#bertrand beaumont

[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

Permatags

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

#harper gale #drake walker #the royal romance #less than noble intentions #king liam #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #olivia nevrakis #trr fanfic #cfwc fics of the week #choices fic writers creations #choicesmonthlychallenge #choicesjanuary2024 #Spotify

[cantfuckbracket]

Can't Fuck Bracket - Group Stage. Group 28: Characters That Inspired Paragraphs

Jiang Cheng (MDZS/The Untamed) versus Bertrand Beaumont (The Royal Romance) versus Joe Goldberg (You)

[ID: The unfuckable pride flag overlaid with the "no bitches" meme. Jiang is a Chinese man with long hair, shown with a woozy face; Bertrand is a white man in a sweater and blazer, frowning; Joe is a white man with short hair, shown staring blankly. Over it are pictures of the contestants. Over them are sparkles and a heart with a butt, and in between them are peach emojis crossed out with the word "vs" in them. End ID]

Propaganda:

Jiang Cheng: "He’s literally such a bad date that he is blacklisted from dating pools. He’s ranked as the 5th most handsome bachelor in the cultivation world (who is the panel of judges that decide this? I really don’t know!!!) yet despite this and him ALSO being rich and powerful on top of that, women still hate him!!! Hes just that unpleasant!!!!! He’s constantly being one-upped by his adoptive brother (deserved) (4th most handsome bachelor, btw) so much so that it’s become a meme, he even lost a best mdzs character poll tournament (in the first round iirc) to said adoptive brother’s pet donkey. Literally no one wants him!!!!! He is the loneliest saddest most pathetic sopping wet cat of a man I’ve ever seen!! I’m convinced he will die a virgin" / "Guy has no game, in the drama version (the untamed) he goes after a chick who’s clearly a lesbian and just never gets any"

Bertrand Beaumont:

• like father like son innit

• he's a cunt but not in a cool sexy way. in a pathetic overgrown rat kind of way that makes you want to punt him back into the sewers

• his name is bertrand archibald beaumont. would YOU wanna fuck him???? i thought not

• the amount of times you have to help him with his relationship. like the countless apologies for being a dumb stupid shit. helping him propose. help with his vows. im 110% convinced mc had to get on video chat for their wedding night so she could instruct bertrand on what to do

• yeeeeah you can't convince me they dont sleep in separate beds in separate rooms

• and also that nasty sweater vest and jacket?????? i know he hasnt washed them in years. of course no one would go near him

• that one country outfit

• killer eyebrows? eye'm gonna kill meself x

Joe Goldberg: "The first time he gets to fuck a woman that he's stalked he finishes in like 2 seconds. Never appears to be any better at fucking any of the countless times he fucks after that. I bet his dick feels like a limp fish. Also got arrested for having sex in a public place and constantly jacks off in public like I think if you were any good at sex you wouldnt need to be doing that. Tried to have a bisexual foursome once to get his wife to leave him and he wimped out so hard at the idea of fucking another man even though he is arguably bisexual himself. The most sexual tension he ever actually had was with a hallucination of another man he had in his own head. Just kind of pathetic"

#the untamed #mo dai zu shi #mdzs #jiang cheng #playchoices #the royal romance #trr #bertrand beaumont #you #you netflix #joe goldberg #polls #thank you drinkingteainthedark for the picture of jiang #thank you dogtheories for the picture of joe

[harleybeaumont]

Never Have I Ever

Chapter 21 - Let's Just Forget the World

Book- TRR

Series- Never Have I Ever

Pairings- Bertrand x MC 

Chapter Synopsis- Bertrand has a surprise for Riley.

Chapter Warnings- language, drinking, innuendo -but mostly this is a fluffy chapter

Rating - Mature

Word Count- 1,830

A/N - once again, sorry it's been a while since I've posted a chapter. I included a snippet of what happened in chapter 20 to refresh your memory.

A/N 2- submitting for @choicesprompts flufftober event

Song Inspiration - this song is absolutely perfect for this chapter and gives me all the feels. Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol.

_____________________________________________________________

When they arrived back at the estate, it was already dinner time. Riley quickly popped into Max’s bedroom to check on him, and found him sound asleep in bed.

“I’m starving.” Riley sighed as she made her way toward the kitchen, taking a seat beside Bertrand at the bar.

“What would you like to eat? The chef has left for the night, but I can call and have something delivered for you.”

“Anything.. But you pick! I am mentally drained and honestly don’t think I could make another decision tonight if my life depended on it.”

Bertrand opened his mouth to protest, but paused as an idea hit him. “I know just the thing,” he smiled shyly and pulled out his phone.

He was going to have to step way out of his comfort zone for this. 

Chapter 21- Let’s Just Forget the World

After half an hour of bustling around the estate, Bertrand was finally ready to let Riley into his room to show her what he had been working on. He paused outside of the closed bedroom door nervously, starting to have second thoughts. “Why don’t we just go out and pick up dinner instead?”

“Nuh-uh. I have got to see what you’ve been up to. Now let me in.. before I make you,” she smirked teasingly, tracing her fingers down the front of his chest.

Bertrand sucked in a sharp breath and a shiver ran down his spine at her touch. There was no way he could say no to her. He had already accepted that fact. “Alright,” he grinned, reluctantly stepping aside.

He slowly swung the door open and Riley gasped, throwing her hand over her mouth. “Bert..” Her eyes began welling up with tears as she stepped toward the sitting area of his bedroom which had been converted into a blanket fort, with pizza, wine, and pillows on the floor. Fairy lights, which she was pretty sure he got from Max, were laid across the top of the blankets, casting a warm glow around the room. 

Bertrand watched her face with a mixture of hope and apprehension. He had never done anything so ridiculous or sentimental for anyone before and it was terrifying. “I.. I just thought that-”

Riley immediately engulfed him in a hug, squeezing tightly and burying her face in his chest. She sniffled and when she pulled back she was grinning ear to ear. “You did this?”

“I.. Yes.”

“You, Bertrand Beaumont, made a blanket fort.. for us?”

He felt his cheeks heat up and he opened his mouth, not sure what to say. “If you don’t like it, we can go to a nice restaurant or something!”

“This is the best thing anyone has ever done for me!” She wrapped her arms around him again, squeezing tightly. “I’m so touched that you would share such a special family tradition with me. Thank you.” 

He grinned, shocked that she recalled the story he told her about he and Maxwell doing this with their mother when they were young. “You remember?”

“Of course I do! I remember everything you say, Bert.” She laughed at his skeptical smile, “I mean, most things. I’m sorry I can’t remember things like King Leopold’s favorite goldendoodle’s middle name.. but when it comes to you, I remember everything.”

He chuckled as his cheeks pinkened, “You’re just flattering me.”

“I’m not, but I accept your flattery.”

The two sat beside one another under the blanket canopy and Bertrand poured them a glass of wine while Riley placed a slice of pizza on each of their plates. She was absolutely radiating excitement and Bertrand couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

“What?” She grinned in his direction before taking a sip from her glass.

Bertrand shook his head, chuckling. “Nothing.”

“Are you laughing at me?!”

“I am not. I’m just..I just feel..”

He looked away shyly and she took his hand. “Feel what?”

He met her eyes. “Happy.”

Her heart swelled and she rubbed her thumb across the back of his knuckles. “Me too.”

Bertrand looked up at the blanket draped over their heads, grinning thoughtfully. “This is the silliest thing I have ever done in my entire life, but I cannot imagine anything else I’d rather be doing right now.” 

Riley laced her fingers with his and squeezed. “Me too.”

Once they were full of pizza and wine, they lay on their backs in companionable silence. Riley turned to face him. “So what should we do now?”

“Are you ready for bed?” He yawned, “I’m afraid I had a bit too much wine and my eyelids are getting heavy.”

“No way! I have a tipsy Bertrand Beaumont in a blanket fort.. We have to do something fun.”

“Oh?” His mouth went dry as he pictured what type of fun she had in mind.

“Let’s play a game!”

“Oh.” He realized that he sounded way too disappointed, and tried to correct that. “Alright, what did you have in mind?”

She leaned closer and grinned. “What about, never have I ever?”

He gulped, “I uh.. I believe we’ve played that one before.”

Riley rolled onto her back, a light-hearted laugh escaping her. Her eyes traced the intricate pattern and stitching of the quilt that rested over the chair backs, forming the ceiling of their blanket fort. She couldn’t hold back a smile as she continued to gaze straight up, too overcome with emotion to even glance at the man beside her. She could feel his eyes on her and hear his steady breathing, and she closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne.. Subtle notes of bergamot and sandalwood and the natural pheromones on his skin that both comforted her and drove her wild. 

Her heart was bursting from the unbelievable feeling of normalcy, contentment, and utter joy she felt just laying beside him.  

“Never have I ever.. Done anything like this before.”

“Like what?” Bertrand asked.

“Blanket forts! Camping on the bedroom floor.. None of that.”

Bertrand smiled, “I suppose you got me there. For once, there’s something I’ve done that you haven't.”

Riley laughed, and Bertrand sat up slightly and took a sip of his wine. He lay back down, thinking for a moment before grinning. “Never have I ever.. received a gift on Valentine’s day.”

Riley’s mouth dropped open. “Never? Not even from a little secret admirer in school or anything? I find that hard to believe.”

“Nope. Go ahead and drink,” he nodded to her glass of wine. “I’m certain you have received loads of Valentine’s gifts.”

Riley took a sip of her wine and shook her head. “I’ve had a few. Not for a while, but..”

“So what were your best and worst Valentine's gifts?”

“Oof, that’s a tough one,” she groaned with a smile. “The worst was probably from a boyfriend I had in highschool. He gave me a bouquet of fake daisies that were missing half of the flowers from the stems. And inside the middle was a jewelry box. But when I opened it, there was just a condom inside.”

Bertrand made a face. “Wow. That is.. quite a presumptuous gesture.”

“One that got him nowhere,” she rolled her eyes. “The best Valentine’s gift was probably when I was in elementary school. This cute little boy with curly hair, Jordan McCall.. He gave me a plastic ring he had won at the arcade and a bunch of wildflowers he picked from his yard.” She turned toward Bertrand with a smile. “It’s the thoughtful things that mean the most, you know? Something that you put your heart into.”

Bertrand smiled at her for a long moment, but feeling like he had been staring too long, he cleared his throat and looked away. “Um, it’s your turn.”

Riley tapped a finger against her lips in thought. “Ok. Never have I ever.. had sex with my brother’s best friend.”

Bertrand’s mouth dropped open and his face flushed bright red. “Riley!”

She couldn’t stop her laughter and handed him his glass. “Drink up!”

He took a sip, unable to meet her eyes while a small smile pulled at his lips. “That was a cheap shot.”

“I came to win!” Riley nudged him and grinned, “Besides, I can’t help it. I love making you blush.”

“I'm glad that my humiliation amuses you.”

She rolled onto her side to face him and put a hand on his arm. “It’s cute. It totally gives me butterflies.”

Bertrand blushed deeper and looked away as butterflies of his own swarmed his insides. He tried to change the subject. “So, I suppose we’re tied.”

“Not for long,” Riley smiled cheekily. “You’re going down, Beaumont.”

“Oh really?”

“Really! Hit me with your best shot.”

Bertrand thought for a moment before a confident smirk alit his face.  “I definitely have you now Ms. Brooks. Get ready to take a drink. Never have I ever.. had sex with someone because I felt bad for them.”

Riley met his eyes with confusion and she shook her head. “Never.”

Bertrand arched an eyebrow skeptically. “What do you mean? What about.. You know..” He gestured at himself.

Riley’s heart sank. Had he thought this the entire time? “No, Bertrand. That’s not why I- no, never.”

His mind was racing as he asked, “Then.. why?”

Riley chewed the inside of her cheek, trying not to cross the line they had been tiptoeing toward for the last couple months. Screw it. “Bert, I had sex with you because I wanted to. I wanted you.”

His jaw dropped and he was nearly rendered speechless. “You- really?” Like, you really actually wanted to- not as a lesson, but like- really?”

Now it was Riley's turn to blush for once. She hugged her knees to her chest and smiled shyly. “Yes.”

Bertrand stared straight ahead, mind reeling. The silence between them stretched, neither knowing what to say now. 

Riley took a deep breath and reached out, grasping his hand. She looked directly into his eyes as she spoke. “Never have I ever.. told someone that I was in love with them.”

Bertrand released a breath, his eyes searching her face for a few moments. He was certain his heartbeat was loud enough for the entire duchy to hear.

Bertrand rested his hand against her cheek, swiping his thumb gently across her bottom lip. His eyes were full of a deep longing and affection she had never seen from anyone before. 

“Riley..” he breathed out softly and pressed his lips against hers, cradling her face with his hands. The kiss was tender, yet passionate and nothing like anything they had ever shared before. He lay her back against the soft pillows and blankets on the floor, relishing in the fact that it was really Riley kissing him. Her perfect, soft, gorgeous lips were actually against his. She had wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss her, and as unbelievable as that was, it was amazing and perfect. Bertrand was so overcome with emotion, he thought he might burst. 

They broke apart after a few moments, and Riley leaned forward giving him one more soft kiss before snuggling up to his side and resting her head on his shoulder. Bertrand wrapped his arm around her, resting his hand against her lower back and tracing soft circles with his fingers. The minutes stretched on as the two lay together on his bedroom floor. 

“Riley.. I.. really need to tell you something.” Bertrand murmured softly. When she didn’t respond, he raised his head slightly to look at her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and steady. She was sound asleep in his arms and everything was right with the world. Heart in his throat, he kissed her head and whispered. “I love you.”

#never have i ever #trr #bertrand x riley #bertley #bertrand beaumont #bertrand x mc #trr fanfic #cfwc fics of the week #choicesprompts #flufftober2023

[twinkleallnight]

Isle of Misfits

Chapter 10: Dealing with the Paparazzi.

Fandom: TRR x Platinum x OH x CoP x TNA x ?

Series: Isle of Misfits, Round Robin 24, hosted by @choicesprompts

Characters:

TRR – Liam Rys, Leo Rys, Olivia Nevrakis, Madeleine Amaranth

RoE – Katie Rys

TNA – Sam Dalton

Word count: 1240

The phone pinged.

‘1 new message’

Leo sighed and picked up to read. He was tired of explaining himself to Katie. The world never understood him or his desire to live a care free life. The paparazzi won’t let him breathe. But he thought Katie would understand. She would always know. He had tried to be honest with her, always.

He was struggling to stay abreast sailing through the rough waters when his brother decided to take the corrective action for Leo’s deeds . He was forced into this PR stunt of a circus with his childhood friend, Bertrand, playing the ring master. And as if Gods had not had enough of entertainment, he was paired with his ex, Madeleine! Just perfect!

Coming out of his reverie, he tapped his fingers on the home screen to check the new message .

‘Meet me at the beach restaurant in 10minutes to collect your dossier .

Countess Madeleine .’

“Better than having Sam Dalton as a mentor” he consoled himself. “His brains function through that Rocket in his pocket. At least Madeleine has her head over her shoulders.”

He dragged himself out of his bed. Sharp after 10 minutes he presented himself in front of the Countess.

“What do you plan to do with this?” He lifted the heavy bundle of papers filed into a folder neatly. ‘Prim and proper. So much like Madeleine.’

But Madeleine’s reply was totally off beat. “why you have not shaved?”

Leo shook his head as if trying to decipher. “What?” He moved his fingers through the over grown messy beard.

Madeleine scoffed, “ Let me make it clear Leo. You are constantly under lens.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t want.” He cut her off.

“You were the crown prince.”

“And I abdicated.” He tried to prove his point.

“Doesn’t matter. You can’t change who you are born as.”

“Why?” He pulls his fingers through his sandy blonde hair In frustration.

“Prince Harry abdicated too. But he is always in news.”

Leo scowled, “For heavens sake! Can’t they let me live in peace?”

“Only if you don’t give them chance to rip through your peaceful personal life.” She air quoted.

He nods in agreement. “And I can see, you are here to tell me, how.”

“Now you are talking business.” Madeleine smiled.

Leo closed his eyes for a moment. He had to do this for Katie, for his children. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what am I supposed to do?”

“You need to look perfect when you walk in public. It shows that you are leading a perfect and happy life.”

Leo smirked, “Yes it’s a very happy life.”

“Make it look like one and I can tell you, they will stop chasing you.”

“Fine! What next?”

“I have appointed a valet for you. He will help with your attire, hair and your over all appearance. You will not leave your room before he checks you.”

Leo rolled his eyes. He had no other option but to accept what was thrown at him.

For the next hour he went back and forth over the plans Madeleine had laid out for him.

******************************************

Bertrand’s office next day

Olivia was seated across Bertrand, discussing their next modus operandi. Olivia had successfully completed her task with Raleigh Carrera and was now assigned to the case of the exiled crown prince, Trystan Thorne, of Drakovia.

An urgent knock on the door brought them to a halt. They both looked at each other. Bertrand voiced, “Come in” , wondering who was their uninvited guest for the meeting .

Leo stormed in and slammed a tabloid onto the desk in front of Bertrand. Olivia stared back at Leo’s fuming face while Bertrand looked in confusion, “ What does this mean?”

“Open and see for yourself.” Leo pointed out his finger.

As soon as Bertrand picked the newspaper and unfolded it, his eyes went wide with shock. Olivia leaned towards him to peer into the news.

The newspaper had images of Leo and Madeleine sitting in a cafe. The first one had Madeleine gleaming at Leo and the second one showed them shaking hands near the exit. The tag line read ‘Former crown prince Leo Rhys, spotted with his ex, Countess Madeleine, at leisure on a private island. Do we smell something burning in Katie Rhys’ sweet home?”

A smile played on Olivia’s lips.

“Seriously?” Leo asked looking at Olivia’s reaction.

“It’s not about you.” She fanned away with her hand.

“From what I can see, it’s definitely about me.” He turned to Bertrand angrily, “This is how you were going to help me save my image and my marriage?”

Olivia spoke instead, “Its not his fault. Madeleine should have been more discreet while planning her meetings.”

Just as on clue, Madeleine stepped inside the office. “Speak for yourself. I know my job well.” She snatched the tabloid from Bertrand’s hand and glanced at the pics, dismissing it in an instant.

She focused on Leo, “ This is the reason I insisted you need to dress up properly. Had you been in a formal attire, this would have been ignored by the media as just another business meeting.”

“Great ! So now it’s all my mistake? You know what my mistake is? Trusting you guys with my future.”

Bertrand replied in a calm note, “I think you are over reacting. It’s just two pics, we can change the flow of events. My PR company can assure you, we are good at turning the waves in your favour.”

Before he completed his sentence, the doors to his office opened with a bang. Drake barged in raging in anger. “The hell you turn things only in your favour. You Beaumonts are the most mean and selfish men walking on this damn planet.” His voice echoed across the halls outside the office.

Bertrand’s eyes roamed behind Drake to check if there were any audience at his doors. He settled his gaze back on Drake. “May I know the reason for this intrusion?”

Drake sneered, “You call yourself CEO of a PR firm yet you don’t have updates of the newsflash on TV channels across Cordonia?”

Bertrand gave Drake an irritated glare and picked up the remote to switch on the flat screen hanging on the wall across his table. The screen brightened up with flashes of red haired lady bouncing on a dance floor. All of them in the room knew that was Olivia but the next few moments left everyone’s mouth hanging open.

Bertrand came into the frame trying to dance. He made some lewd gestures and then grabbed Olivia into a smooch.

Leo and Madeleine jolted back at Bertrand. Even Olivia had shock written all over her face. Definitely she was drunk that she didn’t remember this incident.

Bertrand gulped and fumbled with the remote to switch off the TV. He didn’t want to listen or let others in the room listen to the reporter’s remarks.

“I... I ... I can explain”, he said nervously.

Drake sprinted to him in two steps and held him by collar. “How many times are you going to explain? First my sister, then your back stabbing brother took Riley and now you target my girl friend?”

“Riley is with Max?” The baritone voice from the entrance of the office brought everything to standstill. They all turned to see Liam standing in a thunderstuck state.

Tags : @angelasscribbles @alj4890 @tessa-liam @lizzybeth1986 @3pawandme @annabellewynter @bascmve01 @bebepac @busywoman @dcbbw @choicesficwriterscreations @harleybeaumont @iaminlovewithtrr @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @neotericthemis @mom2000aggie @phoenixrising0308 @princess-geek @sazanes @secretaryunpaid @sfb123 @sillydg @tinkie1973 @txemrn @walkerdrakewalker @rubiwalker @703cowbarn @kyra75 @likealotus @kskvb20 @marietrinmimi @aussiegurl1234

#round robin fic #the royal romance #choices fic writers creations #pixelberry #playchoices #trr fandom #trr #choices game #liam rhys #liam rys #leo rys #olivia nevrakis #bertrand beaumont #madeleine amaranth #drake walker #twinkleallnight

[dcbbw]

Commoner, Part 2--Secret

Part 2 of Commoner! Part 1 can be found here.  We’re picking up where we left off (Leo left, Sav is pregnant, and no one knows)

This story was born of a long-standing head canon (Sav would crush on the older brother, not her brother’s best friend), and the song inspiration (original version, but used the sad and acoustic version for this fic); lyrics are also taken from the song inspo.

IF you read this, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated more than you realize. Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. MS Editor rates this story as 99% error-free.

To all those who read over this story in its various variations and renditions, THANK YOU! Your feedback, ideas, and encouragement was invaluable (as always).

Thanks to @choicesflashfics for their Week 62 prompt #2, which will appear in bold.

Song Inspo: Strangers (sad and acoustic version), Kenya Grace

Pairing(s): Savannah Walker x Leo Rys; Savannah Walker x Bertrand Beaumont

Word Count: 2,201

Rating: M for Mature themes

I sit in the back of the sleek, black Mercedes that is Duchy Ramsford’s official vehicle with the Brothers Beaumont, en route to the Palace. King Constantine has requested a meeting of the Great Houses.

And me.

I vacillate between relief that he will put those awful rumors to rest, and fear that Leo will be there with that woman.

“You appear to be deep in thought,” Bertrand observes. “Are you feeling well?”

I plaster a quick smile onto my lips. “Merely curious why the King would want me to be present at this meeting.”

The Duke gives me a solicitous nod, and I again wonder why he’s been so nice to me since our breakfast encounter.  It’s not that Bertrand is a bad guy; he has taught me a lot during my month at House Beaumont. I know more than I ever wanted to about utensils, glassware, table etiquette, and bloodlines and lineage. I now know that the reason I don’t have the title of Lady, the most ubiquitous yet ambiguous title a woman can hold, is because I don’t belong to a House.

I’m commoner.

But he isn’t a nice guy either, so the attention is a bit … odd.

“I wonder if it has anything to do with Leo, and all the news stories?” Max pipes up. “Although I suppose if Bastien is at the Palace and Leo isn’t, that may be all the confirmation we need.”

Bertrand looks out the window. “We’re here,” he announces.

I swear I feel my baby flip inside my stomach, which is stupid. I’m only eight weeks along.

As we walk up the front staircase, I don’t feel a sense of homecoming. I only feel dread. My throat closes when Bastien opens the door and leads us to the formal living room where the other guests are gathered. Groups are huddled close together; there are murmurs of conversations I cannot hear. I hug my brother and struggle through a curtsy meant to encompass the entire room. No one acknowledges me other than Kiara, who gives me a huge grin and enthusiastic hug.

And I wonder why I feel the need to be a part of this world, to be accepted by the very people who never will.

That it'll never change And it will just stay like this

I catch a glimpse of Madeleine, who is stone-faced; only the paleness of her skin and the clenching of her jaw signals anger, embarrassment, and hurt. I look down at her hands; her fingers are bare of jewelry.

Leo has left both of us.

The King clears his throat, and we all turn towards the front of the room. He is flanked by Queen Regina and Liam; all of them are wearing stoic expressions and I know … in my brain, my heart, my very soul … Leo has run off and fulfilled promises he could never make to me to another woman. I’m a single, teenaged mother with absolutely nothing to my name; I can’t even leverage the child growing inside of me.

There is a buzzing in my ears that drowns out the words my monarch is uttering until he states that Liam will ascend to the throne. There is to be a social season, and I will be the House Beaumont sponsee. The Crown will fund my sponsorship as I was still their ward and had no properties of my own. Drake’s face darkens, Bertrand beams proudly, and Max jumps up and down in excitement.

There’s something about Bertrand’s smile … he isn’t surprised to hear this news. Did he already know what to expect?  Was Leo the phone call that morning?

I throw up on the priceless carpet and my hand-me-down shoes.

Three weeks pass, weeks where I scour newspapers, magazines, and the internet for news of my baby’s father. There is a plethora of media, mostly photos of him in motocross tournaments: smiling happily in the Mojave Desert, frowning in concentration as he inspects his vehicle in UAE, sunning on a beach in Greece. The woman is not in the pictures, and rarely mentioned in the articles.

Now she can be his dirty little secret.

And when we spoke for months Well, did you ever mean it? How can we say that this is love When it goes like this?

Meanwhile, in Cordonia, my hips are spreading; my breasts are getting fuller, and my belly is only slightly rounded. Bertrand has ramped up my training but takes care to give me breaks throughout the day and we are now spending our meals together without Maxwell. He shares stories of his education, his time as a fashion designer, and memories of his childhood.

He walks me to my room every evening; occasionally he holds my hand.

I am not in love with Bertrand, but I find myself enjoying his company more and more.

But every time I meet somebody new It's like déjà vu I swear they sound the same It's like they know my skin

We’re sitting in Bertrand’s study one night; he is poring over documents related to Liam’s cabinet. Bertrand and Rashad Domvallier are to be financial and legal advisors to the new future King. I watch him nervously. I’ve decided that tonight is the time to tell him I cannot be the House’s sponsee. It isn’t fair to not tell him; he’ll need time to find someone new and school them in the ways of nobility.

My fingernails pluck nervously at my robe. I could very well be homeless in the next 15 minutes. Bertrand takes his duties as Duke seriously and is extremely rigid when it came to appearances and reputation; an unwed, pregnant commoner could not reside under the roof of House Beaumont. However, returning to the Palace would be a disaster between King Constantine and Big Brother Drake.

But it has to be done. This baby is going to make itself known sooner than later.

He drains his third glass of cognac before sighing heavily and pushing himself away from his desk. With an unsteady gait, he crosses the room to join me on the sofa. He looks almost regal in his gold silk robe with black piping, and black pajama bottoms. He sits so closely, I smell his cologne; it’s Hermès.

Leo always wore Armani.

“Savannah, I’d like to have a … conversation of a different sort with you.” His breath smells of liquor and his words are slightly slurred.

“Isn’t that funny?” I reply in a squeaky voice. “I wanted to have one with you also.”

He pulls one of my hands into his as he begins to speak. “You need to know that while you may be participating in the social season, you won’t win the hand of the Crown Prince. The position requires someone of lineage, with a knowledge of world politics and has a pulse on the fluctuating nature of both Court and Crown. However, the Engagement Tour should afford you an opportunity to marry into a minor house.”

I stare at him dumbfounded. Drunk Bertrand pisses me off.

“However, I do find myself being very attracted to you. I propose an offer that should be beneficial to both of us. I’d like you to be my mistress until we both find persons worthy of our status and station. You would become an honorary member of House Beaumont to assure you have a title, and I can be a very generous lover in more ways than one.”

He drops my hand and rises from the couch on his second attempt. He goes to a coat closet, opens the door, and retrieves a package. The box is emblazoned with Hermès’ name and logo. He brings it back to me, carefully placing it in my lap.

“Open it,” he urges.

I do so to find a limited-edition white matte satchel, made of leather and silk. The tag is still attached: $200,000 USD. I look up at him, knowing that he wants me to know how much it costs.

“Your … mistress?” I ask as my body feels as if it’s going numb.

And it will just stay like this Never really dating, breaking up

“This world is cruel. I’m just playing by its rules. It would behoove you to do so as well. You can’t be anything else to me or anyone of stature. You’re a commoner with the most basic of public education. You are ignorant in the ways of Court, the circles you would need to travel in. I am happy to give you the benefit of my knowledge, but at the end of the day, I am a Duke. Dukes don’t marry commoners.”

He says it all as if he is telling me the sun will rise in the east. Bertrand means no harm; nobles never do. Or so they claim.

Every word they say sounds just like him

My eyes fall back to the price tag, realizing I have my way out. I can keep my secret, and everyone’s precious reputation is intact.

“It’s late, Your Grace and you have given me a lot to process. I’ll have an answer for you in due time.”

He gives me a small smile. “May I … may I kiss you?”

A small shake of my head. “No,” I reply in an almost-rueful tone.

I know my place.

His smile falters, and he nods slowly. “My apologies. That was presumptuous of me.”

I mentally shake my head. THAT is what he considered to be the most horrible thing about his proposition?  I box the purse again, and stand.

“I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Three months later, I am standing on the balcony of my small pied-a-terre located in a quaint, quiet Parisian neighborhood, watching the day come to an end. The sun is still bright in the sky, but evening is fast approaching. My fingers comb through my dark, thick tresses before pulling a toffee-colored cardigan tighter across my expanding body.

It’s springtime and I think again how leaving Cordonia to settle here was the best move. Paris had always been my dream destination: red lipsticks, rich wines, decadent perfumes, trendy runway fashions.

The baby and I have even learned to enjoy the food.

My eyes take in the Palais Garnier, also known as the Paris Opera House, not that far in the distance before falling to the cobblestoned streets below: restaurant and café doors open, unleashing aromas of grilled meat and sauteed onions as bakeries pull window shades down. Women with chic hats and impossibly high heels exit dress stores, shopping bags bunched in fisted hands. Street vendors begin putting away their wares.

My stomach rumbles, and I head inside. There had been a late breakfast/early lunch a few hours ago, but the fruit, yogurt, and cheese and spinach omelet have all but disappeared now. My child has a healthy appetite. I walk around a black wrought iron table with matching chairs, pausing to fluff oversized chair cushions decorated with huge sunflowers.

I push the terrace door shut behind me before going into the kitchen. I had taken a chicken out earlier, but I no longer have an appetite for it. Instead, I want pistou pasta with grilled duck and extra mushrooms from my favorite bistro.

But money is tight. Despite having a job and being frugal with the savings leftover from the sale of the purse Bertrand gifted me, I need to be mindful of rent, food, doctor’s appointments once the child gets here and I will be on unpaid leave.

I’m having a boy that I will name Barthelemy, Bartie for short. It’s my way of paying homage to Maxwell for being such an incredible and caring friend during all of this. He doesn’t know who the father is and has never pressured me to tell him. He sends money and has offered to make an honest woman of me.

All of this even though I left House Beaumont without a sponsee, and they now either have to find one that they will have to fully sponsor or withdraw.

A knock at the door captures my attention; I stare at it with a frown. I don’t have many friends in Paris; Maxwell is due for his monthly visit next week. He’s bringing Drake and Kiara with him. They were the only two I instructed Maxwell to tell of my whereabouts. Drake and I aren’t close, but we are all we have left as far as family. He deserved to know. Kiara’s my best girlfriend, and she speaks French. Win-win.

I would like to see Liam, but he has much to learn and do before the social season begins in less than 12 weeks.

 I slowly and laboriously cross the small distance between the kitchen and the front door; my eye widens as I peer through the peephole.

Leo.

He looks even more handsome if that’s possible. He carries a bouquet of flowers in one hand as he looks around the hallway. I quietly and cautiously back away from the door as tears prick the corners of my eyes.

And then one random night When everything changes You won't reply And we'll go back to strangers

Tagging: @jared2612 ​@ao719 @marietrinmimi @indiacater​​​ @kingliam2019​ @bebepac @liamxs-world @mom2000aggie​​​ @liamrhysstalker2020​​​ @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet@busywoman​​​ @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam​​​ @beezm @gardeningourmet​​​ @lovingchoices14 @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles​​​ @lady-calypso @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890​ @motorcitymademadame​​​ @queenmiarys @choicesficwriterscreations

#dcbbw writes #part 2/2 #savannah walker #bertrand beaumont #leo rys #writer on tumblr

[peonierose]

Round Robin: Chapter 5 - Don’t call me Angel

Book: OH & TRR crossover

Characters mentioned: Luna Auclair (F!OC - OH), Bryce Lahela (M!MC - OH), Tobias Carrick (M!MC - OH, Maxwell Beaumont (M!MC - TRR) and Bertrand Beaumont (M!MC - TRR)

Words in total: 3,373k

A/N: Masterlist for Round Robin @choicesprompts I’m participating for Round Robin for the 1st time and I really hope I could do the characters justice 🥰

Side note: Thank you so much for helping me with this story and helping me get inspired @aallotarenunelma & @annieruok94 🩷🩷🩷🩷

A few weeks ago…

Luna

The phone rang somewhere in the house while I was in the middle of an art project.

A few seconds later I heard footsteps and when I turned around I saw Bryce appear in the doorway, handing me my phone.

”Who is it?“ I asked and turned to my canvas again.

”No idea some fancy talking guy said he wanted to talk to you.“

”Is he sure he got the right person?“ ”Beats me.“

I furrowed my brow and pushed my dark blonde hair out of my face and accidentally got some teal paint in my hair. Good thing it’ll wash out.

”Hello?“ I wiped my paint covered fingers on a cloth I kept handy when I painted.

”Am I speaking to Ms. Luna Auclair?“ A deep voice with a slight accent can be heard from the other end.

”Yes. And who is this?“ I put the phone on speaker and got up slowly as I took my brushes to the sink to wash them.

”My name is Bertrand Beaumont from House Beaumont in Cordonia. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.“

”Hmm. Sorry doesn’t ring a bell.“ I say not able to resist teasing him. Bryce snickered next to me.

”You’re so mean.“ He mouthed, and I kissed his stubbled cheek, making him smile.

I turned back to the conversation, putting Bertrand out of his misery. Poor guy must’ve thought the worst of me.

”I’m just kidding Mr. Beaumont I know who you are. So what can I do for you?“ I turned off the faucet and put my paint brushes upside down so they could dry.

”I could use your help.“ He sounded hesitant, which made me instantly curious.

”Help with what?“

”We have our PR firm that we founded, and we’re trying to give some people a better public image.“ I took my phone into my hand.

”What does that have to do with me? I’m not a PR person. I have a bachelor's degree in fine arts, and I’m currently teaching art at the University of Hawaii.“

I took a look at my half-finished painting sitting on the easel, and decided to let the painting dry for now. I’ll keep working on it later.

When I closed the door Bryce and I walked towards the backyard, where we sat down in our beach chairs, while Bertrand’s voice kept coming out of the speaker.

”I’m very well aware. But I know you’re someone who’s skilled as an artist. And I know you think outside the box, and that’s exactly what we need.“

”I will need more information than that if you want my help.“ I could hear some commotion before another voice replaced Bertrand's.

”Luna right? Hi I’m Maxwell, Bertrand’s brother. Look, my brother's social skills suck sometimes. I have the cliff notes version if you want it?“

”Um…sure fire away.“

”Alright. A few weeks ago there was a bit of an…let’s call it an incident. Tobias Carrick was caught making out with the daughter of one of the hospital directors of Mass Kenmore. Someone apparently posted it online. Of course, it’s gone viral. The damage is done and he could get fired. Because apparently it’s unethical.“

”Poor Tobias. He’s a good friend of me and my fiancé Bryce so he has our sympathies especially since this a massive violation of their privacy to put the video online. I’m really sorry he’s going through that.“

I looked at Bryce who was as surprised as me to hear about this.

”Both Bertrand and I feel terrible, because Tobias seems like such a great guy and then for someone to swoop in and destroy his image like that. This is actually where you come into play. Let’s just say we’ve tried other people to fix his image, but it didn’t work.“

”Like I told your brother, I’m not a PR person. I have zero experience.“

”That’s not what we’re looking for. I’m talking about your other accolades. You’re not only one of the youngest people to finish your bachelor degree, but one where all your professors had only glowing compliments for you. You also published your own book, called Kala Kala - Overcoming anxiety with the help of art. Very nice read. I loved it, it’s also super colorful by the way. Not only do you teach art at the senior center, you’re an active member at arts on the fence, a non-profit organization in Honolulu, Hawaii. You love malasdas and are allergic to ginger. Should I continue? I’ve got more.“

”I…no…that’s fine. But how did you find out that much about me? Not everything is available online.“ I was wondering how the hell they got my phone number, and all the things in my bio Maxwell just mentioned. Why would they even be interested in seeking out my help?

”Let’s say a mutual, redhead found out about it. She bought some of your art, and she said you could be a good fit. I think the phrase »ovaries of steel« was mentioned.“

I gasped in awe.

”You don’t mean Olivia Nevrakis do you? Because then I’m so in. I’d love to meet her. And of course help out in any way I can.“

I heard a whoop and a sigh.

”Is that a yes?“ Maxwell asked unsure.

”Hold on a sec.“ I muted the conversation.

”What do you think B?“ I asked Bryce and I could see his beautiful face, that I could sketch every single day and not get tired of looking at.

”I mean I’m sorry Tobias is going through this. He’s our friend, but are you sure you’re up for it?“ His brown eyes were filled with worry as he gently caressed my stomach.

”I’ll be fine. Women have gotten pregnant before and have worked until they’ve given birth.“ I said with more conviction than I felt right now.

”I know you’re trying to be strong but okay. If you’re really sure, then I’m okay with it, but the smallest hitch, and we’re going back home. And don’t think of going alone. I don’t care who they are. You’re my fiancé and the mother of my kids. So they better believe I’ll be going with you.“

”I love your protective mode.“

”Out of all the things I’ve said, that’s what you focused on?“

I grinned and then I unmuted the conversation.

”Maxwell? I’m in.“

”Thanks Luna. I promise you won’t regret it.“

”I better don’t. Otherwise, you’ll hear me yell at you.“

Maxwell chuckled.

”You got it. There’ll be a private jet to pick you up. I’ll send you the arrival date. Can’t wait to meet you. From the pictures I’ve seen, you're really beautiful.“

”Careful there Casanova.“ Bryce chimed in, and I grinned as I pushed my hand through his soft brown hair, making him relax.

”No worries, I know she’s taken. We’ll see you soon in Cordonia, bye.“

Before I could say anything else the phone call ended. Bryce and I just stared at the phone and then laughed at how surreal the situation was.

Who would’ve thought I’d meet members of House Beaumont?

Though it looked as if a new adventure was coming our way.

5 days later

So here I was on day five not making any kind of improvement whatsoever.

I’ve tried talking to Tobias, but nothing worked to get through to him.

He acted as if nothing was wrong and there’s no part where he could lose his job. He’s been painted as the bad guy but doesn’t seem to care.

I got up this morning, let Bryce sleep in a little, as I went down to the pool to figure out a new strategy for how to fix this mess.

That’s when I saw Tobias flirting with a woman by the pool.

You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m trying to repair his image, and he’s out here flirting? Oh, hell no!

”Having fun?“ I asked when I stood next to him. Tobias turned his light green eyes to me, focusing on me rather than the woman he was just talking to a minute ago.

As if he wasn’t already good-looking enough, the smile he threw my way made his face even more beautiful.

”Good morning to you too, gorgeous.“

”Sorry buddy but that charm is wasted on me. I’m engaged and I’m expecting.“

”Does that mean I can’t flirt with you?“ Tobias smirked.

”You can. But it won’t have any effect.“ I said and took a towel from the rack and threw it at him.

”Get dressed.“ I said, and he took the towel, but didn't move. He threw an apologetic smile at the woman who was sitting next to him. She slipped him a small piece of paper and left. He watched her walk away and nodded his head in appreciation.

I cleared my throat, and he turned his gaze on me.

”Let me guess you have another glorious idea how to restore my image?“

”You can call it that. You have 10 minutes to get dressed and be back.“

”Let’s make it 15 alright?“ Tobias laughed.

”Now it’s 10 minutes.“

”Does that tone ever work on Bryce?“

”I’m not going to repeat myself.“

”Now you sound like a school teacher.“ He replied but got up. That’s progress I guess.

”Look, I was assigned to give you some sort of glowing makeover for your reputation. If you don’t want it? Fine. I have better things to do.“

Tobias stared back at me, his charm gone.

”Like what? Be all sunshiny? No offense, but don’t you ever have a bad day or get angry? In all the time you’ve been here you’re always smiling and never losing your cool. You’re more like a robot.“

His comment hit me more than I thought it would, so I got up in his face. Which is hard since he’s taller than me, but I made it work.

”Don’t mistake my bubbly personality for being just that. There’s a lot more to my character and my personality than being happy and positive. You don’t know me that well if your words are any indication.“

His eyes widened for a fraction.

”My bad.“

”And that was lesson number 12.“

Tobias rolled his eyes.

”What I don’t get is why they even assigned you to me? We’re polar opposites.“

”You know what’s interesting? In our whole convos, you’ve avoided talking about this whole incident that led up to this moment right now. You keep acting as if you don’t care, and it’s no concern of yours. But you avoid talking about the core problem.“

Tobias crossed his arm.

”Please enlighten me.“

”You’re not a bad guy. But you’d rather have people believe you’re a dick then let them think you have a heart. That’s interesting.“

”Are you done psychoanalyzing me?“ His voice sounded more and more irritated.

”If you think that we’re done? Then you don’t know me at all. We’re just getting started. Get dressed. And don’t be late. If you’re not down in 5 minutes I’m leaving. So dealers choice.“

”Fine, I'll go get dressed. Doesn’t mean this conversation is over.“

”Now it’s 9 minutes.“ I said and watched him quicken his steps while I sat down and enjoyed the nice view of the ocean.

10 minutes later…

”What is this place?“ He asked without really seeming to pay attention.

”It’s called a room. With walls and windows. And sometimes there’s even a door.“

He snickered.

”I know what a room is. I meant what are we doing in this room?“ He looked at all the cans of paint I had people assemble for this exercise.

”That’s the fun part. Team building exercise. It’s also pregnancy safe, which is a plus.“ I grinned, but he just looked at me and didn't reply.

”The point of this exercise is to let go of past hurts. Look at it this way, you can just let all your anger out. I like to call it angry painting.“

I take a can of paint, open it and see the color coral crush. I took it and threw some at the wall.

Tobias regarded me and I handed him another can, he took but stared at it as if it’s been touched by Medusa herself.

”Do you even know how to get angry?“ He looked at me skeptically as he kept holding the pint can in his hands.

”Excuse me?“

He opened the can of paint and a soft canary yellow joined the coral crush tone on the wall.

”Look, all you’ve said is how I have a heart and I don’t let others see it. But you don’t even know me. How do you expect me to trust you?“

”Is this finally the heart-to-heart you’re giving me? One that the others failed to get?“

”Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to partner up.“ He set the can down and was about to walk away.

”Giving up so soon? That’s a shame.“

”What?“ He stopped and slowly turned my way.

”I know you’re the type of guy who likes to do things rather than sit around and talk.“

”You’ve been paying attention? I’m shocked. Everybody knows I’m competitive, that's not a secret.“

”Of course I’ve been paying attention. You know I have bad days and angry moments too. I’m not just some blonde bimbo, who can’t count to three. I notice a lot more than people think.“

”Such as?“ He raised his eyebrows daringly as he leaned against the door frame.

”When you get nervous you bite your lip and clench your left fist. Which would lead me to believe you are left-handed.“

I kept going.

”Whenever I ask you a personal question or try to tackle the issue, you laugh it off, meaning you’re not ready to talk to me or improve your image. You think it’s fine and it doesn't need any polishing. If people don’t like you or think you’re a dick that’s on them.“

Tobias doesn’t say anything.

”I’d wager you’re someone who likes to do things his way or the highway. You don’t play well with others because you like to be in control. It’s hard for you to give anyone even an ounce of your trust because you believe trust is earned. You said it yourself I don’t know much about you, so why should you trust me? So did I get any of that right?“

Tobias didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move a muscle.

”Your silence indicates I got something right.“

”Even if you did get it right, it doesn’t mean I need your help.“

”So what you’d let your image get destroyed and let others decide on the narrative rather than trying to fix it? That doesn’t sound like the Tobias I got to know.“

”I can’t control what people think.“

”Maybe not. But you can let them see that there’s more to you. Do you know what I see right now?“

”What?“

”Someone who’s been hurt in the past, and now you’re hurt again. But you’re trying so hard to bury those feelings that you’re drowning in them.“

”Sounds like a therapy session.“ He mumbled.

”Art is therapy. Did you know I basically got bullied out of the art gallery I worked at in Boston?“

He shook his head. By the look in his eyes I could tell I got his attention.

”I had no idea, but I’m sorry to hear that. Why did you get fired?“

”I quit. I’ve been struggling with anxiety for years. And they’ve seen me as someone they can demean and push around. My voice was snuffed out. I’ve always seen art as freedom, choosing to make art work for you. Art has helped me find an outlet, find my voice. Let me be creative and put paint on a canvas when I can’t name my own feelings.“

He rubbed his neck as if uncomfortable by my word vomit.

”I had no idea. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick. I just…“

”You needed to vent so you let it out on me. I get it. We all lash out when we’re angry. Usually at the people we’re close to.“

”But you seem so calm and composed. You and Bryce never even fight. You’re so perfect.“

I threw my head back and let out a laugh. Making it echo from the walls.

I turned back to Tobias who was looking at me as if I grew another head.

”Do you really believe that? Of course Bryce and I fight. We have disagreements all the time. But we’ve learned how to handle them. Even if we don’t speak to each other for days, it doesn't mean we hate each other. But it means hey I need space I’ll talk when I’ve cooled off. We found our rhythm. We love and understand each other.“

He sighed and sat down, leaning on the wall that was just covered with paint, he winced when he realized it, but he didn’t sit down somewhere else.

”What a mess I’ve created, but maybe you’re right.“

”I must have a fever, or did you just say I’m right?“ I grinned and he smiled back.

”No you heard me correctly. You’re right. I’m scared to end up alone. So that’s why I pushed Chloe away. The woman from the video. We’ve gotten pretty close, and I don't know I panicked. I mean whoever took the video had no right to do that, but I guess people judge me and say how I’m sleeping with her because I’d like to get to the top. But that’s not true. I like the job I have. I have no desire to work in an office. I love working with patients. Hearing them tell me what’s wrong and finding a way to make things better for them.“

”Could it be that you’re scared you won’t measure up? Wanting to prove others wrong? You’d rather be the one who ends a relationship rather than the one who gets his heart broken?“

”Yes to all of the above.“ He nodded.

”Alright. That’s something we can work on.“ I said with renewed energy.

”How? We can’t just fix this mess in a matter of days.“

I smiled softly at him.

”No. But we can slowly build towards improving. You know there is a Hawaiian proverb my grandma always uses: A’ Ohe Pu’u Ki’eki’e Ke Ho’a’o ‘Ia e Pi’i.“

”Uhh…meaning?“ He asked.

”No cliff is so tall it cannot be climbed.“

”I kinda like that phrase.“ He said thoughtfully.

”Yeah it’s beautiful. You know what else? You’re not broken. It just means you haven’t figured out the right formula. I don’t want to turn you into someone you’re not. I just want you to realize that if you keep pushing people away who’d like to be in your life you’ll end up all alone. And that’s not what I want for you. You’re smart, funny and good-looking. Don’t let it go to waste.“

Tobias shook his head as grinned at me.

”You know? Now I understand why Bryce fell for you.“

I grinned at him.

”I told you so. There’s more to me than you might think.“

”I can see that. Also, please tell me I’m not the only one you boss around. At least tell me you do that to Bryce too.“

”Oh trust me I do.“ I laughed again because it felt as if we reached a good point. And I’m glad I could get him to open up.

I can see a big grin forming on Tobias face and I already knew there’s something snarky coming.

”Also I did get something right on the first try.“ He grinned.

”Let me guess how to do sex right.“ I sighed.

”No. It was actually how to pick friends. Maybe after we solve this mess I can try and restore some of my friendships.“

”You got this Carrick.“ I slapped his arm.

”Now you sound like Lahela.“

I winked at him.

”Now what?“ He asked after getting up.

”Now we slowly improve your image. With me by your side things can only get better.“ He laughed out loud and we continued to throw paint at the wall. We might’ve not solved everything, but we’re getting there.

#choicesprompts #roundrobin #TRR & OH #Luna Auclair (F!OC) #Bryce Lahela (M!MC) #Tobias Carrick (M!MC) #Maxwell Beaumont #Bertrand Beaumont

[alj4890]

Round Robin

Choices Books/Characters Used So Far: The Royal Romance, Platinum

Word total: 2,552

Masterlist for the Round Robin event

Next writer: @kingliam2019

Hosted by @choicesprompts

Chapter 4 Initial Meeting

"Gah!"

Bertrand jerked awake from the nightmares he'd been trapped in. Sweat beaded his forehead yet he felt chilled to the bone. His breathing was labored as he kicked the covers off of himself. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and decided that four in the morning was a perfectly acceptable time to give up on sleep.

"How could I possibly rest after that?!" He grumbled.

Slipping his robe on, he quietly left his suite.

The resort he'd secured for this endeavor was on an island off the coast of Cordonia. It had its own airfield, dock, and rolling hills with thick forests to block the hotel from any possible onlookers from the mainland. The front of the hotel faced the ocean and possessed the only beach the island boasted of. The rest was a rocky shore line that few well seasoned boat captains could navigate around.

The secluded area allowed his more famous clients a chance to work through the planned events without paparazzi and the public watching. This would also allow Bertrand to film and have exclusive rights to said progress of these well known individuals.

This has to work, he thought to himself. It must!

Once he made it to the main lobby, he drifted on until he found the hotel's kitchen.

He paused when he heard noise within.

Peering around the corner, he felt both relieved and irritated to see Maxwell rummaging around the industrial size refrigerator.

"Are you still up or have you decided to begin getting up early to start the day off right?"

Maxwell jumped in surprise and whirled around with a large tub of ice cream in his arms.

Bertrand released a resigned sigh at the sight. He knew his brother too well to even hope he had gone to bed at some point during the night.

"What are you doing up so early?" Maxwell asked in order to avoid further questions of his late night activities.

"After the nightmares I've had, I decided that sleep will no longer be of any use."

Bertrand started a nearby coffeepot.

Maxwell found a spoon and hopped up on the counter. Digging in to his tub of Rocky Road, he hummed his concern.

Bertrand rolled his eyes. "Was that an indication of sorrow over my predicament or am I supposed to take it as an inquiry?"

"Both." Maxwell said around a mouthful of heavenly flavors. "What'd you dream about?"

"What else other than the very thing that is weighing heavily upon my mind?" Bertrand grumbled.

"Ah." Maxwell ate another spoonful of ice cream. "How bad was it?"

"Horrible." Bertrand shuddered. "The worst case scenario one could possibly imagine. We were unable to help a wealthy client from Spain reveal her family's questionable background and we had a client murdered by one of our agents."

"Who did the murder?" Maxwell leaned forward with renewed interest.

"Someone I didn't know." Bertrand poured himself a cup of coffee. "It certainly made me rethink my policy of hiring from outside our social status."

After taking a sip, he launched into another rant of how this company had to succeed, that the world was watching and these people needed to be given a chance to prove they could be something other than their reputations.

Maxwell set the tub of ice cream down to search through a nearby cabinet. He came across a bottle of brandy that he figured couldn't hurt. He poured a healthy dose into Bertrand's coffee mug.

"What are you-Maxwell!" Bertrand scolded. "You might be able to flagrantly ignore the pressure we're under, but I--"

"Need to calm down." Maxwell finished for him.

"I can't be drunk on our first official day!" Bertrand argued.

"That teensy splash isn't going to do anything except help you relax." Maxwell pointed out.

Bertrand's jaw dropped when he saw the bottle.

"That's Courvoisier L’Esprit! Do you have any idea how expensive that bottle is?"

Maxwell shrugged. "So? You rented this whole place and all that comes with it. Enjoy it."

"I don't have the luxury of enjoying anything." Bertrand grumbled. "Much less indulging in spirits that costs nearly seven thousand dollars a bottle."

"Live a little." Maxwell patted his back. "It'll do you some good."

"Good? Like it did everyone here?" Bertrand snorted. "All I need to make this company falter is to show I'm no better than they are."

"So they've been caught doing a little bad behavior." Maxwell resumed his ice cream snack. "They're here now, ready to make things right. We'll help them. Word will spread how awesome we are. Badda bing badda boom: everyone wins!"

"Only you could make this sound easy." Bertrand mumbled as he sipped more of his spiked coffee.

"With our people working this, it'll be a piece of cake!" Maxwell exclaimed. "Just you wait and see."

**************

A few hours later, Olivia Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos, was disabling a computerized lock of one of the suites on the tenth floor. With a satisfied click, the door opened without any further trouble.

Her nose wrinkled at the sight before her. The living room area had been completely trashed. The wet bar was littered with empty tequila bottles and strawberry margarita mixes. Lamps had been knocked over. Couch cushions were dirty from shoe prints. Clothes littered the floor and led the way past half eaten appetizers towards the master suite.

Not even bothering to knock and give warning to the occupants, she stormed into the bedroom and opened up the curtains.

There in the bed lay the client she was given. The sunlight revealed that the infamous musician was sandwiched between one of the resort's staff and one of the three Michelin chefs that worked in the kitchens. The two had the decency to sit up and mumble apologies while Raleigh Carrera casually stretched his naked body.

Olivia rolled her eyes at the sight before her.

"Out." She told his guests.

The two hastily left, swiping up their clothes along the way.

Raleigh groaned over the light and cracked one eye open to see what time it was.

He cursed when he saw that it was barely seven in the morning.

"Why are you in my room?" He grumbled.

"Why else?" Olivia replied. "You agreed to do this."

He rolled over on his back and took a deep breath before glancing her way.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

"Olivia Nevrakis." She replied, not fazed at all by him being fully naked. "Duchess of Lythikos."

"Beaumont sent you here for what?" He muttered. "Torture?"

"Trust me, if this was torture," she smirked, "you wouldn't be talking right now."

He snorted as he rolled out of bed. Unabashed at her seeing him in all his glory, and secretly hoping it pissed her off, he walked towards her and paused a hair's breath away from her.

Holding her steady gaze, he reached behind her for one of the half empty tequila bottles.

His brow furrowed when she didn't react to his nearness. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he went past her to look out the window.

The morning light made him wince worse than the alcohol burning down his throat did.

"So?" He said. "I take it you're my shadow that Beaumont was talking about yesterday."

"Correct." Olivia pulled out her phone and began to scroll through some documents that had been sent over the night before. "And you're the PR Nightmare."

He snorted. "Nightmare, huh?" His smile grew hearing that. "I guess you could say that."

"Seems ridiculous to me." Olivia remarked. "Your drinking, carousing, and destruction of private property hardly seems worth my time."

"Giving up on me already, Red?" Raleigh teased. "And after your delightful wake-up call, I thought we'd be friends."

Olivia's chuckle had a cold edge that caught his attention. "Friends? No. I don't do friends with people like you."

His eyes narrowed upon her. "You got a problem with singers or tattooed people?"

"Neither." She replied. "In fact, I'm even slightly fond of someone who has a tattoo." Her own eyes raked dispassionately over him. "What I don't like is someone who rolls over and gives up."

"Gives up?" He threw his bottle down. "On what? What have I given up on?"

"From the few minutes I've been forced to endure your company, I would say self-respect." She shrugged. "I have very little patience as it is, so don't expect me to cheer you on during these next few weeks."

Olivia straightened her suit jacket, and walked out of his bedroom without a second glance.

Raleigh cursed as he chased after her.

"Wait a damn second!" He ordered. "What do you mean, I don't have any self-respect?" He gestured around his room. "What, just because I know how to throw a good party and enjoy life the way I want to; that gives off that I have no self-respect?"

"No." Olivia perched her hip on a table. "The fact that you allowed it to be the only thing you're known for proves you don't have any. Who cares what you do during your private time? You're the only one who has allowed this reputation to develop."

"Hold on!" He ran his hand through his tousled curls. "My former PR reps, the record label; they all demanded I date the new stars to help build up their reputations. I then was told to publicly break up with them and stage wild parties."

Olivia merely raised an eyebrow over that explanation.

"I don't need this shit!" He snapped at her. "Believe whatever the hell you like, but I do other things than screw starlets and trash rooms!"

She didn't even blink over him shouting that last bit.

A knock at his door had him swinging around in agitation to jerk it open.

Maxwell stood there with a camera propped up on his shoulder. His jaw dropped at the sight of the famous singer without a shred of clothing.

"Ummm." He cleared his throat. "I can...uh..."

He swallowed when Olivia appeared behind Raleigh's shoulder.

"Give us a few minutes." She ordered.

"A few minutes for what?" Raleigh griped. "I'm not going to participate in this bullshit another--"

The wind was knocked out of him when Olivia flipped him over her shoulder. He tried to breathe but lost the battle when she straddled his chest, pinned his arms down with her knees, and flipped a dagger in her hand so that the edge was right below his eye.

"Listen closely, because I will not repeat myself." She hissed.

Raleigh heard Maxwell breathe out, "Holy sh--" before Olivia kicked the door closed.

"You desperately need someone to right your image. Your label is already threatening to drop you. Your fans are sick of all the drama you do with fresh faced singers and actors." She told him.

Olivia leaned closer, her words dripping like venom.

"I personally don't care if you waste your life or not. You are nothing to me. You will never be worth my time." She paused. "But, I do have loyalty to the Beaumont's so I will improve your image."

She got off him, replaced her dagger in the strap above her thigh, and straightened her skirt.

"So here's how it is going to go." She informed him. "You're going to get off your hungover ass, get dressed for the camera, and do everything I tell you."

Her eyes narrowed upon him. "If you don't, then your little anonymous community centers in low income neighborhoods will cease to exist."

Raleigh shot up when he heard that.

"You know about those?"

Olivia slowly smiled. "Here's a helpful hint when dealing with me: I know everything before anyone else does."

She motioned towards his bedroom. "Go get dressed."

He got to his feet. "How did Beaumont find out about those? Nobody knows about that."

"Bertrand doesn't know. I conducted my own investigation on you like I do with everyone I interact with." She replied.

Raleigh blinked over that.

The last thing he wanted was for the kids in his old neighborhood to lose out on something to make their lives better. He had plans in place to build more of them across the United States. He couldn't let his true passion die now that he'd found it.

"You really think you can fix my image?" He asked.

"Of course I can." Her smile was full of smugness. "I never fail."

Raleigh took a deep breath and slowly released it. He knew he really didn't have a choice, which stung a bit. Still though, what did he have to lose by letting her try and repair his image? It was either going to work or it wasn't. Couldn't be much worse than what his other agents had attempted.

"Okay." He looked up at her. "I'll do it."

"Get dressed." Olivia ordered on her way to the door. "I'll tell Maxwell we'll be ready to film shortly.

"My nakedness bothering you, Red?" He teased to get a rile out of her.

"Hardly." She rolled her eyes.

"So you do like what you see?" He countered.

She eyed him, a hint of a genuine smile drifted across her lips.

"You're going to wish I did." With that, she stepped out of his room.

***************

A few minutes later, Bertrand joined Maxwell outside of Raleigh's suite.

"How's it going?" He asked.

"Well," Maxwell hedged. "It's, um, it's been an interesting start."

"Really?" Bertrand's excitement couldn't be contained. "Let me see what you have so far."

"Maybe you should wait." Maxwell countered. "I mean, I haven't got all the angles right and I should really get some more footage of--"

"Nonsense!" Bertrand snatched the camera out of his hands. "I've been sitting on pins and needles. I just know that..."

His eyes widened at the sight of Olivia throwing a naked Raleigh Carrera over her shoulder and straddling him.

"Good God!" He screeched. "What on-- why?"

"It's okay!" Maxwell quickly reassured him. "Olivia said Raleigh will be ready in a few minutes. We can--"

"I can't release this to the public!" Bertrand cried out. "We're ruined! Those few seconds of footage will shut us down faster than--"

"People are going to love this!" Maxwell argued.

"Yes. Voyeurs of the worst kind." Bertrand raked his hands through his hair. "No one will ever hire our company again after seeing one of our agents physically attacking a client."

He groaned as the realization struck him. "My nightmares have become true."

"But I think--"

They both became silent when Raleigh opened the door once again. He was clean, dressed in his usual rocker style, and actually had a pleasant smile on his face.

"Sorry for the wait." He jerked his head towards his room. "I'm ready when you are to start filming."

Bertrand' gaped at the man. "You are?"

"Yeah." Raleigh glanced back at Olivia. "Gotta do something to fix this, right?"

"Er, right." Bertrand cleared his throat. "Well then. Maxwell, don't keep the man waiting."

He pushed his brother into the room. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Bertrand forced a smile as Raleigh shut the door then sagged back against the opposite wall.

"Oh thank God." He whispered.

With this strangely auspicious start, he wondered how the other initial meetings were going.

#choicesprompts #round robin fic #choices the royal romance #choices platinum #choices olivia #choices raleigh #raleigh carrera #olivia nevrakis #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont

[choices-binglebonkus]

Currently replaying The Royal Heir and honestly what were they thinking having us play an entire chapter as Bertrand?

#for real #why #like why would they #what is the reason #that’s like if you were playing crimes of passion and you played as uncle tommy for a whole chapter #the royal heir #anti the royal heir #anti trh #choices stories you play #playchoices #choices stories we play #pixelberry #pixelberry studios #playchoices fandom #choices stories you play fandom #choices stories we play fandom #bertrand beaumont #I love the guy but wtf

[cordonianroyalairlines]

Cordonian Royal Airlines

…where we treat every passenger like royalty. The ultimate in air travel. Luxurious private jets for booking to exclusive locales. Small, private, elite.

Welcome to Cordonian Royal Airlines (CRA), a TRR AU in the spirit of Wings and LA to Vegas.  

Leo and Liam Rys, two brothers, both pilots, decide to go into business together, operating a small, private, elite airline that flies exclusive clientele to exotic locales in the lap of luxury. A non-chronological series of loosely related one-shots and drabbles around the exploits of the crew of CRA.

This collaborative project is a joint effort of six creators: angelasscribbles, karahalloway, harleybeaumont, aussiegurl1234, nestledonthaveone and alj4890. Updates might not be frequent or often, but we hope they’re hilarious.

Pilots/Owners: Leo Rys, Liam Rys

First Officers: Drake Walker, Bertrand Beaumont

Flight Attendants: Riley Brooks, Maxwell Beaumont, Hana Lee, Kiara Theron

Office Manager: Madeleine Amaranth

World Renown In-Flight Chef: Olivia Nevrakis

Receptionist/Booking: Penelope Ebrim

Security: Bastien Lykel

Masterlist

Turbulence: Riley confronts Drake with unexpected results.

All I Want for Christmas Part 1: The crew is grounded by a blizzard.

All I Want for Christmas Part 2: Drake does something unexpected.

Ball Drop: Drake and Riley end up in the same place on NYE.

Staking a Claim: Riley's ex shows up on a flight. Drake is less than pleased about it.

#trr au #trr fanfic #the royal romance #trr #trr fandom #cordonianroyalairlines #leo rys #riley brooks #liam rys #drake walker #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #olivia nevrakis #hana lee

[txemrn]

Book: TRR/TRH (events actually occur in TRH Book 1)

Pairing: Liam x MC (Riley); Bertrand x Savannah

Word Count: ~2500

Warning: innuendos; a little language; fluffiness

A/N: I usually enjoy writing fairly angsty TRR material, but when I started gearing up for this past week's @kingliamappreciationweek, I decided I really wanted to write something new that wasn't so dramatic. So, I started thinking about how Liam is a history buff... and if y'all don't know this by now, I'm from Texas, and the thought of that tall glass of water knowing about my home state's history...whew... Give me a moment... This is pure silliness. It's a re-write of Bertrand's bachelor party/Savannah's bachelorette party, and it's just... silly. It does not follow canon very well. But, I hope you still enjoy it! Happy KLAW 2023, friends!

A/N 2: This is my submission for @choicesflashfics week 30! I will be using prompt 3: "That's how the story goes." It will be in bold.

A/N 3: These characters and some of the plot belong to our dear friends Pixelberry. This was not truly pre-read or beta'd. Please excuse my errors.

~👑~

"Alright, lil' ladies with the beautiful bride-to-be!" A burly bartender with a thick drawl and matching beard comes out from behind the counter, making his way to Savannah Walker's bachelorette party.  Delivering a tray of golden caramel-colored shots, he piles each one high with decadent whipped cream. "Here ya go: six blow job shots."

Hana spews out her cocktail, covering her mouth with rosy cheeks.

"Mon dieu! Did–did he just say–"

"Like you don't know what that is, Kiara," Olivia snorts. "Drink up, poufiasse."

Savannah, Madeleine, and Riley cover their giggles, leaning into one another as they take their drinks.

"Wait," Hana holds up her hands as they prepare to toast their third round of shots. "Where's Penelope?"

"Oh, I'm here! I'm here!" She runs up, out of breath, her short hair and denim dress completely drenched.

"What on earth happened to you?" Riley starts grabbing napkins.

"I was checking in with my dog sitter, but the reception here is awful. Plus, it's raining like cats and dogs out—oooooo!" Penelope's eyes beam at the sight of the shots. "What are these?" She leans down to sniff before humming in approval.

"Blow jobs," Olivia smirks.

"Oh!" Penelope nods with curious fascination. "Leo said that about my lips one time–"

"He said what?" Madeleine raises an eyebrow.

"I know, I didn't understand what he meant either."

"No, that's not–nevermind."

"Hold up." Riley raises her hands to silence everyone before turning to Penelope. "Raining like cats and dogs?" She grimaces, glancing at Savannah. "I hope the guys are alright–"

"Gunther!" 

The sudden boisterous voice of Drake Walker echoes through the dive bar, the doors swinging loudly, clapping up against the wooden walls. The large bartender turns, then brightens when he sees his old-time customer and friend coming into his establishment. 

"Whiskers, is that you?"

The girls quietly glare at one another, mouthing the word 'whiskers.'  

The two men grab each other's hands in a shake before pulling into a brotherly hug. Liam, Bertrand and Maxwell file in through the door, shaking droplets from their wet clothes.

"You guys!" Riley jumps up to greet her husband. 

Savannah follows behind, wrapping her arms around Bertrand before brushing a kiss against his lips. "What are y'all doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Maxwell chuckles, throwing his thumb behind his shoulder.

"The campgrounds were rained out," Liam explains, combing his wife's hair behind her ear. "We thought we could stick it out as long as the creek didn't rise too high. But then," he shakes his head, chuckling, "the tents flooded. The truck almost got stuck in the mud."

"Our clothes and shoes are airing out back at the house," Bertrand states, watching his bride fix his wet hair.

"Wow," Olivia snickers, "so much for roughing it for your bachelor party, huh, Beaumont?"

"I beg your pardon," Bertrand stiffens in annoyance, "we almost died out there, duchess."

"It's water."

"Centimeters upon centimeters–"

"Imagine meters of it. Frozen–"

"Well," Riley interjects the budding feud, "I, for one, am happy you guys are out of the nasty weather." She holds her hand up to the bartender, "first round on the crown!" 

"I like the sound of that," Maxwell chuckles.

"'First round on the crown'?" Liam whispers in his wife's ear, humored.

Riley scrunches up her nose, a mischievous grin crawling across her lips. "What can I say?" She giggles, slinking an arm around her husband’s waist. "I've been a queen for over a month, and I haven’t declared anything yet." She turns to her friends. "Let them drink booze!" She glances back at Liam, who's shaking his head at his tipsy wife. "What? I was channeling my inner Marie Antoinette."

"I… caught the reference," he narrows his eyes, gently placing a grip around Riley's neck. "I hope she’s not the inspiration of your own reign," he squeezes his fingers playfully, lowering his voice into a growl. "I'd hate for you to end up like her."

"You're not convincing me otherwise with your hand around my throat, my king." They knowingly snicker to one another, sharing a kiss.

"Okay, you newlyweds," Olivia snickers, rolling her eyes before turning to Drake. "So, um, Whiskers?"

He crosses his arms. "Yes…Red?" He collects a tray of glasses and a fifth of whiskey from Gunther to bring to the table.

"Curious minds want to know about this nickname."

"Awww, you’re thinking about me, Red?" She scoffs as he purposely bumps into her shoulder. "Maybe you'd rather a demonstration of why they call me Whiskers–"

"Drake Elmer!" Savannah scolds. "You're disgusting." She glances to the ladies. "Only Gunther calls him that, and the only reason he calls him that is because of Dad."

"Dad had a rule," Drake air quotes, "that I couldn't taste whiskey until I had whiskers." He nods towards the bartender, "Gunther there served me my first whiskey right after Dad's funeral–"

"Drakey!"  The syrupy voice of Savannah's ex-boyfriend bellows from across the room. "And he brought his royal round up!" The broad-shouldered red-head gives a curt bow, removing his Stetson as he notices Liam, switching to a British accent. "Your majesty."

Liam nods cordially before casually turning towards Riley. "What is it with you Americans thinking everyone in Europe talks with that accent?" Riley giggles under her breath, pinching her husband teasingly.

"Bert!" Chuck opens up his arms, pulling the duke into a tight, bear hug. "How's our groom? Come down here to flex your trivia knowledge?"

"Trivia?" Maxwell questions.

A sudden jolt of excitement hits Drake, his eyes widening as he looks to Gunther. "Is that tonight?"

"You bet yer' asses, Whiskers. $250 cash prize and a bottle of Jack to share."

"Whatd'ya say, Drakey? For old time's sake?" Chuck holds out his hand. Without giving it much thought, Drake clasps Chuck's calloused hand, pulling him into a quick hug. The men begin to hoot and grunt, clapping as they turn to join the rest of Chuck's friends in the corner.

But then Chuck stops, spinning on his heel. He glares at Bertrand before fixing a charming smirk to his mouth. "Where are my manners? Bert, the team is full, or else I'd invite you to join–"

"That's–" Bertrand clears his throat, "--quite alright, I assure you–"

"I mean," Chuck motions to Liam and Maxwell, "unless y'all wanted to make your own team." He glances over his shoulder, “Gunther, what’s tonight’s theme?

"Texas history, fellas," Gunther announces. "Trivia about the greatest fucking country in the world. Texas."

"Ahh. See?" Chuck swings out his arms, shrugging. "That’s how the story goes. Y'all better sit this one out."  With the deep clack of his cowboy boots, he adjusts his belt buckle before slowly strutting back to his seat. 

Seeing the defeat in his face, Savannah runs a hand across Bertrand's chest before giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry about it, hun," she softly croons, "that's not even your idea of fun anyway."

Bertrand grows rigid. "What do you mean? I like to have fun–"

"Of course, B, just… in other… ways–"

"I," he pulls away from his fiancée, pressing his finger into his chest, "am… the epitome of fun–"

"You're right, but–"

"I'm a crate full of apes!"

Riley looks over her shoulder to Liam, whispering, "Does he know that it's a barrel full of–?"

"Shhh," Liam softly hushes, "just let him go."

"You there!" Bertrand shouts to Gunther, causing everyone to freeze. "We would like to play."

"Uh, Bertrand? A word." Maxwell motions for his brother to join him as he stumbles over to Liam. "Are you crazy?" He whisper shouts. "These people already enjoy making fun of us. Why do you want to do this?" 

"It's the principle of it all," Bertrand grows serious.

Maxwell sighs. "What do you think, Li?"

Liam looks up at Bertrand whose gaze is now attentive to Savannah. She laughs at something Kiara says, causing Bertrand's demeanor to slump a little more, as if each second with her reminds him he's not worthy of her.

Liam gets that.

"I think we should do it."

"See, Bertrand? Even Li–wait, what?" Maxwell's jaw drops. "You think this is a good idea?"

"It's just a game, right?" Liam winks handsomely. "Besides, I think Bertrand needs this."

"But Li… Texas trivia? Those guys reek of BBQ, football and leather."

“And we have survived how many secret coups attacks? Liam shrugs before patting the younger Beaumont on the back. "This could be fun."

—

Liam, Bertrand and Maxwell settle at a bar top table near four other teams, including Chuck and Drake's group.  As Gunther passes out electronic buzzers, he explains the rules. Chuck rubs his hands together in cocky delight as Bertrand wipes his brow with small drink napkins.

"Alright! Is everybody ready?" Gunther announces over a karaoke machine microphone. "Let's begin. When is Texas Independence Day?"

Chuck buzzes in with a proud, sarcastic snicker. "March 2nd."

"Correct!"

"Ahh, snaps, you guys," Maxwell hangs his head in his hands. "This was a bad idea."

"It's only been one question," Liam encourages.

"And we're already losing!" Maxwell whines, covering his eyes. 

"Next question. Before her independence, Texas was governed by how many different nations?"

Liam hits the buzzer, turning to an unsuspecting Bertrand. "Psst… how many forks are in the traditional Cordonian place setting?"

Bertrand scoffs. "Six!" He barks out loud before realizing everyone is silent, staring at him.

"Correct!"

"Huh?" Maxwell looks up, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Way to go, Bertrand!" Riley and Savannah cheer as the other ladies clap and whistle.

"Alright," Gunther starts, "next question…"

The trivia night continues, back and forth, question for question. The other teams at the bar had opportunities to answer, but overall, Chuck and Drake's team remained in the lead.

But not by much.

The men from Cordonia gave them quite a run for their money, thanks to Liam and his wealth of knowledge. But although Liam knows the majority of the answers, he is yet to speak for the team; rather, he turns to Bertrand each time after hitting the buzzer, prompting him with a different question that possesses the same answer.

"Okay, folks," the bartender announces, "this is the last question. If this team," Gunther points to Bertrand, Liam and Maxwell, "chimes in and gets it right, it will tie the game, sending us into sudden death." The bar fills with cheers, patrons shouting with excitement and pounding their fists on the tables. "Here we go. The Texas Revolution started in what year?"

There's a slight hesitation, but finally Liam turns to Bertrand and states, "The ending of the Bavarian Regency of Greece." Bertrand furrows his eyebrows, but Liam gives him a reassuring nod as he hits the buzzer.

He clears his throat. "1835?"

Everyone freezes, a hush falling over the bar in anxious anticipation.

"Folks? We've got ourselves a tied game!"

Bertrand exhales heavily, closing his eyes. Liam pats him on the back while Maxwell cheers, tugging on his brother's shoulder.  The entire bar is in a fuss as Chuck and Drake stare confusingly at each other. Gunther gets back on the mic, and explains the sudden death round, which requires for each team to choose one member to represent them.

"You've got this, Li," Maxwell applauds, Bertrand smiling and nodding.

"I think… Bertrand should take this."

"Pardon my insolence, sir, but I do not find that to be a wise decision," Bertrand argues.

"I agree with my brother, Li," Maxwell nods, "you knew all those answers–"

"But Bertrand scored us those points," Liam counters, "he needs to put up a fight until the game is over. It's the principle, remember?"  

Hearing Liam repeat his words, Bertrand grins, courage blooming in his chest. He looks to Savannah who is clapping, mouthing the words 'I'm so proud of you.' 

"I'll do it."

Bertrand and Chuck step forward for the sudden death round, peering into each other's eyes. "Are we ready, gentlemen?" Gunther asks. Both men shake their heads yes, their gazes not leaving each other. "Let the best man win."

For a split second, Bertrand glances at his fiancée, and realizes he might not be the best man, but to her, he is. And no matter what, he's already won.

"Here's the question: made popular by an Alamo hero, this portable weapon that can kill and butcher game. Name the weapon–"

Chuck buzzes in. "The Swiss army knife." He smiles brightly, pulling out his own pocket blade and twirling it in victory.

Bertrand turns back to Liam and Maxwell, shaking his head. Maxwell mouths, 'that's okay! You did your best!' Bertand shakes his head more adamantly, but now he’s starting to grin.

"Actually," the bartender starts, "that’s incorrect, Chuck." Gunther turns towards Bertrand. "Do you have an answer, my foreign friend?"

Bertrand smirks. "You are referring to the Bowie knife."

A stillness hushes the crowd; Savannah and Riley anxiously wait, hands clasped with bated breath.

"That… is correct!"

The entire room erupts with shouts of praise and earth-shaking applause.  Several men remove their ten-gallon hats to whoop in honor of the winner, the women of the bachelorette party squealing in glee.

Drake shakes Bertrand's hand before pulling him into an endearing hug. Liam and Maxwell both clap the duke on the back in congratulations. Savannah quickly cuts in, throwing her arms around her fiancé as her lips crash into his. Gunther comes over with the prize, and shakes Liam's hand. Maxwell snatches the bottle of Jack and the cash, and holds it over his head like a trophy.  More shots and drinks are ordered, the night carrying on into a wild honky-tonk of a dance party.

Riley finds Liam, roping her arms around his neck as he secures his large hands to her waist.

"I'm so proud of you, partner," Riley attempts a drawl. Liam laughs, kissing her forehead as they begin to sway to the slow country beat. "Bertrand said that you actually never gave him any answers; you just… asked him questions that had the same answer"

Liam nods slowly, "Yep."

"Why?"

"Oh, my queen," he beams looking down at her, "it's the principle."

"The principle?" She cocks an eyebrow.

"A man wants to win a woman's heart."

"But Savannah loves him–"

"That's not the point," Liam counters. "A man wants to win her over… and over and over again. If I gave him the answers, that would've cheated him out of proving to her and to himself that he's worthy of her."

"Do you ever feel that way about me?" She croons.

A rosy hue swirls across Liam's cheeks. "More than you realize."

Riley presses a tender kiss to her husband’s chin before continuing their dance. "But… I gotta ask. When did you become so smart about Texas history?"

Liam chuckles. "I've been best friends with Drake Walker since I was 8 years old. We used to do our studies together, and… he was terrible at history."

"So?"

"So?" Liam stifles his toothy grin, licking his bottom lip. "Who do you think did his Texas history homework?"

"William Rys!"

~👑~

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

~👑~

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[karahalloway]

(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper, Olivia and the Beaumonts arrive in Rome... but not everyone is happy to see them

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: None (for once 🤣)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Lots of Italian and random cultural/historical tidbits in this... but, then again, we are in Italy, so the foreign language aspect will be a bit of a running theme through the next few chapters (sorry...not sorry - I actually learnt some Italian in the process!)

A/N2: @aussiegurl1234, before you ask, yes, I HC that Vito bears a striking resemblance to Michele Morrone 😆

Chapter 18 - Diplomatica

"How is it hotter here than in Cordonia?" I gasp as I step out onto the jet's airstairs.

"Italy is a peninsula," Olivia says from behind me, slotting on a pair of Versace cat-eye shades. "It is more exposed to the anti-cyclones that blow up from the Sahara."

My mouth drops as I make my way down onto the steaming tarmac. "This heatwave... is coming from Africa?"

No wonder it feels like the inside of a furnace!

"It certainly isn't coming from the Arctic!" bemoans Bertrand as he shields his face from the intensity of the rays with an upraised hand. "Though what a welcome change that would be!"

"Brr...!" objects Maxwell with a shiver. "No thank you! I've had my yearly fill of sub-zero temps at Olivia's!"

"You're welcome," comes the snippy response as the Duchess of Lythikos strides past us.

"That said, turning the mercury down a few notches wouldn't hurt..." I remark, squinting accusatorily up at the beating sun.

"The summer heatwaves have been growing longer and more intense over recent years," Olivia advises from up front, "leading to consequent effects on food and water security, power generation, infrastructure, not to mention the added burden on the healthcare system across Europe. It is one of the items on the agenda for Christian's roundtable with the Italian Prime Minister tomorrow."

I frown as I arrive at the passenger-side door of the first in a trio of waiting Porsche Macan GTS's. "I thought this was supposed to be an engagement tour..."

"It is," she confirms as a black-suited Italian sporting close-cropped hair and aviators opens the door for her. "But any foreign visit involving a high-ranking head of state is — by its nature — a diplomatic event as well."

"I guess that makes sense," I concede, sliding into the relative reprieve offered by the SUV's A/C system. "Though you said Christian is meeting with the Prime Minister tomorrow... I thought that was supposed to be today. Did something change?"

"No," derides Bertrand as he settles in next to me. "Today, the King is partaking in a meet-and-greet with the Italian President, followed by a private audience with the Pope while the future Queen is fitted for her wedding trousseau, capped off by dinner and a performance of Tosca at the Teatro dell'Opera in the evening. While tomorrow we have been invited to brunch at the Cordonian Consulate, after which the King has a round-table discussion with the Prime Minister, and day will be closed out by a state gala."

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly. "So, the Prime Minister isn't the same as the President...?"

"The Prime Minister is the head of government, while the President is the head of state," the elder Beaumont instructs as Maxwell squishes himself into the backseat on the other side of me. "The roles are quite distinct."

"Of course they are..." I huff under my breath.

Seems like in addition to Olivia's list of influential Cordonian nobles, I will also need to memorise a textbook on European constitutional history...

Though, now I am doubly glad of the business-like, but nevertheless stylish pale pink, high-necked pencil dress that Bertrand foisted on me this morning — it definitely would not have been great to show up underdressed to such a high-level meeting!

"But we must hurry!" the elder Beaumont proclaims. "We are due at the Presidential Palace in just under an hour, and we still need to fight our way through the notoriously infernal Roman traffic!"

"Not to worry," Olivia assures us with a sly smirk from the front passenger seat. "Vito here knows all the shortcuts."

"That sounds ominous..." I mutter, reaching for the seatbelt on instinct.

"I prefer 'expeditious'," she counters, turning to Vito, who has now taken up position behind the wheel. "Andiamo."

"Certamente, Duchessa," he nods, throwing the car forward with a violent depression of the gas pedal.

The sudden acceleration yanks an inadvertent gasp from my lips as I'm thrown back in my seat... just like on that afternoon in Ramsford when Drake pulled the same stunt on the Beaumonts' driveway.

I feel my throat tighten as I glance inadvertently out the window. God, I hope he's okay...

I know in the back of my mind that I'm probably making myself anxious for no reason. Drake is an adult, perfectly capable of taking care of himself... including in close-quarters situations. He's demonstrated that to me plenty of times.

Yet, I still can't help but worry about him. Especially when he's off in a foreign country (all by himself for all I know...), having left with basically no good-bye, and with definitely no assurance of when he expects to get back.

And while I know that he is doing this for me — so we can collar Tariq and extract whatever information he has in relation to the plot to influence the outcome of the social season... and to answer for what he did to me in Applewood — the wait is killing me. I have no idea where he is, what he is doing, and whether he even has his phone turned on, given the high-stakes nature of his self-appointed task.

Which is why I have held off trying to reach out to him (...even though the baser, needier part of me is itching to do exactly that), as I don't want to be the one to interrupt a crucial moment by setting his phone off with an ill-timed call or text, especially considering the three-hour time difference...

I heave a breath.

I just have to trust him. Like he asked me to at every turn of this increasingly bumpy road that we've been travelling since I left New York. And hope that we are finally on our way out of the woods.

Exiting the boundaries of the airport, Vito navigates the Porsche onto a highway where we are able to pick up some speed. Olivia uses the opportunity to open up her phone, throwing some questions in Italian to her associate every so often as we cruise along. Bertrand is similarly occupied, while Maxwell has slipped on some Bose headphones and is bobbing away to the beat.

Which leaves me to stare somewhat aimlessly out the window, watching the scenery roll by in a bid to keep myself distracted.

But the reprieve ends up being somewhat of a welcome one. The various warehouses and road-side auto lots surrounding the airport quickly give way to a tree-lined thoroughfare, and I find myself basking in the calming effects of the greenery, not having expected to encounter such a bucolic sight on the road to a major urban centre.

Eventually, though, the vegetation gives way to the crumbling walls of some kind of expansive estate that we end up following for a good few miles until the asphalt road changes over to cobblestones and we pass in front the gates of a red-bricked stone fortress that looks like it's been plucked straight from the set of Game of Thrones.

"Wow..." I can't help but breathe as I take in the sight of the towering structure simmering under the light of the mid-morning sun.

"Le mura aureliane," advises Vito from up front, catching my awed expression through the rear-view mirror. "Costruita dall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari."

I nod distractedly, craning my neck as we turn a corner to follow the path of the ancient structure that is somehow still standing despite the clear ravages of time and weather.

Nothing lasts like this anymore...

Making another turn, we pass beneath an arched portion of the wall, and the road before us opens up into a leafy boulevard that takes us into the city proper. And from there, it's one jaw-dropping piece of architecture after another jostling for space between more modern buildings and seemingly never-ending rows of trees.

"I didn't expect Rome to be so green..." I admit to no one in particular as I eye up the unusual-looking shrubs.

"You can thank the Ancient Romans," supplies Bertrand without glancing up from his phone. "They planted the now-iconic stone pines in scores along the major roadways in part to serve as ornamentation, and in part to provide a steady supply of pine nuts, which are an essential ingredient in many dishes, including pesto and various pies and tarts."

"It certainly was worth the effort," I agree, watching the evergreens drift past on either side of us.

Though, as Bertrand predicted, the closer we get to the centre of the ancient capital, the increasingly chaotic the traffic becomes, with cars, buses and mopeds all vying for space on the roads, requiring Vito to make recourse to his own horn as well as various offensive gestures in order to narrowly avoid a slew of accidents... and I suddenly have a slightly better appreciation for why Drake drives the way he does. Because based on my experiences first in France and now in Italy, it appears that on the Mediterranean, might equals right when it comes to priority on the road, and unless you're forceful, you ain't getting nowhere.

Managing to finally extricate ourselves from the constraints of a complicated intersection, we end up on a quieter road running parallel to a long patch of bunkered-looking grass on our left.

"What's that?" I ask, tapping Vito on his shoulder.

"Il Circo Massimo," he advises.

My eyes widen. "That's the Circus Maximus?"

"Sì," he nods. "L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corse dei carri."

"Unbelievable..." I murmur, slumping back into my seat in awe.

There is nothing comparable back home — even the oldest still-extant pre-Columbian structures date to only the first millennia A.D. Whereas here we are, casually cruising past a seminal piece of history that is still embedded into the fabric of the city nearly three thousand years after its construction. And we haven't even seen the Colosseum, or the Forum yet!

Rome really is the Eternal City...

Leaving the green fields of the Circus behind us, we enter a more urban-looking environment as we start to climb a hill. The white- and sand-coloured buildings cluster closer together, and the general architecture becomes more uniformly Baroque, until we arrive in a large plaza dominated by a massive, Neo-Classical structure that towers over everything else.

"Il Vittoriano," Vito offers without prompting.

"Is that where we're having brunch with the President?" I ask, slack-mouthed as I stare up at the imposing building.

It certainly looks impressive enough to house the head of a country!

"Of course not!" admonishes Bertrand. "The Vittoriano is a symbolic collection of monuments built to commemorate the rule of King Victor Emmanuel II and the unification of Italy. The President resides at the Quirinal Palace, which is located on a wholly different Roman hill!"

"Oh," I mutter sheepishly.

"Like she is going to know the difference," scoffs Oliva from the front. "They don't even teach The Art of War in her schools... How can you expect her to know anything about Italian history?"

"Italian history is foundational history!" insists Bertrand. "The Romans were instrumental in shaping not just the course of European, but Northern African and Middle Eastern events for millennia! How can they neglect to teach American children about this?"

"Because the focus is on US history," I tell them wearily as Vito navigates us to the other side of the square.

"Surely that is an afternoon's worth of lessons at most?" the elder Beaumont queries sceptically. "Your country was only founded in the conventional sense of the word in the mid-1600s..."

"Most Americans haven't been to Europe," I remind him, watching the rows of buildings flick past on either side of us as we begin the ascent up another hill. "They don't necessarily have a basis of comparison."

"Sounds like your curriculum is somewhat lacking in scope, then..." he surmises with pursed lips.

"Yeah, well..." I retort dryly, "I don't write the textbooks. Though, speaking of education, is there any chance for some sightseeing? It would be a shame to spend two days here and not actually see anything..."

"While I wholeheartedly approve of the sentiment," Bertrand replies, "I am afraid that you will have to make do with the cultural experiences offered by the various host venues on the official itinerary. Which — I admit — are no Pantheon, or Sistine Chapel, but are impressive and important cultural artefacts, nevertheless. The Quirinal Palace, for instance, so named for the Quirinal Hill on which it sits, is actually the sixth largest palace in the world and has served as the primary residence of such notable figures as—"

I let out a low exhale as Bertrand launches into a full-blown historical recital. And while the details are definitely interesting, I didn't come all this way to listen to a one-man rendition of a Roman guidebook.

Which makes me all the more determined to find some kind of opportunity to slip away from the official tour — even if it's just for an hour to toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain — so that I can experience something of the magic that this breathtaking city has to offer.

When, I have no idea, given the busyness of our schedule, but I managed to orchestrate an escape plan to see the capital back in Cordonia, so I'm confident I'll be able to pull something similar... albeit without Drake's help this time. But despite the set-backs, I'm not about to miss out on this kind of once-in-a-lifetime experience...

With my intention firmly set, the car rounds an uphill corner, and we are suddenly on the edge of yet another expansive plaza secured by a rim of strategically placed concrete planters and a pair of police cars.

Vito pulls to a stop and slides the window down to exchange a few quick words with the officer who has come to greet us.

"Passports," instructs Olivia, reaching into her purse.

Opening up the white, Medusa emblazoned Versace clutch sitting on my lap — which I am sure cost more than what I would've ever made in a month working as a waitress back home, but which Bertrand had insisted on as a 'necessary' Italian-themed accessory — I pull out my shiny, new Cordonian passport and pass it to the front.

Maxwell and Bertrand do the same, and there is a couple of minutes of tense silence while the stern-looking officer inspects each document to verify our identities, while another policeman does a circuit 'round the car with a convex safety mirror.

Finally, the policeman hands the passports back with a curt nod, and waves us through.

"Were they not expecting us?" I query as I slot my credentials away again.

"They were," Olivia advises. "But we are arriving separately from the royal delegation, so the State Police are obligated to run a security check."

"Why?"

The Duchess of Lythikos scoffs back at me. "To ensure that we are not terrorists trying to kill the President with a car bomb... Or did that part go over your head?"

"No..." I hit back sarcastically. "I meant why are we arriving separately?"

She looks back at me with an arched brow. "Would you have preferred to deal with the press?"

"I... No," I admit.

She turns back to the front with a smirk. "Didn't think so."

Vito pulls the car to a stop in front of a small courtyard decked out with a red carpet and intertwined streamers made out in the colours of Cordonia's and Italy's flags. Allard and Schweitzer — who had been travelling in the car behind us — appear to open the doors for us.

Bertrand scoots out of the backseat first, before turning back to offer me his hand.

"Thanks," I say with a sincere smile, grasping his fingers to help pull myself up.

"Always my pleasure," he replies with a genuine smile.

Smoothing my skirt, I gaze up at the somewhat understated-looking entranceway, suddenly nervous about the prospect of acting as a newly-minted ambassador of Cordonia. I mean... three months ago, I was bussing tables at a dive bar for less than minimum wage, and now here I am, decked out in clothes that cost more than the rent I was paying for a fifth-storey walk-up, about to have an official meeting with a foreign country's head of state.

To say that I feel like a fraud is a massive understatement.

"What are you waiting for?" asks Olivia, breezing past me with all the confidence of a woman who's done this a hundred times before... probably because she has. "For the grass to grow?"

"I—"

"I heard the President loves chocolate bomboloni," offers Maxwell enthusiastically, linking his arm through mine to tug me down the length of the red carpet.

"What's...that?" I ask, forcing myself to swallow down the sudden dryness in my throat.

Maxwell's face collapses into an aghast look of shock. "Only the best pastry-based dessert! Second only to cronuts, of course!"

"That's definitely a high bar to hit," I admit.

"Think mini doughnuts with gooey chocolate filling, dusted with powdered sugar," he explains. "They literally melt in your mouth!"

"Except we are not here to indulge infantile cravings for sugary treats," reprimands Bertrand as we pass through the arched doorway. "We are here to partake in important discussions relating to matters of state, and t—"

"Pfft," scoffs Olivia. "Speak for yourself, Beaumont. These meetings are dull as shite. I'm here for the sweets."

I can't help but snort at the unexpected riposte... as well as the resultant sight of Bertrand's jaw hitting the parquet flooring. And I unexpectedly find myself feeling better about the whole experience. Because despite whatever nerves I may be feeling, the fact that Olivia and the Beaumonts are with me means that I am not alone in this.

Passing into the coolness of the building, we are greeted by a middle-aged woman who proceeds to lead us through a veritable rabbit warren of ante-rooms and corridors before we finally arrive in an expansive room dominated by a pair of jaw-dropping crystal chandeliers suspended from a vaulted, hand-painted ceiling.

"La Salle Bronzino," informs our guide, indicating that we should step through.

"Wow..." I breathe, trying to take in the opulence with as much composure as I can.

A slew of camera shutters click to life upon our arrival.

Jerking my gaze down from the delicate, celestial fresco above me, I spot the handful of photographers aiming their lenses at me.

I stifle a groan as I plaster a demure smile onto my face. "I thought you said there wouldn't be any reporters."

"This is an official state visit," Bertrand hisses out of the corner of his mouth. "Of course, there will be reporters!

"Just not as many as there would have been outside earlier," Olivia assures me.

My shoulders slump in acquiescence. "Take the wins you can get, I guess..."

"Ah, you made it!" exclaims Christian, striding up to us with a jovial grin. "Traffic wasn't too terrible, I hope?"

"Nothing Vito couldn't handle," Olivia assures him, dipping into a chaste curtesy as the photographers snap eagerly away.

Christian turns to me with a good-natured chuckle. "And Lady Harper... First impressions haven't put you off, have they?"

"No," I assure him, bobbing down politely as well, knowing that everyone in the room now has their eyes on us. "The exact opposite, actually."

"Excellent," he beams, holding my gaze for a second longer than he did with Olivia. "I have to admit that I have a bit of a soft spot for Rome, myself."

"It really is a—"

"Darling," interjects Madeleine with a steely smile, appearing at her fiancé's shoulder. "You really should focus your attentions on the President. He has been gracious enough to open up his home for us, after all..."

Christian's nostrils flare with the briefest flash of irritation as he pulls back slightly. "Quite. Let us go make the necessary introductions."

Madeleine bristles. "That is not what I—"

Deftly ignoring her, Christian extends his arm decisively towards an elderly man wearing a sombre suit and gold-rimmed glasses. "Shall we?"

"I guess so?" I concede, already feeling myself being steered past the silently fuming countess.

"Now remember," Bertrand mutters next to me as Christian leads us down the length of the room. "In the context of a formal conversation, it is always lei — never tu — when addressing your counterpart, so for the love of all that is holy, please do not—"

"Singor Presidente," proclaims Christian as he pulls to a stop. "Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione."

The President raises his head dutifully. "Certamente."

"Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell."

The Beaumonts bow their heads dutifully.

"Beaumont..." the President frowns. "Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso?"

"Sì," Bertrand confirms. "Egli è nostro padre."

The President is nodding in recollection. "Sì... sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui."

"Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte," Bertrand acknowledges.

"E questa è Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos, un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys."

Olivia holds out her hand. "E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente."

The President drops a chaste kiss on the back of her hand. "Il piacere è tutto mio."

"E finalmente," concludes Christian, "questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria."

The President's brows arc inquisitively. "Singorina Harper... You are... American? No?"

"Sì," I affirm as I offer my hand out. "Ma ho praticato mio Italiano..."

The President's mouth cracks into a genuine smile. "And you are doing very well, Singorina! Tell me, have you visited la città eterna before?"

"No, this is my first time," I admit, also switching to English, now that the formalities are over and done with. "But even the ride from the airport was utterly magical! It's like stepping into history!"

"Sì," the President affirms with a grin. "Us Romans are unspeakably lucky to be able to call such a beautiful city our home. It is a place of many treasures."

"What is your favourite part of the city?" I ask.

The President blinks in surprise at the unexpected intimacy of the request. "That is a difficult question... But if I am forced to choose... it would have to be this little forno next to la Fontana di Trevi which makes a very unique — and very delicious — pistachio croissant. It is not for every person, but if you have a spirit of adventure, then I suggest you try it."

"Thank you," I say with a sincere smile, filing the suggestion away. "I definitely will!"

"I cannot say that I have had the pleasure of sampling this treat, either," Christian admits, with a knowing glance down at me. "But Lady Harper has excellent taste in pastries — she was actually kind enough to introduce us to an American delicacy called a cronut. It was a big hit all around."

"A cronut?" queries the President. "I cannot say I am familiar..."

"Don't worry," Maxwell assures him with a conspiratorial grin. "We'll bring you one. If you'll trade us some bomboloni in exchange?"

Bertrand's already sunburnt face reddens further. "Maxwell! You cannot entreat the President t—"

"You like bomboloni, also?" interjects the President with keen interest.

"Of course!" Maxwell affirms enthusiastically. "Anyone who doesn't like them clearly has something wrong with them!"

"Sounds like you have excellent taste in pastries as well, Signore Maxwell!" chuckles the President.

The conversation continues to revolve around our shared food interests for a few more minutes, until an aide clears his throat from behind the President.

"Accettare le mie scuse," he apologises. "But I am being advised that it is time for the photographs and the speeches."

"Of course," nods Christian graciously, indicating that the President should lead the way to the front of the room where a small podium has been set up.

As the two men peel away from the group, I cast my eyes 'round the space and spot Hana standing by one of the large windows. Giving her a wave, I use the brief break in the proceedings to make my way over to her.

"So, what's the view like from this side of the room?" I ask by way of greeting.

"Quieter than your side," she admits wryly. "You certainly seemed to be having an engaging conversation with the President!"

"We discovered a shared love for sugary treats," I admit. "You should've joined us — you could've bragged about that baking championship that you won."

"It's alright," she demurs with a blush. "It's actually been nice to take a moment to step away from the crowd."

"Oh?" I ask, laying a concerned hand on her arm. "Is something wrong?"

She heaves a breath, as if debating whether to tell me. Finally, she says, "I have been fending off suitors."

My brow shoots skywards. "How many proposals have you had?"

"Since I arrived...? Probably twelve..."

My eyes bulge. "Twelve! That's like two a day!"

"Yes," she concedes with a weary exhale. "Lady Madeleine has been extremely gracious in personally introducing me to numerous eligible bachelors—"

"—but none of them are Maxwell," I surmise.

Her eyes flick up to mine before dropping back down sorrowfully. "No. But for the sake of my parents, I must entertain every available option in an honest manner."

"That definitely sounds exhausting..." I concede. "But hopefully now that we're out of the country, you can catch a bit of a break."

"I am not so sure..." she admits. "I have been advised that a number of well-connected Italians will be in attendance at the opera tonight..."

"Pfft...!" I scoff. "Just take the night off... Pretend to be sick... Run off with Maxwell to get some gelato... Actually enjoy being in Italy!"

Hana blushes. "I—"

The chime of a bell rings out across the room, interrupting our conversation.

Looking up, I see that all heads have turned dutifully towards the twin forms standing on the dais as they prepare to address the congregation.

"Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori," greets the President, "È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazione reale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. È passato troppo tempo da—"

As the speech winds on, I find myself tuning out, given that I am only able to understand every third or fourth word. But, not wanting to come across as rude by continuing my catch-up with Hana, I instead try to occupy myself by examining the two large tapestries suspended on the walls.

A round of applause draws me out of my reverie, and I join in on auto-pilot as the President hands off to Christian. Several more minutes of lilting Italian fills the room, during which time I move my attentions to the Roman-looking busts, wondering which emperors they depict.

Finally, the speeches come to a close, and I heave a sigh of relief.

"Did you understand any of that?" I ask Hana as the President presents Christian with some kind of medal, and the two men pose for photos.

"Of course," she nods. "My parents—"

"—have been giving you Italian lessons since before you could talk?" I finish dryly.

Hana's cheeks dimple. "Not quite that young, but yes. I am what they consider 'proficient'."

"Meaning, you speak it better than I speak English," I joke.

She snorts in response. "I wouldn't say that..."

"But it's true," I say with a smirk, happy to see that Hana's time back at court has not completely crushed her sense of humour.

"Ah, I've missed talking to you, Harper," she says with genuine feeling. "The last few days have felt so busy that I feel like we haven't spoken in months!"

"Yeah, tell me about it..." I agree with a huff. "In the space of a week, I've become a Cordonian citizen, been granted a duchy, gone from number five to number one on Madeleine's shit list, and—"

Hana's eyes widen. "It's not that bad, surely...!"

"It's probably worse," I admit. "And being on the front page of the Cordonian Sun — again — is probably not helping matters either..."

"Yes, I saw that article..." she commiserates with feeling. "I'm sorry that the press are treating you in that manner again."

"Hey, it's not your fault," I assure her. "But the press aren't all bad — I managed to convince Ana de Luca to help us track down the photographer who took those pictures of me and Tariq, and she actually came through yesterday."

"That's great!" she enthuses. "I have to admit that I have not had much success on my side... Madeleine does not permit her ladies-in-waiting to handle any of her private correspondence, including her mobile phones and laptop. And she has only talked to us about the upcoming events on the tour..."

"Well, it was a bit of a long-shot, anyway," I concede with a shrug. "But who knows? We might get—"

"Pardon," interrupts Kiara with a pointed cough. "But the Queen requests your presence."

I roll my eyes with a scoff. "She's not married to Christian yet..."

"But she will be soon," she reminds me pointedly. "So, it is actuellement in your interest to remain on her good side, given that you are now a duchess."

I feel the corner of my mouth scrunch into a mou of dissent, but I force myself not to pick apart the many things that are wrong with her statement. "Fine. Where is Her Majesty?"

"Bidding adieu to the President," she advises. "She has asked that in the meantime I gather the ladies who are to accompany her to the wedding boutique."

"Does she really need an entourage to go shopping?" I ask as we start making our way back to the double doors at the far end of the room.

"It is tradition for the suitors who were not picked at the end of the social season to assist the queen-to-be in the preparations for the wedding, including selecting her bridal gown and trousseau."

"Wonder how many times that's gone wrong before..." I mutter under my breath.

"It is a ritual de beaucoup d'importance," Kiara insists seriously. "The former suitors — and their families — demonstrate their public support for the union via the personal assistance they provide the bride and groom in the lead-up to the big day, as well as in the act of taking on key roles during the ceremony itself."

"Let me guess..." I grumble. "We're all going to be maids of honour, too..."

"In Cordonia, the correct term is 'witness'," she corrects. "They are the ones chosen by the couple to countersign the marriage certificate. Mais oui — it is likely that one or two of us will be called upon in such a manner."

"Great..." I sigh, arriving at the entranceway where Penelope and Olivia are already waiting. "All the things we get to look forward to..."

"Oh, Lady Harper!" squeals Penelope in excitement. "I love your dress! How do you always manage to find such super chic pieces?"

"Uhh..." I say, genuinely taken aback by her enthusiasm. "Bertrand picked this, actually..."

Olivia snorts derisively. "You mean Lord Tweedle-Dee? Please... That man has worse fashion sense than Jared Leto."

"Actually, he—"

"If you lot are quite finished with your asinine chit-chit," snaps Madeline as she strides imperiously past us, "you can pick up your feet. We are already running late for my appointment... Which took months to schedule, so don't you dare make me miss it!"

I meet Hana's gaze with a fish-eyed look. "Ever heard the term 'bridezilla' before?"

"No," she admits with a frown. "But it sounds scary..."

"Oh, trust me!" I assure her as we bring up the rear. "It is! Especially since it sounds like Madeleine is planning to take the concept to a whole 'nother level..."

The story continues in Chapter 19: Field Day

A/N: Translations for the Italian below:

At the airport: Andiamo - Let's go

Certamente, Duchessa - Certainly, Duchess

En route Lemura aureliane. Costruitadall'imperatore Aureliano per difendere Roma dai barbari. - The Aurelian Wall. It was constructed by the Emperor Aurelian to defend Rome against barbarians.

Il Circo Massimo - The Circus Maximus

Sì. L'antico stadio romano costruito per le corsedei carri. - Yes. The ancient Roman stadium constructed for chariot racing.

Il Vittoriano - This is a colloquial nickname for the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II

At the Presidential Palace Singor Presidente. Permettetemi di presentarvi altri membri della nostra delegazione. - Mr President. Allow me to introduce some additional members of our delegation.

Certamente - Certainly

Questo è Singor Bertrand Beaumont, duca di Ramsford, e suo fratello, Maxwell. - This is Lord Bertrand Beaumont, Duke of Ramsford, and his brother, Maxwell.

Beaumont... Sai, mi suona familiare. Sei parente di Signor Bartholemy, per caso? - Beaumont... You know, that sounds familiar. Are you related to Lord Bartholemy, by chance?

Sì. Egli è nostro padre. - Yes. He is our father.

Sì...sì... Ha accompagnato il re precedente in molte occasioni. Sei molto simile a lui. - Yes... Yes... He accompanied the former king on many occasions. You look a lot like him.

Sì, la somiglianza di famiglia è forte. - Yes, there is a notable family resemblance.

E questaè Singorina Olivia Nevrakis, duchessa di Lythikos,un mio carissimo amico, e fedele sostenitrice del famiglia Rys. - And this is Lady Olivia Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos, a dear friend of mine, and loyal supporter of the Rys family.

E' un piacere conoscerla, Signore Presidente. - My sincere pleasure, Mr President.

Il piacere è tutto mio. - The pleasure is all mine.

E finalmente, questa è Singorina Harper, la nuova duchessa di Valtoria. - And finally, this is Lady Harper, the new Duchess of Valtoria.

Sì. Ma hopraticato mio Italiano.* - Yes. But I am practising my Italian. *Italian speakers will note that there is a grammatical mistake here (the correct phrasing is 'Ho praticato il mio italiano'). However, the mistake is deliberate because Harper learnt Italian literally an hour ago, so she's not going to be perfect at it!

La città eterna - the Eternal City (nickname for Rome)

Accettare le mie scuse - [Please] Accept my apologies.

Vostra Altezza Reale, colleghi delegati, Signore e Signori. È un onore, per me, ospitare la delegazionereale di Cordonia, nostro vicino e stretto alleato per centinaia di anni. Èpassato troppo tempo da— Your Royal Highness, fellow delegates, ladies and gentlemen. It is my honour to host the royal delegation of Cordonia, our neighbour and ally for many centuries. It has been far too long since—

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Never Have I Ever

Chaper 20 - Watershed

Book- TRR

Series- Never Have I Ever

Pairings- Bertrand x MC 

Chapter Synopsis- What started out as a humiliating ordeal with Savannah has turned into a huge realization for Bertrand.

Chapter Warnings- language, sensuality

Rating - Mature

Word Count- 2,980

A/N- I know it's been a MINUTE since I posted, but I'm back and ready to continue this story! Since it's been a while since I posted the previous chapter, I'm going to include a snippet of what happened at the end of chapter 19 to refresh your memory.

_______________________________________________

Bertrand closed his eyes tightly and imagined Riley in front of him. Instead of the overwhelming scent of Chanel No. 5, he caught the faint note of Riley’s floral shampoo. Suddenly he could taste Riley’s strawberry lip gloss. He caressed her cheek, knowing there were adorable tiny freckles beneath his hand. He ran his fingers through her golden locks which were probably just let out of a messy bun or braid. He felt her arms wrap around him and she whispered against his ear, “Do you want me, Bertrand?” His mind flashed back to Riley laying beneath him, her plump lips curving into a sexy grin as she uttered, “fuck me, Bert.”

Savannah whispered against his ear, “Say my name. Tell me you want me.”

Bertrand smiled with his eyes still closed tightly and replied, “I want you, Riley.”

__________________________________________________

Chapter 20 -Watershed 

Bertrand flailed his arms in an attempt to steady himself as Savannah quite literally tossed him out of her bedroom and into the hall. “Savannah, can we just talk about-”

“No, we cannot!” She shrieked, looming in the doorway with her blouse still unbuttoned.

A creak in the hallway snapped their attention to a very startled Riley, who was holding a bag of Chewy Chips Ahoy, attempting to return to her room to watch some trash TV with a late night snack.

“Oh, isn’t this just perfect!?” Savannah spat, now directing her ire at Riley.

“Savannah, please lower your voice! People are trying to sleep and we don’t want to cause a scene.” Bertrand whispered with his hands held in front of him as if trying to calm a wild animal.

“A scene? A scene?! I’ll give you a scene!” Savannah shouted, picking up a vase from a nearby table and raising it over her head, poised to hurl it down the empty hallway. Suddenly her entire demeanor changed and she took several deep breaths. “No.. No. Lady Savannah Jane Walker is better than this. That’s right. She’s a lady. She doesn’t need to lower herself to yelling and screaming and throwing things. Especially not over a man who turned out to be nothing more than a lying, cheating scoundrel.”

Riley watched the scene before her in utter confusion and brought a cookie to her mouth, chewing slowly. This was wilder than anything she could have seen on TV. 

Savannah took another deep breath before fixing Riley with a murderous gaze. “And don’t worry, he’s all yours!” She spun around, stomping into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, leaving Bertrand and Riley alone in the hall.

“Riley.. I..” Bertrand started, but Riley nodded her head toward her bedroom which was thankfully at the other end of the hall from Savannah’s.

“Come on. It’s probably safer if we talk away from.. Whatever that was.”

Bertrand dropped down onto Riley’s bed with his head in his hands. 

She touched his shoulder softly, “What happened?”

He sighed and mumbled without lifting his head, “Utter humiliation. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Riley?!” Savannah snapped, breaking the kiss and jerking away from him.

“What?” 

“You just called me Riley!” 

“I’m certain I did no such thing.”

Savannah’s brows furrowed and she looked as if she might physically hurt him. “You did! You son of a bitch! I knew you had a thing for her!”

“No! It’s not like that!”

“So that tramp got her hooks into you!”

“Savannah, that’s not-”

“Don’t lie to me, Bertrand! Are you two having sex?”

“I-I-I.. no?”

“Oh my god! You are!”

At that point, Bertrand could do nothing but drop to his knees and beg. “Please don’t tell anyone!”

Savannah’s mouth fell open and she ran her hands through her hair, pulling slightly so several strands stuck out wildly. “You think I would tell people about this?! This is humiliating for me! The man I’m courting is sleeping with common trash! My reputation would never recover if people found out! Why this whole thing makes me-”

Savannah suddenly stopped and took several deep breaths, speaking with an eerily calm voice. “No, no. Calm down Savannah. You can fix this. There are still several eligible men at court. What’s that idiot’s name? The one who is going to be an earl? Neville? Yes. Yes. We can do this. There’s still time for you. You’re young and beautiful. You’re going to be a countess.”

Bertrand watched her with wide, and slightly fearful eyes before saying, “I am truly sorry for-”

Savannah’s expression once again turned heated. “Oh, you're going to regret this! When I think of all the time I wasted with you, you pathetic, stuttering mess of a man! Get out of my sight!” 

He jumped up and rushed for the door and Savannah shoved him roughly into the hallway.

Riley rubbed his back soothingly, trying her best to comfort him. She wished she could have been a fly on the wall for whatever weirdness happened back there. “Ok, we don’t have to talk about it.” She smiled and held out the bag, “want a cookie?”

Bertrand looked up from his hands and burst into laughter and Riley couldn’t help but join in. He smiled genuinely, clearly thankful for some relief from the earlier tension. 

“I should probably go.” Bertrand shook his head, looking back down at the floor. “This has been an.. unusual night.”

“Understatement of the century.”

He stood and headed for the door. “I apologize that you had to witness all of that. And I truly hope that you are feeling better than you were earlier today. I was quite worried about you.”

Riley smiled and held out her arms. “Come here.”

Bertrand returned her smile and stepped toward her, easily melting into her embrace. His heart instantly stopped racing. His body erupted in goosebumps and he felt warmer and safer than he had in his entire adult life. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, breathing in everything about her. The warmth of her embrace and the softness of her skin sent him into a comforting and calm place that he didn’t ever want to leave. Despite the horrible night he had, everything was suddenly right with the world and he couldn’t have been happier.

After a few moments, they separated and Bertrand headed back to his own room. As soon as he locked his door, he slumped into a chair, groaning as a new and bittersweet realization overtook his entire being. 

There was no use denying it anymore. Riley was his calm, his home. And he was in love with her. Hopelessly, desperately, madly, and completely in love.

_________________________________________________

The following day, the court returned to the palace to prepare for Liam’s upcoming coronation, but the Beaumont’s stayed behind a few more days to attend some upcoming appointments. Bertrand was thankful for some time away from the court, in particular, Savannah. He desperately needed time to think about.. Well, everything.

Bertrand had spent the last four months implausibly falling in love with the woman he had been training to be a queen. When Maxwell convinced him to sponsor this woman, the only reason he allowed it was because having someone from his house be chosen would be a way to secure his legacy. But each day spent with Riley, made him care less and less about his legacy, and more about something new. Something he had never cared about before. 

His own happiness.

Growing up, Bertrand always struggled with the guilt that inevitably accompanied any sort of happiness. His childhood and teenage years were almost completely devoid of any sort of joy. Under the scrutiny of his father, he had grown up far too quickly. There was always something he needed to improve on, and his father made sure to inform him of this on a daily basis. His adult life was spent going through the motions of trying to keep house Beaumont in good standing. There was no time for frivolity or romance in any way. Not until people in court began questioning why he hadn’t chosen a wife, did he begin to accept Savannah's persistent propositions for a date.

What was he supposed to do now that everything had changed?

______________________________________________

Riley knocked on Maxwell’s ajar bedroom door, pushing it open when he didn’t answer. “Max? You in here? Ready to go?”

A retching sound from his adjoining bathroom caught her attention. She peered around the corner and found Max slumped over the toilet. “Max, are you ok!?”

“Ughhhh.. Don’t look at me.”

“Aw, honey, what happened?”

“Armando has a stomach bug.”

Riley ran some cold water over a washcloth and blotted his forehead and neck, “Ah, that makes sense. Since you always have your tongue down his throat, you caught it too.”

Max coughed and waved Riley away, “Thank you, but I don’t want you to see me like this. I’m too hideous!” He sniffled dramatically, “Remember me as I once was, Riley. The cool, sexy, charismatic, life of the party.”

“Max, you’re going to be ok!” Riley tried not to laugh at his melodrama. “I’m going to get you some sprite and crackers and pepto bismol. Do you want me to call the doctor?”

Max put his head in his hands, “No, Armando said his is almost over, so it looks like a 24 hour bug.”

After a few moments, Riley returned with a tray full of snacks and medicine and placed it on the nightstand. She turned down his bed, clicked on his TV and lowered the lights. Max staggered into bed and pulled the sheet up to his chin. “Thank you. You’re an angel, you know that?”

She placed the washcloth on his forehead and chuckled, “I don’t know about that.”

Maxwell gasped, “Oh no! Your appointment at the boutique is today!”

“I’m sure I can reschedule.”

“No way! Do you know how many favors I called in to get you into Levre Rouge Boutique at such short notice? You have to get a killer dress for the coronation and show up all those snooty, prissy twats!”

“But.. I don’t want to go alone.”

“Ask Bertrand!”

“Do you think he’d really want to go dress shopping with me?” Riley laughed skeptically, but paused when she noticed the thoughtful look on Maxwell’s face.

“I think he’d be happy to do literally anything with you, Riley.”

Her heart fluttered and she couldn't keep the smile from her face. She patted Maxwell’s hand and made her way to the door, still unable to stop grinning. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?”

“I will.” Max smiled and settled into bed. “Now go get something sexy, bitch.”

______________________________________________________

Bertrand waited in the crisp, white and red sitting area of the fanciest dress shop he had ever seen in his life. Levre Rouge Boutique had dressed princesses, celebrities, heiresses, and everyone in between. Whatever they chose for Riley to wear to the coronation would surely be jaw droppingly gorgeous. Not that she needed a new dress for that.

“Ready for the first one?” Riley sashayed out in a sleek, forest green dress that hugged her curves all the way down to the top of her thighs, where a long slit began, ending in a pool of silk at her feet.

She stuck out her leg, allowing the slit to open completely and Bertrand swallowed hard as his eyes betrayed him, taking in every inch of skin he could. “It’s um, um..”

She grinned and waved him over to her side in front of several floor length mirrors. “Come over and see it properly.” She twirled and flared the dress out. “It’ll need to be taken in a bit, and it’s way too long, but the seamstress said they can have any alterations done overnight. Apparently you Beaumont’s have a lot of clout around here for some reason.” She winked and nudged Bertrand, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. “That.. was a joke. I mean, obviously you have clout being nobility.. Bert, you ok?”

He cleared his throat and met her eye line, desperately trying to avoid the ample amount of cleavage protruding from the top of the gown. “It’s lovely. I mean, you’re lovely. I mean, you look lovely.. In the dress.” Bertrand cringed. Somehow he always made a mess of everything he said when she was around.

She smiled and took his hand. “Thank you.”

A plump woman with gray hair pulled into a tight bun blew into the room in a cloud of tape measures and fabric. She spoke to Bertrand with a melodic french accent, “We are honored to have you here, Your Grace. And what do you think of your date's dress? You two will surely turn heads at the coronation in a gown this exquisite.”

“Oh,” Riley turned toward Bertrand, and the two blushed simultaneously, dropping one another's hands and stepping back. “We’re not-”

“She's not my-” Bertrand started. “She's my, uh..”

“Friend!” Riley finished for him. “He’s helping me find a dress. We’re friends.”

“Yes. Friends.”

The woman regarded them skeptically, but grew wide eyed as she seemed to finally recognize Riley. “Oh, mon Dieu! I apologize. When Lord Maxwell contacted me, I did not realize I would be dressing the prince's American suitor! I am so embarrassed. I should have known-"

"It's fine," Riley assured her with a smile. "Don't worry about it."

Yvette regained her composure and turned to Bertrand slyly, "Date or not, you must admit that the green brings out her beautiful eyes, no?”

Bertrand met Riley’s emerald eyes and smiled. “It does.”

Riley grinned back at him and turned toward the mirror. “Madame Yvette, I’m a little worried this one might be too revealing for the occasion. The slit is so high. Would it be inappropriate to wear in front of royalty?”

Yvette tapped her cheek thoughtfully, “Oui, you may be right. Follow me, darling, we will find you something perfect.”

After an hour and a half of trying on dress after dress, Riley had narrowed it down to two. “Bert, I can’t choose! Which one is your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t think it should be up to me,” Bertrand shook his head.

“Well technically you are paying for it,” Riley wrinkled her nose slightly. “Which I still feel bad about by the way.”

He smiled, “And I’ve told you before, don’t worry about that. Which one do you like the best?”

“Ah, I don’t know! Let me see the other dress one more time!” She changed out of the sequined, mauve gown and back into the scarlet one, then reemerged into the dressing area where Bertrand was waiting patiently. “I’m sorry, this must be so boring for you. We’ve been here forever and I’m so indecisive.”

“You cannot rush perfection!” Madame Yvette mused as she adjusted the dress on Riley, tucking and pinning fabric until it fit just right. “And this, darling.. This is perfection.”

Bertrand simply watched in awe of how gorgeous Riley looked in absolutely everything. He had seen her in ballgowns, pajamas, jeans, and absolutely nothing at all and she was always resplendent. And not just in her appearance, in everything about her. The way she carried herself, the way she could find the good in any situation, the way she cared about everyone.

His heart clenched as he imagined the two of them as a couple choosing an outfit for a ball they would be attending together. They would dance and laugh and everyone would be jealous of him for having the most perfect woman in the world on his arm. It was never going to happen, but it was an amazing thought.

 Madame Yvette was called away for a phone call, leaving the two alone. Riley made her way from the platform to the couch where he was sitting and held out her hand. “Dance with me.”

Bertrand was sure he gulped aloud, but he stood immediately. “Dance? Here?”

“Ya, then I can see if this one feels right for a ball. Let’s give it a test drive.” She held her hand out and smiled, “please?”

Bertrand shook his head and grinned, before grasping her hand and wrapping his other arm around her waist. He looked down shyly and Riley leaned her body closer to him.

“Doesn't the fabric feel good? I’ve never worn material so soft and silky before.”

Bertrand nodded, still unable to look in her eyes.

She moved even closer to his body until there was no space left between them. “Touch it.”

He tentatively ran his hand down the fabric of her lower back, sucking in a sharp breath when she took his hand and brought it down further. 

“It’s.. quite nice.”

Riley lay her head against his shoulder and he held her close as the two swayed together to the soft jazz music playing over the boutique's speakers. “I bet this seems silly, doesn’t it? Spending all this time picking out a dress.” Especially since there is no way I’m going to marry Liam.

“Nonsense. Besides, any time I spend with you is enjoyable.”

Riley felt a warmth in her chest at his words. “Bertrand, you’re too good to me. I really don’t deserve everything you guys have done.”

Bertrand stopped dancing and looked into her eyes, more serious than she had seen him before. “Never.” His thumb traced softly across her cheek and he leaned in closer. “You deserve everything and more.”

His pulse was pounding as she smiled sweetly at him. He swallowed hard, speaking directly from his heart for once. “Riley.. I need to tell you something. I-”

“Have we made a decision, madame?” Yvette called out from the hallway as she made her way back to the dressing room.

Riley and Bertrand jumped away from each other quickly and Bertrand took out his phone in an attempt to appear nonchalant. Riley looked down at her dress and smiled. “This is the one.”

_______________________________________________

When they arrived back at the estate, it was already dinner time. Riley quickly popped into Max’s bedroom to check on him, and found him sound asleep in bed.

“I’m starving.” Riley sighed as she made her way toward the kitchen, taking a seat beside Bertrand at the bar.

“What would you like to eat? The chef has left for the night, but I can call and have something delivered for you.”

“Anything.. But you pick! I am mentally drained and honestly don’t think I could make another decision tonight if my life depended on it.”

Bertrand opened his mouth to protest, but paused as an idea hit him. “I know just the thing,” he smiled shyly and pulled out his phone.

He was going to have to step way out of his comfort zone for this. 

#never have i ever #bertrand x riley #bertley #trr fanfic #the royal romance #cfwc fics of the week #bertrand beaumont #maxwell beaumont #bertrand x mc

[baldwinboy5ive]

I'm pretty damn sure I've posted this before but it was just on my mind again: that this just gives me such Bertrand and Maxwell Beaumont vibes, hahaha

#maxwell beaumont #the royal romance #playchoices #bertrand beaumont

[kristinamae093]

Thank you so much for the tag, @txemrn !!! 🙃

I have two, yes two snippets to share. I'm shocking myself right now, lol.

What are you working on??? @ao719 @queenrileyrose @dcbbw @harleybeaumont @angelasscribbles

I hope I did this right 🤣 if not it's because I'm new to this, and still learning.

Good stuff under the break! 🙃 👇 👇 (Proceed with caution.)

Ghosted- Chapter 2- A Plan. (This is more than six, lolololol)

Maxwell sat across from Liam at dinner, but avoided eye contact. The two didn’t speak, in fact nobody really spoke. Regina asked about Riley’s whereabouts, but Bertrand quickly steered the conversation elsewhere. The King and Queen were the only two at the table who finished their meals, everyone else opted to pay more attention to the wine.

Maxwell was pulled from his daze by Bertrand, as he tapped on his glass to get the room’s attention. “If everyone would please enter the reception hall, we will proceed with the festivities.” He stated, very matter of factly.

Maxwell continued to sit at his seat and ignored Bertrand’s request. He knew it was time for their infamous toast, and his anxiety began to heighten the more he thought about it. Everyone expected to see three Beaumonts, and he had no idea how Bertrand planned to spin things.

The next snippet is a sneak peak of what I've been working on for the @springfeverpitch event happening this week!

One Shot- A Wild Ride (This is not more than six lololol 🙈)

At that moment, he would have cut off his right leg to trade spaces with the foreign object she rode. Give up the throne, throw everything away, all for her to tame him as if he were the rowdy steed beneath her. His mind swirled with fantasies as the saliva from his mouth fully dissolved.

#trr liam #trr au fanfic #king liam #the royal romance #liam rys #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #ghosted #six sentence sunday

[andthatisnotfake]

New Look

“There you are!”

Savannah closed the bedroom door after finding Bertrand on their balcony, but he didn’t acknowledge her at all.

“Everything ok?”

“You can’t laugh.”

She frowned, but before she could ask anything, he turned around.

He was wearing glasses.

She stared at him in stunned silence.

“I know, I look like an idiot. An old idiot.”

“That’s not what I was thinking. At all.”

He paused and looked at her face. He knew that expression…

“Do you think this is… sexy?”

“Baby, if I didn’t think this was sexy, I would be the one in need of glasses.”

#Bertvannah #Bertrand Beaumont #Savannah Walker #The Royal Romance #Playchoices #My fics #My drabbles #40 for 40 #I'm late with these so you're getting multiples for a few days