"I don't mind," he said. "I'm happy to help."
If I'd had the slightest stirring in my gut that this kid could be an axe murderer or anything even vaguely unsavory, I would have demanded he pull over instantly. But my senses were usually right—at least they'd used to be—and I wasn't worried about this boy. "La Jolla, if you don't mind."
"Headed there anyway," he said. "I was just supposed to make a couple other deliveries first."
"Well," I said, sniffing down the last of my tears. "Let's do that. I'll help."
"Oh, no, miss."
"I need the distraction. What's your name?"
"Thomas," my driver said.
"All right, Thomas. Let's deliver some linens."
I ignored my phone for the next three hours as Thomas and I completed his rounds for the day, and when he finally dropped me off at home, I was exhausted, which was perfect. I paid him—he tried to refuse, but the poor guy had driven me home, after all, and went upstairs. I poured a huge glass of wine, sank down in the bathtub, and pretended everything was fine.
Only the tears that refused to stop pouring down my cheeks and the painful gash inside my heart suggested everything was not, in fact, fine.
Chapter 110
Emojis and Whiskey
Hamish
I'd jumped up immediately to follow Sophie, but Charlie had held me back with a hand on my arm. "Let Mam," he said.
But when Mam and Marigold returned to tell me Sophie had left the hotel, I knew it had been the wrong decision. One of many I'd made since finding Soph again.
I hadn't shown her what she'd really meant to me, what she'd always meant. Or I'd tried, but just when she'd begun to understand, I'd sprung the engagement on her. And instead of telling her I was asking her to marry me because I couldn't imagine marrying anyone else in the world, I'd let her believe she was just the closest girl nearby when I'd received the King's gentle reminder of the importance of my birthright.
Every centimeter of me was miserable, and my heart felt like a block of hot lead, steaming and burning inside my chest. Shame heated my face at how I'd managed to feck this all up, and here in front of my entire family, no less. But more than anything else, I felt anger bubbling inside me. Anger for the man who'd rather be a malicious arse than see his own stepdaughter happy.
I picked up a glass of whiskey Dane or James had left sitting on the bar and poured it down my throat, relishing the burn. And then I shook off the comforting hands on my shoulders and stood, turning to face Mr. James, who sat with a satisfied expression at the end of the bar.
"Hamish, no," Charlie hissed. "He's not worth it."
"Why are you even here?" I asked the man, my words coming like fire and smoke from my throat. "Why did you even come?" Clearly it wasn't to see his step-daughter happily engaged.
Mr. James crossed his arms over his chest and laughed lightly, shaking his head.
He fucking laughed, and my blood boiled.
"Ye bloody bastard," I raged, and before I consciously planned it, I had the man by the shirt and was lifting him from his stool and pressing him against the wall of the bar.
Mam gasped, but she didn't try to stop me, and while James and Dane were immediately at my sides, they didn't intervene either.
I'd had my fair share of fights—growing up one of five brothers will do that for you. Still, I'd never attacked someone out of pure anger, and the fire racing through me now scared me a bit. My hands shook where they pinned him and I could feel my face burning red. "Why couldn't you just let her be happy? Why did you have to make her believe something that isn't even true?" I spewed.
He swallowed, and I watched his Adam's apple bob before he spoke, wishing I could rip it from him with my bare hands. "Ye're all so bloody shocked something didn't go your way, aren't you? You bloody royals."
I dropped him then, shock at his words beginning to calm my anger and bring me back to myself. "What?"
"I've watched you all for years, up there in your big house. Sophie and I've lived in that little cottage at the edge of yours, and we watched it all. And you had the nerve to take her in like some kind of bloody charity case, didn't you? Congratulating yourselves about looking after the poor little orphan girl, trying to convince everyone you loved her like one of your own, when really, you just let her hang around so you could tell yourself how bloody gracious you all are." He practically spat these words, and I watched, almost mystified as he raged.
"When my wife died," he sniffed here, and his eyes welled up, and for an instant, I saw the depth of this man's pain. "When my Maggie passed, you came down with your cakes and your kind words, but I could see the pity in your faces," he told Mam and Charlie especially. "Coming down with your sorries and your charity from the big house up on the hill. But you were just as happy to go right back up there, weren't you? Never paying a mind to how we might be getting on down in the fields, cropping yer bloody sheep."
Mam was shaking her head, and I began to worry as color made two furious spots on her cheeks. "How can you say that, Aaron? Maggie was my best friend!"
"Ah, sure, you gave her your rich-folk charity same as you gave Sophie, but I've always seen the truth of it. See right through you. All of you. All that matters to you is your royal titles and your fecking footballer famous son, and your money."
I nearly spit when he said this, because while we might have been royalty, and while we might have had enough to feed the many mouths at our own table, we'd never been wealthy. I'd been sending money home since signing my contract with the Sharks.
My brothers were at my back now, and Mam looked ready to punch the man herself.
"Aaron James," I said, leveling my voice. "This family has never been anything but good to you and yours. We don't have much more than you, and if you'd ever taken a moment to see past your own prejudice, you might have had some friends around for once after Maggie passed." I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. "But know this, sir: Sophie MacMartin has never been anything close to a charity case for this family. She's a sister and a friend, and for as long as I've been old enough to know it, she's been the only girl I've ever loved."
My brothers clapped me on the back as I finished this, and my heart began to ache as anger was replaced by sadness. Where had Sophie gone? What must she be thinking?
"And I no longer care if we have your blessing or not. I will get Sophie back, I will convince her she's the only girl who's ever meant anything to me, and we will get married. And I don't give a flying feck whether it happens in time for me to keep my place in line or not. I'd happily give up my birthright and live my life as a simple Durnish citizen if it means I get to live it with Sophie."
Mr. James's face blanched slightly at my words, as if maybe he'd realized I actually meant them.
"Aaron," Mam said, her voice softer now. "I know how hard it's been for you. But you've always been welcome at our house. We don't have much, but we're happy to share with a countryman."
Mr. James had the grace to drop his eyes as his shoulders began to shake.
"But you won't be drinking in my house, and you won't say an unkind word against the crown," Mam finished.
I turned away, kissing Mam on the cheek and accepting the claps on the back and shoulder squeezes my brothers offered. I had no real plan, but I headed for the door, only to find Marisol's slim frame stepping into my path.
"What's your plan, little lad?"
"Get her back," I said simply.
"Good. Let's figure out how." She took my arm and pulled me back to the bar. James and Dane joined the bartender behind it again, pouring whiskey for everyone. And then the whole family settled around me, and together, we plotted how best to win back the heart of my Durnish princess.
I might have preferred something simple, but when you've got a room full of Durns, you can pretty much rest assured that any plan will involve sheep, and this one was no different.
"We might need some help," Marisol said as we finished lining up the details.
"I've got that covered," I said, picking up my phone and texting a string of my favorite emojis to a few of the Sharks.
Chapter 111
Snappy Shows Up
Sophie
My phone didn't ring all night.
I'd finished up my bath, eaten a bite and tucked myself in, part of me still not wanting to believe what I already knew was true.
Hamish didn't love me. Maybe he never had. Or maybe he had once, but then he'd come to America and seen what must have looked like a the Golden Corral buffet of women with its endless variety and chocolate fountain. How could a simple Durnish girl compete with San Diego?
He'd come to find me only because he'd always known how I felt, I decided. He was getting close to the timeline and he must've realized the simplest solution would be to find the naive little girl who'd always followed him around worshipping him at home. He probably figured nothing had changed, that I'd be every bit as willing to do anything he liked now that he was a famous footballer.
I squeezed my eyes shut hard, thinking how I must have looked, agreeing to marry him, telling him how I've always felt, how nothing has ever changed for me.
I was a gullible, stupid girl. I was that same motherless girl so desperate for love that I basically glued myself to someone else's family.
Tears ran hot down my cheeks as I thought about Mam and Mari, what they must think of me. Were they in on it? Did they advise Hamish to choose me? I could hear it in my mind: "You know she's always been in love with you, it'll be easy. She'll jump at the chance to marry you."
God, I was a dumb as a Durnish Hen.
I rolled over, clutching a pillow to my chest and sobbing into it. My phone remained silent on the nightstand next to me, and I tried to tell myself that every minute passing when Hamish didn't call to try to explain was more proof he'd never really loved me in the first place.
Those we know wear many faces. Familiar things are most likely to deceive.
Familiar things. Many faces.
Hamish's face had always been the most familiar. I'd dreamed him my whole life, since I'd been a girl. And tonight was no different. Only tonight, in my dreams, he took off the familiar mask, and beneath it, I saw the face of my stepfather. (And in one particular dream, Hamish took off the mask and he had the face of a one-eyed toucan, but I think that one was a fluke.)
Morning streamed through my windows, sunny and optimistic as ever, and my heart felt like a weight I was doomed to drag around with me as penance for being so gullible.
Anna wouldn't be expecting me, but I didn't know what else to do besides go to the one place I felt most right, most centered. I got dressed and went to work.
The bakery was quiet when I arrived, and I was glad for it. The familiar scents of cake and sugar embraced me like an old friend, and the ache in my heart lessened just a little as I walked around the counter, seeing the sweet clean little shop, the perfect cakes inside the case, and the chalkboard menu list on the wall, as if with new eyes. I imagined I was a feeling a bit like those returning from a war, maybe—coming home to appreciate the simple things they didn't always take time to think about before. Only my battlefield had been nearby, and the war was one I didn't know I was even going to fight until it was already over.
"What are you doing here?" Anna asked as I made my way into the kitchen. She was bent over a cake with a piping tube in her hand and a sizable gob of icing on her chin.
"Changed my mind," I said, hanging up my jacket and pulling my apron from the hook near the door. "And I thought you could use the help."
"I can," she agreed. "I had my sister in here helping last night, and I had to come in extra early to do over half the things she did! Kids. They don't listen!" She sighed and leaned back down to the cake before popping back up and then spinning to face me with wide eyes. "Wait. But. No. You're not supposed to be here. You're doing Durnish wedding stuff." Her eyes widened and she stepped closer. "Soph..."
"Nope," I raised my hands. "I'm fine. I'm not talking about it, but let's just say there will be no Durnish weddings, or weddings of any kind."
Anna looked doubtfully around at the multiple wedding cakes in various states of completion and the huge prints of brides and cakes and flowers covering the walls. "What happened?" Anna asked, her brows knitting as she put the piping tube aside and laid a hand on my shoulder. She peered into my eyes as if she might be able to see the problem and fix it, maybe with some cake or buttercream.
"I came to my senses," I told her. "And realized marriage is not what I need right now, and certainly not a marriage that comes with all kinds of silly royal obligations."
Anna tilted her head. "That sounds like a good kind of marriage to me," she said. "Marrying a prince?" She lost herself for an instant in some kind of Anna-royal daydream, giving me enough time to pull butter and sugar to the counter next to a huge pink mixer.
"Which cake needs icing? I need buttercream focus," I told her.
"But...no. This isn't right. You can't work now. Something clearly happened. Talk to me, Sophie." She took my hands, pulling away from the ingredients on the counter. Her understanding eyes and pleading soft voice nearly brought it out of me, but I didn't want to talk about Hamish, or his family. I'd lost them all over again, and it was like the hole that had opened inside me all those years ago had sprung open again, bigger and wider than ever.
I shook my head. "I'll tell you later," I said, sniffing as tears threatened. "But now. I need cake therapy. Please. Let me work?"
Anna took a breath, still focused on my face as if she was trying to decide whether to let it go, her lips pressed in a doubtful crooked line. Then she exhaled, dropped my hands, and said, "Okay. Well, if it's buttercream you want, you can do Thump and Tiny's for tomorrow. The simple vanilla."
I nodded, turning back to the mixer. My heart was unsettled and raw, but my hands knew what to do, and this was what I needed. Proof that I had a place, with or without Hamish. Proof that I was good enough—woman enough—even if I was just the simple Durnish girl his family had always felt sorry for.
It was a busy Saturday—Anna ran out just before noon to deliver the cake for the wedding that day. She'd delivered another the night before and another couple was sending someone to pick up their cake for the evening. There was a decent amount of foot traffic in and out as well, maybe because Snappy and Shark had talked to a local wedding website this week and mentioned us by name.
I mixed and baked and swept and wiped, and ignored everything but the work in front of me. Anna brought lunch back with her, and we ate in the back, me focusing on my sandwich intently while Anna swallowed down all her questions with her potato chips. I appreciated her silence—especially because I knew it was hard for her.
As the afternoon wound down and we were in the final stages of making sure we'd be ready for cake deliveries the next day, Anna was discussing the latest couple she'd booked.
"She was high strung, Sophie. She had four million questions and wanted details about everything from gluten to sugar content to approximate caloric content of every slice of cake because so many of her guests were gluten-free or celiac, or keto, or vegan." She backed through the kitchen door holding a try of tiny cakes as she called back, "If you thought Snappy and Shark were bad, this was worse, way worse!"
I'd followed her out the door, holding it for her, and as she'd been talking rather loudly, she hadn't noticed the door bell ring as three people bustled inside, catching the tail end of Anna's complaint. My eyes must have signaled my horror, because Anna spun quickly around, and before she could keep the word from flying from her lips, her surprise forced it from her. "Snappy! Snappy's here. Hello!"
I watched Erica Johnson's face as she processed everything she'd heard, from Anna's note about Snappy and Shark being 'bad' to Anna's direct address to her as Snappy.
"Erica," I said, sliding past Anna, who seemed to be frozen, and greeting Erica and her guests at the counter.
Anna's face melted to an expression of abject
horror and I realized it was a wonder we had a successful business at all. She plastered on a smile and said, "Hello," in a strangled voice before dropping down to put the cakes into the case.
"Snappy..." Erica said slowly. "And Shark." She tilted her head and her lips lifted on one side and I had the distinct impression we were about to lose an important client. It would make sense after everything else I'd lost today.
I sighed, a hand coming to the side of my face as if I could brace myself for what was about to come.
"Snappy and Shark," she said. "That's me? And Fernando?"
There was no denying it now. "Sometimes it's easier for us to remember descriptive words than names," I explained. "We started nicknaming couples a long time ago, and now we just do it automatically. It's not personal, and we don't usually share them outside of the two of us. Erica, I'm so sorry, there's really no excuse—"
She actually snapped her fingers, and her face relaxed into a smile. "I like it. It fits."
Surprise and relief melted the tight set of my shoulders.
"And I was snappy when we came in here that first day. I've been a little tightly wound with all the wedding stuff," she said, turning to smile at the two women with her. "This is Sophie," she told them. "The woman Hammer knows from home? And they're dating," she said, smiling at me.
I tried not to flinch.
"Sophie, this is Margarita Fuerte," she said, introducing me to the petite older woman at her side. "Fernando's mother."
"Hello," I said, smiling at the woman who was smiling broadly at me.
"And this is Magalie Caron, who is engaged to my brother Trace. I was telling them about this place, and Mrs. Fuerte tasted your Sticky Toffee Cake when Erica brought it to dinner."
"It's lovely to meet you both," I told the ladies. "Would you be interested in doing a little cake tasting? We're just refreshing the cabinet, so we have a lot of flavors that we're moving out. They'll just go to waste. Or I could send some home with you?"
Mr. Match: The Boxed Set Page 55
