Royal Cromwell Palace, Henfordshire

Fundraiser hosted by the queen for ‘Scholarships for Underprivileged Youth’

The royal receiving line stretched regally along the grand hall of the palace, a glittering tableau of tradition and poise. Guests arrived in steady waves, announced with practiced grandeur by the court herald, their names echoing through the room. King Maximilian and Queen Aria Grace stood at the head, next to them Crown Prince William and Princess Wilhelmina, then Princess Royale Victoria and her husband, Duke Hendrik DeWinter. To their right, a conspicuously empty space before it reached Princess Veronica ending the line, her fiancé Crown Prince Elias hadn’t been able to attend due to prior engagements.
The heavy side doors creaked open, and Vivienne and Liam slipped into the hall, slightly disheveled and noticeably late. Both were still catching their breath, their shoes clicking quickly against the polished floor as they hurried to join the line. Liam tugged at the cuffs of his formal jacket while Vivienne smoothed her gown, their expressions sheepish as they approached. The reprimanding glances from her parents were sharp and wordless, conveying all the scolding they needed.

Vivienne found herself next to Veronica, her younger sister, who leaned slightly closer with the subtlety of years spent mastering royal poise. “You’re in the wrong spot,” she muttered under her breath, her lips barely moving.

Vivienne blinked. “What?” she whispered. Veronica, noticing her hesitation, made a small, covert gesture with her hand—a circular motion that clearly said, switch places. Vivienne’s heart sank as she turned toward Liam. His oblivious stance—slightly set back from the royals, with no proper gap between him and Hendrik—quickly clarified her mistake.

She reached out, giving Liam’s sleeve a tiny tug. He tilted his head toward her, frowning in confusion, but she leaned in and whispered hurriedly into his ear. Understanding dawned on his face, accompanied by a flash of mild panic.

In a single fluid motion, they shifted—Vivienne slipping behind Liam with as much grace as she could muster, and Liam shuffling forward to his proper position. Unfortunately, he forgot to step back to leave the appropriate space. Veronica, with an exasperated yet graceful touch, reached out and adjusted him herself, tugging his arm slightly into place. The adjustment was quick but not quick enough to escape the observant eyes of the guests nearby. A few stifled chuckles rippled through the hall, their mirth faint but unmistakable. Vivienne shot a panicked glance toward her parents. Her mother’s subtle shake of the head spoke volumes, leaving Vivienne to mouth a small, desperate “sorry.”

Victoria, standing nearest to them, raised a perfectly arched brow but said nothing, waiting until they were settled before stepping in. With a quick flick of her hand, she plucked a stray piece of straw from Liam’s lapel and then a leaf from Vivienne’s hair, her sharp whisper a mix of exasperation and dry humor. “Honestly, you two. Late and disheveled to a royal fundraiser you know is important to Mama?”

Without waiting for a reply, she adjusted the lace on Vivienne’s sleeves and smoothed down her sister’s hair with practiced precision. “Stand straight. Smile. At least pretend you’re enjoying yourselves—even if nobody here neighs or nickers,” she muttered before flashing a dazzling grin at the next group of guests approaching.

Vivienne shot Liam a glance, her lips twitching with barely concealed amusement. He gave her a small shrug, his usual easygoing demeanor now slightly stiff under the scrutiny of the room.
A distinguished older couple approached the open doorframe and halted, their stately demeanor a reflection of their status. The herald’s voice rang out, introducing them as “Lord and Lady Dascombe of Montcliffe.” Their movements were deliberate and practiced, the kind that spoke of decades spent in these circles.

They made their way down the line, curtsying and bowing to each of the royal family, when they reached Vivienne and Liam, their stately demeanor a reflection of their status. Vivienne straightened instinctively, offering a polite but warm smile.

“Lord Dascombe, Lady Dascombe,” she greeted, her tone even and cordial. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

Liam inclined his head respectfully, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “Good evening. We hope you’re enjoying the celebration.”

Lady Dascombe gave Vivienne a courteous nod and an implied curtsy before turning her attention to Liam. Her sharp eyes softened slightly, a hint of recognition brightening her features. “Mr. Hawthorne,” she said, her tone measured but not unkind. “How curious to see you in these grander surroundings. I admit, I’m more accustomed to seeing you at the royal stables, tending to our horses.”

Liam smiled faintly, his posture stiffening slightly under her discerning gaze. “The Dascombe mares are a delight to care for, Lady Dascombe,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “Always a privilege.”

Her sharp eyes lingered on him for a beat longer, as though she were appraising his place in the royal setting. “It’s good to know they’re in capable hands,” she remarked. “Though I imagine tonight’s atmosphere is…quite different from the stables you’re accustomed to.”

Liam nodded politely, though the corners of his mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “It certainly is,” he replied with measured brevity, subtly shifting his weight as if trying to ease his unease.

Beside him, Vivienne felt the tension radiating from him and offered a subtle gesture of support, her fingers brushing briefly against his.
Noticing her sister and Liam’s discomfort, Veronica quickly stepped in “Lord and Lady Dascombe,” she interjected smoothly, “your dedication to the royal fundraising efforts is always inspiring. We appreciate your continued support.”

Lady Dascombe’s expression softened slightly, and she inclined her head. “It’s our duty and privilege, Princess Veronica,” she said. “Do give our regards to your parents—and your fiancé as well. A Crown Prince, oh dear princess, how positively perfect for you,” she added, her gaze returning briefly to Liam before she moved on.

Veronica smilingly endured the couple’s cooing about her engagement to a future king with grace, Liam exhaled quietly, the tightness in his shoulders easing just a fraction. Vivienne shot him a quick glance, the corners of her mouth twitching with faint amusement despite herself. “You handled that well,” she murmured, her voice low and light.

“Barely,” he muttered, his tone laced with wry humor. “Honestly, I was this close to just darting out. If the rest of the room starts asking me about their horses, I just might.”

Vivienne giggled softly, her lips twitching as she leaned closer. “You’d be missing the best part—the food, especially dessert,” she whispered teasingly, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Honestly, dessert is the only reason I show up when they summon me for big events these days.” Her quiet giggle carried just enough charm to ease some of the tension between them.

Before Liam could reply, Victoria leaned in, her tone sharp and commanding. “SHHH! Stand straight and smile! Both of you! You can talk and giggle all you want LATER. I might even join you. LATER.”

Liam playfully bowed to her, his movements exaggerated. “Yes, Your Highness. Anything to keep you from having me thrown into the royal dungeons for endless torture.”

With a quick glance at the door, where the next couple was being announced, Victoria covertly reached past her husband and sister, her hand darting out to pinch Liam’s arm. He jumped, rubbing the spot with a glare as she hissed under her breath, “You’ll think torture if you keep that up!” Hendrik, ever composed, gently turned her back toward the front, shaking his head with a faint smile that betrayed his amusement. Vivienne and Liam exchanged barely stifled giggles as Victoria and Hendrik resumed their regal composure, exchanging polite words with the next guests.

Vivienne straightened her posture, smoothing her expression as the line continued to flow. The levity of the moment lingered, a quiet reassurance amidst the pomp and circumstance.

“Yes Liam, stand straight and smile, Liam,” Vivienne whispered teasingly, mimicking Victoria’s earlier admonishment. Her voice was barely audible over the hum of the room, but it was enough to make Liam’s smile widen slightly in shared humor. “I cannot stop smiling anymore. I think I forced it so hard, it’s permanent now. Like the Joker. Help!”

“Now you know how we feel. Uh oh, here comes the next batch.” she whispered, then louder at the next nobles she disbursed greetings and polite small talk.

The herald’s voice boomed once more, commanding attention. “Lady Maeve Cameron of Brindleton Bay, accompanied by Mr. Marco Ricci-DeLuca of Brindleton Bay.”

Vivienne and Liam’s joking and smiles instantly seized; they exchanged a quick glance, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop—or perhaps it was just Vivienne’s imagination. Her stomach tightened as the names registered, and her eyes darted to Liam, who met her gaze with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. “Brace yourself,” he murmured, his voice low and wry. “Here comes the poison disbursement. You should have told me she was coming and I would have worn a protective cup and padding over my gut.”

“Had I known she was coming, we wouldn’t be here!” Vivienne whispered back.

Maeve approached with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to command a room. Her sapphire gown shimmered, and her dark red curls framed her face in effortless perfection. On her arm, Marco Ricci-DeLuca exuded polished charm, his tailored suit fitting him like a second skin. His tall frame, light brown hair neatly swept back, and striking amber-brown eyes gave him a poised, calculated air that seemed honed by years in elite financial circles.

“Well, well,” Maeve began, her smile sweet but her tone anything but. “Look who we have here. Vivienne Cromwell, and Liam Hawthorne. Or is it Kensington again? Just asking, seeing how you are here, at a royal palace, among aristocracy you seem to despise so much. Doesn’t get any more aristocratic than royals. How quickly minds change sometimes.” Her gaze flicked dismissively to Liam before returning to Vivienne. “And hello Princess Vivienne. Beautiful gown, very flattering, I almost didn’t recognize you. No riding boots or feed bucket tonight?”

Vivienne’s smile remained poised, though her hand twitched slightly at her side. “I checked those with my coat, Maeve,” she said evenly, her tone calm but guarded. “It’s lovely to see you. Congratulations on your engagement. Looks like you got over the heartbreak fairly quickly.”

Maeve’s hand floated to Marco’s arm, the massive diamond on her finger catching the light in a deliberate, almost theatrical display. “Thank you,” she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Well, when you know, you just know, and we knew. Marco is everything I could have hoped for.” She turned slightly, gesturing toward him with a polished smile. “Tartosian by heritage, just like my roots, with a family banking legacy spanning generations, just like mine on my mother’s side, his family has worked with the Auditores for generations. This was meant to be. Not quite the ‘give up your title and live in a stable’ type, thank God. It seems my bad luck with men was only temporary,” she added, her gaze flicking pointedly to Liam, her smile sharpening.

Marco inclined his head politely, his expression cool and detached, as though the drama unfolding around him was beneath his notice. His sharp amber eyes held the faintest flicker of disinterest as he surveyed Liam and Vivienne. To him, this interaction seemed like nothing more than another trivial social exchange.

“And how about you two?” Maeve continued, her tone saccharine sweet, though her words were anything but. “I could have sworn you assured me you were just friends, Vivienne. Imagine my surprise when I read about the royal announcement of your engagement—at your very own sister’s birthday and engagement party, no less. Tsk tsk, bad form. But then again, you were never above stealing things from others, were you? Fiancés, the spotlight…” She trailed off, her smile widening as she leaned in slightly. “Speaking of fiancés, here we are with yet another surprise—a royal pregnancy. And since you assured me I was imagining things between you two, I suppose this must be the first properly recorded immaculate conception. Yet, no ring to be seen—odd.” She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though it was clear she intended for them to hear every word. “Tell me, Liam, did she lose it mucking out stables, or did you never bother to give her one? Or are you still saving up for one? Valid question, I think, seeing how you gave away everything you owned to shovel horse manure for a living.”

The jab landed, and for a moment, Vivienne felt her composure waver. Beside her, Liam’s jaw tightened, but he refused to rise to the bait. His silence only seemed to embolden Maeve further.

Victoria, ever the vigilant sister, noticed the brewing drama and interjected smoothly, her voice calm yet firm. “Maeve, I’m sure my sister and Liam would love to chat more, but we are holding up the line. Do enjoy the evening.”

Maeve’s laugh was light and dismissive as she turned back to her fiancé, looping her arm through his with practiced grace. “Oh, Victoria,” she said airily, her tone laced with mock sympathy. “There is always a lady ready to go to battle to save you, isn’t there Liam? Not one, but two princesses trying to save you from the blatantly obvious truth. Princess Victoria, another one of Liam’s skeletons buried in his basement. Goodness, you are a busy bee, Liam. And thank you, Victoria, we will.” She cast one last glance over her shoulder, leaning in close as she passed Vivienne and Liam. Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper, her words meant only for them. “You still smell like manure. Not sure if it’s physical or just all the BS you’re always spewing. I knew you were lying to me then, and here it is confirmed. And you, Vivienne—best make sure you’re not just next in his line. First Victoria, then me, now you. About time for him to move on.”

“Speaking of moving on, please do. Unless you need the assistance of our royal guards for it?” Vivienne’s tone was now icy, her patience clearly fraying.

As Maeve and Marco turned and walked on to briefly speak with Veronica, while Vivienne let out a slow, measured breath, her hands unclenching at her sides. Liam leaned in slightly, his voice quiet but laced with dry humor. “Well, that was fun.”

Vivienne shook her head, the corners of her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Your idea of fun needs work. Poison disbursement, indeed. What the hell does she even want here? Just start drama? She couldn’t have found a way to get that out of her system back in Brindleton Bay?”

Victoria, who had been silently observing the exchange, leaned closer, her voice low and measured. “Honestly, Viv, she used to be sweet. She’s my age, and we used to play together, spend time together. I think whatever happened between the three of you really messed her up, made her bitter. It’s sad. I don’t know if you even realize, but because of all that, Mama and Bianca are at serious odds. I don’t think their friendship will ever recover. And Gavin? He wants nothing to do with the drama anymore, so he and Mama are not even speaking. But good on you two for not giving her the satisfaction of creating a spectacle. I’m sure that was her whole idea.”

Vivienne straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin slightly. “She got her moment,” she said softly. “But that’s all it is—a moment. Fleeting.”

The line continued to flow, aristocratic couples arriving one by one, but Vivienne felt steadier now. Whatever Maeve had tried to accomplish, she wouldn’t let it linger. Liam wasn’t the reckless, self-serving man Maeve seemed to paint him as. And Victoria was right—Maeve had once been sweet. Now, she was just bitter.

After hours of socializing and supper being served, Vivienne finally seized a moment to pull Liam outside with her. They passed a server carrying a tray of champagne glasses, and she grabbed one, sipping as they walked. Liam took the glass from her almost immediately, downing it in one gulp. Before she could protest, he slipped the empty glass onto another passing tray. Determined, Vivienne snatched two more glasses from another server, but her attempt to drink was short-lived. Liam intercepted her again, easily wrestling the glasses from her hands and downing both himself. His grip was firm yet careful, revealing a strength that belied his lean frame.

“Seriously!?” Vivienne huffed, glaring at him. “If there EVER was a moment! You heard the gyn—he said a glass of wine once a week is fine!”

“He also said it’s better to avoid it entirely,” Liam countered, his tone calm but resolute. “Viv, it took me three hours yesterday to calm you down from a meltdown about all your fears—losing the baby, and if not, HAVING the baby. Both freak you out equally. And now, here you are, doing THIS?”

“Well, so my baby daddy gets to chug all the booze he wants, and I have to endure all this mess sober!?”

“Your ‘baby daddy’ wasn’t gonna drink anything—but you forced my hand trying to protect RJ from my baby momma’s sudden boozy habit!” Liam shot back.

The fire in her eyes flickered, giving way to wide-eyed shock as her mouth parted slightly in realization. “What?” she whispered.

Liam frowned, his expression softening at her sudden shift. “What?” he echoed. “What did I say now that was wrong?”

“Nothing. It feels so real when you say his name,” Vivienne murmured, her voice almost reverent.

“It is real, Viv,” Liam said gently, stepping closer. “Rory Jack is real. We are real. Don’t let what Maeve said, or what anyone else thinks, cloud that. We’re doing this the way we need to, not by anyone else’s rule book. We belong, we know it. With or without a ring, fuck rings and relationship statuses. It doesn’t matter, rings are just symbolic anyway. It’s not less real just because of some missing jewelry.”

Vivienne hesitated, her gaze fixed on the ground. “Liam, what Maeve said… about me just being another in your long line…”

“Come on, Viv,” Liam interrupted, his tone patient but firm. “If it weren’t for pregnancy hormones maybe confusing you, I’d almost be offended now. You know me better than that. You know Victoria and I never happened. We wanted to at the time, sure, but neither of us ever crossed that line. And as for Maeve… well, you already know that whole story. I didn’t speed-date or string women along. I just hadn’t found the right one yet.”

“And… am I the right one? How would you know? How would I know?” Vivienne asked hesitantly.

Liam’s lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Well, you’re the only one I’ve knocked up so far, so… signs point to yes.”

Vivienne let out a reluctant laugh, shaking her head as she nudged him playfully. “You’re an idiot. That’s not funny!”

Another server passed by, and Liam grabbed a fresh glass from their tray after setting the two empty ones down. Pulling Vivienne with him, he guided her to a nearby bench. Once seated, he held out the glass to her. “You’re right, that wasn’t funny, but all we can do at this point is laugh, as crying about the cards we were dealt doesn’t change a thing, trust me, I tried. And I want to be the kind of father to our son as my father was and yours. Share with me? A peace offering,” he offered.

With a tired smile, she took the glass and sipped it before handing it back to him. Leaning against him, she let out a deep exhale.

“I’m here to stay, Viv,” Liam said softly. “For as long as you’ll have me. For a while I thought Victoria was the right one, and she thought that about me, and I still adore your sister, she and I really connected, but we both realized it’s as friends, not more. Maeve and I met when we were both confused about changes in our lives, and in our confusion we confused that with love. I cared for her then and I still do, she isn’t a bad person, just hurt. I never tried to date a bunch of girls—I just wanted the right one. And I’ve found her now. I’m not letting go, not ever. But I also know you need your space, your freedom to breathe. I’ll hold you tighter when you need me to, but only then.”

Vivienne sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Will you give me back your Mum’s ring? Maybe we should just… get engaged, like Papa wanted. Somehow, it doesn’t feel wrong anymore.”

Liam shook his head gently. “No. You’re confused right now. We’re exactly where we need to be. We’ll work this out, and we’ll get engaged and married and all that—eventually. My mum’s ring is yours, Viv. I am just holding onto it for now, until you are really ready. There’s no rush, okay? Let’s have the baby first, figure out how to be parents. And maybe even write up a brief biography of our heritage, for when the time comes to explain to RJ where he comes from. I mean, the kid’s gonna have three grandpas, two of whom aren’t even related to him by DNA, a dead grandma, one he’s not related to and one real one, who is also the queen. Honestly, I might need it written down myself.”

Vivienne laughed, her shoulders shaking as Liam joined in. “I’m gonna call you Valerian Lavender,” she teased, leaning into him. “You’re so calming.”

“And boring, huh? Don’t forget my stench, since Maeve pointed it out again.” Liam snickered, winking.

“No, you are definitely NOT boring. And I happen to like the way you smell.”

Kensington Manor, Henfordshire
Friendly Visit

The Kensington estate, nestled just across from the Royal Stables, was as picturesque as ever. The air carried the crisp scent of freshly cut grass and blooming spring flowers, a perfect backdrop for Vivienne and Liam’s visit. As they approached the grand front doors, Claire greeted them with her signature warmth, her green eyes sparkling despite the sleepless nights and endless diaper changes that came with raising twins. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves, framing her delicate features.

“Come in, come in!” Claire urged, her voice cheerful and welcoming. “Jake’s in the study, and the boys are just waking up from their nap. You’ve got perfect timing.”

Liam squeezed Vivienne’s hand as they stepped inside, offering her a reassuring smile. She managed to return it, though faintly. Vivienne had always liked Claire—it was impossible not to. Her genuine sweetness seemed to make the world feel brighter, as if nothing could ever go wrong. But stepping into a room with newborns? That was territory Vivienne wasn’t sure she could handle.

They followed Claire into the sitting room, a cozy space bathed in soft light streaming through the tall windows. A bassinet sat by the corner, where two tiny bundles rested side by side, swaddled in pristine white blankets. Their small forms barely filled the cloth, but their presence carried an inexplicable weight in the room.

Claire bent down and scooped up one of the babies with practiced ease. “This is Edward,” she said softly, her voice brimming with pride. Turning to Liam, she added, “Here—you hold him.”

Liam didn’t hesitate. His arms moved automatically, cradling the baby with a natural grace that surprised Vivienne. Watching him, her heart melted and clenched at the same time. This was real—far too real—and she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be.

“And this,” Claire continued, lifting the second baby and stepping toward Vivienne, “is Everett.” Before Vivienne could protest, Claire gently settled the baby into her arms.

Vivienne froze. Her breath hitched as she stared down at the impossibly small creature. Everett’s tiny face scrunched up in a dream-like expression, soft and vulnerable. When her finger brushed against his hand, his minuscule fingers instinctively curled around hers, anchoring her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“My God,” Vivienne whispered, stunned. “His fingers—they’re so tiny.” Her voice faltered, panic creeping into her chest. “What if—what if I break him?”

Liam’s gaze flicked toward her, his brow furrowing. “Viv…”

But she couldn’t hear him. The weight of Everett in her arms felt overwhelming, like a fragile treasure she wasn’t capable of protecting. Her breaths grew shallow, her panic rising. Carefully, she handed the baby back to Claire before turning and bolting for the door.

“Viv!” Liam called after her, handing Edward back to Claire and rushing out after her. He found her on the porch, gripping the railing like it was the only thing holding her together. Her shoulders trembled slightly.

“I can’t do it,” she said when he reached her, her voice breaking. “I don’t know that I can do that, Liam. No way I can take care of such a delicate creature!”

Liam stepped closer, his voice steady and calm as he softened his posture. “Vivienne, hey. Look at me.”

She turned, her green eyes wide with doubt. “You saw how tiny he was! Those fingers—they folded around mine like they didn’t even belong to this world. I was so afraid one false move and I’d—” She stopped, shaking her head. “I don’t even remember which one Claire gave me to hold.”

“I think it was Everett,” Liam said with a small, teasing smile. “Might have been Edward…”

Vivienne groaned, throwing her hands up in frustration. “No kidding, Einstein!”

The door behind them opened, and Jake stepped out, each of his arms casually wrapping around both Liam and Vivienne’s shoulders in a friendly squeeze. “Oh, relax, you two,” he said with a grin. “Honestly, Claire and I went through the same thing, questioning ourselves and everything. But once it’s go-time, you’ll forget about all that and just try to keep up. When her water broke, THAT was the scary part. Once the boys arrived, we were too busy and too exhausted to worry about being perfect—we were just winging it. Still are, to a degree, but we kinda feel at ease now. I think that’s parenting in general. Doesn’t come with a user manual and there is no one-size-fits-all.”

Despite herself, Vivienne chuckled, and Liam let out a low laugh. Jake squeezed their shoulders once more before stepping in front of them.

“Now, I wasn’t gonna bring this up, but you two did cause quite the stir with my family. Every time I talk to my mom or Maeve, all I hear is how badly you ‘played them.’ Both of you.”

“We didn’t!” Vivienne protested.

“I know. Relax,” Jake replied with a wink. “My dad and I know the truth. Mom and Maeve will calm down eventually. Maeve… well, she’s just got a bruised ego, and this whole thing really messed with it.”

“She has a new man now,” Vivienne muttered. “Can’t she move on already?”

Jake gave her a thoughtful look. “I’m not so sure she’s over Liam yet. Marco seems… fine, I guess. Not exactly my cup of tea, but I don’t have to marry the guy. If he makes her happy, I’ll play the role of supportive brother. Mom seems to adore him, so there’s that. Personally, I find him about as charming as a hammer to the thumb—but hey, not my problem.”

Vivienne arched a brow. “I’m surprised your parents aren’t here to see the babies.”

“We’re going to see them in a few weeks, once the babies are old enough to travel by air,” Jake said, his expression darkening slightly. “Having a fallout with your best friend is bad enough. Worse when your best friend’s husband is the king of an island kingdom your son and grandsons live in. My parents won’t be setting foot in Henfordshire for a long time—not until things blow over.”

“Funny how Maeve didn’t seem to have any such inhibitions,” Vivienne remarked. “She was more than happy to attend my Mum’s fundraiser to spew her poison at us.”

Jake smirked crookedly. “Yeah, to flaunt her new catch and the massive rock on her finger in your face—and especially Liam’s. My sister couldn’t care less about fundraisers. This was an ‘up yours’.”

“Well, I didn’t want to be there at all,” Vivienne admitted. “And now I remember why I never liked such events.”

“At least nobody kept asking YOU about their horse’s condition and care,” Liam quipped dryly. “I was lucky nobody sent me to saddle their horse and bring it to the palace for them to ride home on. Hired help, that’s all they ever saw when looking at me.”

Jake laughed heartily, clapping Liam on the back. “Oh, Liam, trust me, you’re preaching to the choir here. I wasn’t born noble, I was made a Lord and if it hadn’t been for Claire just dragging me to all the outings of the noble kids, I would have spent my entire youth alone in my room. Strangely, marrying a Lady Kensington and taking her name seemed to have changed my status with them. Funny how that goes. And this is another perk of having babies at home—they make perfect excuses to skip boring events you didn’t want to attend in the first place and nobody can argue with it.”

“In that case,” Liam joked, glancing at Vivienne with a mischievous smile, “RJ might just be the first of many. Serial production of perfect little excuses.”

Vivienne narrowed her eyes. “Oh yeah? Well, I hope by then they’ve figured out how men can have babies, because YOU will be taking over after this one! Enjoy morning sickness and worse for 40 weeks.”

Both men burst into laughter as Jake threw an arm around Liam’s shoulder, guiding him back inside. “How about a glass of sherry, Liam?” he offered with a teasing grin.

“What about me?!” Vivienne protested, trailing behind them.

Jake smirked over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Claire had tea served. And our new cook makes the best scones. You’ll need to keep your energy up.”

Vivienne crossed her arms with exaggerated indignation, scowling. “Oh, so he gets booze, and I get a scone? Seriously?!” Her muttering tapered off into softer grumbles as she added, “No fair.”

Inside the parlour of Kensington Manor, Vivienne and Claire settled onto a plush settee, their conversation lively and punctuated by bursts of laughter as they sipped tea. Across the room, Liam leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass of sherry thoughtfully. The quiet corner he shared with Jake was a stark contrast to the energy radiating from the women.

“She really didn’t like that,” Liam murmured, tilting his head toward Vivienne and Claire. “I’d bet good money she’s over there complaining bitterly about me to Claire right now. Oof.” He grimaced slightly, the warmth of the sherry burning as it slid down his throat.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re looking at this all wrong.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“What I heard,” Jake began, his tone wry but carrying a note of encouragement, “was Vivienne casually talking about future babies with you. And that, my friend, is what matters. Whether you end up with one kid or a whole gaggle, the fact that she’s imagining it? That’s the important part. It means she’s thinking ahead—and you’re part of her future.”

Liam blinked, his frown fading as the weight of Jake’s words settled in. A faint smile touched his lips. “Huh. I guess I didn’t think about it like that.”

Jake raised his glass, a knowing glint in his eye. “Take it from someone who’s been there—you’re doing better than you think. Cheers to that. And stop worrying so much about Maeve. Growing up with her, I made her mad more times than I can count, most of the time not even on purpose. She’ll get over it and go back to being as sweet as she ever was—eventually.”

“Well, Jake, since you seem to be overflowing with wisdom, help me out. At that fundraiser, Viv asked for the ring back. I told her no—not yet. Did I screw up?”

Jake tilted his head thoughtfully. “Depends. Why did you tell her no?”

“Because I thought she was confused, caught up in Maeve’s harsh words and accusations. You know, mocking her for not having a ring, after her dad announced our engagement before there even was one. I mean, I guess it was a valid point… in a way.”

“Was it, though?” Jake replied, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t forget there was also that royal statement later, announcing your pregnancy and explicitly explaining your decision to forego an engagement for now.” He leaned back, shaking his head with a grin. “Maeve knew exactly what she was doing. She was trying to stir the pot—and looks like she succeeded.”

“So… when is the right time to give her back the ring?” Liam asked hesitantly.

“When you’re both ready,” Jake said firmly.

“And how do I know when we’re ready?”

Jake shrugged lightly, a knowing look in his eyes. “I don’t have that answer either, Liam. All I can say is—it’s not now.”

The International Dressage Invitational
This year hosted in Oasis Springs

The arena was electric with anticipation, the crowd murmuring as riders and their mounts performed intricate dressage routines with precision and poise. The presence of the king only heightened the atmosphere, the eyes of the nobility and spectators alike glued to the grand competition. Vivienne, dressed immaculately in her riding jacket and helmet, guided Argenta—a silver dapple mare whose coat shimmered in the sunlight—into the ring. Despite being in her second trimester, though still not showing yet, Vivienne had insisted on competing, determined to prove she belonged on that stage.

On the sidelines, Liam stood with his arms folded, his jaw tight. He was the picture of a concerned yet professional trainer, his sharp eyes tracking Vivienne’s every movement. His role as her trainer today warred with his protective instincts. He had argued against her participation, which had made them argue about it, until she’d made her case that qualifying for this particular event was known to be very hard, and it would be next to impossible trying to do it again later on after the baby was born. Now all he could do was be there to guide her, ready to step in if anything went wrong.

Vivienne and Argenta moved as one, the mare’s graceful steps perfectly matching Vivienne’s silent cues. They flowed through the routine like a symphony—extended trots, fluid pirouettes, and canter half-passes that drew audible gasps of admiration from the crowd. Her family watched from the royal box, a mix of pride and apprehension evident on their faces. Crown Prince William whispered something to Wilhelmina, keeping her calm, while Veronica fidgeted, her eyes fixed on Vivienne.

And then it happened.

Argenta faltered mid-step, her hind leg slipping on the damp ground of the arena. The sudden imbalance sent a ripple through the performance, and before Vivienne could react, the mare reared up, her silver dapple coat flashing under the sun. The world seemed to move in slow motion as Vivienne was thrown backward, tumbling from the saddle and hitting the ground hard.

A collective gasp erupted from the crowd, followed by screams. Liam was already sprinting toward the arena, his heart pounding in his chest. In the royal box, Aria Grace shot to her feet, her face pale with panic, while Max vaulted over the railing, ignoring protocol entirely. Crown Prince William held a trembling Wilhelmina close, his voice calm but urgent as he tried to keep her from descending into full-blown panic, her hands pressed to the soft swell of her first pregnancy. Veronica clutched the edge of her seat, frozen in horror. “Will!?”

Liam reached Vivienne just as Max did, both of them dropping to their knees beside her. She was unconscious, her breathing shallow. Argenta stood nearby, trembling, as arena staff worked to calm the distressed mare, who seemed equally worried about her rider.

“Viv! Vivienne!” Liam’s voice cracked as he called her name, his hand gently brushing her cheek. Max hovered, his usually composed demeanor unraveling.

The medics arrived within moments, carefully assessing Vivienne before securing her on a stretcher. Liam stepped back, his hands trembling, as Max followed the medics toward the waiting ambulance. Aria Grace placed a steadying hand on Liam’s shoulder, her own face etched with fear.

“She’s strong,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “She’s going to be okay.”

Summit Crest Medical Facility, Oasis Springs
To be or not to be

At the hospital, chaos reigned. The king and queen arrived in a rush, flanked by guards and the royal adviser, their presence commanding attention. The ICU doors loomed ahead, guarded by staff who remained firm despite the imposing figures before them.

“Mrs. Cromwell can enter,” one of the nurses said carefully, her tone apologetic but resolute as she addressed Aria Grace. “But immediate family only. Apologies, sir, but it is widely known that you are… not.”

The words cut like a knife, and Max’s face darkened with a mix of fury and worry. “This is absurd!” he roared, his voice echoing through the sterile halls. “I am her father in every way that matters! Let me see her!”

The nurse flinched slightly but maintained her composure, her hands clasped tightly before her. “I understand how upsetting this is, sir, but we must follow procedure. You may wait here until the doctors approve non-related visitors.”

Max’s royal guards exchanged uneasy glances as the king took a step forward, his presence towering and commanding. “Do you not know who I am?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a thunderous growl. “I am the King of Henfordshire!”

The nurse’s lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze unwavering despite the pressure. “Good for you, sir,” she said with calm professionalism, “but you are not a king here. Rules are rules. Mrs. Cromwell may enter. You must wait here.” She flicked her eyes to the side, where two brute-looking police officers stood at the ready, their expressions hard and unmoving. “Or these gentlemen will escort you and your entourage out.”

The tension in the hallway was palpable as the guards shifted uneasily.

The queen, usually the epitome of grace, had reached her limit. “Fuck this! Sorry Max,” she muttered under her breath, shoving aside the staff blocking her and Max’s paths and storming through the doors, ignoring the protests behind her.

“Ma’am! You need a visitor’s badge and to sign in first!” the nurse called after her, her voice rising in alarm as she hurried after the queen, disappearing through the doors as her footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Meanwhile, Jack Kershaw arrived, his boots echoing heavily on the hospital floor as he approached Max, who stood outside the ICU looking shaken. Jack’s weathered face was lined with worry, the deep grooves around his eyes and mouth more pronounced than usual. His dark, shaggy hair, streaked liberally with gray, was shadowed by his old, well-worn dark brown Stetson—a familiar companion that rarely left his head.

Behind him, Izzy trailed a step slower, her fiery red hair catching the sterile hospital lights. Her straight shoulder-length locks framed her pale, freckled face, which was tight with concern. Despite her usual fiery temperament, there was a softness in her blue eyes as she cast worried glances between Jack and the ICU door. Cody, their seventeen-year-old son, hovered beside her, his lanky frame reflecting his father’s build, though his youthful features carried hints of his mother—freckles across the bridge of his nose, a coppery tint to his dark hair. He wore a restless, slightly awkward expression, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he tried to take in the gravity of the moment.

Jack stopped in front of Max, his voice low and steady, though it carried the weight of urgency. Slowly, he reached up and removed his Stetson, holding it tightly in one hand as though grounding himself. “I dropped everythin’ and drove out here the minute I heard. How is she, Max?”

Max, his usually composed demeanor unraveling, ran a trembling hand through his dark hair. His face was pale, his eyes rimmed red from the strain of holding himself together. “I haven’t the faintest idea, Jack,” he said, his voice thick. “All we were told was that doctors are still assessing her injuries and she’s in the ICU. They won’t let me see her, Jack.”

Izzy stepped forward, her Henfordian Irish lilt soft but unshakable as she spoke, her temper restrained but her tone sharp enough to cut through the haze of worry. “Oh dear Lord above! What happened, Your Majesty?”

Max hesitated, his lips parting, but Jack’s towering presence loomed closer, his blue eyes locking onto Max’s with unspoken intensity. “She hit hard when she fell,” Max admitted. “Her head, a risk of a concussion—or worse. And nobody wants to say anything about the baby.”

Jack’s jaw tightened, his hands trembling slightly as they gripped the brim of his hat. Cody shifted beside his parents, his youthful voice cracking as he found the courage to speak. “Can we see her?”

“I am sorry, who are you now?” the head nurse sounded annoyed.

“I am her brother! This is her father! Dumb question!” Cody snapped with a clear drawl like his father, until Izzy called him to order. The nurse turned to Jack.

“Oh, you are the biological father? Come with me Sir, let’s get you signed in.”

Jack turned, but Izzy stopped him. “You speak with Max, I will get you signed in. Nurse, I am his wife.” Izzy told the nurse assertively, while pulling her to the check in desk.

“They won’t let me see her, Jack,” Max said, his voice tight with frustration. “Rules are rules, they said. Immediate family only. I’m not my daughter’s family, Jack.”

“What the goddamn nonsense is that now?! Where do they get those ideas from?! Of course you are family, Max. You’re her dad, much as I am. I will set them bitches straight!”

Before Jack could, Liam appeared out of seemingly nowhere, his eyes swollen and red-rimmed, clearly he had been in some corner, crying. “It’s my fault. I should have stopped her. I tried, but she got so upset and she worked so hard to qualify and qualifying is so very hard, it’s a wonder she managed, especially with how relatively new she is at all this. I might have killed her and our baby! All for a damn trophy.” he rambled on, only marginally cohesive, clearly affected, maybe in a state of shock.

Jack grabbed the boy, wrapping his arms around him, and Liam instantly started crying again. “Ain’t your fault, kid,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Nobody could’ve stopped her once she’d made up her mind. She’s as stubborn as her mother… I mean, like a mule.” He cast a glance at Max, who gave a faint, knowing smile, though his hands were tightly clasped. “You weren’t wrong the first time. We both know where Vivienne got her stubbornness from. Speaking of, AG is with her. Hoping she’ll come back soon to let me know.”

Izzy laid a hand on Jack’s arm, her own worry clear despite her attempt to remain calm. “Here you go, baby. You can go through and see her now.” she said, handing him a visitor badge.

Jack nodded slowly, took the badge, placing the Stetson back on his head as he returned his gaze to the ICU doors. Jack’s eyes, blue as an open sky, stayed locked on the doors as if sheer will alone could pull his daughter back to her feet.

Jack exhaled deeply, looking at the visitor badge, then held it out to Max, his drawl steady and firm. “Take it,” he said. “You go in.”

Max blinked, stunned. “Jack, I—I can’t do that. I can’t take it,” he mumbled, trying to hand it back.

Jack shook his head, cutting him off. “Listen here. We both love her. We’re both her fathers. But you did most of the raisin’. You pulled her outta that darkness she was in, when I just couldn’t, didn’t understand how. You did, and you gave her what she needed, purpose, freedom, without letting her roam too far. I couldn’t figure that out, you did. She needs you in there more’n me right now. All I ask is… tell her I am here, we’re all here, we all love her, and when you come out, you tell me everythin’. Honest, ya hear? The truth—not that wishy-washy BS they’re feedin’ us here.”

Max’s throat tightened as he stared at Jack, overwhelmed. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled the other man—once an adversary in his affection for Aria Grace, but now a special kind of friend—into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he said, his voice cracking.

Jack patted his back, his own eyes glistening. “Go on, get. Be there for her.”

Max nodded, taking the visitor pass and hurrying through the ICU doors. Jack watched him go, his posture straight but his heart heavy, silently praying for the daughter he loved more than life itself.

As Max disappeared through the ICU doors, Jack let out a long, heavy breath, his broad shoulders sagging slightly beneath the weight of his worry. His fingers brushed the brim of his old Stetson before dropping back to his side, his blue eyes fixed on the doors as though sheer willpower might reopen them.

Izzy stepped closer, her fiery red hair catching the harsh fluorescent lights. Without hesitation, she reached up, cupping Jack’s weathered face gently in her hands. Her green eyes were soft, yet filled with pride. Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his lips. “That was a big thing you did, Jack,” she murmured, her lilt low but firm. “Letting Max go in. I know it wasn’t easy. Shows what you’re made of, what kind of man you are, hun.”

Jack gave a small, tired chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “It wasn’t ‘bout bein’ big, Iz. It’s ‘bout doin’ what’s right—for her.” His voice was steady, but the strain behind his words was unmistakable.

Cody shifted beside them, his lanky frame almost folding in on itself. “Dad,” he began hesitantly, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you think she’ll be okay? Viv, and the baby?” His freckled face turned upward, a mix of fear and hope clouding his copper-hinted features.

Jack looked down at his son, his own face softening. He reached out, resting a strong, calloused hand on Cody’s shoulder. “She’s tough, Cody,” he said firmly. “Tougher than most. She’s fightin’, and that’s what matters.”

Liam stood a few steps away, his tear-streaked face pale and drawn. His red-rimmed eyes darted between the group, hesitant and guilt-ridden. “Mr. Kershaw, I—I don’t know what to do,” he stammered, his voice breaking. “I love her, I am her baby’s father, that is my baby in there and they say I am not family—” He choked on his words, his head dropping as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. “I should have given her the damn ring back when she asked, then I would be her fiancé and family.”

Jack turned to face him, his expression softening further. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled Liam into a firm embrace, his large hands resting on the younger man’s trembling shoulders. “Listen, kid,” Jack said, his voice low and steady. “Max or AG will let us know, sounds like she ain’t even conscious, so all ya could do is sit there feelin’ guilty. You shouldn’t feel guilty, ain’t nobody could’ve stopped her. Not me, not Max, and sure as hell not you. She’s got a mind of her own, stubborn as a mule—got that from me, if I’m honest, even though I always blame her mother. But this ain’t on you, Liam. All that matters now is that she’s got people who love her, standin’ here and prayin’ for her. That’s all we can do. She needs us be strong for her now.”

Liam collapsed into the embrace, his sobs muffled against Jack’s chest. Cody hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, wrapping an arm around Liam’s shoulders. Izzy moved in as well, looping her arms around both Jack and Cody, drawing them all together.

For a long moment, the four of them stood in a tight circle—a father, a stepmother, a half-brother, and a boyfriend—bound by their shared love for Vivienne and their hope for her and the baby’s survival. The sterile hum of the hospital faded into the background, replaced by their quiet, collective strength.

Jack’s gaze drifted back to the ICU doors, his weathered face filled with quiet resolve. “We’ll wait,” he murmured softly, his arms tightening around those he held. “We’ll wait as long as it takes. She’s got fight left in her. I know she does.”