Twenty-five male strangers.
I’m not worried…
It’s like Camille can read my mind because she winks at me over the cheese platter. “I love how you’re doing the archetypes,” she tells Grayson.
“I wish I could take credit, but it’s Fiona’s idea,” Grayson explains as he helps himself to a cracker. “She’s my wife’s best friendand the biggest romance reader of anyone I know. She thought that it would be a fresh idea to have the typical characters from romance novels—the bad boy, the rock star, the athlete—”
“The boy next door, the cinnamon roll hero, the alpha male,” Camille finishes, to my surprise. I always see with her e-reader, but I thought she was looking at reports and emails.
“Exactly.” Grayson nods. “Fiona made me a list and I did my best to find as many as I could,” he says. “But we’ve had no luck with the brother’s best friend. I should have come to you to help with that.”
I meet Camille’s gaze, who is as confused as I am. “Why is that?” I ask slowly.
Grayson frowns. “We did keep this one low-key because of her status, but I thought you knew.”
A weight settles in the pit of my stomach, like an anchor thrown overboard. “No. We don’t know. And right now, I’m really not sure I want to.”
“Who will be the Suitorette?” Camille demands. “We never asked because we thought it was a secret.”
Grayson looks a little fearful. “I can’t believe she didn’t talk to you about it.”
She? “Please don’t tell me—”
“Princess Lyra is going to be the next Suitorette,” Grayson finishes. “Your sister. She’ll be here tomorrow to star in the show.”
1
Spencer
“E
ightballinthecorner pocket,” I call, and obediently, the black ball rolls neatly into the pocket.
It’s the only sport where I’m almost certain to win against the princes of Laandia.
And I’m fine with that. My strengths lie in other areas, but growing up so close to the family, and celebrating their wins and successes, it’s kind of nice to be able to beat them at something.
“Another game?” Bo asks as he collects the balls.
I shake my head and gesture at the table across the room where Bo’s wife Hettie sits with Abigail. It had been double-date night at The King’s Hat before Gunnar—the youngest of the Laandian princes—and Stella, my half-sister—tracked us down.
I find now that the brothers are older, and all have girlfriends/fiancées/wives, date nights become group events. “I think we’ve given the girls enough time to talk about us.”
“How do you know they’re talking about us?”
I smile at my friend. Bo may be married and a father, but he still doesn’t have a clue about women. “What else do you think they talk about when we’re not around?”
“I don’t know. Clothes? Tema?” Bo’s smile at the mention of his daughter warms my heart.
His entire face lights up when he’s with her, like a happy Jack o’ lantern.
I shouldn’t be surprised about his lack of knowledge: Bo and Hettie might have married eight years ago, but the union lasted only days before Hettie left the country because of Bo’s grief and guilt over the death of his mother, Queen Selene.
Hettie only returned five months ago, with their eight-year-old daughter Tema in tow. It was dicey for a bit, but the family, not to mention the whole country, is ecstatic that Bo and Hettie managed to get past the secrets and serious lack of communication because they are truly made for each other.
And Tema—I seriously think the little girl could overthrow the monarchy and take over Laandia if she put her mind to it, and I’m honestly not sure where my loyalty would fall.
“They talk about Tema when we’re there,” I throw over my shoulder as I head back to the table where the pitcher of beer waits for us, now half empty thanks to Gunnar.
