Redeemed Royal (Duke of Tudor #3) Read Online Amarie Avant

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Series: Duke of Tudor Series by Amarie Avant
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Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
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Our closest family.

Uncle Red settles at my side and asks, “You speak with Jonah?”

Throat drawing shut, I struggle to croak, “Yeah.”

“If he arrives, I’ll mind my p’s and q’s. Nah, I’ll bow out, Luxxie. I was here last year for the blooming ceremony. Your old man and I can trade off. I’ll just catch a taxi back to the city the second he arri—”

“Uncle Red, I will fight you.” I fork a hand through my reddish-brown kinks and mutter, “There are so many rooms. Everyone will stay. And you will always have a room here.”

He nods appreciatively.

Although Uncle Red’s silent, his presence is like burrowing into Dad’s favorite knit sweater in the wintertime as a child. His presence is peace. I murmur, “Whenever we speak, Jonah’s angry that I told you what happened to Momma first. Always says that Momma was his wife.”

“Well, we can’t turn back time.”

I place my hand over Uncle Red’s, glad that we overcame the despicable truth of Eugene’s actions. Of how neither of us was there to protect her.

My shoulder softly nudges his. “Uncle Red, I wouldn’t take it back.”

“I wouldn’t take back a second either. I watched you grow up, Luxxie. I fell hard for your momma.”

Footsteps proceed the sound of our butler’s voice. “Pardon me, Mrs. Tudor. Your special guest has arrived.”

Hope clings to my skin as I turn around. On second thought, a dose of doubt settles in, so I ask, “The Queen or Princess Mary?”

“No, ma’am. The Queen is relishing her second cup of tea, and Princess Mary assists Victoria with tickling Mr. Tudor.”

“Oh.” I chuckle softly. Then who?

“Your father, ma’am. Mr. Tudor advised that I should bring Dr. Whitson straight away.” While the butler has stalled just inside of the French doors, his gander flits to the left for emphasis. A second later, my dad, in his signature brown corduroys and checkered shirt, approaches the balcony entrance.

Uncle Red dips his head in greeting.

Dad returns a cool tip of his chin.

“Um,” Uncle Red addresses the butler, “I’m not quite versed on such a lavish mansion.”

“I’ll lead the way,” says our stately butler.

My eyes haven’t left my father’s freckled face. The shorter man doesn’t move an inch while his enemy passes by. Seconds later, he starts toward me.

“Dad,” I say softly. As my father’s embrace envelops me, all of our differences fade away. The girl who drew closer to her father after enduring her mother's death reemerges.

Choked up, I strain out, “I didn’t think you’d . . .”

The hug tightens a notch, and my dad’s voice emotively constricts. “I’ve missed valuable time with you, Luxury. Take pity on this old man, and introduce me to the little girl bossing everyone around downstairs.” A solemn kiss falls onto my cheek as Dad adds, “If it’s not too much, I’d appreciate a reintroduction to the man who claimed your hand in marriage.”

EPILOGUE

Victor

If someone told me that in five years, I’d trade in a 9mm for a tiara, I’d be inclined to give them a swift kick up the old backside. Real men don’t wear tiaras. Nor flowers. And here I am, the bloody double whammy.

A tiara.

Created from sunflowers.

My father would call me a sissy.

Well, bullocks, no argument there. I’m taking orders from someone less than half my height. A four-year-old, no less.

I crouch down, the bushel of sunflowers in my hair tilts, and Victoria huffs, sliding the fallen crown back into place.

My child wags a finger at me. “If your tiara falls off and I have to create another one, it will be bigger. Bigger and better. Do you understand, Daddy?”

Try me. Eh. Too bold, Vic. This kid came straight from your loins. Victoria will bloody try you.

“I do,” I mutter.

My mother bends perfectly at the knee so the sunflower crown atop her head doesn’t tilt. “Take heed, Victor. This is how it’s done.”

My daughter smiles. “Thank you, Grandmummy Mary. Now, Daddy, what else was on my list?”

“Your list,” I undertone with a huff.

Our Queen of the Night blossomed for the first time just last year. Too young to recall, Victoria had set in motion specific requirements for tonight’s ceremony. Like constructing a throne, which now has touches of orchids and other Victoria-approved flowers laced around it.

As we take a final walk-through, the sun has fallen over the horizon, and I continue to glance toward the house.

How did Luxury receive her father?

On the chance that Jonah came, I ordered the butler to escort him straight to her. I stopped myself from warning the bloody bloke to assess Jonah Whitson’s demeanor. Burt always comprehended what was required of him scores of years ago. I’m trying to have faith in this new one. However, five years later, I’m still offering the old chap a ludicrous compensation package to return to us. He continues to decline my offer.



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