I emerge from behind the bakery counter, Viktor on my heels, my mind pre-occupied with the vision of Gracie and those dark eyes that seemed to want to simultaneously devour me whole and dunk my head in a toilet. The entire bakery smells like her—peaches and vanilla and cinnamon—and I’m having a rather difficult time keeping my body’s reaction under control.
Perhaps it’s because she insists she wants nothing to do with me. Perhaps it’s because she reminds me of a governess with the strict, disapproving way she reminded me that I’m unavailable.
Or perhaps it’s because she’s simply bewitching.
I rarely have to fight for a woman’s approval or attention, and I rather like needing to prove myself to this fascinating lady whose entire life is so blessedly simple and warm.
I must find a way to get out of my betrothal to Elin without causing irreparable political harm to my country or family. I’d rather be involved with a pleasant woman having my baby than married to a shrew who wants me for my title and connections.
I’m so absorbed in my own daydream that I miss the warning signs before I’m thrust into a water closet. Joey locks the door, grabs me by the collar, and shoves me against the wall across from the toilet.
“Do not give my sister false hope about something we all know will never happen,” she growls.
Quite impressive move, that, and now I’ll have to pay for Viktor breaking the door down.
I text him that I’m fine and will be out momentarily.
He doesn’t answer, but something thumps against the wood. Rather thin wood. I expect it won’t take but another four pushes before he’s through. If that much.
Viktor thumps against the door once more.
“We could be enemies or allies, Miss Diamonte,” I tell her. “You’re a smart woman. Assist me in finding a more politically advantageous match for Elin Liefsson, and I’ll happily do right by your sister. I’ll happily do as right as I can by her anyway, but not being forced into a political marriage would make caring for Gracie infinitely easier.”
The wood is splintering. Joey doesn’t spare the thumps even the briefest glimmer of a glance. “I’m not doing your dirty work for you, and Gracie doesn’t need you to do right by her.”
“I’m doing all in my power as well, but two minds are better than one.”
“My sister is not moving to Stölland.”
“One issue at a time, my dear Joey.”
The door splinters, and Viktor bursts in. “Unhand the prince,” he says.
“All’s well, Viktor,” I assure him. “Miss Diamonte was admiring my shirt. She’s considering getting one for Mr. Berger.”
She drops her hand, but her expression doesn’t flicker. It’s a rather new expression. I’ve witnessed her I will eat your entrails for breakfast glower, her Don’t make me toss you out the back of my airplane without a parachute snarl, and even her It will be my pleasure to make you eat your own balls on the golf course this morning smirk.
However, this woman is all bark. I suspect she’s bitten enough in her lifetime to lend credence to her threats, but I also rather suspect she has no desire to cause anyone physical harm unless she’s pushed into a corner and has no other means of recourse.
Which means the desperate fear she’s not quite hiding makes me feel like a bloody heel.
Whether her fear is for her sister or herself—she drives me crazy, but she’s all the family I’ve got, Gracie told me once—it’s not an emotion I would’ve expected from Joey Fireball Diamonte.
“Gracie owes you nothing,” Joey says quietly.
I nod as if I understand.
But what she doesn’t understand is how bloody refreshing it is for owing and duty and heritage to have no place in my relationship with a woman. However vague or delicate that relationship may be.
I’m rather unfamiliar with relationships.
But I’m rapidly becoming familiar with understanding an all-encompassing desire to enjoy the company of one specific woman.
Joey checks her watch and mutters a curse. “You’re going to fix that door. Understood?” She doesn’t wait for an answer, but instead flings herself out of the bathroom past Viktor, who appears to want to end all our sufferings by stabbing me with the blunt end of my hockey stick.
I’m rather difficult to keep in check, it seems. Even when I’m attempting to behave myself.
Not that taking a side trip to Alabama when I’m supposed to be in Copper Valley entertaining my betrothed between games and practices is exactly behaving, but it’s not misbehaving.
Yet.
“Your Highness, you still want to play?” one of the younger women in the dining area asks as she peeks into the water closet. Someone’s setting up the expanded board for Catan at four tables that have been pushed together.
“Always have time for a round or two,” I reply cheerfully, evoking another silent lecture from Viktor. I neglected my duties to visit Copper Valley’s mayor’s office and to do an interview with a local television station about Stölland, mead, and the Thrusters in order to charter a flight here after morning practice.
It’s highly irresponsible of me, if you ask Viktor. Or my father. Probably my brothers as well. I’m sure my young nephew—who’s barely old enough to tie his own laces—would even have a few words to say about it. He is a king-in-training, after all, regardless of his age.
But when the mother of your child and the object of your fascination refuses your phone calls, an in-person visit is in order.
And there was nothing Viktor could do this time to stop me.
“Hope you like fried chicken,” the lady says. “We bring it in from the Cluck Train down the way. Joey, you staying?”
She pauses at the door, peers at something outside, and looks at her watch again as though she’s considering staying.
Everyone winces, and I feel a twinge of sympathy for the woman. She doesn’t make anything easy on herself, but I suspect she doesn’t know how. Her phone dings. She glances at it, and her expression softens.
“Aw, did you get a message from that big ol’ hockey player who’s all colors of smitten with you?” the older lady asks.
“Had to beat a reporter away from here with a stick last week,” announces the younger woman who looks just like the older one, except with more brown in her hair and a nose and ears in smaller proportions. “Wanting to know if you’re planning a wedding.”
“Hope you used a big stick,” Joey says.
“I used a spare steering wheel.”
“Good girl. Beat the shit out of his royal cheerfulness, will you?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Excellent.”
She leaves, everyone sighs in something akin to relief, and I settle down at the table for a game after inquiring as to whom in town I might provide a rather large sum of money in exchange for fixing Gracie’s door.
I’ve gotten the message from her loud and clear.
She wants nothing to do with me until I’m a free man.
While I solve that problem, I want to know that she’s safe and cared for here. And so Catan it is.
Let’s see what Gracie’s friends are made of.
And what they can tell me about her.
