Royal Heir (Westerly Billionaire Series Book 3) Read online

  For just a few hours she’d felt young, sexy, and confident. Gone was the daughter who had failed to protect her mother. She wasn’t the smothering, overopinionated sister Nicolette accused her of being.

  Every moment with Magnus had been one when she wasn’t the misguided woman who had traveled halfway across the world to stay in the house of a brother who wouldn’t even return her texts.

  I traded that feeling for my chance to show Eric how family makes everything better.

  God, I really am arrogant.

  For all I know, Eric is perfectly happy without us. He couldn’t be more clear about not wanting me in his life. Maybe what I should really do is go home and figure myself out instead of thinking I need to fix other people.

  “Would you like the cook to make you anything before you retire?” Reggie asked, appearing from seemingly nowhere.

  Rachelle muffled her scream with a hand. “Sorry, I thought I was alone.”

  “Never. Mr. Westerly asked me to look after you. I’m always around, even if you don’t see me.”

  Who is Reggie to Eric? “I shouldn’t have gone to the premiere, Reggie. I embarrassed him. Could you arrange for a car to take me to the airport tomorrow? I think it’s time for me to go home.”

  “Wow, you give up easily.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Reggie shrugged. “Earlier you went on and on about how much your family matters to you. You get ditched on television by a prince, and you’re running back to your mommy and daddy. I hope my children have more spine than that.”

  Rachelle waved her hand in the air in clarification. “I did not get ditched by a prince. I walked away from him. And, hang on, you have children?”

  In response, Reggie took out his phone and turned it so she could see a GIF on his social media feed. It was of her and Magnus at her car. It looked as if she’d spoken to him, but he turned away from her. She took the phone and played it again. The caption read: “Be a prince, say no to American trash.”

  “That didn’t even happen.”

  “So that’s not you?”

  “That’s me.” She played the video back. “But it’s playing backward. Magnus followed me to the car, and I left him standing there.”

  “It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. What time would you like the car?” He reached for his phone.

  Rachelle clung to it and played the video clip again. “It’s so vicious. Who would do this?” She remembered Magnus saying he would use her to get to her brother. Was this what he meant? Did he think that by hurting her he could hurt Eric? If so, the joke is on him. My brother would have to care about me to care about this.

  “Let me see it again.” Reggie snatched his phone. “You’re right, it’s playing backward. Can’t believe I didn’t realize it. It was probably because of the snappy caption.”

  “You mean cruel.”

  Reggie repocketed his phone. “You left a prince standing on a curb. Not bad for your first premiere.”

  Rachelle laughed, because if she didn’t she would cry. “How many children do you have?”

  “Two.”

  “You’re married?”

  “Are you flirting with me now?” Before Rachelle had time to answer, Reggie started laughing. “Don’t get your panties all in a tangle. I’m happily married. But you need to relax. Unlike our apocalyptic American media implies, not every day is the end of the world.”

  Reggie certainly wasn’t shy when it came to sharing his opinions. What was his real role in the household? Not that it’s my business. My brother won’t even answer my texts. That’s a pretty clear message. “I’d welcome an apocalypse tonight. I’m going to bed.”

  “You want to know what I’ve learned from the English?”

  Rachelle sighed. “Why not?”

  “Don’t run. Go out in public tomorrow as if nothing happened. Your brother is attacked in the media on a regular basis. What they don’t know they make up. You’ll lose yourself if you start to care what social media says about you.”

  Now I feel bad about calling him Lurch in my head earlier. “Thanks, Reggie. That’s actually good advice.”

  “You don’t need to sound shocked. I’m a lot smarter than I look.” Rachelle opened her mouth to say something, but Reggie continued, “There’s no good response to that.”

  Rachelle laughed because he was right. “Good night, Reggie. Thanks.”

  “So, no car tomorrow?”

  “No, you’re right. I’ve never been one to run away. I can’t leave before I talk to Eric one more time. I’ll tell him I love him, and then I’ll go home. If he doesn’t want a relationship with me, I’ll respect his decision.”

  “You’re not the complete whack job I thought you were when you first arrived.”

  Rachelle laughed again and started up the stairs. “See you tomorrow, Reggie.”

  “Keep him there. I’m on my way,” Magnus barked into his cell phone before repeating the address to his driver. Magnus dropped his phone back into the pocket of his jacket and flexed his shoulders. Whatever Westerly was doing in a poorer section of London was about to come to an abrupt end, just as Magnus’s good mood had.

  The sadness in Rachelle’s eyes when she’d realized her brother had left without her haunted Magnus. He considered regret a waste of time, but he didn’t like that he’d contributed to how badly her night had ended. He understood the practice of serving someone’s head up on a platter, because he would gladly have done so with Westerly’s if he thought it would bring comfort to Rachelle.

  Instead, he’d settle for the bastard apologizing to her. Magnus didn’t doubt for a second that Westerly would be willing to by the time he was finished with him.

  His car pulled over to the side of the road in front of a run-down building. Magnus double-checked the address against the one he’d been given, half convinced there must be a mistake. Then he saw one of his most trusted men leaning against a tree nearby. He straightened as Magnus exited the car. “What’s he doing here?”

  Phillip shrugged. “We followed him, as you asked. He stopped once to change cars, then came here. And there’s one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “His nose was bigger when he got out of the car. At first I thought I imagined it, but I think he wears a disguise.”

  Magnus looked up at the apartment building. “Interesting.”

  “Do you want backup, Magnus?” He spoke with the familiarity of someone who knew that Magnus didn’t care about titles when in private.

  “No. I’m good. Is he alone?”

  “It’s impossible to say.”

  Magnus nodded and took the steps of the building two at a time before ringing the doorbell. He knocked loudly, knocked again, then tested if it was locked. It was. Shaking his head, he stepped back, assessed the old door for a weak point, and kicked to the left of the doorknob. It crashed open.

  When the sound brought no one to meet him, Magnus entered slowly, scanning each room he passed. The living room was furnished, if cheaply, and it smelled musty. The bedroom next to it was empty. He opened the door to the next room, and his lip curled in response to what he saw. Fully clothed and sprawled across a bed lay Westerly. The needle he’d used to inject himself rested at his side.

  “Fuck.”

  You can’t break a man who’s already broken.

  Chapter Six

  Back in the United States.

  At nearly eighty-two, Delinda Westerly was forced to accept pain, in some fashion or another, as a constant companion. The clock running down on her life made every moment matter; there was so much she didn’t want to leave undone. It also freed her from worrying what people thought of her—not that she’d ever valued the opinion of many. Born into wealth and tested through tragedy, Delinda knew she’d have some explaining to do at the pearly gates, but if she were given her life to do over, she wouldn’t do much differently.

  The door of her solarium flew open, and Hailey Tiverton, her grandson’s fiancée,
rushed into the room. “I came as soon as I saw your text. What’s wrong?”

  Looking worried, Alessandro Andrade, a man Delinda loved like a son, strode in. His mother, a woman who had been one of Delinda’s dear friends, would be proud of the patriarch he’d become. “Did you call the doctor? Is he on his way?”

  Hailey sank to her knees beside Delinda’s chair, searching her face. “Where’s Michael?” She laid a hand on Delinda’s forehead to check for a fever.

  Delinda smacked her hand away. “Michael is making travel arrangements for me. I don’t need a doctor.”

  Hailey took out her phone. “I don’t understand. You asked me to come over because you were sick and almost dead.”

  “What?” Delinda squinted at Hailey’s phone screen. She reached for her glasses and made a face at what appeared to be a text from her that said exactly that.

  Alessandro sat in a chair next to Delinda. “I received the same message.”

  “Because I included both of you in one of those group-message things. Spencer assured me that texting was better than calling, but I don’t see how, when my phone takes literary license with what I enunciate into it.” She pushed the phone away. “I said, ‘I’m sickened by what I just read.’”

  Hailey rose to her feet and laid a hand over her heart. “I tried to call you back, and when you didn’t answer, I almost called 911. If we didn’t live so close, I would have.”

  “I was on my way over or I would have done the same,” Alessandro said, shaking his head. “You aged me today, Delinda.”

  Delinda pursed her lips briefly. Apologies had never come easily to her, but these were two of her friends as well as her family. “It’s a new phone, and it kept beeping and binging to the point that I silenced it. They call it a smartphone, but it announces everything like some bumbling idiot.” She sighed. “I didn’t mean to worry either of you.”

  “It’s fine,” Hailey said. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “My health may not be in immediate decline, but I am far from okay.” She reached for her tablet and woke it with a tap. “I knew Rachelle shouldn’t have gone off to London without me. Look at what they’re saying about her.”

  “Come now, it can’t be all that bad,” Alessandro said in a tone he often used when he thought Delinda was working herself up over nothing. He might be nearly sixty, but she still saw the precocious and carefree boy he’d once been. Delinda handed him the tablet and showed him a video clip of Prince Magnus walking away from Rachelle, followed by a slew of nasty comments.

  Hailey gasped. “Oh, that is bad. People are horrible. Poor Rachelle.”

  “It’s being translated and shared everywhere. How would you feel if this was about Maddy?” Delinda asked.

  Alessandro’s hands tightened visibly on the device. Gone was his normally jovial expression. “I have friends in London. They can quash this.”

  Delinda took the tablet back and scrolled to an article put out by online social pages. “It’s too late for that. Unlike the press, you can’t control the Internet. Did you see that some second-rate princess agreed? She called Rachelle American trash. My granddaughter? She is a sweet, educated woman who put her career aside because her brother needs her. Who do they think they are? With her inheritance, Rachelle could buy and sell every palace in those ridiculously outdated and minuscule countries.”

  “It’s not good for you to get worked up, Delinda,” Alessandro cautioned. “You really could make yourself sick.”

  Hailey merely sat there with wide eyes and a pained expression.

  Delinda put the tablet down and rose to her feet. “When I’m done with them, they’ll be sorry they ever came after a Westerly.”

  “Is she going to war with Europe?” Hailey asked with an uncertain chuckle.

  “No. Delinda, calm down.” Alessandro stood. “Rachelle is stronger than you think. She’ll rise above this.”

  Delinda smiled and she nodded. “Yes, with my help she will. The prince doesn’t think my Rachelle is good enough for him? He’ll be singing a different tune when I’m done with him. Hailey, do bring Skye over for dinner tonight. I’d like to see her before I leave for Vandorra, especially considering I’m not certain how long this will take.”

  Hailey joined them, looking bemused. “How long what will take? I don’t understand.”

  Alessandro tried to pin Delinda with a look, but she refused to meet his eyes. “If I thought Eric would be supportive, I would tell him that I have finally found a role worthy of my consideration.”

  “Oh boy,” Alessandro said.

  “I’m still lost.” Hailey threw up her hands in confusion.

  “Those Europeans like their royalty and their fairy tales,” Delinda said. “In the end, that’s what this will be. Princess Rachelle de Bartelebon. It has a ring to it, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No more matchmaking,” Alessandro warned.

  “I don’t care if they actually marry,” Delinda bit out, “but Rachelle will receive a proposal from that prince, and it will be a public one. She can turn him down if she wishes.”

  Hailey chewed her lip nervously. “I haven’t known Rachelle as long as you have, but I don’t think she would want us to get involved.”

  “That’s why she won’t know,” Delinda said firmly.

  “Oh no.” Hailey looked to Alessandro for help.

  “Don’t do this, Delinda.”

  “It’s done. I fly out tonight.”

  A heavy silence settled over the solarium until it was broken by the arrival of Michael. “Would anyone like tea?”

  “Michael,” Delinda said, “if Cinderella were real, could you imagine a better fairy godmother for her than me?”

  Michael took his time before answering. “If Cinderella were real, I doubt she’d need a prince anymore.”

  Delinda smiled smugly. “Exactly the point I will make clear to Prince Magnus de Bartelebon.”

  Chapter Seven

  Magnus paced the library of the Duke of North Cumberland, who had generously offered up his sprawling private estate the night before. The move meant an impromptu holiday for his family, but the duke understood that some relationships were worth such inconvenience.

  And there wasn’t a part of this that wasn’t inconvenient.

  The appearance of Dr. Stein, his family’s trusted physician, halted Magnus midstep. The doctor was short, bald, and had been old as long as Magnus could remember, but he was also brilliant and discreet. “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, and now simply sleeping. But you won’t like what I learned.”

  Magnus waved the doctor in. “I didn’t expect to.”

  “This isn’t a case of drug addiction, not in the classic sense. Your friend either injected himself or paid someone to inject him with a powerful anesthetic drug. He wasn’t looking for a high. He was looking to check out—maybe for a night, maybe forever. I’ve seen similar cases in the news, but sadly only after it ends tragically. I don’t know Eric Westerly beyond having seen him in movies, so I can’t speak to his motivation for sedating himself, but I’d say it’s at least partially to combat insomnia. My guess is he has worked his way through less extreme substances without success. If he continues to self-medicate and mixes this anesthesia with anything else, he won’t be your problem for long.”

  Magnus ran his hand through his hair as he digested the news. “Is it addictive? Would there be withdrawal issues?”

  Dr. Stein rubbed his chin in thought. “That will depend on the frequency of his use. Most of the data on addiction to this drug comes from studies about, surprisingly enough, people in the medical field who have access to it. It has a short half life and rapid metabolic clearance, so it often doesn’t show up in the bloodstream later.”

  “So, it’s a matter of stopping him from taking more?”

  The doctor shook his head slowly. “This is a deeply troubled man, Magnus. He needs to be admitted to a rehab center where he can address whatever he’s willing to risk his life to escape from.
People don’t choose this drug—they resort to it out of desperation.”

  So much for this being easy. “I don’t understand. He’s at the top of his career. He has enough money to buy himself out of any situation. Why the hell would a man like that be desperate?”

  “How long have I known you, Magnus?”

  “You delivered me.”

  “Then may I be frank?”

  “Please.”

  “You were born with the heart of a warrior. You are at your best when there is a battle to be waged, but life is not always about the victory. I heard about your behavior at the children’s hospital. You scared the children more than the clowns did.”

  Magnus pocketed his hands and frowned. There were few, if any, people he would accept speaking to him the way this man was. “Going there at all was my father’s idea. He was unable to go himself and believed it would be good for my public image.”

  “Magnus, your father does not visit the sick for his public image. He goes because he understands they are more than his responsibility—they are his people. He loves them, and that is why they love him. You fight for Vandorra, but do you do it because you think it is the role you were born to? That’s not enough, my son. A king, one worth still having in this world, would lay down his life for his people because they have his heart as well as his sword.”

  Suddenly impatient, Magnus demanded, “What does this have to do with Westerly?”

  The doctor held his gaze for a moment before speaking. “You will not be able to help him if you don’t first try to understand him. I believe people come into our lives for a reason. Perhaps you need Eric as much as he needs you.”

  “I don’t need anyone.”

  Dr. Stein grimaced. “Your pride, my son, will stop you from becoming the king Vandorra needs. Don’t think that simply taking Eric to Finn will change anything for either of them. Consider Finn the voice of your people. They’re asking if you will open your heart to them. What will your answer be?”

  I don’t know if I can be the king my father was.

  Magnus thought about the small Vandorran town where his mother had chosen to raise him. It had been important to her that Magnus had bonds with their people, and he did. Perhaps he did not show his love for his people openly, but it was there. “Send Phillip in. I have a task for him.”