by Louise, Tia
“I tried cutting my hair off. I tried not brushing my teeth—”
“Don’t be doing shit like that!” I snap, turning to face front. The rain keeps splashing on my side getting me even wetter. “We can’t afford a dentist.”
“I don’t know what to do, Zee.”
Pressing my lips together, I clench my fists on top of my knees. “We ain’t going back into no foster home. I’ll take care of us.”
“But how?” Her voice breaks as it goes high in a whisper.
“Hell, I don’t know, but I got all night to figure it out.” I press my front teeth together and think. We’re not that far from being legal. I’m seventeen, but Ava’s only fifteen. Looking at the sand on my shoes, I get an idea. “We got one thing going for us.”
“What’s that?” My little sister sniffs, and I hear the tiniest flicker of hope in her voice. She’ll trust whatever I tell her, and I take that responsibility very seriously.
“We live in the greatest state to be homeless. Sunny Florida.”
“Okay?” Her slim brows wrinkle, and the tears in her eyes make them look like the ocean.
“We don’t have to worry about getting cold or anything. We don’t have to worry about snow…” I’m thinking hard, assembling a plan in my mind. “During the day, we fly under the radar—keep your head down, don’t attract attention. I’ll see what I can find us to eat. At night we can sleep on the beach. Or here, or hell, maybe one of these rich assholes forgets to lock his boathouse. Have you seen how nice some of these boathouses are? They’re like regular houses!”
Her eyes go round with surprise. “Why are they like that?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Rich people are crazy. Some rich men even get their nails polished, and they aren’t even gay!”
Air bursts through her lips, and she starts to laugh. I smile and pull her arm so she can lie down with her face on my bony, empty stomach. “Now get some sleep.”
The rain is tapering off, and my little sister is laughing instead of crying. I don’t have any idea if anything I just said is possible, but I’m going to find out. I’ll be damned if I let another foster asshole touch her. It’s what Mom would expect me to do. I’m the biggest. I have to take care of us, and I intend to do it.
* * *
Rowan Westringham Tate
The navy fabric of my father’s uniform coat stretches taut across his shoulders. It’s the tangible warning sign his anger is rising, and the person addressing him would do well to shut up.
“Monagasco has been an independent nation for eight hundred years.” His voice is a rolling growl pricking the tension in my chest.
The last time my father started on our nation’s history, the offending party was thrown out of the meeting room by the neck. He’s getting too old for such violent outbursts. I worry about his heart… and my future. My freedom, more specifically.
“I think what Hubert was trying to say—” The Grand Duke, my mother’s brother Reginald Winchester, tries to intervene.
“I KNOW what Hubert is trying to say!” My father (a.k.a., The King) cuts him off. “He thinks we should cede our southwestern territory to Totrington! Even though their raiders and bandits have pillaged our farms along the border for generations!”
Leaning back in my heavy oak chair, I steeple my fingers before my lips and don’t say what I want. As crown prince, I’ve attended these meetings for three years, since I turned nineteen. I’ve learned when to speak and when to discuss things in private with my father.
I could say I agree with Reggie, we should consider a trade agreement with our neighboring nation-state, but I’m more concerned about the King’s health. I’ve never seen him so worked up before.
“Independence at all costs,” he continues, his naturally pink cheeks even pinker. “We will not give those savages an open door to the control of Monagasco.”
“No one’s suggesting—”
“Shut UP, Hubert!” My father shouts, and I glance down to avoid meeting the earl’s offended eyes.
Hubert’s sniveling voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and I privately enjoy my father chastising him. I’ve always suspected him of conspiring with Wade Paxton, Totrington’s newly elected Prime Minister, from the time when Wade was only a member of their parliament.
“I’ve had enough of this.” My father walks to the window and looks out. “I’d like to speak to Rowan in private. You can all go.”
“Of course.” Reginald stands at once, smoothing his long hands down the front of his dark coat.
Tall and slender, with greying black hair and a trim mustache, my uncle embodies the Charmant line of our family. I inherited their height and Norman complexion. My father, by contrast, is a Tate through and through. Short, pink, and round.
As soon as the room is cleared, he stalks back to the table, still brooding like a thunderstorm. “Reggie’s in league with them as well,” he growls.
“Not necessarily.” My voice is low and level, and I hope appeasing. “My uncle does have an idea, and of the two, it’s the least offensive. Hubert would combine our countries and walk away—”
“Exactly!” Father snaps, turning to face me, blue eyes blazing. “My own cousin, born and reared in our beautiful land. He’s been promised a place in the new government, I’ll bet you. They’ll throw the lot of us out—behead us if they can.”
“I’m pretty sure beheading is no longer tolerated in western civilization.”
“Harumph.” He’s still angry, but at least he’s calmer. “It would break your mother’s heart. The Charmants founded Monagasco. We can’t let those Twatringtons in.”
His use of the unofficial nickname for our southwest neighbor makes me grin. Rising from my chair, I brace his shoulder in a firm grasp.
“We won’t let that happen.” Our blue eyes meet. It’s the only feature we share. He’s a few inches shorter than me, but he makes up for it in stubbornness. “We’re flush with reserves, and the economy can change at any time.”
His thick hand covers mine. “I’m doing my best to leave you a strong country to rule. The country I inherited.”
“We would do well to reduce our dependence on foreign oil reserves.” He starts to argue, but I hold up a hand as I head for the door. He’s finally calm, and I’m not interested in riling him up again. “In any event, you’ll be around long enough to see the tides turn. Now get some rest.” I’m at the enormous wooden door of the war room. “We can’t solve all our problems in one day.”
“Goodnight, son.”
The tone in his voice causes me to look back. He’s at the window, and a troubled expression mars his profile. A shimmer of concern passes through my stomach, but I dismiss it, quietly stepping into the dim hallway. It’s enormous and shrouded with heavy velvet curtains and tapestries.
I grew up playing in these halls, hiding from my mother and chasing my younger brother. I’m tired and ready for bed when the sound of hushed voices stops me in my tracks.
“Pompous ass. He’s going to kill himself with these outbursts. We need to be ready to move when that happens.” The glee in Hubert’s sniveling voice revives the anger in my chest. I step into the shadows to listen.
“By climbing into bed with Wade Paxton?”
I recognize my uncle’s voice, and my jaw clenches. Is Father right? Is Reginald conspiring with that worm against the crown?
“Wade Paxton would unite the kingdoms and make us both leaders in the new government.”
“Wade Paxton is a thug.”
“Not very respectful verbiage for the Prime Minister of Totrington, also known as our future partner.”
“He’s no better than one of those mob bosses on American television. Savage.” Reggie’s voice is laced with snobbery. “He’d tax the people and change the very nature of Monagasco.”
Hubert’s tone is undeterred. “Some things might change, but as leaders, you and I can help maintain the best parts, the heart of the nation. Once Philip is out of the way, of course, which co
uld be sooner than we think.”
My fists tighten at my sides. I’m ready to step out of the shadows and shake Hubert’s traitorous neck until his teeth rattle. The only thing stopping me is my desire to hear the extent of this treachery.
“You’re right about one thing,” Reggie says. “Philip’s health is tenuous. We need to be prepared to act should a crisis arise.”
“What about Rowan? If he’s not on our side, we could end up in the same position—and with a much younger king to wait out.”
“Possibly.” My uncle pauses, and I feel the heat rising around my collar.
“Wade has a plan for managing such a contingency. Should Rowan prove… difficult.”
“I’m sure he does,” Reggie scoffs. “And Cal? Shall we wipe out the entire Tate line?”
Hubert’s voice is low and wicked. “Perhaps being in league with a ‘thug’ as you put it has its advantages.”
How dare these bastards! What they’re saying is high treason! My body is poised to move when Reggie’s words freeze me in place.
“I’m sure Wade’s tactics won’t prove necessary. When the time comes to do the right thing, we can count on Rowan.”
Count on Rowan? Is it possible he thinks I would even consider a merger with Twatrington? Their voices recede down the corridor as my level of disgust and loyalty to my father rises. The king has had a difficult evening. I’ll let him rest tonight, but I will present him with this conspiracy first thing tomorrow. Reggie is right. When the time comes, I will do the right thing.
Looking back, I had no idea the time would come in less than twenty-four hours…
* * *
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Acknowledgments
The few people who read Under the Lights in 2011, when I first wrote it, have asked me for the rest of the story ever since… To be fair, the original ending was slightly different—Mark was not beaten almost to death—but Lara still fled with Freddie.
Early readers didn’t care for that ending, and to be honest, I had more exciting times, a red-hot reunion, revenge, traveling, all the things in my head.
I just wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get back to it—my writing life kept pulling me farther and farther away from here.
So I should start by thanking A.D. Justice for pulling me into the Vault anthology, making me write the novella “Sundown,” which led to where we are now—the story finished and me sharing it with you all!
I hope you love this story as much as I have from the time it floated to me on a song one cool, autumn morning in 2010.
And now for the people I absolutely cannot get a book out without, Ilona Townsel, Mr. TL, Ilsa Madden-Mills, Aleatha Romig, Lisa Kuhne, all my author friends who help me spread the word, all the bloggers and early readers…
New this time, I had an incredible little band of beta readers who kept me writing chapter by chapter, every day—Lulu Dumonceaux, Tina Morgan, and Ilona. Y’all know how much I needed that push to get this finished.
So much thanks to Tamara Mataya, my amazing editor, who keeps me laughing through the pain and to Letitia Hasser for the absolutely gorgeous cover designs. You ladies ROCK!
And to Shannon and Shayna who make the most amazing little works of art… we need a better name than “teasers” for these little gems.
Enormous thanks to Brooke Nowiski, the hardest working girl in the PR business; also, Jenn Watson at Social Butterfly PR, and a special thanks to Lisa Hintz at TRSOR. I appreciate you ladies more than I can ever say.
THANKS to my MERMAIDS for loving my books and being so excited about this new release. (Special thanks to “Trixie Trixie,” Angel Hollmeyer Crum, and Patricia Cordovez for donating a quote for the chapter heads—I used them!)
THANK YOU to ALL the bloggers who have made an art and a science of book loving. Sharing this book with the reading world would be impossible without you. I appreciate your help so much.
To everyone who picks up this book, reads it, loves it, and tells one person about it, you’ve made my day. I’m so grateful to you all. Without readers, there would be no writers.
Keep reading,
Stay sexy,
So much love,
<3 Tia
About the Author
Tia Louise is the USA Today best-selling, award-winning author of When We Touch, the “One to Hold” and “Dirty Players” series, and co-author of the #4 Amazon bestseller The Last Guy.
She loves all the books (as long as they have romance), all the chocolate (as long as it’s dark), strong coffee and sparkling wine.
After being a teacher, a book editor, a journalist, and finally a magazine editor, she started writing love stories and never stopped.
Louise lives in the Midwest with her trophy husband, two teenage geniuses, and one grumpy cat.
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