by Lauren Runow
Sparks Fly
Lauren Runow
Contents
Sparks Fly
Stay Tuned
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Afterword
About the Author
Acknowledgments
The High Road
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Other Books By Lauren Runow
Sparks Fly
By Lauren Runow
Sparks Fly Copyright 2018 by Lauren Runow
All rights reserved.
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means. Including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without the written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Names, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
No copyright infringement intended. No claims have been made over songs and/or lyrics written. All credit goes to original owners.
Cover Images © Shutterstock – ArtOfPhotos & Adobe Stock – sundarananda
Cover Design © Designed With Grace
Created with Vellum
For April Wells
Thanks for all the late night chats and support you’ve given me! Sage is all yours ;-)
Stay Tuned
Don’t miss The High Road at the end of this book! Enjoy this bonus read as my thank you for downloading Sparks Fly. Much Love!
Prologue
Sage
Everything is lined up. I had to pull some strings, using who I am to make it happen, but I’m finally ready. Tonight will decide my fate. I pick up my phone to text Everly:
Want to play a game?
My heart rate spikes as I await her reply. I haven’t thought about her not responding until this very second. If she doesn’t, all of this is for naught.
I’m down. What are the rules?
She replies with six words. There’s no way she knows who just sent her a text. Knowing she’s up for an adventure proves I’m doing the right thing. Let the games begin.
Solve the riddle to find out…
1
Everly
Two weeks prior
Oh no, I completely lost track of time!
Tonight is the meeting I’ve both dreaded and anticipated for years now, and all I wanted was to get it over with. I grab my skirt lying next to me. When I arrived at The Ridge this afternoon, it was too nice of a day not to bask in the sun—so nice, I decided to lie out in my panties. Not only am I indecent now, but I’m also late for my meeting with the prince.
I put the uncomfortable, stiff material back on after climbing down the rocks. Once I’m back on ground level, I hobble on one foot as I slip on my shoes and then take off running. Don’t let my eagerness to be on time cause any confusion. This is not an appointment I wish to attend.
Glancing down at the outfit my mom chose—that’s now a rumpled skirt with scuffed shoes—causes me to laugh. If I show up like this, the prince will surely move on to the next bachelorette.
The Prince of Canterbury is expected to marry someone from noble family lineage based on nothing more than tradition. I believe it’s their way of keeping the high society members separate from the “normal” people, but that’s just my opinion.
As a Stone family heir, it is my birthright to meet with the Prince to determine if I’m considered marriage material for him. The tradition goes back to the beginning days of Canterbury, and the fact that this is still in place blows my mind.
I’ve never seen Prince Sage up close—or on his own in recent photos. His family has kept him out of the limelight since his fourteenth birthday. He showed up for random photo ops, but he always stood in the back, seemingly hidden on purpose. Aside from that, he is a huge mystery.
There’s speculation over why, but I can only imagine it’s because he’s turned into someone they aren’t proud of. With a high-browed, aristocratic family that’s so big on impressions, he must be a wreck if they don’t parade him around like they do his sister.
Most girls would die for the chance to be a princess, but having it forced down my throat from the time I could walk by an overly eager mother, it became a nightmare.
Every stand-up-straight, hold your chin up, place your hand in your lap while you eat, and suck in your stomach directive, was all to bring me to this moment. Even my name represents my happily ever after.
The thought causes me to stop and let out a heavy sigh. My happily ever after has nothing to do with marrying a prince. Marrying for love, yes. But for prestige—that has never appealed to me. I’m only going along with this farce to appease my mom; I’d hate to let her down.
When the king sent the invitation for us to convene at The Ridge, a resort at the top of Mount Palisade, I was surprised. My mother has worked at the resort my entire life, so it’s a second home to me.
Nestled on top a small mountain peak, The Ridge is where I run when I want to escape. The lavish mid-century style hotel is where all the upper society of Canterbury comes to flaunt their wealth with views only they can afford.
Behind the resort are massive rocks where I lay and breathe my stress away. Today it was my solace, and now, as I approach the back entrance to the resort, I am feeling dim.
Taking a deep breath, I fix my skirt, straighten my shirt over it, and pick a leaf out of my hair. Hopefully, my face isn't too red from the sun and my makeup hasn’t run.
I pull open the doors to see my frantic mother.
“Where have you been?” she whisper-shouts, guiding me to the ladies room. “I saw their car pulling up. I can't believe you’re going to keep him waiting. What kind of first impression is that? You've ruined your chances for sure.”
I want to yell, no, scream at her. I hope I did ruin my chances, but I won’t. This is her only dream for me, and I hate to shatter it after all she’s sacrificed.
“Here.” She shoves a hanger in my face, the long, flowing skirt from my closet falling from the metal. “Dress fast. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
I head into a stall, close the door, and raise the top over my head. “Surprised you thought to bring a change of clothes.”
She lets out a sarcastic huff. “I know my daughter. From the red in your cheeks, I presume you fell asleep.”
We fought over what I should wear all week. She wanted me in the dreadful ensemble that’s thankfully lying on the floor now. This outfit is me, more so than anything else in my closet.
I pull the skirt up, slip the new shirt on, and then leave the stall.
Mom rushes to fix my hair. “Everly, do you understand what it took for me to arrange this meeting? I fought for you to have this opportunity. You don’t see it now, but this is a
blessing.”
Through the mirror, I stare at my mother’s reflection. We’re spitting images of each other. Everything except the worry lines and every hard days work she’s endured that’s starting to show on her face. I know she means well, but I wish she would stop treating me like a little girl.
“I’m going, but this is not the life I wish to live.”
She runs a brush through my hair. “What would you prefer? Running around with a camera on your back?”
Ever since I was in high school, I’ve dreamt of being a documentarian sharing the human-interest stories of the underprivileged. I want to travel the world, enrich my life with different cultures, and impart what I’ve learned with everyone. I’ve already started producing my own film.
Our eyes meet through the glass. “Is it wrong to want to contribute to society as a strong, independent woman with a career of my own?”
With a sigh, she places her hands on my shoulders. “You can contribute more as a princess.”
“I wouldn’t be able to make my documentary.”
“But you’d make other memories.”
I grit my teeth, upset that she would compare my dreams of making documentary films to just memories. “And what about love?”
Her determined stare wavers as she takes in my words. She had this chance when she was my age, but blinded by the love of my father, she threw it all away. Instead, she decided to marry my dad before King William chose his bride to be.
My father was a commoner in the minds of the affluent people of Canterbury. When my mom married him, her family and the community shunned her, but it didn’t matter. Only love did.
That is, until my dad passed away before I was born. From what I’ve heard about him, he was an extraordinary man who loved my mother more than life itself. I wish I’d had a chance to meet him. When my mom says I’m exactly like him, I can’t help but be filled with pride for the man who helped give me life.
Ever since his death, she’s struggled financially, but I’ve always had a roof over my head and food on the table. We may not have had everything, but we’ve had some good times together. She swears the only way I won’t have to struggle through life is if I marry Prince Sage, the next king of our small blip of an island country.
While my mother spouts this marriage is the best thing that could ever happen to me, I often wonder if she believes her own words. She ponders what her life would be like had she not married my dad. However, the way she gazes so longingly at my father’s picture every night, I know despite what she says—deep down—she would do it all over again.
That’s why I choose love. Not the prince.
I won’t settle for anything more than someone who lights my world on fire. Someone who challenges me, but allows me to be the person I am. I know that person exists somewhere. I’m willing to place my bets on him instead of throwing my dream away for a life of prestige and money.
With a small shake of her head, she moves away from me and grabs shoes from her bag. Placing them on the ground in front of me, she says, “You need mascara.”
There is no use rehashing the past or pleading for my desire to shape my own destiny, for that matter.
“Someday you’ll realize how blessed you are to be a Stone,” she says after I’ve freshened my makeup.
“We’re Stanley women, Mother. I have—and always will be—my father’s daughter.”
She tsks. “I swear, it's like you don’t want this to go well for us,” she states, pushing me toward the door.
“Us?” I tilt my head in her direction.
“You know what I mean.” She waves her hand dismissively.
Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.
I stand up straight and suppress my sigh. Looking at the reflection staring back at me, I prepare to enter the performance room that unfortunately could become my life.
2
Sage
“You are running out of time and women, son,” Father barks.
I lean back in the seat of the Rolls-Royce white limo on our way to my personal hell—I mean, possible future wife. I roll my eyes, thankful I have my sunglasses on, and he can’t see. I made that mistake once and will never make it again.
“I know, sir. What can I say, the others were not up to my standards,” I state with no emotion.
“Your standards?” he grits through his teeth. “Your standards have been off since day one. It’s time for you to get your mind right and get ready to rule this country like the Stevinson you are.”
“Yes, Father,” I agree, because I’ve fought this for years, and have all but given up.
I should be thankful they respected the private way of life I wanted to live the last few years, but that was my mom’s doing. She’s the only one who understands my wanting to actually do good, not just lend my name.
She would rather be on my side, but she has to uphold the image of our family. And that’s all it is—an image. Noses in the air, a holier-than-thou “I’m-too-good-for-everyone-else” attitude, an overall perception that I absolutely hate. My gaze roams over the tailored suit my father’s wearing that probably cost more than what some people make in a year here in Canterbury. Bile boils in my stomach at the thought.
We pull up to The Ridge and wait for our driver to open the door. I despise this part. I don’t want them thinking I’m incapable of doing anything for myself. But God forbid a royal let himself out of a car.
A deep sigh escapes my lips, which earns me a nasty glare from dad. After swallowing my anger, I step out, hoping this girl does something for me.
Gripping my Prada sunglasses in my hand, I glance over the empty room, shocked she's not here waiting like the puppy I make them all out to be.
According to tradition, I am to marry by my twenty-fifth birthday, and I've waited as long as I possibly could. I don't really have any options, well hardly. Picking between four women who were bred to be my wife is hardly much of a choice.
The two I’ve met already have been the same. Both formal as hell and stiff as can be. I tried to get to know them, but I couldn’t look at them without wanting to jump off a cliff from the boredom their expressions displayed. I'd rather eat glass than spend a lifetime married to the prim and proper nightmares I’d encountered.
I could have said I wanted them to eat dirt and they happily would have, just to be by my side and satisfy my every whim.
That is exactly what I don’t want.
I need someone with passion, fire that burns so deeply I'll have to play the fighter to tame it, even when we’re old and gray.
Just because I'm to be king one day doesn't mean I can't live the life I want. I’ve been able to push the limit on every turn…except this one. My father would not go against tradition for anything—no matter how hard I fought.
I have four more months until I turn twenty-five, and this is the third girl I’ve met from this approved list. If I don't like her, I'm screwed. I’ll have no option other than to be with number four—even though I have no idea who she is.
The doors fly open, and my heart skips a beat when my eyes play tricks on me. Our security team walks with them, allowing access to us so I know I’m not hallucinating.
I picked The Ridge for a reason. For the past eight years, whenever I was in town, I’d stare out the window from the palace to a rock on the other side of Mount Palisade. If I were lucky, I’d catch a glimpse of the most beautiful, mischievous girl I've ever seen sitting on a rock by herself.
She first caught my attention when I was still a scrawny boy, awkward in my own body and not sure of whom I was supposed to be versus who I wanted to be.
Over the years, I’ve noticed her evolve in the same ways I found myself changing. The day she took off her schoolgirl uniform and threw it as far as she could, proved she was facing the same struggles I was in my life. I was jealous she seemed to be doing something about it, while I just did as I was told.
It was because of her that I started standing up to my father. Constantly fantasizi
ng about what she would do if she were in the same situation.
The idea was crazy. I didn’t actually know her, but in my mind, she was my personal inspiration for who I wanted to be.
With my last few visits home, I've watched her do yoga, read, and one time, I even watched her dance by herself.
I'm sure she thought no one was watching her, but I was. Absolutely mesmerized by the way her body moved. I couldn't do anything but stare. I was so tempted to sweep her into my arms and sway along with her, but there was something about her that held me back.
I was so intrigued by what I saw that I worried reality would ruin my fantasy girl. The idea of her was the person I could envision when whomever I married didn’t give me the life I desired. Sounds fucked up—even I'll admit it—but so does forcing me to marry someone I don't know, much less love.
My luck must be changing. My dream girl just walked into my reality. The other girls I've met—and turned down—showed up in dresses resembling something their mothers would wear. The polyester, knee-length ensembles did zilch to turn me on—the exact opposite actually. Nothing says I'm boring in bed like a light-pink dress covering more than it should. Prim and proper equates to prudish and dull. There's nothing mundane about the girl who caught my attention years ago, though.
