25. 25

25

Edi e

I watch Kalle leave for dinner at the castle with a smile on my face. And the smile stays there like a permanent tattoo as the bar fills up for Friday night.

Kalle is going to text me.

Kalle is going to take me on a date.

Kalle better kiss me soon.

I know Kalle isn't one for the witty banter or meaningful conversations but he's one for grand gestures. In the rom-com movie, he would frustrate the main character by his lack of discussion of his emotions, but he'd come through at the end and be the one sprinting through the airport to stop her from getting on the plane.

But in Kalle's life, he could call and shut down the whole airport.

So while I'm a little frustrated with the lack of kissing—okay, a lot; I mean, look at the man!—I know Kalle is planning to knock my socks off.

That's a lot of pressure, for him and for me. I wish I had taken the opportunity when it came—which there have been several of them. Private office, anyone ?

But that doesn't stop me from smiling.

The rain hasn't let off but it's a straight downpour, not the thunder and lightning and wind of the last few days. The bar is as busy as it has been, maybe busier because it's a Friday night. I work the taps with Tyler when Fenella Carrington blows in with perfect hair, wearing an outfit that must be worth more than what I make in a year, despite the rain.

The sight of her twists my stomach and I watch the crowd part with some sort of reverence as she approaches the bar. She's with Sophie Laz; an odd pairing, but not unheard of considering Sophie is Stella's younger sister, Stella is with Gunnar now, and Gunnar is friends with Fenella.

Still… odd.

"Hi Edie," Sophie calls as they take the last two stools at the bar. I like Sophie, who, unlike her sister with her crusty exterior, is always cheerful.

"Hey, Sophie. Fenella." I can't help but give her a wary glance. I know more about Fenella than I know her—the billionaire father, hot-as-sin twin brother who shares Prince Gunnar's love for speed, the countless magazine covers and advertising campaigns, plus social media followers in the seven figures.

I also don't know what happened with her and Kalle.

Fenella looks at me just as warily.

"Back in town tonight?" I ask her. In my mind it sounds polite, but I'm not sure because all I can think is nahnahnah, I got Kalle.

Childish, yes. But there's a part of me that feels good thinking it.

"Big event at the castle," Fenella says. "I thought I'd see what the town had to offer me for my last night here." She looks me up and down—that look that only women give to each other. The look is bad enough but those striking violet eyes? Who gets to have purple eyes?

Sophie leans in. "Stella's going," she whispers. "I think it's a big thing for Gunnar. And she's—" Sophie mimes her head exploding.

I can only imagine because that's exactly what I've been trying not to do—imagining myself at one of the family dinners. That seems too far off; too unbelievable.

Getting my head around me and Kalle is one thing. One thing at a time.

I make them drinks and move off to fill a pitcher with beer, Like this morning, there's not going to be enough for me to do that will keep my mind off Kalle.

Not with Fenella right in front of me, causing me to wonder and worry about what happened between the two of them.

She's beautiful, and rich. She has everything she could ever want.

Why wouldn't she want Kalle? And if she does, there's no way I could compete with her. I manage a bar. I wear jeans and T-shirts. Fenella is heir to a billion-dollar toy company. She's wearing a pair of purple flared, high-waisted pants and high heeled boots, with a gauzy shirt shot through with silver threads—most likely real silver—and tied under her breasts, leaving her belly bare.

She's gorgeous, so why wouldn't Kalle—

A shout and a crash knock me out of another Kalle-stupor. One glance shows me that once again, Jubblie Mark is in the middle of something, and once again, Coy Schmidt seems to be the instigator .

Without a word, I head over to the pool table where a beer bottle has been knocked to the floor. Thankfully, it's not broken but the puddle of beer is spreading, and Mark is doing his best to break one of the pool cues over his knee.

"They're stronger than they look," I tell him. "And if you do break it, you're paying for it. Plus, I'll kick you out of here for good."

Only a few heads turn, but Mark is one of them and he drops the cue on the table with a guilty expression.

That should have been the end of it. I know these guys, and they are all aware I don't stand for fighting or causing damage, especially when Kalle isn't around.

Unfortunately, there's a few out-of-towners in the group. Guys I don't know.

"Go away, little girl," one of the men jeers. I think I've heard someone call him Steve-o. I think it's a suitable name for a jerk.

Yes, I've already pegged him as a jerk. "Little girl?" I echo.

Jubblie Mark backs out of the crowd, Coy Schmidt right behind him. These men don't know me, and they don't know The King's Hat, and they're spoiling for a fight.

"That's what I said." Steve-o steps up to face me. He's no Kalle, but he does have a few inches on me. He's also a little unsteady on his feet and holding a nearly empty pint glass.

I make a note to add the cost of it to his bill because I have a feeling he's going to drop it in a moment.

"Why don't you toddle back off to your little hen party over there and leave us men to our business?" His sneer doesn't do anything for his level of attractiveness, which is slim to none already.

Sneers and jeers—my least favourite part of managing this bar .

"And what exactly is your business tonight?" I ask coolly.

"Smashing heads and taking names," someone behind him shouts.

"Not in my place, you aren't."

The rest of the bar has gone quiet. "Your place," Steve-o says scornfully. "You're nothing without your big, bad boyfriend here. Kalle's little princess."

"Don't you talk to her like that," someone shouts from behind me. I think it might be Ken McKibbon.

I also have a sensation there might be a wall of men lined up behind me, ready to charge if I give the word. These are men, most of whom would happily throw punches at each other if given the chance, and they've banded together to support me.

At least I think that's what is going on. And the way Steve-o looks over my shoulder suggests I may be right. It's nice they have my back, but a full-out brawl is the last thing I want, or need tonight. Or any other night.

"I think you boys have had enough tonight," I tell him in a calm voice.

"Little princess ain't telling me what to do. Go get me another beer!" And Steve-o deliberately releases the hold of his not-quite-empty glass, and it drops to the floor at my feet.

About four of them laugh.

I kneel down and pick it up. "Look, she's on her knees," one of them shouts. "She's kneeling before the king."

"What's your big, bad boyfriend going to say about that?" Another one cries.

I straighten up, glass in my hand. "He's going to tell me to throw you out of here." I flip the glass in my right hand and thrust it into the fleshy part of Steve-o's stomach. He gives a whoosh of beer-flavoured air, but no one hears it because, with my left hand, I grab a hank of his longish hair and part of his ear and smash his head down onto the pool table.

It's not exactly a smash, but it's a great move, and the cheers behind me prove it.

"Now," I say, leaning over him with my forearm pressing on his neck. It's a move Dillon practiced with me and I'm sad he's not here to see it. "My big bad boyfriend might not be here, but I'm perfectly capable of throwing your butt out of here. Or if the princess kicking you out is too much for you to handle, feel free to walk out on your own. Your choice." I release the hold on his neck and back away.

"What the—?" He scowls, and the wall behind me moves closer.

I point toward the door and then hold out my hand. "Pay up first."

There's a moment of indecision in his eyes. This is the moment it could all go sideways. I've thrown out more than a few obnoxious and intoxicated patrons, but usually, it's when Kalle is here, along with Dillon and Chase. I know no one in Battle Harbour will touch me when they're here.

These guys are from away and I might have just set the stage for a bar brawl, especially if my wall decides to attack.

Then Steve-o slaps a twenty-dollar bill—King Magnus looking wise—into my hand, and with a scowl, heads for the door.

I don't breathe a sigh of relief until the door has shut behind all five of them, and then I turn to face whoever is behind me.

There's a group of about a dozen of the regulars—Jubblie Mark, Coy Schmidt and Ken McKibbon, with Shirl Crow and Lennie Tak and more. A nervous Tyler is behind them, with Chase off to the side.

"What are you doing here?" I demand of Chase. "I thought you were off tonight."

The second member of Kalle's security detail holds up a mop and bucket. "Just coming to help clean up the mess."

"Did Kalle ask you to babysit me?" Chase shakes his head and my expression softens.

"I had nothing going on tonight so I thought I'd hang out. You don't need me here, anyway. Your people have your back."

"Thank you," I tell the little group with a smile. Realizing that they stepped up to support me means a lot—more than I realize. That's something you would do for a leader. A friend.

They would have done it for Kalle in a second.

A general in an army. Or… maybe someone who holds a crown.

"I appreciate the backup. Drinks on me." I take the mop and bucket from Chase and thrust it at Jubblie Mark. "After you clean up your mess."

After a quick drink to settle my nerves, I pour a round for my backup. A bemused Tyler oversees Mark cleaning up the beer before giving him another bottle.

I hope he doesn't drop it.

"I've never seen anything like that." Sophie's eyes are wide and staring when I rejoin them at the bar. "Not just the way you took down that guy, but how the whole place gathered around you. That was amazing. "

I can only shrug, even though the loyalty shown gives me a warm feeling. A very warm and fuzzy feeling. It would have been different if Kalle had been here—it would have been him who confronted them, and it all would have ended without my arm on someone's neck, but knowing I had others behind me…

It's a frightening thing to do, staring down a drunk, let alone physically subduing him, and if I'd had time to think about it, I wouldn't have gone that route.

But it all worked out.

"How did you learn to do that?" Sophie wants to know.

"My dad insisted on self-defence lessons when I started working here, and Dillon has shown me a few moves over the years," I tell her. "It's come in handy a few times."

Fenella still looks at me, still wary but with a hint of respect. "I had no idea you were a bouncer as well."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," I say light-heartedly. "But I only get to do that when Kalle's not here. He always likes to jump in first."

"Like a knight in shining armour?"

"Like an alpha male looking to excrete some testosterone before he leaks all over the place."

Fenella blinks, then lets out a laugh. It's a big sound, coming from her belly. It's contagious—Sophie joins in and I do to, even though I have no idea what I'm laughing at.

It's been a weird day.

"I think you're my hero," Sophie declares, and I have to smile.

Fenella stirs her drink with a straw. "You know, I showed up for Odin and Camille's wedding because I thought I'd have to slap some sense into Gunnar and your sister," she says with a quick glance at Sophie. "It was clear there was something between them, but it turns out I didn't need to because Gunnar was smarter than I gave him credit for. And I thought I might have to do the same for Kalle because it's clear to me he's fixated on someone else. I'm happy that there's no need to slap some sense into him." And Fenella looks pointedly at me.

"I don't really do violence," I manage.

"Says the woman who had a drunk in a wrestling hold ten minutes ago." Fenella laughs again.