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I amble down Main Street in my jeans and favorite teal off-the-shoulder blouse and watch the town wake up. A teenage boy steps out from the grocery store and sweeps the steps. Across the street, a woman sets up a display on the sidewalk outside the bookshop, and I glimpse the latest romantic comedy by Abigail Fox. If Topher doesn’t ring me soon, I may buy a copy and read on the beach. There are definitely worse ways to fritter away the day.
But then, at last, the mobile in my back pocket rings. Sliding it out, I glance at the screen. It’s a goofy picture of my brother and me. Well, of me. I’m squinting my eyes and making it appear as if my tall brother has ears like a rabbit. As for Topher, who has rarely been goofy a day in his life—until Lauren came into the picture, that is—he’s standing there, arms folded, the barest hint of a smile on his chiseled face.
But he’s not the one in the photo who holds my attention. I can’t help but let my gaze linger on the man in the background. He’s tall and strong, and there’s no mistaking the laughter in his eyes.
I shiver at the sight of him—even merely the memory—but no, I’ve got to focus right now. The problem is that I’ve been waiting for this call, but suddenly, I don’t want to answer it. Because I know how it will sound. I know Topher will probably pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh and ask me what in the blooming world I was thinking. He will saythere I go being Chloe again,not thinking things completely through before I race off into the unknown.
But then I will retort that I only race into the unknown when Iknowthat things will work out, and besides, he loves it when Lauren is spontaneous.
And he will tell me that Lauren drives him mad with her spontaneity but that he loves her anyway.
And I will sayYou love me too, you big oaf.
And he will agree.
And then, he will listen to me. Agree with me.
And I will finally prove to him—to everyone—that I’m not just some joke. That despite spending the last several months lying around Lauren’s house doing literally nothing while my bodyguard watched my every move (none of which were interesting in the slightest), I am not worthless.
That I have something of value to contribute to the world.
At least, I really hope that’s what happens. It’s completely possible he will tell me to get on a plane and fly back to Kentonia “where I belong.”
Except, Idon’tbelong there. Maybe I did when I was younger, when I allowed my family and the media to dictate who I was. But not anymore. The only problem? I’m not quite sure where Idobelong. Because where in the world can a princess go to just … be normal? Asking for a friend.
Oh, buck up, Chloe, and just do the blamed thing. Right. I sink onto a bench in front of The Blackberry Muffin bakery and lift the mobile to my ear. “Hello?”
“Chloe Huntington”—my brother’s low voice rumbles from across the pond—“why on God’s green earth are you back in Hallmark Beach?”
Darn the head of security who had the brilliant (and by that I meanterrible) idea to use a mobile app that’s paired with a silver hoop I wear in my upper ear piercing to track my every move. I suppose it’s better than injecting me with a tracker, but only just. I sigh. “Don’t act like I’m doing something dodgy. I texted you so I could discuss this matter with you like the mature and civilized people we are.”
He grunts. I can picture him sitting at the desk in his study, at home in the palace—which is really more like a large ancestral estate—surrounded by his shelves and shelves of books. Probably running a hand through his dark hair and wondering how he came to have a younger sister so completely his opposite. “That would require more than one of us to fit that description.”
“Don’t be rude, Christopher.” Laughing, I sit back against the wooden bench, stretching my legs out in front of me. My polished pink toenails peek out from my white wedge sandals. “Of course I know all of this animosity is stemming from the fact you’re worried about me, because you love me immensely. But just know that I’m completely fine.”
“So long as Tia is with you, I suppose it’s all right.”
Wait. “Uh, I hate to inform you of this”—he has no idea how much, since it’ll cost me my freedom—“but Tia left yesterday.”
I can hear something slam shut. Perhaps his laptop. “What do you mean,left?”
“She didn’t tell you about her departure?” This is a surprise, given how seriously she took her job the last few months. I mean, the woman wouldn’t let me use the facilities without standing outside the door … and that was inside Lauren’s house, where I was perfectly safe.
“No.” The word is tense enough to snap a wooden plank.
“It was a family emergency, so it’s likely she was overwrought and forgot.” I pause. “Don’t give her the boot without allowing her a chance to explain.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to send you a protection detail immediately. When they arrive, they can take you back to San Diego. Unless you’d rather return to Kentonia?” His voice lilts upward.
“Aw, you miss me, big brother?” I try to keep things light-hearted, to not let him see that there is no chance I’m returning to our country until I absolutely must. And that’s not until the end of April, for his and Lauren’s wedding.
Well, theofficialwedding, anyhow, if I get my way.
I hook my thumbnail under my front teeth. Blow out a breath. “Look, there’s something I want to speak to you—”
“Chlo, honestly. Just come back. Lauren said you haven’t spent much time with her while you’ve been in California, anyhow.”
“That’s not true.” I’ll admit, I did spend more time with her roommate Kennedy than Lauren, but that was only because Lauren was always working or on Zoom calls with Felicia Butterflum (or Flutterbum, as I like to not-so-adoringly call her), the world’s most obnoxious royal event planner.
