by Erika Kelly
His dad had envisioned blacksmiths and cobblers, but Brodie had added his own ideas to include leather toolers—handbags, belts, journals—and jewelry makers. He’d have to dig up his notes. He’d had a lot of ideas.
But, yeah, he had dropped the ball. That didn’t sit right with him. Not when he’d done it for his dad. He pulled out his phone and shot off a text to Pierce.
What’s a good time to meet about Owl Hoot?
Shoving his phone in his pocket, he headed back inside.
“Brodie?” Vanessa, his architect, strode toward him. She gestured to the bank of elevators. “I just went to your room.” When she leaned in for a kiss, her sleek blonde hair spilled forward.
Without thinking, he gave her his cheek, forcing an awkward brush of her lips against his jaw. He only realized she wanted his mouth after her eyes flared, and her cheeks burned. “Hey. What’s up?” Who kissed someone on the mouth? That was for girlfriends and wives, and Vanessa was neither.
She held up the drawing tube that held his blueprints. “I wanted to show you the adjustments I made. Thought we could grab lunch at the same time. Maybe order in?” She was all business, so that was good.
“Can’t. I have to get back in there.”
“Has she seen it yet?” Vanessa had done the drawings for the atelier.
“Yeah.”
“Well? Come on, what does she think?”
“I haven’t talked to her yet. She’s been busy.”
The door opened, and Callie stepped out. “Oh, there you are. We need you for pictures.” She smiled at Vanessa before retreating back inside, leaving the door open for him.
“Pictures for the website?” Vanessa asked. “I’d like to be in them. It’ll be good for my business.”
“No, wedding pictures. Gray and Knox just got married.”
Her features froze, and she stared at him in confusion. “Your brother got married? Just now?”
“Twenty minutes ago, but yeah.”
Stepping around him, she peered inside, scanning the room from one side to the other. “You didn’t invite me.”
“I didn’t invite anyone.”
She gazed up at him, those brown eyes searching, and he realized he was looking into the eyes of a woman. Not his architect.
A woman he’d hurt.
“Brodie…” So much accusation in her tone. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
He didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t occurred to him to invite her. His brothers liked to joke that he was clueless about women. That he only found out he was in a relationship when they asked him to meet their parents or expected him to go to a work party.
Is that what’s happening now?
Does she think I’m her boyfriend?
Not once had he asked her on a date. On the rare occasion he sent a text, it was business-related. Sure, they’d slept together, but that was when they’d both had an itch to scratch. They’d be working on house plans, ordering food in, and then they’d get naked. But, after, they always went their separate ways—either back to work or home. They’d never spent the night at each other’s places, never…held hands or whatever couples do.
So, what had he done to mislead her? He honestly wanted to know, because he didn’t like seeing her hurt. “We need to talk about this, but right now I have to get back in there.” He held her gaze a moment longer, long enough to see that she very much wanted to be included in the family photos. “I’ll call you later.”
As soon as he joined the wedding party, Callie said, “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“Vanessa’s my architect. Not my girlfriend.”
She gave him a look that said, Here we go again. “Brodie, you’ve been dating her for months.”
“I’ve been working with her. On my house and this atelier.”
She searched his eyes, as if checking to see if he was serious. When she found he was, she gave him a pitying look. “Sometimes you need to get your head out of your ass.”
Chapter Four
“You can’t expect me to marry him.” Rosalina leaned against the railing of her suite’s terrace. Exhausted from jet lag, she knew she should be sleeping, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw Marcel and Fabiana in the closet, relived their heated exchange, and it shook her wide awake.
In the darkness, the peaks of the Tetons cut a jagged line across the star-speckled sky. Unfortunately, the betrayal felt as vivid here in Calamity as it had at home. How had she thought traveling five thousand miles away would change the scenery in her heart along with the landscape?
Well, it hadn’t. The hurt burned inside her like a lit match she was frantically trying to extinguish but couldn’t reach.
“It is essential that you marry him, darling,” her mother said. “But we certainly don’t blame you for their reckless behavior. He swears they never had a physical relationship, though I know that’s small comfort.”
“You talked to him?”
“Of course we did. While we won’t diminish what he’s done to you personally, the fall-out has dire consequences for the monarchy. You might not be ready to hear it, but he’s genuinely sorry.”
“I don’t care what he is. I’m so angry with both of them. I can’t get over the fact that Fabiana looked me in the eye every single day, while going after my fiancé. Is she a sociopath? How can she lie to my face like that?”
“I don’t know, my love. I’m devastated for you. For all of us. It’s such a difficult situation. We need this marriage. We need an heir.”
“This is the twenty-first century. It’s absurd that our line of succession falls to men. You’re every bit as capable of governing as Father.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, but now is not the time to dwell on things we can’t change.”
As soon as her parents learned they couldn’t bear more children, they’d petitioned Parliament to change the line of succession to include women, but the idea was soundly rejected. They’d seen no reason to change laws that had been in place since the fifteenth century. The People’s Party, of course, consistently voted to maintain the status quo in the hopes the monarchy would die out on its own.
A soft breeze fluttered across the meadow surrounding the hotel. It was too dark to see the acres of wildflowers, sagebrush, and tall grasses, but the night air’s perfume made her desperate to get out there and explore. Tomorrow. “It’s sexist and misogynistic.”
“Of course it is, but it’s not the point. The point is that we’ve got to keep the People’s Party from gaining seats, and the only way to do that is through your marriage to Marcel.”
“We’re educated, intelligent people. We can come up with another solution.”
“Not in time for the vote. Now, listen, make good use of your time away. Clear your head. It’s the only reason we agreed to this trip of yours. If you’d stayed here, the whole world would see just how you feel about your fiancé.”
“Then I’d better stay here for the next six months.” She’d meant to say it with humor, but there was no disguising her bitterness…which spoke to her mother’s point.
“No, Rosalina. This is not open for discussion. You have five days to pull yourself together, then you’ll come home and assume your duties. You’ll need to be seen with Marcel on occasion, but you can rest assured his father will keep him extremely busy. He’s no more pleased than we are.” Her mother let out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry, darling. I can’t imagine how you must feel right now, and I wish the timing didn’t coincide with such an important vote. But it does, so unfortunately you’re going to need to hold your head high and paste a smile on that lovely face.”
“Okay, Mama. I promise to be completely over the betrayal of my fiancé and assistant in five days.”
“I don’t know how on earth I raised such a smart-mouthed girl.”
Her phone beeped, and she pulled it away from her ear to see who was calling. Adrenaline spiked through her when she saw her fiancé’s name. “That’s Marcel. Let me take t
he call.”
“That’s fine. We’ll talk later in the afternoon. Well, in the morning for you. Try to get some sleep.”
“Okay.” But before she got off the phone, she needed to know. “How’s Papa doing? Is he…okay?”
“Yes, of course, darling. He’s quite confident in the people’s desire to maintain the monarchy.”
“He doesn’t need the added stress of my engagement blowing up.”
“Stop being so dramatic. Nothing’s ‘blown up.’ Now go talk to your fiancé and give him a piece of your mind.”
Her mother hung up, and she accepted Marcel’s call. “Hello?”
“Hey.” He’d never sounded so down.
Well, she wouldn’t make it easier for him. The volatile brew of hurt, anger, and helplessness made her shaky.
“I’m an idiot.”
Did he think she’d laugh? Sweep aside what he’d done? She remained silent.
“You know I’ve never been with anyone else, right?”
God, she hadn’t even considered other women. “If you could make love to me after kissing Fabiana, then I don’t know you at all. The man I trusted, gave my heart and body to, is a lie. He doesn’t exist.”
“No, no, he exists. He very much exists. But there’s more to me than that man. There’s the guy who wouldn’t have minded going to parties and getting drunk and banging hot girls.”
She sucked in a breath, which cut off his words.
“I’m sorry to be so blunt about it, but surely you’ve felt the same way over the years. We’ve grown up in the public eye, and we’re so good at doing what’s expected of us. And, while I like my life, there’s still a part of me that wanted to backpack through America, sleep in hostels, drink cheap wine, and hook up with strangers on trains.”
Every image rose clear and powerful, the alternate life they both might’ve lived had they been born into different circumstances. She loved her family. She truly loved the people of St. Christophe. But she’d never done any of the things Marcel had just described. She’d been so dutiful she hadn’t even allowed herself to fantasize.
Lusting after things she couldn’t have would lead to frustration, so she’d squashed them before they’d had a chance to bloom.
“I wish you’d told me, Marcel. Instead of turning to my assistant, why didn’t you just talk to me? I don’t think you understand what you’ve done. It’s bad enough that you cheated, but the worst part is that I’m now doubting myself. It’s all I can think about. Am I not sexy enough? Am I cold?” She supposed his silence was answer enough. “What is it about Fabiana? Is there a whole other side of her that comes out in the bedroom? Does she wear lingerie and have a sex toy drawer? I just don’t understand. Why, Marcel? Why did you do this?” She only realized she’d been shouting when she heard the scrape of a chair on the terrace next to hers, followed by the quiet snick of the French doors shutting.
I don’t care.
I don’t care who heard me. I just want answers.
“I don’t know what to say, other than the obvious. I got a thrill out of sneaking around. All those text messages and stolen moments? It was…exciting.”
“You said you don’t love her, but I heard your voices. You were both so…passionate.”
“It’s not love.” He said it wearily. “And I know it’s not, because now that it’s over I don’t miss her. I don’t long for her. All I feel is embarrassed and ashamed of myself for acting like a fool.” He let out a rough breath. “I just need you to know that I never had sex with her.”
“Oh, my God, you have to stop saying that. It makes me want to burn down everything in my path. You betrayed me, okay? There’s no other interpretation. You cheated on me with my friend.”
And the part that cut so deep she didn’t think she’d ever stop bleeding was that he’d never lusted after her.
Because I’m not sexy.
A bolt of fear lit her up inside. Truly, doubting herself had turned out to be the worst consequence of this whole, horrible situation. Up until she’d found them in the closet, Rosalina had believed she was nothing but loved and accepted. It had formed the very foundation of her sense of safety and security in the world.
Now, it had all been ripped from her, leaving her vulnerable and questioning herself. “I feel like I’m going out of my mind. I have to know. Were you faking it when you were with me? Imagining you were with Fabiana? You have to tell me the truth because it’s tearing me up inside.”
“Rosalina, stop. Stop doing this.”
“I can’t. It’s all I think about. I know I’m not wildly sexy, but it never mattered before because I thought we were happy. Now, I know we were just…complacent.”
“We’ve been together so long, and I think…I think Fabi was safe to lust after. I certainly couldn’t flirt with anyone else in St. Christophe.”
“So, it wasn’t her specifically? Fabiana doesn’t drive you wild?”
“No. She doesn’t.” He went quiet for a moment, and in that space, she knew she was hoping for some sparkling piece of insight that would make everything stop hurting so badly.
“When I was thirteen, my father took me camping,” he said. “I was excited to spend time alone with him, but that first night, he talked to me about my duty and his expectations. And I felt sick to my stomach because, while I’d always known I was going to marry you, it had been nothing more than a concept. But, in that moment, I understood that my crush on Angelica Brun could go nowhere. Obviously, I didn’t know about Ibiza raves and hookups yet. I just knew he’d put a lid on my life.”
“And you think it’s any different for me? You think I like always having to be on my best behavior? God, Marcel, I feel the same pressure. But I don’t have sex with you while fantasizing about another man.”
“I’m sure you must feel it, too, but you asked me why, and I’m trying to explain it the best way I can. All I can tell you is that, even though I’ve had my entire future mapped out for me, I’ve never met anyone I’d rather spend my life with than you. I’ve never visited another country I would rather live in than here. Even though they took away my choices, I have lived enough and fantasized enough to know that I want to marry you. I don’t love Fabiana. I was using her to live out a school boy fantasy. I know that sounds terrible, but I only figured it out after my life blew up.”
“You never told me about your fantasies. You never asked me to take a train ride with you so we could have sex. Did you think I wouldn’t do it?”
“You’re Princess Rosalina, and I’m the future prince. If someone had caught us having sex on a train, we’d have created a massive scandal that would affect the monarchy. That’s a lot of pressure for one man to bear.”
“That’s not my question.” She couldn’t stop herself from smoothing a hand down her stomach and around to her bottom, wondering if he was attracted to her at all. Was she not his type? Or was she just not a sexy woman? “Did I ever star in your fantasies?”
He went quiet.
“Marcel, we have to have this conversation. You can’t possibly hurt me more than you’ve already done, so just talk to me.”
“No. I didn’t think about you like that.”
He’d never fantasized about her. And, just as she sank into the embarrassment of that truth, she realized she’d never fantasized about him.
“I know you want my forgiveness, but I can’t give it to you right now. Don’t call me or text me. Give me the next five days to myself, and we’ll talk when I get home.”
Worn out, Rosalina powered down her phone. Her body might be exhausted, but her mind was wired. She couldn’t marry Marcel, and yet she had to. What was she supposed to do with that?
You don’t have to do anything about it for the next couple of days. She’d try on her wedding dress, explore Calamity, and get a handle on this soul-shaking doubt.
The wind shifted, bringing a scent that triggered the one thing she cared about more than anything. Perfume. “Oh, my God.” She filled her lungs with the scent
ed air.
It wasn’t exactly the same as her flower, but there was no doubt it was the same genus. She shoved her feet into her ballet flats, grabbed the keycard to her room, and ran out the door.
As Brodie drove the bulldozer toward the site, the blade kicked out rocks and plumes of dust. He figured, once he cleared out this rough path, his crew could come in to widen and level it. In building his house, he wanted only one road in. He’d do as little damage as he could.
Depositing a pile of shrub and dirt, he paused to take in the view. The rising sun cast a pink glow to the snow-crested mountains. Little red flowers fluttered across the vast, open meadow.
This is it. He knew without a doubt he’d chosen the right site.
It’d only ever be him living here, but he wanted a few extra bedrooms. One for his office, another in case a friend needed a place to crash. He supposed his future nieces and nephews might spend a night or two. So, yeah, four bedrooms, no more.
Okay, back at it. The moment he accelerated, the engine roared, and a woman came dashing out in front of him, waving her arms hysterically.
Oh, fuck. He jammed on the brakes. Shifted into park and killed the engine. Grabbing the bar, he swung out and landed on the soft earth. “What’d I hit?” He crouched at the front of the machine, looking for a body. A nest. Anything. “What?”
She had her hands on her head, her eyes wide, like he’d run over her dog.
“Jesus, just tell me,” he shouted.
“What are you doing?” She had an accent—French? She had to be part of the princess’s entourage.
“Did I run over something? What’d I do?”
Bending low, she snatched a handful of earth. She shook off the dirt to reveal a bulb and one of the plants with the red flowers. “This is lyantha. I’m not sure which species, because I’ve never seen it before.” She thrust it at his face. “Smell it.”
He breathed it in. Nice. “That’s why you’re pissed? Because I drove over some flowers? It’s June. The county’s full of them.” What a nutjob. “It’s cool.”
