7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I blame exhaustion for causing me to fall asleep on the beach for so long, resulting in this terrible sunburn. Considering the eventful day and that I’m on sensory overload, I should crash, but I’m wide awake.

My thoughts vibrate as I recount reuniting with Sunny, every word exchanged, and every lingering glance. The sparks between us are still strong after all this time.

That’s where my mind and heart are at. But the rest of my senses take in the smells and look and touch of my grandmother’s old house. It’s exactly as I remember it with the cool terrazzo tile underfoot, the exposed rustic beams against the whitewashed ceiling, and the earthen tones of the décor with bold splashes of yellow and red, reminding me of the sunrise and sunset, respectively.

The only difference is Gran-mère’s terracotta planters are empty, no longer overflowing with Philodendron, creeping ivy, pothos, indoor palms, and others I was never able to pronounce. Ironically, that kind of represents the state of my life.

The pots full of rich soil are there, but nothing is growing. I keep wondering if I’m planted in the wrong place. Does it mean something that I wound up here again? With Sunny, no less?

I half expect there to be popsicles in the freezer and for Gran-mère to glide into the room, wearing a caftan and offering a warm, open-armed welcome. She was an elegant woman and slightly eccentric in her older years. The kind who swept you up with her attention and called everyone darling .

As I wander through the rooms, I find her separate closets for shoes, handbags, and of course her enormous wardrobe. Everything is as she left it, just as I remember.

I stop in front of the grand mirror at the end of the hallway and gasp, afraid I’m looking at a ghoul haunting the villa. But it’s me. I resemble a sea wench who washed up on shore after spending a year aboard a pirate ship without sunblock or a parasol at least.

What does it mean that Sunny didn’t suggest I put a paper bag over my head?

Being here is like a strange step back in time, yet I see glimpses of a future I could have—one free of keeping up with expectations and appearances.

My life on my terms. My grandmother was a great example of that. Sure, she lived luxuriously, and this was her third home—I wonder if she left the other two to my siblings and if the inheritance was also kept from them.

I hastily open the envelope in my hand and read it.

It’s a letter about discernment and decisions. About the heart and mind, purpose and promise. Gran-mère’s words are poetic yet direct and a reminder—no, an order—to take seriously that this is my life despite my title.

As I read in a whisper, I get the sense that when my mother married into the royal family of Concordia and it became clear what that would mean for me as the firstborn, Gran-mère grew concerned for my happiness, knowing that the life my mother chose for me might not be the one I’d want or the best path for me to take.

My body buzzes, practically generating its own electricity, illuminating the truth.

She was right.

When I get to the bottom, my voice becomes stronger. “Be sure to prune your life, otherwise, the outside will start to creep in and that leads to bitterness, resentment, and ugliness. Sprucing up the gardens around the villa is a great place to start. I think you’ll find a certain surfer will prove himself capable if you give him a chance. Love, Gran-mère.”

Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. It’s funny how much love you can feel from a person even if they’re no longer here.

There’s a P.S. Last thing, there’s a special popsicle recipe called the Dee Dee Delight in my old cookbook. I think you’ll love it.

Did she know that was Sunny’s nickname for me?

I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry or both. I already made a blubbering fool of myself in front of him when we got here.

The ring on my finger glints in the light. The pressure of the outside world pushes against me. What will happen if I give in? My eye twitches in answer.

What will happen if I don’t?

In the letter, Gran-mère also stressed the importance of true love—the kind that doesn’t waver or fade with time.

I drop into the silk chaise lounge in Gran-mère’s room and read the letter again, soaking in each word, turning over the meaning, and wondering what my grandmother would do.

Then I realize it’s all here. No need to seek clues, piece together a mystery, or solve a complex puzzle. Gran-mère was the kind of person who spoke her mind and wasn’t a pleaser like me.

Had she been in love with Sunny, she would’ve asked why he’d grown distant. She would’ve held her ground and not moved a muscle until she had answers.

My heart twists at the memory and reality of his and my abrupt goodbye—more like non-goodbye. He treated me as if we’d never happened, but that’s because he was scared and couldn’t see how he’d fit into my life.

And he wasn’t entirely wrong because I don’t know how I would’ve made room. I didn’t show him, mostly because looking back I didn’t know how. He was right, I had my sights set on the future, but now, I don’t like the way it looks with the marriage to Antony. This isn’t how I thought it would play out.

Sunny did what he said he’d do. He became a lifeguard, surfs every day, and lives by the beach. He mentioned he wants to take an epic surf trip and then come back and open a surf shop.

What about me? I’m engaged to a cheater and a crook.

I haven’t asked myself what I want since high school. Myra just supplies me with superficial distractions but they’re not what I truly need.

And right now, that’s a popsicle.

And I want a popsicle stand like the one Gran-mère used to set up in the backyard during my childhood visits. She must’ve had the groundskeeper build it. My siblings and I painted yellow and white stripes on the base and attached an orange umbrella. My brother wanted the menu to be blue, but Katherine and I insisted on it being pink.

What do I want? Need? What’s the opposite of please? What’s the opposite of yes?

No. Could I tell my mother no? Refuse to marry Antony? Could I take back my life?

I wish my grandmother were still here. She’d know how to carry it off with grace.

She’s not here, but I am in her house—my house. I suck in a breath. She left it to me because she knew what my heart wanted even if I’ve denied it...or didn’t know how to say yes to it.

Would it be so bad to stay awhile, fix up Gran-mère’s old place, and relive the summer fun of my youth? According to my parents, yes, because I’m next in line for marriage, but it’s not to a guy I love.

On a nearby antique table are photos of our family, including one of Gran-mère and me on a sunny day when I lived with her. Our smiles reach our eyes and I recall the feeling I had then.

I was carefree, confident, and in love—with Sunny and this place. I was also surrounded by love in my grandmother’s presence. We’d play mah-jongg, make popsicles, collect treasures from the beach like sea glass, and spend afternoons in the garden reading.

We’d also go shopping, she taught me how to apply eyeliner, and we’d practice my French.

And I met Sunny. Somewhere inside, the candle still burns brightly. But there remains the matter of my family—Mother specifically.

If I changed course now, the headline in the Intherness Daily Herald would read Duchess on the run escapes to a small southern California beach town where she trades in Antony the Mega Doux for a laid-back slacker lifeguard.

Actually, I rather like the sound of that. Except, I’d use the expression Lovable beach bum instead of the slacker thing.

I think I’ll stay in Palisade Shores for the rest of the week. Or the month. The summer?

I’ll fix up the house. My one guilty pleasure in life is making a giant bowl of popcorn, smothering it with butter and salt, and watching episodes of the home makeover show Designed to Last. Myra usually joins me. In a very abnormal life, it’s sixty minutes of the opposite. Myra recently said they now have a segment for landscaping and gardening to maximize curb appeal. If Myra forgives me, maybe she can reach out to them on my behalf. Or I could ask for Sunny’s help as my grandmother suggested.

Perhaps I won’t leave...ever.

The idea of fixing up this place sounds so much more fun than watching my mother plan the wedding that I don’t want. I bounce in my seat, feeling more hopeful than I have in a long time.

Through the window, the stars sparkling in the sky, making the ocean glitter, remind me of when Gran-mère told me the blessings we receive—often not even realizing it—are more numerous than the stars, so remember to count them and give thanks.

So I send up a prayer of gratitude. Then my thoughts wander from the past and into the future and what I want to be thankful for that hasn’t yet happened. My resolve builds as a vision takes shape. It includes Sunny and popsicles, laughter, abounding joy, and a life that I’d all but given up.

If I were wearing a ponytail, this would be the moment I’d tighten in, lift my chin, and get to work. Instead, I flip over Gran-mère’s letter and write:

End of summer goals

Fix up the house (and fall more in love)

Get married (and go on an epic honeymoon)

Open a shop (there is no off-season, just endless summer)

In case it’s not obvious, all of those involve Sunny. But my eye twitches because there’s one more matter to resolve.

I find Gran-mère’s old rotary phone, surprised to find a dial tone when I pick it up. My panicked pulse and eye twitch combo tells me that I’m terrified. But I have to go through with this. Otherwise, it’ll mean a lifetime sentence to Antony and a future that looks nothing like the one I dreamed up all those years ago when I was happiest, in love, and when my time was my own.

Creating that life and avoiding the one my mother manufactured is exactly what Gran-mère meant in her letter.

My mother answers on the third ring, her voice scratchy at the early hour because of the time difference. “Hello?”

“Mother, it’s me.”

“Diana Daniels Barclay of Marquand, we have been worried sick. I was expecting a ransom letter from your kidnappers.”

“I took the afternoon off. Imagine that.” My voice is light, but two sentences into this conversation and I’m already exhausted. Maybe that’s why my eye twitches. I just need rest.

My mother forges ahead. “We have protocol. Myra couldn’t find you. The security team has alerted local authorities.”

I’m about to tell her I’m at Gran-mère’s, but keep that to myself for now. “I’m safe and sorry to have caused concern. I’ve lived my entire life obeying your rules and?—”

“They’re rules for a reason.” Her patent tight smile comes through in the strained tone of her voice.

“And your wishes,” I add, finishing my sentence from before she interrupted.

“Well—” She starts to bluster and this time I interrupt, heading off what’s sure to be a long lecture.

“I’m calling to let you know that I won’t be marrying Antony. In fact, I probably won’t be returning to Concordia for a while. As the duchess, I’d like to pass my title and responsibilities to Katherine.”

She stifles a gasp. “But you’re first in line.”

“She’s more qualified and has three degrees, real-life experience, and a very orderly mind.” Plus, she knows how to tell people no and be gracious about it like Gran-mère. Must be a second-child thing.

My mother sucks in a breath. “You’re in Palisade Shores, aren’t you? I knew it. I told myself it was a bad idea to send you as an envoy to Cecily’s wedding. Don’t tell me you tracked down from the bluff that lazy, lousy surfer again.”

“He’s a lifeguard and came to my rescue today.” In more ways than one.

“This is nonsense. I’m sending Myra and your security team to retrieve you right now.”

“No. You won’t be doing that.” My voice is strong, unwavering.

“It’s for your own good.”

I fight everything in my pleaser nature to hold my ground and not give in as usual. “Mother, it’s disappointing that you didn’t tell me that Gran-mère left me the house on Sand Dollar Strand.”

“Because I knew this would happen.”

“That I’d fall back in love and feel the most at home I ever have?”

“Stop with that foolish talk. We have responsibilities.” Her tone is thin.

“No, you have royal alliances you want to create. I have a future that’s all mine. You’re welcome to visit and I promise there will be popsicles. Thank you for listening,” I say decisively yet kindly and then hang up.

I flop onto the silk chaise longue and let out a long breath. Staring at the ceiling, I’m shocked that I just went through with it. Then I hop to my feet and do a happy dance. Throwing open the doors to the balcony, I shout, “I’m free!”