Chapter 1
Sophie
“…to film the Castle Cats so at least I don’t have to run around trying to take cute pics...”
I tune in and out of Kate McKibbon’s monologue like the cell service in parts of Battle Harbour.
My friend is the private secretary for the royal family of Laandia, and yes, she has a lot on her plate when it comes to wrangling everything royal, which now includes six extra cats that have been gifted to King Magnus, just because of an off-handed comment the king made about having a cat in the castle.
I don’t even remember what it was—something about how Prince Kalle’s cat was adorable but he wished it would cuddle with him more. Apparently, there are many women in the world who like the thought of the king of Laandia cuddling with a cat. And six of them sent him actual animals.
Of course he had to accept them, because if he didn’t, they would have become the newest residents of my sister’s pet rescue, Catch a Pet.
There were many stuffed cats sent to the king, but he donated them to the children’s wing of the hospital. Couldn’t donate the real ones, so now there are six cats roaming the castle.
The scene of this cat conversation is the King’s Hat pub in Battle Harbor, owned by the king’s heir, Prince Kalle, which is hosting the birthday party of Silas Bell.
The New Year’s Eve decorations have changed to birthday balloons and streamers, and an awkwardly designed sign hangs over the bar.
The gathering is fun, festive, and filled with everyone I know in Battle Harbour, but I am not in the mood for a party.
“Everyone here is in love.”
The reaction from Kate and Princess Lyra of Laandia, the third of our trio, is as if I had declared my intention of stripping off my boots to dance barefoot along the bar.
In the winter. In Laandia. Toes might freeze.
“That doesn’t sound like Sophie Laz.” Lyra has been one of my best friends for most of my life.
That is, if you don’t count the ten-year blip in the middle where my mother did her best to poison me about everything that had to do with the royal family, including Lyra and especially my father, the chief advisor to the king.
Divorce. It’s complicated. And messy. And cost me—the youngest daughter and having nothing to do with the breakup of their contentious marriage—years of friendship.
Which I’m happy to say, has been repaired as if nothing ever happened.
“I’m not in love,” Kate points out.
There’s a pause as we wait to see if she adds anything about Jackson. The one who might have been someone special to Kate, had he not left Battle Harbour without a word of explanation to my friend.
She doesn’t mention his name, so we move on.
“But you are in love with your job, so that counts,” I say. Kate truly does love her job, as busy and chaotic as it can be.
I am the assistant manager of Ye Olde Fish and Chips restaurant, and I definitely can’t say the same.
A roar of laughter comes from the table in the centre of the room where Silas sits wearing a birthday hat and pink boa draped around his neck. The feathers compete with his new love, Fenella Carrington, who undoubtedly caused the fun.
Of course, I’m happy for Silas, the birthday boy, especially since he’s found love with Fenella, she of the billionaire bank account and million social media followers and thousand and one ways of helping Battle Harbour become a tourist destination.
It still boggles my mind that Silas fell in love with her.
Actually, it has nothing to do with Silas, because he is the ultimate cinnamon roll hero, full of sweetness and goodness and who swears that the lattes he makes are calorie free.
Silas is amazing, but the fact remains that he is a small-town barista whose claim to fame is creating unicorn foam and a viral video of him making coffee for Fenella.
It’s Fenella who causes the boggling. She’s… her… model, influencer, daughter of Carrington Toys and all around as privileged as the royal family, and slightly more entitled. Fenella recently gave up her globe-trotting, party lifestyle and moved to Battle Harbour.
Stranger things have never happened in Laandia.
Fenella still trots the globe quite a bit and definitely knows how to throw a party. She is also responsible for the changes and upgrades to Battle Harbour, in an attempt to make the tiny fishing town a more fashionable and fabulous—her words—tourist destination.
It’s working. With the new hotel, restaurants and the construction on the Silas Bell NightSky Observatory—the king announced the new outlook will be named after Silas, just in time for his birthday—it’s already becoming difficult to recognize the little place I grew up in.
Good changes. Good upgrades. Happy for what she’s done.
“Loving my job isn’t the same as having someone warm and cozy to cuddle with,” Kate decides. “And I don’t get beard burn from my tablet.”
We both glance at Lyra, who blithely stirs her drink. Spencer Laz, who is my half-brother and Lyra’s boyfriend/maybe fiancé/love of her life, recently shaved off his beard because Lyra did nothing but complain about how it felt when he kissed her.
I’m happy that they are happy, but enough is enough about hearing about the kissing.
I think I’m happier for others than I am for myself. And I think it’s always been that way.
“You’re in love with a job that forces you to babysit my brothers,” Lyra says, leading over to pull at the straw, quickly finishing the drink with a loud slurping sound. “You’re not even having a drink with us, and this is a birthday party.”
“I babysit all the royal family, and that includes you.” Kate gives her a sideways glance as Lyra signals to Tyler, the bartender. “And I don’t need a drink to have a good time.”
“Don’t forget that your job responsibilities have expanded to include babysitter of the Castle Cats,” I say. “I’m trying to decide if I’ve had one drink too many or not enough.”
“Have another,” Lyra decides. “This isn’t Sophie speak.”
“And the cats are Ajax’s responsibility now,” Kate corrects. “I’m great at delegating.”
“I wish you were great at keeping them out of my room,” Lyra complains.
“They belong to Dad, so I wish they would stay in his wing of the castle. I keep finding Jon curled up on my bed in the morning, and I have no idea how he gets in there. But no more cat talk.” She turns her blue eyes on me.
“You seem a little anti-love tonight, my friend.”
“I made a comment that everyone here seems to be in love,” I protest. “It’s true.”
“But it was your tone,” Lyra points out. “A non-Sophie tone.”
“What’s my usual tone?” I ask before I think twice. “Never mind.” I hold up my hand. “I’m sweet. Kind. Nice.”
I use my non-Sophie tone for that word as well.
“I was going to say happy,” Lyra muses, pulling her long reddish-blonde hair over her shoulder.
“You do seem a bit off,” Kate agrees. “Battle Harbour just got named as one of People’s Magazine’s list of places for single women to visit because of its high ratio of eligible bachelors. That should make you happy.”
“But none of the eligible bachelors are in love with me.”
Another burst of laughter punctuates my statement, and I stare into my glass.
Kate and Lyra are right. This isn’t me.
I am the cheerful sister, the one everyone can count on for a smile, a kind word, and a helping hand. I mediate conflict, not cause it, and my circle of friends expands to the reaches of Battle Harbour.
It also includes quite a few of the said eligible men.
“I always get bummed after Christmas,” I say, hoping to deflect.
“It sounds like you need a night out.” Lyra clinks her empty glass with my half-full one.
“I think I need a good night’s sleep. I still have to go over to the rescue to check on the dogs.”
“When are Gunnar and Stella back?” Lyra asks.
I know that’s part of my problem. My sister has always been my best friend, Lyra and Kate notwithstanding, and she missed Christmas this year.
Gunnar, acting as ambassador to Laandia, had been in East Asia for some summit on fishing and took Stella along.
And because he had friends in Australia, they decided to extend their trip and stay there for Christmas.
It’s the first time Stella and I have been away from each other over Christmas. I was left behind to celebrate a super quiet Christmas with my mother and step-father. My step-sister Daphne chose not to come home either.
It was quiet. A little lonely.
A lot lonely.
I spent time with my father at the castle, but seeing the royal family, all coupled up in happy twosomes, didn’t help.
“Their flight leaves at six p.m. our time tomorrow, so they’ll be back by Monday,” Kate informs us.
“I said I’d do the final night check at the shelter because everyone is here,” I add.
“Why didn’t Fenella have the party at her place?” Lyra wonders.
“Something about making it more balanced for the businesses.” Kate shakes her head. “There’s a committee for the licensed establishments in town to make sure that events like this are shared. Which is why the pre-party for the Sea Queen ball at the end of January will be at Sailor’s Saloon.”
“I guess that’s a good thing.”
“Plus, this many people can’t fit in Fenella’s place,” Lyra points out.
“Speaking of the Sea Queen ball,” Kate begins with an eager glance. “Have you thought of someone to invite?”
The ball was a winter fixture in Battle Harbour, taking place at the end of January. Not only will one young woman be crowned Sea Queen, but it’s expected women will ask the men to the dance, rather than waiting for men to ask them.
Neither is good for me.
“Maybe that would help this funk.” Lyra waves a hand around me like my mood was something tangible to touch. “You could try dating again. Find someone for yourself.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to date,” I remind her. “I’m just bad at it.”
“How can you be bad at dating?” Kate demands.
“Maybe not the actual date, but it never goes anywhere. I am the queen of first dates. Second?” I shrug. “Not so much.”
I do date—not much, but enough for me to be a staple on Friday nights at restaurants and bars around Battle Harbour.
And first dates were often great—good conversation, lots of laughs—but when it comes to suggesting another, invariably I am told that I am so nice.
So fun. Such a fantastic person with a great personality.
It’s not like I’m unattractive. I have a mirror. I’m not model beautiful like Fenella and Lyra, but there’s no ugly duckling in our trio.
I have thick and healthy hair that is styled becomingly (most days); eyes that, even though they’re not the silver-green of my brother’s, are an amazing shade of chocolate brown with caramel accents; and a nose that in no way resembles a ski slope or an upturned pig’s nose.
I am pretty, and not just on a good day.
But I’m continually friend zoned.
I only think of you as a friend.
I want to keep you as a friend.
But I really want to be friends.
Friends, friends, friends.
I am friends with the most eligible bachelors in Battle Harbour, nay all of Laandia, and I don’t know how to get out of the friend zone I’m stuck in.
“Still haven’t heard from Martin then?” Lyra asks sympathetically.
Everything tightens. I wish I never opened my mouth because it was inevitable that things would veer back to this. “Like I said, first date,” I say, hoping I sound as casual as I’m trying for.
“You can call him,” Kate points out.
“I could. I know. I know,” I say when both of them continue to stare with their skeptical glances. “I just haven’t.”
And probably won’t
So I shouldn’t complain about it.
Even though I know I can complain about anything I want to Kate and Lyra, I don’t because complaining doesn’t do anything but make you a complainer.
Lyra nudges my shoulder. “There’s an eligible man.” She nods toward the table where all the laughter is coming from.
“Basher?” I scrunch up my nose. “Cute, but I think Mabel has staked her claim.”
“Not Basher. Ashton.”
“Ashton Carrington,” Kate chimes in like I know so many Ashtons.
I look and wish I didn’t. Because I’ve already forced my gaze away from Ashton Carrington several times tonight.
More than several.
Looking at Ashton Carrington is inevitable, just like me chipping a nail as soon as I get a manicure, Thanos and the snap in Avengers, and the questions about my date with Martin.
Because like his twin sister, Fenella, Ashton has this way of grabbing attention and keeping it held hostage with no requests for ransom.
It may be his wardrobe, which is pretty darn fabulous for a man, even says fashion-backward me. It is definitely the way he looks in that wardrobe, all broad shoulders and long legs with thighs pants like to hug just so.
And that’s not taking into account his model good looks, because—of course—he is a model. And a race car driver. And the former boyfriend of some of the most beautiful women on the planet.
All that wrapped into a neat six-foot-plus tall package—complete with black hair that swoops and dips and flops as becomingly as Stranger Things’ Steve, and dark blue eyes the colour of the night sky after the first star appears—and enough zeroes on his bank account to make any gold digger girl happy.
Ashton has it all. But he’s… really grumpy. Grouchy. And a little… rude.
“Absolutely not,” I say with the conviction of a woman who gets all the second dates, and third ones too. And who knows she’s got it going on enough to catch the attention of a man like Ashton Carrington.
Which is not me. At all.