Olympic crown bellerive.., p.1
Olympic Crown (Bellerive Royals #1), page 1
Olympic Crown
Bellerive Royals Book 1
W Million
Stomill Books
To my brother
For all the wonderful memories of pools, swimming, and swim meets that we made together.
Copyright © 2022 by W. Million
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and establishments are the product of the author's imagination or are used to provide authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Proofread: Red Adept Editing
Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs
Contents
1. Posey
2. Brent
3. Posey
4. Brent
5. Posey
6. Brent
7. Posey
8. Brent
9. Posey
10. Brent
11. Posey
12. Brent
13. Posey
14. Brent
15. Posey
16. Brent
17. Posey
18. Brent
19. Posey
20. Brent
21. Posey
22. Brent
23. Posey
24. Brent
25. Posey
26. Brent
27. Posey
28. Brent
29. Posey
30. Brent
31. Posey
32. Brent
33. Posey
34. Brent
35. Posey
36. Brent
37. Posey
38. Brent
39. Brent
Acknowledgments
About W. Million
Also By
Posey
The professor at the front of the lecture hall closes her presentation to take questions from the students around me. Since she’s one of the foremost interior designers in the state, I should be paying attention. A career like hers is exactly what I want to have when I return to Bellerive. Instead, I’ve passed my phone to my newest friend, Monica, so she can add her details to my contacts. It’s a long list. My sister, Julia, calls me a friend collector.
“I’ll add you to the group chat.” Monica tucks her dark hair behind her ear with her thumb and forefinger. “I’ve never met anyone from Bellerive island before. Is it as pretty in person as the photos make it seem?” She returns my phone to my outstretched palm, and then she turns her computer screen toward me. On her screen is an aerial view of the island, spreading across the ocean, a mix of sand, lush greenery, and visible coral. An answering ache extends across my chest.
Home.
“Prettier,” I say. “The best place in the world.” Though it annoys me how people always call it Bellerive Island as though the ‘island’ is necessary for understanding. Like Barbados, Bermuda, the Bahamas, and almost every other island, it’s just Bellerive. I drop my phone into my bag, and my pale skin makes me cringe. Living in Michigan has caused me to lose my island glow. But just the sight of the photo on her screen has caused a trickle of homesickness to leak into my consciousness. Some days it amazes me I’ve made it almost four years in America at Northern University.
“Jensen,” Monica muses. “Are you related to Secretary Jensen? It says here she works for the king.”
“The former is my mother, and the secretary in training is my sister.” I wink. “Yes, I know the Bellerive Brothers.” That’s the hashtag everyone uses for the three Bellerive royal heirs.
Each one is a thirst trap for a different reason. Brice, the youngest, is my favorite now, but Nick, the middle son, used to be. That was back when he and my sister were best friends. Their friendship ended years ago, and now, he’s a man-whore. Julia calls the women who flock to him Crown Bunnies. They exist on campus too—people who want to get close to me to get noticed by them. I’ve learned to suss out those people quickly.
“I’d totally bang Brice.” Monica shuts her computer and shoves it into the bag at her feet.
An acceptable response. Anyone who goes for Alex, the future king, is a gold-digger and cannot be trusted. While Alex is just as hot as his brothers, he’s more aloof on social media. Much more guarded. Women who pinpoint him are after a title and position, not the man himself. I ‘lose’ the numbers of those women. Prince Alexander does not suffer fools, and I don’t intend to be on his foolish list. At least not in regards to the friends I make.
“Brice is totally shaggable.” To everyone else but me. I can appreciate them without wanting to have sex with them. Too much like brothers since we all grew up together. Each one annoys me in his own unique way.
When I was younger, Nick had the most crush potential. His friendship with my sister was the stuff teenage fantasies are built on. They rarely speak, but once in a while, I catch him staring at Julia with naked longing. As though he wishes for something he can no longer have. The one time I tried to bring up their past friendship, Jules shut me down by saying Nick wasn’t who he used to be. Apart from all the sex, he still seems like the same guy to me. What do I know?
Monica walks me out of the lecture hall. “Any plans for the long weekend?”
“Probably just sticking around here. All my family is out of Bellerive on various adventures. A couple of my friends from home were talking about coming but never booked their flights.” November isn’t an ideal time to visit Michigan. Not cold enough for snow to stick and not warm enough for other outdoor adventures.
“I’d invite you home with me, but I’m going to my boyfriend’s place. I’ll send you the link to another chat I’m in,” Monica says. “There are always people making last minute plans in it on a long weekend.”
“Awesome,” I say. “My extroverted heart will love it.”
“Sit together next week?” Monica holds the door open as we exit the concrete building into the crisp late-fall air.
A chill rushes through me, and I zip my jacket. “I usually sit with Destiny, but she went home early for the weekend. We can all sit together,” I say. “I’ll introduce you.”
“Perfect,” she says. “Maybe this class won’t be so boring anymore.” A horn beeps ahead of us, and Monica waves at a Black guy driving toward us. “That’s my boyfriend.” She rolls her eyes when he sticks his head out the window to yell something incoherent. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“God, no.” I laugh. “Men are best in bite-sized pieces.” I give her a wicked grin. “Sinful and delicious.”
“Oh, you’re trouble, Posey Jensen.” She wags her finger at me as she walks backward. “My boyfriend isn’t going to like me hanging around you.”
Reason number one why I don’t have a boyfriend. Who wants to be on a leash? “Maybe you need a new boyfriend.” I waggle my brows when the horn honks again.
Monica throws the middle finger over her shoulder and grimaces. “I’ll dump him when Sebastian Swan comes calling.”
“The football player? The one involved in the big scandal last year?”
“He wasn’t part of that. He dates the girl’s roommate. Natalie, I think?” She crosses her fingers. “Is it wrong to wish for someone else’s breakup?”
We reach her boyfriend’s car, and Monica circles to the passenger side.
“Need a ride?” the boyfriend asks, leaning out the window. “We can drop you somewhere on our way outta town?” He’s skinnier than I expected given Monica’s fixation on a football player, but his grin is infectious.
“I don’t live far from campus, but thanks. Have a good weekend.” I wave to them both and head across the street to the eastern campus exit, which isn’t the closest to my apartment, but it’s the route past the Olympic-size swimming pool.
As I walk, I scroll through my various social media accounts on the hunt for my own thirst trap. Brent Faulkner is a legend on campus and in Bellerive. He’s chasing Michael Phelps’s medal count at the next Olympics. While his mother was born in Bellerive, her family left the country when she was young. She married an American, and her eldest child, Brent, has chosen to swim for America, instead of Bellerive, in the Olympics. I guess he feels more attached to the good ole U.S. of A. than his mother’s birthplace.
Do I know far too much about a man I’ve never met? Yes, yes, I do.
It’s not really my fault, though. His girlfriend constantly posts envy-inducing photos of Brent’s finely tuned physique. He’s catnip, and I’m the cat.
Like Monica, a tiny part of me might be wishing Brent would suddenly find himself single too. His girlfriend appears completely and utterly gone over him, so I can’t see a breakup happening anytime soon.
I scan her accounts and the hashtags she uses. Weird. Silence today, and she’s normally posted something by now. Not a single word or photo. I click through to his accounts, and I don’t find anything there either. He rarely posts.
Maybe they’ve both returned home for the weekend too? Thanksgiving isn’t a holiday in Bellerive, and my parents and sister are away on work-related travel. In hindsight, I should have said yes to any of the offers I got before now. A part of me held out hope Julia, my sister, might surprise me by turning up on my doorstep. She did that my first year at Northern University when she was still working in California. After she took over as the king’s secretary, her free time b
Instead of dwelling on what a boring long weekend I might have ahead of me, I click on the group chat Monica sent to me. With my thumb, I scroll to the newest posts. Lots of people hosting parties, looking for Thanksgiving dinner dates, a few requests for someone to come home with them and pretend to be their significant other. The various claims made in those posts make me laugh, and by the time I reach the apartment I share with Destiny and Nadiya, I’m feeling lighter.
The silence of our second-floor apartment closes in around me, and I collapse into the couch to check all my other group chats. Everyone is wishing everyone else a happy long weekend, chatting about the ways they’re returning home, and who they’re bringing with them.
Maybe I should have gone home anyway. An empty house in Bellerive would at least have a better view from the window and warmer weather outside.
My phone chimes in my hand with a text from Monica.
Check the group chat I sent you. A sweet weekend away.
Opening the chat, I scroll to the post from a BF with a Captain America avatar. Inside I release an ugh before I read the post.
Weekend wedding in Bermuda. Flight leaves at 10 pm. Back Monday at noon. Looking for my +1. Those with drama need not apply. Pay own flight. Hotel is all inclusive.
Instead of texting Monica back, I hit call and press the phone to my ear. She’ll be in the car with her boyfriend, but I’m not replying to this post. The guy sounds like an idiot.
“Do it,” Monica says when she answers.
“Two initials and a Captain America avatar? He’s going to be the worst. A sleazy, misogynistic jerk.”
Monica cackles over the phone. “You’re judging that hard over initials and an avatar?”
“‘Those with drama need not apply,’” I say. “He might as well scrawl ‘I’ve got issues’ at the end of his post.”
“Oh, I see what it’s like,” Monica says. “You’re all talk.”
“What?” I sit up straighter on the couch.
“In class you were all ‘I seek adventure’ and ‘my extravert-loving heart,’ but when an opportunity drops in your lap, you’re not taking it?” She tsks. “Something better than a trip to Bermuda come up?”
“I have to pay for my flight.”
“That’s a bonus—you can leave early if he really is a sleazy jerk.” She hums over the phone. “Never mind. Someone else replied. I gotta go. Devon doesn’t like it when I talk on the phone when he’s driving. He wants his tunes cranked.”
“Have a good weekend,” I say again before hanging up.
I click into the chat and stare at the exchange of messages. Shared hotel room, but separate beds.
They’re still hashing out details.
I’ll come.
I send the response before I can second-guess myself.
The bubbles pop up under my response.
DM’d you.
In my private messages, I find a picture of flight details and a link to purchase. Other girl was wasting my time. If you’re serious, book this and screenshot as a reply.
Once I’m on the airline page, I grab the credit card that my parents still pay out of my wallet. There have to be some perks to being abandoned on a long weekend. I don’t allow my brain to engage as I type in all my details and press on the pay now button. While the payment processes, a brief shot of panic spikes in me. This guy could be anyone, and not in a good way.
A boarding pass appears on my screen and a thank you for my payment.
God, that was expensive. It’s a good thing he’s paying for everything else. At least I can justify it to my parents that way.
I screenshot the transaction and send it to BF in our private chat. He sends me another picture of the hotel name and location. Immediately, I save it to my phone, and then I text it to Monica.
In case he’s a murderer. This is where I’m supposed to be for the weekend.
Monica responds immediately with an LOL and heart eyes. One of us is a bad influence, and I’m starting to think it’s not me.
When I click back over to the chat with BF, he’s left another message.
I’ll text you at the airport. Glad you’re a dude. So tired of the drama!
I frown at the message. He thinks I’m a dude? Why would he think I’m a guy? On my chat profile, the other shoe drops. My avatar is a J in Bellerive blue, and the only name visible is my last one: Jensen.
My fingers hover over my keyboard. I’ve already paid for my flight. Do I tell him I’m a drama-rama girl or leave him to be surprised at the airport?
My lips twist into a smile.
See you tonight!
Brent
Valentina falls into step beside me as soon as I exit the locker room. “Brent, I know you weren’t in the mood earlier,” she says, “but I haven’t posted anything today.”
Lately I’ve been wondering whether her interest in me is directly tied to the influencer status she’s building off my abs. Last week she told me about another brand who’d reached out to her for a deal…as long as I was willing to participate. When I told her no, we got into a giant fight. Seems to be the pattern. She oversteps. I tell her no. She flies to Mars on the strength of her anger.
Don’t get me wrong. She has a banging body, and the make-up sex is next level. We used to have fun together, but I’m not sure we’ve ever wanted the same things.
“Not today, Val.” I sigh. “And not tomorrow or anytime this weekend either.”
“Oh please. We’re going to Bermuda for Trev’s wedding. Of course I’m going to be taking photos. People are dying for them.”
“But they’re not dying for them, are they?” I shove my swim bag higher onto my shoulder. “Trev already asked for a social media ban on the wedding.” I glare at her. “For everyone. That means you too.”
“Fine. I’ll just post them when we get back.”
I whirl on her in the courtyard outside the athletic center. “You’re missing the point.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair. “This isn’t working anymore.” The words are out of my mouth before I can consider them. But they’re true. I’ve been frustrated and angry with her more than I’ve been happy for months. We’ve broken up before, and I’ve let us slide back together. My swim schedule has allowed me to ignore my feelings for the most part, but the thought of an entire weekend with her isn’t a joy.
“If I don’t post every day, the algorithm penalizes me.” She’s staring at her phone, flicking through various apps.
Her dismissive attitude hardens my resolve. “We aren’t working anymore.”
She snaps to attention, and she slides her phone into the pocket of her winter coat. Her dark eyes blaze when she meets my gaze, and she tosses her jet-black hair over her shoulder.
Here comes the onslaught, and I’m done with the dramatics. With her, it never ends.
“I’m building your brand. You’re not going to be an Olympic athlete forever. We have to think about the future. Beyond all this.” She makes a sweeping gesture to the athletics’ facility behind us.
“I never asked you to do that.” In fact, I don’t want it. My master’s degree at Northern University is my exit strategy. Business management is pretty fucking versatile. Pimping my body on social media isn’t on my to-do list when this is over.
“You don’t need to, baby. I’m building everything for us.”
“Except it’s starting to feel like you’re doing it for you. The latest brand that wanted to leech onto me sells high-end makeup. I looked it up, Val. Why would they want me in their ad campaign?”
“Brent—”
“We’re done. Seriously. D. O. N. E. I’m out.”
“We both know you don’t mean it. You’ll be back.” Her jaw tightens, and she glares at me. “I’m getting really tired of you starting fights and breaking up with me over nothing.”
“Which is exactly why we’re always fighting. You’re not listening to me. I really need you to hear me when I say we’re over. I’m breaking the cycle.” I slice a hand through the air between us. While a permanent break has been coming for a while, I didn’t expect to do it before our long weekend away. The reality of what this weekend would look like should have hit me earlier. She’s obsessed with updating her socials and wedging me into a future I don’t want. This weekend would have been more of the same. Fighting and fucking.
