Royal Surrogate: Royal Surrogate, #1

By Renna Peak and Ember Casey

A tortured playboy. His librarian surrogate. A slow-burn romance that will leave you breathless.

 

When librarian Renae Foster meets Lord Caspar, heir to the title of Wintervale, the connection between them is instantly electric. But while charismatic Caspar sets Renae's heart on fire, she soon realizes his intentions aren't romantic. Amid desperate circumstances, Renae reluctantly agrees to his shocking proposition—to act as his surrogate. As their staged relationship becomes headline news, Renae is swept away into a life of glamour and wealth. But no amount of luxury can erase the stipulations of their strictly business arrangement... or the growing desire that threatens to complicate everything.

 

A steamy, tortured romance full of secrets, sacrifice, glitz, and yearning, Royal Surrogate is the first of three books and the latest in the Royal Heartbreakers series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Casey Peak Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Mar 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224519514

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Caspar

This is the second time I’ve been to Seattle in my life. The first was to attend a rather ridiculous party at the home of some new-money tech mogul whose name escapes me now. This time, it is for something much more important.

I take a bite of my fried fish as I gaze out the window overlooking the water. There’s something exquisite about the flavor of freshly cooked fish, though my surroundings are far from exquisite.

My brother recommended this place—best fried fish in the world, he said. Perhaps he’s right, but it’s difficult to enjoy it given the shoddy table I’m sitting at, not to mention what’s just happened.

I’m not usually one for a pity party. I’m heir to my father’s title—Guardian of Wintervale. It may not seem like much—after all, my cousins are princes of Montovia. But the title is mine by birthright, and I’m more than happy to take it when the time comes. Montovia might be a tiny country landlocked in the middle of Europe, but the small piece of it known as Wintervale will be mine.

But there are things that have been gnawing at me for some time. Sadly, it is only by the grace of my cousins that I even have Wintervale to my name. While this has always been a difficult pill for me to swallow, I know there is little I can do to change it.

And now both of my younger brothers have children. When Benedict’s daughter was born, I was unfazed. The small thing vomited more than she slept and cried more than she laughed. I couldn’t understand why anyone would want such a monstrosity in their life.

Then my brother Xavier discovered he had a young son. I’m not exactly certain what it was about the boy, but my thinking about children changed with that revelation, and I couldn’t help wanting a son of my own.

Certain other events may have affected me as well, but I’m hardly one to think of such matters.

I take another bite of my fish, staring out over the water. It’s unlike me to be so obsessed by anything. Even when it’s come to women, I’ve never been taken with a single one. There are beautiful women everywhere, and it’s always seemed to me that I was meant to experience as much of that beauty as humanly possible.

But having a son of my own… It’s taken over my every thought. It’s why I’ve come to Seattle. I was told the best legal firm for handling surrogacy was here, and their services didn’t disappoint. I spent the last several hours perusing their hundreds of files—women willing to bear a child for a price.

None of them were right, though. Even when I found one I thought might suffice, her file clearly stated that she wanted partial custody of the child.

That would never work for me. My surrogate will have to play a certain role in my life, at least for a time. I can’t merely produce a son without a mother—the speculation from the press would be outrageous, and I can’t be hiding in Montovia to protect myself from it.

No, I have a very specific idea of what I want. Need. My surrogate will have to be beautiful, of course. Highly educated and brilliant. Able to carry on an intelligent conversation—after all, she’ll need to play the part of my partner, at least until my son is born. And then she’ll need to quietly slip away, preferably somewhere no one will be able to find her, at least until the press forgets she ever existed in the first place.

My guess would be about a year. I’ll pay her, of course, the sum of her choosing. I find there really isn’t a price tag that can be attached to having a son of my own.

And that’s just it—he needs to be mine. I want her to have no claim to him whatsoever, and she’ll need to agree to that upfront. It’s hardly fair that a man can’t have a child of his own without having it grow for three-quarters of a year inside a woman.

I’m just not certain why this has been so difficult. The attorney at the law firm told me I was being unrealistic. That the child would certainly want to know who its mother was at some point. He clearly doesn’t understand anything, but he was certainly willing to take my money. We’ll just have to wait for the right one to come along, he’d said. It could be a month, or a year, or even longer.

I want a son now. I understand it will take some time for him to grow inside some woman’s womb, but I don’t want to wait any longer. I’ve even considered trying to woo some unsuspecting woman, and I’m sure I’d be able to, but the complications of something like that would be…messy. I’d much prefer to have a contract between us, clearly outlining the expectations I have of her.

Someone sits in the booth behind me. The restaurant—if one can call it that—is small, and though it’s mid-afternoon, it’s full of patrons eating trays of fried fish. I barely noticed the constant hum of voices over my own thoughts.

That’s ridiculous! The woman behind me must be on her phone. You have to be kidding me!

I glance over my shoulder, and my heart stops beating for a moment.

She’s breathtaking. Long, black hair covers her shoulders, and her sapphire eyes stare out at the water.

Her jaw clenches as she listens to whatever the person on the other end of her phone line is saying. This has to be a joke.

She doesn’t seem to notice me watching her, but I turn back to my table all the same. As beautiful as she is, I didn’t come here to entice some random woman into bed.

The thought startles me, and I must blink a few times to clear my head. Did I just tell myself I didn’t want to bed a woman on this trip? Perhaps I really have changed. Maybe I’ve finally matured…

But that thought is quickly forgotten when I hear the woman behind me again.

A million dollars? she says. That’s a joke, right? Where the hell am I going to come up with a million dollars?

CHAPTER 2

Renae

Damn it all to hell.

I drop my cell phone on the table, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the tears that are accumulating in my lower lashes. I don’t have time to cry. I have to think.

My basket of fries sits untouched in front of me. Normally, I’m the kind of girl who believes good french fries can fix anything, but not today. Even my orange Creamsicle milkshake doesn’t look appetizing anymore.

A million dollars. Where the hell am I going to get a million fucking dollars? I can hardly cover my rent these days, let alone save up that kind of money.

Joyce comes over, a coffee pot in her hand and a frown on her face. Something bothering you, Rennie? That looked like one heck of a phone call.

Normally, I’m only too happy to spill all the messy details of my life to Joyce—after almost two years of my regular visits to this restaurant, she’s become something of a friend—but today I shake my head.

You sure? She props her free hand on her hip. Forgive me for saying so, Ren, but you look like you’re about to have a breakdown. Is it that manager of yours again?

I wish this was just about Donald. How that pencil-dick of a human being ever got a job overseeing the academic libraries at Lake Washington University I’ll never know.

No, no, nothing like that, I assure her. And then, because I’ve never been good at holding things inside, I blurt, It’s about my dad.

I don’t have to elaborate. Joyce takes one look over her shoulder—presumably to see if any customers need immediate service—then slides into the booth across from me.

What’s going on? she asks.

I take a deep breath and swallow the lump in my throat before attempting to speak.

Remember that experimental treatment I told you about?

Joyce nods. From that fancy German doctor.

Yeah. I pick up a french fry and dab it at the mound of ketchup on my plate, even though I have no intention of eating. Dad got approved.

Rennie, that’s great! The enthusiasm in Joyce’s voice mirrors what I felt at the beginning of the phone call when I initially heard the news. For the first time in three years, I actually allowed myself to hope.

But that hope was dashed as quickly as it was allowed to bloom.

Yeah, well, they won’t give it to him, I tell her.

What?

His insurance won’t cover the treatment because it’s ‘experimental’, I say, disgust thick in my voice. And apparently the treatment costs a million dollars out of pocket.

Joyce’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. "A million dollars?"

One point two million, to be exact. I’ve managed to crush the end of my french fry into mashed potato, so I toss it onto the plate. Dad’s savings and retirement accounts are already basically drained at this point. And I’m funneling everything I can into paying for his physical therapists on top of what the state provides for his care facility, but unless Donald decides to give me an unexpected raise, I’m bleeding dry. I probably shouldn’t even be eating out.

"You deserve a raise, Joyce points out. You practically run that library yourself. And you put up with entitled undergrad students all day."

If anyone deserves a raise here, it’s you, I counter. I know what kind of bullshit customers put you through.

Speaking of, I should probably get back to work. Joyce slides out of the booth. It looks like Mr. Baldy down at the end there is starting to get grumpy. She pauses next to me, putting her hand on my shoulder and squeezing. Don’t give up hope just yet, Rennie. Sometimes these things work out.

She gives me an encouraging smile, and I smile back, but my mouth falls again as soon as her back is turned. I want to be hopeful, but I’m too much of a realist for that.