6. Graham
GRAHAM
T he phone buzzes again, rattling the corner of my table where I left it as if mocking me. I glance over, already knowing what I’ll see: the same number that’s been calling for days. The castle. What exactly do they want from me? I made it extremely clear I want nothing to do with the throne. I don’t want the power; I don’t want that life.
Whatever they want, it can’t be anything good. It’s probably my father—or worse, some assistant calling on his behalf. Either way, the last thing I need is another reminder of the life I walked away from.
I reach for my phone, see the missed calls and text notifications, and instantly turn off my phone. The calls have been incessant lately. What if something terrible has happened? Did I really want to keep ignoring these calls? I step outside, feeling at a complete crossroads with myself and my family.
Maybe I should try reaching out to my brother when my head is settled. I head down Main Street toward the café, hoping a strong cup of coffee and a change of scenery will help. Bardstown’s small-town charm is in full swing this afternoon. Kids are riding their bikes down the sidewalk, a group of retirees is gathered on the benches outside the general store, and the smell of fresh bread wafts from the bakery across the street.
The café comes into view, its windows glowing warmly in the afternoon light. It’s one of those places that feels like the heartbeat of the town—always buzzing with conversation, laughter, and the occasional clatter of plates.
I push open the door, the little bell above jingling as I step inside. The smell of coffee and baked goods hits me immediately, and for a moment, I relax. This is familiar. Predictable.
After ordering a coffee, I find a seat near the window, my usual spot. It gives me a clear view of the street outside and just enough distance from the other tables to avoid too much small talk.
I’m halfway through my drink when the door opens again, the bell jingling louder than usual, followed by the sound of Mia’s voice.
I glance up instinctively, my stomach tightening. Mia’s energy is hard to miss, all bright smiles and bold strides. But this time, she’s not alone.
A woman walks beside her. Her steps are graceful but hesitant, as if she’s not entirely used to the slow pace of a town like Bardstown. However, she still doesn’t look like a complete foreigner. I can see the look of familiarity in her eyes as she speaks to Mia, but then it’s replaced with nostalgia and surprise. Did she live here before?
I stare at her intently; she looks like she just stepped out of a city magazine—sleek black pants, a perfectly tailored blazer, and heels that don’t belong anywhere near Bardstown’s uneven sidewalks.
But it’s not just her outfit that catches my attention. It’s her presence. She doesn’t have the easygoing, familiar air of a local. She holds herself differently—like someone used to moving in fast-paced circles, where every second counts and every word carries weight. But her eyes shine bright with excitement as she talks animatedly to Mia. They’re so beautiful—the perfect shade of blue. I resist the urge to make it so obvious that I’m staring at this strange woman in public as I sip my coffee.
As I glance between them, I notice the similarities between Mia and the lady beside her. There’s the same unmistakable spark, the same gleam, even though her expression is more guarded, less free. Could she be Mia’s sister? I think there was one time she mentioned something about having a sister who lived in Manhattan. Could this be her?
I watch Mia lead her to a table, talking animatedly while the other woman nods, her gaze flickering around the room as if taking it all in.
Mia spots me before I can look away, her face lighting up like a spotlight. She waves enthusiastically, drawing even more attention in our direction.
“Graham!” she calls, weaving through the tables with a bright smile. The lady with her has no choice but to move along to my table, and the strangest thing happens to me as I realize she’s making her way toward me with Mia. I start feeling nervous. Not the kind of nerves I have when my father is trying to put me to the test so I can prove I am fit for the royal life, but the type of anxiety where I ask myself if I actually took the time to brush my hair before walking out of my house.
Mia strides up to my table, the mystery woman following closely behind. Their resemblance is even more noticeable up close, though this woman has an edge of sophistication that makes her stand out.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Mia says.
“I needed some fresh air and a break from working all day,” I reply, my tone even as I glance between her and her companion. Her eyes are even more beautiful up close.
Mia clears her throat. “Graham, meet my sister, Sophie. I must have mentioned her during one of my famous yapping sessions with you. She is visiting from Manhattan. Sophie, this is Graham Cole.”
Sophie extends a hand, her smile bright and polite, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “Nice to meet you, Graham.”
Her voice is soft but firm, with just a hint of something that makes my chest tighten. Again with the nerves, but I’m quick to smile as I take her hand, the contact brief but enough to notice her warm skin.
“Likewise,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel.
As she sits down beside Mia, I can’t help but take her in again. Her bright blazer—a vivid coral that pops against her skin—should clash with the muted tones of the café, but somehow it works. She looks like a splash of color in an otherwise sepia-toned photograph, and I hate how much I notice it.
Oblivious to the sudden tension knotting in my chest, Mia launches into her usual chatter. “Sophie’s going to be here for a while. She’s an event planner in Manhattan—super fancy, super busy, all that city stuff. She’s here for Ethan and Riley’s wedding.”
Sophie smiles politely, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “I am sorry, Graham. My sister does this thing where she doesn’t let me speak for myself the moment we are together,” she says, giving Mia a side glance. “Though it is great to be back in Bardstown.”
Her voice is smooth, and each word is carefully measured. It’s the kind of voice that holds weight and draws attention without demanding it.
“And how does it feel to be back in Bardstown? Any changes since you left?” I ask, surprising myself. I don’t usually make small talk, but something about her makes me want to know what she’ll say.
She turns her gaze to me, and for a split second, I feel the weight of it, like she’s sizing me up. But her expression softens into a genuine smile. “Honestly, I’m still taking it all in because the nostalgia is just starting to kick in,” she says.
Mia grins, clearly pleased with Sophie’s response.
“So what do you do, Graham?” Sophie asks. I ignore the thrill that goes through me at how my name sounds rolling off her tongue.
I steady my thoughts and take a sip of my coffee. “Your sister didn’t tell you?” I spare a glance at Mia, who is obviously enjoying the exchange between us.
“I wanted you to have your moment,” Mia supplies.
“Well, I work as a landscape architect. I moved to Bardstown seven years ago, but it became my career six years ago.” It’s not like me to be this distracted, especially not by someone I’ve just met. But there’s something about Sophie—something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Maybe it’s her smile, the way it lights up her face without seeming forced. Or perhaps it’s the way she holds herself, poised but not untouchable. She’s unlike anyone I’ve met, and that’s saying something, considering the life I left behind.
“That’s interesting,” Sophie responds.
Our eyes meet briefly, and in that instant, there’s a spark—something unspoken that passes between us. It’s quick and fleeting but lingers in the air like an echo.
Mia, as always, breaks the moment. “Well, we won’t keep you, Graham. I just wanted to introduce Sophie to one of Bardstown’s finest.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Bardstown’s finest? That’s a stretch.”
She grins. “Take the compliment. It’s rare coming from me.”
Sophie smiles again, her expression light but thoughtful. “It was nice meeting you, Graham.”
“You too,” I reply, the words feeling heavier than they should.
As they leave the table and move toward the counter, I watch Sophie out of the corner of my eye. There’s something about her that feels… different.
She’s like a bright light in a place that’s grown comfortably dim. And I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or something I should stay far away from.
For now, I shove the thought aside, focusing instead on my coffee and the quiet hum of the café. But as I take a sip of my coffee, noticing Mia and Sophie approaching the counter, I know one thing for sure.
This isn’t the last time I’ll be seeing Sophie.
I sit at my drafting table for hours, the site plans for the park spread out in front of me, but the designs I’ve sketched feel uninspired and disconnected.
It’s not like me to struggle like this. Designing landscapes and carving out spaces for people to connect with nature and each other—it’s the one thing that’s always come naturally. But today, my thoughts are a mess.
Whenever I try to focus, my mind pulls me back to the café. To Sophie.
It’s infuriating, this constant loop in my head. I barely know her. She’s Mia’s sister, for goodness’ sake. She is here for a visit, and yet I can’t stop thinking about her. The brightness of her smile, the way her coral blazer seemed to light up the entire room, the calm confidence in her voice.
And then there was the way she looked at me—curious, like she was trying to figure me out but wasn’t in any rush to get there. Most people in Bardstown don’t bother looking too closely. They take what I give them at face value, which is exactly how I like it.
But Sophie… she looked like she saw more.
I toss the pencil onto the drafting table and lean back in my chair, rubbing my hands over my face. It’s ridiculous. I’ve been here for seven years, and no one has thrown me off balance like this. Not once.
Maybe it’s because she doesn’t belong here—not in the way most people do. She’s too polished, too self-assured. She reminds me of the life I left behind, but at the same time, she’s nothing like it. This is so aggravating, to say the least. With the incessant calls from the castle and now Sophie appearing, it feels like the perfect world I’ve built for myself is crashing down on me.
There’s a warmth to her that the castle never had, a quiet humanity beneath the surface that makes her stand out in a way I can’t ignore.
My phone buzzes on the table, dragging me out of my thoughts. I glance at the screen, and just like every other time today, it’s the same number.
The castle. Annoyed by all my emotions, I grab my phone and finally swipe my thumb over the screen, answering the call.
“Hello?” My voice is sharper than I intended, but I don’t care.
There’s a pause on the other end, long enough to make me think they’ve hung up. Then, a familiar voice filters through, polished and formal.
“Your Highness, this is Daniel from the estate. I’ve been trying to reach you on behalf of your father.”
I clench my jaw. “I told you people not to call me anymore.”
“Sir,” Daniel continues, his voice calm but insistent, “it’s a matter of great importance. Your father has requested?—”
“I don’t care what he’s requested,” I interrupt, my voice cold. “I’m not interested.”
“Your Highness,” Daniel presses, “this isn’t just about him. The estate, the family’s legacy—some decisions need to be made, and your absence is?—”
“I said no.” My voice cuts through the line, sharp and unyielding. My free hand clenches into a fist on the table. “Don’t call me again.”
Before he can say anything else, I hang up, the sound of the call ending, echoing in the silence of the workshop.
I stare at the phone in my hand, my heart pounding in my chest. For a moment, all I can hear is the sound of my breathing, loud and uneven.
I know why they’re calling. My father doesn’t ask for anything unless it’s about control, about maintaining the image of a family that’s as fractured as it is powerful. And now, after all these years, they think I’ll come crawling back because they need me?
I slam the phone down on the table and push away, pacing the length of the room.
The memories creep in, no matter how hard I try to push them away. My father’s cold and commanding voice drilled into me every day of my childhood. The weight of the title, the suffocating expectations, the endless reminders that my life wasn’t my own.
And then there’s my mother, her quiet disappointment etched into every glance, and my brother, who stopped trying to reach me years ago. The guilt twists in my chest, sharper than I’d like to admit.
I left because I had to—because staying meant losing myself entirely. But leaving didn’t erase the ties.
I step outside, the warm evening air wrapping around me like a blanket. The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the fields, but the calm that usually comes with it feels out of reach.
I lean against the porch railing, staring out at the horizon. The castle isn’t just a place I left behind—it’s a part of me, whether I like it or not. And no matter how far I’ve run, it’s always there, a shadow at the edge of my life.
I pull out my phone again, my thumb hovering over the voicemail icon. I could listen and let them say whatever they needed to say.
But instead, I shove the phone back into my pocket and head back inside.
It’s better this way. Better to keep the distance, to let the past stay where it belongs.
Even if it never really feels gone.
I sit back in my chair, but instead of picking up the pencil, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
The image that comes to mind isn’t the castle, my father, or the life I left behind. It’s Sophie.
Her smile, her voice, the way she seemed to see more than what was on the surface.
I don’t know what it means or why she’s stuck in my head like this. But for the first time in years, I feel something other than the trepidation I’ve always felt after leaving my old life behind. Today, I’m feeling hope and curiosity, and it scares me to think that my world might be about to change.