Kismet: A Royal Romance

by Dee Lagasse

  “Bodie,” she says, her tone stern as she stares into my eyes so hard that I can feel her gaze in my soul.

  “Sutton,” I reply, using the same flat tone as a small grin begins to spread across my lips. “Do you need help with that pasta?”

  Hopping off the high-top stool, I make my way over to where she’s standing and hold my hand out for the spoon.

  “I don’t need you to stir the pasta,” she sighs, turning back to the stove and making a few circles around the pot with the spoon before turning back to me. “Damn it, Bodie. You can’t just bloody say something like that, like it’s part of our every day, casual conversation and not expect me to lose my focus.”

  “Say something like what?” I ask feigning ignorance, knowing damn well what she’s talking about.

  “That you love me, you wanker.” The clipped tone in her voice is something I’ve never heard coming from her. If she didn’t look so stressed, I would have burst out laughing at her use of the word ‘wanker.’ I’m still learning the slang for over here, but I know that one. It’s the first time Sutton has acted like an angry girlfriend, without any regard to her proper upbringing.

  This conversation is about to go one of two ways. She’s either going to be mad that I said it because she doesn’t feel it too and then, I’m going to have to spend the rest of the night convincing her that it’s okay. Feelings like love aren’t always mutually exclusive. If she doesn’t love me, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving her. I won’t throw it in her face or make her feel like less for not being where I am, but I won’t lie to her.

  A small sliver of hope in my heart hopes it’s the latter of the two possible outcomes.

  Time to find out.

  “What if I do?” I ask, the small sliver of hope growing larger with every passing second. “What if I love you?”

  “Well do you?” she asks quietly, her face changing into one of worry, like she’s asked too much and she’s not going to want to hear the answer I have for her.

  “I do,” I say matter-of-factly.

  “You love me?” Her voice is shaky, disbelief washing over the worry as she looks to me for reassurance.

  I’ve seen a lot of sides of Sutton. I’ve seen the selfless side who gives her time and love to lions in South Africa. I’ve seen her loyal side, defending her sister when the press attacks her marriage. I’ve seen her eyes light up when she talks about Roxy and how successful the reading initiative she started is. She’s passionate, determined, kind-hearted, brave and right now, she’s vulnerable.

  And I get it. It’s scary. Opening your heart to someone else, trusting them to do right by you. It’s terrifying. But I don’t see any other option at this point. I tried to push all the feelings aside. That didn’t work. It’s happening right in front of us, right now. There’s no denying it anymore.

  We live too far away from each other. We both have crazy lives in the public eye. She’s a princess. I’m just a guy from Massachusetts who happened to get lucky. I live my dream every single day I get to play baseball. The more I think about it though, the more I realize I would give it all up if I had to. If being with Sutton meant walking away from my career, if it meant never stepping foot on the mound or holding a baseball in my hand for the rest of my life, I would do it. Without hesitation.

  “I think we just established that, crazy girl,” I laugh. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. I. Love. You.”

  “Brilliant,” she says as she turns off the burner on the stove, grabbing two potholders and picking up the pot of pasta.

  “Brilliant?” I question as she walks over to the sink with the pot.

  “Yep,” is all she says, but I can see the corners of her lips turned up in a smile from the side of her face as she empties the pasta into the colander in the sink.

  “Why brilliant?”

  She doesn’t say a word as she tips the colander, pouring the thin pasta in a white ceramic bowl.

  “Because I love you too.”

  “It’s too bad you went through all the effort to make my favorite meal for dinner,” I sigh, letting my shoulders slump, grinning as I pull her close to me.

  “Oh, yeah? And why is that?” she asks, returning the smile.

  “Because it’s going to get cold,” I say before leaning down to kiss her.

  There’s no slow build up this time. As soon as my lips are on hers, she opens them just the slightest, inviting me in. Our tongues sweep one another hungrily. The remnant flavor of her red wine makes me punch drunk, feeling lighter than any buzz from alcohol has ever given me.

  Placing my hands under her ass, I lift her up. As she loops her arms around the back of my neck, her legs wrap around my waist. Walking us back to an empty spot on the counter behind us, I place her down gently. Never once allowing my lips to leave hers. With her legs still locked around mine, she uses them to pull me closer to her.

  Breaking our kiss just long enough to pull the knit sweater over her head with one hand, I curse under my breath when I see the lacy black bra underneath. It’s a gorgeous fabric and it needs to go.

  Unsnapping the clasp of her bra, I slowly and meticulously pull each shoulder strap off, dropping it to the floor next to me.

  “I think it’s time you show me where your bedroom is.”

  When the warm beams of sunlight peeking through the curtains of Sutton’s bedroom stir me from my sleep, I immediately roll over and am disappointed when the space beside me is empty. As the smell of bacon and coffee infiltrate the room, my disappointment dissipates. The grumble from my stomach reminds me we never ended up eating dinner last night.

  Into the early hours of the morning, Sutton and I showed each other how genuine our love is. Multiple times, in many ways. As much as I would love to call her back in here to show her again, a man needs sustenance. And depending on what time it is, we could be expected at her parents’ house shortly.

  In only one of my old t-shirts—a shirt she took back home with her when we left South Africa—Sutton stands in front of an electronic griddle, moving her hips to the quiet music coming from a small speaker on the counter.

  As if she can feel my presence, she turns around, smiling as soon as her eyes hit mine.

  “Morning sleepyhead,” she laughs, turning back to the griddle, flipping a line of pancakes. “I was going to come wake you up with food in a few minutes. There’s coffee, orange juice, or tea while you wait for these to finish up.”

  “What time is it?” I ask, walking over to her. “And do you need help?”

  “It’s only ten-thirty and nope,” she says as she faces me, kissing me quickly before turning back to the griddle. “This is it. And then we’ll eat and then get ready to head to my parents’?”

  “Sounds good to me.” I nod, taking a spoonful of sugar from the small container on the counter and dropping it into a solid black coffee mug.

  Taking a seat at the breakfast bar, I watch Sutton as she hums along to a song I don’t recognize.

  God, even her voice is pretty.

  I never understood my brother when he used to obsessively ramble on about Helena. For the first six months of their relationship, everything was Helena this and Helena that. I used to tease him asking if she was real, because the way he painted her was that she was the perfect woman. In a way, I wasn’t wrong. She is the perfect woman for Oliver. As soon as I met her, I understood why he was so infatuated with her.

  Being married to Hannah jaded me. For a long time after, I thought true love was just a made-up idea people forced themselves to believe in. Everyone wants to think that they have it, but only a few really do. Love isn’t just the good days, it’s the bad ones too. It’s as much getting through the hard days as it is celebrating the best ones. And it’s doing it together because the thought of not having that person in your life anymore makes you feel sick to your stomach.

  I get it now.

  It’s only been two months, but there’s no question that I would move heaven and earth for the
woman in front of me. There’s a comforting sense of security in somehow knowing she would do the same for me. There are no ulterior motives, no hidden agendas…it’s real. What we have, it’s real.

  We took the time to get to know each other. Hours and hours of time put into finding out the best and worst. There are no secrets between us. She knows about my mother, she knows about Hannah and the reason we divorced, and I already warned her that I’m overly competitive and that it’s probably best to just let me breathe a little after a losing game.

  She confided in me that as much as she loves being able to do all the things she can because of her title, she hates most of what comes with it. The pressure of her title gives her severe anxiety and she always takes medication before big social events. Even then, she’s still completely terrified of the press.

  Putting complete faith and trust in me, she opened up to me while we were in South Africa. Allowing me to see her in the rawest, most exposed form. So I did the same. It’s terrifying. Letting someone in that much, giving them the power to destroy you, but trusting them not to.

  “What’s that look for?” Sutton asks, snapping me out of my dopey, lovesick daze.

  “Nothing, really,” I tell her, picking up my fork to dive into the small mountain of chocolate chip pancakes she had just placed in front of me. “Just thinking about how damn lucky I am. Chocolate chip pancakes made by a beautiful woman? I must be in heaven.”

  Laughing, she pulls out the stool next to me. Dousing her own pile of pancakes in a river of maple syrup, I raise my eyebrows and chuckle.

  “Don’t you look at me with those judgy eyes, Bodie Cambridge,” she glares at me. “My love for maple syrup is your bloody fault.”

  “My fault?” I question. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one.”

  “After I left your dad’s coffee house, I was completely knackered, but Estelle insisted on brekkie before I went to California,” she starts. “I wasn’t paying attention to the bottle because I was half-asleep at the table and accidentally poured the entire little container of syrup on my pancakes. Now I can’t eat them any other way. I had a shipment sent from Maine about a week after I came home.”

  “Well, I’m not sorry.” I shrug, taking a bite of my buttered, maple syrup-free pancakes.

  “Even if that means you’re going to have to keep a maple syrup stash on hand for the rest of your life?”

  The same panic-stricken face washes over her when she realizes what she’s suggesting. Focusing her attention on the plate below her instead of on me and my response, she takes a bite of the fluffy, syrup-soaked pancake. Before now, before Sutton, a comment like that would have scared me. “The rest of your life” is a lot to ask for, but if the rest of my life is something Sutton wanted, I’d be willing to give it to her.

  “Yes, even if it means I’m going to have to keep a maple syrup stash on hand for the rest of my life,” I confirm, pressing my lips against her temple.

  A sigh of relief and the corners of her lips begin to curl up as she swivels the stool so her entire body is facing mine.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Bodie,” she says, the honesty laced in her voice sends chills down my spine and up my arms, leaving little goose bumps as evidence.

  “Me too, babe. Me too.”

  Chapter 11

  Sutton

  “Come on, Sutton. We’re going to be late.”

  The anxiousness in Bodie’s voice is unmistakable as he yells to me from downstairs. He’s already changed his shirt twice, his pants once, and made me promise three times tonight really is casual.

  “I don’t want to be the only dickhead in pajama pants and a hoodie,” he said. “Can you call Jameson and ask him what he’s wearing?”

  “Well, I guess I’ll be a dickhead too,” I laughed. “Since I’ll be wearing pajamas too.”

  “Sutton, this isn’t funny,” he sighed. “I’m going to meet your parents. The last thing I want is to make myself look like an idiot.”

  So I called my father, put him on speakerphone, and let him reassure Bodie that plaid pajama pants and a Red Sox sweatshirt were perfectly acceptable attire for New Year’s Eve movie night. After he was convinced, I managed to convince him we had time for me to take a quick shower.

  In only a towel, I crack open the bathroom door, and yell, “I just need five more minutes, love. Ten, tops.”

  Not wanting to waste time, I close the door before waiting to hear his response. I pull on the pair of navy-blue cuffed jogger pants that showcase a bright red “B” on the left thigh up my legs and onto my hips. Grabbing the matching blue t-shirt that has Bodie’s last name and number on the back of the shirt, I quickly put my arms and head through the holes and let it fall over my chest and back.

  Since there’s no need to do my makeup or anything fancy with my hair, I part it in two and begin to do two braids. When they’re finished, I toss my towel into the hamper in the corner of the bathroom, stopping in my room to slide on a pair of boots before heading down the stairs to meet Bodie.

  “All set?” Bodie asks when he hears me coming down the stairs. Looking up from his phone in his hand, he grins when he sees my outfit of choice. “You know, there’s nothing sexier than your girl supporting you and your team. You’re lucky we have places to be.”

  “Or unlucky,” I shrug. “Were you seriously waiting here in the foyer the whole time?”

  “Maaaaaybe?” he laughs, getting up from the little bench meant for people to sit on to put their shoes on.

  Grabbing my coat from where it hangs next to the door, I call to Roxy, clipping her leash to her collar before opening the door. Right on the other side of the front walkway, a black SUV is waiting for us. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive to my parents’ house, but there’s a good chance a copious amount of alcohol will be consumed tonight, so my parents never let anyone drive themselves over. The only ones that can bring their own vehicle are Simone and Jameson since Simone is pregnant and they’ll be there with Tennyson, my one-year-old nephew. There will be a car service on standby for everyone else tonight.

  Before the driver has the chance to get out of the car, Bodie opens the door for me, winking as I slide across the seat with Roxy. Getting into the vehicle, Bodie closes the door just as the freckle-faced man in the driver’s seat glances between the two of us, completely mortified.

  “I am so sorry ma’am,” he apologizes. “I was told you would be out in a half hour. I was planning on standing out of the car within the next ten minutes.”

  “It’s quite alright,” I assure him. “I’m very capable of opening my own door and as it so happens, so is the handsome gentleman with me tonight.”

  “But, it’s my job,” the man starts again like he needs to explain himself to me or Bodie.

  “We won’t tell if you won’t,” Bodie shrugs, offering him a smile and a nod.

  “Well, alright,” the man in the front seat sighs reluctantly. “I do appreciate it and again, I do apologize.”

  Chuckling Bodie reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers between mine before leaning over and whispering, “It’s like you’re royalty or something.”

  As he dramatically rolls his eyes and shakes his head in mock disbelief, I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. There isn’t a word spoken for the remainder of the drive to my parents’ house. The moment the car is put in park, Bodie reaches for the door handle and to the driver’s absolute horror, lets himself out of the car. On principle alone, I let the driver open my door for me and thank him as I step out onto the pavement, holding Roxy in my arms like a small child.

  Once we’re near the grassy patch of lawn at my parents’ house, I let Roxy down and link arms with Bodie as soon as I’m next to him and let out the giggles I’ve been holding in since we got into the car.

  “What?” Bodie asks, stopping right in front of the door. “What is it?”

  “They don’t know what to do with you,” I manage to get out in between bouts of laughter. “Someone who opens and closes his ow
n doors? And can get into a car all by himself? You might as well be an alien around here.”

  “What’s so funny?” My sister’s voice comes from behind us and much to Bodie’s relief, her, Jameson, and Tennyson are all in matching pajamas.

  “Bodie opened the car door for me and let himself out,” I tell her as I open the front door and let us into the house.

  “Oh my God. It’s like Jameson 2.0,” Simone says, joining me in laughter, looking over to Bodie and then her husband. “It took Jameson a while to get used to it too.”

  “Jameson’s still getting used to it,” Jameson adds, referring to himself in third person as he takes off his black ski jacket and hangs his and Tennyson’s jackets in the open closet while my sister hands hers off to one of the house attendants.

  “See?” I point out, laughing.

  “Are those my favorite girls I hear?” My father’s voice echoes as it carries from the long hallway in front of us.

  At the sound of my dad’s voice, Tennyson’s eyes light up and he wiggles to get out of Simone’s arms.

  “And! My grandboy!” my dad exclaims as he enters the room, swooping in and scooping Tennyson in his arms. After carrying him around the room, spinning as he makes airplane noises, my dad shifts my nephew into one arm, placing him on his hip. Smiling, he offers his hand to Bodie first before even saying hello to me, Simone, or Jameson. “You must be Bodie. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jameson since Sutton is determined to keep you a big secret. Your family’s already here and I think the missus is already making summer plans with your sisters.”

  Taking my dad’s hand in his, Bodie pauses. The look in his eyes tells me he’s contemplating something, assessing the situation. When he responds by giving him the same hearty handshake that he gave Luke earlier and Jameson the first time he met him, I know everything is going to be okay.

  “The Cambridges are here?” I pipe in, walking over to my father. Standing on my tiptoes, I give him a peck on the cheek as he gives me one on mine.