by London James
It's not Owen.
“Good morning,” I say to the blonde woman standing at the foot of the steps and smiling up at me.
There's nothing friendly in that smile. It's as cold as the blue in her eyes and as carefully crafted as the French manicure on her long nails. Those nails stand out against the dark blue fabric of her pencil skirt where they rest over her hips.
“You must be Avery,” she says.
“I am,” I say, making my way slowly down the rest of the steps toward her.
“Let's get a cup of coffee. We need to talk.”
Without waiting for my response, she turns on one pristine navy heel and strides toward the kitchen. When I get into the room with her, she's looking around, dumbfounded.
“The coffee is in that cabinet,” I tell her, pointing overhead.
“Where is Angela?” she asks.
“Owen and I gave her some time off. I feel like I'm missing something here. Who are you, exactly?”
She turns that glacial smile toward me again.
“My name is Isabel. I'm Owen's fiancée.”
Decaf is not going to cut it today. This is going to warrant some fucking caffeine.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Owen
The sound of voices coming from parlor is disconcerting as I come back into the palace. Avery is supposed to be here alone; unless she called Miles to keep her company. But the other voice I hear is definitely not Miles. It's slow and controlled, slow like it's speaking to a child, and I immediately recognize it. Anger coils through me as I drop my bag and stalk toward the room, stopping just outside out of morbid curiosity to see how far she'll go. Telling my parents about this would be enough to get her out of my life for good.
“The King and Queen were just here a few days ago,” Avery says. “I spoke with them.”
“Why do you think I came?” Isabel asks in the condescending tone. “The King and Queen sent me to handle this little situation.”
“What situation?” Avery asks.
“They came here, expecting to find Owen alone. What else would they think about a bachelor trip? That's what this is, of course. One last solo adventure before he has a travel partner for life, so to speak. So, you can imagine how surprised they were to get here and see that he wasn't alone and that there was some woman here with him.”
“I'm not some woman,” Avery fires back. “Owen and I have known each other since we were children.”
Isabel lets out a merciless, mocking laugh.
“Trust me,” she says. “I know the whole story. You may be charming, and the whole idea of the two of you being childhood sweethearts and him coming to sweep a commoner off her feet is adorable, but don't fool yourself. You will never be good enough for him. We've been together for two years, and we'll be married before his next birthday.”
I can't listen anymore. “That's enough, Isabel,” I say firmly as I stomp into the room.
“Well, hello, Owen. Isn't this an unexpected surprise,” she says shamelessly.
I expect Avery to jump up from the sofa and run into my arms. Instead, her eyes turn to me, filled with tears.
“Avery,” I say.
“Why don't you join in the conversation, Owen,” Isabel says. “I was just telling your friend, here, about our future together.”
“We have no future together,” I growl through my teeth at her.
Avery gets to her feet, and I move toward her, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“No,” she says. “Don't say anything. I don't want to hear another lie come out of your mouth.”
“Avery, you have to listen to me.”
“I don't,” she says. “And I'm not going to. I get it. She's from a royal family. She understands all this and doesn't think you're ridiculous. She comes from your world. I can never compete with that.”
“You don't have to compete with that,” I tell her.
“You're right. I don't. Isabel is like you, Owen. She's what you were always supposed to have.”
“You are what I was always supposed to have,” I insist, reaching for her hand. “I never stopped thinking about you.”
Avery pulls her hand away from me. “How long have you known Isabelle?” she asks.
“My whole life,” I tell her honestly. “Her father is King of an ally to Calidonia.”
“And is it a tradition in your country that in order to ascend the throne, you have to be married by a certain age that you happen to be coming up on in less than a year?”
I feel my throat closing and my stomach tightening. “Yes, but that's just a tradition. It doesn't mean anything.”
“And have your parents betrothed you to Isabel?”
“There was never an official betrothal,” I argue.
Avery's eyes close as she fights to keep control. “Have your parents spoken to her parents to make an agreement for the two of you to get married?”
“Yes,” Isabel says. She lets out a fake giggle. “Sorry, darling. I guess I'm just already so excited to be talking as a unit.”
Avery nods. “That's all I need to know.” She starts out of the room, and I step in front of her to block her way.
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the expectation of my parents, but you have to understand.”
“I do understand, Owen. I don't want to hear anything else. There is nothing you can say to me right now that’s going to make me want to be in the same room with you. Not now. Maybe not ever. I am done with all this. I'm done with the games and the silliness. I'm done with the fairytale. It's time for me to go home and do what I've always done. Figure it out myself.”
“If you'll just listen to me,” I start, but she holds up her hands to stop me.
“Stop talking, Owen. You just need to stop. With everything else that's going on, I frankly just can't deal with this. I'm going to call Sebastian and Skylar and have them figure out a way to come get me, and I'm going back to Vidalia Isle. Get out of my way.”
I reluctantly step out of the way and let her pass. Isabel is laughing when my eyes fall on her, but the sound dies in her throat when I take two long steps to close the space between us so she can see the fire in my gaze.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I seethe through gritted teeth.
“You can stop with the big bad wolf act,” Isabel responds icily. “You're not impressing me.”
I take a step back from her. “Get out,” I say. “I don't care how you got here or if you have to swim back where you came from but get off my island. I need to go outside and get some fresh air.”
I walk back through the palace and out into the bright morning sunlight before she can say anything else. The anger I feel toward her is unlike anything I've ever experienced, and I need to clear my head. Without even thinking about it, my feet bring me into the labyrinth.
The roses are starting to fade, but I barely notice as I weave through the passages, muscle memory taking me along the correct path of the maze without having to think about it. I go through it again and again until I feel like I have my anger under control, then head back inside to talk to Avery.
She isn't in the bedroom, and nearly everything she brought with her is gone. I run down the stairs and into the library. Her diagram and all the pictures are no longer spread across the floor. Feeling more anxious, I head into the kitchen. The anger punches me in the chest again when I see Isabel standing at the counter, trying to figure out how to use the coffee maker.
“It's nice of you to give Angela time off and all, and I guess you don't really need her when you have a commoner here with you, but don't think you're going to be doing that with our staff.”
“Isabel,” I say as calmly as I can.
“I suppose you could hire a backup staff and they could work in rotation, but you can't expect me to go for days without help.”
She laughs as if it's the most hilarious thing she's ever said, and I take another step toward her.
“Isabel,” I say again. My voice finally catches he
r attention. “I told you to leave.”
“Why should I leave? Don't you think we should be spending time together before the wedding?”
“There isn't going to be a wedding. We've been over this before. You and I are not engaged. We've never been engaged, and we're never going to be engaged.”
“Don't be so silly, Owen,” she says with a dismissive flip of her hair.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully, Isabel. I want to make sure this is extremely clear. I don't love you. I don't even like you. Regardless of any tradition or arrangement or anything someone else might have told you, I have absolutely no intention of marrying you within the next year, or in the next lifetime. Arrangements our parents made don't obligate me to anything, and I have already told them I'm not interested in marrying you and I don't plan to. That's final. Now, where is Avery?”
“She left,” Isabel says. “She looked like a pack mule carrying all those bags out with her.”
“Where did she go?” I ask.
“You heard her. She said she was going back to Vidalia Isle.”
“How?”
Isabel shrugs, and I run out of the kitchen, not wanting to waste any more time on her. Bursting out of the front of the palace, I wrench my phone from my pocket and dial Avery. It rings several times then goes to voicemail. I hang up and immediately try again. Another three calls go the same way as I run through the grounds looking for her.
She isn't at the marina or at the helicopter landing pad. My sixth call goes straight to voicemail, and I know she's turned off her phone. Wherever she is, she has no interest in talking to me. That's not good enough. I can't just stay here and not know what happened to her. Storming back into the palace, I run toward my bedroom.
My duffle bag could contain literally any assortment of my clothing when I get back down to the foyer. I blindly shoved handfuls of clothes into it until it was full then ran back downstairs. Scooping up the overnight bag I'd dropped when I came inside, I take out my phone and call for the helicopter. It's not in the proximity to come right now, and there's no way to land a plane on the island. My only chance is to call Captain Jacks and hope he has had enough to give the boat a once over and refuel it.
“You could just spend the night with me,” Isabel says, walking down the steps onto the dock with a slow, slinky gait. “My private transportation is coming back for me in the morning, and I’m sure I could find space to bring you home.”
“I'm not staying with you, Isabel. Not tonight and not any night. And I'm not going home.”
She gives a mocking laugh. “You're seriously going after her?” Her demeanor suddenly changes. The cold, bitter exterior melts away, and she comes close, her eyes wide. She runs her fingertips down my chest. “Don't you see how perfect we are together?” she asks in a kitten-like voice. “I'm the best you'll ever be able to have. Marry me, and you get to keep your royal status. You'll also get to rule one day and enjoy the benefits of combining our kingdoms.”
“None of that matters,” I tell her, stepping away from her touch.
“Well, what about the other perks you can enjoy? I won't be a jealous wife, Owen. As long as I have the title and all the legal commitment, you can do whatever you want. We both can. Doesn't that intrigue you?”
“The idea of marrying you and sleeping around with whoever I want isn't sexy,” I tell her. “It sounds like hell.”
Chapter Thirty
Avery
Miles was compassionate enough to arrange for me to get back to Vidalia Isle without asking any questions. I'm beyond grateful for that. I guess the look on the Sheriff’s face right now tells me a whole lot of them are coming my way.
“Avery?” he says for the third time since I walked into the police station and asked to see him.
“Yes, Sheriff, it's me,” I answer again.
“Avery Carlisle?”
“Sheriff, I am the only Avery on the island except for Mayor Prescott's cat, and I'm fairly certain she isn't wanted for questioning for murder.”
“That's true,” he says. “I just... You're really here? You just walked in like that?”
“Haven't you been looking for me?” I ask.
“Well that's the problem. We've been looking for you for a couple of weeks now, and I had big plans for your takedown. But here you are making it all easy on me,” he says.
“I'm sorry,” I say, deflated and too emotionally drained to deal with this right now. “Do you want me to go out into the village and you can come take me down out there?”
He looks like he's considering the possibility, then shakes his head. “No, that won't be necessary. You had the decency to come out here and hand yourself over, so I won't put you through all that. I am going to have to ask you to put your hands behind your back.”
“That's fine,” I tell him.
Getting arrested is nowhere near as dramatic as I expected it to be, and in just a few moments, the sheriff rattles off his spiel and leads me through a door into the back of the station. He unlocks the door to one of the holding cells and leads me inside, unlocking my cuffs before leaving me. I thought he was tossing me in where I'd be completely alone, but there's already someone sitting on one of the low benches.
Her arms are curled tightly around her, and the black hood of her sweatshirt is pulled down over her face. It looks like she's sleeping, and I move carefully toward the bench, so I don't disturb her. I've only taken one step when her head snaps up, and the hood falls back.
“Hi!”
“Damn it, Julie!” I say, pressing my hand to the center of my chest to make sure my heart hasn't actually burst out.
"I'm sorry," she says, her face scrunching up in a regretful expression. "Did I startle you?"
"No, you didn't startle me. You scared the living hell out of me. Again, I might add."
Sitting down beside her, I wipe away tears that had been lingering along my lower lashes and had trickled down my cheeks when I jumped.
"So," she says, nudging me with her shoulder, "what are you in for?"
My eyes narrow, and my lips curl up in disbelief at the question. "Seriously?" I ask.
"Come on," she says hopefully. "I've always wanted to ask that question in here."
"How many times have you been in here?" I ask.
She shrugs. "A couple. It happens."
"Alright," I relent. "Go ahead."
She grins, then forces her face to drop and assumes a deeper, more serious tone. "What are you in for?" she asks again.
"Technically, obstruction of justice," I tell her. "They don't have enough evidence to actually arrest me for murder yet, which I guess is a good thing. But they can ding me on the whole running away and staying away when I knew they wanted me for questioning life choice. That, and they are pretty well convinced I destroyed some evidence."
"I'm sorry. You had a pretty good run, though. Where did they finally snag you?" she asks.
"In the lobby," I tell her. "Turns out I wasn't equipped for the hard realities of being on the lam. I turned myself in."
"Might be for the better. At least now you can get it over with faster," she offers.
"In theory," I say. "How about you? What are you in for?"
She grins. "It's fun to ask, isn't it?"
"It kind of is," I agree.
"They got me for protesting without a permit," she tells me. "I told them I didn't need a permit when such a fundamental right was being violated."
"What right?" I ask, worried about what she might have had to go through.
"The right to celebrate Halloween," she says, throwing her hands up in the air in torment. "All year long I wait for this season. It's homecoming at the high school, which means Spirit Week and then Halloween. Andrew and I have been planning our costumes for months, and then the narrow-sighted government of this town decides to do away with the holiday." She stomps one foot and slams her fist against the bench beside her. "I won't stand for it."
She lets out a long breath. Apparently,
that was enough to get all her anger out because she looks bubbly and unaffected again.
“What were you going to be for Halloween?” I ask.
“An ode to theme park snacks,” she tells me. “I was going to be a donut. One of those ones with the pink icing and sprinkles. And Andrew is the cutest churro you've ever seen. I even put clear bugle beads all over it so it would look like he was covered in cinnamon and sugar."
"You have a very loving husband," I say.
"I know," she tells me with a sigh, gazing into the distance for a few seconds like he has appeared in front of her in a thought bubble. She suddenly turns back to me. "So, are you going to tell me what's bothering you, because I know it's not being in here."
"Owen and I came grinding to a halt," I tell her.
"Oh, no," she gasps. "What happened?"
“I found out today he is not available to have a relationship with me. From the woman he's supposed to be marrying in a few months.”
“That'll do it,” she says. “Not that there's really any good way to respond to that situation, but what did he have to say about it? You don't have to answer if you don't want to. If you just want to be all ‘down with the man, sisters are doing it for themselves,’ I'm here for it.”
She holds her fist up in solidarity.
“He told me it wasn't true and that he isn't actually engaged to her, but then turned around and admitted his family has been making arrangements for their wedding for years.”
“Maybe there's more to it,” Julie says. “You should give him a chance to give you his side.”
“Honestly, with everything that's going on right now, I just don't feel like there are any more creases in my brain to shove anything else into. Not for a while, at least. He's got to do his thing, whatever that is, and I need to just worry about taking care of myself.”
“Heard,” she tells me and flashes me another fist.
“Thanks. Besides, it's going to be hard to have a heart-to-heart when I'm going to be in here for who-knows-how-long. I didn't really plan this one out. I don't have a lawyer or bail or anything. I don't even know how to do either one of those.”
