Chapter 1

The Daily Edge: Social Tattle from One Edge of Skymar to the Other

It's been a while since we've heard much about Skymar's most notorious princess, but rumor has it she's stepping back into her position as a working royal. After a less-than-regal history, is Princess Elliana St.Clare, Duchess of Mara and the North Country, ready to take on the responsibilities she so shamelessly denounced three years ago? Only time will tell. And what may be on the radar for her future romances? Is there anyone in the aristocratic ranks willing to take on her past to plan a future? Share your tattle in the comments below!

Text from Izzy to Penelope:You haven't happened to hear anything about Luke's arrival yet, have you? I'm waiting in the arrival line outside the airport (as he told me to do) but I've not heard anything from him.

Penelope:Are you surprised? He's probably going to leave us in suspense about whether he arrived safe just for spite. Or to cause us to develop worry lines. Besides, half the time he forgets he even has a phone.

Izzy:He's gotten better at keeping it nearby since I moved to Skymar. But his plane should have landed a half hour ago and I've not heard anything. He has to go through customs and get his bags, so maybe he still has his phone on airplane mode?

Penelope:I think he does things like this on purpose to annoy us. Like we're all waiting for his important words or something. He's such a brOTHER!

Izzy:Well, I AM kind of waiting on his words. And I'm so excited to introduce him to Brodie's family and show him Skern and have him see Brodie's house up close and personal! Oh, how I've missed you guys and it's only been three months since I left North Carolina.

Penelope:I'm glad he's getting to stay for a while too. And he's hired Charlie to run his business here while he's in Skymar, but I'm watching his dogs. Which, of course, makes me want to get one now. I've always loved Charlie. She's one of our few cousins who can actually carry on a conversation about important things. Like musicals and food. We tried talking about fashion once, but her style and mine are really different. The only hat she's ever worn is a baseball cap. Can you imagine?

Izzy:Not everyone has your shoe fetish or collection of hats, Penelope.

Penelope:I know. Sometimes it makes me sad to think about that. The right hat can really change a person's day. Or the right shoes. I think Luke wouldn't be so grumpy all the time if he had better shoe choices.

Izzy:Luke's fine. I mean, I hope he's fine. I'm going to text him again.

Text from Luke to Izzy and Penelope:I'm here and I'm not responding to any of your messages until I've had coffee. Thank me later.

There were precious few things in life that Luke required.

Coffee was one of those things.

And with the headache pressing in on his skull with a viselike grip, stopping for coffee might be the difference between life and death... for other people. He walked through the airport, squinting as he scanned the shops on each side. Flying didn't usually bother him, until it did. And then it made up for lost time.

Thankfully, he'd been to Skymar once before, and since the airport wasn't large, he didn't have to think too hard about directions. Which was a mercy from God because he was having a hard enough time trying to think at all.

A mixture of English and the local language of Caedric blended around him as he waited in line, the noise and lights aggravating the ache. Pushing past pain wasn't new to him. He'd known the wrong end of too many accidents in his job as a carpenter and stonemason. Most left a scar or two. But headaches carried a different sort of internal, brain-distracting, teeth-grating kind of pain.

He rolled his suitcase behind him and adjusted his backpack on his shoulder as he stepped into the line at the nearest java joint. He'd appreciated his short visit to the island a few months ago to help his sister Penelope rescue a stage production of The Sound of Music. The folks had been friendly, the pace slow, the air fresh and clean. And the vastness of mountains and sea on the horizon promised plenty of space and quiet, which suited Luke just fine.

In fact, spending the last visit in the city of Mountcaster, though quaint, made Luke all the happier that most of his work in Skymar this time would take place in more isolated locations.

A cabin in the forest. An old stone barn by a lake. The small village of Skern.

Quiet, tranquil, with the added bonus of using his workman's hands to take something from broken to beautiful.

Safe and sound from following in the footsteps of his two sisters, who'd both experienced romantic adventures in this country. His headache sharpened at the very idea of romance. Nope.

The company of his dogs proved a lot less painful than his romantic past.

The scent of oranges mixed with some floral smell hit him in the gut and tightened his head all over again. With the added smell of coffee, he felt a fresh bout of nausea lodge in his throat.

Usually he liked the smell of oranges, but not today.

He swallowed and shifted a step back.

Ahead of him in line stood a woman who wore a light blue scarf over her head and massive sunglasses and kept her face bent over the phone in her hand. Something about her snagged his attention, which only added to his current annoyance.

With those heels and that tight skirt, it was hard to ignore biology.

She had nice legs.

So he looked right back up at the coffee display, even though he already knew exactly what he wanted. Simple. Easy. One large black coffee. Hopefully, that order would be the same no matter which language or coffee franchise he used. Maybe desperation radiated off him in a language any coffee connoisseur understood.

His gaze dropped back to the lady, who'd turned just enough for him to make out her profile. A slightly familiar one? Maybe it was the fact that the scarf and sunglasses added a dash of mystery. Or fame?

Well, if she was famous, he wouldn't be able to pinpoint her. He and social media had as nonexistent a relationship as his current love life, which suited him just fine too.

His shoulders might be big from all the brick laying and stonemasonry, but they sure weren't big enough to hold all the problems dancing around in the cyberworld.

He grimaced at the very thought and glanced back at the woman.

Who did she remind him of? He pushed through his aching skull to land on a memory. Was it from a movie? A spy movie?

She didn't look like anyone from Rambo. He squinted. Indiana Jones? One of the blonde villainesses came to mind, but that wasn't exactly it. Mission: Impossible? No. Though that particular blonde was definitely easy on the eyes... and terrifying.

An older movie, maybe? And then the blurry recollection began to take shape... and his nausea took a turn toward disappointment—in himself.

Grace Kelly.

He closed his eyes and groaned, further frustrated that he'd actually remembered the actress's name.

Of course, he'd only watched the movie to appease a sick Penelope.

And it hadn't been so bad because of Cary Grant. And fighting.

His lips curled into a snarl. But did he have to recall the actress's name? For some reason, that just seemed to hurt. Deep.

And... forced him to open his eyes and reexamine the woman's profile. Her posture was straighter than Uncle Herman's in a back brace, which somehow made him want to stand up a little straighter too.

Blonde hair slipped out from beneath the scarf, a few tendrils escaping some sort of bun. He grinned. The only part of her that didn't look under control.

Tense posture, tense bun—his gaze trailed down—tense skirt.

But those loose curls seemed to defy all the tension.

His attention came back to her face.

And she had a delicate chin.

Ouch. He shook his head. Delicate chin?

He'd blame that on the headache.

He immediately glanced away from the woman toward the cashier, who looked too young to even contemplate Luke's current inward struggle. Thirty really shouldn't feel so old.

Why was he even paying attention to the woman in the scarf anyway?

It wasn't like he hadn't seen pretty women before, in Skymar or otherwise.

She placed her order, or Luke supposed so, but she spoke in the local language. He'd only heard it a few times up close, and it held a lyrical quality. Like a folk song.

He rolled his eyes, but the motion hurt his head.

He'd forgotten how having a headache reduced his IQ.

Allowing his eyelids to drift closed again, he let the passing interest in the woman dissolve into the far back regions of his brain and drew in a steadying breath. The weakness of a moment, plain and simple. After all, he'd just been internally congratulating himself on his happy bachelorhood... or bachelor... ness?

Lord, help him! He was an idiot!

When the woman moved to the side, Luke stepped forward and placed his order, having to repeat himself three times. Evidently, ordering simple black coffee proved a puzzle in frou-frou coffee places around the world.

Or else his accent proved the real trouble.

He frowned. Was his accent really that bad?

Five minutes later, he raised the long-awaited cup to his lips, anticipating the healing powers of caffeine, and took a coveted taste of... flower java? He pinched his lips tight through a hard swallow. He'd been poisoned!

Was this even coffee?

And if so, it wasn't his coffee.

Making a quick pivot back toward the counter, he slammed directly into Grace Kelly. She greeted him with a look of pure disgust, probably just like his, and then stumbled from their impact. Luke reached out to steady her and the quick motion did two things at once: jostled the full coffees so that some of the liquid burst from the top, spraying in both their directions, and shook the sunglasses down to the end of her nose.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Blue eyes—strikingly blue—stared back at him and then narrowed. "You were examining me quite thoroughly earlier, sir"—those pink lips dipped into a frown—"so I would have expected you, at the very least, to watch where I was going instead of playing some horrible game in order to speak with me."

The inviting tenor of her voice contrasted the belittling tone of her words, causing Luke's comprehension to take longer than usual. The headache didn't help.

Speak with her? Well, wasn't she just a bouquet of arrogance!

"And not only have you doused me in your vile liquid, but you've confiscated my coffee." One golden brow rose in challenge before she pushed the sunglasses back to cover those eyes, which seemed to help him find his thoughts more quickly. "Another one of your tricks to ‘accidentally'"—she made air quotes—"meet me?"

He hated air quotes. It was sarcasm without the benefit of words.

"Wasn't my fault." He turned his cup toward her so that the name scrawled across the outside pointed in her direction. Luke. Crystal clear. "I don't have to resort to accidental meetings, thank you. In fact, I'm not a fan of meetings at all." He gestured toward her cup with his chin. "Besides, this ain't coffee." He swallowed to clear the taste from his tongue, pushing the cup toward her. "It's perfume in a cup."

She took the perfume from him as if touching a contaminant and shoved his coffee back at him. "Well, yours is petrol."

Luke frowned.

Nobody ought to talk about coffee that way, no matter what sort of pretty voice she used.

He plucked the lid off his cup and raised the coffee to his lips, all the while staring into those shaded eyes without flinching. The undiluted and, thankfully, unflavored liquid met his tainted tongue with glorious rightness. Even his head started feeling clearer.

Oh, his brain was clearing up just fine.

"Bitter, strong, and without a lot of fluff." He hummed his appreciation. "Just the way I like my petrol."

Her pink lips pressed as tight as her skirt and, with a glare he felt through those glasses, she raised her chin. "Of course—a drink to match your personality, I suppose?"

"Exactly." He'd play along. "Yours too, I'd guess?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact." Her lips tipped in a not-so-friendly smile. "Sweet, elegant, and refined."

"That what you call it?" He nodded, giving her back the same kind of smile. "Well, must be the language barrier for sure, 'cause those aren't the words I'd use to describe your coffee."

"There's no knowing what vocabulary you might use." He felt her gaze travel down him more than saw it. "And I wouldn't want to tax your faculties, so I bid you good day."

She swept past him and right out the door, taking her sickeningly sweet perfume coffee and tense personality with her.

And she'd just called him stupid.

He was a lot of things, all of which his vocabulary could identify, but stupid wasn't one of them.

Well, except when it came to women. And in that case, he didn't need a headache to reach the depths of his idiocy.

No wonder he'd called off dating.

He stared at her retreating form and took a long sip of his coffee just to spite her.

It was a good thing he'd met nicer Skymarians on his first visit to the islands, because if she'd been the personality of the general population, he wouldn't have come back. No matter how amazing the opportunity for a craftsman.

Life was too short to voluntarily spend time with rude people.

Then the strange sense of someone staring drew his attention back to the counter.

Every one of the servers and two of the three people in line stared at him wide-eyed. One even stood slack-jawed.

Maybe they hadn't seen many Americans? He looked down over his body. Flannel shirt over a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

He looked back at them, smiled, and raised his cup in salute. "Good coffee."

And with that, he left the shop.

Text from Izzy to Penelope:I got him. But he has a headache, and it really must hurt because he kept asking me if people from Skymar drink black coffee. When I asked why, he said the folks in the shop seemed to have a strange response to his coffee. Or the fact he was an American. OR his argument with a Skymarian lady in the coffee shop.

Penelope:He had an argument with someone before he even left the airport?

Izzy:They got each other's coffee and then she acted rude and demeaning when they had to exchange. He said she looked like a high-class sort because she was in a suit and heels... and had some sort of arrogant vibe about her.

Penelope:Wait! They got each other's coffees, had an argument, and Luke actually noticed her shoes? Izzy, you must know what this means!!!

Izzy:I get a little nervous when you use extra exclamation marks while foretelling futures.

Penelope:Oh! Give me five minutes and I'm calling you!!!

Text from Penelope to Luke:Izzy just called me and told me about your arrival and your... meet-cute! Oh, Luke! It's a perfect movie moment!

Luke:Um... I don't recall ever using the word "cute" in my conversation with Izzy about my arrival. In fact, I rarely use the word "cute" at all.

Penelope:No, silly. A meet-cute! You know, in the coffee shop! A meet-cute is a funny or charming first meeting between two main characters in a movie. Meet... cute. See? Cute meeting.

Luke:There was nothing cute about that meeting. Nothing. She was arrogant and I had a headache. I ended up feeling stupid and spilled half my coffee on my shirt. There is nothing cute about losing one's coffee. Or feeling stupid.

Penelope:See? That's a perfect meet-cute! Ooh, like a Hallmark movie or rom-com. Luke! I bet you'll see her again.

Luke:I don't want to see her again.

Penelope:That. Is. SO. PERFECT!

Luke:Exactly. It would be perfect to never see her again.

Penelope:Don't you know what this means?

Luke:That my headache is returning?

Penelope:It's the inevitable enemies-to-lovers trope! And you were wearing flannel! AHH!! I can almost hear the Hallmark Christmas chime going off in the background of your life.

Luke:It's not Christmas.

Penelope:Lucky for you, the magical Christmas chime extends all year long.

Meet-cute? He growled down at his phone. Just the two words paired with the definition turned his stomach. Ridiculous. Penelope and her little powder-puff, sparkly shoes, glitter world.

What did she know?

And the woman in the coffee shop wasn't cute at all. Her face flashed back into his mind, those large blue eyes of hers catching in his memory. Nope. Not cute. Pretty. Maybe even gorgeous, but not cute.

And looks lost their charm when distorted by sneers, glares, and disdain.

Ha! See there? Fantastic vocabulary.

Luke:I'm doomed. Oh, wait! I'm working about a hundred miles from where we met, so no, I won't see her again. And I refuse to respond to any comments you make about the "H" word. Or the Christmas chime. Ever.

Penelope:Twitterpated.

Luke:I'm turning off my phone now.

Penelope:Just you wait. I know about these things. You'll see. No one can truly escape the Christmas chime. Not even you, Luke.

Luke:Bah humbug, Santa isn't real, tiaras are for wimps.

Penelope:Only scared people resort to such senseless responses. Especially about Santa.

Penelope:*chime*