastly different European sizing, and turn back to the patiently waiting assistant.

"Size 36, please."

With a nod, she disappears 'round the back.

While she's gone, I take the opportunity to look up the location of the little pastry shop that the President had mentioned.

Since I'm heading towards the Trevi Fountain anyway, and Madeleine had pulled us out of this morning's meeting before the refreshments could be served, I had been serious when I told my Guards of my intent to tackle two birds with one stone. Especially since it's nearly lunchtime, and chances are I won't otherwise see food until the opera this evening.

The assistant reappears with my selection, and after a quick try-on, I give her a nod to ring up the extortionate purchase, being excessively grateful that I still have cash left in my US account, given that I don't actually have access to my new Cordonian accounts yet.

Stepping back out onto the street, I change out my shoes, slotting my pumps away into the high-end bag that I've been given, and dumping the shoebox in a nearby trash can.

My toes flex gratefully in their newfound freedom as I cross the street to the clothing boutique, wondering how much a top and pair of jean shorts is going to set me back...

In the end, however, I am pleasantly surprised to emerge back onto the street in a simple, white wrap-dress, a straw Panama hat, and a matching straw bucket bag in which I've stowed my old dress and shoes, all for under two hundred Euros, which means I was able to make recourse to the money Drake had given me, and still have plenty of cash left over for other potential emergencies.

"Thanks for the suggestion," I tell Allard sincerely. "It has definitely saved me from melting into the pavement!"

"De rien, Demoiselle," he acknowledges with a smile. "Are you ready to continue?"

"Lead the way, Monsieur!" I tell him with a grin.

Taking up poll position with a scoff — with Schweitzer bringing up the rear — Allard takes us left at the next intersection to zig-zag us down various side streets, presumably in a bid to avoid both the ferocity of the midday sun, and the chances of me being recognised on the busier avenues.

But, the back route pays off, and within ten minutes, I find myself standing on the edge of the crowded plaza that serves as the gateway to the romantic monument.

"Wow..." I breathe, taking it all in. "It sure is busy!"

Allard and Schweitzer exchange a tense look, no doubt worried about the prospect of being able to keep tabs on me in the press.

"I'll be fine," I assure them. "Just a quick peek and then we can get moving."

Neither of them look convinced, but they don't try to dissuade me as I plunge into the crowd.

Skirting around wedding parties, tour groups, and other miscellaneous sightseers, I manage to work my way to the front of the throng, and my mouth parts with a gasp at the sight spread out before me.

The four-storey monument rises up from the base of the fountain, framing the dynamically positioned statues from under whose feet the water gushes into the aquamarine pool.

It's like a Renaissance painting brought to life.

But, while I'm glad to have made the trip out here to see it in person, I can't help but feel my chest tighten morosely as I gaze up at the beauty of the world-famous landmark.

I didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but part of the reason why I enjoyed my outing in the Cordonian capital so much was because I had Drake to share the adventure with. And it was the same in Avignon — his wry quips and local knowledge had definitely brought the whole experience to life, making me see the city through different eyes than I probably would have had I been by myself... like I am now.

Eugh... I miss him...

Reaching for the ties of my bag on impulse, I pull the fastenings apart just enough to plunge my hand inside. Finding my purse, I snap it open and extract a Euro from the coin pouch.

Squeezing my fingers 'round the warmth of the metal, I clench my eyes shut with a heartfelt wish as I turn back towards the fountain...

...before sending the coin flipping through the air to land in the water before me with a soft plop.

Blinking my eyes open, I am somewhat disappointed to find myself still standing solo by the railing, and Drake has not magically appeared before me like the hot Italian guy did in The Lizzy McGuire Movie.

"Worth a shot..." I console myself as I reach back into my bag for my phone so I can snap a few pictures to send to my mom.

Mission accomplished, I turn away from the fountain to make my way back to the edge of the square, Allard and Schweitzer falling into step behind me.

Unlocking my phone again, I scan the various store-fronts clustered around the fountain, searching for the bakery with the pistachio croissants, when my eyes suddenly land on something in one of the window displays...

...and without really thinking about it, I let my feet carry me inside.

The little brass bell above the door jingles as I step into the cramped confines of what appears to be a shop selling a motley collection of antiques and touristy knick-knacks. A wizened old man sporting glasses and a thick head of white hair looks up at the sound of my arrival.

"Buon pomeriggio, signorina," he greets. "Posso aiutarla a cercare?"

"Umm... sì," I say hesitantly. "Hai avo... in the window?" I point at the item that had caught my eye with an embarrassed flush.

The man's face cracks into a grin. "Ah, certamente!"

Stepping out from behind the counter, he ambles his way over to the window display, to pull back the protective glass. Reaching in, he lifts up the silver chain and holds it out to me.

I run the tip of my finger across the edge of the pendant with a smile. "It's perfect."

"For you?" he asks, lifting the chain up to my neck indicatively.

"No," I laugh. "It's a present... Por mi amore?"

His eyes light up. "Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi!"

"Gracia," I say as he scuttles excitedly back behind the counter in search of a box.

Pulling one out with a conspiratorial flourish, he sets about packaging up the piece as if he were swaddling a precious child for a hazardous journey, even managing to dig out a slightly dusty ribbon to tie on top.

"Cento euro," he declares, presenting the completed ensemble to me.

Pulling my wallet out, I extract my card. "Visa?"

"Sì! Ovviamente!" he proclaims, slapping a brand new Square card machine onto the counter, that was starkly at odds with the otherwise Ollivander-esque décor of the place.

Slotting my card into the reader, I complete the purchase, and am just about to reach for the box to stow it away in my bag when I feel a sudden presence behind me.

"You seriously like making me work for it, don't you..."

I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice.

No way...

The story continues in Chapter 20 (Coming Soon!)

A/N: As per usual, translations below:

At the bridal boutique: Contessa! Contessa Maddalena! Quaggiù, per favore! - Countess! Countess! Over here, please!

Nous vous tienons, Demoiselle - We got you, m'lady

C'est le bordel! Qu'est-ce qu'elle croyait?" - What mess! What was she thinking?

Sa mère la pute de— - Your mother is a whore of a—

Nom de dieu - Oh, my God!

Tu es une salle grace - You're a real bitch

Absolutement pas! - Absolutely not!

Je le jure - I swear

Out and About Par ici - This way

Lei è alla ricerca di alcune nuove scarpe - She is looking for some new shoes.

Che tipo de scarpe? - What kind of shoes?

Prego - Please

Gracia - Thanks

De rien, Demoiselle - No problem, m'lady

Buon pomeriggio, signorina. Posso aiutarla a cercare? - Good afternoon, miss. Can I help you find anything?

Por mi amore?* - For my love? *This is a completely butchered attempt at Italian. The grammatically correct way to say it would be 'È per il mio amore'. However, Harper is improvising, so she's not going to get things completely correct 😇

Ah, bellissimo! Lo avvolgerò in su per voi! - Ah, lovely! I will wrap it up for you!

Cento euro - One hundred Euros

Sì! Ovviamente! - Yes! Of course!

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