Royal Games (The Royals of Monterra) (2 page)

He stood silent, and I glanced up at him. To my surprise, he was angry. “I thought you were going to start telling people no.”

I remembered that conversation very clearly. Months ago he’d told me I was doing too many things, and that was before I’d started deliberately trying to put myself in an early grave by being busy every minute of every day. He thought people in my town took advantage of my desire to help.

“I . . . I can’t.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“I just can’t.” Partly because I had chosen this path to keep him off of my mind, but also because I honestly couldn’t explain why, when someone asked me for help, I never said no.

In fact, the only person I ever managed to say no to was Rafe. I was about to tell him as much, but I decided against provoking him when I saw that Aunt Sylvia had moved into the living room and was now watching us from the front window. We were like her own personal reality show. I let out another deep sigh. We needed his money. He had apparently charmed her into liking him and giving him a lease. I just had to wait him out. I could be polite and distant until he went away.

“I worry about you taking on too much,” he said in such a gentle way that my heart nearly broke all over again. He reached up to push an escaping tendril of hair away from my face. I felt the tips of his fingers burning up my skin and had to move my head away.

“You don’t get to worry about me anymore,” I said, my seconds-old resolve to stay nice forgotten.

He looked thoughtful. I glared at him while a smile played at the ends of his lips. “Let me drive you into town. I know where the diner is. What time will your shift be over? I can pick you up.”

Logically, I understood that he was being nice. That this was a courteous and chivalrous gesture, and that if any other person on the planet had made it, I would have accepted. But it was Rafe. The still tender and overly emotional part of me did not want to be trapped in a car alone with him.

“No, thank you. I’ll call Whitney for a ride.” It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to pick me up on her way in, and given my truck’s desire to make my life as difficult as possible, most likely not the last time either. I scooted across the seat and let myself out on the passenger side to keep some distance between us. I headed back to the farmhouse.

“Whitney. Your best friend, Whitney?” he asked behind me.

I wished he didn’t remember everything and that he wasn’t so smug about knowing so much about me.

“You don’t need to call her. I can drive you. It’s no problem.”

“I don’t want your help. I don’t need it. And I don’t need you.” I didn’t know why I’d felt the need to tack on the last sentence or for whose benefit it had been. I let myself in the front door and slammed it behind me with a satisfying sound. Thankfully, Aunt Sylvia had made herself scarce. I was in no mood for an interrogation. I called Whitney, and she didn’t hear anything in my voice that made her concerned or ask questions. She said she’d be by soon. I was going to get my shower after all.

I picked up my overnight bag from where I had dropped it earlier. Straightening up, I saw Rafe through the window. He had opened the hood and was fiddling around inside Old Bess’s engine. Weird emotions flared up inside me. I did not need this stress.

What I needed was for him to leave.

But how was I going to make him go away?

Chapter 2

Whitney honked at me, but I was still brushing my hair. Where only minutes earlier I had felt beyond exhausted, I now looked suspiciously sparkly. My cheeks were bright pink, my hair behaving, my skin clear. Like my whole body was saying, “Yay! Rafe is back!”

Glaring at my reflection, I threw my hair into a ponytail and headed downstairs. I called out my goodbye to Aunt Sylvia. She shouted back that she’d see me at the town meeting later on.

When I got outside, I stopped short when I saw my very married and very pregnant best friend flirting with Rafe. Not to mention that my shepherd collie, Laddie (short for Sir Galahad), was sitting at Rafe’s feet, looking up at him adoringly. I couldn’t be too upset about it, though, because Laddie loved everyone. If we ever got robbed, that dog would take the thieves on a personally guided tour of the house.

Whitney, on the other hand, was a different story. She knew better. I walked up to hear her ask how he knew so much about cars. “I’ve always loved mechanical things,” he said. “The mechanic at our boarding school spent a lot of time teaching me about cars. I almost never get to use that knowledge.”

“Such a shame,” she cooed.

I cleared my throat. She jumped. “Ready?” I asked pointedly.

“Yes.” She seemed very flustered. “So nice to meet you, Rafe.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, and Whitney nearly knocked into me while she twirled the end of her hair. I half expected her to start giggling, so before she could, I elbowed her. She got herself back under control, and we headed down the driveway. When we got into her minivan, I asked, “Why were you standing out there talking to him?”

“I was going to come inside and get you, but I got distracted by tall, dark, and yummy over there.” She started up her car and waved one last time before putting the minivan in reverse. I didn’t look to see if he waved back.

“You’re married. And about to give birth,” I reminded her.

“Married and pregnant, not dead. And not unable to appreciate that he is even more gorgeous in real life than he is on television. How do you not spontaneously combust from lust? And why didn’t you tell me he was here?”

I grimaced and crossed my arms across my chest. “To avoid the conversation we’re about to have.”

She pulled out onto the town’s main road. “You mean the one where I tell you that you are a much better woman than I am if you’re planning to resist all that? What is that saying from your
Star Trek
show? Resistance is feudal?”

“It’s ‘resistance is futile.’ And he’s very resistible. Are you saying you can’t resist him?”

“Don’t give me that. You know I’d never cheat on Christopher in a million years. But you should totally make out with Rafe. You’re letting good lips go to waste. Personally, I think you should lower your shields and prepare to be boarded.”

If she had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have talked with her about him. But Whitney was special. After my aunt took me in, I was too scared to leave the house. At my request, she even homeschooled me for a couple of years. I justified it by saying I had a lot to catch up on, but fear was the main motivation. When I finally felt confident enough to go to school, I made the mistake of choosing freshman year in high school as my introduction into normal society.

As I walked into the main hallway of the high school, tentative and afraid, Tommy Davis had offered to show me around. He was the first regular boy to ever speak to me. He was a junior and seemed so nice and sweet. At the time, I didn’t know that he was Brooke Cooper’s boyfriend, and as such, I was apparently forbidden to speak to him. She cornered me to let me know the many rules that I had just broken, and I could only stand there with tears in my eyes as she detailed exactly how she was going to ruin my life.

Whitney had watched this all happen and jumped into the fray. She told Brooke off, threatening to tell her dad just what exactly Brooke and Tommy got up to after the football games. After Brooke and her cheerleading posse sulked away, Whitney turned to me and said, “Girls like that make me sick. Don’t worry about Brooke. You and I are going to be best friends.”

And we were. Whitney might sometimes be tough and prickly on the outside, but inside she was all gooey with love, devotion, and loyalty. Like a marshmallow. She would deny it, but it was true.

It was one of the reasons why I had been immediately drawn to Lemon Beauchamp, a fellow contestant on
Marry Me
. At least, I thought she had been a contestant. She had reminded me of Whitney, all Southern sass and strength, but sweet, compassionate, and motherly underneath. She had been a good friend to me, supportive and helpful even when she thought we were falling in love with the same man.

But Lemon had lied to me too. About who she really was and why she was on the show. She had even been engaged to someone else. All things she kept from me.

After everything fell apart, she had showered me with phone calls that I wouldn’t take. The pain was still too raw and powerful, and I blamed her unjustly. It was an annoying tendency of mine to sometimes take things out on the people who deserved them least. It wasn’t Lemon’s scheme that caused it all to fall apart. That was on Dante and Rafe.

Eventually the calls and unheard voicemails stopped. I wasn’t even angry with her anymore, but so much time had passed that I felt embarrassed about calling her, so I just did nothing. I wouldn’t have known what to say. Whitney had told me that she’d seen an article about Dante and Lemon being engaged, so I guess she must have forgiven him for what he and his brother did. I managed to stay away from all the online and televised coverage of the Monterran royals. I didn’t want the constant reminder because it felt like somebody was performing unanesthetized open-heart surgery on me every time I thought about Rafe.

Which Whitney knew, because she was the one person in whom I had confided all of my heartbreak. She knew how badly he had hurt me and how I wanted to move on. She had also watched the show. Repeatedly. She saw what I had been through. I knew she was on my side, but she had a soft spot for Rafe and told me more than once that she secretly hoped we would reunite.

And that was before she had even met him.

It had surprised me that my often cynical friend was a romantic deep down.

“You can’t be nice to him,” I told her. “If we’re nice to him, he’ll never leave. I need him to go away.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Whitney replied. “You know everyone in town has your back. We’ll close ranks. But just know that my heart’s not really in it. You belong together. It’s fate. And I want to come visit you in your castle.”

We pulled up to the diner, and she turned the engine off. “Not that any of it matters. I know you. You won’t stay angry with him, and I’ll get to plan my vacation to Monterra.”

She got out, leaving me alone in the minivan. She was right about one thing, at least. I didn’t like being angry. It made me not feel like myself. Despite my hardships, I always wanted to see the bright side. Aunt Sylvia told her friends I was her little eternal optimist. She used to joke that everyone should forget about the glass half-empty or glass half-full debate because I’d see an empty glass and say it was filled with invisible magical water.

I always wanted to see the good. In my life, and in other people. It wasn’t that I was blind or unable to see things for what they were, but that I chose to live a certain way.

Or rather, I used to choose to live a certain way. What I had gone through with Rafe had changed me fundamentally. For months, my optimism had disappeared. I had been depressed and surly and not fun to be around. I had only just started being me again, wanting to see the bright side, wanting to be happy.

Right up to the moment when I found him in my guesthouse.

Sighing, I went inside to put on my apron and get ready for my shift.

All of the regulars were there, and I drifted from table to table, taking orders, pouring coffee, and making mindless small talk. I approached Max and his friends, who sat in “their” booth as they had every day for decades. “Hey there, sweetie,” he said, holding out his coffee cup. He always smelled of Old Spice. “What do you call a Cyclone fan with two brain cells?”

“What?”

“Pregnant.”

His table erupted into loud laughter, and I joined in. Frog Hollow was about an hour’s drive from Iowa City, and in a state where football was a religion, these men were diehard University of Iowa Hawkeye fans. Which made the Iowa State Cyclones their mortal enemies. If any of their children or grandchildren went to ISU, they would probably get disowned. “You better not let Whitney hear you making any pregnancy jokes,” I warned them after the laughter died down.

“We won’t. I don’t have a death wish.” Max took a sip of his coffee. “How’s that aunt of yours? Still the prettiest girl in town?”

I had long suspected that Max had a major crush on Aunt Sylvia. “Maybe you should come over for dinner soon and check for yourself.”

He gave me a smile and a wink as I went back to the counter. Whitney stood behind it, cutting two pieces of chocolate pie. “Nicole took pity on us and ordered us some pie.”

Nicole sat on the barstool across from us. “I need people to eat with me so that I don’t actually sit here and eat the entire pie. Which I totally could.”

“I’m guessing the date didn’t go so well?” I asked sympathetically.

She nodded and shoved in another bite. She was a very pretty high school teacher about our age who had moved here two years ago. She and Whitney even looked a little alike, with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. People often mistook them for sisters. But unfortunately Frog Hollow had far more single women than single and available men, so Nicole had resorted to online dating. “I moved here to end up with some nice strapping farm boy, and instead I get stuck with the lying losers who aren’t even a little bit interested in a relationship.”

I sighed. The dating thing obviously wasn’t happening for me either. Marriage seemed far off, but I did want someone who was all mine. Someone who would love and adore me.

Family and friends weren’t quite the same. I’d almost had that kind of relationship once, and I wanted it again.

Just not with Prince Lying.

“Wow,” Nicole said to me. “I’ve never seen you sad around pie before. What’s going on?”

“You mean the whole town doesn’t know already?” I grumbled as I dragged my fork across the top layer of my slice. “That would be a first.”

She looked at Whitney, who was only too happy to explain. “Her prince is here and staying in their guesthouse.”

“What?” Nicole shrieked, and everyone in the diner turned to stare at us. “Are you serious?”

“Keep your voice down,” I hissed at her. They’d all find out soon enough, and I would be subject to their pitying glances. Everyone had finally started treating me normally again, and I didn’t want to go back to how things had been after the show ended.

“I have a question for you,” Whitney said to me.

“Just one? I have like forty-three!” Nicole said in a stage whisper.

“Hey, Whit, how are your kids doing?” I asked while wiping down the counter. I didn’t want to hear her question. Or Nicole’s forty-three.

“Abundant and devious, like always.”

“You’re pregnant with your fourth, right?” Nicole jumped in, smiling at me as she did so. I appreciated the solidarity, but it wouldn’t work. Whitney was never deterred for long.

“Yes, number four. And yes, I’ve only been married for five years. Which is why I’m never having sex with my husband ever again.”

“Liar,” Nicole said with a laugh. “You wouldn’t last a week. I’ve seen the two of you together.”

“Shh,” Whitney said with a nod in my direction. “Don’t forget we’ve got virgin ears over here.”

“I am going to school to become a veterinarian,” I reminded her. “Regardless of my personal experience or lack thereof, I am aware of how all different kinds of babies are made.”

The bells that rang whenever the front door opened made their characteristic jingle, and in walked Rafe. A collective silence fell over the diner. We almost never had strangers here, and especially not ones who looked like he did.

We made eye contact, and my heart fell into my feet. He nodded at me and then headed over to an empty booth.

In my section.

“Who is that?” Mrs. Mathison asked her friend. She must have had her hearing aid turned down again and didn’t realize how loud her voice was.

Nicole gasped. “Blasphemy! How can she not know who he is?”

Rafe opened a laptop on the table and began to type, either deliberately ignoring or completely unaware of the stares.

“Are we going to talk about the prince in the room?” Nicole whispered.

“Whitney, I can’t wait on him,” I told her in a low voice. “Please.”

“You do know that I’m eight months pregnant, right?” She gestured at her large belly.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m being selfish,” I said, feeling chastened. I would just have to be a big girl and get this over with. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my jittery nerves. I desperately wanted a Three Musketeers bar.

She put her hand out to stop me from leaving. “I’m totally screwing with you. I’ve got this.”

Whit walked over with what I called her “don’t mess with me, I’m a mom” face. She dropped a menu on the table. “What do you want?”

If he was surprised by her change in demeanor from earlier, he didn’t show it. “I’ll take whatever you think is good. Thank you.” He handed the menu back to her without reading it. She glared at him and came back behind the counter. She told the kitchen to make him a turkey club.

“His voice is like music,” Nicole sighed. “And he’s just how I like my chocolate. Dark and rich.” She sighed again until she caught my expression. “Um, I mean, he’s your prince. I get that.”

“He’s not
my
prince,” I said. “I don’t own him.”

“So does that mean you’re done with him?”

“Nicole!” I protested.

“I know, I know. We hate him and I can’t ever date him. But if anything ever happens to you, I’m jumping over your open grave to get at him.”