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This is what annoys me about words and talking and debates and explanations. What’s the difference between an arranged marriage and an engagement, really? They’re both going to end up with Torin and Linnea married. She’ll be his princess, then queen. So who cares what it’s called? The action, the outcome, is the same no matter what words surround it.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, suddenly shoving to my feet.
“Wait a second, cheating with you?” Ami asks. “Did something happen between you? Something more than dancing?”
“Yes,” I say, adrenaline pumping hard now. “Kissing and an orgasm! And a bunch of texts. And a really great phone call. And now… cowboy boots!” I pick up one of the boots and throw it. It thunks against the trunk of a cacao tree.
“An orgasm? I want to know more about?—”
I cut Charlie off. “No. It doesn’t matter.”
Ami just grins at me. “You aren’t going to start an international incident, are you?”
I sigh. “I’m not at all the international incident type.” Not even a little. “This is actually great,” I tell my sisters.
“It is?” Charlie asks.
I take a deep breath and even manage a small smile. “Yes. Before this goes any further, I already know the most important thing I need to know.”
Charlie winces. “What's that?”
“That nothing romantic can ever happen between me and Torin O'Grady.”
Chapter 15
Torin
I’m not into cowboys.
I’ve thought about that text from her too fucking much.
Wrong. She’s wrong. And I want to prove how wrong she is so much I think about it all the time. And the thoughts are very fucking dirty.
Now I know that she has the cowboy boots I sent her—the delivery service sent me confirmation—but I don’t have a text from her yet.
I want a photo of her in those boots.
I blow out a breath and stare at my dark phone screen. It’s been twelve hours since she got the boots.
I haven’t heard from her all day.
Is she all right?
I know she’s physically all right because I called IAS and asked if she was at work today. She is. The woman I spoke to personally saw her with her own eyes. Or so she told me when I insisted on speaking to someone who had.
But is she feeling okay? Why hasn’t she responded to the text of my running shoes with the puppies? I’d been in the park this morning, and the two adorable Dachshund puppies on a walk with their new owner decided I looked like the kind of guy who would stop in the middle of his run to give tummy rubs and…they were right.
But Abigail didn’t respond to the photo. Is she not a dog person? Is her phone working? It rang through when I called and left a voice message.
Abigail, call me. I figured that was pretty straightforward.
Regina, the same woman I’d called to ask if Abigail was at work today, assured me that the cell phone towers in Sapphire Falls were working and told me that she was ninety percent sure she used the same carrier Abigail did and that there were no system problems as far as she knew, when I called a second time.
I would have preferred that she be one hundred percent sure, but she only said that she’d ask Abigail who her phone plan was with when she saw her next.
Regina did not offer to go find her, or to call me back with any further information, however.
The annoying thing about being the Crown Prince of Cara hanging out in the US? I’m not actually the boss of any Americans. Sure, some are impressed by my title, my connections, and my money. I can get things from those people.
