My Dark Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Dark Prince Road)

Hell hath no fury like a woman caught riding her archenemy’s finger like a cowgirl strapped to the world’s largest bull.

I decided to process the encounter the healthiest way I could – by spending the next few days avoiding Oliver as much as possible. With a mansion so huge and a packed tourist schedule, I breezed by with only a few glances here and there.

I accompanied my friends to the Smithsonian, the Library of Congress, and the National mall. It wasn’t lost on me that I showed them around like a host, as if this had become my home in just a few short weeks.

The girls and I bar-hopped every reputable hot spot that served fancy mimosas, did a scavenger hunt at Lost City Books, and sampled every foodie spot in Shaw. And yet, I found myself hoping to catch him, peering over my shoulder often to search for signs of him, even when I knew he had no business in D.C.

Oliver wanted to give me some space. To hang out with my friends. Or maybe he was just fed up with my antics and appreciated the time off from babysitting me. Either way, my hopes that he would cash in on my commitment to being screwed by him crashed and burned.

He didn’t seek me out.

I tried not to let it bother me too much, but it did.

It was all I could think of, even as I wanted to stay mad at him, especially because he’d cheated on me, and cheaters never changed.

By the time Monday morning came and my friends left, I sagged into the couch, exhausted and relieved. I craved normalcy, though I had no idea what it might look like in this strange place.

Ollie vB: I’ll bring back takeout for dinner. What do you want?

Briar Auer: Carbonara udon at Perry’s. No meat, please and thank you.

All the way in D.C. That would give me a solid six or seven hours to chill with Seb. Lately, I visited him every day after everyone went to bed. He didn’t want me there until one in the morning, an hour shy of his nightly rowing sessions on the lake. The dude’s paranoia would put Howard Hughes to shame.

“The last thing I want is my brother thinking I’m making progress and shoving therapy and socializing down my throat,” Seb had grumbled one time.

I respected that.

My phone buzzed again.

Ollie vB: Got it.

And that was it.

Nothing else.

No mention of our little dry-humping session on the counter. Nothing about the bet he’d won. Or any sign of interest in me, beyond what a (normal) parent would give their child. We actually texted daily, but just the basics. He’d check in to see if me or my friends needed anything, if we wanted to use his driver, or if he could hire catering for us.

He was nauseously accommodating.

I wanted to stab him for that.

I thought that would change once my friends left, but I guess not.

Whatever.

I hopped off the couch, hunting for the drawer full of take-out menus. With so much time between now and dinner, I could surprise Seb with his first party in fifteen years. A party of two, but a party, nonetheless.

Normally, we ate pizza, did puzzles, binged Family Guy and South Park. We rarely spoke about meaningful things, and when we did, it was about the past. Always about the past.

He refused to contemplate what his future might look like, and I respected that.

The past was safe. Harmless. And the night would end with me sending him on his way to the lake, which I loved because I knew it boosted his mood.

An hour later, I backed into the elevator with an entire cart of sushi, homemade margaritas, and a massive four-tier cake I managed to secure last-minute from Classic Bakery, thanks to a canceled order from a bachelor party.

I found Seb in his living room, watching an online lecture about public resistance to basic cyber security measures. Something about the demonization of two-step verification and a generation of lazy slobs. At least, that’s what it sounded like.

He paused the lecture on his laptop and glanced up at me, brows crunched together. “What’s going on?”

“Wait there.” I wheeled the cart to the coffee table, transferred everything but the cake onto it, and scattered confetti all over the rug.

“You know I don’t have housekeeping in this wing,” he pointed out. “Someone’s gonna have to clean that, and that someone is not me.”

“We’ll see.” To prove my point, I fisted a clump of confetti and tossed it over his head. It danced and sparkled in the air before raining down on his cheeks, shoulders, and thighs. “Very pretty. Glitter is definitely your color.”

“That’s not a color.”

“It is today.” I sank onto the carpet in front of the table, sitting criss-cross apple sauce. “We’re having a party, silly.”

He didn’t budge. “Who is we?”

“You and me. Duh.” I tore open a packet of chopsticks and used them to point to the spot across from me. “Sit. My friends are gone, Ollie won’t be home until at least six, and the coast is clear.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, but I caught a grin on his lips. “But it’s not a party.”

“It’s most definitely a party.” I poured soy sauce into a kizami wasabi container and mixed in yuzu kosho. “What have you been watching?”

“School stuff. For my second masters.” He snapped his chopsticks into two. “Cyber security, remember?”

“One upside of the tech revolution, other than filters that make me look two, is the boat load of remote jobs.” I tried to play it casual, dunking my cucumber maki into the sauce, knowing I’d treaded into the off-limits subject of The Future.

“Yeah. I know.” He chewed the inside of his cheek, stirring truffle soy sauce into his toro donburi. “I’m running a few investment portfolios for old friends. They think I’m working from a rural village in Bali.”

Crisis averted.

I loosened up, sliding his mimosa across the table to him. “You and Ollie have always been analytical.”

Sebastian offered me a noncommittal shrug. “Me more than him, but yeah.”

After we finished eating, we moved to the couch, flipping through new releases on Netflix. My phone buzzed on the table. I peered on the screen and caught an unknown number with a Florida area code.noveldrama

Shit.

Not them.

My pulse thrummed between my ears. They lived there these days. Fitting that they’d found themselves in Florida. Perhaps acclimatizing to the heat before they headed down to hell.

Of course, they’d never bothered to reach out. I hadn’t heard from them in fifteen years. Why would they call now?

They didn’t even have my number. Not the new one and not the one before it.

Sebastian and I exchanged glances. He knew about my situation.

“No one knows your number.” He nodded as the phone stopped buzzing, then immediately started up again with the second call. “If someone’s calling you, they really want to reach you.”

I fisted the device with my clammy palm, sliding my finger across the screen. “Hello?”

I hated that I sounded so breathless. Hated that a seed of hope sprouted inside me, convinced it might be her. The woman who turned her back on me.

“Briar Rose?”

I wanted to break down in tears.

It sounded like her but older. It struck me that I couldn’t confirm it for the simple reason that I hadn’t heard her voice in so long.

The phone fell from my grasp. Seb moved it to the table and pressed the speaker button, patting my shoulder in support.

“Oh, honey, is that you? Have I finally found you?”

Mother.

No, not mother. She didn’t deserve that title. Philomena Auer.

My blood ran cold inside my veins. It was her. How did she get my number? I knew Seb could read my panic all over my face. I practically vibrated with it.

I didn’t reply, but that didn’t stop her from rushing to explain, probably sensing that I wanted to hang up.

“I ran a search on one of those online website things. Just yesterday, I found this number attached to your name. I just wanted to tell you congratulations.”

I tried and failed to untangle the mess in my head. Congratulations? What for? Since she left me, I’d graduated, found a job, got promoted, achieved career milestone after career milestone. None of these feats had made me worthy of her attention. Why now?

It took me a full ten seconds to find my voice. “Can you be more specific? Life has been a theme park of successes and occasions worth celebrating since you kicked me out of your lives.”

Sebastian nodded, giving me the thumbs up. He liked my answer.

You can do it, Briar. This is nothing. They are nothing.

A small flutter batted around inside my chest. I was dealing with it. Facing the trauma head-on. It seemed to be the theme of my life the past two weeks. Colliding with people who have let me down.

“Briar Rose, please.” Philomena barked out a fake laugh, one I knew too well from the parties she dragged me to as her decoration. “Sarcasm is so unbecoming.”

The fucking nerve.

“It’s Briar now. And luckily, I didn’t grow up to be a well-behaved woman. I’m a strong one, though, and I don’t take motherly advice from women who have never been mothers.”

Sebastian’s hand shot to his mouth. He stifled his laughter, snatched up his phone, and shot me a text. It came through a second later.

Seb vB: Hello? 9-1-1? I would like to report a MURDER.

I smothered a giggle and mouthed, thank you.

A full minute passed.

I almost hung up when Philomena finally pierced the silence. “You are right. I have no right to criticize you. We shouldn’t have lost touch with you, honey. It was a very stressful time in our lives. We were overwhelmed about all of it. I wish you could let me explain.”

Oliver had said the same thing. Only Oliver tried to make it up to me by saving me in the pond, taking care of me bedside at the hospital, upending his life with me as his fiancée, and letting me crash here after I made it very, very clear that I hated his guts.

And he never asked for anything in return.

I had a feeling Philomena and Jason shared an ulterior motive and that I’d find out what it was sooner rather than later.

“Uh-huh.” I rolled my tongue inside my mouth. “See, this is the point of having a family. You stick it out even when things get tough. You don’t forget about the person and move on with your life.”

Sebastian’s fingers whipped across his screen, his tongue peeking out with concentration. A second later, a text flashed on my screen.

Seb vB: 9-1-1? Scratch that. I’d like to report a DOUBLE HOMICIDE.

I smiled at him. Face perfect or tarnished, Sebastian was still filled to the brim with charm.

Philomena remained quiet on the other line. She didn’t know how to deal with an unruly daughter. I’d always tried my best to appease her.

I sighed, already drained just from knowing she and Jason talked about me. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement to Oliver von Bismarck.” Her voice came out formal, prim and proper. “Your father and I – yes, we are both still your parents, whether you like it or not – greatly approve of this match. Oliver is from a very respectful family.”

My mind screeched like a record. “I’m sorry … my what?”

“Your engagement to Oliver. I hope you would consider sending us an invitation, Briar Ro – Briar. We would love to honor you with our presence.”

“You could’ve honored me with your presence for the past decade and a half,” I bit out. “And I still have no idea what you are talking about. How do you know I’m … engaged to Oliver?”

I wasn’t. Not really. But I was certain that if a rumor was going around, Oliver’s big fat mouth had spread it. It reeked of his stench. He loved messing with me.

“What do you mean how?” Judging by the hardened edge her tone had taken, Mother Dearest obviously lost her patience. “Do you take me for an uneducated swine? I saw the announcement in the New York Times.”

“In the New Yor …”

The rest of the words died in my throat. I snapped my fingers, signaling for Sebastian to grab the newspaper from today. He had every single publication delivered to him daily, which he collected before dawn when he slinked back into his den.

Seb shot up, rushed to the credenza, and pulled out the paper, tossing it in my lap. I tore through the pages until I reached it.

Fucking. Oliver.

A Royal (American) Wedding.

POTOMAC, April 3. – His Grace Oliver Etherion von Bismarck, oldest son of Felix von Bismarck, Duke of Carinthia, and Agnes von Bismarck, of the Conyngham art dynasty, announces his engagement to Briar Auer of Los Angeles, parents deceased.

The announcement took over a double spread. A whole freaking double-spread. As if we were Meghan and Harry.

Jesus Christ, Ollie.

Also – parents deceased?

Hot damn, he could be brutal when he wanted to be. I didn’t know whether to laugh or beat him to a pulp. Probably both.

“I must say …” Philomena faked a sob. “I was a little disappointed that we were mentioned as deceased.”

“Why?” I shook my head, sorting through the fog in my brain. “It is completely accurate. You guys are dead to me.”

I was going to kill Ollie. He wanted a reaction out of me, and he would get it.

“Briar Rose, you are being incredibly cruel to your mother,” Jason barked in the background. Guess I was on speaker, too. “We are your family, for better or worse, and we would like to take part in this wedding.”

Ah, now I got it. They wanted to worm their way back into high society. For the past two decades, Jason had found himself in the courtroom, thanks to his crimes of embezzlement and theft.

By the time they disowned me, I knew their debts had mounted higher than they could possibly pay off within ten lifetimes.

My guess – they were flat-out broke now.

It wouldn’t surprise me.

This call was just another money-grabbing scheme for them. It just so happened that I needed to execute it. It shouldn’t have made me feel shitty after all this time, but it did. It also made me very wary of Oliver’s intentions. Perhaps they weren’t as pure as he would like me to think.

“Hello, Jason.” I cleared my throat, forcing myself to stay calm. “Long time no seethe.”

“Oh, get off it.” His chuckles wouldn’t convince a saint. “I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were, actually. You called me the girl.”

“How else was I supposed to call you? The headphone?” He tried to laugh again, but it died in his throat.

I couldn’t believe Oliver’s trolling had gotten me here. This was unhinged.

“Goodbye, Jason. Goodbye, Philomena.”

“Wait.” My mother rushed to the speaker. “What about the invita—”

I hung up before she could complete the sentence.

That would give her a taste of her own medicine.

“At least we have cake.” Seb hopped to his feet and rolled the box over to us. The one I’d managed to get from a canceled bachelor party. “When one marriage ends, another one begins?”

“Too soon.” I groaned but tugged the bow off the box anyway and watched as the walls fell to unveil the cake.

Our jaws dropped.

Seb raised his brows, turning to me. “I thought you said this was a four-tier cake.”

“That’s what they told me.”

Nope. It wasn’t a four-tier cake, but it was a dick-shaped cake. With cute, cursive letters written on the peach frosting in black icing.

To have and to hold.