The car rolled to a stop, and Mom immediately grabbed my hand like I was about to be marched into a firing squad. Brad gave me that soft, dad‑adjacent smile in the rearview mirror — the one he uses when he’s trying to be reassuring but also knows he’s walking into a Cameron‑family disaster zone.
“We’re here, sweetheart. If you need help, we’ll step in,” he said gently.
Which would’ve been comforting if I didn’t have a highlight reel of all the times my actual father nearly rearranged Brad’s face during one of his cowboy outbursts over Mom. Things only calmed down once Dad found Amy, but still — tonight had “potential homicide” energy written all over it.
Dad’s old truck was already in the driveway. Great. Full audience.
Brad hopped out and opened the door for Mom and me — very gallant, very “please don’t let Jackson kill me.” Before I could even adjust my coat, the front door swung open and Uncle Connor stepped out, hands on his hips like he’d been waiting to deliver a one‑liner. Connor — Mom’s older brother, a literal genius with a heart of gold and a football‑linebacker build — looked exactly like the entire hospital always described him: long warm‑honey‑blonde hair like mine and Mom’s, bright blue eyes, and that stupidly attractive easy smile that earned him the nickname Dr. McDreamy among staff and patients. He was in his fifties, but you didn’t see his age until you got very close to him, the fine lines and some silver mixed in with that full head of long flowy honey blonde mane. And he wasn’t here just to say hi. He was here because everyone knew Dad had a decades‑long habit of flipping his shit at Brad, and Connor was the only person who could stop him without turning the house into a crime scene.
“Well, well. The lost daughter returns home.”
I leaned toward Mom. “Does he know?”
She nodded. “Why do you think he’s here?”
Fantastic. Reinforcements. Because everyone knew exactly how Dad would react.
Speak of the devil — Dad came out next, followed by Beau and Cody. Cody shoved Beau aside, sprinted toward me, scooped me up, and spun me like I was five. I shrieked and laughed despite myself.
When he set me down, I shoved him. “I thought you were all hands‑off now.”
“Yeah, well, guess I don’t care no more,” he grinned, planting a peck on my forehead, while giving me another tight squeeze with the other arm.
Beau was hugging Mom while Dad now pulled me into one of his bone‑crushing embraces, kissing the top of my head. “Missed ya, baby. Amy wanted to come but Laney caught a bug and—”
“It’s fine. Not the last time I come… home.”
“Yeah, ya better,” Beau said, pulling me in and sniffing my hair like a psychopath.
I shoved him. “Ew! What is wrong with you?!”
“Why ya smell like mothballs?” my twin brother drawled.
“I do NOT smell like mothballs!”
“That’s lavender, honey,” Mom corrected, steering him toward the house.
Dad kept his arm around me until we passed Connor. Connor yanked me into a bear hug of his own.
“How much are you gonna tell him?” he whispered.
“Well… everything?”
“Got it. I’ll stick close to the living room door. First sign of ruckus, I’m there.”
“Thanks, Uncle Con‑Bear.”
Connor pulled me into one of his trademark bear hugs — warm, solid, and strong enough to make my lungs remember how to work. When he stepped back, his bright blue eyes softened. “I’m proud of you, kiddo. Luc sounds like a good man. Can’t wait to meet him someday — I hope. And you’re about to start one hell of a new life. But knowing you? You’ll rock that shit so hard.”
I swallowed hard. “Thanks, Uncle Con‑Bear. I needed that.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “By the way, don’t panic — your grandparents and Colton and Maddie aren’t here. 2Dark 2C got booked for a few gigs in Del Sol Valley, and it was easier for them to crash at Iris and Jas’s place for the week, plus hang out with your cousins — our eighteen‑going‑on‑thirty Anastasia, and Jasper‑copy/paste Tate.” He smirked. “You know how your grandparents are, especially when you get them out into a big metro with Colton and Mads. Eternal youth, eternal nightlife. Makes me feel my age just thinking about what Dad tells me they’re doing every night — and you know I love me some good partying. Still do. Just not every damn night, especially with a demanding job. I’m thinking I need to sit your grandparents down for a son‑parent talk, in reverse.”
I laughed, because it was painfully true. My vampire grandparents didn’t look like anyone’s grandparents, and Colton and Maddie had basically been their ageless partners‑in‑crime since forever. Both of Colton and Maddie’s kids even married two of my grandparents’ three kids — that’s how intertwined our families were. Mom, her twin sister Iris, and Uncle Connor all grew up in that giant Brindleton Bay mansion with Colton and Maddie’s kids, Keira and Jasper, like some weird celebrity hippie commune that somehow produced nothing but successful, emotionally stable adults. It worked for them. Me? I think it’s cringe, but hey — that’s back when Mom first met Brad. They all grew up together. That’s how old that bond is.
Mom was the oddball out anyway. My grandparents were confirmed pregnant with one kid, Auntie Iris. Imagine the shock when Iris was born and Gramma Hailey was still in labor and out popped my mom. They had no crib, no name, no nothing for my mom, so they put her in with Iris until they could get another crib — but Aunt Iris threw a fit, so they put Mom in with Uncle Jasper who was just a few weeks older. They swear that’s when those two became best friends. Yeah, my Uncle Jas is my mom’s best friend — like literal bestie — they tell each other everything, and he’s married to her twin sister and was Brad’s best bro growing up. Crazy, huh? But yeah, Brad’s been around a long time, and his meddling father’s relentless interference cracked the surface of what should’ve been a dream power couple from the start.
Then my dad — the cowboy — entered the picture. His dad Jack is Connor’s best friend, so that’s how my dad Jackson entered the mix, and decades of Brad‑and‑Mom, Dad‑and‑Mom, Brad‑and‑Mom rinse‑and‑repeat began until nobody knew who to root for anymore. I know she loved my dad, maybe still does a little, but those two never had a fighting chance. They were opposites in every possible way, and Beau and I grew up right in the middle of that fault line — basically the living reminders of why Mom and Dad were never meant to be.
Truth be told — and I know Beau disagrees on principle — it was always a lopsided relationship. I know they both tried, but it was about eighty‑five percent Mom sacrificing pieces of her life and herself to make things work with Dad, and maybe fifteen percent effort from him. That’s how I experienced it. And like I said, Beau very much disagrees.
I never belonged in Dad’s world, and Beau… Beau and I have always been this strange mix of close and distant. We’d kill for each other, but we never quite fit together. I always felt like I am nothing but a nuisance to him, and he was always too rough around the edges, too hillbilly for me. That whole full‑blooded cowboy thing is in his DNA — Dad’s too — and Uncle Cody’s. Cody grew up in Henfordshire, literally in view of a royal palace, but still sounded like Grandpa Jack’s cowboy clone the minute he could talk, and he fit in like they’d never lived anywhere else the moment they moved back to Chestnut Ridge. It’s genetic. It has to be.
Me? I can visit, sure. But the best part of Chestnut Ridge is the moment you hit the highway and see signs for San Sequoia — or Del Sol Valley, or Oasis Springs. I can only do ranch life in small doses. None of it interests me, and the things they call “fun” feel like punishment. I can count on one hand the times Dad and Beau did something Mom and I actually enjoyed — usually something downtown in San Sequoia or DSV — and both of them looked like they were being marched to the guillotine. Cody is a lot more flexible and adaptable, which is why he and I always got along. Sadly, after he and I accidentally became breaking news over nothing, something has cracked in our bond. Sad.
We all tried, at some point, to fit into each other’s worlds. But shared DNA doesn’t guarantee people match.
Connor nudged my shoulder. “So it’s just us today. And before you ask — yes, I’m here to keep your dad from flipping his shit at Brad. Again.” His easy smile flashed, the one that earned him the Dr. McDreamy nickname across the entire hospital. “Don’t worry. I’ve got him.”
Inside, the dining table was set with coffee, cake, pastries — the whole “we’re pretending this is a normal family meeting” spread. I traded a look with Mom. Beau and Cody were inhaling pastries like they’d been starved for days. Dad was just turning his coffee mug in his hands. He knew something was up. He always did. Cowboy, yes. Dumb, no.
Mom started. “Well, the reason we’re meeting here tonight is because Briony has some big news.”
Beau didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t starving. He was hunched over the table, chewing through a pastry like he’d been lost in the prairie and starving for weeks, crumbs everywhere, shoulders loose in that lazy‑cowboy way. He finally glanced up at me mid‑bite, didn’t even pause his pastry demolition, green eyes narrowing just a fraction, and with his mouth still half‑full he mumbled,
“Ya knocked up?”
Cody snorted coffee out his nose.
I flipped my brother off.
“Beau Wyatt! Seriously?” Mom snapped. “What the actual fuck, son?”
“Well, he ain’t that wild for guessin’ that, Bri. She is a Cameron…” Cody drawled, smirking— right up until Dad smacked his hat clean off his head.
“Take yer damn hat off at the table like ya wasn’t raised in a barn! And no more idiotic remarks! That’s mah daughter!” he barked at his much younger half-brother.
“For the record,” I said, barely restraining the avalanche of foul‑language sentence enhancers I was trying to break the habit of — future royal life and all — “I am not pregnant, thank you very much. How about your girlfriend, Beau? Or the five hundred girls you’ve probably pollinated since I last saw you, Cody?”
Beau didn’t even blink. “I know how to use a condom!” he drawled back, still chewing like the pastry might vanish if he didn’t inhale it fast enough.
“Yeah, what he said,” Cody snickered, slurping down the rest of his coffee and reaching for the pot to refill.
Mom let out one of those exasperated mom‑sighs — the kind that basically meant I give up on all of you.
“Well, guess what? So do I!” I snapped.
Cody choked. Beau glared. I glared right back at him.
Dad went rigid in his chair, eyes snapping to me — like he genuinely still believed at nineteen I was untouched, even though he once walked in on my ex‑boyfriend and me proving otherwise upstairs in my old room. And Brad choked on his coffee; no matter how many decades he spent around Cameron‑level bluntness, he was never going to get used to it.
Brad tried to steer us back. “Guys, maybe not the best table conversation. How about we let Briony—”
Dad instantly silenced him with a look that could curdle milk, but stayed quiet. For now.
“Okay,” I said. “So as you know, I’m almost in my fourth semester of college—”
“Yeah, how’s that comin’?” Cody interrupted.
“CODY!” Mom snapped. “Can she PLEASE get a sentence out?”
My carefully prepared speech evaporated. There was no way I’d get through it with this circus. So I went nuclear.
“Okay. Dad, Beau, Cody — I met someone at college and he—”
“Ya ain’t droppin’ out! No Ma’am!” Dad barked.
“For fuck’s sake, Dad! I’m not dropping out! Not pregnant, not married, didn’t join a cult! Anything else?!”
Silence. Finally.
I took a breath. “Dad… I met someone. I’m deeply in love with him. I’m going to marry him after graduation. And he is the new Sovereign Prince of Bellacorde and Ondarion. So things are going to change — a lot, for me. And in a way, for all of us.”
Dead. Silence.
Cody reached into his coat, pulled out a flask. Beau held out his mug. Dad snatched the flask, took a heroic gulp, wiped his mouth, and stared at me.
“No.”
“Huh?” I blinked. No what?
“No. Y’all ain’t doin’ that.”
“Jackson!” Mom warned.
“No, Briar Rose. Ain’t happenin’. My father tried that, dontcha all ‘member?! Need me to take ya all over to Jack’s place so he can explain why that ain’t for people like us?”
“I am not people like you, Dad! I like that kind of life. What would you have me do in your mental dystopian fatherly fever dream for my future? Marry one of your rancher bros and rope horses all day next door to you? I’d be dead in a week from allergies! Or have you forgotten about those – again? Need me to almost die a third time to refresh your memory?!”
“Briony!” Mom called out.
“I don’t care what ya do with yer life, but it ain’t that.” Dad drawled back.
“And WHY not?!”
“’Cos I ain’t seen ya in months. Ain’t heard from ya. And ya was s’posed to be in Henfordshire four years, then come on back home. I can stomach four years of hardly layin’ eyes on ya, if I gotta, knowin’ you’d end up back here and I could drive out to see ya whenever I damn well pleased. But now you’re sittin’ here tellin’ me yer fixin’ to run off even farther — to some island kingdom halfway ’round the globe — with some prince I ain’t even sure is real? Hell no. And how’m I s’posed to save ya if all that blows up in yer face — which every one of us sittin’ at this here table with a workin’ brain knows it will — when I can’t even afford to fly over there to make sure yer all right? And ya damn well know that, same as yer mother. Hell no!”
“Oh, Jackson, chill out, will you? And yes, he’s real,” Mom said.
Dad’s head snapped toward her. “Ya met him?”
“Yes. Brad and I met him several times.” I was worried for a moment Mom would showboat that she and Brad had been to his father’s abdication recently, but luckily she kept that to her damn self.
The look he gave me hurt worse than anything he’d ever said. It said he thought I didn’t invite him because I was worried he’d embarrass me. And we both knew it was true.
“Dad—”
“So yer gon’ be in Britchester two more years, then what? Yer prince gon’ wait? If ya really believe that, then college is a waste of time and money fer ya, darlin’, ’cos yer a damn fool if I ever seen one.”
“He will wait,” Brad said. “It’s part of protocol. And actually, Briony moved into the palace already and is studying remotely. I had some doubts, but I was able to peruse the Britchester online portal and was thoroughly impressed by the—”
“Shut yer mouth, Brat‑fart!” Dad roared. “I don’t wanna hear nothin’ outta yer arrogant mouth! This don’t concern ya!”
“Don’t talk to my husband like that!” Mom snapped.
“Then tell yer husband to stay outta my daughter’s life!”
“Dad!” I snapped.
“Why did he know and I didn’t?! Why did he get to meet that guy and I didn’t?! Yer embarrassed of me?!”
“No, I am not embarrassed of you! Well—maybe when you act like this I am, and you should be too! I just knew you’d do this! I love him, Dad, and I will marry him. I am nineteen, heading for twenty, I don’t need parental permission, I am telling you something very important about my life. The reason I have gone dark a little is because I am so fricking busy trying to juggle college, learning French and everything I need to know to be a quee—”
I froze. Too late.
“Queen?” Beau echoed.
“Thought ya said prince,” Cody added. “Now he’s a king?”
“Both is true. He is a Sovereign Prince, which is a king in all but name,” Brad explained softly.
Dad shot up from his chair so fast it skidded across the floor and slammed into the wall. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. He surged forward and grabbed Brad by the collar, yanking him close — for a second it looked like he might actually swing.
“I thought I told ya to keep that arrogant pie trap o’ yers shut! Need me to shut it for ya?!”
“Jackson!” my mom hissed.
He hesitated just long enough for the room to breathe, then shoved Brad back. Brad stumbled into the table, catching himself with a sharp inhale, one hand flying to his cheek where he’d bumped it.
Mom gasped. “Oh my God, Braddy!”
I lunged forward as dad now grabbed Brad by the collar and pulled him up, probably to punch him, I grabbed Dad’s arm, but he shook me off like a pesky insect, I stumbled over my own legs, Cody caught me and kept me from falling down right as dad landed a punch sending Brad stumbling into the wall, he lost balance and crashed to the floor.
Mom screamed, “Jackson, goddamn it! You knuckledragging motherfucker!” She grabbed his arm and put herself between him off Brad, yelling at him.
But he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even seeing us — not really. His eyes were wild, his breath ragged, his whole body coiled like a storm about to break. He turned towards me. In the background I saw mom fall to her knees next to Brad.
“You think,” my Dad snarled at me, voice cracking, “that some prince — some KING — wants ya for love?! Briony, yer young, but not young enough to fall for that snake oil they’re tryin’ to sell ya! Quit listenin’ to Brad, all he wants is to get richer and more famous any way he can!”
My heart stopped.
Dad jabbed a shaking finger toward me. “Yer young, impressionable, pretty — that’s all ya are to to that prince-fella! Use yer damn head, kid! He don’t love ya, Briony! He’s usin’ ya! And yer too young and dumb to see it until it’s too damn late! Yer mother sure ain’t no help, ain’t doin’ her job of protectin’ ya from yerself! He don’t love ya! He wants to breed the incest out of his damn gene pool, that’s what he wants! A pretty girl by his side, young enough to control! They’re gon’ smother ya with their stupid rules and none of us here will ever see ya again, while they turn ya into some braindead puppet! Not on my watch. If yer mother and that wet rag she married can’t protect ya, I will!”
The words hit harder than anything he’d ever said to me in my life.
“JACKSON!” Mom shoved herself between us, voice shaking with fury. “Do NOT talk to our daughter like that! Are you insane!?”
He threw up his hands in a sharp, frustrated motion — not at her, but near her — and she flinched back a step. Then she shoved him or tried, he planted his boots and they shoved each other yelling terrible things at each other no child should hear their parents say to each other. I wanted to just die.
Something inside me snapped.
“Dad!” I cried, stepping forward. “You’re scaring me!”
He turned on me, eyes blazing. “Good – maybe I need to put the fear of God back in ya for ya to see straight! I’m tryin’ to SAVE ya! You don’t know nothin’ about the world! Nineteen and stupid, just a kid! I am thinkin’ that damn expensive university was a waste of money if ya can’t see that! Don’t they teach ya nothin’ in that fancy place, about the world, anything useful!? Them royals aint’ whatcha thinkin’ they are. That is not a world ya wanna be part of! Yer too good for that! I can’t believe ya let her run with that so long, Bri, shoulda shut that down right away! Or are ya so blinded by the glam and glitter and the castles and palaces that ya don’t care about sacrificing our little girl for that?!”
Mom had reached her breaking point and slapped him hard. Dad grabbed her wrist and glared at her, a sort of Mexican standoff like we all had seen many times when they were still married or dating or still not 100% done with each other. And old familiar terror.
“And YOU wonder why I prefer Brad!” I shouted back something no daughter should ever say to her father before I could stop myself. “I don’t need you to constantly remind me that he isn’t my bio-dad, I know that, but he is the only one I ever had who acted like a real dad, the one who showed up, the one who taught me things a dad actually should teach their daughter! I don’t care about fucking ranching, horses, how to build fucking fires in some fucking prairie I don’t want to be in in the first place, Brad taught me real life things, that help me so very much now, at college and at the palace, cos he’s civilized and smart! And he cares about ME, not just tries to own me, like you! Everything is always about that stupid ranch, and nobody who doesn’t already live there anyway gives a fuck about that shithole or your goddamn horses, Dad! Literally NOBODY!!!”
The room froze.
Dad’s face went white. Then red. Then something darker.
The others stared at me as if I’d grown a few more heads.
Beau stepped forward and shoved me hard enough that I stumbled back into the counter, like he’d been waiting for an excuse. “You don’t talk to Dad like that!”
I caught myself, pushed off the counter, and glared at my brother — a look that said one more word and I’d tear into him without hesitation.
“Beau, stay out of this,” Mom warned.
“No!” Beau barked. “She’s mah sister, he’s mah father, and she’s bein’ disrespectful! An’ Pa is damn right about all that! Yer so damn selfish and stupid right now, Briony! But what else is new? Ya think Dad wasn’t there for ya? Well, how could he be, you was always gone doin’ yer own thing, just like yer fixin’ to do again now. If Dad ain’t a good dad, then yer sure are one shitty daughter! I ain’t even gon’ talk about ya not being much of a sister.”
“Beau, back off,” Cody muttered, grabbing his arm.
“Don’t touch me!” Beau jerked away, voice rising. “She’s runnin’ off to some foreign country with some guy we don’t even know, and we’re just supposed to clap?! Ya should be sidin’ with yer brother and me, or didcha forget we’re yer family!?”
“Did you forget she’s yer sister?! ‘member if ya pointin’ fingers at others, four point back at ya. Ya ain’t been no prime example of a brother yerself to her! She don’t hardly know ya.” Cody snarled back.
Beau shoved him, hard enough that Cody staggered a step. Cody was known to brawl, especially when drunk, but he kept himself mostly composed here. After all, as much as they may act like friends since there was only five years age difference, Cody was still Dad’s brother and Beau’s uncle. And mine.
“BEAU!” Connor’s voice cracked like a whip. He finally realized something was up.
He moved fast, deescalating by sliding between Beau and Dad, one hand braced on Beau’s chest to keep him from Cody, who just stood there, breathing heavy like an angry bull, the other out toward Dad, his stance wide and steady, to make sure Dad didn’t go after his favorite scapegoat, Brad, again.
Connor’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. “Enough. All of you. What is wrong with you, God dammit!? I expected some yelling, which I’d let ya do, knowing half the people in this room need volume to work through their problems, but the moment I leave my watch post for one sec to take a leak I come back to you already startin’ the Royal Rumble in my parents’ house? Have you all lost your damn minds? And what the hell happened to Brad again? Jackson, you goddamn caveman! We talked about this! Looks like you need a refresher, cowboy!”
Brad straightened slowly, one hand still pressed to his cheek. When he pulled it away, the skin was already darkening.
Mom’s face crumpled. “Oh my God, Braddy… Jackson, you asshole!”
Dad just glared at her, jaw clenched. Connor shot her a sharp, brotherly look — the kind that said, quit while you’re ahead; while saying “I’ll check him in a minute once these ranch‑dwellers remember their manners, Bri. This isn’t the first time this happened and Brad’s face is probably callused over by now. You okay, buddy?”
Brad waved him off with a small, controlled motion. “Yeah, it’s fine, I am fine, Connor. Mild contusion. Looks worse than it is. Nothing fractured. No blood.” His tone shifted into that calm, clinical cadence only another high‑level physician would recognize — precise, measured, diagnostic. Mom gently touched it and Brad pulled her into his arms, kissing her cheek, whispering gently to her.
My heart shattered.
Dad saw it too — the bruise forming — and something flickered across his face. Guilt? Shock? I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
Because all I could see was Brad hurt. All I could hear was Dad’s voice calling me dumb. All I heard was him doubting a man like Luc could really fall in love with a girl like me and that hurt so bad. I felt devaluated by my own father. And by my brother. Neither could even entertain the idea for even a second that I could be special enough, worthy enough, for a prince to break all the rules just to be with me, like Luc had. They knew nothing about him, about us, and didn’t even care to ask any details, just made up their own reality and judged both of us.
I couldn’t breathe.
I backed away.
No one noticed.
They were too busy yelling, arguing, defending, accusing again, I didn’t even hear what started it this time, nor did I care anymore.
Connor was a mountain of a man, but had his hands full trying to mediate this mess. He was just about over my dad’s shit, I could tell and we were seconds from Connor showing dad he was and always would be able to strongarm him, if need be by laying my father out cold to remind him why you don’t hit people. Taste of his own medicine. Or he might grab him and Beau and throw both in the pool again to help them wake up to reality and snap out of their anger bubble. We had that before too. And while they felt guilty, Connor would patch up Brad. Again.
Same pattern it always had been.
I slipped out the front door.
Cold air hit me like a slap. I just wanted to get out to breathe, for silence, but now that I was out, I felt like I needed to get away. I ran down the driveway, boots slipping on gravel, lungs burning. I was sobbing. Almost blinded by my tears. I ran down the street some, past the restaurant. Just kept running. No destination. Just away from the place that used to be my home, my haven, but now felt like torture.
A cab rolled down the street.
I waved both arms like a lunatic to flag it down.
It slowed. Stopped.
I yanked the door open and fell inside. “Airport,” I gasped. “Please. Just—just go.”
Escape
“Ya alright there, Miss?” the cab driver asked.
“No, I’m not alright,” I snapped before my brain could stop my mouth. “I just had a screaming match with my dad and my brother — both deranged dumbasses, by the way — and they hate my boyfriend for literally no reason. They’ve never even met him, and honestly? They never will now if I can help it. So, you tell me if I’m alright, Mister. Just—just drive, please. As fast as you can! Get me outta here!”
The words hung in the air like I’d just thrown a whole diary at him.
The driver blinked, eyebrows climbing. “Uh… okay then.” He nodded slowly and pulled away.
I slumped back in the seat, heat crawling up my neck. “Sorry for the TMI,” I muttered.
He gave a tiny, sympathetic grunt — the kind cab drivers give when they’ve heard way too much but aren’t paid enough to comment.
My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone. I didn’t even think about the time difference. It rang forever.
When Luc finally answered, I was crying too hard to speak.
“Briony?” His voice was soft, terrified. “Mon cœur… are you crying? What is wrong? Are you hurt?”
I pressed my forehead to the cold window, breath fogging the glass. “Luc…” was all I managed.
The cab sped through San Sequoia, streetlights smearing into gold streaks through my tears. My chest felt too tight to breathe.
“Briony,” he said again, voice cracking. “Please answer me.”
“I—I had to get out,” I choked. “It was so bad, Luc. I just ran.”
Silence. Not empty — thinking silence.
“Where are you?” Luc asked, his accent thick, voice low and controlled in that way that meant he was seconds from losing it.
“In a cab. I’m going to the airport. I can’t stay here.”
“Which airport?”
“San Sequoia International.”
Another beat of silence.
Then: “Go to the VIP Lounge. I am sending the jet.”
My breath hitched. “Luc—”
“No arguments,” he said sharply — the kind of sharp that came from fear, not anger. “You are alone, you are crying, and you are running from a situation that frightened you. Wait for the jet, d’accord?”
“Won’t you get into trouble with your dad?”
“Why would I?” A soft huff of laughter. “I am… how did you put it… ah, the big cheese now.” His voice warmed, amused despite everything. A low chuckle. “My father cannot scold me for using my own aircraft. He signed all of that over to me — the title, the duties, the fleet.”
The cab pulled to the curb. I paid with shaking hands and stumbled out into the cold air.
“Luc?” I whispered.
“I am still here,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Go inside. Give them your name. Someone will escort you to the lounge. I was just told the jet will be wheels‑up in ten minutes, en route to you.”
“Wow, you really don’t fu— mess around, do you? That was fast.”
“I woke the pilot,” he said simply. “He is very motivated.”
A broken laugh escaped me. “Luc… thank you.”
“Go inside, mon cœur. Breathe. Let them take care of you.”
I pushed through the sliding doors into the bright terminal. People stared — I probably looked like a raccoon who’d lost a fistfight — but I didn’t care. I headed for the VIP Lounge. I’d been in plenty of them before — perks of having a family full of music‑industry VIPs — but this was different. The moment I gave my name, the staff straightened like I’d just been knighted. Voices dropped. Smiles sharpened. Someone practically materialized at my elbow to guide me in.
Royal‑level treatment. A whole different universe.
I collapsed into a chair by the window.
“Talk to me,” Luc said gently. “Tell me what happened.”
I tried. I really did. But everything came out in a messy, shaking rush. I finished, barely making sense, barely keeping from crying “…and Connor had to hold Dad back, and I just— I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stay. I had to get out of there.”
“Shh,” he murmured. “Don’t cry, mon amour. You did the right thing. You removed yourself from a bad situation. That is strength and wisdom.”
“I feel like a coward.”
“You are not a coward,” he said firmly. “You were overwhelmed, justifiably. But you need to realize that your father’s reaction came from fear. He does not know me. I could be a terrible monster. All he thought could be true. He does not know, which made him overreact.”
I sniffed. “Monster? You?”
“Oui. He does not know. And he is afraid of losing you. That does not excuse him. But it explains him.”
I curled tighter. “Okay, then explain why he hates that I love Brad. Shouldn’t that be MY choice? Shouldn’t he be happy that I get along so well with my stepdad, whom I only have because he and my mom drove their marriage off a cliff, twice? We all know not all stepparents are great.”
“He does not hate it,” Luc said softly. “He envies it. He’s jealous, worried you will like the stepdad more than you real one.”
That hit too close to home.
“Well, if he was afraid of that, everything he did and said tonight DEFINITELY screwed it all up real good! I still love Brad, but now I hate my Dad. HATE HIM. I do. So that backfired then.”
“You do not hate your father,” Luc whispered. “You are hurt. And he will be the one who must change. Not you.”
I closed my eyes. “No Luc, I mean it. I hate him.”
“I know,” he said. “Just breathe. I am here.”
A soft chime sounded on his end — not loud, not mechanical, just the muted tone of someone receiving an update.
“What was that?” I sniffled.
“Nothing,” he said, voice steady, “the jet is preparing for departure. They have favorable winds. It will be quick. For now, I must let you go. There are a few things I need to handle. I will call you back, but you should relax now. Go freshen up. Get yourself a drink, maybe a light meal. Rest a little. Close your eyes. Before you know it, the jet will be there to bring you home.”
My heart twisted. “Luc… I love you.”
“I love you too,” he said simply. Then the line clicked off.
I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to hold myself together. Wow. If Dad could see straight, wouldn’t he just love Luc for this? That’s what Mom and Brad saw. What I saw. Dad just judged a book by its cover, convinced he was justified.
I was unable to think straight, so I just did what Luc suggested. I went to the bathroom, was handed a courtesy toiletry kit. So, I decided to take a nice, hot shower and wash the insanity of my family off. Then I went to the bar and ordered a drink. I wasn’t someone who drank much, but I wanted something, anything — and when I saw a glass of Beauvigne champagne on the menu, I needed it. It tasted like home. Like an embrace from Luc. In his vineyards, just us, together. Oh, how I wished I could be there with him right now. I used to love San Sequoia so much, it used to be the only place I would ever consider home, the place I thought I’d always live and one day die in. Now, I just couldn’t wait to get as far away from here as possible.
My phone started going off. First one call. Then another. Then another. Within seconds it was buzzing nonstop — vibrating across the little lounge table like it was trying to escape. Yeah, phone, me too. Me too.
Dad. Mom. Brad. Beau. Cody. Even Connor.
All of them calling. All at once. Like they’d only just realized I was gone.
My stomach twisted. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even look at the screen without feeling like I was going to throw up.
I was ready to turn the whole thing off — just shut the world out — but my thumb hovered. What if Luc called me back? I definitely didn’t want to miss his call.
So instead, I opened the settings with shaking hands and switched to Do Not Disturb, silencing the entire world except for one name I allowed as an exception.
Luc.
Only Luc.
The phone went blessedly quiet, the storm cut off like someone had slammed a door. Which, basically, I had — on my entire family. I wasn’t mad at Mom or Brad, but I really couldn’t handle them trying to talk me off a cliff right now, one I wanted to be on so I could leap straight into Luc’s arms. I’d call them tomorrow.
Not Dad though. He could go fuck himself. If I never spoke to that sorry excuse of a man ever again, it would be too soon.
I ordered another glass of the Beauvigne champagne and drank it like water.
Eventually I curled up in a cozy lounger and actually fell asleep, slightly buzzed. I must have slept for a few hours, because I woke to ringing and buzzing in my pocket. Drowsily, I realized it was my phone — Luc calling. I jerked upright and fumbled it out.
“Hello?” I mumbled, still half-asleep.
“Briony,” he murmured, “look out the window. Do you see the runway?”
That woke me up. I turned. The tarmac glowed under floodlights, planes taxiing, engines humming.
“Yeah.”
“Good. In a few moments, you will see a small white jet with a lavender crest on the tail. That should look familiar. Someone will come to get you.”
“Luc… oh my God. Thank you. This is so crazy. I can’t believe you did that.”
“No,” he said softly. “This is love.”
My throat closed.
“Stay on the phone with me,” he whispered. “Until you are on the jet.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see.
Outside, in the distance, a small white jet dipped its wings as it approached the runway — like it was bowing.
Like it was coming for me.
The VIP lounge was quiet enough that I could hear my own heartbeat. I curled into the armchair, staring out at the private runway while Luc stayed on the phone with me, his voice the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.
“Briony,” he murmured, “the jet is in the final landing approach now. You will be taken to it shortly.”
“I can’t believe you did this for me. Thank you!” My voice cracked.
“Of course,” he said — warm, steady, nothing more.
I pressed my hand to my mouth, trying not to cry again.
I watched the plane touch down, smooth and elegant, slowing as if it were coming directly to me. I jumped up, told Luc I needed to hang up, and hurried to the bathroom to at least look a little more presentable. It was hopeless. My eyes were red‑rimmed and swollen, my skin blotchy and pale. I didn’t look attractive at all — especially not in the neon airport lighting.
As I stepped out, I immediately heard, “Ms. Cameron?” A man in a dark airport uniform stepped inside. “Your aircraft has arrived. I’m here to escort you.”
I followed on shaky legs. He offered to take my bag — I didn’t have one, mine was in the trunk of Mom and Brad’s rental car — so he simply guided me down a quiet hallway, through a private security door, and out onto the tarmac.
Cold night air rushed over me.
A small airport vehicle waited, engine humming softly. The escort opened the door for me, and I climbed in. The ride was short, the runway lights streaking past like stars.
Then I saw it.
The jet waited at the end of the lit path — sleek, white, the Bellacorde crest gleaming on the tail. The stairs were down. The cabin lights glowed warm and golden.
The car stopped, and the airport employee rushed over to open the door for me. I got out on shaky legs, actually accepting his helping hand, wondering how I was supposed to make it up those stairs on pudding legs without tumbling back down.
Then, at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the light—
Luc.
My breath left my body. My heart legit stopped, then took off at five hundred miles an hour. He was here. He had come for me. Oh. My. God.
He was still in his dark coat, hair tousled, posture tense like he’d been pacing the cabin waiting for me. For me. He had come for me.
The moment he saw me, he descended the stairs two at a time.
I froze for a second, the cold forgotten, the world narrowing to the shape of him. Then I ran — as fast as I could — straight into him. That definitely broke five million royal codes, but I couldn’t care less. Neither could Luc. He caught me instantly, arms wrapping around me tight.
“Briony,” he breathed — soft, relieved, aching — and the way he said my name undid me completely.
I sobbed hard into his coat.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m here now.”
For a moment, the world went quiet. Just his heartbeat. Just his warmth. Just the steady rise and fall of his breath.
He pulled back slightly, cupping my face in both hands.
“I do not mean to rush you, but I should not be traveling tonight,” he admitted softly. “I have meetings at dawn and will not get much sleep now. My father will be furious. My advisors will be worse.”
“Then why did you come?” I whispered.
His eyes softened — that deep, steady warmth that always made the world feel less terrifying.
“Because you needed me,” he said simply. “And that is enough.”
My throat closed. Dammit, Dad. If you could hear this… how does crow taste, huh?
He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “Come. Let’s get you inside. You’re freezing, and we should head home.”
He guided me up the stairs, one hand at my back, protective but gentle. The cabin was warm, quiet, softly lit — a cocoon compared to the chaos I’d fled.
The door closed behind us with a soft thud.
Luc nodded to the pilot. “We depart immediately.”
The engines hummed to life. No surprise. Brad’s jet had preferential takeoff rights in some airports — I could only imagine what a royal jet enjoyed. They didn’t wait in line. Other planes waited for them.
Luc led me to a seat — not across from him, but beside him — and buckled me in with careful hands, like I was something fragile.
Then he sat next to me, took my hand, and didn’t let go.
As the jet rolled toward the runway, he leaned close, voice low.
“You’re safe now, mon cœur.”
And for the first time since I’d run out of that house, I felt that way too.
But the moment I started to relax, my phone buzzed. I realized the Do Not Disturb was only for a certain timeframe and we were not past it, so the floodgates opened again.
Once.
Twice.
Then nonstop.
I flinched.
Luc’s eyes softened. “Your family is worried.”
I nodded, throat tight.
The screen lit up with a cascade of notifications:
MOM (22missed calls)
BEAU (3 missed calls)
CODY (5 missed calls)
DAD (3 missed calls)
CONNOR (7 missed calls)
BRAD (18 missed calls)
Then the texts started rolling in, one after another, filling the screen faster than I could read them. I only glanced at a few.
Mom: Briony, honey, where did you go?
Mom: Please answer me!
Mom: Are you outside? Where are you?! I can’t find you!!!!!
Mom: Connor says you probably took a cab?! Where to?! We called Keira and she says you didn’t go to Uncle Connor’s house! Where are you!? Briony!
Mom: Are you okay?? Please, just tell me. I won’t tell your father!
Mom: Please, baby, please answer.
Beau: Where the hell did you go?
Cody: Briony, seriously, what the hell? Where ya at? Tell me and I’ll come getcha. We don’t need to go back here, just need to know you’re safe! It’s dark, that ain’t safe!
Connor: I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped him sooner. Just tell me you’re safe. Or just go to my house. Please! Or the hospital, go there and wait there for me. I won’t let them know. Just go somewhere safe!
Brad: Briony, sweetheart, please text us. Your mom is panicking.
Brad: Briony, please call me. I am sure we can handle this quietly. Or go to a hotel and give them my name. You cannot be out there by yourself!
Dad: Come home. Now.
Dad: Briony.
Dad: Answer your phone! It ain’t safe out there for a young woman alone at night! If ya don’t answer, I am gonna come lookin’ for ya!
My stomach twisted.
Another text from Mom popped up, frantic and raw:
Mom: Briony, just tell me you’re all right! Where are you?! I am this close to calling the police! Fuck it, I am calling the damn cops! And then I will kill your father!!!!!!!!!!!! Should have done that years ago!
My breath hitched. My fingers trembled.
Luc watched me quietly, not pushing, not prying — just there. I typed with shaking hands, hitting every wrong button like I’d never texted before. Finally, I had it.
I am on a plane, going home. You said I had to tell my father about Luc; now he has been told and I am done. I’ll call you and Brad tomorrow — tell him I love him and am so sorry this shit happened to him again; he probably wants nothing to do with me because of my asshole sperm donor! The man who fathered me is such a jackass! I wish Brad were my real dad!!!
I hit send.
Luc’s eyes flicked to me, gentle, curious. I felt my cheeks heat.
Before I could lose my nerve, I held down the power button until the screen went black. Silence.
The cabin hummed softly around us. Outside, the runway lights blurred into streaks as the jet began to taxi.
Luc reached over and gently took my phone from my hand, setting it on the table between us.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I know you would never tell anyone stuff like that, but I just… I…” I sniffled.
“You said what you felt in your heart,” he said softly, his accent curling around the words. “At least your maman knows you are safe now.”
My voice cracked. “I swear my father feels justified. He always does. He never sees when he’s wrong. Always thinks his way is the only way. And Brad probably hates me now. I can’t believe my father hurt him again. I thought marrying Amy made him more… human. Guess that only works when she’s next to him. What an asshole. I hate him so much. Luckily he has other kids whose lives he can ruin, because he will never see me again.”
Luc exhaled slowly, a soft mmh under his breath — the sound he made when he was choosing his words carefully.
“I doubt all of that,” he murmured. “But you need not worry now.”
The engines roared, the jet lifted, and the ground fell away beneath us. I leaned into Luc, mentally and physically exhausted, shaking, heartbroken. Yes, I meant every word I’d said about my father — but it still hurt like hell.
Luc wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him as the plane climbed into the night.
“Rest,” he whispered into my hair. “You are going home, where no one dares to raise their voice at you. You have seen how people who are unkind to you are dealt with — when Clémentine and Dominique had to answer for their behavior. Anyone who tries, ma chérie, will face the same.”
“I wish I could have you sentence my father to something. Torture and the dungeon or something.”
“If you want me to, I will speak with him,” he said quietly — too quietly.
“No! Oh God, no!” I jerked upright. “That is literally the last thing I want. I want him nowhere near you.” I meant it. He’d ruin this good thing for me. Dad was dead to me as far as Luc was concerned. No thank you.
Luc’s hand slid up my arm, steadying me. “D’accord,” he murmured. “As you wish.”
The plane lifted higher into the night sky, the lights of San Sequoia shrinking beneath us.
The jet leveled out, engines humming softly beneath us. The cabin lights dimmed to a warm glow, and the world outside the windows turned into a blur of stars and darkness.
I curled into Luc’s side, trying to breathe, trying to settle, trying to stop shaking. He kept one arm around me, steady and warm, his thumb brushing slow circles against my shoulder.
But I couldn’t get comfortable.
I shifted. Pressed closer. Tucked my knees up. Tried leaning against him, then the seat, then him again.
Nothing helped.
My chest felt too tight. My skin felt too cold. My whole body felt like it was trying to crawl out of itself.
Luc watched me quietly, worry tightening the corners of his eyes.
“Briony,” he murmured, his accent softening the vowels, “you’re anxious. Try to relax.”
“I can’t—” My voice cracked. “I can’t get comfortable. I can’t get close enough to you. I think I wanna crawl inside of you.”
His expression softened in a way that made my throat close.
“Viens,” he said gently. Come here.
Before I could ask what he meant, he slid one arm under my knees and the other around my back and lifted me — carefully, slowly, like he was afraid I might break. He settled me sideways across his lap, my head against his chest, my legs curled along the seat. It should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t. It felt like the first deep breath I’d taken all night, and it smelled like him.
“You’re not supposed to do this,” I whispered, voice small.
“I know,” he said softly, pulling a blanket from the armrest compartment and draping it over me. “But you needed it.”
I pressed my face into his shirt, inhaling the faint scent of cedar and something warm and familiar. My fingers curled into the fabric. My whole body sagged, finally letting go.
Luc wrapped both arms around me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other resting over my spine, steady and protective.
The sobs came again — softer this time, muffled against his chest. He didn’t shush me. He didn’t rush me. He just held me, warm and solid, his breath slow and even.
Little by little, the shaking eased.
My breathing slowed.
The tears stopped.
Exhaustion crept in, heavy and irresistible.
Luc shifted just enough to tuck the blanket closer around me, his voice a low murmur against my hair.
“Dors, mon cœur. Sleep. I’m here.”
I tried to answer, but the words dissolved before they reached my lips. The last thing I felt was his hand smoothing gently down my back. The last thing I heard was his heartbeat under my ear.
I didn’t remember falling asleep.
One moment I was curled on Luc’s lap, wrapped in a blanket, my face pressed against his chest, breathing in the warm cedar scent of him. The next, I felt movement — steady, rhythmic, like being rocked.
I blinked groggily.
Warm arms. A heartbeat under my ear. The faint scent of cold night air and polished marble.
Luc was carrying me.
I tried to lift my head. “Luc…?”
“Shh,” he murmured, voice low and soft, the French lilt even gentler when he was tired. “We’re home.”
Home.
The word hit something deep inside me. I let my head fall back against him, too tired to fight the pull of sleep again.
The palace doors opened before us — tall, ornate, glowing with soft golden light. Footmen bowed. Guards stepped aside. Everything felt surreal, like I was floating through a dream.
I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him everything — how scared I’d been, how much it hurt, how much I loved him — but exhaustion dragged me under again.
Sleeping Beauty
Luc adjusted his hold on Briony as he stepped into the grand foyer, her weight warm and soft against his chest. She didn’t stir. Her breathing was slow, even — the kind of sleep that only comes after a storm.
He’d barely taken three steps before a familiar voice cut through the quiet.
“Luc.”
Luc stopped.
Charles stood at the base of the staircase — tall, composed, dressed in a dark robe, silver hair slightly mussed from sleep. His expression was unreadable at first, but the flicker in his eyes when he saw Briony in Luc’s arms was unmistakable: surprise, concern, and a brief flash of this is absolutely against protocol.
He descended the last few steps, stopping in front of them.
“What happened?” he asked quietly, voice low but edged with authority.
“I will tell you later, mon père,” Luc said. “I need to get her to bed. She has had a rough time. Her father did not take the news well.”
Charles’s gaze softened as he studied Briony’s face — the faint tear tracks, the smudged mascara, the way she instinctively curled closer to Luc even in sleep. Something in his expression shifted. A memory, perhaps. A ghost. A woman he once carried through these same halls.
Then he lifted his eyes to his son.
Luc hesitated. “He said things he should not have said. And he did things that were out of line. He used violence against her stepfather. It wounded her deeply.”
A shadow passed over Charles’s features — anger, controlled and cold. “I see.”
Luc brushed a strand of hair from Briony’s cheek. “She needs rest. And… time.”
Charles exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. When he spoke again, his voice was different — quieter, warmer, touched by something personal.
“Take her to your rooms.”
Luc blinked. “Father—”
Charles lifted a hand, dismissing the objection. “I know the rules. But I also know she should not wake alone. And you should join her and get some rest. I will advise the staff to let you both sleep.” His eyes softened. “You look exhausted.”
Luc swallowed. “I have early meetings.”
“I am aware,” Charles said dryly. “I will cover for you.”
Luc stared at him, startled.
Charles waved a hand, almost amused. “It will not be a problem. In fact, it will only make you appear more important, mon fils. Just like in courting — one must never seem too available, n’est‑ce pas? You may join us for the noon session instead. I may not be Sovereign anymore, but I am still your father, so do as I ask.”
He even winked.
Luc’s breath caught — half disbelief, half gratitude. “Merci, mon père.”
Charles stepped aside, but paused as Luc moved past him.
“Luc Sébastien.”
Luc turned.
Charles’s voice was low, steady, carrying the weight of memory and something gentler beneath it. “You crossed the sea in the middle of the night for her. That is not a small thing. Your mother…” His expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “She would have understood. And approved.”
Luc’s throat tightened.
Charles nodded once, the gesture both sovereign and father. “Go. Rest. It will ease her sadness to wake and find you beside her. You will see.”
Luc inclined his head, then carried Briony up the stairs — her head tucked beneath his chin, her hand curled loosely against his chest.
Charles watched them go, his expression composed, but his eyes thoughtful — touched by memory, warmed by pride, and quietly protective of the girl who had made his son cross an ocean without hesitation.
Charles’s voice was low, steady. “You crossed the sea in the middle of the night for her. That is not a small thing. Your mother…” His voice softened. “She would have understood. And approved.”
Luc’s throat tightened.
Charles nodded toward the staircase. “Go. Get some rest, both of you. It will ease her sadness to wake and find you beside her. You will see.”
Luc inclined his head. “Thank you, Father.”
He carried Briony up the stairs, her head tucked beneath his chin, her hand curled loosely against his chest.
Charles watched them go, his expression unreadable — but his eyes thoughtful, softened by memory, and beneath it all, quietly protective of the girl who had made his son cross an ocean without hesitation.
By Dawn’s Early Light
I woke to the soft clink of porcelain.
For a second I had no idea where I was. Warm sheets. Sunlight slicing through tall windows. The faint smell of cedar and something citrusy. Definitely not my room. Definitely not San Sequoia.
Then the carved ceiling came into focus. The velvet drapes. The gilded molding.
Luc’s chambers.
Oh. Oh God.
A footman bowed slightly as he set a tray on the table — fruit, pastries, tea, coffee, and something that smelled like honey and vanilla. When he saw my eyes open, he smiled gently.
“Good morning, mademoiselle. His Highness will join you momentarily.”
His Highness.
My stomach flipped.
Before I could fully process that, the door opened — and Luc stepped in.
Freshly showered. Hair damp, curling slightly at the ends. White shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms. No coat, no tie, just… Luc. Warm and real and close.
His expression softened the second he saw me awake.
“Bonjour, mon cœur,” he said quietly, voice still rough from sleep as he stepped closer and kissed me. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck,” I muttered.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You slept deeply. Like a stone. A stone that snores.”
I squinted at him. “Wow. Okay, first of all, the expression is to sleep like a rock, not a stone. And I don’t snore.”
“Oh, mas oui, you are a very noisy rock,” he said, deadpan. “With the snore of a cartoon rabbit.” he imitated it in the funniest, French-est sounding way making me burst out laughing.
I groaned, still giggling and pulled the blanket over my face. “I hate you.”
“You do not,” he said, amused, gently tugging the blanket down. “But you may hate mornings. Luckily, I have just the thing …”
He handed me a cup of coffee — the good kind, the kind that smelled like it had been blessed by angels — and sat beside me on the edge of the bed, close but not crowding.
Luc’s voice was soft. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I took a deep sip of coffee, then stared into the cup like it might give me courage. “I told you everything. In… probably too much detail. And with probably too much cursing. Sorry about all that.”
“Not too much,” he said. “But you were not very coherent yesterday. Would you mind trying again?”
I picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “Fine. Here’s the summary: the man who contributed half my DNA is an asshole, and I hate him. My twin brother is… undecided, but leaning heavily toward asshole. Beau—” I snorted. “Beau is basically a copy‑paste of my sperm donor. My Uncle Cody tried to help, but he’s too much like them. My mom was in over her head, and poor Brad got hurt again for trying to keep the peace. There. All caught up. Welcome to my mess.”
Luc didn’t correct me. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t defend anyone. Didn’t try to soften it.
“You are hurt,” he said simply. “And you have every right to be.”
My throat tightened. “He said horrible things. And he always goes after Brad. You met Brad — does he seem like someone who would start anything? He’s the type who tries to reason, tries to calm things down, and somehow he’s the one who ends up paying for it. And my father walks around acting like he’s the victim. He doesn’t care that I love Brad. That Mom loves him. And I’m supposed to just… pretend it’s fine? Pretend he didn’t say all that garbage about you and that I was a moron for falling for you?”
I huffed out a bitter laugh. “Aren’t parents supposed to be supportive? Someone forgot to give him that memo. I don’t remember him ever being supportive. Always complaining, nagging, or flipping out. Like when he found out I had my first boyfriend — he went nuclear. Meanwhile Beau had a girlfriend for months and Dad literally bought him condoms. Make it make sense.”
My voice cracked. Great. My TMI had TMI.
Luc reached out and took my hand, thumb brushing my knuckles. “He is afraid,” he murmured. “Afraid of losing you. To me. To this. Afraid of being replaced. By Brad. By my father. By me. By a world he does not understand.”
“I don’t care,” I snapped. “He doesn’t get to talk to me like that. He doesn’t get to hurt Brad. He doesn’t get to talk about you like that — he hasn’t even met you and he never, ever, EVER will now! And he doesn’t get to make me feel stupid for loving you when it took him forty years to figure out his own relationship mess. What a moron. Can I get tested to see if I inherited his knuckle‑dragging, hillbilly, backwoods Neanderthal ways?! Cos if I did, shoot me now! Please!”
Luc blinked.
“He said you only want me to breed heirs,” I spat. “Which is hilarious, because that’s literally how he looks at horses. Just dollar signs to make more dollar signs with. And he sucks at it, cos he never has any money.”
Luc’s eyes softened. “Well… he is not entirely wrong. Our union does come with certain expectations. One of them being heirs, eventually.” He squeezed my hand. “But I fell in love with you long before any of that mattered.”
I looked away, jaw tight. “I don’t want to see him ever again. I don’t want to talk to him ever again. I wish I could divorce my own father and have Brad adopt me. At least he actually loves me.”
Luc hesitated. “Briony… one day, not so far from now, you may want him to walk you down the—”
“No.” The word shot out of me like a bullet. “No way would I want that man at our wedding. Never. I want him nowhere near you. If he laid a hand on you, I swear I’d— I’d take one of your swords and end him. I don’t even care!”
“Mon Dieu!” Luc murmured, startled but gentle. “Briony breathe.”
I didn’t stop. I kept going, words tumbling out faster than my brain could filter them.
“Poor Brad. He got hurt again. And if I told you how many times that’s happened — how many times he’s ‘lost his temper’ and Brad ended up bruised just for loving my mom—” My voice cracked. “I get that it’s the cowboy way or whatever, but since when are the rest of us horse ranchers? Does Brad look like one to you? Or my mom? Or me?”
The anger hit a wall inside me and collapsed into something rawer.
“No, Luc. Not that man. Not at our wedding. Brad would give me away. Or my grandpa Chase. Or Uncle Con-Bear. Or Uncle Jasper. But not that stupid cowboy! I never want to see my sperm donor again. I mean it.”
Luc was quiet for a long moment.
Not judging. Not pushing. Just… absorbing.
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but steady.
“I hear you,” he said.
I exhaled shakily, like the air had been trapped in my chest for hours.
“But,” he continued gently, “I also know that pain can make us say things we do not truly want. And I know that one day, you may regret not giving him a chance to understand you. To meet me. To see that your life here is real. That our love is real.” He paused, choosing his words with care. “I think he deserves that chance, so he can form an opinion based on facts not fears. When you are ready, you should consider it. If only to prove you are right and that I am wrong. Or the other way.”
I shook my head hard. “You know what I think? I think you wouldn’t get the chance to prove anything because he’d probably punch you before you opened your mouth. You don’t understand. Ask Brad.”
Luc smiled faintly. “I am not so easily punched.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “If you met that stupid cowboy, you’d have me tested for clinical insanity and dump me so hard I’d have bruises on my butt cheeks.”
Luc’s expression softened in a way that made my chest ache. “Briony. I flew across an ocean in the middle of the night because you called me crying. I carried you into the palace. I held you while you slept because you were still trembling. I am not leaving you because your father is flawed. Everyone is flawed. Even me. I simply hide it better.”
I swallowed hard. “You look pretty damn perfect to me right now.”
He squeezed my hand. “Give it time.”
I looked down at our hands, his fingers warm around mine. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
“One day, when you are ready,” he murmured, “not in a day, or a week, or even a month — but before our wedding — we will go to San Sequoia together. I would like to meet your family. And it may be easier for them to meet me there, in a place they understand. And your father will be invited. He will come, I am sure of it. And he will see that you are not being used. You are being loved. And if he does not… then I will let it go forever. Fair?”
My eyes stung.
I didn’t answer.
I just leaned into him, letting his warmth steady me, letting the quiet fill the space where my anger had been.
And Luc held me — not pushing, not rushing — just there.
Present. Patient. Certain.
EchoesOfLegacy 