Page 2 of All the Drama from New York

Holding the sketchbook carefully to her chest, she admonished François. “You are not the decider of my fate. These sketches are my future. If you can’t support me, or won’t, then you leave me with no other option.”

A momentary look of doubt crossed her father’s face. It was there and gone in an instant. “If you dare to take that book and leave this room. I will cut you off. There will not be a single euro more coming to you.” He gave a dramatic sweep of his hand.

As if that’s going to stop me.

Camille held back a bitter laugh. She’d been expecting this. Her father was nothing if not predictable. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her wallet.

In one smooth move, she’d slid herCartes Bancairecredit card out of its holder, and flung it at him. The plastic card spun through the air, before landing at François’ feet. Camille savored the slapping sound it made as it hit the polished wooden floor.

“It’s all yours,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Where will you go? What will you do for money?” he demanded.

With a flick of her long blonde hair, Camille turned and headed for the door. “I’m leaving. If I’m not allowed to make my dreams become a reality here, then I’ll bring them to life in New York. And as for money, that is no longer your concern Papa.”

“You will be an outcast. A disgrace to the family Royal,” he bellowed. Her father’s threats followed her all the way down the winding stair case.

“Don’t you dare walk away! Camille get back here this instant!”

She kept walking, right out the front door.

CHAPTER ONE

A New York City Apartment

Later that night

After developing an instant taste for Californian Chardonnay, Camille poured herself a second, more generous glass. The wine was the perfect antidote to her looming jet lag. Despite her father’s threats, she had kept walking. Then she’d got on a plane and flown to London where her cousin Bryce Royal currently lived.

Bryce had given her exactly five minutes to rant and rave about her father, after which they’d taken one of the Royal Resorts private jets and flown to New York City.

All these long hours later, seated on the floor of Bryce’s elegant Manhattan apartment, Camille was doing her best to drink herself into a state of comfortable numbness. Anything to silence her father’s words which still rang loudly in her head.

You are a disgrace to the Royal family name.

She knew it wasn’t true. But parental disapproval had always bit deep.

Bryce was in the kitchen, talking to someone on his phone. The terse tone of the conversation betrayed that whoever was on the other end of the line hadn’t called her cousin for a friendly chat.

“Ok, yes. I understand. Tell my father I will handle it. But this is family, and we don’t say no. Thanks Janice, I shall talk to you soon,” Bryce ground out.

He stepped back into the main living area and tossed his cell phone onto the nearby couch. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, along with a muttered, “Fuck”.

The instant she met Bryce’s gaze, Camille steeled herself for his next words.

“That was my father’s executive assistant, Janice. Dad’s at the Royal Resorts hotel in Houston, but he got wind that you and I are here. Apparently, your father is calling everyone in the family trying to track you down.”

Leaving London, Camille had put her cell on to airplane mode. She hadn’t turned it back to live, since she’d landed in New York. Her greatest concern was that the second she did, her phone would blow up with a thousand messages, all asking where she was, and for her to rethink her insane decision to leave France.

No. I’ve cut the ties, and now I have to go through with it.

Camille’s heart sank. She had always wondered what the senior members of the international Royal family would do if she struck out on her own. Would they close ranks against her? Make her come to heel?

If her father demanded it of him, Edward Royal, the CEO of Royal Resorts USA, and Bryce’s father, would have little option other than to bundle Camille onboard one of the Royal Resorts private jets and send her home to Paris. Anything to avoid an ugly schism in the family.

“What did your father say?” she asked.

They may as well get this over and done with, then everyone would know she wasn’t going to capitulate. She wasn’t going home. If there was one member of the family who could match François Royal for sheer stubborn strength of will, it was Camille.

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