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

Three months later.

Dallas Costa: So, is Briar actually showing up for Thanksgiving dinner, or am I “saving her a plate” in the freezer again.

Dallas Costa: And by that, I mean MY freezer.

Frankie Townsend: ur just salty bc romeo stopped u from guarding the pumpkin pie with ur life.

Dallas Costa: He shipped it in from Emporium!! I swear, for every minute she’s late, I’m taking a bite of her slice as compensation.

Briar Cooper: Sorry, sorry. Just landed. The flight got delayed twice.

Farrow Ballantine-Sun: Still dead set on commercial?

Briar Cooper: I’m wavering … Remind me again why the planet is important.

Dallas Costa: Um, where else will I grow pumpkins for pumpkin pie?

Farrow Ballantine-Sun: Is the farmer in the chat with us? I sure as hell know it’s not you, the Botanic Butcher of Potomac.

Dallas Costa: Someone needs to be the taste tester. It’s called delegating.

Briar Cooper: Ollie’s driver picked me up. I’m on my way.

Dallas Costa: Just make sure you’re here before the dogs eat all the food. They’re eyeing the turkey.

Briar Cooper: I’m a vegetarian …

Dallas Costa: Stop reminding me. My soul literally weeps every time you do.

Briar Cooper: I’ll be there in twenty. If I show up to an empty table, I’m suing you all for emotional distress.

I’m turning into my mother.

Not in the sense that I’m jail bound, too broke to make bail. (The judge set it at $2M a pop, given her and Jason’s history of country hopping. With the evidence Seb and Ollie compiled, the only sunlight they’ll see in decades is from the inside of a prison yard.)

I did, however, pick up Philomena’s penchant for tardiness in the past few months, shuffling from LAX to Dulles like the lone beer pong ball in a crowded frat house.

The car doesn’t even cruise to a full stop before I swing the door open. I hobble out of the Bentley with only one heel on, waving goodbye to the driver. The scent of cinnamon and stuffing wraps around me like a warm hug.

Dallas’ twinkling laughter dances into the foyer. I’m tempted to dip into the dining room and sneak a peek. Instead, I dash up the stairs, knowing Oliver awaits me in his brother’s wing.

The second I’m past the baby gates, an arm slips around my middle and pulls me back into a hard chest.

“Missed you.” With a groan, Ollie nuzzles his nose into my neck. “You should’ve let me pick you up.”

I lean my head back onto his shoulder. “This is your first time hosting Thanksgiving dinner. You can’t disappear. Someone has to keep the pie safe from Dallas.”

“I’m not stepping between that woman and her spiced pumpkin pie with a bulletproof vest, a first-aid kit, and a new pair of running shoes.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I wish.” He holds my hair up, tracing a path up the nape of my neck with his lips. “She spent an hour ranting about the gingerbread crust. I was seconds from orchestrating a national emergency just to interrupt the broadcast.”

I jut my lower lip out. “Poor baby.”

“You should kiss it better.”

Without a warning, he spins me to face him and sears my lips with his, threading his fingers through my tangled hair. His tongue shoots out, coaxing my mouth open and tangling with mine. Shivers dart down my spine.

The kiss is soft, and his stubble is hard, and I want nothing more than to melt into him. He tastes like vanilla, brown sugar, and mine. The feel of him on me sinks deep into my bones. It’s like the first sip of hot chocolate on a snowy night.

This, I can’t help but think, is where I belong.

“If you two are gonna fuck on my property, at least roll out a blanket to catch the fluids.” That comes from Seb, tucked away in one of his many rooms. “There’s no housekeeping here.”

Ollie pulls back long enough to shout, “Take it up with your landlord. Oh, wait. That’s me. Request denied.”

I try not to giggle, feeling my cheeks heat up. “Hello to you, too, Seb.”

“Hey, BR.” Seb peeks his head out and salutes me. “I would say I missed you, but my Netflix suggestions finally got back to normal.”

My jaw drops. “It’s my account.”

He shrugs and dips back into his room without another word. No one knows about Seb, still. In fact, he only agreed to host the dinner here on the condition that we compensate him with leftovers and a $70K bow-mounted rowing shell.

Ollie kisses the tip of my nose. “We could’ve snuck in a quickie in the airport parking lot if you let me pick you up.”

“Airport security would’ve turned it into prison roleplay in no time.”

“Remind me again why you fly commercial?” He rests his forehead against mine. “Oh, right. The polar bears.”

These days, I split my time between Potomac and LA almost 50/50 with Oliver following me back and forth nearly every week. I even got him to fly commercial once, which he described as a complete assault on his personal space and dignity.

“Oh, right.” Ollie whips out a blue rose from his back pocket, tucks it into my hair, and leads me to a stack of boxes. “Pick your poison.”

Turns out, the packages I stumbled upon in the corridor leading to Sebastian’s wing aren’t Oliver’s hoarding problem rearing its ugly head. All these years, Ollie never stopped picking out gifts for me wherever he traveled. Now he lets me open a new one each time I return home.

“Hmm …” I tap my lower lip, pretending to think. “All of them?”

The tension from this morning’s heated script reading melts away. To be fair, I can’t stay upset when Rewriting Us will be my first project credited under my new legal name – Briar Cooper. Usually, it takes up to three months to get names changed, but Oliver pulled strings to expedite the paperwork, so I can enjoy a few months as a Cooper before I become a von Bismarck.

“No can do, Cuddlebug.” He rifles through a few boxes, forming a side stack of ones he’s most excited for. “How else can I guarantee your return?”

I walk my fingers up in his spine. “I can think of better ways.”

His eyes snap to mine. When he speaks, it comes out thick and hoarse. “You have ten seconds to open a present or we won’t make it to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Okay, okay.” I grab the nearest one and tear it open, revealing the worn pages of a vintage book. The Woman in White. I bring it up to my nose and inhale. “I love it, Oliver. Thank you.”

“It’s a mystery I picked up in a small bookstore in London.” He watches as a stroke over the gold-leaf title. His Adam’s apple bobs, and he blurts out, almost randomly, “I like reading smut, though.”

I raise a brow. “Um. Okay?”

That came out of left field.

Then, I remember what I said the time we hosted dinner outside. The outlandish lie about my ex being an avid smut reader.

“Oh. My. God.” I can’t help it – the widest, most satisfied grin curls up my lips. “Oliver von Bismarck, are you jealous?”

His ears turn pink.

“Jealous?” He recovers fast, snatching the rose from my hair by its stem and feathering the petals between my breasts. “Not a chance. Just reminding you of the chaos you create when you leave me for too long.”

I back into the wall, watching his throat bob. Ollie’s finger hooks the front of my shirt, right between my cleavage, and tugs down. He kisses down my jaw, to my neck, to the swell of my breast. His finger traces up my inner thigh, slips beneath my panties, and slides into me with ease.

I bring his head lower, groaning as he nibbles on my nipple through my bra. “We have dinner.”

He mutters a curse, withdraws his fingers, and wraps his lips around them, holding eye contact as he tastes me. “This is dinner.”

“Blankets,” Seb reminds us from his room, no doubt eavesdropping on our whole conversation.

I ignore him. “Oliver.”

Ollie waits a beat, his eyes still dark with lust. “Fine.”

Before this gets out of hand again, I drag him toward the dining room. “What have you been up to the past few days?”

He adjusts his erection as we pound down the stairs. “Announced to the world that I’m the new Grand Regent CEO, caused stocks to nosedive just in time for the holidays, and donated to save a few oiled-up seals in Newport Beach.”

“Now that you’re not making the front pages of gossip rags every week, your image will recover – and the stocks with it. Wait. Did you say seals?” I stitch together everything I said at that dinner months ago, my jaw tumbling open. “Oliver. How long have you been fixated on one-upping Grant?”

He takes my hand at the bottom step. “Long enough to cancel the ski resorts in Palm Springs and Dubai, introduce myself to local eco activists, and drum up sustainable room service menus for all 6,000 Grand Regent properties.”

“Grant Dwyer didn’t drop out of college to save Planet Earth. He didn’t even read smut.” I try my best not to giggle and almost succeed. Almost. “I was fucking with you, Oliver.”

“What can I say? There’s no turning back.” He brings my engagement ring to his mouth and kisses the knuckle, staring right into my eyes. “I’m all in, Briar. LA, the Barbie outfits, the fucking Frozen duet. Hell, I don’t care if you ask me to climb Mount Everest and singlehandedly carry down every piece of littered trash – I’ll do it. There is nothing I won’t do to make you smile.”

“We don’t have favorites.” Agnes frowns at Oliver above her wine glass.

He dunks his turkey into gravy. “You absolutely have favorites.”

I shrink into my seat, two mashed potato servings deep into my first major holiday with my new family. Actually, my first holiday with any family. Apparently, they involve an unhealthy amount of liquor and lots of pointless arguments. I never realized “family bonding” is code for “who can yell the loudest.”

Zach’s mom just finished lecturing him and Farrow about her extracurricular expectations for her grandchildren that don’t exist when another scuffle broke out between Oliver and his mom.

Mrs. von Bismarck pats the corners of her lips with a linen napkin. “Any proof?”

“Sure.” Ollie points the carrot speared at the end of his fork between both of his parents. “You guys named me Oliver after the Olive Garden, while you named Sebastian after some shredded Roman sculpture.”

“It was a Florentine painting, not a sculpture, and the Olive Garden is an American classic.”

“Also …” Felix licks his lips. “We named you Oliver after the fruit.”

At his declaration, Agnes dissolves into a fit of giggles.

“Ew.” Ollie fake gags onto his plate. “Gross.”

His mom swirls the wine in her glass. “You don’t even know why I’m laughing.”

“And I don’t want to know.” He shoves his plate in, his lips curled up in a sneer. “As far as I’m concerned, you had me via immaculate conception.”

Their argument goes on as I pile my carnivorous offerings to Sebastian onto a heated plate. Cajun turkey, Andouille stuffing, cornbread, and boudin.

“Briar.” Dallas leans past Romeo and Frankie to spy on me. “Are you squirreling away food for later?”

“Maybe.” I mentally prepare excuses for the meat on my plate, but Dallas bursts into a smile.

She fans herself, pulling the collar of her dress away from her neck. “I’ve never been so turned on by you.”

By the time I return from dropping food off to Seb, the staff already cleared the main course. The remnants of pumpkin pie and lemon cookies sit abandoned on a catering tray. Oliver disappears into the storage room to rummage for board games while Romeo returns with a box the size of a football field.

The giant present falls onto the mahogany with a thump, occupying all the real estate on the table. And there’s a lot of table. It’s a spectacle in itself. Wrapped in glossy, emerald paper that sparkles under the warm lights.

“Open it.” Dallas waves the end of the silky gold ribbon spiraling around the box in perfect loops. “It’s from Romeo. I’ll give you my wedding gift on the actual day.”

“I didn’t think it would clear customs,” Romeo explains, which doesn’t explain anything at all.

“About that.” Ollie enters the dining room, tossing a pack of cards to Farrow. “Change of venue.”

Fae opens the pack and begins shuffling the cards for rummy. “It’s no longer in Nauru?”

I can’t help but remember my wish nineteen years ago. For a life I found unbelievable at the time. Fiercely loyal friends. Homecooked meals. Rounds of rummy on lazy holiday evenings.

It exists, and it is beautiful, and it’s all yours. Forever.

Frankie frowns. “But I bought the cutest tropical clothes.”

“And I bought the cutest tropical island.” Ollie claims the seat beside mine, looping an arm around my back. “It’s in the Caribbean. Has a nice runway, so we can all fly private.”

“Aww.” Dallas clutches her heart, practically melting into her chair. “For Briar’s wedding gift?”

For Sebastian, actually. If we want him at the wedding, we need to sneak him into the venue, and if we want to sneak him in, we need to avoid customs. The only way to do that includes a $45M purchase just past the Virgin Islands.

Before any of them can ask more questions, I reach for the golden bow and tug. “I’m still opening the present early.”

As soon as the ribbon unravels, the sides of the box collapse onto the table, revealing something sleek and metallic. I have no clue what it is. Some sort of machinery, probably. One with a long, coiled hose snaking from a tank to a nozzle. It glistens like someone just polished it.

“It’s a …” I scratch my temple. “A …”

“A flamethrower,” Romeo provides, brow arched. “For your shrubs. Remember?”

“Right.” I stare at the monstrous thing, convinced I deserve a visit from the FBI, ATF, and every other three-letter agency. “Thanks.”

Oliver leans forward to inspect it. “Not what I had in mind when I said I’d support your hobbies.”

“Would you like a demo?” Romeo adds a round ice cube to his whiskey. “We can have the whole cliff burned to a crisp by sundown.”

Thankfully, Agnes waltzes into the kitchen, saving the cliff. She balances a tray on either palm, piled high with sweets. “Dessert, honey?”

“No, thank you.” I help her set the trays down, pausing as she snatches up a small plate. “I don’t think I can eat any more. Oliver and I are going to Cooper’s tomorrow for round two of Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, Connecticut is lovely this time of year.” Agnes sets the plate she reserved in front of Oliver and squeezes his shoulder. “I made this one just for you.”

Then, she’s off in a blur of shimmery pearls and vintage Jean Patou. Oliver stares at the plate, silent as Farrow deals the cards to everyone. It’s sweet potato cupcakes. His favorite. Oh. Oh.

I crane toward him as he mumbles something almost indecipherable.

She hasn’t baked me my favorite dessert in fifteen years.

The words break my heart, but the cupcakes stitch it back together.

“Things are changing, Ollie. You’re not alone. This time …” I squeeze his hand under the table, close enough for only us to hear. “If the sky falls, I’ll hold it up for you.”

Oliver

One month later.

My brother is a bastard.

A sadistic, opportunistic troll in every sense of the word.

The vintage velvet suit he bought me rides up my ass, siphoning sweat from pores I didn’t know exist. Sebastian managed to convince my fiancée to follow through with the Barbie outfits, hence my general discomfort. Despite being knee-deep in December, it’s ninety degrees out and extra humid on the private island.

From my spot on the sand, I can feel Seb’s eyes pinned on me, soaking in the affair from a nearby lighthouse. Briar suggested we delay our honeymoon. Instead of rushing off to Sagres Point, we’ll spend a whole week here, so Sebastian can enjoy the island at night while everyone’s asleep. She always considers my brother in our plans, yet another reason to marry this woman ASAP.

Other than the wedding party, our tiny guestlist takes up four chairs – Mom, Melinda, Constance Sun, and Aunt Celeste. It’s for the best, considering how viral my proposal has become. On the plus side, at least everyone with functioning internet knows Briar is taken. Small mercies.

The violinist starts playing “Beauty and the Beast,” signaling the wedding party to march. Frankie struts down with Hazel, stopping at the furthest marks on the bridal side of the altar. Then, Romeo escorts Farrow, since Briar chose Dallas as her Maid of Honor. The song reaches a crescendo, triggering Zach and Dallas’ portion.

They trek down the aisle and take their spots closest to me at the center of the altar. Zach got the honors of being my best man, but only to stop him from bitching about me almost killing him in his cryochamber. It’s a good decision, since his giant head blocks my view of Briar tucked behind the rose arch. There’s no guessing what I’ll do the second I see her.

The music stalls. It’s almost time for my bride to walk down the aisle, and I’m so fucking amped up that I might keel over and hyperventilate my way into a heart attack. It would not even chart on the top ten list of embarrassing things I’ve done in front of Briar, but I’m certain our family would never let me hear the end of it.

Zach nudges my shoe with his toe. “You ever name this island?”

He’s trying to distract me, I think. It’s not really working, but I indulge him anyway.

“We’re thinking Naurua.”

Romeo snorts, turning his cheek so the videographer doesn’t catch it. “That has to be copyright infringement.”

I crane my neck, trying to get a glimpse of my future wife. “I can afford the lawsuit.”

Zach pinches his brows together, rubbing away his incredulity. “Is this the same guy who called marriage a cash-grab sequel?”

The violinist silences us by drawing her chinrest to her neck. The first notes of Dermot Kennedy’s “What Have I Done” wash over the beach. Rose storms her way down the aisle with Geezer, tossing fistfuls of blue roses behind her. They somersault and tumble in the wind before landing on the white sand. When she reaches where I stand at the end of the makeshift aisle, she pivots and climbs onto Melinda’s lap

Brian trudges down the aisle next, with Trio hopping beside him. They both sport matching bowties, sleek buzzcuts, and a level of anxiety more suitable for a high-stakes poker match. After a solid thirty seconds passes with only six steps from Brian, Trio snatches the ring box in his mouth and dashes to us, his three legs sinking in the sand.

Brian chases after the pup, hands in tiny fists at his sides. “That dog is possessed.”

With his job done for him, he storms right to his mom, where I assume he’ll pout for the rest of the evening.

The song slows, reaching the chorus again. From a distance, Briar enters my vision, and everything ceases to exist. The waves no longer crash, my friends stop giving me shit over how bad I have it for this girl, and Dad isn’t mouth-breathing down my neck in his officiant suit.

Cooper holds out a hand to Briar, escorting her down the aisle. She’s a vision in her delicate off-the-shoulder dress. The full silhouette dances with every step she takes. A gentle breeze carries her scent down the aisle. Of fresh linen, and roses, and sweet summer memories.

A touch of vintage pink lace and pearls catch the sunlight as she walks. The train flows behind her, embroidered with dark pink roses that climb up to her waist and wrap around the bodice. It’s a dress straight out of a fairytale for a girl straight out of a dream.

Our eyes lock. I might faint. In fact, I start to sway. Zach holds me upright with a fistful of my suit jacket and the threat of a merciless ass whooping if my knees give in. I can’t help it. I’ve imagined marrying this girl for two fucking decades. It’s finally happening.

“Beautiful,” I mouth to my bride as she glides down the aisle.

I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet.

Cooper stalls just shy of me, Briar’s fingers still looped at the crook of his elbow. “I spent my life hoping my daughter has the strength to rise above her struggles, but now I’m trusting you to be her soft place to fall.”

I swallow, the breath like smoke in my throat. “I will.”

“Dad.” It’s Briar’s first time calling him that. Her voice cracks. She blinks fast, fighting the emotions that I know are begging to burst. “Thank you for searching for me.”

Cooper wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. “You’re worth every second.” It’s an apology, a vow, and a declaration of love wrapped in one. He focuses on me again, planting a firm-as-hell grip on my shoulder. “Promise me that when you hold her hand, you’ll hold it gently, and you’ll hold it forever.”

I lock eyes, nodding. “I promise.”

At my words, he places Briar’s palm in mine and squeezes our joined hands. Then, he disappears to the side.

A wry grin curves up her lips. “It’s not too late to run.”

“Run?” I arch a single brow. “Baby, if I run, it’s to chase you down. You’re stuck with me.”

Dallas groans into her fist. “You two are so bad at sweet talk. It’s painful.”

My bride and I ignore her. Neither of us can tear our eyes away from each other. Dad starts the ceremony, but I tune it out until it’s time to whisper our vows.

Briar and I agreed not to prepare them in advance. Somehow, I knew what she’d say. I think she knew what I’d say, too, because when I do, she doesn’t seem surprised. She doesn’t wait for Dad to pronounce us man and wife, either.

Without further instruction, she stands on her tiptoes, curls her fingers around my neck, and yanks me down to kiss her. Our lips fuse together, and I don’t know where I start and she ends. Around us, our family cheers and shouts, raining rose petals onto the altar.

The night blurs together in a daze. We do the stupid fucking Love is an Open Door duet (I nail it), ink on matching temporary tattoos of each other’s faces (Briar is fuck-hot on mine, and I might just keep it), and cut our five-tier cake with the 69 topper (Mom asked for Photoshop pointers to remove it, and my mouthy wife warned her away from me).

At the end of the night, we gift Grand Regent stock to our guests, and I’m glad we skipped out on the horseback ride down the aisle, because Briar still sucks on horses, and I need her in full health for what I plan to do to her the second we reach our bridal suite.

While our guests continue to party in the outdoor tent, I carry Briar up to our bedroom and set her on the bed, where we whisper our vows to each other once more.

“The sky isn’t falling,” my wife promises me.

“We’re holding it up together.”