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fanficsforheartandsoul · 11 months ago

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Happy Ending | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Note: This has been ghosting around in my head for some time now because of the song "Wallpaper" by Megan Cromwell. I noticed that whenever I don't have the pressure of a request in the back of my head for a story it's much easier to write. That's why I wrote this rather easily and quickly. I just wanted to post something again lol. So yeah, have some good ol' super dramatic angst. I'll be more active again hopefully.

Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022)

Warnings: Angst, Heartbreak, Unrequited Love, Mentions of NSFW Stuff, Trauma, Reader has some Issues

Summary: Ghost wants a happy ending but not with you.

Word Count: ~2k

If you want to be tagged in my stories send me a pm with the fandom/character name! Or comment on the fic :)

Masterlist

Call sign: Vigil

"We can't do this anymore."

You had known from the start that sleeping with him was a bad idea.

Generally, people advise you against sleeping with a co-worker. Because it makes things complicated. Even more complicated when you're both in the military.

Because technically you’re not allowed to fuck, your actions could be clouded by emotions, potentially risking not only your but the lives of your fellow operators as well. But that little clause in your contract was printed in that tiny font, and so you decided to ignore it.

It didn’t stop you from getting involved with your lieutenant. You were never a big fan of rules after all. Your rank as a sergeant after so many years of service in the military said enough about that.

But at the start, you truly believed that a physical relationship with him wouldn't cause trouble to you or anyone else.

You thought you had it under control. At least in the beginning.

Yes, you had been attracted to him since your first meeting when you had signed your contract with Taskforce 141. Mysterious men were your thing, and he embodied such a man with his skull mask.

So yeah, you did allow yourself to daydream about him, and have some dirty thoughts every once in a while. It wasn’t like you were the only one.

You were attracted to him and you knew he was attracted to you. It was mutual and actually pretty obvious.

You could feel his searing gaze on you just a few days after you had joined the taskforce; the way his eyes trailed up and down your body. The looks he gave you were charged with want.

But attraction doesn't necessarily lead to a romantic relationship, right?

He was a good-looking man in your opinion; tall, rugged, buff, with muscles and fat in the right places, just the way you liked it.

His face couldn't be considered conveniently attractive yet that made it so much better for you. The arch in his brows, the dark eyebags, the scars on his cheeks, his cheekbones. He was your type. And his rough appearance fuelled the fire in your lower stomach and your imagination.

What was the harm in joining him in the sheets and having a bit of fun? It wasn't like you loved him.

That’s what you had asked yourself.

It was much better to get rid of your pent-up frustration with him instead of a toy or a rare one-night stand when you were off-duty. And damn, was he good in bed.

Rough, fast-paced, keen to try out every possible position, and not shy of pleasing you. You could've expected it. He was a man who wasn't afraid to get down and dirty. Dirt, blood, sweat, and other fluids... It didn't matter.

Short summary: It was pure ecstasy every time.

You two had lots of fun together in lots of different positions and locations, and that was all it was. Just some fun.

No strings attached, as you both declared at the start. Just fuckbuddies.

"I'm not a relationship kind of guy, Y/N" he had told you after you had spent your first time together.

You had snorted because shit, you weren't either. Both of you were too broken and bruised by the baggage of your pasts. Your traumas would probably weigh you both down in the long run. So you were fine with the line he had drawn between you.

It was okay. No emotions, no obligations, no lovey-dovey shit, just a means to an end.

Just a meeting in your room after a mission, a phone call on your days off, then a quick meet-up in a hotel. Just pleasure. Not love.

Until it wasn't just that anymore.

You two had settled into a routine where he would join you in your room late every other night.

After you had pleasured each other enough, he would leave soon after, and somehow - with time, you began to miss the warmth next to you on your bed.

The feeling came slowly creeping, and it took you by surprise.

You never asked him to stay; you didn't dare cross the line. To ask for a bit more affection. But you wished.

That he held you just a bit closer during the act. That he remained next to you just for a few more minutes after it. That he kissed your scars, your lips. That he touched you as if you were something, someone precious to him. Someone important.

Sure, you liked it when he treated you like an unbreakable object when his grip left bruises on your body - in a way, they satisfied your need for more. They marked you as his. But just for once, you wanted to be treasured by him. To feel that you meant something more to him.

You didn't know when your feelings for him had turned into a fluttering mess in your chest. He wasn't just a means to an end anymore. You valued him. Not just as a soldier who had your back. Not just as a friend. But as a man, a partner. A man you wanted close to you. For the rest of your life. No matter how long that would be.

Because Simon had done something no one else had been able to do before.

He made you wish. For a future. A future with him.

He made you wish to be better, to be a little less broken. To pick up the pieces that had once made you whole. You wanted to be better. A better version of yourself. For him. To have a chance to be truly happy. To get that fairy tale life others dream about – you once had dreamed about when you were younger, your shoulders lighter.

His attention made you excel, it made you stronger, faster, harder. You were just better when he was around. A better soldier, a better woman, a happier person.

And you thought, no, believed that he understood that. That he helped you to be better. That you needed him. Not just in your bed, but by your side. As your other half.

You both were people of few words, so you thought that through your actions, your eagerness during missions, and your gentle touches during your time together, you conveyed all these feelings. That he got it, saw how you felt about him.

But you never spelled it out. Never said; I've come to love you.

Just let these feelings simmer under your heart, hoping that one day he'd get what you felt for him.

"We can't do this anymore, Vigil."

You'd love to say that it came as a surprise when he, one day, called you to meet up and told you these words.

But you knew subconsciously. Felt it. Long before he actually said the words, they were coming.

His calls had been less frequent, his visits rarer, and to your confusion, his eyes began to look different whenever you saw him. They looked clearer, and happier.

Only after you saw him at the party after your successful operation in Chicago did you understand. He did look happier.

But not because of you.

And only then did you realize that your brain had played a trick on you. You were so consumed by your feelings for him that you didn't realize how big the rift between you two had gotten.

He laughed.

Simon Riley laughed heartily for the first time since you knew him. Not just one of his usual chuckles that he reserved for your or Soap's jokes.

No, true deep laughter that came from deep within his chest.

And all because of a joke that the woman next to him had told him.

You didn't know her; you had never even seen her face before. She was a complete stranger to you, and yet Ghost rested a hand on her hip as if she belonged to him. As if she was his fucking girlfriend.

Soap looked at you, then who you were staring at.

"That's Ghost's new lass, I heard. Can't believe that guy found someone before us, eh? Surprised me too, I tell ya."

His words were like poison, and you tasted bile in your mouth. So much made sense to you now.

"Why not? I thought you liked it?! I enjoy it every time."

"That's not relevant anymore. I'm just telling you, Y/N. This thing is done. I won't come here anymore."

"But-"

"Let's just forget this happened, alright?"

"...."

"Okay."

You hadn't even been able to argue. Or tell him your feelings.

After all, you were the one who said you could never be in a relationship with him or fall in love with him. It was pathetic to get back on your words and admit it in front of him.

So you just shut your mouth and accepted his words for the time being.

A tiny voice in your head whispered that you could tell him your feelings later when he calmed down a bit. When he started to miss you.

You knew the whole situation with Hassan was getting to him and the others, so you cut him some slack. You thought he would change his mind. Believed it. Blindly.

But now, here you were. Looking like a fool. Feeling like one. Being one.

And the thing was, you couldn't even say anything to him.

He was the one who made you happy. Who made you want to be better. Less traumatized, more whole.

You could see in his eyes that she was that to him. Not you.

So, what right did you have to intervene?

You wanted him to be happy, after all.

How could you deny him that? You both had gone through so much.

She seemed to be the complete opposite of you. She basically glowed in the room, her smile radiant, and her aura was light as if the world had blessed her to never know hardship.

Her frame was soft, and her skin unblemished, untainted by the cruelty and darkness that existed in the world.

You couldn't help but compare yourself to her.

Your cracks, the marks of your trauma, made themselves known through various scars on your body. Your hands were rough, covered with old blisters; so unlike hers, and you were all jagged and sharp edges, while she looked so cute and bubbly.

You could see her appeal, and it hurt to think that way, but in another world, in different circumstances, you could see her as your potential friend. She just had the appearance and aura of someone who people gravitated toward. A soothing soul.

In that sense, you could understand Ghost. Why he searched her side. But you fucking hated it.

As lovely as she seemed, right now in this bar; you couldn't help but despise her.

She took him from you.

A voice whispered in your head. The ugliness of that thought made you want to throw up, because didn't it prove that you weren't completely right in the head?

Ghost wasn't your property. He had his own free will, and just because she appeared didn't mean she stole him away.

After all, he never belonged to you anyway.

This was probably why Ghost didn't chose you, you thought to yourself. Your ugly jealousy and possessiveness were rearing their heads.

I wouldn't choose myself either.

You felt like crying, but you couldn't even do that.

You hadn't cried for years now, and although the pain in your heart was worse than any of the bullet wounds you had received during your career, not a single tear welled up in your eyes.

You were truly broken. And the man who could fix you wasn't at your side. He would never be.

You looked at the two of them once more. An ugly thing clawed at your chest, begging to get out. Your vision turned red. You clenched your fists.

You had to get out of here. Now.

"You okay, Vigil?" Soap asked next to you, noticing that you seemed a bit off.

"Yeah. I just- think I didn't turn my stove off. I got to go."

You mumbled before you turned around and hurried to the exit of the bar. Soap tried to protest, but you were out the door before he could even finish his sentence:

"But you just arrived- Damn... off she goes."

He sighed and looked towards that woman and Ghost. They made eye contact. As if Simon was already looking at him. Or you.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #modern warfare II #modern warfare 2022 #simon riley #simon riley x fem reader #x fem reader #ghost x fem reader #ghost x female reader #ghost #soap #john soap mctavish #simon ghost riley #soldier reader #141!reader #special forces reader #fem reader #fanficsforheartandsouls

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txemrn · 3 years ago

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Book: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x OC (Brooke Boggs)

Warning: language; pretty damn fluffy, small smidges of angst

Song Inspo: Incredible by James Tw

Word Count: 11300 (+/-) Yes, You read that right. This thing is massive. There are no hard feelings if anyone skips out on this, but I was bound and determined to make something special for Kat while also NOT creating a new mini series unless Tumblr made me. 🤣

A/N: 🎂 HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO MY BEAUTIFUL PARTNER IN CRIME @kat-tia801 ! 🎂 I know, I know, I'm a week late, but if I posted this on time, I think you would've been worried. 🤣 I know we agree to no ooshy-gooshy ANs... but it's you, and damnit, everyone needs a Kat in their life--correction, everyone needs YOU in their life. I can't tell you how grateful I am for you and our friendship. You blow me away with your positivity, your kindness, your support, your loveliness and your wisdom. You make me laugh and squeal and keysmash like a crazy woman--and I love it! You listen, you encourage, and you remind me of my worth. Your talent is something I aspire to be, and I am so glad I get to enjoy this crazy journey of fanfiction with you. So, so grateful for our beautiful friendship. Love you, sweet friend. *hugs*

A/N 2: @ao719 holy smokes, girl, I got through this thanks to you! Thank you so much for holding my hand and brainstorming and reading this for me! @charlotteg234 I'm including you, too, girl! The squeals were needed! Love you both! 🥰

---------

“He’s gone! Dude, get up!”

A single blood-shot eye blinks awake from a bourbon-induced slumber. But, rather than inspect the sudden clatter of the once silent room, Drake Walker carefully readjusts his cramped body on a tufted bench inside the royal quarters. Feeling a slight chill, he grabs his discarded denim shirt, pulling it over the curvature of his bare shoulders as he brings his knees closer to his chest. Nuzzling into a throw pillow, his breathing quickly turns into snores.

“Drake!” Maxwell claps his hands together before slapping the back of his sleeping friend.

Drake lets out a guttural groan. “The fuck, Beaumont?” He mumbles more obscenities under his breath as he notices that dawn is barely breaking over the horizon. Sitting up on the bench, he drags his fingers down his face, his other hand reaching for his phone. “Fucking-A, you couldn’t have waited until a decent--?”

“He’s gone, Drake!” Maxwell paces back and forth. “What if he--?” Maxwell suddenly stops. He puts a strong arm on Drake’s shoulder, covering his mouth in shock. “Oh God, Drake, what if he ran away? Abdicated?” Maxwell storms away, brushing his fingers through his hair, “Oh, no no,” he begins to retrace his steps, his mind clearly spinning. “I can’t believe he did this! He’s probably halfway across Europe by now!” He sighs dramatically. “After everything Leo put us through--”

“Hey, asshat, I’m right here,” Leo’s smoky, irritated voice bellows from the floor on the other side of Liam’s bed. “He went for some fresh air. Or to get away from your annoying ass--”

“I’m just worried about him. That’s all.” Maxwell sits down on the air mattress. “The social season was a bit of a disaster, and then last night?”

“So he didn’t pick a wife. Big deal,” yawns Drake, “at least he didn’t run away like a little bitch,” he chuckles, throwing a pillow at Leo.

“Hey, Liam is the one that fucked up this time.” Leo becomes defensive, tossing the pillow back, playfully hitting Drake in the head. “How am I still the butt of the jokes--?”

“--because you’re an ass, Leo,” barks out a sleepy Rashad. “You’re always the ass. Now, will you three kindly shut the hell up? Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

A hush falls over the group of men, the room becoming still again. Leo wrestles with a pillow before stumbling into a deep slumber. Rashad doesn’t make a peep--that is until a tiny whistle from his nose can be heard, a signal that he was in another REM-cycle. Drake curls back into a fetal position on his bench, hall-tempted to just climb into Liam’s bed for a little comfort. But, he quickly notices that Maxwell isn’t going to bed; in fact, he is lacing up his shoes.

“Psst… Max!” Drake whispers huskily, “where are you going?”

“I--” he finishes tying off his shoe, putting his foot on the ground, “--am going to go find Liam. It’s been a long few months, and, well--” he sighs, “--I’m not sure if he should be alone right now--”

“But maybe he wants to be--”

“--then he can tell me himself.” Drake considers Maxwell’s words. He might not always have the wisest ideas, but no one could fault him for being incredibly thoughtful, especially when a friend was in need. Maxwell tosses Drake a pair of jeans. “You in?”

------

The palace is buzzing with the hum of chatter and quickened footsteps as royals and staff hastily pack up belongings to return to their respective homes. Maxwell and Drake quickly duck through the crowd, hoping not to be seen by anyone, especially--

“Lord Maxwell!” The fair-complected blonde sashays her way over to the men, pretending as if the puffy edges of her eyes didn’t give away that she had been up all night, crying over the crowned prince’s decision. She glares at the commoner. “Drake.”

A smirk grows across Drake’s face. “Madeleine.” God, it gives him great pleasure that Liam didn’t choose her to be his bride. But, he doesn’t know what he loves more: Liam being free from her wicked snares, or the fact that she was rejected. Again. Such a pretty face, but such a cold heart, not to mention her ‘subpar’ reputation in the bedroom.

Forcing a cordial grin on hir sinister pout, Madeleine takes hold of her own gloved hand before speaking in a sincerely quiet manner. "Have you seen Liam?"

"That’s actually what we’re doing right now," blurts Maxwell, "We’re looking--”

“No,” Drake interrupts, glaring at his awkward friend. “We don't know where he is, but--" he begins pushing Maxwell towards a secluded exit of the building, "--we must be going."

“Oh, well, um--wait!" Madeleine carefully trots over to the men in her stilettos. "Please tell him that I'm leaving. Oh, and that he has my number if--"

"Maddie--" Drake shakes his head with a scoff. "Stop embarrassing yourself."

As the countess turns on her heel to stomp away in irritation, Drake and Maxwell seize the opportunity and quickly retreat. Lucky for them, the bright marigold sun was peeking over the Cordonian countryside. With the palace sitting on a hilltop, scouring the premise for Liam wouldn't be too hard--that is if he hadn't left the grounds.

"Well, where should we start?" Begins Maxwell. “The gardens? The maze? The--?” The sudden whinny of a horse in the distance catches them by surprise.

Drake inhales deeply, his lip curling. "I have an idea."

Ever since they were young, Liam and Drake found solace in the royal stables. Their rambunctious energy within the walls of the palace often got them into trouble, and the adult conversations were painfully boring. They quickly found entertainment and companionship with the groomers and attendants who would let them brush the magnificent beasts and play in the stalls with the unused equipment. Sometimes the handlers would allow the boys to saddle up with them and take the horses for a ride throughout the pastures and the wooded lands.

For his thirteenth birthday, Liam got a blonde Palomino named Emmy that he adored riding every chance he got. She was well-trained and gentle, a good companion for Liam whenever he needed alone time. Drake always knew Liam had a hard day with his studies or something was wrong when the young prince was out with Emmy. Surely, this time was no different.

The men casually meander to the stables. The attendants and stablehands are already hard at work, helping foreign handlers wrangle prized horses to prepare for travels back to their respective homes. Drake recognizes one of the stablehands walking a thoroughbred back inside the barn.

“Hey!" Drake waves an arm to get her attention. He jogs towards her. "Hey! Horse girl!" The young, homely woman rolls her eyes, pretending not to see or hear Drake as she rushes the horse back into the barn; fortunately for him, he catches up easily.

"Hey," Drake deeply breathes, fixing a charming smile to his face. "Brooke, how are ya?"

"Walker," she nods with a cordial smile before returning to her work.

"Have you seen Liam?" Drake leans up against the wooden stall, tracking the stablehand's movements.

Brooke removes the saddle from the horse's back, turning towards Drake. "You know, his majesty comes here alone to get away from palace life--"

"I know, but we just--"

"-- which includes you." She smirks to herself as she hangs up the riding equipment, grabbing a brush and a part of an apple. She pitches the fruit to Drake, "C'mon. He'll be back shortly."

Drake inspects the fruit before looking down the main breezeway of the stable. Maxwell is now missing, possibly distracted by a butterfly, and there are still no signs of Liam. He looks at the apple slices again before glancing up at the trainwreck that is Horse Girl. With a hefty sigh and a grimace on his face, he crawls into the stall. He figures he might as well pass the time with one of his personal favorite pastimes.

He brushes his large hand across the shiny black coat of the thoroughbred, feeling the vibrations of a warm welcome. The side of Drake’s mouth curls, his eyes widening in awe as he rounds to the horse’s mouth to feed it the sweet treat.

“Was it awful?”

Drake winces, turning his attention to the young woman in the stall with him. "What?”

Brooke continues to brush the horse on the other side of its body. “Last night? His majesty? At the ball?” She stops brushing, locking her big, navy eyes into Drake’s almond browns. “Pardon my intrusion. I just couldn’t help hearing the talk this morning.” She begins brushing the horse again. “Not to mention,” she chuckles, “all of the crying lady royals. Lady Kiara nearly stepped into a giant pile of--oh!” She stops, bringing her hands to her mouth. “That’s pretty insensitive of me, isn’t it?”

She continues to chatter; Drake raises an eyebrow in shock that so many words could come out of such a small woman. He is used to the women at court: seen, rarely heard--well, at least they acted that way in front of other royals. Not the commoner.

Like an answer to his silent prayer, Drake is interrupted by a commotion of hollers and whinnies several stalls down from them. Peeking through the wooden slats, he sees Bastien with the reins of his majesty the king's steed. Drake excuses himself from the stall, but quickly stops in his tracks when he sees the herald of elite people surrounding the Cordonian royal family. The stablehands could barely reach the spooked horses due to the mass of people wanting to talk with the king.

"This is an outrage!" Shouts the head guard as other guards descend upon the scene. "Honor your king and get back!" Several royals followed suit and left the stables, but unfortunately, others had to be physically removed by security.

As the crowd slowly dissipates, a disheveled Liam comes into view, dismounting Emmy with Maxwell reassuring the horse. Drake whistles with his teeth, grabbing the crowned prince’s attention and guiding him away from the racket.

"Dude," Drake claps Liam on the back, "what the fuck was that about--?"

"Apparently there are worse things than abdicating the throne." Drake looks at his best friend. Liam remains stoic, his lips pursed. "I'm sorry, old friend, but--" he sucks in a sharp breath, "--I need to be alone."

Drake nods his head, tucking his hands into his jeans. "Yeah--yeah, man," he stutters, "whatever you--" Liam walks away abruptly. Drake exhales defeated. "--need."

Maxwell moseys up next to Drake with Emmy. "I'm guessing he's not okay?" Putting a hand on his hip, Drake pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Boys!" The blustering roar of King Constantine stuns Drake and Maxwell. "A word." The friends stare at each other, shrugging their shoulders.

Drake grabs the leather reins from Maxwell, guiding the white horse over to Brooke. He tosses the ropes in her direction to get her attention. "Hey, Horse Girl."

Brooke rolls her eyes, grabbing the leather straps. "Seriously? Grow up, Drake Walker." Drake mocks her, raising his voice several octaves and repeating her words. “Gah,” she scoffs, shoving his shoulder away from her. "Shut up!"

Drake chuckles. "Make me," he jokes as he walks away with Maxwell to catch up with the king. Making their way down the dirt path back to the palace, the men quickly run into Constantine with Bastien, hiding in the shadows of the back of the barn.

"Your majesty--"

"Good," Constantine stops Drake and Maxwell from mid-bow. "We don't have much time," he motions for his son’s friends to come closer conspiratorially.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but-- much time for what?" curiously asks Maxwell.

"For Liam." The king pulls out a linen handkerchief, dabbing his forehead. "Listen, it has been brought to my attention that Liam has to choose a wife.” He exhales, folding up with delicate cloth.

“Right,” Drake nods in understanding, “but he made it clear last night that he wasn’t choosing anyone--”

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” he turns to Maxwell. “The American. As her sponsor, I thought she was a favorite.”

Maxwell clears his throat. “Well, sir--your majesty, it appears she was the, uh, favorite of a lot of people.” He looks at Drake nervously before turning back to the king. “Um, intimately.”

“Oh,” Constantine’s eyes grow wider. “Oh! Well--” he coughs emphatically, “--that explains a lot. But, on to more pressing matters: Liam has to choose a wife. Per Cordonian law, if the crowned-prince does not choose a suitor from his social season, a ball is to be held one week after the Homecoming Ball.”

“Another ball?” groans Drake.

“But this time, every eligible woman in the country is invited to attend.”

“Every?” Maxwell’s eyebrows raise, looking frantically between Drake and Constantine. “Did you say every--?”

“Every eligible woman. Commoners.” There’s a twinge of disgust in his voice, but he quickly lightens his tone when he watches Drake cross his arms. “Listen, I need you two to help with this. You two know him the best. I need you to find someone for Liam--”

“Why is this so important for him to become king?” rebuttals Drake, furrowing his brows.

“Because if he doesn’t, we’re looking at the crown being stripped from the Rys family, and Liam could be staring at jail time--even tried for treason.”

“Can’t you just--” Drake searches for the right words, looking out into the distance, “--I don’t know, change the law?”

“Unfortunately, that’s not how it works. Plus, I don’t have the power to change a law that is currently being implemented.” Maxwell combs his fingers through his hair, allowing his hands to rest on top of his head as he slowly exhales. Drake tucks his hands into his pants as he stares at a rock he casually kicks on the ground. After a moment, Constantine breaks the silence. “There’s twenty-five thousand pounds in it for you--”

Drake’s eyes shoot up, completely stunned. Maxwell’s mouth drops open. “Twenty--twenty-five thousand pounds--?”

“Each.” A clever grin crawls across the old man’s face. “Guarantee that Liam will choose a wife next Saturday, and you will be rewarded warmly.” The king turns on his heel, returning himself to the palace, Bastian scurrying behind him.

Drake scratches his short beard. “Shit, Beaumont,” he awkwardly chuckles, “what the fuck are we going to do?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to find Liam a wife,” Maxwell declares proudly.

“Seriously, how can you do that? Sell him out like that?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m not selling anyone out. I want to see our Liam happily married, not going to jail over some stupid law. Plus,” Maxwell, straightens out his neck, acting dignified, “Ramsford could really use the money right now, especially after that Riley Brooks drama.”

Drake stifles a laugh. “I told you that was a bad idea.”

“And you’re never going to let me live it down,” sardonically chuckles Maxwell. “So, let’s put our heads together. This shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“Are you kidding me? Dude, even Brooks had months of training. We have a week.”

“Pssh,” Maxwell puts an arm around a doubting Drake, “you have forgotten who you are talking to! I can transform anyone, absolutely anyone, into the next queen of Cordonia!”

Drake shrugs off Maxwell’s arm. “Yeah, of course, sure, you can, no problem,” he sarcastically responds.

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“No,” Drake turns towards the palace to walk back. “I know you can’t. Again, exhibit A: Brooks.”

“But, Drake, just think: Cordonian women already know Cordonian history.” Maxwell catches up to his friend, stopping him in his tracks. “So then all they need is a little pruning, a dress, maybe a few etiquette lessons--”

A cheshire grin spreads across Drake’s face. “That easy, huh?”

Maxwell nods eagerly. “That easy. So, what do you say?”

“I say, ‘Ready to put your money where your mouth is?’”

Maxwell’s face falls. “What do you mean?”

“Well, now, you’re the one so confident that you can find some Cordonian woman, and turn her into the Belle of the ball, the next Queen, the perfect wife for our best friend.” Drake rubs his thumb against his fingers, motioning for money. “Let’s make it interesting--”

“--a bet?”

“A bet.”

“Okay,” Maxwell brightens with the challenge. “You’re on! I will take a Cordonian commoner and turn her into the perfect woman for Liam--”

“--and I get to pick her out.” Drake interrupts.

“Wait, how is that--?"

"Ah, ah, ah, Maxwell!" Drake shakes his finger with a jovial smirk on his face. "But you can transform anyone into the next queen of Cordonia!" He jovially singsongs, making Maxwell pout.

"Fine." Maxwell sticks out his hand. "Winner takes all of the money then--all fifty-thousand pounds. What do you say?"

"Deal." Drake shakes Maxwell’s hand, hearing a horse neigh in the distance. "And I know just the girl."

------

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh, c’mon, Brooke!" Drake paces the stall, pleading with the stablehand. "You don't even know what the favor is. At least let me tell you before you shut me down--"

"You have some pretty powerful friends, Walker. And you're resorting to me?” She raises a suspicious eyebrow. “For a favor?"

Drake exhales heavily, blowing his dark, chocolate waves out of his eyes. This is going to be harder than he originally thought. As Brooke tends to a horse, Drake grabs a step stool, unfolding it into a make-shift chair. He rests his elbows on his knees, hanging his head low. Maybe this was a sign: Brooke’s resistance to even hear his pitch. Should Drake be more resistant to Constantine’s deal? If Liam knew his dad made this deal with Drake and Maxwell, would he be angry? More humiliated?

After taking a few deep breaths, Drake looks back up at the awkward horse handler--and instantly shudders, questioning his own loyalty to the crowned-prince. Brooke dons an oversized pair of overalls, ridden with holes and dirt, haphazardly tucked into a pair of muddy rubber galoshes. Adding to her unkempt look, she wears an oversized flannel top with an unusually thick pair of glasses, fixed with a pair of kinesio tape on one of the corners. He knows she has blonde hair, but he’s unsure if hay or a strand of gold is sticking out from underneath her skull cap.

Could Drake do this? Like, could he really do this to his best friend?

But despite her exterior, Brooke is a decent girl. The Boggs family has been faithful stable attendants and crown supporters for over six generations. Brooke, along with her brothers Brody and Braxton, grew up on the palace grounds. They were well-aware of Leo and Liam, the royal guard’s daughter and son, and of course, the Beaumont brothers and Olivia, but they were distinctly separated by thick stoned-walls and societal propriety.

Brooke Boggs is the brain of the family, on the path to becoming a large animal veterinarian for the royal family. She always found animals to be more fascinating, more kind, more understanding than people, overall good judges of character.

But, still Drake wonders: if she was born into a different family with a different look, would she want this for her life? Surely not. If she only knew what the plan was, she would be thrilled; she would realize he was doing her a favor.

And honestly, what woman wouldn’t want this opportunity? To have a better chance at a fairy-tale life, a love story with the Prince Liam Rys? Shit, this would be the best thing that could possibly happen for this poor girl. And she can’t do it on her own.

“Look,” Drake clears his throat, “they will be announcing this later today. There’s going to be a ball next weekend.”

“A ball?” Brook freezes, curiously looking at Drake. “Should I notify the stable master? I’m sure there will be an influx of--”

Drake holds up his hands, dismissing her question. “No, no. This ball is for commoners, for all of Cordonia. For all the eligible ladies.”

Brooke treats the horse in front of her with an peppermint-flavored biscuit before petting it’s nose. She scrunches up her nose, turning towards Drake. “Why?”

“So, as you know, Liam didn’t choose a wife.”

“Right…”

“Well,” Drake combs his fingers through his long, shaggy tresses, resting the palm of his hand on the back of his neck. He takes a deep breath. “Apparently there’s a law that says that Liam has to choose a woman to be his bride. Since he didn’t choose a royal during his social season, it opens to all of Cordonia. And he has to choose someone that night to be his bride.”

Brooke leans against the stall wall, glaring at the broad-shouldered man in front of her. After a moment of silence, she blurts out a gut-busting laugh. “What kind of bullshit is that?” She falls back into heavy titters. “Oh-oh! Let me guess! Let me guess: his true love is going to lose her shoe at the ball, and then--and then--” Brooke stumbles back into her uncontrollable laughter, “--everyone in the kingdom has to try on the shoe!”

Drake awkwardly chuckles. “More or less.”

Brooke’s face drops. “You can’t be serious.”

“Listen, Brooke,” Drake chooses his words carefully. “If Liam doesn’t choose someone, he’s going to be thrown in jail--”

Brook blows a raspberry with her lips, petting the mare’s nose again. “Nobody can fall in love in a week--”

“Royals don’t exactly marry for love,” Drake pushes his fists into the pockets of his jeans as he steps towards her. “Listen, Maxwell and I were talking, and we really want to help Liam. He has such a big heart, and-and he really, really wants to find love.” Drake sighs, trying to believe his own words. “So, we thought you and Liam would be a perfect match.”

Brooke stuns, staring terrified at Drake, waiting for him to break out into laughter or tease with an 'I gotcha!' But, neither came. Finally looking down, she licks her lips trying to respond. “I--I don’t, I’m sorry--Prince Liam? And--and me?”

A coy smile curves onto Drake’s face. “Yeah, c’mon. Give yourself more credit, Brooke. You’re, um, nice. And you and Liam have known each other all of your lives--”

Brooke stoically grabs a metal bucket as she exits the stall, refusing to make eye-contact with Drake. He abruptly follows her, instinctively the stall door.

“Brooke--”

“Prince Liam’s eighteenth birthday," Brooke interjects. "I had to work late that evening, preparing for a coldfront” She sets down her pail, staring back at Drake. “As I was pulling blankets from the overhead storage in the rafters, I stumbled upon him and the Duchess of Lythikos having, um, having--” she bites her lip, her cheeks flushing before turning her head.

Drake crosses his arms, giving a knowing nod. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Brooke picks up the bucket again. “I’m not exactly Olivia Nevrakis.” She quickly attends to the next horse, closing the stall door behind her.

Drake chuckles to himself. “Thank God for that,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“No, it’s just-- I mean--” Drake takes a deep breath, “Not being Olivia Nevrakis is exactly what Liam is looking for--”

“I highly doubt I’m what he’s looking for,” she scoffs, “I mean, look at me.”

A saddened silence falls over the two. Drake suddenly can only picture his younger sister Savannah, and all the times she was picked on for her weight. Was he no different when it came to Brooke?

“I--I am looking at you--”

Brook sardonically chuckles. “Yeah, right.”

“No, I--I am. You’re not so bad,” Drake feigns a kind smile, “besides, Maxwell is the one that will give you the royal treatment with all that makeup and girly shit." They both chuckle, giving each other a grin. "But, seriously, you're a good person, Brooke. And, well, that’s what Liam is looking for, and--and you deserve a chance at his hand."

Brooke stops what she's doing, tucking her hands into her overalls. She looks out at the rising sun, enjoying the warmth on her cheeks. She considers Drake's offer, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the thought of being the next queen of Cordonia. Could this really be her life? Was she meant for royalty? Is Liam the love of her life?

"What do you say?" Drake offers his hand.

Unable to believe it herself, Brooke finds her hand in the grips of Drake's grasp, shaking firmly. "Okay," she anxiously smiles.

"Hey, Beaumont!" Drake calls out over his shoulder. Maxwell’s head pops out from around the corner of the stall. "Horse Girl is down with the plan!"

Brooke abruptly slaps Drake’s shoulder. "Gah, shut up!"

Drake smirks, quickly exiting the stall. "Make me!"

-------

The next evening after the stables were locked and secured, Drake met Brooke outside with his old black pickup truck, and together, it was off to Ramsford.

The drive itself is pleasant, driving through the countryside with the sun sinking slowly into the earth; the company, however, was awkwardly quiet. Brooke clings mindlessly to her seatbelt with one hand as her eyes absorb the greenery of the land.

Drake's mind is racing, and the stillness in the truck is deafening. Is this really happening? Could they actually pull this stunt off? He's nervous that his inability to relax is going to stir up suspicion, maybe even create more questions.

He glances over at Brooke a few times, hoping that he could break the silence, but he is at a loss for words. He doesn't really know anything about horse girl except that she is a girl that is obsessed with horses. He, along with Leo and Tariq, gave her the nickname years ago as a joke. At least it was to them.

Drake switches on his radio, hoping that music may liven up the ride. As he blips through the stations on the old FM, he stumbles on a familiar, haunting rift.

"Mmmm… Aerosmith," Brooke quietly whispers. Drake sees her brighten out of the corner of his eye, making him relax into the car ride. He begins to thump his fingers, nodding his head to the beat as he is pulled into the memories of listening to classic rock with his dad. But, before he gets too lost, he's stunned by the tiny voice coming from the other side of the seat.

"Sing with me. Sing for the year. Sing for the laughter, and sing for the tear." As her voice grows louder, she slowly turns to Drake, bobbing her head knowingly to the rhythm. He playfully scoffs, shaking his head. "Oh, c'mon, Walker!" She nudges into his arm, leaning towards him with an imaginary microphone. "Dream on, dream on, dream on, dream until your dream come true!"

She pretends to rock out with an air guitar to the climactic interval of the song. Drake turns his head away from her, stifling a chuckle before he returns his attention to driving. Oh, to be carefree and just let loose: when was the last time he did that?

Brooke continues. "Dream on. Dream on. Dream on--" she suddenly points her fingers at Drake. "Don't let me down now, Walker!"

Drake smirks at Brooke, raising an eyebrow. Shaking his head, he returns his eyes to the road. But, something in him ignites like a firework. He wasn't surrounded by royals. He wasn't surrounded by anyone that would judge him for cutting loose. And Brooke couldn't care less. Drake bites his lip before gripping the steering wheel, and suddenly in the most off-key falsetto, he belts out his best rendition of Steven Tyler.

"DREAM ON! DREAM ON! DREAM ON! AHHHH!"

Brooke squeals of laughter, cupping her hands instantly over her mouth. Drake playfully glares at her, but even his grumpy demeanor is no match for her joyful giggles. He falls into a husky laughter he can't hide, their titters melting into the road noise until they reach their destination.

--------

"Welcome to Ramsford!"

Drake and Brooke are warmly greeted by Maxwell. He quickly ushers them into the house, encouraging them to make themselves comfortable in the front parlor before making a hasty exit, leaving them alone.

As they curiously take sips from their previously prepared lemon seltzers, Drake jokingly holds a pinky up, causing Brooke to spit her drink back into the glass, creating even more bubbles with the turbulence. All of a sudden, the room door swings wide open. The space fills with several professionals in black aprons and white coats, each one eying the young stablehand. Brooke is suddenly overwhelmed by all the attention, her eyes darting nervously at the unwanted stares.

"Hey," Drake whispers for her attention. He scrunches his eyebrows, giving a curt nod. "You've got this. Remember: they're just here to help you look like a royal."

Brooke nods, closing her eyes to reassure herself. He's right; it's just a matter of painting the barn. And who knows? She might enjoy the change.

Maxwell bounds back into the room. "I see you have met your glam squad." He motions to them as if presenting a prize on a game show.

Brooke offers an appreciative grin. "Do you really think I need all of this help?"

"Sweetie," Maxwell looks her up and down, clenching his teeth into a fake smile. "I don't know who or what we're going to need at this point."

He claps his hands, rubbing them together eagerly. "Alright, people, let's get started."

Maxwell quickly turns back to Brooke, whispering conspiratorially with her. "Sweetness? How do we feel about no glasses?"

Brooke giggles, pulling off her broken frames. "Oh, I only wear these to work--"

"Um, pause, please." Maxwell presses his hand to his chest, with a horrified look on his face. "You mean, you have alternatives, and you choose, um, well, this?"

Brooke titters as a blush crawls onto her face. "Yes, I choose these broken glasses," she twirls them in her fingers. "Have you ever had a corneal abrasion?"

Maxwell clears his throat, holding his hand up to his mouth. "I don't think people like me can get something like that."

Brooke raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. "Um, I don't think, um, nevermind," she titters. "Sometimes particles from the chaff gets stuck between my eye and my contact lens, so I wear these--"

"Oh, honey," he gasps, "the sacrifice is real."

"So," Brooke swallows thickly, trying to change the subject. "What's first?"

"How about we start with the basics?" Maxwell grabs her hand, leading her to a large, opulent bathroom. "Ever heard of a shower?"

------

An abrupt slamming of the door jolts a sleeping Drake awake. Sprawled out with a leg propped up on the arm of the claw-foot chair, he rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. Grabbing his phone to check the time, the set of double doors to the parlor slowly open. Thank God. Surely they're done.

Drake stands up, stretching out his back before collecting his belongings. He tucks his wallet back into his back pocket before slipping on his chambray button-up. Sitting down again in the chair, he begins to put his shoes back on his feet; but, a small, familiar voice catches his attention.

"Walker? I think we're done for the night."

Drake continues to tie his shoes."They made impeccable timing," he chuckles, "I thought surely we'd be here until Wednesday pulling hay out from--"

Drake looks up. And is stunned. His eyes widen in shock before softening as he intently looks at Brooke. "--Your hair."

"Doesn't she look terrific?" Boasts Maxwell as he struts victoriously through the room. He faces Brooke, fluffing out her curls. "Who knew this was all underneath all that? I mean, she was in desperate need of some highlights, lowlights and a serious conditioning sesh, but," he giggles to himself. "Who knew? What do you think, Drake?"

Drake's eyes remain trained on Brooke, taking in her new look. If he was an honest man, he was absorbing her beauty.

"She's perfect for Liam!" continues Maxwell.

Drake cautiously steps towards Brooke. "You look-- you look--" he runs his fingers through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck as he searches for the right words to say. But, Maxwell’s words echo in his mind: she’s perfect. For Liam. "Wow, Maxwell," Drake finally shakes the stardust from his eyes, "she almost looks like a woman."

Brooke crosses her arms with a groan. "Shut up, Drake Walker," she mutters under her breath, as she stomps away to leave.

Hearing Brooke, Drake smirks at Maxwell, giving him an appreciative nod before heading towards the door.

"Make me."

------

The midnight ride home is uneventful, peacefully quiet. Brooke finds herself nodding off a few times, but the chill in the air keeps her body restless.

“I’m a good driver, ya’know?”

“Hrmm?” Brooke stifles a yawn. “What?”

Drake chuckles to himself. “I can’t help, but notice that you keep dozing off. You can go to sleep. I promise I’ll get us home in one piece.”

“Oh!” Brook giggles, “thank you. It’s not that at all,” she casually rubs her arms.

“Are you cold?” Drake reaches towards the dash to play with the temperature controls. “Let me turn on the heat--”

“Oh no, no. That’s not necessary,” she grins appreciatively.

Drake glances down at her clothes, taking notice of the oversized, mismatched garments. “What are you even wearing?”

She blushes, biting her lip. “These are Maxwell’s. A pair of gym shorts, and a Gucci button-down--”

“He let you touch his Gucci?” Drake’s eyebrows raise in astonishment.

“It’s from three seasons ago,” she waves her hand in the air to dismiss the comment.

“Oh!” Drake throws his hand in the air, mimicking Brooke’s gesture. “Then, it’s garbage!” he jokes, sending them both into a tizzy of chuckles. Drake flashes a look at Brooke as she pulls her knees up to her chest in the seat.

“I really don’t mind turning on--”

“No, no. It’s fine,” she looks at Drake giving him a kind smile. “Thank you, though.”

“Then--” Drake unbuckles his seatbelt, carefully pulling off his well-worn denim shirt, leaving on his white undershirt. “Here.” He tosses the shirt to Brooke. “Cover up.”

Brook slowly drapes the material across her curled up body, all the while giving Drake a suspicious glare.

“What?” a crooked smile cracks on his face. “I don’t need you telling people that I wouldn’t even give you the shirt off my back when you were cold. I mean, once your queen and all.”

Brooke smiles, biting her lip as she nuzzles against the seatbelt strap. She pulls Drake’s shirt up to drape across her upper arms, his warmth lingering to comfort her goosebumped-skin.

After a few minutes, Drake interrupts the stillness of the hypnotic road noise. “Are you ready for the heater yet?” he snickers, certain that his passenger was going to need more than the thin fabric of his shirt to warm up her body.

But, she didn’t answer.

“Brooke?” He glances over briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “Brooke?” he whispers forcefully. The corner of his mouth turns upward as he looks at her relaxed body, her head bobbing with the slight jeers of the truck. He had never noticed her high cheekbones and how they glow effortlessly in the moonlight. Her lips naturally curl into a smile, naturally blushing in color like a rose bloom in Spring.

Suddenly, Drake pulls back, focusing his concentration back onto the dark path before them. At first he furrows his brows, gripping the steering wheel hard as he chastises himself. Are you really checking her out? Fucking horse girl? Dude.The girl that's supposed to be for Liam? The girl that's worth fifty thousand fucking pounds right now?

He scoffs at himself, shaking his head, refusing to look back over at Brooke. Before long, he starts to chuckle to himself. Fucking Maxwell. He really can turn any chick into a queen. But, it's not real. She's not real, Drake. Liam won't fall for this shit. Neither should you. It's not real...

Is it?

------

The next evening went according to plan with Brooke being taught a fast-tracked etiquette class, in which Maxwell enlisted his older brother Bertrand for assistance. Lucky for them, Brooke grew up around royalty, and was well-versed on salutations and conversing among the elite. As Maxwell predicted, she demonstrated a wealth of Cordonian knowledge and history, some of which none of the men knew. And to everyone's surprise, Bertrand approved.

Tonight is a special surprise for Brooke. She knew she'd be practicing a make-up look with the crew of beauticians, but Maxwell had a few tricks up his sleeve.

"Do you know what it is?" She eagerly turns in her seatbelt towards Drake in his truck, smiling brightly.

"Boggs, I--" he looks into her deep blue ocean eyes as they playfully plead for her. Damnit. Focus. Drake's eyes dart back to the road. "--you know I can't tell you. It'll spoil the surprise."

"Is it dancing? Surely it's dancing--"

Drake scoffs, blowing a raspberry with his lips. "Dancing? You think that's a good surprise?"

"Well, of course, it is," she hugs herself, batting her eyelashes. "It's romantic. And--and magical. Every girl dreams of slow dancing with the man of their dreams. I figured maybe Maxwell would give me some pointers, is all." She dreamily exhales staring at the sunset.

"Romantic? Magical?" Drake snorts into a laugh. He glances at Brooke, raising his eyebrows in concern. "You're joking, right?"

"Hrmph," Brooke crosses her arms, turning up her nose. "Well, obviously you're not the man of someone's dreams." She bites the inside of her lips, trying to stop herself from laughing.

Drake glares at Brooke. "Shut-up, Boggs."

She giggles carelessly. "Make me."

As they pull up to the Beaumont's, Maxwell greets them in the driveway. He quickly opens the door, interlocking his arms with Brooke's arm, and tugging her inside

"I am so excited about tonight!" He chirps. Once inside the doors, he takes off her hat. He throws her blonde waves into a bun, and puts a shower cap on top. "But first--"

"I know, I know," she mutters. "Shower."

Brooke steps out of the bathroom in a plush white robe, directed by the staff when she was finished with her shower. Before she could open the door to the parlor where Liam's friends were, the staff blindfolded her. Maxwell then took her hand and guided her into the room.

"Ready for your surprise?"

Feeling her heart beat in her throat, Brooke eagerly nods yes.

Maxwell quickly unties her blindfold. "Open your eyes."

Brooke carefully opens one eye, allowing it to adjust to the bright lights of the room; but quickly she stands amazed, letting out a squeal as she timidly approaches her surprise.

Gowns. Racks and racks of colorful ball gowns. Long. Short. Fitted. Flounce. Strapless. Long sleeved. Glittering in the lights with crystals and sequins, were at least seventy different dresses from the royal boutique--of course, attended with their own security.

Brooke delicately touches the rich fabric of each dress as she stares in awe of the heavy detailing of the luxe beading.

"Oh my God, you guys," she bites her lip, randomly pulling out the skirt of an A-line black gown. "This is--" her breath hitches in her chest, "this is literally a fairy tale." She turns back to Maxwell, rushing him for a hug. Pulling away with a toothy grin, she can't help but notice a brightened-look on Drake's face. Taking a step towards him, she quickly wraps her arms around his waist. "Drake, it's perfect," she whispers.

Surprised by her gesture, Drake slowly places his hands on her back. Feeling her nuzzle into his chest sparks--something. Something deeper, something stronger than he was ever expecting. Especially from her.

Letting go, she runs back to the racks. "Where do I start?" She inquires, bouncing on her toes.

Maxwell and Brooke begin picking out gowns, holding them up to her body and noting what colors looked great with her skin tone. Brooke notices Drake disinterest as he scrolls through his phone.

"Pick me out a dress, Walker."

"Me?" He questions.

"Yes, you! You're part of this, too. Pick me out something Liam would love," she singsongs as she twirls in a circle.

"That's okay," he guffaws.

"Drake Walker!" She puts her fists on her hips, playfully staring hard into his chocolate eyes.

"Fine, fine," he raises his hands in surrender. "Here." He tosses a red gown at Maxwell.

"Aren't you going to at least look at it--?"

"A red gown?" Maxwell raises an eyebrow as he turns to Brooke. "No offense, honey, but this will more than likely end up in the 'no' pile--"

"That's okay," the corner of her mouth raises as her gaze meets Drake's again. "Maybe Walker sees something we don't."

For the next two hours, Maxwell slips dress after dress after dress onto Brooke's exhausted body. Too short. Too poofy. Too low. Too pink. Too exposing.

Before calling it a night, Brooke convinces Maxwell to let her try on one more gown. Throwing up his hands, he grabs a bottle of wine and joins a dozing Drake on a couch outside of the changing room.

"Let me guess," Drake smirks, "we don't have a dress."

Maxwell tosses back a glass of red wine in one gulp. "You have no flipping idea," he growls. "What woman rejects that much couture? She should be happy I'm not sending her in a saddle."

As Maxwell stumbles into chuckles, Drake finds himself becoming uncomfortable with the comment. Horse Girl. Was it ever really that funny?

A small voice calls from the doorway. "What do you guys think?"

Drake's jaw drops, a dimple growing quickly on his face. Maxwell shrieks in excitement, covering his mouth with his fingers.

Gracefully grabbing the skirt of the dress Brooke elegantly steps forward, modeling the scarlet halter gown. The cut was perfect, as if the gown was made for her. The A-line showed off her hourglass figure, accentuating her tiny waist compared to her well-rounded assets. She slowly twirls, showing off the deep plunge of the back. Hearing their gasps, she teasingly looks over her shoulder-- and winks.

"So," she faces the men again as she flounces out the full skirt, "what do you think?"

With tears in his eyes, Maxwell stands to hug her. "It's the one!" He squeals as they both stumble into squeals.

Brooke soon notices Drake's attention trained on her body. She sashays closer to him, dramatically swaying her hips. "What do you think--" she playfully drops her voice into a husky whisper, "--Mr. Walker?"

Drake licks his bottom lip before biting it. "Damn, Boggs--" he begins to comb his fingers through his hair as a flush spreads up his neck. "You look--you look--" he shakes his head at a loss for words.

Brooke coyly bows her head before matching Drake's gaze. She mouths the words 'thank you', stepping closer to him. Her eyes sparkle as he swallows thickly, a charming, welcoming grin growing large on his face--but Maxwell abruptly stops her, grabbing her elbow.

"Who’s ready to try on shoes?"

------

The car ride home is fairly quiet; however, there was an unmistakable sizzle in the air. A spark, a crackle of something between Drake and Brooke. An attraction? Chemistry? Whatever it was, they both could feel it.

Rounding the bend that exposes the lights to the city, Brooke realizes she only has about ten minutes before Drake drops her off at her car at the stables. But, she realizes she’s not ready for that; she’s not ready for the night to end. She’s not really ready to say ‘goodbye’.

“Walker?” she calls his name quietly, sincerely.

“Hrmmm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” he smirks.

Brooke playfully scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Smartass--”

Drake chuckles under his breath. “And you’re just now realizing this--?”

“Well, yeah. Up until now, you just looked like a dumbass.” Instantly they both fall into a frenzy of laughter: she covers her mouth while he pinches the bridge of his nose, unable to control a wide, toothy smile. As their tittering begins to quiet down, Drake and Brooke steal glances of each other--that is, until their gazes finally meet.

Suddenly realizing he’s veering into the other lane, Drake quickly tears away first, averting his eyes back to the road, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks redden. “So, yeah, uh you had, um--” he swallows thickly, “--a question?”

“Oh yeah!” She giggles to herself, pretending nothing special just happened between them. “Um, well… why are you still here?”

“What?” The question catches Drake off- guard. “You mean, like, in Cordonia?”

“Oh!” she covers her mouth with her hand, “ Is that rude--?

“No,” Drake shakes his head, “No, it’s a valid question.” He nervously laughs to himself, biding his time, “Sorry, I’m not used to other people asking me that.” He stares blankly ahead, his tone becoming more quiet, more serious. Drake starts by discussing his original plan for college, and his aspirations to join the justice system as a police officer.

“I always thought Batman was cool--”

“Seriously? Batman?” Brooke smiles at his juvenile, yet honest answer.

“Yeah,” a hush falls over the truck as Drake chews on a hangnail. “That is until I realized there is--there was no cooler hero than my dad.”

Even after parking next to her car, Drake continues reminiscing about his father, telling old camping stories and funny mishaps while fishing.

“He sounds like quite the guy,” she shares an endearing grin, listening intently.

Drake warms to the comment. “He was. You should’ve met him.”

“Drake?” She bites her lip before continuing. “I remember your father just fine.” Drake looks up at Brooke in complete shock before she continues. “I remember on Saturdays, he would bring--oh gosh, those things. With the fruit in them--”

“Kolaches.” He titters. “Yeah, he and my mom would bake several dozen every month to freeze. Now I know where they went,” he playfully glares at Brooke.

A quiet moment falls between them again as Drake anxiously cracks his knuckles. But before he realizes it, he begins to open up again about what brought him back to Cordonia: an assassination attempt on his best friend.

“I just remember after my father--you know,” Drake clears his throat, “I felt...I mean, I couldn’t imagine Liam--” he pauses for a second, coughing to clear his throat again. “I just needed to do what I did.” Drake falls quiet. He can feel those big blue eyes staring at him, glistening with tears, but he can’t bring himself to look at her.

“You’re a good friend, Drake Walker.” Brooke reaches out, patting his hand resting on the seat. “I think your dad would be very proud of you,” she whispers, causing Drake to look up at her, finding comfort in her beautiful smile.

Getting lost in her stormy gaze, he casually reaches up with his hand, pushing a few blonde locks behind her ear. Brooke’s breathing trembles as she gently leans into his touch. Her eyes flutter close as Drake begins to lean in towards her hungry lips--that is, until his elbow hits the truck’s horn. They both jump in their seats, stumbling into nervous chuckles before the air becomes awkwardly stagnant.

“Um, well,” Brooke clumsily reaches for her door handle, “Thanks again for the ride, Walker.” She slips out of the truck, grabbing her things. “Same time tomorrow?”

Drake stares at the steering wheel, slightly nodding his head.

“Oh--okay, then I’ll just--” she raises an eyebrow, hoping that he would say something comforting or funny. Anything to break up the weirdness. But, it never came. “Right. Um, I’ll see you then.”

Drake remains quiet, nonchalantly nodding.

She slams the door.

------

Drake had a rough time sleeping that night. He was consumed with all thoughts of her. The sound of her voice was like a melody he wanted on repeat. That laugh, that smile. Absolutely hypnotic. She was quick-witted and funny; she could keep up with his humor, never missing a beat. She made him see a brighter side to things in life. And not to mention: Brooke Boggs is stunningly gorgeous.

But it doesn't matter.

She is being primped and polished for Liam. For marriage. For love. And how could Liam not fall in love with her? She's absolutely...

Drake curses himself. She had always been kind to him over the years. All of the hellos, all of the smiles, all of the waves. And he made fun of her. He went out of his way to cut her down, to make her feel less than worthy of love.

And all he wants now is for more chances: more chances to see her, more chances to be with her, more chances to touch her and tell her she is absolutely…

But is he even worthy of her? Especially after this?

Drake knows what he has to do.

The next day, the day before the ball, Maxwell is busy hanging lights and arranging flowers for the highly anticipated event. Taking a quick break to change over his Lady Gaga playlist, he startles with the sudden metal clanging of the backdoor. But, quickly he’s relieved to see a good friend bounding across the room with purpose towards him.

"Drake!" Maxwell eagerly greets the commoner, climbing back onto a ladder. "Can you grab that purple ribbon while you're at it?"

"Listen, Beaumont," he sighs, passing Maxwell the spool of material. "We need to talk."

"Of course, buddy." Maxwell fluffy out the fabric, creating wavy regal patterns, marking off measurements with his ruler.

"Um," Drake guffaws, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I meant now."

Maxwell suddenly stops, curiously staring at his good friend. "Yeah! Of course!" He puts down his supplies. With a quick bounce, he grips his feet to the side rails and slides down the ladder, leaping off the final rung before facing Drake. He grabs a bottle of water and a hand towel to dab his face. "What's up, buttercup?"

"Listen," Drake sighs, scratching the stubble on his jaw, "the bet is off."

Maxwell spits out his water mid-swallow. Wiping his mouth with the back of his mouth, he begins to chuckle. "Oh, wow," he whistles through his teeth, "you scared there, Drakey? To lose all of that money?" Maxwell titters, wiggling his eyebrows. "I told you could turn any woman into the queen--"

"Maxwell--"

"-- but you didn't believe me--"

"Maxwell, listen to me--"

"-- put your money where your mouth is, Beaumont!" Maxwell mocks Drake, fumbling into a hearty laughter. "A deal's a deal, buddy--"

"I'm falling for her!"

Drake's words echo throughout the massive ballroom, casting an eerie silence over the two men. Maxwell freezes, his mouth slowly dropping open. Drake's cheeks heat with red as he stares shamefully at the floor.

"Drake. Just--” Maxwell slowly shakes his head. “Say it isn't so." Drake furrows his brows, casually glancing up at Maxwell before he turns his attention back to the marbled floor. "No--" Maxwell’s voice grows louder, more shocked, more shrilly. Drake shoves his hands into his pockets, casually kicking the air. "I mean," Maxwell's face drops in disgust, searching for the right words, "how--?"

"--I know, I know!" Drake covers his face, quickly brushing his fingers through his waves, "but Max she's so--" he grunts, smiling brightly, "and--and she's so," he bites his lip while growling. "She's so--so--"

"Okay, Romeo," chuckles Maxwell, crossing his arms. "But we still have one little problem.”

“Is it something I can help with?”

That familiar tender voice that the men had become accustomed to over the past few days calls from the corner of the room. Drake and Maxwell abruptly spin around, watching Brooke jog into the room.

“Hey, guys--” she catches her breath, putting her hands on her hips. The guys look at each other before turning their attention to her, offering her a suspicious smile. “What? Were you two talking about me or what?” She chuckles, playfully slapping Drake on the shoulder. “I had no idea you were going to be here Drake,” she shyly tucks loose strands of hair behind her ear. “They’re doing work on one of the main pipelines in the stables, so I thought I’d stop by and say, ‘hi’ to Maxwell when I came up here for a break.” She jogs on ahead towards the bathroom, but then suddenly stops, skeptically turning on her toe, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” the men say simultaneously.

Clenching her teeth in a forced smile, she looks curiously between them. “Okay, well then… I guess I’ll be going?”

“Yes,” again, the guys respond in unison, feigning friendly grins.

“Oh wait!” Maxwell hands a large paper shopping bag with a box wrapped up inside to Brooke. “Here. I got you the perfect shoes for that dress.” Brooke excitedly bites her bottom lip, peaking into the box. “Try them on. We’re going to be practicing in them tonight.” Maxwell’s eyes light up as Drake glares at him.

“Sounds good.” She runs on ahead of them. “See you tonight!”

As soon as the door clicks shut, Drake exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He bends over, resting his hands on his knees as he hangs his head. Maxwell empathetically rubs his good friend’s back. “Fuck, Maxwell, what am I going to do?”

“There you two are!”

Drake and Maxwell look up and see a refreshed Liam striding happily into the opulent room along with a young, gorgeous golden-strawberry blonde attached to his arm.

“Have you seen my father?” He looks around the room. “I asked him to meet me here--” Liam handsomely gazes at the beautiful woman next to him. “--to meet us here.” He laces their hands together as he gracefully brings her knuckles to his lips.

Drake steps forward, his arms hugging his chest tightly. “Who--who--who do we have here?” He stutters, smiling cheekily.

“This is Nitah,” Liam’s attention is trained intimately into the golden flecks of her eyes as she lovingly smiles at the young crowned-prince.

“And?” Maxwell motions with his hand, a goofy grin growing across his face.

“And,” Liam beams brightly, tenderly wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders, “she just agreed to be my wife.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” King Constantine struts into the grand ballroom with his arms outstretched, approaching his youngest son with approval in his eyes. "Have you chosen a suitor?"

Proudly introducing his future bride, everyone learns that she owns a bakery in Valtoria, a bakery that, Liam boasts, has the best baklava this side of the Greek Isles. They had been secretly spending time together since before the social season, but Liam was concerned about his father's reaction for wanting to be with someone not of royal blood. After careful consideration and discovering the deception of Riley Brooks, Liam’s decision suddenly became easy. He only had one choice--not because she was all that was left. Liam quickly realized that she had always been his one and only choice.

"Well, then," rejoices the old man, "we have much to discuss! Tomorrow's ball will now be an engagement party in your honor! Come--" he motions to the happy couple, "let me call Regina and we will discuss all the details."

Liam waves a hand at his friends. "We'll catch up later, guys--"

"Wonderful meeting you both," Nitah kindly waves as Liam takes her hand, guiding her to his father's study.

"You two." Drake and Maxwell startle with the king's thunderous growl. They both swallow thickly as he pulls them to the side, ensuring Liam was out of earshot. "Excellent work, men. She's lovely." He shakes their hands, nodding in approval. "Oh, and our deal? We will settle with the money later."

Drake and Maxwell watch everyone saunter down the hallway, away from the ballroom engrossed in their own conversations. Pulling themselves back in, Maxwell carefully closes the door before the men give each other a high five. Abruptly cheering loudly, they pull each other into a brotherly hug, clapping each other on the back

"I can't believe it--"

"Shit, neither can I!" Drake rests his palm against his forehead, a crooked grin crawling across his face "Did that just happen?"

"Hey, and now, you can get the girl," winks Maxwell, causing Drake to blush uncontrollably. "Not to mention, we're rich!"

Drake shakes his head in disbelief. "Fuck. Let's never mention this fucking makeover bet again--"

"What makeover bet?"

The sound of her small voice shocks them into standing still in their places. Drake painfully clenches his eyes closed as Maxwell turns to face Brooke.

"Hey!" greets Maxwell, pretending to be excited to see her presence. "You're early," he jokes.

But, Brooke's face is fixed, molded somewhere between disbelief, anger and sadness. She crosses her arms, popping a hip out as she glares at the two men she had been trusting all week.

"I'll ask you again: what makeover bet?" She tries to sound tough, but her voice begins to crack as pools of tears gather in her eyes. Drake and Maxwell remain silent, casting guilty stares amongst each other. She finally sighs heavily. "Really?" She takes a step closer towards Drake, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Walker?"

"Boggs, listen, um--" Drake stares at the ground, tucking his hands into his jeans. "--It's not what you think--"

"--then help me understand. Now."

"Look," Drake takes a deep breath, "Constantine asked us to make sure Liam chose a wife at this ball tomorrow night. And he offered us money to do so--"

"That's right," interjects Maxwell, "then Drake and I got to joking about my abilities to makeover women, and we made a silly bet between ourselves--"

"--between friends," smirks Drake.

"Exactly!" Finalizes Maxwell. "Just as a joke between us friends."

Brooke stares across the room at the halfway applied decorations for the ball. Even just an hour ago, she was dreaming of how spectacular the night was going to be. Truth is she had never felt so important before, so beautiful before in her entire life. For once, she was excited to be noticed, to feel special.

And somehow deep down, she knew it was too good to be true.

Brooke clears her throat, stifling a sob. "A joke between friends," she softly repeats, soaking in the words carefully. "So Maxwell brags about making anyone beautiful--" her eyes sting as she glares at Drake, "you had to pick out someone really in need of a makeover. Someone you thought was--" Tears begin to cascade down her cheeks. "--ugly," she chokes out a whisper. "But it's just a joke between friends--"

"Brooke, listen--"

"I've heard enough, Walker," she scolds, taking out one of the crystal shoes, and hurling it towards him in anger.

"Oh honey, not the Choo!" Maxwell panics.

Brooke scoffs, turning her attention to Maxwell. "By the way, here." She digs in the shopping bag, pulling out a pair of keys. "Thought you might need these." She tosses them to Maxwell before stomping towards the exit.

"Wait, Brooke--" Drake chases behind her. He follows her out the side door and down a collection of stairs, hitting the dirt trail to the stables. "Seriously, Brooke--" he calls out to her, but she continues to storm away. Fuck it. "Horse girl!"

Brooke snaps around, pushing Drake away from her. "How dare you!" She hisses. "You played with my emotions--"

"Brooke, please--"

"You--you made me believe that I could marry a prince," she sarcastically giggles at herself as she sobs uncontrollably, "--like some stupid fairy tale--"

Drake cautiously draws closer to her, wanting nothing more than just to hug her. "Please. Just listen to me--"

"--and then last night," Brooke sniffles, "--last night, for just a split moment," she looks away, wiping tears from her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "--I realized I didn't want to compete for the prince's hand anymore." Blurrily, she gazes up at Drake. "I wanted--" her bottom lip trembles, "I wanted--" she shakes her head, walking back towards the stables.

"Tell me--" Drake catches her, grabbing her shoulders. "Please tell me."

Brooke shrugs off his hands. "It doesn't matter. Batman doesn't exist, Drake Walker."

------

Nine voicemails and twenty-two unanswered text messages later, Drake quietly stares at the bottom of another empty glass. He, along with the Beaumont brothers, Leo and Rashad got together at the beer garden to celebrate with Liam privately with drinks and cigars of his recent engagement. As Maxwell leads the men and the other patrons in a drunken rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody, a cold stout is placed in front of Drake.

"Hey, Li," Drake murmurs as his best friend sits across from him. Drake takes a swig of the dark beer, wiping the froth from his beard, his downcast eyes fixed on the rusted nails of the wooden picnic table. Liam reaches into his sports coat, pulling out a flask. Looking over his shoulder, he passes it to his best friend.

"Alright," Liam finishes a large swallow, setting down his glass with a clank. He folds his hands, his eyes piercing Drake with concern. "What happened?"

Drake takes a long pull from the flask. "What makes you think something happened?"

Liam chuckles. "Because you're mixing your beer with liquor, and you don't care." Both men fall into titters as Drake draws random shapes in the water droplets on his glass. "C'mon,” Liam knocks on the table, “tell me."

"I fucked things up, Li." Drake takes a sip of his beer before he continues. "You know me, I don't live with many regrets, but this?" Drake shakes his head, picking at his cuticles. "I'm really going to pay for this. Fuck it, I already am."

A silence falls over the best friends, both considering Drake's words. Liam finishes his lager before clearing his throat. "The night before we left for New York, I called things off with Nitah. She called; she texted." Liam smirks, shaking his head. "She even wrote me letters. And yet, I treated her the way I thought I was supposed to." Drake finally looks up at his dear friend. "I fucked up, too, Drake. But--" Liam chuckles, scratching his stubbled chin, ''I went straight to Valtoria Sunday evening, and well? I'm an engaged man." His baby blues fix on Drake's deep chocolate browns. "Drake, listen: it's never too late to make it right."

Drake slowly nods, a grin growing across his face. "Thanks, Li--hey! How did you know it was about a girl?"

"You're my brother," Liam playfully scoffs before he wiggles his brows. "I know. But, here’s what I don’t know: who is the lucky lady?" Drake bows his head, a flush igniting his cheeks. "Oh come on--" pleads Liam.

"You're, uh, you're not gonna believe it," Drake rubs his eyes, feeling embarrassed.

"Try me." Liam leans back, crossing his arms.

"Do you remember horse girl?" Drake whispers.

Liam furrows his eyebrows, tapping fingers against his lips. "Horse girl? Oh, wait--" Liam's face melts into a kind smile. "You mean Brooke? Really?"

"Ugh, I know--

"No. No, Brooke Boggs?" Drake sits up in shock with Liam's pleasant reaction to her name. "Drake, she is a lovely girl.” Liam leans over, stealing his flask back. “She's definitely worth the fight."

------

Friday night. The night of the highly-publicized ball. It’s the night she had been preparing for all week, the night where she was supposed to meet her happily ever after. And yet, Brooke is turned in for the evening in her studio apartment connected to her parent’s land. She relaxes in a pair of gray sweats, the waistband rolled down with a well-worn Cordonia University cropped shirt. Her blonde curls are piled in a messy bun on her head, while donning a perfectly intact pair of glasses that flatter her face. As she lets another late-90s romantic-comedy play on the television, she opens up a textbook to study. However, she is quickly interrupted with a knock on the door.

“Hey, Papá.”

“Polýtima,” he steps inside the door, embracing his precious daughter tightly. “Why aren’t you at your dance?”

Brooke jovially scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Ball, Poppa, it was a ball, but--” she innocently shrugs her shoulders, “--Prince Liam found a wife,” she titters.

“Well, that doesn’t mean you won’t find the one--”

“Oh, Papá” she playfully clamps her hands over her ears. “No, no! Talaiporía,” she jokes, claiming that such talk brings too much trouble.

He gingerly takes her face in his hands. “Someday, polýtima. But for now, Mamá will make it better.” He eagerly holds out a covered dish with her famous hearty soup, claimed to heal all ailments, even broken hearts.

“Thanks, Papá,” Brooke throws her arms around her father’s neck, kissing him on his cheeks. “This is perfect.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come up to the house, spend the evening with us?”

Brooke grins cordially at the aging man. “I need to study, Papá, but I promise I’ll stop by tomorrow--oh! Here. Before you go--” Brooke grabs a stack of old, washed dishes to send back with her father. “I can cook, you know?”

Her father smiles, gingerly inching her cheek. “It’s how she loves others,” he smiles proudly. “Always let others love you the way they know how.”

“I will,” Brooke smiles, giving her father one last kiss. “See you tomorrow.” As she guides him at the door, she waves goodbye before locking the door.

With a sigh, Brooke relaxes onto her couch, pulling her study materials and remote controller back onto her lap. She props up her feet when suddenly, there’s another knock on the door. She chuckles to herself, removing everything once again so she can stand up.

She begins to unlock the door.

“Did I forget something?”

She swings open the door, but to her shock, she reveals a suit-adorned Drake Walker.

“Yeah, you did--” he chuckles, presenting the sparkly crystal Jimmy Choo shoe. “I didn’t make it to everyone in the kingdom to try it on,” he massages the back of his neck, “--I’m hoping it’ll find true love here.”

Brooke scoffs, her mouth falling open as she curiously takes the heel from him.

“Wow,” he exhales, the corner of his mouth curling as he peers back into her dancing blue eyes. “Brooke, you’re so-- you’re so--

She crosses her arms, furrowing her eyebrows as she cocks her hip to the side. “What, Walker? What do you want?” She angrily growls at him.

With certainty, Drake closes the space between their bodies, taking her petite frame in his arms. He tenderly cradles her head with his hands, his fingers curling affectionately around her ear, pushing her careless strands away from her face.

“You, Brooke,” he nods, nervously nibbling on his bottom lip, “I want you. And I’m ready to tell you that everyday,” he gently strokes her soft skin with his thumb, “until you forgive me. And then hopefully, everyday after that.”

Brooke’s eyes glisten, staring into Drake’s intense gaze before they flutter close. She reaches towards her face, placing her palm on top of Drake’s hand. Not wanting to waste another moment, Drake presses his lips hungrily into Brooke’s supple pout.

Brooke pushes back first as the both gasp for air. “Whoa--” she whispers.

Drake nods his head, resting it on Brooke’s forehead. “I know.”

“That was so--so--”

“Incredible.” Drake kisses her once more, smiling against her mouth before pulling away. “You, Brooke Boggs, are incredible.”

Brooke snickers, draping her arms around Drake’s neck, pulling his lips closer to hers.

“Shut up, Drake Walker,” she teases.

“Make me,” he whispers, finally pressing his hungry lips back into hers.

------

Tags: @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @foreverethereal123 @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @iaminlovewithtrr @khoicesbyk @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09

#happy birthday kat-tia801 #the royal romance #drake walker #drake walker x oc #the royal romance AU #birthday fic #liam rys #maxwell beaumont #trr x cinderella #trr x she's all that

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