Highness (The Lonely Heart Series) Read online

  Instead, she blankly stared ahead, thinking about how many hours, days, weeks, and months she had devoted to a man who didn’t even classify her as human.

  “I’m not good enough?” she said aloud. “Is he serious?” Tears ran down her cheeks, warm and salty.

  The wind began to pick up, beating harder against her truck. The rain poured down, blinding her sight as she drove down Main Street.

  Seeing in the darkness, the street light ahead turn yellow, she slowed to a stop by the time that the light finally turned red. With her hands clutching the steering wheel and the defroster on to clear the windows, she waited, trembling all over and soaking wet with rain water. Her long hair stuck to her face, down her neck and back. Shivering, she wiped her eyes.

  The CD player switched songs and another B.B. King ballad played. The Ghetto Woman turned on, making the already dismal scene more depressing.

  Hearing the words and playing of Lucille in Hope’s ears made her stomach knot up into little balls, and the tears that she tried hard to stop poured out from her diaphragm.

  Damn you, Sean, she thought to herself as flashes of his face haunted her. The sad thing about all of this was that she truly was happy with the man. She didn’t know if that made her a bigger fool or not, but she certainly felt like it did.

  His voice echoed in her mind. “Hell, I might even love you…” She could hear him say.

  What did he know about love? What did he know about anything at all?

  Bending over the steering wheel, she sobbed hard until she realized that the light had turned green. If she could just get home, she knew that she’d be all right. But Lord, 10 minutes had never felt so long.

  Easing up off the break, she pushed down on the gas and headed through the light. As she did, out of the corner of her eye, to her right, a blaring light came toward her. Even in the high winds and heavy rains, she could hear the belting of a horn booming.

  Foot down on the gas pedal, she now realized that the car was going to hit her instead of stopping. She tried to get across the intersection, but the large truck came crashing right into her.

  Hope screamed out in fear at the large, metal bending clang. Her head jerked; glass broke everywhere around her and the truck rolled over and ended upside down. Suddenly she could smell smoke coming from the hood and something that smelled an awful lot like gasoline, but she couldn’t see.

  “No,” she mumbled. “God. No!”

  Fumbling with her seatbelt, Hope felt blood dripping off her face and hitting the roof of her truck. Dazed, she finally gave up. B.B. King’s voice started to fade and with it her consciousness.

  “Hold on ma’am,” a male voice said as he crawled into the truck with her. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “I can’t see,” Hope cried, reaching for the voice. “I can’t see!”

  Chapter 3

  Royal Deeside, Aberdeenshire Scotland

  Balmoral Castle

  It had been a lovely flight over from London to Scotland with not a cloud in the bluest of August skies, but Michael hadn’t taken the time to notice. All he could concentrate on was the long list of emails on his phone that he had gotten over the last 12 hours from everyone except God condemning him for ending his relationship so suddenly with Thalia.

  The most noted came from his brother, which he deleted immediately. He read the first two lines and knew that pissed-off was a dish best served cold.

  Spoiled brat that she was, Thalia had made him out to be a monster to everyone who would listen, instead of telling the truth about what had caused their sudden end. Namely, the fact that she was a fraud.

  Not in namesake. She was royalty. In fact, that was the only thing real about her.

  The rest was just a well-orchestrated lie.

  Evidently, her family in their haste to defend her honor had also already issued a statement to the public, which of course every rag in the UK happily ran. And because of his reputation before dating her, despite the fact that he had never once cheated on her during their relationship, everyone was taking her side.

  Go figure.

  Now his mother, the Queen of England, wanted to weigh in. And while he could not blame her for wanting to know the details, he was certain that she’d agree that it was entirely his fault, as was everything.

  As soon as the door of the bulletproof truck opened and Michael’s foot hit the ground, the front doors of Balmoral Castle opened and a small succession of staffers.

  Since he was a young boy, he had always hated being waited on. No one believed him, but he rather envied young men who grew up without all of the pomp and circumstance.

  But there were at least two people in the mansion in front of him who would definitely disagree.

  Stepping out into the cool breeze, he looked up at the lavish granite estate in all of its glory and felt ill. Even among all of this decadent beauty, today’s meeting was going to be ugly, and he already could feel his mother’s hot as hell-like wrath emanating from the very pores of the structure.

  Yet again, he had disappointed her. Only this time, it was with good cause.

  “We are most honored to have you back in our presence, Your Highness,” the butler said, bowing as Michael passed. He was stereotypically old and haggard in a tailored uniform with silver hair and liver spots, but he was also Michael’s favorite servant.

  “Hello Albert,” Michael answered as he walked briskly past. “Where is she?” he asked. He stopped in the foyer and slipped his hands in his pockets.

  “The queen is indisposed at the moment, however, she has asked that upon your arrival, you meet her in the sitting room for a conversation,” Alfred said, closing the front doors behind him.

  “Good. Then I’ll just head to the parlor for a drink before,” he said, rolling his eyes. There was no way that he was going to take his tongue-lashing sober in a place that distilled its own whiskey.

  This glorious, historic estate that outsiders coveted with a certain amount of absolute glee carried many memories for him, not all of them good. He was here when his father passed away, here when Margaret Dunning first broke his heart, and here when his first bones were broken from falling from a nearby tree.

  This was the place he went when nothing was right in the world.

  It was exactly why he had not brought Thalia here to propose to her, but exactly where he should have brought her to break up.

  Now, he was again, facing another pivotal point in his life, and it irritated him to no end that he was doing it at the Balmoral.

  Taking off his winter green North Face jacket, he laid it on the back of a finely upholstered wing-backed chair in the gilded golden parlor colored by fresh bouquets and fine furniture and went over to the bar.

  Without apology or restraint, he wanted whisky, and not the crap distilled a stone’s throw from the estate. He wanted American whiskey. He wanted to get properly drunk. That was the simple and complete truth.

  Picking up a rare and hard to find bottle of Jefferson’s Presidential Select, his mouth watered. He poured a hefty helping of the Kentucky made bourbon into a crystal tumbler and raised the glass to admire the attractive copper color – flickering from amber to mahogany in the dim light.

  “You’ve managed to make the news again,” a deep English baritone echoed from behind him.

  Michael looked up from his glass into the large mirror behind the bar to see his brother’s regal reflection glaring at him.

  Great. An ambush.

  “Bloody hell. I wasn’t aware that you were here,” Michael said, quickly putting the glass to his mouth and taking a large gulp. It went down smooth, barely burning.

  Without pause, he poured another.

  “You’ve made a mess, so of course I’m here,” Richard said, taking a seat. He crossed his long legs and looked at the fireplace. The embers danced about and warmed the drafty room. “While you’re up there playing bartender, why don’t you pour a glass for your brother? Mother should be finished soon. That giv
es us just enough time to talk.”

  “What is there to talk about?” Michael asked, pouring Richard a glass that equaled his. He walked across the room and handed it to him, then sat in the chair across from him.

  “You asked publicly for Thalia’s hand in marriage and then you broke up with her. This is not the way of a Prince of England, Earl of Wessex, on and on,” Richard said, taking a sip of the drink. He had done this entire song and dance for so long until he could not bear to finish the lecture.

  Michael’s chest began to swell. He didn’t need another speech from his more than accomplished, over achieving, perfect do-gooderbrother, especially on matters of the heart.

  “This isn’t about you,” Michael huffed. “This is about principalities…”

  “This is about our entire family, and your inability to commit to anything longer than it takes for paint to dry.” Richard cut his eyes at him. “You’ve always been spoiled.”

  “Not this again,” Michael said, preparing to get up from his chair.

  “Don’t move,” Richard said voice stern. His eyes narrowed on his brother.

  “Don’t use your king voice on me,” Michael growled as he sat back down. He hated when his big brother tried to play the father role. He was nothing like their father had been, although he looked just like him.

  “Don’t make me,” Richard said, easing up just a bit. He wiped his face with his hands. “As I was just saying, you’ve always been spoiled. And I blame Mother for it. You were always the fair one with your wheat blonde curls, your blue eyes, perfect aesthetic features, and muscles like a caveman, charisma and what not. Women respond to a boyishly charming fellow, regardless of his stature, but add the title of prince and you’ve got utter free-fall. So we’ve treated your beauty like a handicap most of your life. And I’m sorry to say, but it has made you stupid.”

  Michael bucked his eyes. “I beg your pardon.”

  “It. Has. Made. You. Stupid,” Richard repeated slowly and loudly, adding insult to injury. He took another sip casually as if he had not just offended his brother, and then continued with his explanation. “No teacher would fail you when you were a boy, regardless of how horrible you were at making good marks. No woman would deny you, even though you had no idea how to treat her. You were the first person anyone picked for a team because of your agility. You were the last person a woman would break up with because you were Michael. Everything socially obtainable, you have obtained, and it’s mostly due to your handicap of being beautiful, rich, and royal.”

  Richard said the word beautiful like it was a cardinal sin. It wasn’t like he was an ugly man. Broad chested, brown haired, serious and noble, Richard had always been regarded as the stately, intelligent aristocrat that was a result of impeccable breeding while many of the same people labeled Michael as the child that the queen must have drunk a few glasses of wine while carrying.

  Richard was day.

  Michael was night.

  It had been that way since they were boys.

  “So, you’ve just called me a hopeless, beautiful idiot, and I’m supposed to say thank you?” The frown lines in Michael’s well-tanned face showed. “This is very much like pissing on a man and calling it rain.”

  Richard gave a half-grin and threaded his manicured hands together. “How is it any different from pissing your life away and calling it looking for yourself?”

  “This comes from a man who has known exactly what he wanted to be since the day he was pulled from his mother’s womb,” Michael snarled. “All hail the king.”

  “Well, Michael, as much as I love you, it’s a well-known fact that you were born without a compass at all. That is not my fault, but it has been my burden.”

  “Was I brought out here to be chastised, or is there a real purpose for this meeting?” Michael asked, rolling his eyes. He was growing tired of the conversation.

  Richard cut to the chase. “Mother wants to know details. She doesn’t understand why you broke up with Thalia and neither do I. She’s beautiful and bright. She comes from a good family, and she understands protocol. What is there not to love about the girl?”

  Michael’s cool façade broke. With slumped shoulders, he shook his head. “She doesn’t love me – not Michael…the man. I would think that such a thing would be a prerequisite for marriage.” Michael finished the contents of his glass and stared into the bottom of the glass. He smiled as he recalled the encounter. “We were having a quiet night in and after a few drinks, we started to talk about our relationship and that’s when she dropped the bomb on me. She said that she had known since she was a child that she would be a princess. When we started to date, she picked out her wedding dress. By the time that I proposed, she had already picked out our children’s names.” He paused. “Dreadful ones by the way.”

  Richard raised a brow. “I don’t see the problem. She’s aggressive and knows what she wants. What’s wrong with that?”

  A chill ran down Michael’s spine. “It wouldn’t be an issue if she loved me, but she does not.”

  Richard audibly gaffed. “How can you be sure?”

  “She told me!” Michael’s voice rose. He hit his knee. “I asked her out right if she would have given me a second look had I not been the Prince and she said no. She said sure she would have slept with me, but there was no way that I was marriage material.” He threw up his hands. “But the consolation prize was that she was sure that she would grow to love me, because right now she was incredibly fond of me. Fond of me, Richard! She’s been lying the entire time. Normally, she’s demure and so well-poised until you completely miss that under all of those hours of etiquette training and charm school.”

  “So what made her suddenly be so honest with you?” Richard asked.

  “The wine. The notion that we’d gotten so far in the planning stages of this fucking wedding that it was too late to end things. Maybe she just wanted me to know that she’d gotten over on me.” He felt himself hyperventilating little bit.

  “Stop your dramatics. Maybe she was just drunk,” Richard rationalized.

  “Well, here is a question for you. If you weren’t going to be the next King of England, would Madeline have married you and given you children?”

  “Yes.” Richard defended, as if any other situation would have been ludicrous.

  “My point exactly.” Michael said, point made.

  “This isn’t a reason to call off a wedding that millions have already been spent on,” Richard said, feeling badly for his brother, but unwilling to show it. “You have no idea if she was just drunk. From what I’ve heard, you ended things and stormed out. There was no clarification on anything. It was a slip of the tongue and too many drinks. You can’t possibly hold that against her.”

  “Wouldn’t you clear out if a woman told you that? This is my life we are talking about, Richard. The woman whom I choose to be a permanent part of it should at least know something more about it than the fact that I’m second in line to be king.” Michael rolled his eyes under his heavy lashes and clutched the glass closer in his hands. “She’s just like the others, only with better breeding. And what is that anyway? Her family has money and titles and what? How does that help me be happy?”

  Richard twisted up his lip in contemplation. “Why did you not know this before you asked the woman to marry you?”

  “I was infatuated at first, I guess. You’ve seen her. She is beautiful.”

  Richard had to agree. She was drop dead gorgeous.

  “But she’s hollow,” Michael added. “And eventually that body and that face will go away and all we’ll have is love. And if we don't have that, then I have nothing more than I had last night with the Brixton sisters.”

  Richard’s neck snapped. “You didn’t go to Brixton.”

  “I had a minor relapse,” Michael explained. “I went back to my less than honorable ways for a night. Kill me.”

  “If you didn’t use a condom, then you may have already killed yourself.” Richard stood up. “
Has anyone been sent to deal with this?”

  Michael huffed. “I saw the condoms and the wrappers on the floor by my clothes when I went to get dressed. I’m fine.” He put the glass on the table by the chair. “Is that all you heard? You’re supposed to be my brother, and I’m telling you that this woman doesn’t love me.”

  “Haven’t you discovered that men in our position face this all the time? How are you to be really sure that anyone truly loves you? You were born a prince for goodness sake. You can’t be that naive.”

  “I’m not naive, but a man can set reasonable expectations, and being loved is reasonable. Father loved mother. You love Madeline. Do I not have the same right, even if I am stupid in your eyes?”

  “Like a poor woman would love you. Think of what you’re saying.”

  “Are you really that much of a snob, Richard?”

  “And what are you? A common man?” Richard laughed cynically. “A man of the people, perhaps? You may have served in the Queen’s Royal Guard. You may have volunteered and worked among the common people, but you, my dear stupid boy are no commoner. You are one of only two sons of the Queen of England. It’s a pity that with that, I am the only one gainfully employed. You are still trying to find yourself and now on top of that, you expect to find true love.” He shook his head and laughed. “You’re impossible is what you are. Impossible.”

  “Don’t diminish my character just because yours has been so perfectly exalted. Since the day that you were born, you were prepped to be king.”

  “And you weren’t?” Richard defended.

  “No,” Michael said, shaking his head emphatically. “I was just groomed not to be an embarrassment.”

  “Don’t be silly. If you hadn’t been around, then my accomplishments would have never seemed so great.” He smirked playfully.

  “So, I’m not only handicapped, I’m worthless?”

  “Not worthless, just a little out of touch with reality. If a woman loves you, she loves you because you’re beautiful, royalty and/or rich. Look anywhere in the world, you’ll get the same answer. You can’t change who you are, and if even you lied to her, you couldn’t change how you look. At least Thalia was honest with you. It’s the mark of a good wife.”