A Princess in Maine

by Jen McLaughlin

  “Take him back to our country for his trial.” Phillip let go of Jeremy’s hand, and held mine. I watched as he kissed my knuckles in a gentlemanly way. “But let’s talk about more pleasant things, like this wedding. It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Holland. You’re welcome to come visit Talius anytime, and you can stay at the castle.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. Our next trip, however, will be our honeymoon in Hawaii.”

  “In that case, let me tell you now that I paid you extra.” He held a hand up when both Jeremy and I started to protest. “Use it on your honeymoon. I insist.”

  “As do I,” Grace said. “Come along, dear. It’s almost time to eat, and I want to dance one more time with my husband.”

  Phillip bowed. “And I, with my princess.”

  We watched them go, and I whispered, “Is it wrong to look now to see how much extra they gave us?”

  “Do it,” Jeremy said, stepping in front of me. “I’ll cover you.”

  I peeked, gasped, and closed the envelope. “We’re getting the nicest room available. And nonstop room service.”

  “Sounds delightful.” He pulled me into his arms, swaying to the music, and I melted into him. I wasn’t much of a dancer, but for him, I made an exception. “You know, this isn’t just a honeymoon anymore.”

  I blinked up at him. “It isn’t?”

  “It’s a babymoon.” He kissed my forehead, his grip at my hips tightening. “And that makes me the luckiest guy alive.”

  “Then we’re a good match, because I’m the luckiest woman.” I rested a hand on his heart. It leapt under my touch.

  The world could throw the cartel, the Sullivans, an abusive ex-boyfriend, or even a Taliusian traitor our way. It didn’t matter. I’d keep kicking ass, and taking names, and then I’d do it all over again.

  No, scratch that. We would do it all over again. We would kick ass.

  As a team, we’d never lose. No matter what life threw at me, no matter how many villains came into our story…

  I’d still be the luckiest woman to ever live.

  Because I had Jeremy freakin’ Holland at my side, and that was never going to change.

  Epilogue

  The man stepped inside the inn, taking a deep breath as he lifted his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled. The inside of the inn was just as he remembered it from his last “visit,” but there’d been a couple of improvements. They must’ve done more work on the place. This return trip was overdue, and it was about time he made it a point to show Chelsea and her fed husband who really held all the cards. Too many failed attempts by hired lackeys had brought him back to the scene of the crime, and this time he wouldn’t stop until he beat Chelsea at her own game.

  This time, he had hired Joseph to smear Chelsea’s reputation—after all, what better way to shut down an inn that made its money off weddings than a dead princess bride? But the incompetent man hadn’t been able to get the job done. Clearly, if you wanted to destroy someone properly, it was best to do it yourself. He inhaled deeply, and puffed out a breath of smoke.

  A young woman came up to the check-in desk. She was small, fresh-faced, and blond. Pretty, too. “Hello, sir. I’m sorry, but you can’t smoke in here. It’s a nonsmoking inn.”

  He grinned, took another puff, uncapped his Coke, and then dropped the butt in his soda bottle. It fizzled out. “Of course. I’m sorry, Miss…?”

  “Holly.” Her cheeks flushed when she saw him staring, and she picked up a pen, set it back down, and then opened the computer. “And you are…?”

  “Jared. Jared Smith.” He rested an elbow on the desk. “I’ve been meaning to visit here for a while. I have a reservation.”

  Holly nodded, not looking up. It was clear he intimidated her. Good. He preferred it that way. “You’re coming at a good time. We just had a big wedding here two days ago, and we were booked solid. All the guests have left, though, so you’ll have the run of the place.”

  “I know.” He cocked a brow. “I heard the hands of God himself couldn’t have stopped that wedding.”

  She looked at him weirdly. “ID, sir?”

  “Of course.” He handed her the fake ID, specially made for this visit, and a forged credit card with its matching name. “I got the room I requested, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.” She looked at the ID, then him, and he smiled. She blushed even more. “The biggest one we have.”

  “You’re staying in my old room,” a voice from behind him said.

  He stiffened. He’d seen her from afar, and he’d hated her for his entire life, but he’d never actually interacted with her.

  Slowly, he turned to face her.

  She looked so much like their mother.

  It was a punch to the gut.

  “Chelsea O’Kane?” he asked, keeping his tone level as he walked over to her, unable to look away from her face. She has Mom’s eyes.

  “Holland, now.” She held a hand out. “And you are?”

  “Jared.” He shook her hand, and his skin crawled at her touch. “Jared Smith.”

  “Welcome to the McCullagh Inn,” she called out, smiling in a carefree manner as she walked backward toward the kitchen, toward her private quarters. “Hope you enjoy your stay!”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will.” But you won’t, he added silently.

  He smiled until she was gone, waving like a damn fool, but then let it fade away.

  “Sir?” Holly said, from by the desk, holding up a small envelope. “Your room key.”

  He took it from the girl, when he heard a voice behind him.

  Her husband, Jeremy, was coming in the front door. “Welcome, Mr. Smith. I’ll carry that for you, and show you to your room.”

  Jared smiled again. “No need. I’ve got it.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  As he made his way up the stairs, heading toward Chelsea’s old room, he gripped his suitcase handle so hard it hurt. He’d waited a long time for this moment, and he needed to make sure he didn’t do anything to mess it up.

  He had to take his time. Plan his attack. Measure her weaknesses, though he already knew one. Her husband. He’d use him against her, until he brought his sister down.…

  Just like she deserved.

  About the Author

  Jen McLaughlin is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling romance author. She was mentioned in Forbes alongside E. L. James as one of the breakout independent authors to dominate the bestselling lists. She is represented by Louise Fury at the Bent Agency. She loves hearing from her fans, and you can visit her on the web at JenMcLaughlin.com.

  Interested in discovering a great new author?

  Please turn the page for an exclusive excerpt from Primrose Lane

  by USA Today bestselling author

  Debbie Mason

  Dr. Finn Gallagher returns for a visit to Harmony Harbor only to find that the town’s matchmakers have other plans. Because it’s high time that wedding planner Olivia Davenport gets to plan her own nuptials. And finding true love is the best reason of all for Finn to move home for good.

  Chapter One

  Gardening had once been Olivia Davenport’s favorite pastime. Her mother and grandmother had both been avid gardeners. They’d passed on their love of flowers to Olivia and taught her to appreciate the simple pleasure of being at one with nature.

  But Olivia hadn’t picked up a trowel or hoe in more than two years. She’d lost the desire to carefully tend the tender shoots and bulbs only to have them blossom and then die. Yet here she was, sitting in the middle of an overgrown garden on the Gallaghers’ estate with her trusty trowel in hand.

  As the event planner for Greystone Manor, she took care of all the details—nothing was too big or too small. Including ensuring that the gardens were shipshape for the upcoming outdoor wedding season.

  She looked up from under her wide-brimmed sunhat at the imposing granite mansion casting a shadow over the fragrant garden. Eight months before, on a dark and dreary
September night, a thick fog rolling off the Atlantic had forced her to seek shelter in the coastal town of Harmony Harbor. Little did she know then, as she’d spied the fairy-tale castle rising from the mist, that Greystone Manor would become her home. The place where she’d reinvent herself. The place where she’d become Dana Templeton.

  No one here knew she was missing Boston socialite Olivia Davenport. No one knew she’d once been a mother and a wife. No one knew that for the past week the memories had been threatening to bring her to her knees.

  She never knew when they would strike. Sometimes they were like a thief in the night, coming out of the darkness to pounce on her, stealing her breath and the tiny bit of contentment she’d managed to carve out for herself in her new life. At other times, they were like a warm, all-encompassing hug that she never wanted to end.

  But it didn’t seem to matter if the memories were good or bad; they had one thing in common: the power to send her to that dark place she’d escaped from not so very long ago. She supposed it said something that she actually cared whether she ended up back there or not. There’d been a time when she hadn’t.

  It was the anniversaries. They were piling up on one another. Today was difficult. Tomorrow would be far worse. Even so, Olivia had no choice but to do her job.

  That wasn’t entirely true. She had a choice; there was always a choice. It wasn’t like she had to work for a living. But in some ways, she credited her job for saving her life. Staying busy, filling her mind and time with work, helped her cope.

  Her job as Greystone’s event planner had given her a sense of purpose, a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment. And the Gallagher women had given her something even more precious—their friendship.

  So, no matter how tempting it was to stay in bed tomorrow with the blankets pulled over her head, Olivia would do her best to make the day special for both her friends and the other mothers staying at the manor. She’d keep the crippling memories at bay the same way she had for the past week—antianxiety pills and sleeping pills.

  They were the same weapons she’d used in the past. However, now she was using them not only to help with the pain of remembering, but also to fight the feeling of impending doom. She didn’t worry she’d become addicted. She just needed a little help to get through the next thirty-six hours. Admittedly, she’d doubled up on that help today.

  Her nerves were frayed because of the phone calls. The ones she wouldn’t answer because she recognized his number. She’d have to answer, eventually. Stanley Morton wasn’t a man who gave up. But he couldn’t hurt her anymore. He’d already done his worst. Now it was probably something as mundane as changing the ownership on the brownstone. Except, in her mind, even something that small could grow like a tenacious weed and suck her back into her old life.

  Tossing a clump of yellowtail into the growing pile beside her, she did her best to push thoughts of Stanley and his phone calls out of her head. She couldn’t afford to be paralyzed by worry today. Her schedule wouldn’t permit it.

  At three that afternoon, fifteen children between the ages of four and ten were scheduled to gather in the conference room to paint miniature flowerpots. Each pot would hold one of the pink tulips Olivia was now trying to carefully dislodge from the greedy hands of the spring soil. She was determined that the mothers would enjoy their flowers for more than a few days and did her best to keep the roots intact.

  Smiling when she lifted the entire flower, bulb and all, from the ground, she transferred it into one of the small pots. The tulip symbolized happiness and good wishes, which, in her opinion, made them the perfect choice for the children to give to their mothers. No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than a memory from three years earlier sprang to life right before her eyes. She clearly saw her little boy carrying a white wicker breakfast tray to where she sat in a canopied bed. Noting how he struggled under the weight of the tray, she reached out to help him. Cooper lifted his determined little chin.

  He was six, pale and skinny from another round of treatment for leukemia, and it made it next to impossible not to try and help him. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she clasped her hands tightly on her lap to keep from doing so. From beneath his Boston Red Sox hat, he rewarded her with a proud smile that reached his blue eyes as he placed the tray on the bed.

  He’d made her breakfast, a juicy orange peeled and torn into segments and a bowl of his favorite cereal, Cocoa Puffs. He held up a painted pot that contained a perfect pink tulip. He’d remembered the meaning. She reached out to hug him. Instead she grabbed thin air.

  Her eyes grew wet, the grounds a blurred blob of green and blue as she checked to be sure no one had witnessed the moment. She lowered her empty arms to her sides. Two years ago tomorrow, she’d buried her son. This year, the anniversary fell on Mother’s Day.

  She didn’t know who she’d been trying to fool. Herself, obviously. Because no matter how much medication she’d taken today or would take tomorrow, it wouldn’t be enough to keep the memories at bay or her emotions in check. And wouldn’t that be embarrassing…and possibly terrifying for the children. Maybe her good friend and boss, Sophie Gallagher, would take over the craft session for her.

  No sooner had the idea popped into Olivia’s head than she heard Sophie’s voice coming from the patio on the other side of the boxwood hedge. Olivia took it as a good omen and was pushing to her feet to wave her friend over when another voice joined Sophie’s, deep and rich with a seductive rumble that Olivia felt straight down to her rubber-boot-encased toes. She immediately dropped to her knees to hide, wincing when she landed on the edge of the trowel.

  Ridiculously handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed men didn’t typically send Olivia to the ground, but this particular one did. And it wasn’t because of the temptation of his alluring face and seductive voice or that lately he’d played a starring role in her dreams—for which she put the entire blame on her medication. No, it was because, when Finn Gallagher looked at her, she had an uncomfortable feeling he saw past her disguise and knew exactly what she was hiding.

  There was another reason for her discomfort. But she didn’t want to acknowledge it because, once she did, she’d have to face her feelings.

  “Have you seen Dana?” asked the man with the sea-blue eyes that seemed to see through to Olivia’s very soul. “Grams is worried about her. She thinks Dana’s coming down with something.”

  At the sarcastic edge in Finn’s voice, Olivia stiffened while her traitorous heart picked up speed. It seemed the universe wouldn’t be happy until she faced every uncomfortable and worrisome thought and feeling today. Any hope of achieving a Zenlike state in the garden was shot thanks to Finn’s matchmaking grandmother.

  Oh yes, Olivia knew exactly what Kitty Gallagher was up to. The seventysomething woman was hardly secretive about her determination to find her grandson a wife.

  And sadly, Kitty’s recent successes with Finn’s older and younger brothers led the older woman to believe she had a gift.

  She was also highly motivated. A wife would keep Finn from returning to the Congo to serve with Doctors Without Borders. He’d been badly injured in March when rebels attacked the hospital where he’d been working.

  “I just saw her a little while ago,” Sophie said. “She seemed fine to me.”

  Olivia heard the frown in Sophie’s voice. Four months pregnant, head over heels in love with her husband, Liam, an extremely hot and sweet firefighter, and busy raising their adorable eight-year-old Mia and managing the manor, Sophie wouldn’t have a clue what Kitty was up to.

  “Come on, you can’t seriously think the woman is fine, Soph.”

  And there it was, the thing Olivia didn’t want to examine too closely—Finn and his resemblance to her late husband, Nathan. Not so much in looks despite them both having dark hair and blue eyes; Nathan had been handsome but Finn was stop-and-stare gorgeous.

  It was the way Finn spoke about her, the scorn in his voice that reminded her of Nathan. Admittedl
y, she hadn’t spent much time in Finn’s company. Intentional on his part, she thought. He did his best to hide his feelings, but she could tell he’d judged her and found her lacking.

  Not that anyone else would notice because Finn was unfailingly polite whenever they crossed paths. But he would be, wouldn’t he? He was a Gallagher after all. One of the good guys, men who were raised to serve and protect.

  “Well, I did think she was fine, Finn, but obviously you think I’m missing something,” Olivia heard Sophie say. Her friend sounded ticked with Finn too. Which Olivia found somewhat gratifying.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. Blame Grams. I’m running a little low on patience these days thanks to her.”

  “You can’t blame Kitty for trying to keep you here. She’s worried about you, Finn. So are Liam and your dad. Are you sure you’re not rushing things? It hasn’t been that long since you were in a wheelchair.”

  “Your days must go a lot faster than mine. I’ve been out of the chair for more than six weeks, Soph. I’ve booked my flight. I leave the day after Griff and Ava get back,” he said, referring to his oldest brother and his wife. The couple were honeymooning in Italy.

  “You haven’t told them yet, have you?”

  “No, I’ve been putting it off.”

  Olivia felt sorry for Finn. Yes, he was judgmental and not overly friendly toward her, but she knew how much he loved his family. It would be difficult for him to say goodbye, especially knowing how much they wanted him to stay.

  “They’ll miss you. We all will.” There was a smile in Sophie’s voice when she added, “So will Miller. He’s gotten used to having someone at home with him all day. Here, go fetch, boy.”

  Miller, the Gallaghers’ golden retriever, gave a happy bark, his paws scrabbling on the flagstone patio as he went after whatever Sophie had thrown.

  “Jeez, you’re almost as good as Grams and Dad with the guilt thing.”