Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 93(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 93(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
“I’m always right.” I smirk down at her.
“And so humble.” Milly shakes her head.
“Why should I be humble?” I tease. “I’m the prince.”
“Well, your royal highness, I could use your help folding your royal underwear.” Milly laughs. “Gloria helped me clean the house before Lorenzo came, but we ran out of time. There are three loads of clean clothes hidden in the laundry room closet waiting for us to fold and put away.”
“I’m all yours.” I lean down and smack her curvy ass before following her to the laundry room on the other side of our large kitchen.
“I know.” She looks over her shoulder and winks.
EPILOGUE 1
MILLY
FOUR MONTHS LATER
These royal babies take their sweet time. For the first eight months, we worried about them staying put long enough to fully cook. Now, they’re overstaying their welcome and I’m about to evict them.
I’m sitting in the living room flipping through channels when Damien walks in. “How are you doing, little peach?”
“My feet are huge, my back is sore, my boobs are big enough to be considered their own zip code, and the babies are taking turns pounding the hell out of my bladder,” I grumble. “But other than that, I’m great.” I know I’m crabby, but twice the pregnancy hormones means twice the bitchiness.
“You’re fucking beautiful.” Damien sits next to me and lifts one of my swollen feet into his lap.
As he rubs my swollen foot, I lay my head back and close my eyes. “That feels so good.”
“I’d do anything to help you feel better. Hopefully, the babies come soon and you can get back to normal.” He continues to soothe me. “But I fucking love your tits. I hope they stay that size.”
I open one eye and glare at him. “Then you can carry them around.”
“I’d be happy to follow you around and hold them up for you.” Damien runs his finger along my collarbone. “I can be your official tit support.”
“My prince, the human bra.” I laugh.
“It’s my dream job.” Damien wiggles his eyebrows.
“I thought designing video games was your dream job?” I ask him.
“My priorities changed the moment I met you.” He turns serious. “Now, I live to make you happy.”
“You do that every day,” I tell him. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Damien kisses me and runs his hand over my large tummy. “Even though you refuse to share your toys.”
“Very funny.”
Two days later, identical twins Prince Lucian and Prince Noah finally decide to grace us with their presence. And not a moment too soon.
It takes me quite a while to wrap my head around the knowledge that I gave birth to two little princes. Of course, after all the freaking hell they put me through, the boys are the spitting image of their father. Fudge.
EPILOGUE 2
DAMIEN
TEN YEARS LATER
“Go save the dog from your mini-mes.” My wife storms into my man cave. “Poor Elvis can’t take much more.”
The boys are bored. I’ve been locked in my office-slash-game room for the last two weeks, trying to put the finishing touches on my latest video game, Chaos World. My poor wife and the dog have had to deal with their mischievousness.
“What have they done now?”
“You have to see this for yourself.” She crooks her finger for me to follow her out into the backyard.
I nearly bite a hole in the side of my cheek trying not to laugh at the sight in front of me. “Boys.” It takes several moments of breathing through the urge to laugh before I’m able to paste a stern look on my face. “What is the meaning of this?” I ask, pointing to the lingerie-clad Rottweiler. My wife’s bright red teddy actually fits the one-hundred-and-fifty-pound dog perfectly. The boys added a thick gold chain around his neck and clipped gold earrings to his ears. The forlorn look on Elvis’ face tells me that the poor fucking dog knows how ridiculous he looks.
Lucien, the most mischievous of the two, shrugs. “Uncle Bender let us watch a show on Elvis, the singer,” my child explains. “We wanted to dress our Elvis up like him, and we found all this in mommy’s closet.” He points at the getup they somehow managed to dress the dog in. That fucking dog loves our sons. He’s strong enough to rip their heads off but never makes a noise when they mess with him.
“Didn’t you boys promise me that you’d try to be better?” I stare down at them with my fiercest ‘dad’ expression.
“But, Dad,” Noah pipes in. “We weren’t being bad. Elvis agreed to let us dress him up.”
“You got the dog’s permission?” I raise an eyebrow at them.
“We told Elvis what we were going to do, and he didn’t complain,” Noah explains.
“He sat down and let us,” Lucien pipes in. “And look at him.” The older twin points at the pathetic animal. “He likes dressing up.”