The Royals Next Door

by Karina Halle

  “No one is forcing me to do anything,” he says, sounding all grumbly. “It’s taken some consideration, that’s all.”

  “She said you need to get out more.”

  “She’s the one who needs to get out more. Not me. Luckily, I have complete faith in the team, so I know they’ll be fine.” He pauses, glancing at me quickly. “Me, on the other hand . . .”

  “You’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Do you have a curfew? Are you going to turn into a pumpkin if I don’t get you home in time?”

  I don’t have to see his eyes to know he’s glaring at me.

  “Apparently, thanks to you, I have the day off tomorrow,” he says.

  “Well, if I’m driving, then you’re drinking. No excuses.”

  He doesn’t say anything to that. Frankly I don’t care if he drinks or not. I just want the guy to relax for once. After what Monica said about him being so busy and devoted to his job that he doesn’t even date or seem to have a personal life at all, it’s given me a bit of insight into a man who’s notorious for clamming up.

  It’s only a ten-minute drive to the pub, situated at the edge of town and at the base of a large marina. There are people standing outside the entrance and smoking, and I immediately scan them to see if I know them. I may not have a lot of friends, but I know a lot of people, not all of them good. I exhale when I don’t recognize anyone. Probably tourists.

  “You going to be okay?” Harrison asks as we trundle along the gravel lot and park.

  “Sure,” I tell him.

  He’s staring at me, I think, and now that the car isn’t moving and I don’t have to concentrate on driving, I’m even more aware of how crammed we are in this small space.

  I reach over and place my fingers on the edges of his sunglasses and gently pull them off his face.

  He blinks at me, his eyes the color of the water here when the cedar reflects off it, intense as anything.

  I have to take a moment to find my breath.

  “You can’t wear these inside,” I tell him. “You’ll look like a douche.”

  He squints. “I guess I should be happy I don’t already look like one. I feel like one.”

  I hold out his sunglasses, and he takes them from me, his fingers brushing against mine, sending sparks up my arm, to the base of my neck, and down the rest of my body.

  I am in trouble.

  “You look great,” I tell him, my voice small, like I’m holding back what I really want to say. “Not at all douchey.”

  Just ridiculously, sinfully hot.

  He seems satisfied with that, though his eyes hold mine for what seems like eternity, the tension between us growing thick and heavy. My god. Is this how he always looks at me?

  I have to look away. I clear my throat and smile bashfully at my steering wheel, at nothing, at anything but him, and then I get out of the car.

  Twelve

  The warm summer air and the sudden distance between us lets my brain stop focusing on him so much, but unfortunately that means it starts focusing on the pub.

  Harrison gets out of the car and walks around to me.

  “Are you going to give me a rundown of what to expect?”

  I shrug as we walk across the gravel lot. “It’s just a small-town pub.”

  “I figured that,” he says. “But in regard to your ex. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

  He’s right. But he’s also here because I want him to be here.

  He goes on. “If you’re wanting it to look like we’re together, like a couple—”

  “No, no, no,” I say quickly. “That’s not it at all.”

  “Because I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he adds, and some tiny part of my heart is crushed. “People know who I am. Maybe not in that pub, but elsewhere in the world, they do. I can’t be in there, my arm around you, pretending you’re my girlfriend when the media could easily get wind of it. My credibility would be destroyed, and they would drag Eddie and Monica through the dirt. They’re always waiting for the first opportunity.”

  “I totally get it,” I tell him, even though I’m reeling a bit. “So you’re never allowed to date anyone, ever?”

  He gives a quick shrug with one shoulder. “I’m free to do what I want. But I have to face the consequences. And if I was seen with you in that way, when it’s likely known by now that you’re a local, and a neighbor, it wouldn’t be good. It would seem highly unprofessional to them, regardless of how I’d personally feel about it.”

  My eyes widen. And . . . how do you feel about it? I want to ask. I want to shake him and yell at him and get an answer, an answer to a question I didn’t even know existed.

  Instead I just nod, pausing outside the doors and out of earshot of the people smoking. “I don’t want anyone to think anything. I just want to show up because I never do. I’ve lived here for long enough, and yet I barely belong. I’ve been sheltering myself because I’ve been too afraid of getting to know people, of letting them know me. Even when I was with Joey, I had made him my world and no one else. It’s what I do when I’m in a relationship, and maybe that’s normal, but when you’re in a toxic relationship, it’s unhealthy. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a healthy one . . .” I trail off, looking down at my flip-flops, the chipped aqua nail polish on my toes. “I know this probably doesn’t make a lot of sense to you. It barely makes sense to me.”

  “I understand more than you think,” he says. “Come on. Let me buy you a drink.”

  He opens the door for me, and I walk in.

  The place is packed. The opening band has already started, playing a cover of “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” and waitresses are bustling past us with trays of flat beer and fish and chips.

  “Where do you want to sit?” I ask Harrison, having to raise my voice over the music, noticing that a lot of people are looking over at us, women in particular. I don’t look at them long enough to see if I know them.

  “Wherever you like,” he says.

  With the live music, most of the patrons are crowded near the stage in the upper portion of the pub, but being here is more about making an appearance, not being subjected to the drunk and sweaty masses, so I head toward the patio overlooking the marina, where I spot a table for two in the corner.

  “Wasn’t the point of coming here to be seen?” Harrison says as he pulls out the chair for me to sit down. I mean, who does that? The English might.

  “Thank you,” I say to him, touched by how ridiculously gentlemanly he’s being. I sit. “The loud music gives me anxiety. Being out here still counts.”

  Particularly when I see none other than my favorite person, Amy Mischky, by the server station. I guess she has two jobs, and if I left the house more often, I’d have known that. She’s staring at me and Harrison before she gathers our menus.

  I quickly smooth my hair around my face and give her a big, bright smile as she comes over.

  “Hello,” I say to her.

  “Hey,” she says, frowning at me, then ogles Harrison. “Didn’t think you’d show up.”

  Ah, see, there’s the rub.

  “Who could pass up the invite?” I say with a happy shrug.

  She purses her lips for a moment, studying me, probably thinking lots of unkind thoughts. “Know what you’re having to drink?”

  “The menus would be a helpful start,” Harrison says.

  Ha! I love snarky Harrison.

  Amy narrows her eyes at him for a split second, then pastes a very phony smile on her face. “Of course.” She drops the menus on the table and walks away.

  “Love that you said that,” I say to him.

  “If she’s as bad at serving as she is as a barista, this is going to be a long night.”

  I take a menu. “That’s a sign that you haven’t been fully integrated into island life. Island life means that it’s everyone’s first day
on the job, always. Just be happy they show up.”

  He shakes his head, a touch of an amused smile on his lips as he looks over his menu. “To be honest, I’m not sure how you do it.”

  “To be fair, it’s not like you have to deal with the public much.”

  “Even so, the lack of efficiency is excruciating to me.”

  “You get used to it. Just gotta go with the flow. That means stop worrying about things you can’t control.”

  “I’m not worried. Controlled is a preference.”

  “I think you’re getting preferences and needs mixed up.”

  “I know the difference,” he says mildly, flipping the menu over. “Can’t remember the last time I had a beer.”

  “Really? You make a pretty poor Brit.”

  “Rightly so,” he says, twisting in his seat to wave over Amy.

  She comes over reluctantly and stands in front of us, her hand on her hip. “So, what will it be?”

  Harrison nods at me to go first.

  “I’ll have a water and a Corona Light,” I say.

  “I’ll have a brown ale.”

  “Just the drinks, then,” she says, reaching to take the menus away.

  Harrison places his palm down on them. “Haven’t decided yet,” he says in a polite yet firm voice, adding a flash of a smile at the end.

  Amy’s either stunned by his smile or intimidated by his direction, and she blinks at him for a moment, her mouth dropping open until she manages to say, “Of course.”

  She goes on to another table, Harrison watching her with a sneer to his lips. “I don’t like her,” he says, turning back to me. “She’s bad news.”

  “Well, she comes from a long line of bad news,” I tell him. “Her mother is one of those people who writes editorials to the local newspaper, complaining about tourism or protesting against cell phone service or that a man she doesn’t even know is cutting down too many trees on his property. I’m actually shocked that she hasn’t written about you guys yet. I can’t imagine your being here has been a smooth transition for everyone else.”

  “I hadn’t considered that,” Harrison muses, squinting at the sun. I know he’s dying to put on his sunglasses, but for some reason he hasn’t yet. “I’d just been so focused on you.”

  I’d just been so focused on you.

  That’s what he just said.

  I hate that some part of me is absolutely melting, just the notion that someone has been paying attention, and that that someone is him.

  His gaze goes over the marina. “I guess staying holed up at the house, we haven’t really been out and about to see how people feel about us.”

  Okay, so either he’s skirting over it, that he’s been focused on me, or he doesn’t realize what he’s said. It’s hard to get a read on him because his eyes are taking in the boats. He doesn’t look exactly relaxed, but then again, he never does.

  “All I know is, there is more media here because of you.”

  “Well, I don’t see them here tonight,” he points out.

  I look around. That’s true. Wherever the media hides out, it isn’t here.

  “Maybe they all left. With Bert and then James patrolling out there, and with Monica and Eddie never leaving the house, maybe they gave up.”

  “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, tapping his temple. “Tricky bastards.”

  Amy comes back with our drinks and plunks them down in a hurry, doesn’t bother to ask us what we want, which is just as well, since I haven’t even looked at the menu.

  “Cheers,” I say to Harrison, squeezing the lime slice through the bottleneck and then holding up my beer. “Here’s to a night on the town.”

  That gets a smile out of him. “Cheers to that.”

  We clink, and I manage to maintain eye contact with him as I sip my beer. Then someone by the doors catches my eye.

  Shit.

  It’s Joey.

  I mean, I obviously came here hoping to see him, but more like I hoped he would see me from afar and be like, Oh, Piper, she’s obviously not afraid to be out and about, guess I didn’t ruin her like I thought. Something along those lines. And then he would just play his awful music and stay away.

  But no, he’s walking over to me, not staying away.

  I sit up straighter, put a stiff smile on my face, and it’s enough that Harrison looks behind him. When he looks back at me, his brows are raised expectantly. I recall what Harrison said on the dock about wanting to break Joey’s nose and hope it hasn’t come to that yet.

  “Pipes,” Joey says, standing in front of our table, his arms crossed. He’s got this cheesy, smug look on his face, and I have to wonder why I ever found him attractive. Oh right, it’s because he was an aloof commitment-phobe and I figured that was what I deserved.

  “Joey,” I say to him. Then I smile and point my beer at Harrison. “This is Harrison. I don’t think you were formally introduced last time.”

  “Oh right, hey, man,” Joey says, holding out his hand. “You’re the visitor.”

  “That’s me,” Harrison says, shaking Joey’s hand and absolutely crushing it.

  Joey is trying so hard not to wince, I cover my mouth with my beer to hide my delight.

  He pulls his hand away, offering a crooked smile. “Wow. That’s some handshake.” Joey looks at me. “Where did you find this guy, Pipes? The MMA?”

  Intensity radiates from Harrison’s eyes. “Not quite,” he says in a low voice, the kind of voice that should tell Joey he’s on thin ice.

  “Do they even have the MMA in Britain? You’re British, right? Would have expected you to have more of a Jason Statham kind of voice. You know. Like this.” And he proceeds to do a terrible impression of Jason Statham, like Michael Caine on steroids.

  Oh Joey, please shut up.

  “No, I don’t know,” Harrison says carefully, staring at him now with full-on menace. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

  “Joey.”

  “And you’re Piper’s . . . what, friend?”

  Harrison knows what he’s doing. Joey blinks at him, taken aback, like he can’t believe I haven’t told Harrison about him. I can see he’s thinking back to the café, wondering if Harrison had overheard the part about me leaving him at the altar, but I love that Harrison is pretending otherwise.

  “No,” he says, and then shoots me a glance. “Well, yes. I’d say she’s my friend. We have a complicated history.”

  “I see,” Harrison says. “It’s good to meet Piper’s friends. I hope they all treat her as dearly as I do.”

  “Right,” Joey says slowly. “Anyway, my band is playing a set in ten minutes or so. You should come inside and see. Don’t worry, Amy will hold your table out here.”

  “We’ll see,” I tell Joey, and then wave at the water. “It’s just so nice out here, shame to be inside.”

  Joey looks disappointed. Good. He walks away, and I sigh.

  “Please don’t tell me you still have feelings for that wanker,” Harrison says, finishing the rest of his beer in one gulp.

  A choked laugh escapes me. “Are you kidding? No. Hell no.”

  Harrison seems to brood over that for a moment, then gets up.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, fearing he’s leaving.

  “Going to go place an order at the bar. I don’t trust our waitress. What would you like?”

  “I’m not drinking anything other than this,” I say, waving the beer bottle at him.

  He lightly taps the table with his fist. “Be right back.”

  I watch as he walks off into the pub. I really hope he’s not going in there to do something stupid. Not that he’s ever struck me as the brash and reckless type; he’s been the opposite. But he is drinking when he doesn’t seem to normally, and maybe there’s a side of Harrison that comes loose.
>
  So I sit there, nursing my beer, watching sailboats dock and tourists going to and fro, and trying not to worry about him.

  Finally he returns, double-fisting two dark beers. Instead of looking triumphant, however, he just looks annoyed.

  “Took you long enough,” I tell him.

  “I had a shot of whisky,” he says, sitting down, the beers spilling over the edge of the glass.

  “You what?” I stare at him.

  “I had a shot of whisky,” he repeats, fixing his eyes on me, almost as a challenge. He doesn’t seem like he’s had a shot of whisky and a beer already; his gaze is as sharp and as clear as ever. But I’m still surprised he’s taken this turn.

  “Making up for lost time?” I ask.

  “Something like that,” he says. “Your ex is up onstage. Sure you don’t want to go in there and watch?”

  “No, thank you,” I tell him. “In fact, when you’re done with those beers, we can leave.”

  He frowns at me, his blue-green eyes growing more intense. “So soon?”

  “You actually want to stay?”

  He shrugs and palms his pint. “Why not? You dragged me out here, I’ve had the first drinks I’ve had in months. Dare I say I’m actually enjoying this?”

  I wave my fingers at him. “This is you enjoying something?”

  He gives me a crooked grin and then has a hearty gulp of his beer. “You can’t tell?”

  Well, since he wants to stay and I’ve got him mostly alone and feeling a little looser, I decide to start my investigation into Harrison’s secretive backstory.

  “So, tell me,” I begin, sitting back in my chair. “When was the last time you had a day off?”

  He sips his beer and ponders that for a moment. “I honestly can’t remember.”

  “I’m guessing when Monica and Eddie asked you to come with them to Canada, you didn’t have many reasons to say no.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Any family?”

  A darkness washes over his eyes, and he averts his gaze from mine, staring down at beer #2. Something tells me that wasn’t a harmless question.