The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1), Iris Morland [best reads of all time TXT] 📗

Da, interrupting my silence, “because it was my mother’s, years ago. Your grandmother Mary, who died when I was…” Da screwed up his mouth, thinking. “Ten years old. Just a stupid kid. She died in a car accident, and your grandda never really got over it.”

I thought of the letters I’d found in the book in the estate’s library, the one my grandda had written to my grandmother Mary.

“My mother held the entire family together. When she died, it was like the entire family died with her. The day after her wake, Da sent me to a boarding school and never wrote me a single letter.”

“Like father, like son?” I couldn’t help but point out.

Da guffawed. “Touché. But your grandda was a real piece of shite. Never cared for anybody except my mother—not even his only son. But theirs was a grand romance, you know. She was from a well-to-do, upper-crust family who disowned her when she ran off with Da. Just like I did with your mam, actually. Like father, like son, once again.”

Da began to skim his finger along the edge of the clock. “Da bought this for Mam when they married. It reminded her of home.” He pointed to the flowers that were delicately painted on the clock face. “Do you recognize these?”

“No.”

“They’re red carnations. They’re the flower of the Salasian royal family.” Da’s eyes locked with mine. “Your grandmother, my mother, was a princess of Salasia.”

You know the feeling when you’re at the top of a rollercoaster, the moment right before it plunges down to the ground? That was what my stomach felt like in that moment. Like everything I’d ever believed had been turned upside down, topsy turvy, a merry-go-round that I’d never wanted to ride in the first place.

“Princess Mary was the daughter of Prince Jean, younger sister of Prince Louis.” Da got up and went to a rickety bookshelf in the corner of his apartment, pulling out a large book. He flipped through the pages and opened it to a family tree. “Your grandmother, Princess Mary. Here. And Prince Louis’ son is the current Sovereign Prince of Salasia, Étienne…”

I followed his finger. Below Prince Étienne was a name I knew well: Prince Olivier. To the right was my father’s name and then Liam’s and my name.

“I don’t understand,” I said in a rush. “Are Olivier and I…?”

Da started laughing, so hard that he began to cough. It took a few moments for his voice to return, which made the anticipation all the worse. “You’d be second cousins, but considering he’s most likely a bastard, it seems as though you two are not, in fact, related.” Da’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Are you going to faint? Should I find some smelling salts?”

His amused tone just made my brain fog dissipate more quickly. As I took in this information, I realized that it could change everything.

If Prince Olivier wasn’t the true heir to the Salasian throne, then who was?

“Are you a prince, then?” I said.

“Not in name, not since the royal family stripped my mam of her title. But now they’re in a bit of a bind, hmm?” Da leaned back in the couch cushions. “If it were to become public knowledge that Olivier is a bastard, then I would be next in line. Unless Olivier’s father is able to produce a legitimate child, although Princess Alexandra is now too old. And divorce isn’t an option, either. Of course, he could always act like Henry VIII and have her beheaded.”

I didn’t laugh at the joke.

“What do you want? The crown?” I said.

“God, no. Besides, my lass, I’m dying.” At my stare, he shrugged. “Lung cancer. I guess that’s what happens when you smoke cigarettes most of your life. No, I don’t have much time left. But I would like my time to be comfortable, if that’s what you’re asking.”

If Da were the next legitimate heir, that would mean when he died, Liam, my brother, would be next in line as the eldest. Then me. Me, Niamh Gallagher, a girl who’d just wanted to find her father and who’d stumbled upon secrets she’d never thought possible.

And then I thought about Olivier. He was alone. He’d be devastated at reading those letters. His entire life would be ruined; he’d lose everything he’d been brought up to believe was his birthright. All because of something his mother—and perhaps his adopted father—had done.

“The thing is, I’ll go to the press with this information if the Royal Family doesn’t meet my demands.” Da said the words casually. “And if I do that, that means your brother would eventually become the Hereditary Prince of Salasia.”

I stood up. “I need to go. I need to find Olivier.”

“Yes, yes, find your lover boy. Go comfort him. I’m sure he’s quite distraught.”

I stared at him, incredulous. “Do you know why I wanted to find you?” My voice was hoarse. “I wanted to find you because I wanted to believe there was some reason, something I couldn’t possibly know, as to why you left Mam and Liam and me. I hoped you would’ve become someone better, that you’d regret what you’d done. But I don’t think you regret anything, do you?”

I squared my shoulders, refusing to let him see me cry. “I expected better of you than you ever expected of yourself. And after I leave here, I never want to speak to you again. You were dead to me when I was a child, and now as an adult, you’re still dead and gone. Goodbye, Connor Gallagher. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Da’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t say goodbye. He merely lit another cigarette and said as I opened the door, “Be sure to lock it behind you. That’s a good girl.”

Chapter Twenty

Cara met me in at the entrance to the estate before I’d even toed off my shoes. “Ma’am, Mr. Valady wants to speak with you immediately in the library.”

I grimaced. “Thanks, Cara. I was going to go