Only Love With A Billionaire (Only Us Billionaire Romance Book 4) Page 3

  She supposed she understood why Oliver hadn’t mentioned Henry’s return; they’d never been good friends—mostly because she’d spent more time with Henry, making her brother jealous. But it was also because Oliver would never forgive him for breaking his sister’s heart. Not that she’d said as much. No, her heart was a carefully guarded thing, but Oliver was her brother. They’d shared other kinds of sadness so it was more than likely that he’d recognized the change after Henry left—just as she noticed something had been off with Oliver lately.

  As Ava strode down the hall, she spotted Livingston, the butler, approaching from the other direction. She stopped in front of him and as before, he flinched slightly.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Are you nervous because you knew Henry was back?”

  He stammered.

  She didn’t let him finish. “I see you every day and it’s rare that you flinch when in my presence.” She demonstrated. “You did this morning because you knew Henry had returned, didn’t you?”

  “Miss, I’m doing no such thing.”

  She slanted her eyebrow. “But you don’t deny that you knew Henry is back?”

  “Well, one must be on alert when the Rascals are around. Or as your former nanny used to call you: Thing One and Thing Two.” Livingston paled and clasped his hands together.

  Ava cleared her throat. “Well, I suppose it was well deserved. I’d like to offer you a formal apology for terrorizing you, Livingston. I owe you.”

  “No such thing, Miss. You were just doing your job.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Keeping an old man like me on my toes.” He winked.

  She definitely had to do something nice for him. Chocolates? No, he had access to the finest confections in the world. That thought brought her back to her purpose. “What happened to Mr. Park?”

  “Oh, dreadful news.” Livingston went on to tell Ava about Mr. Park’s cancer diagnosis. “I assure you that the queen has provided him with the best care. He requested to spend his remaining time in his room. I think he was hoping Henry would show up and didn’t want his son to see him in a hospital setting.” Livingston cleared his throat.

  Ava reached out for his arm, gave it a squeeze and with that, the fight and fire burning inside her subsided. Sure, she was angry at Henry, but there’d be time for that later. Right then, she didn’t want him to be alone. No one, not even Henry, ought to shoulder sadness by themselves.

  As she followed the corridor to the south wing and the staff area, she wondered what she was supposed to do. How to greet him? With understanding? With compassion? She was too young to remember much about her parents and certainly too young to recall the moments before and after—when they were alive and then they weren’t. However, she’d lived her life in the shadow of their deaths.

  She and Oliver were the orphan princess and prince. They’d have had nannies had they grown up in Concordia, but they’d also have had a mother and father.

  While she had Beatriz and Henry had his father, she knew what it was like to field the aftermath of loss—she’d been doing it since she was a child.

  The looks of pity from palace visitors (“Terrible tragedy about the Concordian King and Queen”), the slips of the tongue from uninformed palace workers (“If you don’t clean up that soot, I’m going to tell your mother and father.”), and other occasions when people had thought the queen was her mother (“No, my mother passed before we got to know each other. The queen is my guardian.”). She didn’t resent them their errors, but she understood how Henry might feel when he lost his father.

  As she neared the room, she wondered if she should give him a hug. Do their secret handshake? Give him a pat on the back? What was she supposed to say? “I’m a princess,” she muttered. “I should know these things.” I’m a princess, she repeated in her head.

  From behind the closed door of a room came her brother’s voice, low and measured. She couldn’t make out the distinct words but was reminded of his ultimatum, the edict of her home country. Marry or lose your title. Marry or lose your family.

  As she rounded the corner that led to the hallway where Mr. Park’s room was. Her stomach twisted in knots. Nerves pricked the space under her skin. Her throat was tight. As she stood outside the bedroom door, her hands became clammy. She wiped them on her skirt and lifted her hand, and was about to knock when she stopped herself.

  It wasn’t because she was afraid or nervous. She hadn’t lost her resolve. No, Henry had drawn an invisible line between them. If he’d wanted her to cross it the “I’m sorry,” he’d offered when they’d met outside the kitchens would’ve been a big picture apology for ditching her rather than for stepping on her foot.

  She wouldn’t overstep the boundary he’d created.

  Whatever his reasons were, she’d respect them.

  If and when she had the opportunity to receive his request for her forgiveness, she’d give him a piece of her mind. But for the moment, she’d give him space. That’s what he’d wanted, right?

  She retreated back down the hall, around the corner, and past the door where she’d heard Oliver’s voice. When she arrived at a tapestry depicting horses galloping across a field, she gave herself two choices.

  One, go ride Topsy—that always helped her blow off steam.

  Two, duck into the passage that led to the secret room she and Henry had used as their hideout when they’d play bandits, their fort when they were raiders, a place to escape when they didn’t want to do their studies, and later, a place to dream when they planned out their adventures.

  She looked both ways to be sure the corridor was empty and ducked behind the tapestry, pushed on the knotted piece of wood in the wall, and slipped into the passage.

  She hadn’t been in that particular secret passage since the night she was supposed to meet Henry and they’d make their grand escape. She’d said goodbye to her childhood that night. She supposed, she’d return there then and say a final goodbye to Henry—letting go of the hope she’d held for so many years that he’d return, explain that something unforeseeable and terrible had happened (along the lines of being captured by a dragon or something equally fantastical), and he’d fought his way back to her (she was a dreamer, after all).

  The floor creaked in places she didn’t remember. Otherwise, the long and cobwebbed hidden hallway was much the same. When she was younger, she could navigate it without a light, but as she felt her way along the wall, she wished she had her phone to see by. When the passage opened to the room, she stumbled inside and over someone. A warm, living, breathing someone. She gasped.

  A light flicked on.

  She blinked, allowing her eyes to adjust.

  Henry stood there, towering over her—when had that happened?

  “What are you doing in here?” she hissed.

  “I could ask the same of you.” His tone was rough.

  “If you must know I came in here to have myself a good cry and be done with it.”

  “I’ve never seen you cry,” he said in a low voice as if the secret space demanded whispers.

  “That’s because you weren’t here after you suddenly disappeared.” She’d cried plenty.

  He opened his mouth as if to defend himself and then said, “I deserve that.”

  “And a lot worse by my account, but,” she drew a deep breath, “your father is ill. I had no idea, and I am so sorry. I suppose that’s dreadful enough.”

  He leaned back slightly as though surprised by the sentiment in her words. “Yeah. I didn’t realize it was so bad. He doesn’t have much time left.”

  It was her opportunity to mend fences. “I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but I lost my parents too. If there’s anything I can do. If you need anything or—”

  “No, Ava. I don’t need anything. I’ll be leaving just as soon as—”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Oh, right, I forgot how much you hate it here at the palace.”

  “You do too.”

  “Did, Henry. I did hat
e it. But this is my home. These people are my family. They were here for me when—” She hesitated. “They’d be yours too if you’d let them.”

  “I don’t want anyone’s pity.”

  “That’s not what was on offer.” Ava’s lips formed a thin line. The comfortable rapport and easy banter they’d enjoyed for so many years had turned cold, uncertain.

  “Then what was it you were offering?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin to meet his eyes and didn’t say a word. What was she offering? Surely not the damaged thing beating in her chest. But if he asked for it, would she give it to him? No, she wasn’t that weak or foolish. She’d soon be marrying a nobleman and there’d be no thought of Henry or true love or other childish things.

  Then it came to her. “I’m offering you peace, understanding, support.”

  He softened ever so slightly. “Thank you. That’s probably more than I deserve.”

  She nodded. “Definitely.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Glad to know my words still sting.”

  They both smiled and the mood shifted.

  “What were you really doing in here?” he asked, gazing around at the dim space. Underneath a decade’s worth of dust were memories. Their memories.

  “I wasn’t lying or joking about what I said. But now I’m more interested in what brought you into our hideout.”

  “Answers.” His minty breath gusted past her as though whispering secrets.

  “What were the questions?” she asked.

  “Why I made the choices I did.”

  She tilted her head. “Oh, you should’ve simply asked me. I can answer. Because you’re selfish, thoughtless, oh, and a brat.”

  He lifted a finger as though to count all the reasons that wasn’t true, but then said, “A brat?”

  “For not visiting your father more often. For not even calling.”

  “Again, I deserve that.”

  “Since I’m not going to get the privacy I’d hoped for, I’ll leave you to it.” She turned to leave the way she came, fully expecting him to remain in the secret room. However, the light from his phone bobbed behind her as she tiptoed down the passage. She tried to ignore the sense that he was so close at her back and how it made her want to reach for his hand and feel his fingers close around hers.

  When they emerged into the hallway, she brushed off. In the full light of day, she couldn’t ignore how Henry had filled out with muscles in all the right places. He was tall, but no longer lanky. Tan, meaning he probably had been somewhere warm and sunny—maybe even one of the places they’d wanted to explore. Gone was the awkward boy. His posture was more confident, certain. Even as heat rose to her cheeks, her skin pebbled. Her stomach swooped with feelings for him she’d thought were long gone.

  “Your Majesty.” Henry’s voice was deeper, much deeper.

  Ava startled and turned around as the queen surveyed them both with a shrewd eye.

  Chapter 4

  Henry

  Henry had trained himself not to feel many emotions. Upon returning to the palace, he wasn’t expecting to feel like he was ten years old all over again. With Ava at his side and the queen somehow standing over them even though they were both taller, he felt about the size of a slug.

  Beatriz gave them the once over. “I was looking for you.”

  He and Ava both pointed at themselves.

  “Not you, Ava. We have tea every afternoon when you’re home.” She turned her gaze on Henry. He shrunk further. “As for you, I’m pleased to see you came.”

  “You sent for him?” Ava asked.

  The queen’s eyes hardened. “I’ve been sending for him for about ten years. Finally, he had the decency to reply to his queen.”

  Ava raised her eyebrow while at the same time catching her reflection in the edge of a polished picture frame. She brushed cobwebs from her hair. He quickly glanced away. Even in the presence of the queen, he couldn’t seem to keep his gaze from her.

  Since the moment they’d emerged from the passage, he’d fought the urge to study her, explore the ways in which she’d changed, grown up, and somehow become more beautiful. He feared she might unleash her fury and karate chop him or something. Although he could defend himself since he was specially trained in all forms of self-defense, he didn’t dare.

  The queen stood there regally as though awaiting his reply.

  “My apologies, your Majesty.” He clasped his hands behind his back.

  Beatriz turned on her heel and muttered, “I suppose it’s understandable, considering your line of work.”

  If Ava heard her, she didn’t say anything. He wondered how much the queen knew about his profession.

  They both silently followed the monarch down the hall. One of the many drawing rooms was set for tea. Granted, Henry had grown substantially since he was last there, the furnishings and décor seemed smaller yet still larger than life. He didn’t remember much of the flat he and his father shared before they’d moved to the palace—and those memories were mostly inspired by photographs. However, no matter how many royal estates, palaces, castles, and manors he’d been to, of which there’d been many, he would never cease to be in awe of the opulence and grandeur of Burklingham Palace. The marble, the gold, and the crystals along with the history and stories it all told were impressive.

  Henry’s gaze floated over to Ava who settled into a chair... and her beauty would never cease to amaze him. She’d grown into her features since they were teenagers, but the smattering of freckles hidden under makeup was visible to an observant eye. The softness of her lips was emphasized by her lipstick, and how very comfortable she was in her own skin had only grown more so.

  Growing up, Ava was a tomboy of sorts, unafraid to get muddy or break a sweat. She’d ride horses, play sports, and fence. As they got older, she’d wanted to add to the list but her duties as a princess forbade her to get in harm's way. Looking back, Henry reasoned the most danger she’d experienced was caused by him.

  After tea was served, silence settled over the three of them seated around the table as though they both waited for him to offer an explanation—though clearly, the queen knew what he’d been up to. Perhaps she wanted to see what he was going to say to Ava. Beatriz may have known about his employment, but it was unlikely she knew that he and Ava had already had two encounters and he’d only been in the palace for as many hours. He couldn’t rightfully tell the truth. Instead, he said, “Is Oliver here?”

  “You mean King Oliver.” Ava did not mask her contempt. What happened to her offer for amnesty, support?

  Heading off what was sure to become the queen refereeing one of Ava’s debates, she said, “I suppose you’ve been out of touch, Henry. You missed the prince’s marriage to Princess Penelope. It turns out she was your father’s baking apprentice, but she somehow slipped into the royal court.” She smirked.

  “I imagine your father would’ve been pleased to tell that story.” Ava’s eyes narrowed.

  Another dig. She wasn’t going to take it easy on him. Of course, he knew all about the recent royal nuptials.

  The queen explained how she mistook Penny for her niece, Penelope, but how she’d turned out to actually be of royal lineage, validating the marriage.

  “I think the whole affair was hilarious. Kudos to Penny for getting away with it.” Ava grinned.

  “Dear, she didn’t get away with anything.”

  Ava started laughing, almost hysterically. “But you see, it all worked out. No one was hurt, and I happen to like her. I think she’s good for my brother. If only all love stories could have such a happily ever after.”

  The queen gazed at Ava a beat.

  Henry looked away. She was likely referring to their runaway romance that never was. Well, the love was there, but not the runaway part. He lifted his teacup to his lips.

  “Speaking of marriage,” the queen started. “Ava is currently seeking a suitor.”

  Henry nearly choked on his tea. That he was not aware of.

/>   “Let’s be clear,” Ava said, still on the brink of laughter. “I’m not seeking a suitor. I’m being forced to get married.”

  The queen went on to explain Ava’s situation in plain terms.

  “I suppose it’s my royal duty.” Ava inhaled as though bolstering herself.

  “There’s nothing dutiful about love, dear,” the queen said.

  “I’m getting married. Not falling in love. There’s a difference.”

  “Be that as it may, you could open yourself to the possibility. We’ve been surveying potential matches and they’re all rather strapping.”

  Henry bristled at the idea of Ava being forced into marriage. She may have changed in some ways, but she’d always done things on her terms. From the sound of it, marriage, at least arranged by her brother and guardian, sounded like a prison sentence.

  The gears in Henry’s mind turned with ways he could get her out of it.

  He could fake her disappearance and she could live on some remote island in East Asia...

  Obtain a new identity and flee to the tropics...

  But she’d said the residents of the palace were her family. He couldn’t suggest she leave them. Not again.

  Their voices floated back to him as they continued talking. “Well, you must do something altruistic to—”

  “I’ve done plenty of charity work, donated time, resources—”

  “Let me finish. You must do something altruistic to prove you’re worthy of the title.”

  “Do you mean as punishment for my solo trips?”

  The queen shrugged vaguely. “Possibly.”

  “Ava, taking solo trips? Breaking rules? What a shock.” Henry feigned surprise. “Tell us more about your adventures.” He was genuinely interested but couldn’t help tease her a little.

  “Yes, Ava, do tell how you evaded palace security, royal guards, and protocols for your protection.” The queen threw a quick glance in Henry’s direction.