Chapter 3

3

ISAAC

I focus on my son and not the man who hijacked our lunch. So what if he's somehow elegant in crumpled clothes and has a gorgeous accent that draws me in? So what if his green eyes stare at me as if he's…interested. Is that it? It's been a long time since anyone was interested.

Get your head on straight, Isaac. This man is not trustworthy.

But he is cute.

He grins at Simon like they're best friends. I wave my hand at him. "Continue. Please."

The sparkle dims in his eyes, and he studies the empty wrapper of his devoured cheeseburger. "The thing is—today is my wedding day." His gaze darts up like he didn't mean to say that.

My stomach drops, and I chastise myself for being disappointed. Nothing was going to happen anyway. Finding love is an indulgence I can't afford. I have too many responsibilities.

"It's supposed to be my wedding day," he amends. "But I left."

This feels like a punch to the chest, and I'm unreasonably outraged for his intended spouse. "You mean you ran away." Being deserted by someone who vowed to love you sucks. And there's Cher and her non-marriage. Is this the trend now? Invest time, money, and love in someone just to have them leave?

"I didn't really want to get married in the first place," he says, reaching for my hand. I jerk it away.

"This isn't the Dark Ages," I say in what Zye calls my dad-voice. "No one can force you to get married."

He holds my gaze until I have to look away. Heat floods my face. "Did you know that over half of all marriages today are arranged? Over half," he says again. "Maybe not in America but in other parts of the world, in—" He practically chokes on his words.

His accent, if real, tells me he isn't from Missouri. But another country? "Where are you from?"

"A small country in Europe. Very, very small."

I tilt my head, still trying to parse out his words. What isn't he telling me? "And they arrange their citizens' marriages?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Only the monarchy—never mind."

I roll my eyes. "You're good. You almost had me. But now you're saying—implying—that you're what? A king?"

"No." He stuffs more french fries in his mouth.

I lift my brows, giving him a stop-the-crap look, and he swallows. My eyes are drawn to his neck. Elegant. Beautiful. Which seems odd. His clothes are wrinkled and his collar is smudged with dirt.

"I'm a prince."

"A prince," I repeat. Unbelievable. This royal wedding crap has gone to everyone's head. Or is it a convenient excuse because of the royal wedding? It's not a believable one.

"Prince Adrian?" Simon's eyes are wide.

"Yes?" He answers quickly and then smiles. "Such a clever lad."

"No," I say, interrupting them. This has to stop. "He's not a prince. He's a menace."

"What's a menace?" Simon asks, his face scrunched in confusion.

"A menace is a person who is not nice." I glare at the man so he knows I mean it. Did he think I'd buy his story? That he's a prince who somehow wandered into a Burger King in the United States dressed in wrinkled clothes that look slept in. I'm not sure he's showered recently. He's as far from a princely image as he can get. And yet…there's something elegant about him.

"Prince Adrian isn't nice? Is he a bad guy?" Simon's eyes fill with worry.

Great. Now I've upset my son. It's all Adrian's fault.

"Way to go, Daddy."

"Don't call me that," I snap.

He grins. "Sorry. Way to go, Isaac."

I hold my hand up again. "Stop talking." Turning to Simon, I ruffle his hair. "Adrian is a nice guy," I say through gritted teeth.

"Prince Adrian," Simon and the menace say at the same time.

Balling my hands into fists, I glare at the man. He doesn't seem to be affected by my anger.

I shake it off. I need to distract Simon so I can deal with this man. Opening the toy from the kids' meal, I hand it to him. Simon's eyes light up, and then it's like we aren't even there.

"Look," I say, keeping my voice low, "you seem like an okay guy?—"

"And cute?"

"Don't push it."

He fights the grin on his face, but it peeks through. His eyes shine bright, and God, why am I always attracted to people who are a complete mess?

I point my finger at him to keep him from interrupting again. "You're either a liar or…" I glance at Simon, who's playing with his toy. "Or not in touch with reality."

"Are there really no other options?" he asks, tapping a finger against his chin and drawing my attention to his mouth.

I clear my throat. "Like what?"

"Like I'm telling the truth?"

"Unbelievable. Either way, I'm going to have to call security." But will I? That's the question of the day.

He leans closer, tracing his finger along the table and accidentally touching my hand. And that small brush of his skin on mine scrambles my sensors. "Even though you don't want to?"

I sigh, but I don't move my hand. What is wrong with me? "Even though I don't want to," I admit.

"Because you're a good person."

"What?" My eyes meet his. "Yes. I mean, no, that's not—" I stop and shake my head.

"I get it. You're worried I might need help, at best, and at worst, I might hurt someone or myself. And you can't stand to see that happen." Movement at the other end of the food court catches his gaze. "I commend you on that." He places his hand over mine and squeezes. My world tilts—reminding me of the last time I overindulged in wine. Nothing has really changed, but everything seems off-center. No longer fitting together. Is it his words? Or his hand on mine. Solid. Real. "You're quite amazing, really. I wish with all my heart that things were different."

I don't know what to say. That I wish things were different too? "Adrian?—"

"Please," he says, darting a quick look toward the front of the food court before leaning in closer. "I just need to say this. I really like you, Isaac. And, as an aside, I can now irrevocably say I'm glad to be here with you and Simon and not getting married to Jasella."

Speaking is difficult. This close, his eyes are a rich green like sparkling jewels. His hand squeezes mine, and for a moment, I want to pretend this is real and not a bad choice in the making. Then his words take shape—why does that name sound so familiar? "I don't understand."

"You will. Just know that I really do like you."

"And me?" Simon asks with hope in his eyes. For a person he just met. What kind of parent am I?

"Oh yes. Especially you."

Someone stops at our table, and I glance up. The man is tall. And built. But still, somehow, unassuming. Probably around forty or forty-five, maybe older. It's difficult to tell because his head is completely shaved. He stands rigidly, almost regally.

"Reggie," Adrian says, earning a quick grimace from the man. "Good to see you. Where are the—rest?"

"I hope there is no need, Your—" He hesitates, his eyes flickering to the entrance. "Your father is concerned."

Adrian waves his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, I know. But do I really have to go back so soon? I made some lovely friends."

"Friends." He glances at Simon and me. We're both staring at him.

"This is Isaac and Simon."

"Pleased to meet you." He frowns at Adrian's hand covering mine.

This is my chance to get some answers. "Excuse me, Reggie." I reclaim my hand from Adrian. "I have a question."

"Reginald," he says with a dramatic sigh.

"Reginald. Can you tell me who this is?" I wave my hand at Adrian. I'm not sure what I want to prove. Maybe that he's been lying this entire time?

He glances at Adrian and then at me. "Is this a joke?"

"Uh, no."

Reginald's face pinches as if he's in pain, but he recovers quickly, straightening and saying in a haughty voice, "This is Adrian Nicholas—" Something catches his attention, and I follow his gaze. A couple across from us is staring and whispering and looking at their phones. His jaw tightens. "We have to go. Now, Your—" He chokes on his words, motioning for Adrian to hurry.

"Hold on," I say, but Adrian is already on his feet. The urgency in their voices. Their hurried movements. Is it possible Adrian is actually on the run? Not from a country in Europe, but a place for someone with delusions? Reginald might be his—what? A hospital aide who's come to detain him? That is almost as fantastical as Adrian being a prince. "Just wait—shit."

"Shit," Simon agrees.

"Don't say that." But my words are automatic as I jump up to…what? It's none of my business, but the thought of Adrian being hospitalized. Put in isolation. One like Jane? But that was different. Simon's mom—my wife at the time—had tried to unalive herself. Then, later, all the rehabs. I scrub those memories away and grab Adrian's hand before he can leave. "Are you…okay?" My eyes flicker to Reginald and back to him.

His mouth drops open, and I swear his eyes go soft…and then he's biting his lip, and I can't look away. Danger. Danger. This warning comes from my mind and my body.

"God, you're so good and sweet, Isaac. I want…" He sighs.

"We need to go." It seems like Reginald wants to say more, but he clamps his mouth shut and gives Adrian a pointed look.

"Yes, Reggie, I know. I'm sure my father?—"

"The King?" Will he stick to his story? His fantasy?

He nods. "Yes. The King. I'm sure he's very angry."

Reginald makes a frustrated sound. "We're garnering attention. That will not help matters. Please, I beg of you…" He nods toward the food court entrance.

Adrian runs his hands through his hair, and now I get why it's such a mess. "But you understand, Reggie? I can't marry Jasella—or any woman. I think I'm into guys. Or at least a certain guy."

That gets my attention and my traitorous heart melts. "You are?"

"You are," Reginald repeats dryly. "Fantastic."

"I live to make your life miserable, Reggie," Adrian says, winking at Simon. He grins in response.

"Of that, I am quite sure."

"Holiday over. Short as it was. Thank you for lunch and your company." Adrian winks at Simon, and then his eyes rest on me.

"Prince Adrian?" Simon hops out of his chair. "You probably have lots of them, but you can have my crown if you want." He hands him the paper crown. Adrian stares at it and then at my son.

"Thank you, Simon. This one's better than any I have." His eyes are bright. Is he getting emotional? Over a paper Burger King crown?

"Bye, Prince Adrian." My son's eyes are wide and adoring, and I'm unsure how to feel.

Adrian ruffles his hair. "Goodbye, Simon. Thank you for being my friend." Simon gives him a quick hug and rushes back to his seat.

I step closer to Adrian. There are things I want to say, but none of them make sense. I don't know this man or his situation, but something draws me in, and I want to protect him. Help him.

Reginald circles around, blocking us from the view of the nosy couple, and gives Adrian a frantic look.

Adrian nods as his eyes sweep over the food court. It's late afternoon, and the place is empty except for the couple, a few people over by Taco John, and a man in overalls ordering at the counter. Taking my hand, Adrian's gaze catches mine. "I meant it when I said you're remarkable."

"I believe you said amazing."

"You are that as well." He chuckles, and it reaches something deep inside me, and for this moment, I allow myself to believe the fantasy: a prince from a European country, out for a joyride on the eve of his wedding day, stops by a Burger King to stare at me like I'm the most important thing in the world. He presses a kiss to my palm, and I gasp. My body screams at me, like in Star Trek , when the alarms sound a red alert. Shields up! But it's too late. The feel of his lips on my skin is seared into my memory. "Goodbye, dear Isaac."

"Goodbye, Prince Adrian." It doesn't sound as awkward as I expect as I watch the only person I've been interested in for a while now walk away. The hollow feeling in my stomach adds to the sensation of loss. Like I'm missing out on something wonderful. Then Simon is there hugging my legs, reminding me what's most important. Not subjecting Simon to another unstable person who might hurt him and then leave.

Adrian puts the paper crown on his head, and Reginald makes a weird sound in his throat. At the Burger King statue, Adrian stops and nods. "Keep up the good work, my man." Simon giggles and Reginald shakes his head as he leads Adrian out of the food court.

Out of our lives.

Which is for the best. Except, I can't leave it at that. Finding things—accounting mistakes mostly, but also things like the best tiaras at a reasonable cost—is my specialty. Maybe digging around a little will help me find out who my prince really is. Just to make sure he's safe, of course.