ROYAL BRIDE (A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance) (20 page)

“She has a company here. Family, friends.” Isabella repeated all of the same reasons Elisabeth had for why she needed to stay put.

“It’s just for a little while, love. You can see her tomorrow. If I let you out of bed.” He gave her another grin and reached his hands under the blankets, gathering her nightgown in his hands.

“You called me ‘love’ again,” she pointed out with a tense expression, as though she was sure he hadn’t meant to say it.

“Of course I did. I love you, so what else would I call you?” He fought the urge to laugh at her expression. Her eyes widened, and her mouth parted. For once, his wife was speechless. “I know I’ve not been very good at showing it, but I do love you, Isabella. I would give my life to protect yours, and I will rip off the head of anyone who dares hurt you.”

“But I’m not obedient,” she blurted with narrowed eyes. “I get snappy, I get mad, and sometimes, I’m going to do what I want even if I know it will make you mad.” He knew she thought she was listing her bad traits, but those very things made her who she was.

“I know all of that. You’ll yell at me if you want, you’ll be bratty, and sometimes, you’ll go against what I say. And I will deal with you each time it happens, but never does that mean I don’t love you, Isabella. It’s your bravery, your good heart, and your soul that has made me fall in love with you. I would never want to squash those things… Temper them a little now and then, maybe, but never take them away from you permanently.”

He pulled her closer when fat tears began to roll down her cheeks. “Why are you crying? I thought you’d be happy to have a husband who loves you above all else.”

She hiccuped behind her hand and nodded. “I am.”

“Is that why you’re crying?” He couldn’t help the grin that formed over his lips. His sister, Carmen, cried when she was happy too.

“I’ve loved you since the day we met,” she confessed. “Even if I didn’t understand it then, I did, and I thought you’d never feel the same way.”

He let out a loud sigh. “Julian was right. We need to work on our communication.” He hugged her tightly, then pushed her off him and repositioned her so she was lying against the headrest.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he peeled the blankets back and pulled up her nightgown.

“The doctor said your shoulders and jaw would need time to heal, so no sex until he says it’s okay… But that doesn’t mean I can’t show my wife, in other ways, how much I love her.” With that said, he slid between her thighs and pulled her legs to rest on his shoulders.

“Oh… um.” She sighed as his mouth covered her mound and he showed her how much attention he could give her.

She loved him. Everything would be alright. She would keep him on his toes, and he would keep her from flying off into the night sky.

EPILOGUE

“Take it easy, Bella.” Antonio gave her a sharp look as she danced toward him. The Chicago Art Institute buzzed with celebrities, politicians, and other socialites gathering for a good cause. Isabella couldn’t contain the excitement of seeing so many Hollywood stars in one place. When she mentioned she’d never met an actor before, Antonio had walked her right up to Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson. He had to hold her upright, she shook so hard. But as he knew she would, she held her grace long enough to make a polite introduction and carry on a short conversation.

“I can’t believe you didn’t warn me!” she had scolded him after they’d said their goodbyes and headed toward another gallery. He winked and laughed in response.

“I am perfectly fine, Antonio. Stop being such a worry wart!” Isabella took the glass of champagne he had been holding for her while she made a trip to the restroom.

“The doctor said you were well enough to attend tonight’s function, but he didn’t say anything about dancing and flittering about as you are.” Antonio raised his eyebrows, almost begging her to disagree. He had allowed her to attend the function with the terms that should she give him any trouble whatsoever, they would head straight for the car and head back to the hotel.

“Yes, yes.” She waved a carefree hand in the air. “Where did your sister run off to?” She searched the room.

“She’s over there, talking with Prince Ian Thames.” Antonio pointed to a corner of the room where Carmen was having what looked like an intimate conversation with the prince. Her hand rested on his arm while he smiled and carried on the conversation. The big brother in him wanted to march over there, throw her hand off him, and let the prince know what sort of behavior was appropriate for his little sister, but then she smiled. Not the fake, plastic smile she saved for the public and their parents, but a warm engaging smile, and he couldn’t interfere. Yet.

“I’ve never heard of him.” Isabella took a step in their direction before Antonio pulled her back to his side.

“He’s from a small island off the coast of Scotland. Technically, I believe his country is under British rule, but his family has maintained a steady presence in the country.” He could tell she was listening because she had tilted her head so he could speak directly into her left ear. The damage to her right ear was still healing.

“He’s very large, isn’t he?” she pointed out.

Antonio looked down at his princess. “Bella, I am more than a whole head taller than you. Don’t look so concerned for Carmen.”

“Yes, but you’re different. You aren’t so… large.” She put her hands out to the sides to express the broadness of Prince Ian’s back.

“Are you trying to tell me I should spend more time in the gym, love?”

She gave him a coy grin over her shoulder and made it quite plain she was inspecting his physique. “Well…” She didn’t have a chance to finish her bait, as he quickly pinched her hip.

“Ah, my brat is back, I see.” He laughed, pulling her to his chest and wrapping his arms around her. He pressed his lips to her ear. “Perhaps my brat is in need of a spanking?” His hands slid down her dress until they rested on the curve of her round backside.

She blushed beautifully and shook her head. “I’m not sure the doctor would approve,” she threw at him, teasing him about how often he reminded her of the physician’s orders for her to rest.

“To hell with the doctor,” he growled and grabbed her hand in his, marching toward the exit.

With her champagne glass in hand, she let him half drag her from the room, laughing. “Antonio, it’s early.”

He gave her a heated look over his shoulder without missing a step. As they passed a waiter, Isabella managed to put her glass on his tray without spilling it and sped up to keep in line with her husband.

“What about your sister?” she asked once they were outside on the steps beside one of the iconic lions that remained perched on the museum steps. The summer breeze whipped through her hair, sending the locks flying behind her.

Antonio looked back at the entrance as though he had forgotten her. “She’ll be fine. Julian is with her tonight. I’ll send him a message. I have more important things to do than babysit my little sister.”

“Oh? What’s that, my prince?”

Before his driver could come around the car to open the door, Antonio yanked it open and held a hand out to her to assist her. “Get in and you’ll find out, my loving brat.” His smile warmed her. Slipping her hand in his, she let him guide her into the car.

They drove down the street to spend their last evening in Chicago in their hotel room, in each other’s arms, and forever in each other’s hearts.

*** If you haven’t read “HEAL ME”, here’s a free copy for you! ***

BONUS NOVEL #1

HEAL ME

(A Billionaire BAD BOY Romance)

By

Bella Grant

Copyright (c) 2016. All Rights Reserved

Find all my steamy books at

http://bellagrantbooks.com/subscribe/

Bill

I’d been sitting in this damn office for an hour. I thought therapists were supposed to be, you know, considerate of feelings and all that shit. Why had I been waiting so long, then, huh? I was so bored that I was reading a magazine article. Some dumb-fuck was talking about how his money got him everything he ever dreamed of, and
Now you can, too! For just ninety-nine million dollars!

Saying you got everything you wanted in life was a load of shit. I would know, because I have money. Lots of it. I’ll let you in on a secret about wealth: when you have money, you’re gonna spend it just because you can. I’ve spent my fair share of days overseas, lounging in the nude with two hookers I had hired the night before. I’ve snorted cocaine off hookers, yes. I once traveled on a yacht, and I paid for it out-of-pocket just because I could. I’ve done so many things that are cliché, things normal people would only dream of, if they even knew those things existed. But.
But
. Let me tell you one thing I never got in life.

I’ve never had a woman who gave a shit about me. Not even my mother, though she was the one who finally convinced me to be here. Yeah, they like my money—and, hell, I’d even say that I’m easy on the eyes. I stand about five-foot-nine, not terribly short but certainly not tall. My hair is salt and pepper. My eyes, bright green, distract people from the gray in my hair. I like to think of myself as a ‘refined gentleman,’ which basically means I’m pretty old. Over forty-five.

That’s why you couldn’t stop him from grabbing you by the neck,
I thought.
Nonsense. He was a coward. Came at you from behind, Bill. What could you really do but give in?
I thought to myself, accustomed to my crazy internal dialogue.

“Being robbed can impact ya more than ya think,” my mom had said. “I read it in this self-help book.” Her voice was rattling and weak. She was smoking too much again. “Ya gotta see someone, Billy,” she had urged.

I told myself that her begging voice had convinced me to seek help. But truly, I knew when to throw in the towel. During any business negotiations, the point at which I’d lost and they’d won was always clear to me. Sadly, as much as I fucking hated it, I had lost. That night had robbed me of more than just my money. It robbed me of a piece of my manhood that I couldn’t seem to grab back. Every damn business deal since then had been a crock of shit. I lost my cool because I lost my confidence.

And the nightmares. Those nightmares. I pictured it every night: walking back to my hotel from the financial district. I’d rented a room to get away from my fiancée—whom I was not cheating on, as much as she accused me of it. The mugger had grabbed me by the throat from behind. He was tall and bigger than me, and I am no shrimp. I’ve been muscular my entire life, but especially so since I’d been hitting the gym a lot recently. I wanted to avoid the weight gain that hits most people in their forties.

He had squeezed. “Here’s the deal. I have a gun, and you have a wallet. You go to the ATM, and the gun won’t go off. You fuck with me, and you’ll be poor
and
dead. Hear that, you son of a bitch?” he’d rasped into my ear.

Even through my fear, I had felt a spike of anger rush over me. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Didn’t he know ‘Billy the Billionaire,’ a self-made man from a lower-middle class family in Yonkers? Didn’t he know that I packed the punches in life, and people like him cleaned my damn shoes—for a very good price, of course, because I value labor. I respect hard work and the people who’ve earned their money. I had no respect for him, even in that moment.

But I had respect for my beating heart and my life. And, God, I admit it: I was scared shitless. I wanted to live. My life ran through my head, and all that jazz. The thought of not having it changed me in many ways. But this change was, by far, overshadowed by the knowledge that at any moment, another stranger could come out of the shadows and take it all away from me.

Back to the robbery, though. I’ve never seen so many people out on the street in my life. Yeah, it was nighttime, but it didn’t explain their sheer ignorance. None of them paid much attention to the situation. Some averted their eyes, and some stared. I had heard of the
bystander effect
in one of my undergraduate classes, but I never actually thought it existed. Unfortunately for me, I had to find out the hard way. It indeed existed, all the way to the ATM one block north.

He had put the gun to my head as I unloaded my money. When the machine wouldn’t dispense any more money—because there was no more—he was as confused as he was excited.

“That means you got more, don’t it?” he asked. I could tell from his voice that he must have been in his mid-twenties.

He lowered the gun as if in awe. I took this as my chance. As it turns out, the gun wasn’t loaded. It was all for show. Lucky for me, all he could do was use the gun to beat me over the head again and again. He turned me over, and by that point, I was nearly unconscious. He kept beating me until someone finally called the police.

In court, he told them that the rage and fury he had vented upon me was frustration—frustration from being homeless, from losing his job. I was the face of everything he had ever hated. I didn’t feel an ounce of pity for the man, and only regretted that they couldn’t put him away for longer. As his handcuffs shook, he looked at me, his eyes cold and empty. His was the face that could have been my demise. A face I haven’t been able to get out of my head since. Which is why I had finally made the appointment to see the therapist.