by Emma Lea
He smiled that infuriating smirk. “Well, a little bit of goodwill thrown my way from the king wouldn’t hurt. Besides, if we don’t do something soon, this country will go backwards. What you are proposing has some merit and between the two of us I know we can pull it off.”
“You mean, without your help it has no chance of succeeding.”
He beamed a blinding smile in my direction. “Well, now, see? You can admit there’s an advantage of letting me help you.” I frowned and may have growled a little and he sighed. “Look, you have to admit you lack certain…skills I can help with. Am I right?”
I exhaled roughly. “I suppose,” I admitted grudgingly.
“While I’ll admit you are good enough with figures, you do lack a certain charm needed to convince the king and the rest of parliament to agree to your proposal. That is where I come in. I can schmooze the decision makers while you do all the background rigamarole.”
As much as it burned to agree with Dorian on anything, he was right. While I may be able to snap and growl at him behind closed doors, there was no way I could hold my own with the members of parliament.
“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll let you help.”
He grinned wolfishly at me. “Excellent. Now, I also came here to talk to you about another, more delicate matter.”
I raised my eyebrows in question.
“I noticed some…shall we say, tension, between you and the lovely Francesca…?”
“Leave Frankie out of this,” I growled.
He smiled condescendingly at me. “I wish I could,” he said. “But I think Miss Davenport is a very important part of this entire plan.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked, confused.
“She is going to be your wife, isn’t she?”
I rolled my lips together. She would not be my wife as much as I wanted her to be. In just a few short weeks, Frankie would go home. We still hadn’t decided how that would even happen, but happen it would and I needed to find a way to explain it to the king…and my parents.
“She will be your wife?” Dorian asked again when I didn’t answer.
“That’s generally what getting engaged leads to,” I answered.
“Hmm,” Dorian hummed, examining my face a little too closely for my liking. “Well, as your wife, Francesca will need to be involved in this as much as you and me. In fact, she should probably start attending planning meetings and she can come with me to the parliamentary—”
“No,” I blurted, cutting him off.
He frowned at me. “Francesca is exactly the person we need to help push this thing through.”
“She can’t,” I said, looking down at the work in front of me and pretending to take an interest in the columns and rows of the spreadsheet. “She has her research.”
“Which is exactly why I think she would be an asset. She’s researching how a country like Kalopsia is getting back on its feet and reestablishing trade and industry and the economy. Her insights would be invaluable.”
“I said, she can’t.”
Dorian was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “Forgive me for asking again, but is there trouble in paradise?”
“I will not discuss this with you,” I said, trying to give off the ‘this meeting is over’ vibe that my sister excelled at.
“Maybe I should speak to Francesca myself? Unless you have a problem with me spending time with her.”
“Frankie is free to spend time with whoever she wants. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to work.”
Dorian left, and I groaned, banging my head on the desk. I was a stupid, stupid idiot. The last person I wanted sniffing around my relationship with Frankie was Dorian. They were already closer than I liked and the thought of her spending any more time with him was like a hot knife to the gut. If she wasn’t here pretending to be my fiancée, I knew she would have fallen for him. He was exactly the type of guy she should be with, not someone like me, and the more time she spent with him, the more she would realize it.
Chapter 17
Francesca
I spent the rest of the morning in my suite under the guise of writing up my research notes, but in fact I was hiding. Ugh. That wasn’t who I was. I didn’t hide. I didn’t run away and I didn’t hide, except that’s exactly what I’d done. If anything, I was that person who purposely went out of their way to be seen after a breakup. I was the one who went out on the town and lived it up just to prove to everyone—and to myself—that I was fine…not that Lucas and I had broken up. You couldn’t break up when you weren’t together in the first place.
I pushed my laptop away and fell back against the pillows. I was in the bedroom, rather than sitting at the very comfortable and practical desk in the sitting room because I needed to be surrounded by the tactile softness of pillows and the fluffy quilt and the six million thread-count sheets.
What did I want? What did I really want from Lucas?
Gah! I wanted a chance with him, to see if there really was something more between us than just years-long friendship. But could I really ask him for that? Could I really ask him to put this new life on hold so we could explore the possibility of a relationship? And what would that relationship look like? I lived in Boston; he lived here now.
I was under no illusions that he would stay in Kalopsia. I know he wasn’t sure when he first came here, but I’d seen the way he’d changed. He was far more self-assured than he’d ever been in Boston, well, more than he’d ever been around his family or strangers. The man I knew, the man I’d gotten to know over the years, in private when his walls came down had just been a glimpse of the man I saw now, daily. No, he would never be like Dorian—and that was a good thing. It would be good for Dorian to be a little less self-assured—but Lucas had, and I hated saying this because it sounded so condescending, but Lucas had bloomed in Kalopsia. All the potential I’d seen in him over the years, potential hidden beneath the layers of anxiety and self-consciousness was finally rising to the surface. It looked good on him. Going back to Boston and sliding back under the thumb of his family would destroy Lucas and there was no way I wanted that to happen, even if it meant I lost him.
So that was that, then. Lucas had to stay here, and I had to go home. My heart squeezed in my chest and I swallowed down the sobs that choked my throat. I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t cry. Not over men, not over stupid research assignments, and definitely not over going home to Boston. I loved Boston. I loved my life there. Who wanted sunshine all the time and obnoxious blue skies and sparkling seas that looked like they’d been photoshopped because the ocean couldn’t possibly be that blue? I missed the hustle and bustle of Boston and the honking horns and traffic and, and, and…and I missed my mom.
I picked up my phone and dialed, not even considering the time difference between Kalopsia and home. It rang twice before my mom answered, her voice thick with sleep.
“Frankie?” she asked and I could hear the rustle of sheets.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, but it’s fine. I need to get up in an hour, anyway.” There was more rustling and then I heard her murmur something to Dad before she came back on the line. “What’s up? I’ve missed you.”
I didn’t know whether it was hearing my mom’s voice or just because I was so frustrated with the entire situation, but I started to cry, the tears hot and wet on my face and the sobs burning my throat.
“You were right,” I sobbed into the phone.
“As much as I love hearing that, baby,” she said with a touch of humor, “what was I right about and why are you crying?”
I heard the clatter of her in the kitchen and I could imagine her filling the coffee machine and turning it on and it gave me such an overwhelming feeling of homesickness that my breath hitched.
“I want to come home,” I said, my voice still thick with tears.
“Have you finished your research?” she asked.
I sighed. “No, not yet.”
“Did you and Lu
cas have a fight?”
I groaned. “No,” I replied, looking down at the quilt and plucking at it despondently.
“But something did happen with him?” she prompted.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Mom, I fell in love with him.”
“Oh, honey, you were already in love with him before you left.”
No, I wasn’t…was I? Sure I had a crush on him, but that could hardly be classified as being ‘in love.’
“No, I wasn’t,” I replied.
Mom sighed. “You’ve been in love with him for years, baby girl. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s been in love with you just as long.”
“No, mom, we’re just friends and I might have had a crush on him, but it wasn’t love.”
Mom made a sound in her throat that seemed to convey disappointment and resignation and frustration all at once.
“Okay, so you haven’t been in love with him for years, but you are now?”
“Yes,” I replied with a rough exhale. “And I kissed him and he tried to give me the brush off and now it’s weird and awkward and I want to come home.”
“Are you sure he was giving you the brush off?” Mom asked. “Are you sure he wasn’t just being awkward and nervous? Are you sure he wasn’t trying to tell you something else?”
I thought back to earlier and the look in Lucas’ eyes and I knew, I just knew, he’d definitely been brushing me off.
“I’m sure,” I said, flopping back on my pillows and swallowing down more tears.
Mom was quiet for a moment, but I felt the weight of her thoughts. She didn’t believe me when I said Lucas wanted nothing more than just friends, but she wouldn’t push. Mom had said her piece and now she would support me in whatever decision I made.
“So what do you want to do?” Mom asked. “Do you have enough information to complete your dissertation? Can you come home and work on it from here?”
I groaned. “No. I still need to interview the king and a few more of the residents. I can’t leave yet.”
“Okay, so stay and do the work. I’m sure you can avoid Lucas if that’s what you need. Focus on your research and your interviews and in no time at all you will be on your way home.”
I took a breath and closed my eyes, willing away the sadness and the homesickness. Focus on my studies and stop being distracted by Lucas. Right. I could do that.
“Okay,” I breathed. “Okay, that I can do.”
“And, you know, if the opportunity arises…”
“M-o-m,” I whined like a fourteen-year-old.
“What? I’m just saying, don’t slam that door shut between you and Lucas.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, Mom,” I said, but I was smiling. “I’ll talk to you soon. Say hello to Dad for me.”
“I will, baby. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I said.
I tossed the phone aside and took another deep breath. I could focus on my work and avoid Lucas as much as possible. There was no need for him to come with me when I went to interview the people of Kalopsia. I had Deacon, the chauffeur, and if I needed anyone else, I’m sure the queen could organize a companion for me.
With a plan of action decided, I sat up and straightened my shoulders. It was only a couple more weeks and this island—and this castle—were big enough to avoid Lucas as much as I needed to. Besides, he would be busy with his new plan to reinstate Andino Raïda in the old distillery. He wouldn’t have time for me.
I shoved aside the disappointment at not seeing him and spending time with him. I’d enjoyed our time together, but I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep torturing myself with dead end fantasies. I needed to do what I came here to do and then go home and leave Lucas and his new life behind.
Lucas
I left the palace and walked toward the garage where I usually met Frankie for our afternoon foray into the village to talk to the residents. She hadn’t come down from her room for lunch. Sophia told me she was working on her dissertation and while I believed that was true, I couldn’t help wondering if Frankie was really just avoiding me. Well, she couldn’t avoid me now. We were going to spend the next couple of hours together and although it wasn’t the best environment for a heart-to-heart talk, we had the car ride down and then back up and maybe I could fix what I’d broken this morning.
“Lord Lucas?” one of the men asked as I approached the spot where Deacon usually waited with the car. There was no car and no Deacon.
“Um, I was waiting for Ms. Davenport,” I said, looking around.
“She already left,” the man said. I didn’t know his name, but I’d seen him round.
“She left?” I asked, and I had the worst feeling in my gut that Frankie hadn’t just left the palace but that she’d left Kalopsia altogether.
“Yes, sir,” the man replied. “Deacon took her down into the village for her research.”
Relief flooded me. She hadn’t left for good. That was something, at least. She was still avoiding me, which wasn’t so great, but at least it was better than her high-tailing it out of here and leaving me.
“Thank you,” I said to the man, turning back to the palace.
I would let her go, let her have the afternoon to herself. But she had to dine with us tonight and then I would escort her back to her suite and maybe I would take the long way and wander through the gardens on the way and give us some time together, alone. She couldn’t avoid me forever.
I strode back to my office with a sense of purpose. It was an odd feeling, and I wasn’t quite sure where it came from. Frankie was avoiding me and I should let her. She’d made it clear to me this morning that she had no desire to be more than just friends, but I couldn’t let it go. Her actions may have spoken loudly—practically shouted at me—but neither of us had actually said anything. And I wanted to say something.
This was new, unexplored territory for me. I was not the most forthcoming guy in the world and I was a champion avoider. In fact, if avoidance was an Olympic sport, I would be a gold medalist. And yet, for that split second when I thought Frankie had left me and Kalopsia forever, something changed. There was something about the finality of her leaving and I just couldn’t let her go without telling her how I really felt.
Okay, maybe I couldn’t just blurt the words out. If Frankie was already thinking of running away, then me blurting out that I was in love with her would just make her run all the faster. No. First I needed to get us back to the easy camaraderie we had for years. I needed to break through this awkwardness and find the ease that characterized our entire friendship. Frankie was the first, and for a long time, the only person who made me feel completely at ease. I hadn’t even felt that comfortable around Clarissa. In hindsight, that should have been a red flag, but I’d been too focused on finding the ‘right’ woman to marry instead of finding the right woman for me.
And Frankie may very well not be the woman I would eventually marry, but unless I put my feelings out there, I would never know. Unless I took a chance, I would be forever wondering ‘what-if?’ I’d been living a half-life for so long. I spent my entire life trying to stay small, stay quiet, stay unnoticed, and I was sick of it. I was sick of forever giving up on the things I wanted just to avoid some conflict or awkwardness. I would never be like my sister, Effie, or Dorian, but I didn’t want to be like them. I just wanted to be able to speak up about the things that were important to me. I wanted to be bold enough to go after what I wanted instead of being happy to accept whatever scraps were thrown my way.
I felt the familiar roiling of my anxiety even as I thought these things. I shook my hands out and rolled my shoulders. I hated this physical response. I hated the way I had no control over how my body reacted to perceived threats, and stepping out of my comfort zone was definitely a threat, or so my body was telling me. It would be easier to just forget it, to just let Frankie walk away, and yet…I couldn’t.
My anxiety had ruled my life for too long. Easing that uncomfortable feeling under my skin had alway
s been my priority, but now there was something more important than my comfort level. Frankie. Having Frankie in my life and being honest with her about the way I felt, that was far more important than the way I felt right at the moment.
Talking to Frankie and laying my cards on the table would not miraculously cure my anxiety. I knew that. I’d lived with it long enough that I expected to never be free of it. It was part of me, but maybe, just maybe, I could overcome my initial tendencies for Frankie. Yes, she could shoot me down in flames and still walk away, but in some respects, that would be a relief. I would know one way or another then. It would be far better than this weird limbo I was currently languishing in. It was the uncertainty that made the anxiety worse and if I could push through it and find out once and for all if there was any possible way Frankie and I could be together, then I could live with the consequences, whatever they might be.
Francesca
I was a coward. Skipping out on Lucas to go into the village without him was cowardly and silly and…and yet, I just wasn’t ready to see him or spend time with him in the small confines of the car.
Everyone asked where he was when I arrived at the little bar where I’d—where we’d—been spending most afternoons, and I had to lie and say he was too busy to come. The women had clucked their tongues, but the men had nodded knowingly.
I wanted to warn them about Lucas’ plans. They looked at him like he was some sort of savior, but what they didn’t know was that he was planning to rip their burgeoning business out by the roots so his family’s business could once more take ownership of the distillery. But I said nothing, and I didn’t know why. I suppose it was because I still couldn’t reconcile those actions with the Lucas I knew. But I couldn’t deny he was working on something with the king, something that would boost Kalopsia’s economy, and the only thing Lucas really knew was his family’s business. I put the two together and came up with four and even though math wasn’t my strong suit, even I could see the writing on the wall. Still, I didn’t say anything. If Lucas was going to destroy the one good thing these people had going, then he could be the one to break the news to them.
