My Royal Hook-Up

A memory of one night

Enjoying absolute pleasure!

I am the banished prince—the scoundrel. So deflowering the enemy’s princess should be right up my alley. And when sweet, naive Juliet asks for one night of passion, I can’t resist making her beg. Her silky touch captures me, compels me beyond thought. But her cries of ecstasy might just be my undoing...

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

RILEY PINE is the combined forces of two contemporary romance writers as you’ve never seen them before. Expect delicious, dirty and scandalous swoons. To stay up to date with all things Riley Pine head on over to rileypine.com, for newsletters, book details and more!

If you liked My Royal Hook-Up

look for other titles in Riley Pine’s

Arrogant Heirs miniseries

My Royal Temptation

My Royal Sin

Or why not try

Sins of the Flesh by J. Margot Critch

Hard Deal by Stefanie London

Legal Passion by Lisa Childs

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

My Royal Hook-Up

Riley Pine

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07136-9

MY ROYAL HOOK-UP

© 2018 Riley Pine

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

X

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Damien

I SWIRL THE amber liquid in my crystal rocks glass. Inside the club, I can hear corks popping and the sound of raucous applause, which means Marius, owner of the Veil, has just replayed the end of the Nightgardin Rally. Again.

I shake my head. He doesn’t need to keep kissing my ass. I’ve already bought out the VIP room for the night, spending my winnings like they mean nothing. Because they never do.

Below my balcony, drunk revelers party in the street, all because I was reckless enough to use a hand-brake maneuver. One where the last racer to attempt it flipped his car and died before the pit crew could get to him.

I should be so lucky. Instead, here I am, strangers toasting me like I’m something so goddamned special, even while we all know the truth.

I’m a brother scorned. A prince banished. A killer.

But for them, I’m just some larger-than-life entertainment—the reckless, rich playboy who drives too fast and throws enough money around to make sure the party and the ride never stop.

“Your Highness? Marius has asked me to see to it that you are well taken care of. Can I get you another drink? Perhaps something to eat? Or maybe—a companion for the evening?” A voice beckons from the balcony door, but I don’t turn to face whoever has the balls to address me like that.

Your Highness.

Nobody calls me that anymore, not because of any request I’ve made but because everyone the world over knows that an Edenvale prince in exile retains no such rank or respect, especially here in Nightgardin—a country my father and brothers consider enemy territory—which means this asshole is mocking me.

I hold up my barely touched glass of scotch, my back still to him, and assume this will be enough for him to leave me to “celebrate” alone.

Instead, the scuff of his shoe alerts me he’s done exactly the opposite.

So I paint on my devil-may-care grin and turn to face him.

“Party’s inside. I’m good,” I say, taking pains not to speak through gritted teeth.

The man is dark-haired with tanned skin, dressed in finery unlike any of Marius’s other VIP room employees—a dark tailored suit, gold cuff links, Italian leather loafers. I may face him in jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled past the tattoos on my forearms, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the apparel I grew up in—the clothing I see my brother Nikolai wearing every time the likeness of Edenvale’s soon-to-be king is splashed across a magazine cover or television screen.

“Very well, Highness. But should you need anything at all, I am at your service.”

He grins, and a gold-covered canine catches the glint of the setting sun.

“Thank Marius for his concern, but the only thing I need is to be left alone.”

The man bows his head and then says nothing else as he disappears into the club.

The only thing that truly concerns Marius is that I throw my money around his club again in the future, but having his crony call me Highness? That is pushing things a bit too far.

I drain the rest of my drink and slip inside the crowded room. No one takes note as I make my way to the rear staircase. They’re here for the free party, not me. I head to the main level and the back entrance, the one that leads to the alley where my red Alfa Romeo—the race-winning vehicle—is parked and waiting for me.

And apparently, there’s no such thing as fucking privacy tonight, because my car doesn’t wait for me alone. Leaning against the brick wall of the club is a brunette beauty—Botticelli curls falling past her exposed shoulders to where her breasts threaten to spill over the top of her tight strapless minidress. A silver stiletto dangles from an index finger, its heel broken. In her other hand is a tumbler filled with a clear liquid. For a brief few seconds, I’m entranced, unable to look away. Then I remind myself that any woman who holds my attention for longer than that is trouble, so I shake myself free of her spell and storm to my car.

I reach for my keys, echoes of Your Highness ringing in my ears. I need to get out of here and clear my head.

But I’m fool enough to look back, and that’s when I notice her bloodied knee.

Shit.

“Do you need help?” I practically growl as I stalk toward her.

She startles, sucking in a breath, then all at once regains a composure that is as practiced as my own reckless veneer.

“I think I can handle a broken shoe,” she says flatly.

As I approach, though—because dammit I can’t leave her like that—I note the scrapes on her palm as well.

She shrugs. “At least I saved the drink.”

When we’re face-to-face I tower over her, even with one of her four-inch heels still on. Her other foot balances on the tips of bare toes, the nails painted pale pink. I drag my gaze up her lithe frame to her heaving chest, glossy lips and dark eyes. I nearly lose myself in their deep pools.

“What’s in there?” I ask, nodding at the glass.

“Vodka soda.”

“Good,” I say, then tug at the dress’s torn lining hanging in front of her barely parted thighs. My fingertips graze her soft skin, and she yelps as I tear the fabric free.

“What the hell are you doing?” she cries.

I don’t answer as I dip the piece of her dress into her drink, soaking it. Then I squat so I am eye to eye with her injured knee, one hand behind it to hold her steady. It’s here that I catch a glimpse of lace just north of her exposed thighs.

She gasps as I press the alcohol-soaked fabric to her injury, but something tells me it’s not from the sting.

The sight of a woman’s panties I can ignore, but dammit if I can’t smell her—tangy and sweet—and it’s all I can do to keep my hand still when I want to slide it up to confirm what I already know—that this strange beauty is wet behind that pretty pink lace.

“I don’t get out much,” she says with measured control as I clean the wound. “Not used to shoes like this.”

I look up, and she stares at me unapologetically. Those eyes are familiar, but I can’t place them. I swear I’d remember if I met someone like her before.

“Do you need a ride home?” I ask.

She glances toward the Alfa Romeo and then at me, those innocent lips parting into a wicked grin. Then she reaches for the hand behind her knee, slides it up between her thighs, confirming my suspicions.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Juliet

The Alfa Romeo purrs like a wild jaguar and handles like a dream along the steep road that is one heart-pounding hairpin turn after another. I trace my fingers over the stitching in the caramel-colored leather seat and admire the sleek Italian interior design.

“Where to?” Damien growls softly.

“I don’t care,” I tell him. “Please...just drive fast.”

He acknowledges my request with a preoccupied shrug, and in a blink we’re racing up the mountain at over a hundred and forty klicks. The world outside my passenger-side window dissolves into a dark blur, and it takes all my strength not to pinch myself.

Two thousand feet below, a random club-goer from The Veil is wearing my drab black gown and is two thousand Euros richer. My curves are crammed inside her handkerchief-sized dress. A reckless trade, but one I don’t regret. It feels good to be a little wild.

When I hit puberty, Mother decreed that it was time to quit climbing trees and kicking around the football with the servant kids and start behaving like a Nightgardin princess...i.e: a stuffy, stuck-up, stick-in-the-butt.

The second I reached my sexual maturity, it was “bye-bye fun” and “hello monotony.” I now get to wear clothing more befitting an elderly nun than a young woman of twenty-one.

I’ve been coached to walk in a demure shuffle, keeping my gaze downcast—especially if men were in the vicinity—while waiting for my marriage to be arranged. After that blessed event occurs, I’ll be allowed the privilege of wedlock intercourse for the sole purpose of procreation so I may squeeze out a future heir and secure Nightgardin’s ancient throne.

Let’s face it...I’m a gilded goldfish destined to swim in useless circles until the day I get flushed down the proverbial drain.

The Alfa Romeo skids on loose gravel, wheels leaving the bitumen as I jerk forward, the seat belt catching between my breasts. My chest constricts. A precipitous drop looms mere feet from the end of the hood.

My eyes widen. I recognize this place. It’s Lovers’ Leap. Once upon a time, centuries ago, two star-crossed lovers took their lives here, jumping to their doom. I don’t know much about the legend’s particulars. Mother, the queen regent, forbade my governesses to fill my head with what she deemed “silly romantic notions.” Fewer novels and more nonfiction was her decree, preferably biographies about selfless women who sacrificed themselves for the good of their countries.

The man slouched in the driver’s seat watches my every move with his enigmatic eyes.

Goose bumps prickle along my legs. When I think of his strong, calloused hand on the back of my knee as he tended to my wound, I go slick between my legs.

At last he speaks. “Got to say, it took me quite some time to place your pretty face, but it’s finally come to me... Princess Juliet.”

I can’t hide my grimace.

“Not wearing your typical Nightgardin pillowcase tonight. That cocktail dress threw me off.”

He reaches out and his big hand covers my bare knee, sliding up. Not far. Only a few inches, but it’s enough to ignite a furnace under my skin.

He squeezes my flesh. Not hard, but enough that I tremble from a full-body shiver, my pulse quickening.

“Time to come clean. What’s your agenda? Trying to start a goddamn war with Edenvale or what?” His laugh is bitter. “If so, lots of luck. Word on the street is that you’re kept away from the media, so allow me to update you. My family despise me. See, I once killed a girl, one about as old as you, Princess.”

“I know this,” I hiss, knocking away his hand. “Do not think to patronize me, Prince Damien.”

“Just Damien these days, doll. I was stripped of titles when banished.” He idly rubs the dark scruff coating his chin. “But if you know that I’m dangerous, and that my beloved family has disowned me, why set me up to kidnap you and create a diplomatic row? Who’s paying you?”

“Paying me?” I can’t help it. I burst out laughing, and good Lord it feels good. At court, I must always remain so serious.

“Proper decorum is essential for a queen,” Mother says.

But yesterday she added a second sentence. “And for a bride.”

“I’m to be married.” My laughter dies a quick death. “I’m not here to create a diplomatic scene. I’m here because palace maids gossip and I happen to have excellent hearing. They say that Damien Lorentz, the banished prince of Edenvale, can give a woman ultimate pleasure. Your talents and skill are legendary, even here across the border.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Is that what they say?” he drawls. “I suppose I have seduced more than my fair share of servants.”

“I’ve just learned that I am to wed Rupert Dingleworth, the Duke of Wartson.”

“Insane.” Damien furrows his brows in obvious disbelief. “That old goat’s pushing sixty.”

“Fifty-seven, but who’s counting? Wartson submitted a specimen to the royal hospital, and the medical report makes it clear that he can still sire children.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” Damien sounds equal parts horrified and humored. “Are you telling me that he submitted his swimmers for genetic testing?”

I nod. “Marriage is for one reason in my world. Procreation.”

“Fucking hell. What a tedious country.”

“It’s a matter of duty before pleasure. It’s how we’ve endured for a thousand years.” I flinch inwardly, hearing my sharp tone. I sound exactly like Mother.

“Fifty-seven,” he says more to himself. “And how old are you? Eighteen?”

I make a face. “Twenty-one last week.”

“Old enough for the Duke of Wartson to pump your womb full of his certified spunk?”

My flinch wipes the sarcastic smile from his lips.

“I’m sorry, Juliet,” he says gruffly. “Your situation sucks. But I don’t see where I fit in.”

“I’m a virgin.” I decide to cut right to the chase. “And as the future queen, I understand my obligations. But... I’ll have an entire lifetime procreating with Rupert. All I am seeking is a way to survive the lonely years ahead.” I lick my lips, suddenly shy. “A memory...a memory of one night experiencing absolute pleasure. And that’s where you come in.”

CHAPTER TWO

Damien

“DO YOU KNOW the story of this place?” I ask her as we both stare straight ahead. The sun has set now, and before us lies nothing but a black abyss.

She shakes her head sheepishly, and I try to wrap my head around how sheltered this young woman truly is.

“Centuries ago, a Nightgardin prince—Maximus—fell ass over elbow for Calista, an Edenvale princess.”

She scoffs. “You’re so eloquent.”

I shrug. “You didn’t come to me for eloquence, Princess.” She quiets, so I continue. “The princess was here with her father as the two kings tried to negotiate a peace treaty. Of course, no such thing happened. But when Maximus was charged with showing Calista the royal grounds while the two kings attempted to negotiate terms, it was love at first sight.”

She snorts, and her hand immediately flies to her mouth as her pale cheeks grow pink.

I raise a brow, and she crosses her arms, defiant. It’s a good look on her.

“Love at first sight? Please. Despite my future being mapped out for me without any say in the matter, I don’t daydream about something better. About what could be. I’m not naive enough to believe in fairy tales.”

I shrug. “Believe what you want, Highness. I don’t need to finish the story.”

She grabs my bare forearm, the tips of her fingers branding me with their heat.

“Please,” she says. “Keep going.”

I remove her hand from my skin and place it in her lap, needing the distance.

“I’m not looking to spend the next couple decades in a Nightgardin cell. But—as you wish. I will continue the tale.” I take a steadying breath, wondering for a moment if she felt the same searing touch of her skin on mine. Then I shake my head, banishing the ridiculous notion, and continue. “When the kings emerged from the negotiation chamber, neither Maximus nor Calista was anywhere to be found. But the princess’s lady in waiting was discovered bound to a tree in the woods, gagged so she could not call for help. She’s the one who revealed that the young lovers had escaped on horseback hours before, riding up the winding path of this very mountain.”

I watch her chest rise and fall, watch patches of pink flush the skin on her neck, her cheeks. The same hue as the panties I know she’s got on under that tiny dress.

She swallows, and something about this moment and the silence—seeing the Princess of Nightgardin rapt from nothing other than my words—it’s the most intimate thing I’ve experienced in a good, long while.

“They came—here?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nod, one single, slow movement.

“Long before the roads were paved, this whole lookout was lush and green, the perfect spot for two young royals to...” She swallows again, and I hold off on giving her the satisfaction of knowing. Instead, I lean toward her, bold and reckless, my lips stopping short of grazing her earlobe. She smells sweet like vanilla, which makes me long to taste her. “And Princess,” I whisper, “there is nothing like the joining of two people in pure, undiluted love.”

Her breath catches—a tiny yet dangerous sound.

“Calista’s lady in waiting led the palace guards and those the King of Edenvale brought with him right to this spot. It is said the king raised his own hand to his dishonored daughter, but Maximus put himself in harm’s way instead. They didn’t get a chance to plead for their lives. Swords were raised on either side, a declaration of war. Either way, they were already dead. So the two joined hands and backed away from the skirmish until no ground was left to tread.”

I straighten and see a tear leak from the corner of the princess’s eye.

“I will never have a love such as they did,” she says, voice trembling.

I let out a bitter laugh. “You want a love that will send you to your grave? If that’s the case, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”

She raises her hand, but I catch her wrist midslap.

“How dare you judge me?” she asks through gritted teeth. “You roam the continents taking anything and everything that your heart desires, yet I will never have such a luxury. Don’t you get it? You may be banished, but you are free.”

My grip tightens on her wrist, yet she does not struggle to free herself.

Everything my heart desires. What a fucking joke.

“My heart,” I snap, “died in the wreck that killed the only person I was stupid enough to love. So don’t you speak to me of freedom. I am a prisoner, just like you.”

And if I give her what she came looking for tonight, I’ll likely rot away in Nightgardin’s highest-security prison—if the king doesn’t kill me first. It would be reckless as hell to assume anything less.

But I stopped playing it safe the second I bedded my own brother’s fiancée. I have nothing—nothing—left to lose.

“Are you refusing my request?” she asks, jutting out her chin.

I bait her. “What you’re asking for is an act of treason. I may be a man without a country, but yours has tolerated my presence for some time now. It’s the closest thing I have to a—” I bite my tongue before uttering the word home. I am not foolish enough to think I belong anywhere, let alone here. But an act against Nightgardin, even by a banished Edenvale prince, would put the rest of my family at risk. “I will need some sort of...insurance...that you won’t have your way with me and then immediately report me. Or...if that is your endgame...at least something that will work in my defense in a Nightgardin court. Though I doubt I’d even be given a trial.” I’m mostly joking, because I know this night can end in only one way—with me behind bars and my family none the wiser. But she clears her throat.

“Very well,” she says. “What do you truly know about Nightgardin law?”

I chuckle. “Enough that I understand a night with you could cost me my life, but I’ve already admitted as much. What are you playing at, Princess?”

She dips her head. “If they find out I lied—that I came to the city to consort with an Edenvale prince instead of cloistering myself in prayer—you will not be the only one guilty of treason.”

My throat goes bone dry. “They would hang you in the palace square.”

“Perhaps,” she says. “Or worse. It would be justified. That would be up to the king and queen to decide.”

It would be up to her parents to decide whether or not to kill their only child for the crime of fucking me.

“This is the only time in my life that I get to decide, Damien. Let me choose who gets to take the most precious gift I have to offer. Because I choose you.”

She reaches beneath the skirt of her barely there dress and tugs her panties down her thighs, over her knees and ankles until they lie in a ball on the Alfa Romeo’s floor.

My nostrils flare. There it is again, the faint tang of her sweet, intimate scent.

“No one knows I’m here,” she says. “And by the time they find me, you’ll be long gone.”

She takes my palm, places it high on her thigh and simply says, “Please.”

Somehow, with one hand, I maneuver the car into Reverse and onto the road as my other hand skims soft skin, sliding higher, until I’m there.

I dip one finger between her soft, wet folds, and she cries out, bucking in her seat.

“Fucking hell,” I growl, then put the pedal to the floor, speeding off to certain death.

Juliet

I’m going to die.

No, really. I’ll be dead before my next breath.

My back arches and my hips circle to an uninhibited rhythm.

Damien takes another hairpin turn, one-handed, because he’s delved the other between my thighs. His palm dances over my clit, working me until my sensitive skin throbs in time with my pounding heart. When he plunges his fingers into my tight slit, the Alfa Romeo wheels aren’t the only things squealing.

My whimper dwindles to a soft pant as I writhe, drenched with an unfamiliar need. Damien can’t maintain expert control of this sports car and me all at the same time. It’s too much. No man is this dexterous. He’s going to drive us off a cliff to our doom.

But his long, relentless fingers plunge inside my folds, filling me up, taking me to the gates of Heaven. My front teeth clamp hard on my lower lip. I won’t tell him to stop. Death might be close at hand—but by the old gods and new...mine shall be a glorious end.

“Jesus, doll. You’re a hellcat, aren’t you?” He does that magic swirling trick with his fingers again, confident and in control, playing me like a virtuoso violinist, and my scream is a sound between a breathless yelp and a squeak of delight. My whole body begins to shudder. My derriere clenches as my thighs tremble.

Good lord, what is happening to me?

“Fuck, I love a woman who makes some noise while she comes,” he growls.

Another perfectly aggressive stroke, and my inner walls pulse in a series of mind-blowing contractions that milk his fingers. When I grow still, he cups my sex and teases my silky strands with a soft tickle.

“You have a fucking amazing pussy,” he growls.

But I’m too greedy for games, and too starved for touch.

“More.” I grab his wrist and grind my pelvis against his palm without a shred of decorum. I can hear my wetness sucking against his rough skin and don’t recognize this woman, wild and roused, filled with savage yearning. I’ve touched myself before. A couple awkward fumbles beneath my quilt in the dead of night, but I never knew exactly what I was doing.

It’s humbling that Damien seems to know my body’s responses better than I do.

“Shit,” he snarls, slamming the brakes. We skid to a stop in the middle of the road. I turn around, tensing at the anticipated impact of another car, but the hour is late. No other vehicle is in sight.

“Climb aboard, love. But be a good girl and grab the bottle of lube in the glove box.”

“Excuse me?” Climb aboard? Lube?

“Time to get your sweet ass out of that seat and straddle me. You want to fuck? Fine, but we’re going to do it my way, Princess. And behind the wheel is my favorite position.”

I blink once. Twice. But he says nothing, just regards me with those magnetic steely eyes.

Oh my god. He’s not joking. I try to swallow. “Let me get this straight. You’re planning to drive while having intercourse with me?” I grew up riding horses, but something tells me that losing my virginity to a man behind the wheel of an Italian sports car is nothing I could have possibly prepared for.

“Are you up for the challenge or not, Princess?” His eyes are dark as sin. “Because if the answer is no, I can turn this car around and take you back to the club.”

“No! Wait!” I cry. “Don’t do that.” My hand trembles as I move to unbuckle my seat belt, nerves churning my stomach. But despite my unease, I want this; I want him—badly.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Hold up. One final thing.” His voice is a warning, silk sliding over gravel. “Have you heard everything the maids said about my...prowess?”

“Just that you are an expert in the arts of lovemaking.”

There is no humor in his chuckle. “And what do you think of my nickname?”

“Nickname?” I frown.

“The Backdoor Baron?” He sounds exasperated. “Ring any bells?”

My frown deepens. “I do not understand. You are a baron? Weren’t you stripped of all titles? And what’s all this about a back door?”

His intense gaze threatens to undo me. “You really are a sheltered innocent, aren’t you? The nickname is a joke, but not without an element of truth. I give women pleasure, but when I’m inside them, I only enter one way. Through the back door.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but nothing is forthcoming. “You speak in riddles.”

“Are you joking?” Two lines crease between his brows. “Isn’t this why you sought me out? To have me give you pleasure while keeping your technical virginity intact for your husband?”

Confusion presses against my skull. Silently I curse my parents for keeping me so cloistered and ignorant of the world. And I curse myself for letting them.

He huffs a curt sigh. “All right, look. When I fuck, I don’t do it here.” He reaches under my dress and enfolds my sex. “I do it here.” He slides his hand away and squeezes my backside.

Clarity hits me like a bolt of lightening.

Backside. Back door. Like...butt.

Oh!

My cheeks are surely turning the color of rubies. “People do that?”

“Sure.” He winks. “They do with me.”

“I...no...no... I do not want to try such a thing. I wanted... I mean... I expected...the front door?” I grimace. This conversation is by far and away the most awkward dialogue I’ve ever endured.