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Quick off the draw, he answers on the third ring. “Frank’s pizza. All our operators are busy, but we’ll be with you shortly.”
I crack up laughing. “Thank fuck for you, man.”
“What’s up? Tough shoot?”
“Don’t ask.” Dumping my problems on him now is unfair. “How about you? How’s the new bar going?”
“Ah…. Interesting.” My cousin’s voice is muffled as though he’s covering the mouthpiece. He’s hard to hear, his voice competing with music and people talking in the background. “I need your help with the—” The line is silent for a moment before he continues. “The you know who.”
“No problem.” I chuckle at his childish attempt at discretion. “Astrid was supposed to visit the film set today, but an actor was causing trouble. I don’t want the princess exposed to danger, so I postponed her visit until the shoot is over.”
Years ago, I studied film at the Sorbonne. While living in Paris, mutual acquaintances introduced me to Prince Anders of Rorvik. We became firm friends, and when he or his family needed time out from the limelight, they used my farm as a secret hideaway.
Last year, Anders' sister, Princess Astrid, stayed at the farm and met an American. Logan lives in Rorvik with her, but they are visiting his family for Christmas. Astrid wanted to visit a movie set, so the timing is ideal. Additionally, she wants to see Chase, who could use a pick-me-up after all the bad things that have happened in his life recently.
“Will Astrid bring a team of ostentatious bodyguards when she visits my bar?”
“I get it. You don’t want to draw attention, but you don’t need to worry. Astrid keeps a low profile. Her fiancé is ex-military, and Logan won’t let her out of his sight.”
Chase laughs. “One protective lover is more effective than an entire team, right?”
“Damn straight.”
“Thanks, Luca. It’s one less thing to worry about.”
He sounds heavy with worry, and I admit, I know how he feels. “Sounds like things haven’t settled down on the home front.”
“You know what families are like,” he sighs. “Everything’s complicated.”
I know exactly how he feels but having arrived at the gated entrance outside my parent’s house, we say bye and end the call.
When the security gate swings open, I drive past the manicured hedges and follow the winding driveway. I park the car and take a moment to pull myself together before I storm in with guns blazing.
The guard dogs, Argo and Borax, bark and howl as they tear across the grass, bounding toward me. Dad’s estate manager, Trey, runs after them, waving at me. He’s been working for my parents since I was a boy, and while the dogs are young, Trey is not.
“Easy, you two.” Trey’s out of breath, trying to calm the dogs down.
“It’s okay.” Slipping the car keys into my pocket, I crouch and give both dogs a good scratch behind the ears. The Belgian Malinois were bred in the kennels I keep in Rorvik. I gave them to my parents as a gift a few years ago. “I’ve missed them.”
When I’m not working on movies, I breed dogs suitable for the military’s specialized training and private security. My love of animals extends to horses, which I produce for the Royal Family.
Trey catches his breath. “Mister Regis. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Surprise visit.” I shake his hand. “Are the folks home?”
“They’re inside,” he says. I thank him and make my way to the house.Lucky.I didn’t think of thembeing out. I should have called.
Upon entering, I look around the vast, brightly lit entryway with its grand sweeping staircase and crystal chandeliers. Seeing as I don’t know where they are, I cup my hands around my mouth and call out, “Hello!”
“Luca!” Mom is surprised but happy. “You’re just in time for a game of gin rummy. Your father’s shuffling the cards.”
I follow her voice to the sitting room, and Dad greets me with a bright smile when I enter. As I sink into the plush leather armchair, I wonder what part of this scene makes me feel most at home. The familiar scent of firewood and furniture polish? Or the oversized, brightly decorated Christmas tree dominating the room?
Mom pours whiskey into cut crystal tumblers and passes one to each of us. While Dad deals, I glance at the gallery of photos adorning the walls and take stock of our family. A wave of melancholy washes over me. If Audrey isn't with me, it doesn't feel like home.
We play a couple of rounds, engaging in light-hearted banter but my heart isn’t in it. As time passes, I become frustrated to the point of irritation. Dad observes quietly, his gaze on my fingertips as I tap out a rhythm on the table.
Eventually, he places his cards on the table. “Is there something on your mind, Luca?” he asks, peering thoughtfully over the gold rim of his bifocals.
