Royals of Danovar: The Complete Series Read online

  How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn’t he just gone with her, torched those divorce papers the second she tried to hand them over—he knew she hadn’t wanted the separation either, not truly—and told her the truth? His home was with her. He didn’t feel like he belonged here anymore because she wasn’t here. He’d been fighting for the wrong thing all along, trying to support the Crown instead of his wife, and he had no idea how to make that up to her.

  He wondered what she was doing right now. How she was doing. Did she still have morning sickness? Was there someone around to take care of her? Who would help her take care of the baby when it was born, if she decided she didn’t want him in the child’s life? He tried to stop himself before he followed that thought too far, before he felt the phantom weight of his son or daughter in his arms, before he imagined what his and Penelope’s child might look like. Would it have her hair? His love of books?

  A librarian dropped a tome in front of him, saving him from his reverie before he broke down completely. “One of my friends at the royal library asked me to pass this along to you. Said they spent weeks searching for it after you requested it,” the woman said. “Apparently someone mis-shelved it.” She sounded scandalized.

  He opened it half-heartedly. The book was from an old request he’d made, back when he’d been researching Pen’s legitimacy for the throne after they’d first met. At the time he’d hoped to add it to his stash to take back to Danovar and study before the wedding, but he had no use for it now. Still, he didn’t want to offend the librarian and he always did have a compulsive need to see a project all the way through, so he thanked her and flipped through it. What had he needed this book for? Right: more research on The Advancing of Dynastes Law of 1645. He flipped to the right chapter, not even stopping to savor the smell of old books the way he used to, and squinted at the page.

  Then he blinked and re-read the passage. The offspring of an unfit heir shall not be part of the succession while other heirs remain able and willing to take the throne. He jumped to his feet, strode to the archaic law section of the library, and pulled two more books off the shelf with his heart pounding in his chest. Half an hour’s research confirmed that the law had never been amended, and that the type of complete abdication Nathaniel had performed had, in the eyes of that law, put him squarely in the “unfit” category.

  Which meant his son, whether or not he’d been born before the abdication, couldn’t inherit if Penelope still wanted the throne.

  Simon jumped to his feet and scooped up the books, elated—then stopped.

  What if Pen didn’t want the throne anymore? What if she didn’t want him? Or what if she thought she had to take both or neither?

  He had to approach this carefully. He wanted nothing more than to be with Pen again, but he wanted her to be with him because she wanted to be, not because of any perceived ulterior motive. Their first marriage had been necessitated by the laws of Escona and the needs of her nation. If they were to have any shot at being together again, it had to be their choice. Her choice. If she wanted him and not the throne, he would be completely fine with that, because his home was with her. If she wanted the throne but not him… he would need to find a way to be okay with that too.

  Swallowing hard, he gathered up his things and went to find the woman he loved.

  19

  Penelope stared at the miniature rocking horse on her desk, feeling as wooden and lifeless as the toy. She’d been off her game ever since she came back to her old store. Her creative well had run dry; no matter how many new designs she tried to draw up, they all felt joyless and pointless, and they’d all ended up in the trash. Even working the front and seeing the happy kids with their new toys couldn’t cheer her up. She wanted to blame the hormones—the first trimester was no joke—but she knew that was only a tiny part of it. The biggest reason she’d been so listless was sitting halfway across the city in one dusty library or another, carrying on his life as if she’d never been a part of it.

  She put a hand on her belly, trying to hold back the tears. She’d made such a mistake when she’d let Simon into her life, into her bed. Now every time she looked at their child she’d see him. She couldn’t bring herself to regret it, though. She missed him with a ferocious sort of grieving anger, but she still wouldn’t give up their time together for anything.

  “Miss Penelope Alcott?” came a voice. She jumped and looked up. A bicycle messenger stood in front of her, holding out a manila envelope. “Delivery for you,” he said. “Need you to sign.”

  She scribbled her name across the clipboard he provided, frowning at the envelope when he handed it to her. The return address was the Castle’s law office.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Was she being recalled? Had the toddler abdicated somehow? For just a second, she let herself imagine it: the life she’d been meant for. She saw herself on the throne, passing legislation and making policy changes that would benefit all the children of her country. She saw herself confident in her abilities. She saw Simon at her side, smiling at her, supporting her.

  And that was where the daydream crashed to Earth. Because he wasn’t at her side, would never be again. The paper in her hands wasn’t to remake her as Queen. That life was over. When would she get that through her head?

  She tore the envelope open with harsh motions. It was a summons, an order to appear at the law office for a deposition—to answer questions.

  She frowned. Had she forgotten to sign something before she left? The summons was for this afternoon, which implied something urgent. She crammed the paper back in the envelope, gathered her bag, and told her staff she’d be back tomorrow.

  Penelope arrived at the law office five minutes early and more than a little peeved. She’d had to race traffic to get there on time, especially after having to stop for two puking breaks. Whoever had come up with the term morning sickness had either been delusional or a man, because that shit happened all day every day. Or at least that had been her experience over the last week.

  “Excuse me?” she called to the empty front office. “I was ‘summoned’?” She used air quotes even though no one could see her, hoping her tone would convey her irritation.

  The door to one of the back offices opened—and Simon strode out.

  She gaped at him. The sight knocked the breath out of her: perfectly-tailored Clark Kent suit, adorkable reading glasses, an expression that was half uncertain and half determined. He was sporting a day or two’s worth of stubble and his hair was half an inch longer than he usually let it go between trims. She wanted to run her hands through it. She immediately hated herself for the thought, and wrapped her arms around her ribs just to make sure she wouldn’t reach for him the way she was aching to do.

  “You summoned me?” she asked, once she was sure the words would come out icy and not wobbly.

  “Penelope,” he said, as if he were helpless to say anything else. That tone, those eyes, that look on his face—it made her want to tuck herself into his chest, and she couldn’t take it. She turned around and strode toward the door. “Wait!” he called after her. “Please. Just give me five minutes. I found something.”

  She stopped but didn’t turn around. “What did you find,” she asked, her voice flat.

  He moved a little closer. “A way to reinstate you. If that’s what you want.”

  Hope flared in her chest, bright and painful. “What?”

  “I found an old law. From the seventeenth century, but it’s never been amended, it’s still in effect. It says you inherit before the boy—he can only inherit if you’re not willing and able to be Queen. And Penelope, you have to know, you are much more than able.” He took a breath. “Are you willing?”

  She stared at the door, unable to say anything. There was a catch. There had to be. “What about you?” she asked at last. The question hung in the air and she wanted to take it back. She didn’t want him to answer, didn’t want to hear what he had to say. If he rejected her again, she wouldn’t be able to ta
ke it. If he wanted her back, she wouldn’t be able to say no, and she had to say no, because he would only want her as a queen and not as his wife.

  “I don’t have to be in the picture unless you want me to be,” he said at last. “I’ll disappear if that’s what you really want. But… if you can give me a chance to earn your forgiveness, to earn back a place in your heart, I want to ask you to be my wife. Again.”

  She turned.

  He hurried on before she could speak. “I wouldn’t be King. I found another old law, a way around the statutes. We could get married and ensure a strong relationship between Escona and Danovar without ever actually making me part of your reign—I’d have no official title, no official role in ruling.”

  Speechless, she shook her head. He would give up all of that, everything he wanted? For what? “What would you have?” she asked, trying to figure out his angle. He had to have one. She couldn’t let herself believe otherwise. It was too dangerous.

  “You.” His eyes met hers, igniting a line of pure electricity between them. “I want you back,” he said softly, “because you are my home, Penelope. I don’t need a title, or my own land, or a castle. I just need you.”

  Tears brimmed in her eyes. So this was his angle. He wanted her back, because he loved her, and he was willing to give up everything else he thought he’d wanted for his entire life to get her.

  It was a pretty damn good angle.

  Unable to hold herself back any longer, she threw herself at him, and he dropped the folder on the ground without a second thought to gather her up in his arms and hold her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry I was such an ass.”

  “I’ll forgive you.” She sniffled. “Eventually.”

  His chest shook as he laughed. “Fair enough.”

  She hesitated. “Are you sure you’re willing to give up being King? Maybe we could… I don’t know, find a way to—”

  “No,” he said, firmly but gently. “This is what I want. I’ll have my life of purpose, it’ll just be more flexible than I’d pictured. I’ll be able to support you in whatever role you need me to fill. I’ve never cared about the glory. I don’t mind being behind the scenes. It’s you everyone should be looking at anyway.”

  She beamed up at him. Then, unable to deny herself any longer, she slid a hand down his shirt and fiddled with the first button. “What if I want to look at you?”

  His grin smoldered, igniting something low in her stomach with a fiery need. “That could be arranged.”

  She pushed him back, toward his office. He leaned around her to look at the folder on the floor. “Wait, the papers, we need to get them signed and sent off—” he protested.

  “How much time do we have?”

  “A few hours.”

  She grabbed his tie and smiled. “All the time in the world, my love.”

  Epilogue

  This time when Simon built the treehouse, he left his rings in his wife’s care.

  She glanced up at him from her spot on the lawn as she watched. “Remember to put the ladder in the middle!” she called.

  He mock-glared at her and she smiled sweetly back. She was practically glowing these days, so close to her due date. He was glad he’d been able to convince her to sit out here and watch him build for a bit. Pen always liked to be at work—if he didn’t keep an eye on her, she’d probably try to climb up after him at any moment, hammer in hand—and had had a tough time taking it easy as the birth of their baby drew near. One thing that had helped her was sending Simon out as her personal ambassador in her stead more frequently, a duty he was happy to undertake, especially when his legal knowledge might come in handy.

  He positioned the ladder just right and then pounded the nails in to secure it. This treehouse was a miniaturized copy of their original prototype, low to the ground and customized for toddlers. He planned to install a slide later, too. Maybe a wading pool at the bottom. Their daughter was going to have a blast with this thing. Maybe someday, he’d have a ring made for her out of one of the nails he was pounding in right now. He smiled at the thought.

  A flash of motion caught his eye and he glanced up. Pen was waddling toward him, and one of the guards who were always hovering nearby darted in to try to gently convince her to sit back down. Simon smirked. He was glad he wasn’t King—if he was, they likely wouldn’t let him build this treehouse with his own hands, or at least, they’d send up a team of structural engineers to evaluate his every move. He’d have to start planning now how to sneak their little Princess out of the castle for midnight playtimes up here once she was old enough, if he wanted to avoid all the hubbub involved whenever the castle staff thought a member of the royal family might get a splinter.

  “Your Majesty, perhaps a cool lemonade,” tried the guard, whose eye had started to twitch by this point, as Penelope was ignoring him completely. The Queen made a shooing motion, and the guard retreated with a fixed smile.

  Simon greeted his wife with a kiss. “How are you doing?”

  She winced and slung an arm beneath her belly. “I am so sick of the penguin waddle,” she admitted.

  “No one makes the penguin waddle look as good as you, babe.”

  She snorted. “Good, because you’re about to have to help me waddle all the way to the driveway. I am not getting in a wheelchair, I don’t care what my royal babysitters think.”

  He set the hammer down and gallantly extended an arm. “Where are we going? Did I forget a meeting?” He couldn’t remember having anything scheduled for today.

  “Nope. We’re going to the hospital. Your daughter is making her debut today,” Penelope said serenely.

  He gawked at her. “You’re—it’s—we’re going to…”

  She laughed, then winced again. “Yes. Baby time.”

  He pumped a fist in the air. “Baby time!” he shouted—which, of course, had every guard in a hundred-yard radius scrambling to the Queen’s side. With judicious use of his elbows and heels—followed by polite apologies, of course—Simon made a niche for himself at his wife’s side as she was led toward the driveway.

  By this time tomorrow, his little family—his home—would grow. It was time to start a whole new chapter of his life, and he couldn’t wait to see what new wonders it would hold.

  End of Royal Order

  Royals Of Danovar Book Three

  PS: Do you love handsome billionaires? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from Greek Billionaire’s Blackmailed Bride .

  Thank you!

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  About Leslie

  Leslie North is the USA Today Bestselling pen name for a critically-acclaimed author of women's contemporary romance and fiction. The anonymity gives her the perfect opportunity to paint with her full artistic palette, especially in the romance and erotic fantasy genres.

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  BLURB

  Greek banking heir Antonio Rosso is shocked when his late father leaves the beloved family villa to the one woman he never wanted to see again: Claire Bennett. After a hot and heavy fling, things ended abruptly when she was accused of being a gold digger. But now, to hang on to the home that meant so much to his mother, Antonio will not only have to get back into the beautiful American’s good graces, he’ll have to convince her to marry him. When a job brings her back to Greece, voiceover artist Claire should have guessed Antonio was behind it. With his entitled upbringing, she knows he’s learned to use his money to get his way. After the way she was treated though, she wants
absolutely nothing to do with him. He may be even more sinfully handsome than she remembered, but if he thinks she’ll agree to a sham marriage, he has another thing coming. Claire is determined to prove she can’t be bought or sold, and Antonio needs nothing more than a temporary arrangement. But when their spark reignites, can they ever get past the ugly history between them?

  Grab your copy of Greek Billionaire’s Blackmailed Bride (The Rosso Family Book One)

  from www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Adeline Peluso tapped her stiletto heel nervously on the rust colored terracotta tile floor as she traced her perfectly manicured fingernail over her plump bottom lip. Blinking, she contemplated the choice before her. She could stay in Sicily or let go of her dreams and move on.

  “Poo,” she said, frowning at her laptop where it lay open atop an ancient walnut desk that was large enough and heavy enough to double as a raft on choppy seas. Between her eyes was a small, pinched crease of consternation that had plagued her with compliments of “adorable” and “sweet” ever since she’d been a young girl. Now at twenty-nine it was no less cute, but in truth, she was actually quite frustrated.

  The beauty of her surroundings, which normally worked wonders to lighten her mood, did nothing for her today. From outside the tall, open windows of her real estate office, the calming sound of waves lapping against the Sicilian shore reached her ears. But instead of making her thankful for the life she lived as it usually did, it made her wistful for the adventures she was missing by remaining on the island of Sicily.