Only Love with a Billionaire

She’s a princess. He’s a spy. Is their love strong enough to withstand the challenges of their separate worlds?

Princess Ava will lose her title unless she marries a suitor of noble birth. She’s always been a bit of a rebel, but if she doesn’t fulfill her duty, she’ll also lose her family and home. Not only that, but after giving her heart to her true love and plotting to run away with him, he disappeared. She can’t imagine loving again.

After nearly a decade, Henry Park finally returns to the palace when he learns his father, the master baker, is ill. His last request is for his son to marry his true love. Too bad she’s a princess and he’s a commoner. Henry left the royal life and any hope he had for their future behind when he made a decision that split them apart.

After a surprise reunion, they can’t deny the feelings they still have for each other. For one weekend, they escape the palace bubble, seeking a second chance. Ava must make the decision to accept her royal role or turn her back on the monarchy and indulge the forbidden romance. However, if Henry can uncover answers to secrets from the past, they may have a shot at a future together.

Time is against them along with a distant relation, vying for the crown, and it’s up to the unlikely couple to fight for their relationship or say goodbye forever.

This is book 5 in the Only Us Billionaire Romance series. Each book stands alone but reading them in order provides a deeper, richer experience.

Chapter 1: Ava

Princess Ava of Concordia had it all. A noble title. She co-owned a castle in Concordia, and took residence in Burklingham Palace in London. She had access to a life of prestige and adventure, delight and ease. Not to mention, her wardrobe was fabulous.
However, there was one thing missing, or rather person, she never expected ever to see again. He’d disappeared or rather deserted her, and she’d never forgiven him.

Rarely did a day pass when some reminder of their childhood and teen years spent together didn’t bring up a mixed bag of emotions: nostalgia, loneliness, sadness, and worry on one end of the spectrum and frustration, disappointment, and anger—as red as Ava’s hair—on the other.

She stuffed those feelings away, hid them deep down (or on the shelf behind her purses and handbags with labels like Louis Vuitton, Prada, and Gucci). Most days, and that one in particular, along with her Armani dress, she put on a smile and marched into the drawing room with her chin lifted and her shoulders squared.

When she met her brother, Oliver, who was recently crowned the King of Concordia, and Beatriz the Queen of England, her expression shifted to something between wariness and interest— eyes narrowed and eyebrow arched.

They spoke in hushed tones until Livingston, the butler, announced Ava’s arrival. She sensed they wanted her to do something—very rarely did they enjoy cups of tea with no strings attached.

Would they want her to attend a charity event? Participate in a boring meeting with other nobles, or gently remind her that she wasn’t married? Not that she was above those duties; she valued her role as a princess and was grateful for her position and influence—at least, that’s what she told herself. Like the big thing—person—missing from her life, she stuffed her true feelings away. However, those she hid among her sizable shoe collection —instead of with the purses.

Oliver and the queen straightened, exchanged a quick glance, and turned to Ava. Actually, her brother didn’t put the pressure on her in the marriage department. It was her guardian, the queen, who seemed to want to marry her off.

By commoner standards, Ava was far too old to have a guardian, but when her parents had tragically died when she was too young to remember, they put her into Queen Beatriz’s care. For that reason, many people thought she was British Royalty. After all, she’d grown up in the London palace and for all intents and purposes appeared to be a member of the local gentry. However, her parents were the previous King and Queen of the small but extremely wealthy northern nation of Concordia, where her brother and Penny recently replaced her parents’ role after many years of mourning as per custom.

Oliver had to marry to take the position and had endured a process of courtship with various royals-in-waiting. Although Ava was a princess in title only, she was relieved she wasn’t forced into any such union.

Livingston, the long-standing—and at least when Ava was younger, long-suffering—head butler, poured her tea. When she adjusted her napkin, he nearly flinched as though preparing for a blow of some sort. Of course, Ava had never punched him, but he’d endured more than a few pranks at her hands. It wasn’t that she alone was naughty growing up. She and her best friend aka her accomplice were naughty together. On their own, they were perfectly well-behaved children. Put them in the same room and they were a pair of menaces. But it was all in good fun and rarely involved anything that could’ve been dangerous—except that one time with the olive oil and bag of marbles.

The extent of the pranks aimed at poor Livingston must’ve resulted in a post-traumatic disorder. Ava made a mental note to do something kind to make it up to him. After all, it had been a decade since she and her partner in crime had taped a toilet seat shut, replaced his shaving cream with toothpaste, or swapped out his fiber pills.

Ava hadn’t changed entirely. She still longed to travel the world (and had made a few solo trips, flying under the royal radar).

She was well-known for laughter (though, in those days it was rarely at anyone else’s expense).

She was fiercely loyal (and was thankful for the people who’d become her family after her parents passed).

She had a whip-smart tongue and didn’t take any nonsense (it was a second-child thing).

“Good morning, Oliver. Your Majesty.” Ava nodded and smiled. Also, being the second child, she refused to indulge her brother with any formal forms of address. Sure, he was her king, but he had also been afraid of monsters under the bed when they were growing up (she may have instigated that a bit), had caught him picking his nose more than once, and they were as close as siblings could be—best friends, in fact. Had she been queen, she wouldn’t have expected him to refer to her by anything other than her name or one of his numerous nicknames for her: Avie, Avey-wavey, Tater Tot, and the list went on.

The queen sipped her tea.

Ava’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She’d spent much of her life in the queen’s company and had taken to reading her mood based on her greeting the way fortunetellers read tea leaves.

A simple good morning meant the opposite. An inquiry into how Ava was doing indicated that it was indeed a good morning, and the queen was burden-free and could chat.

Silence meant something was afoot.