Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44113 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
“Nope?”
“You’re sure?” my father growled, his stern brow furrowing even more.
“Oh of course she’s not familiar with that man,” my mother said primly, pouring so much cream into her cup of coffee that it turned a dirty off-white color. She wrinkled her nose, shuddering dramatically. “Good heavens not, right dear?”
I nodded quickly. “Yeah, right.”
My father’s mouth tightened. “Well, the guards at the side garden gate say he was here at the palace this morning.”
My heart dropped into the floor, and my face went white.
“They saw him inside the palace?” I squeaked out.
My father frowned. “Of course not, Faith.” He arched a brow in question. “Our walls are completely protected. Nothing gets through without my knowing.”
Wanna bet?
“No.” He shook his head, jabbing at a breakfast sausage with his fork. “But they saw that complete sham of a prince outside the gates, poking around.”
My mother gasped in horror. “My God, is that who sent you those flowers the other night?!”
“What?! No!” I blurted out. “Of course not! I told you, those were from Callie.”
She narrowed her eyes at me over her coffee-cream mixture.
Yeah, this was life with these two. I knew they loved me, and cared. And I knew ultimately they were just trying to protect me. But seriously, sometimes it was ridiculous. Sometimes it was like I was ten and not a grown woman. And through the whole thing, there was always this mindset like we were living in King Arthur’s time instead of the modern world — adhering to all these “moral codes” that were “befitting of royals.”
Please.
“That man is bad news, honey.” My dad punctuated his words by jabbing the air with his fork, still with a sausage link skewered on it.
“Very, very bad news.”
“I— yeah, I’ve heard stories I guess,” I mumbled out as I took another sip from my cup.
“Well, I don’t know what the hell he was doing here at the goddamn crack of dawn, but let me tell you this. I will not have my daughter socializing with his brand of trouble.”
“Dad, I don’t know why he was—”
“I’m sure there’s something alluring about his complete disdain for civilized society.”
My mother made a harrumphing noise, wrinkling her nose like she’d smelled something sour.
“But, you’re a bright, pretty girl, Faith.” My dad popped the sausage link into his mouth and continued as he chewed. “But I can promise you, that piece of work is getting his comeuppance soon enough. Troublemakers like him always do.” He sighed, half smiling at me. “You’ll find a good man to be your husband, dear. Someone befitting you and this family.”
“I didn’t realize my family was marrying someone,” I muttered, looking away.
“Don’t be smart,” my mother shot back.
“You just said I was smart.”
“Watch it,” my father muttered. “Ladies of this family line are ladies, Faith.”
I scowled. “Meaning?”
“Meaning they act as they should.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, silent? Obedient? Good little wives and Queens?”
“Your words, Faith,” he growled back. “But yes.”
“Glad to see the future is so bright.”
My mother sighed loudly. “Oh try not to be so dramatic. We just want what’s best for you.”
“You mean for this family.”
She eyed me and shrugged. “It’s the same thing, dear.”
The two of them went back to their breakfasts, my mother paging through her gossip magazine and my father through his paper. And I knew damn well I could just leave it, finish my coffee, go grab a bite in the kitchen and then disappear somewhere. But then, something wouldn’t let me drop it. Something inside of me — something new — couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“I actually met Prince Cole when I was in Paris last week.”
My mother's coffee spoon clattered to the saucer.
“You what?” she spat out.
“Faith,” my father’s voice was edged in stone, and he half rose from the table. “Explain yourself.”
“I— nothing!” I hissed back. “I just met him while I was there, that’s all.”
“At your tour of the private galleries at the Louvre?” My mother looked aghast. “They let that man in that museum?” She made that sick face again. “My God, all those tattoos, and that horrid reputation of his!”
“No, not—”
Shut. Up, the voice inside screamed at me. I decided to actually listen this time.
“Yes,” I shrugged. “At the museum. Apparently France has less concern about someone’s reputations than Devoney when it comes to visiting their museums.”
“Well I simply cannot even imagine that man at all having an eye for higher art.”
“Well I guess he does,” I spat back. “And apparently, he really knows what he likes.”
I felt a little victorious burst of heat tease through me at that last part.
“Honestly, I can’t even—”
“Maureen.”
My father’s deep voice cut my mother off, and my eyes darted over to see him glowering on his side of the table. He met my eye, and I could see the wheels turning inside, like he was mulling something over. Finally though, he sighed deeply.