To be honest, I don’t know if I’m that someone.
It’s been a while since she’s stayed the night at my place. She must be thinking of that, but I…
I can’t go there right now. Not with the upcoming meeting that I still need to be briefed on, and the plans for the new hotel opening that Fenella Carrington has gone overboard with that I also need to check, and tracking down Lyra.
I can only shrug. “Early meetings,” I say to Abigail with a rueful smile. “And you have the late shift at the coffee shop so you can sleep in. I don’t like to disturb you.”
“I’m okay being disturbed,” she says under her breath.
What’s wrong with me? “Tomorrow,” I promise. “We’ll do dinner, and then you can make me sit through an episode of The Suitor and I won’t complain at all.”
“Okay, but The Suitor isn’t starting for a few weeks,” she says, her smile not as bright as it usually is. “And it’s The Suitorette this time.”
“I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”
Abigail laughs and I relax. Things are so easy with her. “It’s less drama with a group of men. You’ll like that.”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “Sure, I will.”
Bo settles the bill and he and Hettie start the round of goodbyes. For a moment, I don’t think Abigail is going to leave—and she doesn’t have to. She can stay with Gunnar and Stella. She has other friends here tonight. She can—
My phone rings.
Not only my phone, but Bo’s and Gunnar’s ring in unison. And behind the bar, I see Kalle reach around to where his phone sticks out of the back pocket of his jeans.
Gunnar is the first to check. “It’s Odin,” he says, answering the group FaceTime call. Bo and I don’t bother with our phones, but crowd in beside him. “What’s up, O?”
“You have no idea what she did this time,” Odin rages.
She. It feels like a hand has reached inside my body to squeeze my stomach, like someone checking a melon at the market.
I don’t even have to ask Odin whosheis because I know exactly whom he’s talking about.
It’s the tone of his voice.
Lyra.
Did she get arrested? Is she topless on a magazine cover? Been deported from some country because she “borrowed” a catamaran from some politician’s son when he was passed out on some island?
Did she get married?
Deep breaths help me deal with the stress of the unknown, but I can only manage a shaky one. “What did Lyra do this time?” I demand.
“She’s going to be the next Suitorette.”
She’s what?
This—this is not what I expected. Lyra likes to think she’s an influencer, so I can see her her going on a reality show, something likeDaughters of Wealthy and Powerful Men and the Trouble They Get Into—if that was a real show—but The Suitorette?
Why is Lyra looking to fall in love? And on a reality show? She could have any man she wanted.
The stomach squeeze gets tighter. “Where did you get the info? Has it been confirmed?” Two very realistic questions, spoken in a calm voice. I’ve asked the same questions countless times for the entire royal family of Laandia, not just Lyra.
“I heard it from the horse’s mouth,” Odin blusters. “Grayson Grant.”
Abigail gasps and clutches Hettie at the mention of his name. Both of them look too excited for this conversation.
“He’s the host of the show, isn’t he?” Gunnar asks.
