Sovalon Royals: The Complete Series Read online

  He hopped down and held out his hand for a shake.

  “You must be Jonathan Glasgow,” he said.

  “That I am,” the guy said and winked.

  “Thanks for meeting with me.” Marcus nodded at the hostess that he was ready for their table. She hurried over with menus, took their drink orders and led them away from the bar.

  As they followed her into the dining room, Marcus noticed that Jonathan Glasgow’s eyes were glued to the hostess’s ass. He turned to Marcus and raised his eyebrows in a smirk of appreciation.

  “Here you are, Your Highness.” The hostess, whose nametag read Brynne, smiled at him, seeming just a little starry-eyed. Marcus was used to women acting flustered around him. He smiled easily back, hoping she’d relax.

  “Thanks, babe,” Jonathan said to Brynne as she handed him a menu. Then Jonathan had the audacity to place a hand on her waist. “How about you get us each a scotch?” he asked.

  Brynne backed away from Jonathan’s touch, shocked but clearly trying to be respectful and professional. Marcus wanted to hide his face.

  “I’ll be right back with your scotch, sir,” she said but avoided his eyes. She walked away from the table, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  “She’s on fire, man,” Jonathan said casually as he stared at his menu. “Did you see those legs? They never end.”

  Marcus cleared his throat and was about to change the subject when the man spoke again.

  “Wouldn’t mind having her as an appetizer, you know?” Jonathan laughed at his own disgusting joke then looked seriously at Marcus. “Hey, do you have any pull here? Playboy Prince of Sovalon, right? I know you get tons of women,” he said. “You think you could get her to hang out with us later?”

  To Marcus’s total dismay, the evening continued in much the same manner. Every time Marcus tried to sway the conversation toward talk of the women’s shelter and investment, Jonathan found a way to bring it back to sex. He flirted relentlessly and totally inappropriately with their waitress, a shy girl who seemed to be at a loss as to how to respond to Jonathan’s come-ons.

  “So what time is your shift ‘til tonight, babe?” Jonathan asked her as she placed the check on the table. “We’re planning on doing some partying tonight if you want to join us.”

  Marcus had said nothing about partying when he’d made dinner plans with Glasgow.

  “Come on,” Jonathan said and licked his slimy lips. “We’ll show you a good time.”

  The shy waitress declined Jonathan’s offer but thanked them both, making Marcus feel like he was just as gross as Glasgow.

  Had he ever been that bad? The thought turned his stomach. He’d always been a flirt, but he wanted to believe that he’d been more aware of when a woman was uninterested—or worse yet, uncomfortable.

  As he signed his name on the bill, Jonathan tapped on the table.

  “So, where to next, Ashton?” he asked. “There’s a hot club up the street. Skin. I’m sure you know it. You’re a legend in these parts, right?”

  Marcus scoffed politely. “At one time, maybe, but not anymore,” he said. “I’m cleaning up my act.”

  “Aw, come on, man. Once a baller, always a baller. Let’s hit Skin and see if we can’t score some skin.” He laughed uproariously at his joke.

  Jonathan found himself awfully funny, but Marcus just found him awful. And yet, as much as he hated the thought of spending another second with this douchebag, he really needed to land this deal. The board was counting on him—especially Kyra.

  His phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Kyra.

  How’s it going? Did dinner go well? Do you think he’ll invest?

  Marcus felt the full weight of the women’s shelter project on his shoulders. The answer to Kyra’s question had to be yes, and it was up to him to make it happen. He had to prove it to his father and to himself that he had what it took to make this project a success. Like it or not, he had to show this guy the good time he wanted in order to convince him to give his money to the shelter.

  Everything went well. I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Tired.

  He knew his tone was brusque, but he also knew he needed to put his phone away and focus on the task at hand, no matter how unpleasant it seemed. He could talk to her later…if she still wanted to talk to him, once the inevitable pictures of him partying tonight got out to the media. If being the playboy prince was all he was good for, then just this once, he was going to direct it toward a good cause. And afterward, if Kyra decided she was through with him, so be it. It might even be for her own good.

  “Let’s light it up,” Jonathan said and looked to Marcus for a reaction.

  Marcus shot him a grin that was feigned. “Let’s do it,” he said, and led the way out of the restaurant and into the night.

  11

  The next morning Marcus’s head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds when he tried to lift it off the pillow. Light streamed into the window of his penthouse bedroom, jarring him from sleep. He glanced at the clock.

  Ten thirty.

  He’d partied hard last night. There were portions of time he couldn’t clearly remember, but he didn’t think he’d crossed any lines. He had drunk a lot, though, and his body was paying for it now.

  He forced himself to sit up, and the room spun around him.

  “Shit,” he muttered and reached for the bottle of aspirin he had in his nightstand drawer. With a swig of water, he swallowed a couple of capsules and hoped for the best. He pushed himself to his feet and, naked as the day he’d come into the world, ambled to the bathroom and turned on the water in the walk-in shower, wishing it could wash away the night. Everything about it, from Jonathan’s raunchy behavior to the seedy atmosphere at Skin, felt dirty and cheap. He used to love to party. He’d looked forward to it, even. But not last night. Where living it up used to feel like an escape, last night’s activities felt like prison. All he’d wanted was to go home and curl up with Kyra.

  After a twenty-minute stint in the shower, Marcus felt a little better. His head was still pounding, but at least he smelled clean and felt a little more awake. He went to the mirror and took stock of his reflection. Black circles lined his eyes, betraying the late night he’d had. He glanced at his phone and noticed a voicemail. It was from Jonathan Glasgow.

  “Hey, Marcus. Wild night last night, huh?” He laughed, and Marcus rolled his eyes at the sound. “Listen, I wanted to let you know that as far as our business is concerned, I’m ready to discuss details and move to the next step. Tell me where to sign, bro.” More annoying laughter, but Marcus was too happy with the contents of the message to get to hung up on the sender. “Call me back to discuss how to move forward.”

  Marcus pressed the end button and smiled.

  He’d done it. He’d secured the funds they needed. They could proceed with getting the estate in shape to be the site for the women’s shelter.

  This was a big deal, and it never would have happened if he’d ended the night at the restaurant.

  Suddenly his phone started blowing up with social media notifications. Messages from usernames he didn’t recognize. He opened Instagram and found himself staring at a picture that made him grimace.

  It was him, holding up a shot glass next to Jonathan in front of the bar at Skin. They were surrounded by booze and beautiful women. But the worst part was the picture next to it, the one of him and Kyra, kissing in front of the limo.

  The caption read—Playboy Prince Rides Again. #princemarcus #playboyprince #goodbyegeorgiahellogorgeous.

  Shit.

  He moved over to his computer and popped the lid up. In his email were at least a dozen messages with links to news articles. Every one of them boasted pictures of him like the one he’d seen on Instagram and worse. In some of them he was visibly wasted. In all of them, there were women all over him.

  Every article told the same story, claiming that he’d had enough of “playing nice” with Kyra and had dumped her to resume his bad boy
ways.

  This was a damn disaster. He’d expected the tabloids to splash his images all over the place—but it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d drag Kyra into it.

  Ashamed that he was still feeling the after effects of alcohol, he snatched his phone from the desk and texted his driver to pick him up ASAP. He didn’t want to take a chance on driving, but he had to get to Kyra before she saw these articles and pictures.

  The thought of her finding them first sobered him.

  Not enough to drive.

  But enough to make him fear how much he had to lose. Last night, making the decision to go out to the club, he’d thought to himself that it would be better for Kyra to see this side of him—to understand what she’d be risking by being with him, in case she wanted to walk away.

  Now, truly faced with the prospect of her leaving, he knew he’d do anything to keep that from happening.

  “Did you pack Pandy, Mama?”

  Kyra handed her niece her stuffed panda. “Here you go, sweetie.” She looked at Maggie, who was bustling around the hotel room, making sure she had everything. “All set?” she asked.

  “I think so,” Maggie said and met Kyra’s eyes.

  Things had been a bit tense between the two of them since their argument the day before. Kyra hated having drama between her and Maggie and wanted to make things right.

  “I want to say I’m sorry about coming down so hard on you yesterday,” she said. “It’s just—”

  “No,” Maggie interrupted, holding a hand up to stop Kyra’s apology. “You were right. I should never have gone off to Barcelona and saddled you with Ava when you were busy with work. It was thoughtless of me.”

  “You know I love having Ava around,” Kyra said. She didn’t want her sister to think that she ever felt saddled.

  “I know, but I’m her mother—it was my responsibility to make sure she was taken care of, and I shouldn’t have just assumed you’d handle it, no matter how short my trip was supposed to be.”

  Kyra shrugged then nodded.

  “Look, Kyra,” Maggie began, “I made a mistake—I acknowledge it and I apologize for it. But that’s all it was. A mistake. It’s not the sum total of who I am. Not anymore. I’m not perfect, but you have to start giving me some credit for the strides I’ve made. I’m not the same little girl who needs you to rescue her all the time. Work is going well. I’m focusing on what matters, putting Ava and my job first. I need you to realize that and not always judge me like I’m still an irresponsible teenager.”

  Kyra was a bit stunned. Maggie never stood up for herself in such a controlled and logical manner. When criticized or questioned, she always seemed to retreat or act like a victim. Acknowledging when she was at fault and apologizing really did make it seem like she’d matured. And maybe it had become too easy to see what Maggie was doing wrong and miss the stuff she was getting right. Maggie had been working at the same job for a long time. She’d gotten raises even. She never missed any of Ava’s school events if she could help it.

  Maybe Maggie had a point.

  “I’ll try to be less judgmental and more encouraging, Maggie. I’m sorry.” She folded her little sister into a heartfelt hug, and Maggie let her. “Will you be okay for a couple more weeks at home by yourself? You have help, right?” Kyra wasn’t totally sold on the idea of her baby sister being all grown up and able to take care of herself.

  Maggie raised her eyes. “I told you I’m good, sis. You have to trust me.”

  “Alright.” She glanced at the time. “You’d better get going. You have to be at the airport at least two hours early, right?”

  “I think closer to three, for an international flight,” Maggie said.

  Kyra patted Ava on the shoulder. “Okay, Ava. Time to go.”

  They took the elevator down to the lobby and called a car.

  Kyra hugged her sister goodbye and kissed Ava on both cheeks.

  “Bye, Auntie Kyra!” Ava waved to her from the window of the taxi, and Kyra had to squelch a sensation of worry at the idea of them being alone again. She reminded herself to try to trust Maggie. They’d be okay without her for a little while.

  She headed back into the lush lobby, where the air smelled like expensive perfume and the crystal chandelier probably cost more than her car. She enjoyed the luxury here, that was for sure. She wasn’t a woman who needed the finer things, but she certainly didn’t mind living like a princess for a hot minute.

  Back in her room, Kyra took a moment to catch her breath. She fell onto the bed and closed her eyes, relishing in the silence and the absence of clutter in her room. No tripping on crayons or tiny shoes. No cartoons playing on the television in the background.

  Not five minutes into her quiet time, there was a knock at the door. Kyra smirked to herself. Maggie, Miss Independent, must have forgotten something. She looked through the peephole, expecting to see her frantic sister, but it wasn’t Maggie. It was a middle-aged man, dressed in a pricey looking suit, with an entourage of what looked like assistants standing behind him. Kyra cocked her head, thinking something about the man looked oddly familiar. A moment later it hit her. He looked like an older version of Marcus.

  It must be his father.

  Why in hell was the King of Sovalon outside her hotel room door?

  She swung the door open. “Hello,” she said.

  Without smiling, he held his hand out for her to shake.

  “Hello, Miss Rogers, I’m Hanson Ashton, King of Sovalon.”

  “So nice to meet you,” she said and shook his hand. “Come on in.”

  “Thank you,” he said and followed her to the sitting area. She was extra glad that Ava’s crayons no longer littered the floor. At least the room was cleaned up.

  “Can I get you a beverage?” she asked, feeling just a bit uncomfortable seeing the two hulking men who stood behind the king with their arms crossed over their broad chests. She’d never had a tete-a-tete with anyone who required a bodyguard.

  Or two.

  “I’m fine, Kyra,” he said. “Is it all right if I call you Kyra?”

  “Absolutely,” she said and sat across from him. She was dying to know why King Hanson was here, paying a her a visit. Maybe something was wrong with Marcus? Her heart began to race.

  “So, how are you finding Sovalon?” the king asked.

  “It’s lovely,” she said. “Although I haven’t had much time for sightseeing. The women’s shelter project has kept me quite busy.”

  An odd look crossed the king’s face, as if he were mocking her silently.

  “And you enjoyed your stay at the estate in Havershire?”

  She nodded. “I think it’s the perfect location for the shelter. It’s just out-of-the way enough to feel like an oasis. Safe.”

  “Mm-hm,” he said.

  An uncomfortable silence enveloped them then, and Kyra could stand it no longer.

  “Your majesty.” She decided to just be straight with him. “Can I ask the purpose of your visit to my hotel?”

  “Yes, let’s get down to business, why don’t we?” He stared at Kyra’s face, his eyes squinted with what looked like suspicion. “Kyra, I know you’re pregnant with Marcus’s child.”

  Kyra swallowed, taken aback and speechless.

  “I’m not sure how much you know about Marcus, but he has had his share of media coverage.” He pursed his lips in seeming disapproval. “None of it has been positive.”

  “I have heard some—”

  “Well, I’d like to nip this story in the bud before it goes public,” he said. “What will it take to keep you from going to the media?”

  Kyra tilted her head, confused. What was he asking her? “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you’re asking. Does Marcus know you’re here?”

  The king scoffed at the mention of his son’s name. “Marcus is too immature to know how to handle such a sensitive situation. He knows how to create problems but not how to deal with them.”

  Listening to the king talk
about his son, Kyra understood why Marcus felt so dismissed by his family. How sad.

  “You and the child will be better off if you just return to the US and cease all contact with the prince,” he continued. “I’m more than happy to give you whatever financial compensation you need to ensure you and the baby never want for anything.”

  Kyra shrank back from him. “You want to pay me?” she asked. “To go away?” Was this really how Marcus’s family handled things like this? Scandals just brushed under the rug?

  Anger coursed through Kyra, and she stood from her chair and put her hands on her hips. The two bodyguards moved a step forward as if she were some kind of threat.

  Seriously?

  “With all due respect, King Hanson, what Marcus and I decide to do regarding this baby is between the two of us.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “You should really try giving your son a chance. He’s capable of more than you think. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Maybe you don’t know your son as well as you think.”

  The king gave off a sarcastic snort, and it enraged her.

  “Marcus isn’t some immature little boy anymore,” she tried again.

  “Oh no?” the king asked and rolled his eyes.

  “It’s true. He’s been working his tail off to get the location tied down for this women’s shelter,” she said. “Just last night he met with an investor.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware.” He smirked at her. “He had quite the night out with this investor.”

  Kyra eyed the king nervously. What was he talking about?

  “Oh, you mustn’t have seen the news today, my dear,” he said.

  “What news?”

  King Hanson tapped his chin and shot Kyra a look of feigned sympathy. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t truly know Marcus. I’d recommend looking at some online news.”

  A chill fell over her.

  The king stood from his chair. “I must get going. Think about my offer, Kyra.”

  He let himself out of the room, and his bodyguards followed. The minute the door clicked shut, Kyra raced to her computer and logged on.