Royal Love
Table of Contents
Title page
Praise for Cristiane Serruya
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
A Note from The Author
Royal Affair
Also by Cristiane Serruya
About Cristiane Serruya
Royal Love
a Last Royals Series standalone romance
Cristiane Serruya
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogues, and incidents involving them are drawn from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book contains an excerpt of Royal Affair, The Last Royals Series #2, by Cristiane Serruya. © 2018 Cristiane Serruya.
ISBN-13: 978-1977916761
ISBN-10: 1977916767
Copyright © 2018 Cristiane Serruya
Cover by Combs © 2018 Cristiane Serruya
Contents
Title page
Praise for Cristiane Serruya
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
43. A Note from The Author
44. Royal Affair
45. Also by Cristiane Serruya
46. About Cristiane Serruya
A king that needs a bride. A young woman struggling on her own. And a chance meeting that could provide the heir to the throne…
Angus Augustus Braxton-Lenox is the king of a small European kingdom. He lives a charmed life as a royal, but it’s devoid of love and romance. While his mother is obsessed with finding him another wife to continue the regal bloodline, Angus would be content with mere happiness.
Siobhan Faulkner was abandoned by her family and grew up as an orphan. Far from having a silver spoon in her mouth, she works as a waitress by day and dreams of owning her jewelry store at night.
One hot, erotic night, forbidden lust blossoms between Angus and Siobhan. The stunning woman soon finds herself pregnant and in a pivotal role for the future of the kingdom.
But the couple has more to worry about than romance and marred bloodlines. The king’s mother is determined to prevent his son from marrying a commoner. And an enemy of the crown is bent on having her revenge…
Praise for Cristiane Serruya
“It was like reading Jane Austen or William Shakespeare but in modern English.” ~ M. Richardson
“Cristiane Serruya is exceptionally good at what she does.” ~ Dks
“…[Cristiane’s] story line: It gradually enfolds, gently enthralling the reader and touching heartstrings, captivating we romantics. Read and you will find another Nora Roberts in her heydays.” ~ Jonhaboutime
“Cristiane Serruya is a master of characterization. The depth of her characters is incredible. The intensity of the relationships will have the reader eagerly turning the pages.” ~ Readers’ Favorite
“…truly Danielle Steele Meets Fifty Shades, except the heroine is not as naive. Strong characters, mystery barely hinted at, and international intrigue. Keeps the reader riveted and hardly able to put the book down.” ~ Pat Harmon
“Serruya took me on an emotional roller coaster, with heartbreaking and heart-aching scenes...a story that flowed beautifully.” ~ Di
“Nora Roberts meets 50 Shades of Grey” ~ Paula Penteado
“…absolutely stunningly beautiful and emotional sexy romantic story by a wonderful writer with a terrific command of our language.” ~ Charles Smith
“Just when you think you know what is going to happen next, a twist so crazy that you could have never imagined it is thrown your way.” ~ For the Luv of Sanity
“…you can expect the unexpected.” ~ Musings from an Addicted Reader
Acknowledgments
Writing can be a lonely business so I am grateful for the most loyal and dedicated partners I have found in this path I am wandering, and here I thank them.
Edward M Wolfe, my amazing editor, who is always available; who chats, laughs, and cheers me; who explains all my doubts and answers asap all my emails, no matter if he has already eaten or not; during day, night, and weekends. You have a VERY special place in my heart.
Frankie Blooding and Nicole for catching the infamous typos! You rock, girls!
Renata Fontanive and Lívia Forte, my faithful squires! Erm, I mean, my cover designer and my marketing assistant; for putting up with me as I harass you—and you don’t answer—even on Sundays.
My biggest thanks go to the hearts of my heart: my broad, six-foot-six, stubborn, loving husband, Raphael, and my dear daughters, Raphaela and Giovanna, who do hate when I say I have a new idea for a book but are patient with me when I am immersed and lost in my characters’ lives. I promise to pamper you all in double…until a new idea hits me.
1
Europe
In a small kingdom called Lektenstaten
Lekten, Lenox Palace
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
8:00 a.m.
Angus Augustus Braxton-Lenox, the seventeenth King of Lektenstaten, was already awake and showered when his valet knocked and entered the bedroom, carrying his pressed attire for the day.
“Good morning, Your Majesty. It’s a lovely day.” François laid the suit on the bed and held out the pristine shirt for Angus.
Angus merely grunted at his valet’s cheerful greeti
ng, rather than answering him with a proper greeting; his foul mood getting in the way of such pleasantries.
It was a lovely day, but Angus doubted it would be the slightest bit different than any other day in recent months: without any loveliness.
At least, in his opinion.
He would go to his estate offices in the palace, mull over the kingdom’s problems and solve them. After a lonely and swift lunch, he would go to Lekten Royal Bank offices and earn a few millions for himself and his clients.
As he always did.
He was bored and he scorned the feeling, well aware he was blessed with health, wealth, and success.
Immaculately dressed, Angus finally descended the magnificent staircase of the family palace with all the cool assurance and dignity of his forebears. He walked down the hall between the walls adorned with portraits of his predecessors—the extremely proud Lektenstaten royalty—ranging from the first King, who’d been a famous general, to his own father, a distinguished banker who’d died of old age when Angus was not yet six years old.
“Your Majesty.”
Angus nodded at his butler, Kerr Carlsten, two maids, and two footmen at the foot of the stairs.
Every morning he was greeted with much the same pomp and ceremony the first King would have enjoyed centuries before.
He entered the breakfast parlor where, as usual, the daily newspapers—including the leading financial publications—awaited him.
There was no need for him to ask for anything.
His every want and desire were carefully foreseen by a devoted staff that had been specially trained for decades. From the fresh monogrammed towels laid out daily in the bathroom for his shower, to the tailor-made business suit with a recently pressed monogrammed Egyptian cotton shirt. All the way to his favorite foods being served in the total peace that reigned while he ate—his preference for silence at breakfast was well known—everything ran smoothly.
It all bored him to death.
A phone was brought to him by his silent butler, who bowed and quiet announced, “The Dowager Princess.”
With a resigned sigh, he picked it up from the silver tray. “Good morning, Mother.”
He frowned when Catriona Cristina Braxton-Lenox, his fifty-five-year-old mother, asked if it suited him to have lunch with her at the Lektenstaten Embassy in London today.
No, it doesn’t suit me. He rolled his eyes at the absurd request. As if he would reschedule business appointments at the bank; or cancel his appearance at Parliament to fly down to London and have an impromptu lunch with his mother, of all people. “I’m sorry, Mother, I can’t.”
As he half-listened to his mother rambling about her social meetings and stuffy, royal English friends, he reviewed his agenda for the day: the same boring meetings, with the same clients, whose fortunes his family had handled for generations. Then he would stop at Parliament for the opening ceremony and his discourse, and he would visit his late wife’s grave. He was indeed flying to London, later, to attend a wedding of a far-removed cousin and prominent Lektenstaten businessman—probably another monotonous wedding, with the same tiresome people, and the same dull menu.
Uneasily aware he spent little to no time with his mother, when she asked him to stop by to have drinks before his appointment in the evening, Angus gave his reluctant assent, “I’ll be there, Mother.”
He ended the phone call, wishing he could throw it on the wall, but his manners wouldn’t allow it, so instead he just pressed the off button and laid it on the table. What I need is a new challenge.
Strikingly intelligent, and gifted in the field of asset management, Angus had been marked early as a genius at analyzing the emergent-world money market. Juggling complex figures in politically conflicted countries gave him considerable pleasure and satisfaction. As one of the financial world’s successful investment bankers, his expertise was in great demand. And, since Lektenstaten was a small country, he balanced the two things amazingly well.
Numbers, unlike people, are easy to understand and deal with. He sipped his coffee and his eyes landed on the wall at the other end of the room where a full-length portrait of his late wife and childhood friend, Innes von Furstenberg, was on the wall.
He wondered if anyone else in the family even remembered that the anniversary of Innes’s death was today.
Sentimentality was not one of Angus’s failings, and love had not been an asset in their marriage. But he had cheered Innes as a loyal friend—something he valued on top of everything else—and they enjoyed a peaceful coexistence with good chemistry in the bedroom. Her tragic passing a year earlier—a broken neck from a horse fall—had left a gaping hole in the settled fabric of his life which was slowly closing again.
Angus folded his napkin and placed it over the table, contemplating the perfect creases, before he stood and walked to the door, which was already being opened by a footman.
In the hall, he stopped and looked around.
“Kerr, please inform MacMillan I will leave earlier to London. Four o’clock instead of six.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Yes, I definitely need a new challenge.
England, London, Beckton
Jaxon Talbot’s house
11:00 a.m.
“Happy birthday.” Jaxon Talbot pulled away the sheet covering her car and stood back from it. “What do you think?”
Wide-eyed, Siobhan Faulkner studied her 1973 Beetle. Jaxon, her best friend and foster brother, had had it repaired and repainted in a deep lavender color. She walked around the vehicle, stunned by a transformation that had caused all the rust, dents, and scratches to disappear. “It’s amazing! You’ve worked a miracle.”
“I knew that fixing your car was the best present I could give you,” he admitted with a smile.
Siobhan flung her arms around him in an exuberant hug, and he returned it, engulfing her in his arms. A stocky, blond man of six-feet, Jaxon was easily seven inches taller than her. When she stepped back, she gushed, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Jaxon shrugged. “It was no big deal, honey.”
“To me, it is.”
“Okay. But there’s a smaller deal inside.”
She opened the car’s door and bent inside to retrieve a box which was on the passenger seat.
Through its transparent cover, she could see it was a cake and written in icing, it read: Happy Birthday, Chevonne.
He saw her quizzical look and explained, “I called it in over the phone and when I went to pick it up and saw the English spelling, it was too late to change it. Sorry about that.”
“No biggie. I’m sure I’ll still enjoy every bite,” she smiled, and took a step back to appreciate the complete transformation of what had been her beat up old Volkswagen.
Siobhan knew the full value of his generosity and it touched her heart he had sacrificed so much of his free time—and his money, even though he was no pauper—to fix up her car.
But then, Jaxon knew she needed the vehicle to get around the craft shops and fairs where she sold her hand-crafted necklaces and bracelets on weekends. It was her dream to craft exclusive jewels and one day have a small shop of her own.
Success, however, had so far eluded Siobhan. But it was her stubbornness, more than the lack of talent. When she finished Birmingham School of Jewelry, she’d had her share of job placement opportunities, but none had appealed to her highly creative streak. So, she went back to her foster parents’ house and worked every hour she could for a catering company, saving every penny, with high hopes of a better future. She struggled to pay her bills and be independent since she was still a server, and had yet to have her talent recognized.
“I wish we could go out and celebrate” Jaxon said.
“I wish too, but you know I can’t. I begged for an extra shift, so I can’t very well say I changed my mind. Besides, I think they let me have the extra hours sort of as a birthday gift.”
“I know. Don’t forget I’m staying over at Aunt Moira’s,�
� Jaxon reminded her.
At the mention of her foster aunt, who had Alzheimer’s, Siobhan stopped admiring her car and looked up. “How is she?”
“About as well as can be expected. It’s not like she’s going to get any better.” Jaxon kissed her cheek. “I’ll bring your cake inside and wait for you to come home before I steal a slice. Now go, or you’ll be late, honey. And find yourself a nice, rich, single young man tonight, huh?”
Siobhan laughed and shook her head at him.
Her mother’s volatile relationships with a long line of men who had treated both of them badly had left their mark on Siobhan even at a young age. She had known even then she wanted something different for herself, something more than casual sex with men who didn’t want to commit, contribute to the home, or play any real part in a child’s upbringing. And she didn’t want to be hurt, either. With the exception of Jaxon, the sort of men Siobhan had met in the years that took her to adulthood had merely increased her wariness and distrust of the opposite sex.
When her mother died, her grandmother had put her up for adoption. The nine-year-old Siobhan had never quite recovered from the simple fact her own flesh and blood had handed her over to social services simply because she was illegitimate and, even worse, she was the embarrassing proof of her mother’s affair with a married man.