13. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Lorelei
Even Ted Bundy couldn’t hold my attention tonight.
I find myself pacing around the room, eyes glued to my phone as my sister’s location continuously moves closer to the house. She’s still an hour away, and it’s already midnight.
Between checking her location and trying to reorient myself into the murderous world of Bundy, I also have a few searches pulled up on my phone.
What does it mean when a man touches you and it makes you burn? (Don’t search that, friends.)
Does it mean something if you can’t stop thinking about his eyes? (Gag.)
Prince Finley Andersson. (Why is he so unbearably handsome?)
I don’t like the answers.
They all point to the idea that I have feelings for my sister’s man, which is simply NOT okay.
But that’s just what the internet says, and we all know the internet lies. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It can simply be a different reaction to being touched.
I’m not touched often because it gives me the ick, and though the reaction to Finley’s touch wasn’t icky, I’m not sure I’d categorize it as something pleasant.
Who wants to feel electrocuted when they touch someone, even with contact as simple as a brushing of fingers or lips pressed to knuckles?
And for the record, I only searched for Finley because he’s currently out with Lucy. I figured I’d use the time to see if there is anything I need to look out for to help protect her. I already know he’s a bit of a player, apparently, but I think Lucy can handle that at this point. But other than that fact, I can’t see any red flags. He is a humanitarian, wicked smart, and the people of his country seem to adore him even though he has an international reputation.
Again, that’s what the internet says. I can't take it too seriously.
I close out all the open screens on my phone and collapse onto the couch. The moment my bum lands on the cushion, Frizzle and Frannie jump onto my lap and curl up against each other. Frannie must be missing Lucy, whom she usually naps with at night.
“Hey, girls,” I coo while I busy both my hands running through their short fur coats. As I’m petting them, a weird feeling settles over me.
Everything is about to change.
My sister will marry a prince and move to another country. Hadley is married now. Karoline, though I’m not super close with her like Lucy and Hadley are, will move to Nashville this summer. My job will stay the same, and I will stay here for now with my two cats and slew of plants.
Or, cat. Lucy will probably take Frannie with her.
Am I okay with that direction of life for me?
For now, yes.
I won’t rush my life. I will focus on my career; it is a fulfilling one. I love getting to help reunite families, or at the very least, settle disputes and bring about some semblance of reconciliation. In fact, I could work on case files until Lucy makes it home safe and sound. But then I remember that I left them at work this evening due to promising my parents that I would do something fun.
But how do I have fun when I’m worried about my sister?
And why am I so worried about her?
I trust Finley well enough. He will take care of her.
Resolved not to waste the last fifty-two minutes that I have left before she’s supposed to be home, I open my phone again and click on my e-reader app. I flick through the many unread books I’ve accumulated and settle on trying out a political dystopian Lucy recommended to me. I don’t read fiction much, but Lucy is usually spot-on when she recommends one to me.
She knows not to recommend the fluffy stuff, at least.
Slipping the blanket from over the couch, I tug it around me while the cats flee from the constraints and snuggle in.
You will relax, I chastise myself. This is fun to you, and you will enjoy it.
Thoroughly scolded, I open the book and immerse myself into a post-Soviet Union dystopian where the woman is apparently set to become the next ruler, but her plans fall through when she falls in love with the royal prince-slash-spy from the warring country. The romance thread doesn’t bother me because the characters are already set up in such a way that I actually find myself cheering them on. My vision gets a little blurry and my head gets a little fuzzy, but I’m too immersed in the book to toss it to the side in favor of sleep, no matter how many times my cats nudge me and meow for me to bring them to bed. I can wait a little longer. An hour later, when Lucy opens the door, I’m startled and yanked from the world of premiers and sectors and deception. Lies are permitted when in fallen societies, after all. I glance over my shoulder as she walks in, but then I turn my attention back to the book.
“Welcome home,” I say, a big, fat yawn hijacking my words and a shiver rippling through me. “Ugh, sorry. I’m glad you made it back safely. I’m enjoying this book you told me about.”
“Did you doubt I’d keep my promise?” a decidedly male voice asks, and I turn my head quick enough my neck could have possibly snapped if I executed the motion any harder. Finley leans casually against the doorframe with crossed arms, a smirk painted across his face.
They must have had a good night.
Why does that thought sink my stomach and cause my head to spin?
“Not at all,” I finally respond, not meeting his gaze and resuming reading my book.
Trying to, at least.
“I took tons of pictures for you, Lor,” Lucy says, appearing in front of me.
I smile. “Lovely.”
Lucy plucks my phone from my hand.
“Hey!” I fumble out of the hole I’ve put into the couch from nestling in for an hour. As the blanket falls around me, I remember that I’m in old gray joggers and a white shirt that has exactly three holes in it—one in the armpit, one on the belly, and one on the shoulder. My hair is a frizzy mess, and I’m basically a living troll.
This is what I get for taking people’s stupid advice to have fun. I should have worked, gone to bed at a reasonable hour, and trusted my sister would be fine. Another prickly shiver overcomes me.
“Whoa,” Finley says, his eyes widening. He captures my attention instantly, and I watch in horror as he looks me up and down… something I’ve seen happen a million and ten times to Lucy, but never to me. This is scarier than Ted Bundy.
Lucy appears at his side as his eyes freely roam over me. He must be astonished that the put-together Lorelei Spence actually dresses like a homebody teenager when she’s alone and turned in for the night.
Yeah, that’s it.
Finley takes my phone from Lucy, and I watch in a new wave of horror as Lucy unlocks it. Because we have the same stupid face.
I march over to the two of them, ignoring the weakness in my steps, and reach to grab my phone from him, but he holds it up over his head while Lucy steps back with her arms crossed. I reach and jump, but I’m still not able to reach my phone. I try again, but this time, I jump forward, knocking into Finley like we are two boys celebrating a sports victory with a chest bump.
Except Finley is a man, and I am a woman. I am immensely grateful I am wearing a sports bra.
The arm not holding my phone in the air braces around me, preventing me from stepping away from him. My head is tilted up as he lowers his. Finley’s eyes twinkle like sunlight reflecting off the ocean. The smirk he was wearing slips away, in its place parted, light pink lips. Just like my dream…
He’s so close I can feel his warm breath, and that feeling of being electrocuted alive radiates through every molecule of my person. It’s painful and weakening.
Without another moment of hesitation, I throw myself backward, stumbling a few times as I catch my balance from the momentum of exiting his arms. My vision blacks out for a second before coming back to.
As I catch my breath from the sheer racing of my heart, I blurt, “What in the world is going on?” I glance between Finley and Lucy. Finley has lowered my phone, but the heat in his eyes as he gazes upon me is like a campfire in the middle of a snowy forest. Lucy is still standing with her arms crossed, boasting the biggest smile I’ve seen out of her in a while.
“I told him,” she finally says. “About the switch.”
Internally, I sigh with relief. I was praying she would tell him. “But what does that have to do with stealing my phone?”
Finley doesn’t answer because he’s still heating this apartment to a thousand degrees with that stare. It’s so hot, yet shivers are becoming my constant companion at the moment. Finally, Lucy elbows him, shaking him loose of whatever trance that was.
“Should you tell her, or should I?”
At that moment, Finley Andersson, Crown Prince of Korsa, future king, types something in my phone before passing it off to Lucy, picks up a crown of flowers that I apparently missed him setting on the stand by the door, and takes two large steps in my direction.
My cats flank my side and mew, clawing at my legs. I kick them away but almost fall, so I stop. Finley pauses directly in front of me, bends to one knee, and reveals a flower crown woven of white and pink Chrysanthemums.
My heart stutters, immediately recognizing the symbolism of those colors—white for loyalty and innocence and pink for new love and affection. Why is he kneeling before me with this wondrous crown of my favorite flowers?
Finley gazes at me through his long, black lashes from his lowered position, and says, “Please keep in mind that I have your sister’s support and blessing.” Then he clears his throat as I fight not to pass out. “I added my number with my first and last name, as Lucy says you prefer, to your contact list. Lucy has already given me yours. Lorelei Raine Spence, will you do me the immense honor of dating me with the goal of marriage and queenship in mind?”
My vision blurs in a more permanent capacity, and at the moment, I realize what’s happening as a familiar numbness settles into my limbs. I hear my cats screeching before they claw at my legs. “Lucy, I need juice. Now!”
As I collapse, I lean towards Finley who is still on one knee. He tosses the crown and bravely catches me, tugging me tightly against his chest as he cages me in strong arms. The momentum of my fall rocks him backwards; my eyes flutter close to the pounding of his heartbeat in my ear as I lie wrapped in the fallen prince’s arms.