Dr. Cullen replied, “She will be admonished, but she won’t be terminated.”
That anything should happen to Sydney because of her was too much. “She really had nothing to do with—”
“Thank you, Dr. Maximilian.” Dr. Wang stood, signaling the end of the discussion. “Mr. Maximilian, Mr. Blackthorn.”
Then the three of them stood and filed out. Losing her job was not something she was expecting but she felt oddly at peace.
After they closed the door, Doctor Wang looked at her watch, then at her fellow doctors. “That was quicker than I anticipated. We have twenty-two minutes until Doctor Brian Duncan’s hearing. His will take even less time. There are no mitigating circumstances and his latest indiscretion is on video.”
As they rode to the airport, Aleksander was outraged. He continued on and on about how this wasn’t the end of it, and what their next steps were. But Ava stared quietly out the window of the BMW, not saying a word.
He suspected she was numb from the shock. Or perhaps too depressed to speak. Finally he had to look over at her and ask, “What are you thinking?”
When she turned to him, she was smiling, her features calm. “I’m thinking that I’ll be all right,” she said. “We’ll be alright.”
“But you love being a doctor, Ava. And you’re a hell of a good one.”
She nodded. “There are other hospitals. This isn’t the end. Maybe this is a good thing. I’m ready for my next adventure.”
“Next adventure, huh?” he mused. “What if you started your own clinic in town?’
She looked at him. “What?”
“For children like Olivia,” he said, thinking. “To research the treatment of cancers like hers. You should. You should invite Dr. Goldenstein to practice with you. Bring his procedure into the mainstream. And Sydney and Whitney will be head nurses of your clinic. Think about it. Imagine how many children you could help.”
When the car parked in La Guardia, she was thinking about it, and very seriously.
She stepped outside, tossing the idea of all the children she could help, over and over in her mind. It was the very thing she’d gone into the profession for. She thought of all the parents who wouldn’t have to learn the heartbreaking news that there was nothing that could be done.
“That would be amazing,” she said, her mind wandering to a picture of Emma, the day before she’d said goodbye. “I always thought about starting my own practice, but I never thought I’d have a chance to do it.”
“Well, now you do.” He grinned as he waved her up the stairs of his private jet. “Come on, Olivia must be dying to get on Lake Tahoe.”
She smiled at him, and then stood on her toes, kissed him and, laughing, ran up the stairs. And I have a lot more than that.
Epilogue
Nevada, Lake Tahoe
The Cottage
Thursday, December 25, 2015
4:00 p.m.
* * *
Aleksander couldn’t remember a more cheerful and joyful Christmas day.
His father pretending to be Santa Claus, thinking he would fool Olivia, and making her belly-laugh. Waging war with water pistols against his brother and accidentally almost shooting Ava dead in the heart when she opened the patio door. The pleasure on his mother’s face when Ava gave her an exquisite Dresden bowl. Surprising Ava with a Paraíba Tourmaline jewel set because it reminded him of her eyes.
“Look what I got you!” Olivia said to Toddy with a big rawhide bone in her hand. “This is for a good dog. Have you been a good dog?”
Toddy barked and everyone laughed.
“And have you been a good boy?” Ava asked Aleksander.
“Do I have to bark?”
Olivia piped in, “That’s up to Ava to decide.”
“Yes,” Ava said, without hesitation.
Aleksander barked out the best impression he possibly could of Toddy’s bark and got Olivia laughing again. This time at him. Yes, life is a privilege.
Ava saw the first hint of night as ribbons of dark blue, pink, and orange began to tinge the sky, bringing in the moon and stars. She shifted her gaze to Aleksander coming outside on the patio and recognized reverence in the calmness of his features.
They had feasted on turkey and tender asparagus, sweetened chestnuts, and her special Christmas Riskrem in the dining room after opening the presents and then moved back to the living room.
Soft Christmas music playing, crystal winking, the birds singing made the perfect backdrop for the very good year he couldn’t have predicted two months ago.
It had been a happy day, though Alexander had eaten enough French toast for a year. But he’d just eaten one more anyway a while ago when Olivia insisted and put everything aside to enjoy the moments.
“I have a good feeling about today, and part—a good part—of the reason is balance. Or knowing we’re working on finding a balance. Another?” Aleksander offered her a sweetened chestnut.
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around him and parted her lips for him to put the chestnut in her mouth.
Ava looked down at her hand, cradled in Aleksander’s. Then she turned it over, so that their palms pressed together and their fingers interlaced in a tight clasp.
“Yes. The other reason is this: You’re here.”
She hadn’t been expecting that.
“You’re here,” he repeated, taking her hand and drawing it against his chest, right above his pounding heartbeat. “In my heart. Somehow you crashed your way into it when you smiled at me in The Rose Bar. And you’re here now, inside. You’re the very life of me.”
She could scarcely speak. “That was quite nicely said.”
“You think so?”
“Did you practice it on the way here?”
His chin pulled back in a gesture of offense. “No.”
“I wouldn’t think less of you for it.”
“Then yes, I did. But that doesn’t make it any less sincere.” He stroked his thumb down the space between her shoulder blades. “Can you possibly comprehend how much I love you?”
“I’m tempted to say yes. But I think I’d rather listen to you explain it some more.”
Her gaze met his and held it. “It might take years.”
She grinned at him. “I’m amenable to that. Of course, that means you’ll have to listen to all the reasons I love you.”
He grimaced. “Ugh.”
“Don’t worry. You’ve survived worse.”
“Yes. I suppose I have.” He smiled that slow, one-sided smile she’d come to adore. “One day, you’ll come to love me as much as I do you.”
She frowned and pushed up on her tip-toes so they were facing each other.
“I happen to adore you.” Her hands laced around his neck, and she entwined her fingers in his hair. “No, I’m absolutely certain I love you more.”
He grinned down at her, that gorgeous full-grin that made her heart twist.
“Tell yourself that, Valkyrie.” He leaned down to catch her gasp with his lips. “As much as you wish. I will always love you more.”
The moonlight peered through the window, illuminating Olivia and Toddy resting by her feet. “Good night, Liv. Jeg elsker deg.”
“What?”
“She said she loves you,” Aleksander explained, kissing his daughter’s cheek and adjusting the covers once more. “Good night, Pumpkin. I love you madly.”
“I love you madly, too. Good night.”
After they left the room, Olivia sat on her bed.
Carefully, she put both feet down, feeling her way to the floor, then knelt at the side of the bed.
Even though all she could see was the darkness, she still squeezed her eyes shut, and clasped her hands together.
She took a deep breath before she bent her head onto her hands and said, “Dear Mommy, thank you for giving me the best Christmas ever. I made lots of lists with lots of wishes, and I didn’t think most of them would come true, but they did. Thank you for watching over me and making the ca
ncer go away. Even though I was looking forward to being with you again, I’m glad I get to stay here with Daddy longer.”
Toddy stirred on the bed and crawled to put his head over Olivia’s shoulder.
She gave him a pat, before she continued, “And also, thank you for sending Ava to us. She makes Daddy really happy and that’s all I really wanted this Christmas. She’s perfect—not as perfect as you, of course—but almost. Please keep watching over us from heaven. I’ll see you again, Mommy, but it will probably be a while now before I get there.”
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A Note From The Author
Thank you for reading Forevermore! I hope you enjoyed the story of Ava, Alek, and Olivia.
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Now, as promised, turn the page for ROYAL LOVE!
Prologue
Europe
In a small principality called Lektenstaten
* * *
When she chased the dragon, she had no dreams. And no nightmares.
In that hazy twilight of opium, the pain in her body ebbed, and the one in her mind quieted, she could no longer see the faces of her dead parents or hear the screams of her wounded relatives and friends.
Chasing the dragon was an appropriate saying to describe the habit—and her life.
With a weary exhalation, she stared at the paint chipping across the ceiling of the loft.
In the past, the smoke had quelled the rage in her heart, yet finally her need for revenge had overpowered even opium’s sweet pull.
She rose in stages from her sweat-dampened bed, then crossed to the bathroom to shower.
In the mirror, she studied her naked body. Three bullet wound scars riddled her tanned chest, a constant reminder of the attempt on her life when she was a child.
Though half a century had passed, she could remember perfectly the order in which she’d taken each bullet from the Lektenstaten soldiers.
But revenge was close at hand.
And then, after the enemy was driven out, Lektenstaten would be restored to its former traditions and glory and placed in the hands of those to whom the lands really belonged.
Hot water rinsed the sickly sweet sweat from her body, slowly bringing her back to life. Alertness brought with it a deep twinge of dark desire, sweeping through her body, making her weary muscles quake. Not long now.
Once clean and dressed, her reflection betrayed no hint of the darkness writhing within her. With a sharp nod of satisfaction, she abandoned the illusion of safety for the streets.
There, hanging twenty feet tall on the bank before her, was the dragon. It wriggled and flapped at her threateningly, as if the very cloth of the flag knew her mind.
She bared her teeth at the symbol of Lektenstaten royalty, her entire existence reduced to a single thought: You’re mine.
Chapter 1
Lenox Castle
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
8:00 a.m.
* * *
Angus Augustus Braxton-Lenox, the seventeenth King of Lektenstaten, was already awake and had showered when his valet knocked on his bedroom door and entered the room, carrying his pressed attire for the day.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness. It’s a lovely day.”
Angus’s answer to the cheerful greeting was more a grunt than a proper good morning.
It was a lovely day but Angus doubted that it would be the slightest bit different from any other day in recent months: without any loveliness.
He was bored and he scorned the feeling, well aware that he was blessed with health, wealth, and success.
Immaculately dressed, Angus finally descended the magnificent staircase of the family castle with all the cool assurance and dignity of his forebears. He walked down the hall between walls adorned with the portraits of his predecessors—the very proud Lektenstaten royalty—ranging from the first King, who had been a famous general, to his own father, a distinguished banker who had died of old age when Angus was not yet six years old.
“Your Royal Highness.”
Angus nodded at his butler, Kerr Carlsten, and two maids and two footmen at the foot of the stairs.
Every morning he was greeted with much the same pomp and ceremony that the first King would have received centuries before.
He entered the breakfast parlor where, as usual, the daily newspapers, including the leading financial publications, awaited him.
There was no need for him to ask for anything.
His every need and wish were carefully foreseen by a devoted staff that had been specially trained for decades. From the fresh monogrammed towels laid out daily in the bathroom for his shower to a tailor-made business suit and a monogrammed Egyptian cotton shirt recently pressed; from his favorite foods being served in the total peace that reigned while he ate, since his preference for silence at breakfast was well known, everything ran smoothly.
And it all bored him to death.
A phone was brought to him by his silent butler, who just said, “The Dowager Princess.”
With a sigh he picked it up from the silver salve. “Good morning, Mother.”
He frowned when Catriona Cristina Braxton-Lenox, his fifty-five year old mother, asked if it suited him to have lunch with her at Lektenstaten embassy in London today.
No, it doesn’t suit me. He rolled his eyes at the absurd request. As if he would reschedule business appointments at the bank; or cancel his appearance at the Parliament to fly down to London to have lunch with his mother. “I’m sorry, Mother, I can’t.”
As he half-listened to his mother rambling about her social meetings and stuffy, royal English friends, he reviewed his agenda for the day: the same boring meetings with the same clients, whose fortunes his family had handled for generations. Then he would stop at the Parliament for the opening ceremony and his discourse, and he would visit his late wife’s grave. He was indeed flying to London to attend a wedding of a prominent Lektenstaten businessman—probably another boring wedding, with the same boring people, and the same boring food and drinks.
Uneasily aware that he spent little to no time with his mother, when she asked him to stop by to have drinks before his appointment in the evening, Angus gave his reluctant assent, “I’ll be there, Mother.”
With a sigh, he ended the phone call. What I need is a new challenge.
Strikingly intelligent and gifted in the field of asset management, Angus had been marked out early as a genius at analysing the emergent-world money market. Juggling complex figures in politically conflicted countries gave him considerable pleasure and satisfaction. And as one of the financial world’s successful investment bankers, his expertise was in great demand. And since Lektenstaten was a small country, he balanced the two things very well.
Numbers, unlike people, are easy to understand and deal with. He sipped his coffee and his eyes landed on the wall at the other end of the room where there was a full-length portrait of his late wife and childhood friend, Innes von Furstenberg.
He wondered if anyone else in the family even remembered that the anniversary of Innes’s death was today.
Sentimentality was not one of Angus’s failings, and love had not been an asset in their marriage. But he had cheered Innes as a loyal friend—something he valued on top of everything else—and they enjoyed a peaceful coexistence with good chemistry in the bedroom. Her tragic passing almost a year earlier—a broken neck from a horse fall—had left a gaping hole in the settled fabric of his life which
was slowly closing again.
Angus folded his napkin and placed it over the table, contemplating the perfect creases. Then he stood and walked to the door, which was already being opened by a footman.
In the hall, he stopped and looked around.
“Kerr, please inform MacMillan I will leave earlier to London. Four o’clock instead of six.”
“Of course, sir.”
Yes, I definitely need a new challenge.
England, London, Beckton
Jaxon Talbot’s house
11:00 a.m.
* * *
“Happy birthday!” Jaxon Talbot pulled away the sheet covering her car and stood back from it. “What do you think?”
Wide-eyed, Siobhan Faulkner studied her 1973 Beetle. Jaxon, her best friend and foster brother, had it repaired and repainted in a deep lavender color. She walked around the vehicle, stunned by a transformation that had caused all the rust, dents, and scratches to disappear. “It’s amazing! You’ve worked a miracle.”
“I knew that fixing your car was the best present I could give you,” he admitted with a smile.
Siobhan flung her arms round him in an exuberant hug, and he returned it, engulfing her in his arms. A stocky, blond man of six-feet, Jaxon was easily seven inches taller than her. When she stepped back, she said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Jaxon shrugged. “It was no big deal.”
Siobhan knew the full value of his generosity and it touched her heart that he had sacrificed so much of his free time—and his money, even though he was no pauper—to get fix up her car.
But then, Jaxon knew that she needed the vehicle to get around the craft shops and fairs where she sold her hand-crafted necklaces and bracelets on weekends. It was her dream to craft exclusive jewels and one day have a small shop of her own.