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“Good. Now I’m off. Have an amazing time Crown Prince Dominic H. van De Berg of the Netherlands.”
“Jesus dad.”
He chuckled causing me to roll my eyes.
“See you in 3 weeks. Love you.”
“Love you too Dad.”
3 weeks. I had 3 weeks left before everything in my life changed.
I didn’t get enough sleep last night, first with the thoughts of Roe and then my dad calling to remind me about moving to The Netherlands and not only that but also being reminded that I was the Crown Prince. Life was much simpler when I lived back in Athens. I started my morning off early by heading down the opposite hallway from my room to my gym room. I began my morning routine trying to get all thoughts out of my head but the faster I ran, the more they flooded my mind. I finished up with the treadmill and went over to my punching bag hanging there just waiting for all my aggression. I took my black tee off and stayed in my boxing shorts. I put on my gloves and went to work as I slipped into the darkness that never truly left me.
A type of aggression and anger I never knew how to hold in. A type that made me so angry at times, I’d black out not knowing what to do. Such a darkness that could only be sedated with knocking someone out, but I couldn’t afford to go to one of my underground matches right now. My father would flip if I arrived there in three weeks with bruises all over my face or knuckles. I needed to hit something and hit it hard. I continued hitting the bag not realizing that I was yelling. I knew what was pushing me to be this way and yet I couldn’t stop. It was close to my mother’s death anniversary and the memories of what really happened, haunted me. I should’ve known it wasn’t an accident the way she died and when she called me, I should’ve paid closer attention to her voice; the way she spoke to me, the light tremor in her voice and the way she told me she loved me right before she hung up.
When my father, Dominic Senior told me that my mother, Isabella was actually murdered, I vowed to hunt down and kill whoever did it. He nodded and told me that as soon as I was in my twenties, I could do it. I listened to him patiently waiting as I grew bigger not only in height but in body size as well. I shadowboxed, did mixed martial arts, Jiujitsu. Anything to keep me focused on my goal while I went to school and learned Dutch listening to everything my father wanted. He wasn’t a bad man and I was reeling in from my mother’s death, so I hated him, cursed him out every chance I got until one day, he told me to square up. My father who stood at six feet three inches and looked a tad bit smaller than me put on his gloves and I put on mine. Let’s just say that day, my nineteen-year-old-self respected the hell out of that Dutch man. He knocked me out in less than five moves.
When I turned twenty, I learned how to shoot a gun and was so deep into my darkness nothing could pull me out and I didn’t want it to. It took me three years to track down the people who murdered my mother. It was truly the worst day of my life because there I was at twenty-three and I found out that my mother Isabella Harley was of British and Spaniard royalty and those who were after her as well while she went into hiding, all because of me. The son of Dutch Royalty that they did not approve of. I never hated those people like I did that day. I killed the thugs they sent after her and took my leave, bathing myself in the blood of those who had taken my mother away.
So, no more killing, no more nothing but the darkness called to me. It cracked a little around people, but I tried to maintain normalcy, that is until Monroe showed up. Now my darkness gained power like a bull flared its nose before it got ready to charge. I was the bull and Monroe, the red flag that the matador held out for me, I wasn’t getting ready to charge, I had already charged.
“DOMINIC!” A voice, a voice hammered through my darkness calling out to me.
I shook my head trying to clear it, but I was trapped. I heard it again and then a soft touch scorched through my entire body causing me to whip around fast. The back of my hand collided with her face and I heard an oomph as she fell. My fog was cleared. I looked down at a wide-eyed Monroe on the floor and my hand, when did I take my gloves off and why was I bleeding?
~E~
Monroe
My face was on fire! I had never been backhanded like that before. I looked up at Dominic as he came out of whatever haze he was in and he just stood there bewildered by his actions then it was like he woke up and sprang into action.
“Roe! I’m so sorry.” He exclaimed as he kneeled in front of me. “Let me see.”
I didn’t move as he took my face in his hand examining it.
“It doesn’t hurt.” I lied.
His whiskey eyes slammed into mine with such unnamed expression, it made me shut up.
“Come, let’s go put some ice on it.”
He didn’t even wait for me to stand up. He picked me up in his arms as if I were some sort of bride and brought me to the kitchen. I wanted to protest but I was a full-blooded woman with a face on fire. I watched him from the corner of my eye, his sweatiness I could appreciate. I liked sweaty men specifically from something like this. We reached the kitchen in record time and he placed me on top of the kitchen island as he turned around to get whatever he needed in the freezer. He took out a frozen steak unwrapping it from its packaging and gently placed it on my face.
I watched him as he walked towards the pantry getting whatever else he needed. He came back with some Advil and took a water bottle out of the fridge.
“Here take these, it should help,” I took the pills and swallowed them down with water. “Let me see.” He said taking the meat off gently and looking at it again.
As Dom checked out the left side of my face, I looked at him, truly looked at him. I sighed. I missed him so freaking much, I never thought I’d ever see him again. Here I was face to face with him again, I don’t know when the tears began but they flowed down my face. This alarmed him, and I quickly wiped it covering my eye with the raw steak again.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I assured him.
We looked at each other for a spell not saying anything. He was still too close for comfort but right now, I didn’t care. I was looking in the eyes of my best friend that I thought I would never speak to again.
“I wrote you.” He said.
“What?” I was thrown off by the random words.
His face transformed into pure unfiltered rage.
