ROYAL (26 page)

Demi

{five years later}

“Let’s go see Mama.” Royal’s voice from outside my hospital
door makes me instantly forget the searing pain between my thighs from birthing
a nine-pound baby at three AM this morning.

Apparently, Royal and I make some big babies. But they’re so
darn adorable that it makes up for all the less than pleasant things that go
along with that.

“Hey, baby,” I say softly when our three-year-old son
tiptoes into the room behind his father.

It’s his first time being in a hospital, and judging by his
apprehension, he’s not quite sure what to think of it.

Beckett carries a bouquet of lilies in his hand, the hand
attached to the arm that’s currently broken and wrapped in a neon green cast,
because two weeks ago, he decided to climb into the old tree house at Nana and
Papa’s. He snuck in there when no one was looking and fell when he attempted to
climb down the ladder.

I’ve been trying to talk my parents into taking it down. The
wood is rotting, and it’s dangerous. But they don’t have the heart. Dad keeps
repairing floorboards as they rot, and Mom tears up whenever the subject is
brought up.

They watched us all grow up in that thing. Taking it down
would be like destroying a living piece of Rosewood history.

“Hey, buddy, want to give those flowers to your mom?” Royal
urges him, ruffling the top of his wavy, dark hair.

“Here, Mama.” Beckett hands me the wrapped flowers. I count
five white lilies and one pink. “The pink one is for my sister.”

Campbell stirs in her bassinette, and Royal pushes it closer
to my bedside before lifting her out and placing her in my arms.

“You want up here, little man?” I ask.

Beckett nods, and Royal helps him.

“Thank you for the flowers, my love.” I lean forward as much
as I can and kiss his forehead. He smells like glue and Play-Doh, which isn’t
surprising, since he spent most of the day with his cousin, Haven, at Uncle
Derek’s house.

“You’re welcome,” he says, in his sweet, little boy voice.

“You’re a big brother now,” Royal says in his best, stern
father voice. “That’s a pretty big responsibility.”

I laugh. “I don’t even think he knows what responsibility
means.”

Royal shrugs, smiling as he gazes down at his newborn
daughter. “He’ll find out soon enough.”

“How much time are you taking off from the firm?” I ask.

Campbell came two weeks early, which is probably a good
thing, given her size, but we weren’t expecting her, and it threw off our
carefully laid plans.

Royal juts his chin and waves his hand. “Don’t even sweat
it. I’ll be around as much as you need.”

I keep forgetting that he was made a junior partner last
month, one of their youngest in the history of the firm. His boss, Richard
Madsen, was a friend of one of Royal’s old law professors. Hired him fresh out
of law school.

Dad was disappointed that he didn’t want to work at Rosewood
and Rosewood, but he understood and respected the fact that Royal was called in
a different direction.

Besides, it’s nice to get out of Rixton Falls.

The fresh start did us both good.

And it was too depressing to watch over half the town lose
everything they had because of Brooks Abbott’s scheming ways. Dad and Derek
wanted to take the case on, but it would’ve been a conflict of interest, so
they stepped back, and we all watched as the Abbotts lost everything they ever
had. Apparently the scheming started with Brooks’ now-deceased father, and the
judge ordered Brenda to liquidate everything they had shortly before she left
town for good.

It still wasn’t enough to cover everything those poor folks
lost. Brooks is spending decades behind bars now. And if he’s lucky, he’ll be
out in time to meet his first grandchild. Last I knew, Afton was raising their
daughter in the basement apartment of her family’s home in Glidden.

Royal and I live in a sleepy little town now, Crestwood, an
hour east of Rixton Falls. When we arrived, no one knew our names or our
stories. We settled in, made friends with our new colleagues and neighbors, and
left the past behind.

We have a beautiful life together, and now our little family
is complete with Campbell. My heart is so full, and just when I think I’m all
out of love to give, I look into my daughter’s sweet eyes and my chest bursts
with a powerful, unconditional love.

“She’s gorgeous already.” Royal kisses the top of Campbell’s
head. “Just like her mother.”

We expected her to come out with tufts of dark hair, like Beckett
did, but it’s looking like she just might be a blonde, like her Aunt Daphne and
her cousin, Haven.

“Your parents are on their way,” my husband says. “And I’ve
called your sisters. They would like you to FaceTime them as soon as you’re
feeling up to it.”

“Have you sent pictures?”

“Of course. About fifty so far.”

I laugh. “And Derek? When’s he coming?”

“He was going to drop Haven off at school and head over. He
should be here in a couple of hours.”

“How’s everyone doing?” Our nurse comes in, beaming from ear
to ear. She’s definitely a morning person who loves her job, and I can’t
complain about that.

“Doing well,” I say. “Doing very well.”

Beckett reaches gingerly for the top of his sister’s head,
petting her with soft, slow strokes. Royal and I exchange looks and my eyes
water. It’s moments like these that I wish I had my camera ready. Instead, I’ll
have to capture this and store the memory in my heart for a nostalgic rainy
day.

Or a day when they’re tearing each other’s hair out and
driving Royal and me crazy.

We’ll always have this moment.

“I’m going to love her forever,” Beckett says, placing his
chubby cheek against her forehead. He stares up at me with Royal’s dark blue
eyes, and I blink away the wetness that clouds my vision of my sweet angels.

Tomorrow morning, Campbell and I will get to go home. Royal
will pick us up, and I’m sure he’ll drive ten miles per hour under the speed
limit the entire way, with his hands at ten and two.

And when we get inside, we’ll introduce Campbell to our
yellow lab, which Beckett named Marfa last year. He was trying to say Martha,
like his favorite cartoon dog, but he couldn’t pronounce the ‘th,’ and it was
too cute to fix.

After she meets her four-legged friend, we’ll show her to
her yellow room. Royal insisted on a neutral nursery, just like he did with Beckett.
We never knew what we were having either time, which killed the planner part of
me, but I did it for him, because life rarely offers opportunities for good
surprises.

“Mama, I’m hungry.” Beckett rubs his tummy and gives me sad
eyes.

“I’ll take him to the food court. Come on, buddy.” Royal
helps him off the bed and takes his little hand. “We’ll be back soon. Let’s let
the girls get their beauty rest.”

My husband brings his hand to his mouth and blows me a kiss.
Beckett copies. I blow one back to the boys I love more than anything in this
whole wide world, and then I glance down at my daughter one more time.

I can’t decide who she looks like yet. Sometimes she looks
like me, sometimes like Royal. And at the same time, she looks nothing like her
brother. Genetics are funny that way.

Campbell is already fast asleep again. I adjust her
swaddling and place her back in the bassinette, and I just watch.

I could watch her for hours.

All day, every day.

She’s the sweetest.

And me? I’m the luckiest.

Life may not always be a fairytale, but it doesn’t mean we
can’t make our own happily-ever-after.

THE END

Page
ahead for a preview of Delilah’s book – BACHELOR – Coming late
March 2016!

Thank you, thank you to everyone who made this book
possible! To my readers, bloggers, ARC reviewers, and constant supporters
– I can never thank you enough. I write for you!

Thank you to Valorie Clifton, editor, and proofreaders
Janice Owen and Carey Sullivan, for the impeccable edits! Your willingness to
flex to my schedule and fit me in at the last minute is immensely appreciated!

Thank you to Louisa Maggio of LM Creations, for whipping up
one of the most beautiful covers I’ve ever laid eyes on (if I do say so
myself)! The cover couldn’t be more perfect for this story and captured the
essence of everything I wanted this story to represent. Working with you is
always an absolute joy!

To Morgan Terry and Ashley Cestra – thank you for
beta’ing Royal for me!! Your notes were tremendously helpful. If it weren’t for
Morgan, Beckett would’ve been named Brookson. WHOOPS.

To my author friends – Sosie, Cora, Vanessa, DG, and
so many others – thank you for the camaraderie and procrastinating FB
chats. ;-)

Last, but not least, thank you to my husband, who assisted
in my research and never once complained when I asked him the same questions
over and over. You’re the best parole officer (and most patient husband) this
side of the Pacific! Love.

Winter
Renshaw recently celebrated her third 29th birthday. By day, she wrangles kids
and dogs, and by night, she wrangles words. She loves peonies, lipstick, and
balmy summer days. Chips and salsa are her jam, and so is cruising down the
highway with the windows down and the air blasting while 80s rock blares from
the speakers of her Mom-UV.

She would
describe her writing style as sexy, conflicted, and laced with heart. Her
heroes are always alpha and her heroines are always smart and independent. HEA
guaranteed.

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BACHELOR
(Rixton Falls #2)

Coming late
March 2016!

*unedited and
subject to change

Sawyer

I watch her watch him.
 

We’re trapped on a neon party bus scented with a potpourri
of stale cigarette smoke, spilled drinks, and dried vomit, and we’re the only
two pathetic saps clearly not having a good time.

She’s all dark hair and bored sighs and quick sips of
Heineken, and I’m all people-watching and fake-smiling and running an
experiment to see if drinking to the point of getting drunk will, in fact, make
me lose my concept of time.

This night needs to hurry up.

Scratch that.

This
weekend
needs
to hurry up.

Who the hell does joint bachelor/bachelorette parties
anyway? Are the bride and groom that insecure that they can’t spend one last
night away from each other? God forbid a stripper with daddy issues gives Duke
a lap dance. And God forbid the women go to one of those Magic Mike revues
where most of the dancers have a preference for cock anyway.

“Hey, what’s your name?” A girl the size of a pixie with
short lavender hair, a cluster of star tattoos at the base of her neck, and a
diamond stud nose ring takes the seat beside me.

First and foremost, I didn’t come here to get laid. I’m here
because my cousin made me groomsman number eight.

And secondly, I’m not interested in Princess Purple Hair.
Everything about her is a desperate scream for attention, a plea for someone to
find her interesting or special, and to be honest, it bores the ever-loving
fuck out of me.

Lastly, I can’t stop watching the cocoa-haired, tragically
attractive Goddess of Boredom at the front of the bus.

She intrigues me.

Every time she takes a swig of her beer, her eyes find their
way to the couple sitting across from her. In between those moments, she checks
her phone, pressing the home button and slipping it back into her pocket when
she sees nothing has changed since thirty seconds ago.

“Sawyer.” I answer the pixie because I’m not rude, and my
mothers raised me well. “Yours?”

Pixie grins and wiggles her body until she’s closed what
little distance between us remained a second ago.

“I’m Violet,” she says.

Naturally.

“Of course you are.” My eyes travel to her hair as she
sweeps her bangs across her forehead.

“Are you a friend of the bride and groom?” she asks.

“Cousin of Duke’s.” I take a sip of my gin and tonic, which
oddly tastes better coming from a plastic cup molded in the shape of a crystal
tumbler. Duke Seaborn III would never allow red Solo cups at his bachelor
party. Hell, I’m shocked we’re all riding in a party bus and not a freshly
waxed limousine. Then again, our options were slim because you can’t fit twenty-four
twenty-somethings in an extended Benz. “You?”

“Friend of Natalie’s,” she says. “We went to high school
together. We go way back.”

Way back . . . what? Like five whole years? This
conversation is boring me already.

I glance at the brunette up front again, and she’s still
staring at the lovey-dovey couple every chance she gets. Upon closer
inspection, I see that one half of that couple is very much pregnant. The guy
rests his hand on the woman’s belly, and the brunette stares down the neck of
her beer bottle.

She was late getting here, the last to hop on the bus before
we left the parking lot of the Rixton Falls Ramada Inn. I’m guessing she didn’t
want to sit there. Next to the Happiest Couple on Earth. I bet they honeymooned
at Disney World, and I guarantee they wore those wedding-style Mickey Mouse
ears with “bride” and “groom” embroidered on the back.

Either she really hates weddings and doesn’t want to be
here, or she’s got some kind of history with the daddy-to-be who won’t stop
doting on his baby mama.

Probably both.

The bus slows and we all lurch forward.

“Okay, everyone. Thank you all for joining us tonight. We’re
so excited to get this party started!” Natalie stands, beaming ear to ear, one
hand gripping a pole for balance and the other holding a plastic champagne
class. “We’re all going to do one shot and then we’re going to head into
O’Rourdan’s for our first stop of the night!”

One of the many faceless attendees grabs a bottle of cherry
vodka and passes around little paper shot classes, which I’m pretty sure are
better suited for Jell-O shots.

I take one, like the good sport I am, and wait until Natalie
gives the all clear before shooting it down the back of my throat.

“Whew.” Violet shakes her head and sticks out a red tongue
and laughs. “That stuff did not go down as easy as I thought it would. Tastes
like cherry cough syrup. Ick.”

I think she’s trying to be cute.

Up ahead, the brunette girl hasn’t chugged hers yet. Not
sure what she’s waiting for, but everyone is gathering their things and filing
off the bus and she’s sitting there in some catatonic state.

“You coming?” Violet asks as she rises and slips her clutch
under her arm. Why she would suddenly act like we’re together is beyond me, but
I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and blame it on a combination of the
cheap liquor and her young naivety.

“Yeah. You go ahead.”

Violet’s smile fades, but she nods and files in line. The
bus empties and the Good Time Gang files into the kind of traditional Irish pub
that would make our grandmother proud, rest her soul.

The brunette gathers her things and stands, her chest rising
and falling slowly as she breathes in and exhales. Three deep breathes later,
she steps toward the exit. I don’t even think she notices that she’s not alone.
I don’t want to freak her out, so I wait another minute.

“You in or you out, buddy?” the driver calls back, his beady
eyes watching me from the wide rear view mirror.

“Out.” I hope up and head into the bar.

The party takes up the entire length of the wooden bar and
no less than three bartenders are attempting to keep up with the sudden influx
of drink orders.

I find an empty high top and take a seat. It’s going to be a
while before I can order another drink, and I can feel the shit already
coursing my system weakening with each passing minute.

A cocktail waitress hurries past, stopping fast when she
sees me sitting empty handed.

“What are we drinking tonight?” she asks.

I order another gin and tonic, glad for the good service,
and scan the bar in search of the girl who doesn’t want to be here tonight.

I want her story.

I don’t want some bullshit meet-cute with some purple haired
fairy who’s going to try and fuck me in my hotel tonight and spend all of
tomorrow social media stalking me.

The waitress returns with my drink. I thank her and slip her
a tip. And when she walks away, I glance up and meet the gaze of the Goddess of
Boredom herself.

She freezes.

I freeze.

I don’t know what the hell is happening right now.

The woman abandons my stare and searches the packed bar for
a place to sit. All the tables around me have filled up in the last few
minutes. It’s just me, by myself, at this table for two.

Her almond-shaped gaze floats to the empty seat next to me,
but she hesitates.

“This seat taken?” A drunken-eyed man in a Third Eye Blind
t-shirt slurs into my ear. Not sure where he came from.

“Yeah,” I say. I point to the girl.

“Sorry man.” The drunk stumbles off, and I turn back to her.

“Now you have to take it.” I offer her a smile, to assure
her I’m not a creep. I’m genuinely a nice guy. I think. Brutally honest.
Unapologetically observational. But I think those are good things mostly.

The corners of her mouth inch up, and her eyes brighten in
the dark.

“I’m Sawyer,” I say. “Cousin of the groom. Eighth and final
groomsman. And I don’t want to be here.”

She smirks. “Delilah. Friend of the bride. Eighth and final
bridesmaid. I don’t want to be here either.”

I flash her a genuine smile, first one I’ve had all night,
and ask her what she’s drinking.