Forevermore

  FOREVERMORE

  an EVER MORE Series standalone romance

  Cristiane Serruya

  Contents

  Untitled

  Praise for Cristiane Serruya

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  43. A Note From The Author

  Royal Love

  1. Prologue

  2. Chapter 1

  3. Chapter 2

  4. Chapter 3

  5. Chapter 4

  Also by Cristiane Serruya

  About Cristiane Serruya

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogues, and incidents involving them are drawn from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  * * *

  This book contains an excerpt of Royal Love, Last Royals Series #1, by Cristiane Serruya. It has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition. © 2017 Cristiane Serruya.

  * * *

  ISBN-13: 978-1979624329

  ISBN-10: 1979624321

  © 2017 Cristiane Serruya

  Cover by Renata Fontanive © 2017 Cristiane Serruya

  Praise for Cristiane Serruya

  “I liked the way Cristiane develops her story line. It gradually enfolds, gently enthralling the reader and touching heartstrings, captivating we romantics. Read and you will find another Nora Roberts in her heydays.” ~ Jonhaboutime

  * * *

  “It was like reading Jane Austen or William Shakespeare but in modern English.” ~ M. Richardson

  “Cristiane Serruya is a master of characterization. The depth of her characters is incredible. The intensity of the relationships will have the reader eagerly turning the pages.” ~ Readers’ Favorite

  * * *

  “Cristiane Serruya is exceptionally good at what she does.” ~ Dks

  * * *

  “It is one of those series that keeps you glued until the end and then once it gets over, you wonder where your life is finally headed to ! Book lovers would know that feeling well I suppose! :)” ~ Criti...que...don't criti...cize

  * * *

  “Nora Roberts meets 50 Shades of Grey” ~ Paula Penteado

  * * *

  “Just when you think you know what is going to happen next, a twist so crazy that you could have never imagined it is thrown your way.” ~ For the Luv of Sanity

  * * *

  “…you can expect the unexpected.” ~ Musings from an Addicted Reader

  * * *

  “Cristiane Serruya created a book with all the elements I love: Two crazy possessive alpha males, a strong female character, drama, intensity, and most importantly, the most erotic and sexual moments, without going overboard.” ~ SBook Lover’s Reviews

  Acknowledgments

  Writing can be a lonely business so I am grateful for the most loyal and dedicated partners I have found in this path I am wandering, and here I thank them.

  Edward M Wolfe, my amazing editor, who is always available; who chats, laughs, and cheers me; who explains all my doubts and answers asap all my emails, no matter if he has already eaten or not; during day, night, and weekends. You have a VERY special place in my heart.

  Renata Fontanive and Lívia Forte, my faithful squires! Erm, I mean, my cover designer and my marketing assistant; for putting up with me as I harass you—and you don’t answer—even on Sundays.

  My biggest thanks go to the hearts of my heart: my broad, six-foot-six, stubborn, loving husband, Raphael, and my dear daughters, Raphaela and Giovanna, who do hate when I say I have a new idea for a book but are patient with me when I am immersed and lost in my characters’ lives. I promise to pamper you all in double…until a new idea hits me.

  We, unaccustomed to courage

  exiles from delight

  live coiled in shells of loneliness

  until love leaves its high holy temple

  and comes into our sight

  to liberate us into life.

  * * *

  Love arrives

  and in its train come ecstasies

  old memories of pleasure

  ancient histories of pain.

  Yet if we are bold,

  love strikes away the chains of fear

  from our souls.

  * * *

  We are weaned from our timidity

  In the flush of love’s light

  we dare be brave

  And suddenly we see

  that love costs all we are

  and will ever be.

  Yet it is only love

  which sets us free.

  * * *

  ~ Touched by an Angel, Maya Angelou

  To José Carlos, a dear childhood friend,

  gone too long yet never forgotten,

  * * *

  and

  * * *

  to all the children,

  who didn’t get to see a new day dawning.

  Chapter 1

  New York, Manhattan

  Sloan Kettering Memorial Cancer Center

  Monday, November 9, 2015

  6:00 p.m.

  * * *

  It was a death sentence he carried.

  And, at the same time, it was a freeing edict.

  “She has only two months, three at most. You should take her home.”

  The words said in a soft and compassionate male voice a few minutes ago still boomed in Aleksander Maximilian’s mind as he made his way to Olivia’s hospital room.

  Fourteen months ago, when he was first told that his now eight year-old daughter was suffering from what might turn out to be a terminal illness, he and his wife, Rachel, grasped onto hope with a stranglehold.

  Thirty-nine years old at the time, he was already one of the most powerful and influential men in the United States, and if the statistics said there was a chance his daughter could live, then live she would.

  He forced himself to smile before he pushed open the door and saw a sleeping Olivia and her inseparable golden retriever. Toddy raised his golden head, ears perked, and identified the intruder as Aleksander, then dropped his head back down on Olivia’s thigh.

  One of Olivia’s private nurses, Sydney Campbell, rose from the chair beside her bed. “Good morning, Mr. Maximilian.”

  “Hello, Sydney.” He brushed a hand over T
oddy’s head. “Is she too tired again today?”

  “Not really.” Sydney smiled and added, “She and Toddy joined the visiting dogs and other children and they had a busy morning. She’s just taking a nap.”

  “You can take a long snack break,” he said to her, and when Sydney opened her mouth, he added, “I’ll message you if she needs something.”

  “Please do.”

  Aleksander loved that the staff here genuinely cared about their patients. Either that, or they do an excellent job of faking it. I’m becoming cynical.

  He took off his jacket, put it on the bureau, and before he went into the adjoining bathroom to wash his hands, he turned back to Sydney and said, “We’re going home tomorrow.”

  He saw sadness come over the young nurse’s face—but not surprise—as she nodded, and it just made the weight on his heart even heavier. So, there is really no hope at all.

  He avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. It had been a few weeks since they informed him that Olivia’s brain tumor was not responding to chemotherapy, but he continued to hope while the doctors kept the treatment going.

  Back in the room, he took Sydney’s seat and caught Olivia’s thin hand in his. The girl let out a contented sigh as if she knew her father was there but she didn’t wake up.

  When he buried Rachel, barely one month after Olivia was hospitalized, he made a promise on her grave that he would move mountains and wouldn’t leave a stone unturned until Olivia was cured.

  And he had unturned stones all over the world. From a German pediatric oncologist to a British neurosurgeon—including a Brazilian spiritual surgeon and a Canadian shaman—a parade of doctors—and curious practitioners of various healing arts. He’d flown all of them to Manhattan to consult his daughter.

  Yet, all his wealth and influence had not provided a cure for her. Now, his sweet little Olivia had only two months—three, at most—to live.

  I have failed you, Rachel. His lips turned down and he had to blink to whisk away the tears gathering in his eyes. I failed you both.

  Before she left the room, Sydney paused by him and softly put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Maximilian.”

  Aleksander swallowed the lump in his throat and whispered, “So am I, Sydney. So am I.”

  He watched her as she slept, taking labored breaths, and he wondered if he would be there, watching her like this when she took her last breath.

  Her hair had once been long and dark-blonde but due to the series of chemo treatments, she had lost every strand. Even her eyebrows and long lashes had fallen out.

  Olivia’s lashless eyes fluttered awake and her big blue eyes found him immediately.

  “Good morning, Daddy,” she greeted with a yawn.

  Her diagnosis still lingered heavily in his mind and Aleksander held back his tears. “It’s almost seven in the evening,” he said with a strained chuckle. “You’ve been asleep for a while.”

  “Oh,” Olivia said, followed by another yawn. “Toddy and I played with a lot of friends today.” Hearing his name, Toddy perked up for a moment and licked at her hand and Olivia gently patted his golden head as a reflex. “And I’m still a little tired from my last treatment.”

  “I know.” Aleksander debated telling his daughter that her doctors had declared her terminally ill, but decided against it. He saw no reason for Olivia to be dwelling on death although he knew he would have to talk about it sooner or later. Better later. “You won’t have to take anymore treatments from now on, or come to the hospital anymore. The doctors want me to take you home.”

  He expected sadness and tears—Olivia was not a naïve girl, much on the contrary, and she knew what going home would mean—but instead, Olivia’s eyes brightened. “Nurse Sydney said I would have more energy for a while without the chemo. I’m so excited.”

  “Excited?”

  “Yes, that means we can go to The Cottage this year, right?” Olivia asked, referring to their country house in Lake Tahoe.

  “The Cottage? Are you sure you’ll have the energy to go?” Isn’t she too sick to go so far from the hospital?

  “I’ll have enough energy,” Olivia said with a smile. “I’m going to wear my prettiest clothes and twirl around and maybe even run outside. I can’t wait!”

  Aleksander smiled then, a genuine smile that lasted only seconds, but even those seconds were a rarity since he’d learned that her treatments were no longer working. “Well then, I guess we’ll have to make sure you get to The Cottage before, uh, before you get tired again.” Before you leave me.

  “Can we have a Thanksgiving dinner and a Christmas night and a New Year’s party, too?”

  “You want parties?” Aleksander asked dumbly. After losing Rachel and now knowing he would lose his daughter, his only child, holiday spirit was the furthest thing from his mind.

  “Yes! With roasted turkey, reindeers, and a real tree that we can decorate.”

  “Sure, we can have whatever you want, Pumpkin,” Aleksander said. Whatever she asked for, he would grant it. He would give her anything money could buy, but all the money in the world couldn’t buy what he desired most.

  “I’ll make a list of what we need,” she said, stretching out her hand for her new journal and pencil, which lay on the bedside table on top of the one she had finished filling up the day before.

  Aleksander handed them to her with a smile. His little girl was an avid writer. Olivia drew pictures in her diaries, kept notes about what she was doing, and how she was feeling, and made lists about everything.

  “Mr. Maximilian,” Sydney called through the door after a knock.

  “Come in.”

  She walked in with a tray in hand. “It’s time for Olivia to eat and take her medication.”

  “Of course,” Aleksander said, standing.

  Sydney placed the tray on the stand beside Olivia’s bed. “Oh, you don’t have to leave yet.”

  “Yes, I know, but, well, I should get going. I’m meeting someone tonight, and I have a lot to do to prepare to bring Olivia home tomorrow.”

  He saw the puzzled look cross Sydney’s face. It was a common look, one he could read without much effort. He thought of clarifying his phrase, reassuring Sydney that he wasn’t, in fact, meeting a woman, but he didn’t bother. He had no time and no interest to pursue women; and no energy to undo erroneous impressions.

  “Enjoy your meeting,” was all Sydney said in response.

  Aleksander kissed Olivia on the forehead then patted Toddy on the back. “Be good, Pumpkin. I’ll see you in the morning to bring you home.”

  “Ok. Love you, Daddy. See you tomorrow.”

  “Love you madly, Pumpkin.” Aleksander smiled brightly and nodded a final time to Sydney as he left.

  He kept the parting smile on his face until he made it to the comfort of the back seat of his black BMW and his driver closed the door.

  Only then, with his own image reflected in the closed partition, did Aleksander let the tears roll slowly down his cheeks.

  Upper East Side, Fifth Avenue

  Aleksander Maximilian’s penthouse

  8:30 p.m.

  * * *

  He turned on the shower, and stepped in, hoping to wash some of the impotence away.

  When he stepped out to grab one of the towels from the stack, his eyes caught his reflection. He barely recognized himself anymore.

  His damp hair curled past his nape; a mop of chestnut longer than it had been since his early twenties, and his face sported more than the fancy devil-may-care shade of a beard.

  He hadn’t seen his usual barber for more than a month. He felt no need for a three hundred and fifty-dollar haircut, or the collection of Italian suits and shoes which filled his dressing room in Manhattan. He was just a shadow of the sharply dressed businessman he’d once been. That man had been put on hold when Rachel died and Olivia had gotten worse.

  But it wasn’t his hair or face that made him not recognize himself.

&nb
sp; It was in his eyes.

  The eyes of a man haunted by a future ghost. Preoccupied with something no one else could see, eating away at his vitality and leaving him hollow.

  He ran a hand over his jaw and grabbed his electric trimmer.

  Just as he finished trimming his facial hair, his phone screen blinked informing him of an incoming call from Thaddeus, his older brother.

  With a sigh he answered, “Yeah?”

  “You’re coming to Rose Bar with me tonight, right?”

  He was not in the mood to go out. He never was, anymore. But when he pictured returning to his empty and hollow penthouse by himself the image filled him with depression. “Yes, Thaddeus.”

  “Good. You need to get a bit of fun in your life. Helps fight depression.”