7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven

Fenella

I haven't gotten someone fired in a while.

I have gotten people fired before. I'm not proud of it but I like to think they were like Nathalia and not suited for their positions.

I've never once considered they might need the job.

And I don't like that Silas seems to know that.

Demanding Fenella isn't someone I aspire to be; I'm accustomed to the best money can buy, but when I hear that tone in my voice that suggests I'm telling others that I'm better than them, I do my best to turn it off because that's my mother talking.

Adelaide Carrington slipped into my father's orbit with intention because she worked for the company. She started as an intern, moved up to assistant to his office manager. The legend is that they met over coffee—she offered, he refused and made her a cup of tea, the worst she ever tasted. They were married six weeks later .

Less than a year later, my older brother Evan was born, but it was ten years later before Ashton and I were born, me first with him racing out two minutes later.

It's difficult to imagine my parents so caught up into each other that they could only wait such a short time before starting their lives together. I was about ten before I realized they didn't seem that happy with each other.

These days I don't see much of my mother, who prefers whatever house Ashton and I aren't staying at. Evan is her golden child, the pride and joy of the Carrington family and I do my best to ignore my mother as much as she ignores me.

If Nathalia had served her, she would have caused such a big scene that I cringe just thinking about it.

So I don't. I finish my pumpkin spice latte—so delicious the way Silas makes them—and put the whole episode out of my mind.

Taking my new and improved latte, I wander around the downtown streets of Battle Harbour.

Fall has arrived in the little town.

It's a cute little town even without the autumn decorations; containers of red and orange asters outside every shop door, with tiny pumpkins nestled throughout the flowers. Paper cutouts of pumpkins and black cats and colourful leaves stuck to shop windows remind me that Halloween is a little more than a week away.

Instead of a main street, the shopping district—if it can be called that—is a square, with Coffee for the Sole at one corner and The King's Hat pub on the opposite side. A statue of some Erickson Viking ancestor looms in the middle of the space, and cobblestones would make it difficult to cross in some of my thin-heeled shoes.

It's picturesque. And quiet.

Almost too quiet.

It's October, but it feels colder as the sun goes down. I thought I brought warm enough clothes but maybe I need more. For once, the thought of shopping doesn't fill me with the excitement that it usually does.

I stop in at the bookstore and the candy store to waste time. I pause at the window of the flower shop but don't go in because who am I going to buy flowers for?

But I go into the fish and chip place because I see Sophie Laz in the window and we got friendly the last time I was in town. She brings me a piece of fish and half an order of chips and takes her break as I eat.

The restaurant is small and cozy, like most of the businesses in Battle Harbour, with only a few tables. I suspect they do more takeout than fine dining. It's decorated with the same sea motifs as Coffee for the Sole but darker and smells of fish rather than coffee beans.

I take a few pictures even though the lighting is horrible, posing with Sophie and promise to tag her.

"Aren't you bored here?" she demands. "Your life is so fabulous and this place is…"

"Not so fabulous?" I glance around. "It's okay. It's a nice break." I care too much about Gunnar to ever badmouth his country.

Besides, I do like it here. It's just… quieter than what I'm used to.

"What would you be doing if you were home?"

Tonight was Tuesday—Rupert had made reservations at the new vegan fusion restaurant for us, along with Coral and her latest guy. Tomorrow night was the premier of the latest Channing Tatum movie and I had the best outfit to wear.

I should be meeting Ashton in New York on Saturday, and then flying somewhere in the Midwest to see Tiger.

I can strike him out of all my plans. Cancel him completely from my schedule.

"What do you usually spend your time doing?" Sophie asks when I'm too depressed to tell her what I had planned. "When you're at home."

No one has ever asked me that question. Maybe because my friends do the same things I do. "When I'm not on a shoot or doing videos, I… shop. There's yoga and Pilates and Cross Fit, but I got bored with that. And… friends… we go for lunch and… Not much," I finish, looking at my day's activities with a new lens. "I don't do a lot."

"Sounds great," Sophie bubbles.

Is it? Is it great? I want to do more, but no one seems to give me a chance. No one thinks enough of me to let me try .

"Is there a car rental place around here?" I ask Sophie. I'm used to having a driver and a car at my disposal, but there's something about being here alone and having to ask someone at the castle to come and get me that irks me.

"The big one is by the airport, but over on Fourth Street, they have a lot where they rent out vans and pickup trucks for things. Are you going somewhere?" Sophie is sweet and cute and a little too excited about my life, but it's okay. It has to be okay because I really have no one else in town.

I could do a pickup truck. My brother may be the race car driver, but I learned to drive alongside him, and there's nothing I can't tackle. "Back and forth to Hotel Castle. I'd rather come and go on my own schedule than rely on pickups and drop-offs. I notice you don't have Ubers around here." I take a bite of my fish—some kind of white fish, draped in a thick batter with grease staining the wax paper lining the basket. It smells amazing and tastes even better.

The only fish I've been eating lately is sushi. This is definitely not sushi.

"I can't believe you're staying there like it's a hotel." Sophie sighs like my travel arrangements make up some kind of fairy tale.

"Doesn't your dad live there?" I'm not sure what his exact title is, but if this were Washington, Duncan Laz would be Chief of Staff, Secretary of State, and VP combined. I've met him a few times, and he's incredibly attractive for an older man. He doesn't have the charisma of King Magnus, but in my opinion, Duncan is better-looking.

I'm not about to tell that to his daughter though.

"Yes, but I don't," Sophie says. "Stella practically does though with Gunnar when they're in town."

Stella, Prince Gunnar's new girlfriend, is Sophie's sister. I like to think I had a hand in them getting together during my earlier visit.

"They're cute together." And they are. I've never stayed on good terms with any of my other ex-boyfriends, but my friendship with Gunnar has lasted longer than our relationship and I value it a lot more. It's easy to be happy for him because of that.

There is no way I will be staying on good terms with Tiger.

It's annoying how he floats into my mind at random moments, like a falling leaf. Leaves in October are colourful and beautiful but essentially dead as soon as they disconnect from the tree, and that's what I consider Tiger. He's dead to me.

"Does it bother you?" Sophie wants to know. I push the basket toward her and she takes a French fry. One piece of fish is huge and there's no way I'm going to be able to finish this order. Although, my appetite seems to be growing since I've come here. Maybe it's something about the sea air.

I take another bite of fish before I answer. "No. I was over Gunnar before we broke up."

"Really? I always thought you and him… "

"It was good while we were together, but it was years ago. We were different people. All he wanted to do was race cars and I wanted to be with my friends."

"I'm surprised no one is here with you. Your brother—"

"Ashton can only take the quiet life for so long. He needs to be constantly moving."

"He's really cute."

"I'll tell him you said so."

"No, don't." She giggles and I laugh because she seems so much younger than me.

Sophie goes back to work and I finish my meal alone, watching the steady line of customers come to pick up their dinners.

I picture them taking their fish and chips home to their families—middle-aged women, fishermen weathered and tan from being on the ocean for days at a time, and one little boy who runs in to pick up three bags of food. Sophie talks to him for a few minutes and walks him to the door.

It's all very homey.

I'm not sure I can get used to that.

Silas crosses my mind, and I wonder about his home. I've never seen him outside the coffee shop but he can't be selling coffee all the time.

Unlike my floating thoughts about Tiger and our breakups, thinking about Silas doesn't annoy me. At all.

The man is attractive. There's no denying that—tall, broad, and green-eyed with no visible tattoos, exactly what I need after the debacle with Tiger. But something about him tells me to stay away. Far away.

I'm not sure if it's because Silas seems like a genuinely nice guy or if behind the cheerful grin, I get the sense there is some hidden baggage.

I could be imagining things, or else the baggage I sense is mine.

Either way, I won't be around here long enough to find out for sure.

But in the meantime, I need to see someone about a car.

Sophie was right; there is a car rental place, if that's what you can call a building lot full of cars, most of them trucks. I've been waiting here for ten minutes and no one is around. I even knocked on the front door of the house next to it but no answer.

No car for me. I glance down the street; it's about five blocks away from the centre of Battle Harbour and the homes seem to get more rundown the further away I walk. I should go back to where I came from and call for a ride because I have no idea of street names around here .

Something tells me to keep walking.

There are no sidewalks, and fallen leaves are piled up on the side of the road. I kick through them, enjoying the crunchy sound, until the toe of my boot hits something solid.

Then I walk in the middle of the road.

Five minutes later, I see it—the unmistakable silhouette of a Dodge Charger parked on the lawn of a tired home.

It's yellow.

And I see the For Sale sign in the window.

I skirt around the car, running my hand along the lines of the hood, feeling more excited than I have in a long time. My father designed a series of model cars based on real-life vehicles and the muscle cars were always my favourite. Ashton has always been drawn to pure speed, but I like the roar and the rumble and the feel of power at my fingertips.

"Help you out?"

I look up with surprise, so fixated on the car that I didn't notice the man walking toward me. "You're from away," he says. It's not a question and I recognize the wariness of locals when they first talk to me.

Although, I've never talked to locals who look like him—tanned and leathery and very wrinkled, like he's gone years without using sunscreen.

"If that means I'm not from around here, then yes. I want to buy your car." There's no reason for small talk.

He makes a noise that may be a laugh or might be phlegm caught in his throat. "Nobody wants that car."

"I do."

"You trying to tell me you want the car just because of the pretty colour?"

"I'm not trying to tell you anything. I'm telling you that I'm interested in this car."

"That's a lot of car for a lass like you," he says scornfully.

"It's a 2007? Or a 2008? Dodge Charger SRT8 with a Hemi engine. V-8. Looks in good shape." I give the tire a kick. "Except for the dirt." The bright yellow paint is covered by a thin layer of dust.

"2007," he says. "Are you sure you can handle this much car?"

"Do you know who I am?"

He shrugs. "Should I? I'm Coy Schmidt. Most folks in town know who I am. If you want it, lass, you best have a look." He pops the hood and I bend over it eagerly.

The engine was just as I described and, already, I can imagine the rumbly throb. I ask the right questions and give the right answers because Coy disappears into the house to grab the keys while I climb into the driver's seat.

The inside is pristine, the leather soft and dark brown, and smelling of cleaning product. "Cleaned it just last weekend but the crap in the trees made a mess of the outside," he complains as he opens the passenger door.

"You mean leaves?"

"That and the other." I have no idea what else is falling from the trees and Coy's accent is so thick that it's hard to understand him. But I understand completely when he hands me the keys. "Let's see what you can do with it," he says.

I can't stop the grin that spreads across my face as I start it up.

The entire car vibrates. "Why are you selling this?" I marvel as I grip the gearshift.

"The wife hates it. I spend my days on the boat, and she says I'm not to spend my nights driving around in my fancy car looking to pick up women."

I glance over with surprise. "Do you pick up many women in this car?"

Coy pshaws . "No."

I'm not about to get in the middle of this when all I want to do is try this baby out. "Hang on," I warn.

"Now, just a sec here," Coy sputters as I rev the engine. The car practically leaps like it's bursting from the starting blocks, leaving tire marks amid the mud and wet leaves.

"Zero to sixty in less than six seconds," I cry, giving a whoop of delight. Coy grabs the doorhandle.

I've always loved driving, always been fascinated with cars. When I was five years old, I demanded the latest cars the company was making, same as Ashton, and it was my idea for Dad to commission the real live models of his most popular toy cars. I made his driver teach me the basics of car repair, not that I've ever needed to do it myself.

I don't even own a car at home; it's too easy to take my pick of my father's stable of high-end vehicles when I want to drive.

I've never wanted to race cars like Ashton does, but whenever I could, I'd show up in the middle of his pit crew and take in as much as I could as I cheered my brother on.

I take the corner too fast and speed up as I straighten out.

I could buy this car.

I don't go far, just around the neighbourhood, with Coy pointing out different houses and describing problems he's had with the people who live there.

"You seem like a popular guy," I tell him as I pull back into the drive.

"Well, yeah," he says. "If you want the car, you best come into the house. The wife's getting supper ready." He gets out without waiting for a reply.

It's one thing to have him in the car with me when I'm doing the driving, but I'm too much of a city girl not to feel more than a hint of uncertainty at the thought of going into his house.

His wife is home.

How do I ever know there's actually a wife? He could have made her up.

But still, I follow him to the side door, telling myself not to make this into a big deal. And when he holds the door open, I'm happy to see the figure of a woman in the kitchen.

The inside is more appealing than the outside. Warm and tidy with framed pictures on every surface. There's Coy at different stages of his life, never with a smile. The woman beside him more than makes up for it .

I shiver—the warmth of the home makes me realize how cold I was.

Coy nods at the woman at the stove. To her credit, there's no surprise in her expression at the sight of me with her husband, only the usual mild wariness. "That's Laura," he says to me. "Pet, she wants to buy the car."

Laura throws up her hands, one still holding a wooden spoon and a few drops splatter over the floor. "Thank the Jesus for that. But it's too big a car for a lass like her," she warns.

"D'yu know who she is?" Coy asks his wife as if I'm not standing there. "She asks me but I've no idea."

"She stays at the castle, a friend of the Gunny Prince," Laura reports without a second glance at me. "Famous for something, I hear. You in the movies, lass?"

This is the part that always stings. I'm famous for being famous, like the Kardashians before their makeup empire took over the world. Like Paris Hilton, back in the day. Hailey Bieber. I'm famous because of my father, or to be blunt, because of my father's money.

I've always been accused of doing nothing to earn my celebrity. The echo of it sticks in, like a thorn piercing the soft skin of my hand every time I try to smell a rose.

Of course I'm not about to admit this to anyone, let alone a grumpy fisherman and his wife. "You might have seen me in magazines," I tell Laura .

"A model? Huh. Guess that explains why you're so gosh darn skinny. Best pull up a chair for some chowder. It's going to be a chilly one and you look cold."

I can't argue with that.

I sit at the table with Coy and Laura and accept a steaming bowl of fish chowder and a glass of milk. They ask a few questions about Gunnar and King Magnus, but mainly I listen to their conversation as I finish every mouthful.

Laura pours me a second glass of milk when I tell her I don't remember the last time I had a glass of it.

Twenty minutes after I finish, I send a text to the group chat.

Me: I bought a car!