Cursed be the Crown (Cruel Fortunes Book 1)

by RAE STAPLETON

  The water stopped, and Cullen casually strutted out of my bathroom, his bronzed skin still dripping as he towel-dried his shaggy, golden red mane. He didn’t have the kind of body that took hours in the gym to achieve. He was a natural athlete with a slim build on a wiry frame, and it suited him. There was something about him that just connected with me, and it wasn’t purely animal—although we’d made out pretty hard core. It had been hard to stop.

  “Hey,” he said very softly. “Ye’re awake.”

  “I heard you get out of the shower,” I murmured, still half asleep.

  I stood up, folded the blanket.

  “How about lunch in town before I take ye to the airport?”

  I nodded, the idea of leaving him was making me sad. It was the strangest thing and before I knew it, it was over. We were in front of the airport, unloading my suitcase.

  “I guess I should go,” I said with a sigh.

  “Aye. Ye’d best not forget me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  The skin around his eyes crinkled with his smile. “I mean it. Once y’er settled and ye know Gigi is okay, come visit me in Ireland. I’ll take care of the flights.”

  “I will. Just make sure you keep your eyes peeled at all times. You never know when you’re going to have to rescue a girl.”

  “I hardly think ye’re the helpless type but I found ye once and I could do it again. I have super-Sophia-findin’ skills.”

  “I hope so.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  A knee struck the back of my seat again. I looked out the window at the tarmac, praying that the nervous Nelly behind me would soon find herself unconscious. Air travel was supposed to be less daunting then time travel, wasn’t it?

  “I just want to get this over with. I hate flying.” The woman repeated.

  The stewardess behind me was doing her best to calm her, but one more jitter of her long legs might unravel my fraying composure.

  “What is taking so long? Does the pilot know what he’s doing?”

  Closing my eyes, I ran a hand over my face, thinking instead about the man I’d just spent two days with. Why did I feel sad to leave him when we’d only just met? Pulling a few bobby pins from my purse, I grabbed my ponytail and secured it up into a top knot and settled in for a long flight home.

  What would Gigi say when I told her my incredulous story of being trapped in the 19th century. When I thought about it, it sounded like some sort of adventure story. Indiana Jones meets Cinderella complete with the handsome hero. Well, dead hero now. My heart tugged as I thought of the Graf. Poor, poor Conrad. And then there was Cullen. I’d never felt such a sizzling connection with anyone before.

  I was still pondering the whole thing when I pulled up to the cabin almost twenty-four hours later—still decorated with lights and pumpkins. The scent of cinnamon hung heavily in the air.

  “Gigi, I told you not to wait up.” I barely had time to set down my suitcase before she pulled me into her arms, hugging me fiercely.

  “Well, I couldn’t sleep without seeing you first, now could I?” She glanced at the bouquet of autumnal flowers in my hand. “Those are lovely!” Gigi said. “Who are those from?”

  “They’re not from anyone, silly? They’re for you. I bought them at the airport so they’re probably desperate for a drink by now. Where do you want me to put them?”

  I hung up my coat, and followed her into the kitchen. The aroma of cinnamon assaulted my senses.

  “Oh, you are just so sweet—bringing an old woman a bouquet of flowers. Let’s put them on the entry table for now,” Gigi said, pulling a vase down from the cupboard and filling it.

  “That smells awesome. What did you make?

  “Just some cinnamon buns for the morning,” she said. “I thought we could both use a treat.” She slapped her hand down on the counter. “What with that… that …” She paused, like she always did when she wanted to swear. “B… brat… Nick putting you through the ringer and all.”

  I grabbed her and pulled her in for another hug, noticing the photos scattered on the table between us.

  “Are you making a scrapbook?” I asked, as I reached out and picked up one of her and her sister.

  “Part of my need for organization, I guess. I don’t want to leave a mess for you when I go.”

  This was the second time she’d said something like this and it reminded me of the tests she’d had done. Knowing Gigi and not wanting to push, I waited for her to broach the subject.

  I held out a photo of her sister, Zafira. “Where was this taken?”

  “The county fair in… hmm, when was that?” she asked herself, turning the picture over. “Ahhh, here it is… the year before my mother died. That’s Zafira. You know, you look and act so much like her sometimes it frightens me.”

  This was something Gigi had said to me often, but she seemed to like to repeat it. Her past was plagued with tragedy. Her paternal grandparents died in a car accident around the same time her own mother died.

  I picked up a leather-bound diary and fingered the initials on the cover. E. B.

  “What’s this?”

  “That’s my father’s journal. I must have read it a thousand times. He recorded his journey over from the old country in it.”

  “That’s strange. I’ve never seen it before,” I said, realizing she didn’t speak of her father all that openly. “Why did you and your sister go into an orphanage anyway, if your father was alive, I mean?”

  She reached for it and started fiddling with the cover. “Papa took it hard when Oma and Opa died in the car accident. When we lost Mama immediately after, it was like he died too. He had to be hospitalized.” She pushed up out of her chair and walked to look out the window above the sink. “Aunt Maggie had just moved to England and, for some reason, they didn’t contact her right away. I guess it was because we were only supposed to be in the orphanage temporarily. It wasn’t as easy to get a hold of people back then either—no social media. Anyway, after he was released, he disappeared.”

  I got up out of my chair and walked over to where she stood.

  “I don’t think he could bear to look at us; maybe we reminded him of Mama.” Her eyes were growing glossy.

  “I’m sorry, Gigi,” I said, pulling her in for a hug.

  I could feel her start to shake. I pulled back to look into her face.

  “I’m sorry. You’re tired and I shouldn’t have asked.”

  She let me go with one last squeeze and wiped the tears away with force.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, girl. You need to know the truth. I won’t always be around, and it’s about time I started opening up about the past.” Her eyes twinkled, and she stared off into space before returning my gaze. “But not tonight. It’s bedtime now.”

  I set the photo down and kissed the top of her head, following her up the stairs.

  “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite?” I teased.

  “It would be the most action I’ve had in years!” she said, in a mocking tone.

  I dropped my bags in my room and went to the large windows like I always did when I returned home. The view of the inky dark water in contrast to the cottage lights was magical. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have a nightmare about drowning in it tonight.

  THIRTY

  I woke to a general mayhem of shouting, mixed with bouts of banging. I dove deeper into my duvet and wondered who Gigi could have upset. She had an ongoing feud with her neighbor over their dog, which she had nicknamed Sir Shitsalot, but I couldn’t see old Mr. Crawford banging like that.

  Unable to fall back to sleep, I climbed out from my blankets and peeked through the curtains, cursing under my breath. The sun flashed into the room, momentarily blinding me. It was daylight in the swamp, or so Gigi always said.

  I didn’t really want to rejoin the land of the living, but I crept down the hallway anyway, preparing for battle in case Gigi needed backup. One of the windows upstairs was open.

  “I want to see her now!�
� the voice behind the door said. I listened hard, but I couldn’t hear what Gigi was saying. I knew it wasn’t pleasing our guest though.

  “Unlock that door, or I’m going to take that key right out of your hand and do it myself.”

  “Over my dead body.” This time Gigi raised her voice enough so that I could make out what she was saying.

  “Fine with me.”

  “Why, you arrogant little—”

  “She is my fiancée, and I have a right to find out where she’s been and who the hell she ran off with.” I recognized that riled-up voice. My limbs filled with adrenalin. He was definitely the last person I wanted to see right now.

  “You got a right to one of these bullets and that’s about it now get off my property, Nicholas, before I call the cops to drag you away. Or, better yet, let me go get my shotgun and I’ll shove it up your spoiled, little ass.”

  I reached the window just in time to see Nick open his car door.

  “And don’t come back.” No sooner did the words escape her mouth then he took off, spinning his tires in the gravel, kicking up rocks and dirt as he disappeared up the road behind the trees.

  I paused at the window and watched Gigi strut back inside.

  “Well done,” I said, smiling sheepishly as I came down the stairs. “Super-granny one; loser ex-boyfriend zero.”

  She dusted her hands off with pride and smirked. “He always was an asshole.”

  “Indeed, and sadly, I was too blind to see it.”

  “Well, I’m just glad you see it now. He looked ready to commit murder. It was the most fun I’ve had in months.”

  I chuckled, believing her wholeheartedly. “How about next time I talk to him though—if he returns that is. I don’t want him losing his cool on you.”

  “Oh please, he doesn’t have the balls to intimidate me and we are not giving in.”

  “Gigi. He’s got a good seventy pounds on you.”

  “He’s not bullet proof and I’m not dumb enough to see to him empty handed. Now, conversation over—I’m gonna take the boat out. Do you wanna come?”

  She may have been old, but she certainly didn’t act like it.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea that you still row the boat every day? I mean, what if something happened?”

  “Oh, girl. I don’t do much rowing anymore. I have my little trolling motor, but what do you think—I should just stop living life and crawl into bed ’cause I’m old?”

  “No, but you could take it a little easier.”

  “Hell, no. I’m not slowing down or giving in to anyone or anything, especially old age.”

  I smiled. “That better be a promise.”

  “Why don’t you just come? Then you won’t have to worry at all.”

  “No, I think I’m going to stay here. I need to call work, and there’s a few things I need to check out online.”

  “Oh, that damn computer of yours.”

  I laughed. “I know! I’m sorry, Gigi. Let’s make breakfast together when you come back, and you can tell me all about those tests you were having done.”

  She looked at me hesitantly for a moment, like she had just swallowed poison.

  “Gigi?”

  “I already ate. There’s fruit in the blender,” she said sharply and then she turned and headed onto the deck and down the stairs.

  I watched her go, feeling butterflies churn in my belly. I didn’t think she had good news in store.

  As soon as she hit the lake, I got dressed and turned on the laptop, but I couldn’t focus for worrying over her. I decided to just go and catch up to her. She was probably drifting around our favorite shore.

  I quickened my pace and reached the beach at last, but she was just a speck on the far side. She must have been heading down to have tea with the neighbor.

  Oh, well! At least the walk was nice and the scene before me was picture perfect. Dark sand stretched out to kiss the surf. Sitting down on a large rock, I wrapped my arms around my knees and watched the lazy pines, mixed with cedar and white birch, sway in the breeze. A mother goose with her babies strutted along the sand, at once elegant and gawky.

  Closing my eyes, I listened and could hear the water lapping against the rocks. My solitude was interrupted when I heard something running through the bushes, scattering the fallen leaves. It suddenly occurred to me that Nick might still be hanging around. Whatever it was, it was coming quickly in my direction.

  Startled, I sat up straight and opened my eyes. A moment later I was greeted by Sir Shitsalot, who charged toward me at a full gallop, leaping playfully into my lap.

  “Oh, it’s you,” I whispered, roughly petting the fur along the dog’s shoulders. Sir Shitsalot nuzzled his wet nose into my neck. “Run along now. You shouldn’t be so far from home.” I glanced up and spied the dark silhouette of a man coming toward me. Mr. Crawford, most likely, looking for his dog.

  But it wasn’t. It was Nick. I jumped to my feet and headed back for the cottage.

  “Sofa! Where are you going?”

  I turned to face him. “I’m going back to the cottage and you are not welcome to follow me. In fact, for your own safety, I’d advise you not to tempt Gigi to shoot you. Her trigger finger is itchy.”

  He laughed and took another step, at the same time leering at me. “That feisty old battleax is across the lake. I waited until she left.”

  I turned back ready to hit him. “Do not talk about he like that!”

  Across the lake, Gigi’s boat was still just a speck. I started walking back toward the Lake House.

  I could hear the anger rising in his voice as I walked farther away, so I started to run. Before I knew it, his footsteps were gaining on me.

  “Leave me alone!” I shouted, half turning, almost running over old Mr. Crawford.

  “You all right, Sophia, dear?”

  “Yes. Just heading back home. Alone,” I said, emphasizing the last word as I glanced behind me. Nick was gone.

  My fingers were shaky and the door couldn’t lock fast enough. Gigi would go ballistic. She’d chase Nick down with one of Grandpa’s old shotguns—if she could still lift it. I hoped not. Or did I?

  THIRTY-ONE

  W hen Gigi got back to the lake house, I was pleased to see she was in a joyous mood. “Hey, doll. You get restless? That son-of-a-gun Crawford had his mutt out there soiling our lawn. He said you were rude to him. Good job.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to be rude. He startled me is all. I walked down to the point,” I said, pouring myself a smoothie from the blender, leaving out the part about running into Nick. “I was hoping to catch up, but I guess I missed you.”

  “I went down to Mabel’s for a tea,” she said, fiddling with her glue. “Now where’s that other box of pictures? Sophia, could you check the closet in the office?”

  I wandered into Grampa Jackson’s office; tall bookshelves lined the room, and there were ladders that ran on tracks. This was where I had fostered my love for books. Dust hung suspended in shafts of light from the windows. Gigi obviously hadn’t ventured into his office since his death. I turned in circles, sensing the familiarity, trying to remember all the times I had spent in here coloring at Grampa’s feet or arguing from the other side of his desk. He had loved to tease.

  Why had it been so long since I’d come in here? I was rummaging inside the little closet, wondering where to begin, when I noticed a half-covered cubbyhole above the door.

  “Well, now, Gramps, what were you hiding up here?” I moved to the cubbyhole and pulled the box down. At first I thought nothing of it; I pushed it aside and returned to the closet until I found the old photos Gigi wanted. Then I began to wonder why Gramps would hide a box. I decided I’d take it up to my room and browse through it later.

  “I found them!” I shouted, walking back down the hall.

  “Great. Set them over here.”

  “Can I help?” I asked, following her instructions.

  “You can make a pot of tea and keep me company, maybe do so
me gluing now and then.”

  “Sure, one minute.” I grabbed the box from the office and carried it to my room. Then I unzipped the secret pocket of my suitcase where the rosewood box remained safely hidden. The box in itself was a beautiful piece of art, with ornate elephants carved on the sides.

  Gigi sat at the kitchen table organizing her crafting station as I returned.

  Setting the jewelry box on the table before her, I turned and grabbed a tea bag out of the cupboard.

  “We need to talk.” I glanced back. She was running her finger over the carvings. “I want you to tell me where that came from?”

  Gigi opened her mouth and shut it, doing her best to formulate an evasive answer. “And I thought I was the one supposed to be losing my memory,” she finally said with a forced laugh. “Don’t you remember, it was made by a Punjabi carver.”

  “Not the box, Gigi.”

  “The jewels, that it?” She fixed me with a cold stare.

  I set her tea off to the side so it could cool and popped the box open. We both gazed at the necklace. It was covered in gemstones with a couple of emerald chips.

  Gigi looked uncomfortable. “Where’s the ring, honey?”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about. You said this was an old family heirloom and to keep the box tucked away somewhere safe.”

  “Yes, I said that. You followed my instruction, didn’t you? Did someone steal the ring?”

  “I don’t know what happened. It may have just slipped off my finger in the water.”

  “Sophia, you wore it?” Gigi asked worriedly.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Was that wrong of me?”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, more to herself. She quickly pushed back from the table and began to pace. “I’m not sure,” she bit her lower lip. “What happened,” Gigi said, turning back to the table where her jewels remained. “Oh, dear.”

  “What’s wrong, Gigi? Wasn’t I supposed to wear it?”

  Silence.

  “Where did it come from?”

  I followed her to the window and shook her shoulder to bring her out of her daze.