Chapter 2
Lyra
“H
ave you told them yet?” Kate asks, her normally cheerful expression showing a little too much concern for this hour.
“I have a feeling someone else will do that for me.” The iPad is propped against the pillows on my bed, so it’s like Kate is here to help me pack.
Or pack for me, which she’s done in the past.
I love living in Chicago, but what I can’t get used to is that my second-favourite city doesn’t have Kate McKibbon.
It’s not like we’re joined at the hip; I’ve been away from Battle Harbour for years now, but I did spend a few of those years bopping around, following Kate to school, and then on to Ottawa when she found work there.
But these days, Kate’s back in Battle Harbour and I’m still living in the Windy City, with no real reason to be here.
I throw a handful of underwear into the suitcase on the bed, taking a moment to stare out of the wall of windows at the sliver of Lake Michigan I can see from my bedroom.
Along with Kate, I miss the ocean.
“Have you thought this through?” Kate asks with all seriousness.
There’s a pause, and we both laugh.
A few weeks ago, Grayson Grant, the very attractive host of the reality dating show The Suitor, approached me at the wedding of a mutual friend and asked if I would consider becoming the next Suitorette.
I said yes, because why not?
Six weeks spent in the company of twenty-five men doesn’t need much thinking through.
I’ve been the focus of cameras my whole life, and while I doubt I’ll manage to find true love with one of the men—the ultimate goal of the show—it will be fun. There will be group dates, and one-on-one dates, and even overnight dates for the lucky few who manage to stick around.
It’s an added bonus that the season will take place on Saint Pierre. I’ll be able to explore the island, hang out at the beach and spend time with my brother Odin and sister-in-law, Camille who runs the place.
It’ll be fun. At least I think it will be. Not that Camille isn’t amazing—she is—and the island of Saint Pierre is tiny and quaint, with a small-town Battle Harbour-like vibe mixed with a little French je ne sais quoi.
But it is possible that living with my big brother when I’m supposed to be dating twenty-five men might be a bit of a challenge.
Odin thinks he knows what’s best for me. All of my brothers do. That’s what I get from being the youngest and the only girl.
Thanks, Mom and Dad.
I’m going to be the next Suitorette and I haven’t given it much thought since I signed the contract. There was a clause that I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone, so I used that as an excuse to push it out of my mind, and not tell my family.
The real reason I didn’t tell them, is that I may be many things—willful and wayward and sometimes naughty, stubborn and wild, and often uncontrollable, according to the world’s press—but I’ve never been a liar. And there’s no way I was about to tell my family the truth.
I could tell them being on the show sounds like it’ll be a good time.
I would be honest if I said I agreed to the Suitorette, because this will be an adventure, an experience, and I’m all for new things.
I like dating, I like men, and who doesn’t want to fall in love?
But I might be lying if I tried to explain how my decision has nothing to do with the fact that Spencer is now officially dating Abigail Locke.
Dating twenty-five men under the constant surveillance of cameras will be fun. And even if it’s not, the start of the season is only a few days away and I’m not about to start regretting my decisions.
I don’t regret and I never second-guess.
When I was nine, I played hide and seek with my brothers and their friends.
Ignoring my own rule of staying on the main floor of the castle, I snuck up to my mother’s dressing room and made a nest out of her beaver fur coat.
Five hours—and a nap—later, I emerged furious that Spencer didn’t understand the stupid clue about where I was hiding.
My parents had been away, and the castle staff and my brothers had been frantically searching for me the entire time.
When I was eleven, I stowed away on Birdie Bennet’s fishing boat because I was angry that my brothers were going on their annual fishing trip with Duncan and I wasn’t allowed to go.
The royal boat had to come and get me a day later.
At twelve, I organized a game of strip poker on a school bus heading to a field trip in Mary’s Harbour. No skin was shown before the teachers caught us, but Danny McDermot had been thisclose to stripping off his T-shirt.
At fifteen, I snuck out onto the battlements with a bottle of ten-year-old Chateauneuf-du-Pape that some French diplomat had gifted my father. I attempted to send a smoke signal to Kate and might have set the roof of the castle on fire if Bo hadn’t come storming up the drive and caught me.
I think it had been Spencer who told him I was there after I sent a series of half-drunken texts to him.
He got the clue where I was that time.
I’ve never regretted those decisions, nor did I second guess myself.
I also never took the time to think things through.
“Is there an explanation why your family shouldn’t find out from you that you’re going to be the next Suitorette?” Kate asks, as always, the voice of reason. “Because they’re going to want to know.”
“They don’t tell me things.” Am I bitter about this?
Maybe just a little bit.
On screen, Kate shakes her head. “Are you still upset about Bo and Hettie being married? Should I remind you that no one knew about that?”
“But it’s Bo.” And Spencer knew but didn’t tell me. I may be a little bitter about that.
Spencer, who is my… I’m not sure what he is to me.
Not that it matters, because Spencer Laz is nothing to me now. He’s with Abigail, and I say good for him.
Good for them.
My brothers—the crown princes of Laandia, Kalle, Odin, Bo, and Gunnar—are good men. Great men, even. But they are extraordinary men because our father is King Magnus and my brothers were born into a position not many men have the good fortunate to inherit in this world.
Spencer is the son of Duncan Laz, chief advisor and best friend to the king. But even without a crown, Spencer is extraordinary.
He is as brilliant and driven as a Forbes 100 businessman. As focused and loyal as a member of the Secret Service. And as savvy and sexy as any man in People’s Magazine Sexiest Man of the Year edition.
He’s also know-it-all, worrier, fixer of family affairs, and the best friend of all my brothers.
Kalle just asked him to be his best man, and this is after he did the same for Odin and Bo.
Spencer and I? We’re… friends?
I’m not exactly sure what to call him.
Spencer has been my escort, date, babysitter, warden. He was my confidant, my best friend when I need him, and my girlhood crush.
And my teenage—and twentysomething—fantasy.
Spencer makes me laugh more than anyone else, other than Kate. He gets me more than anyone, even Kate. He’s always been there, standing there, watching me from the shadows.
And now he’s not, because Abigail Locke came home with Bo’s wife Hettie, and Spencer decided he was in love with her.
Abigail, not Hettie.
It’s a long story, and one I don’t have the bandwidth for right now.
“Lyra,” Kate chides, pulling me back from family drama, starring Spencer.
“That is the voice of the personal secretary of the royal family, not my best friend,” I point out.
“Can’t I be both?”
“Not tonight you can’t.”
I hear her sigh of exasperation, but I can’t see the rolling of her eyes because I’ve turned to my closet, surveying what shoes to take.
“I’m heading to Odin’s first thing in the morning, so I will explain everything to him,” I promise Kate, dumping an armful of shoes on the bed.
“He, of all people, should understand because he went on the show first, but of course, he’ll want to forget all about that.
But I’ll tell him he gave me the idea, which will make him happy.
He’s always wanted me to follow in his footsteps like a good little sister. ”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“No, he hasn’t,” I agree. Odin may be a little stick-up-the-butt-ish for my liking, but he has always been an exemplary big brother.
They all are.
They just don’t understand me.
Like living in Chicago. No one has any idea what brought me to the Windy City—except maybe Spencer.
He might be able to figure it out. If I wanted him to.
“Want to explain it to me?”
I turn back to the screen at Kate’s question. “I told you.”
“You said it will be fun.”
“It will be.”
“Lyra, you’re planning on putting yourself out there on television. You’re going to have to be vulnerable—”
“I can be vulnerable.”
“Your shell is harder than an M&M left outside in January,” Kate points out. “You are one tough cookie.”
“Are you trying to make me hungry?”
“And you don’t let anyone in,” she finishes.
“I let you in.”
“Because you had no choice. No one wanted to play with you because you’re a princess, and no one wanted to play with me, because half of my family are the pariahs of Battle Harbour.”
She does have a point. It was in kindergarten that we bonded as outsiders and if I ever became queen, the first thing I would do is exile that half of Kate’s family.
“Plus, I know the secret to melt the crunchy M&M coating,” Kate adds. “Not everyone will take the time to find the proper way. This is going to be new for you.”
“You make it sound like I don’t know how to make friends,” I pout. “Gracie Abrams is my new bestie. And Millie Bobby Brown follows me on Insta. So there.”
Kate is not impressed. “You’re going to have to be soft. Less Lyra, maybe.”
“If I’m not myself, how will they fall in love with me?”
Kate laughs, long and loud. “You know those guys will fall for you as soon as they step out of the car. That’s not the point here. The point is that you want to fall in love with one of them. Right?”
“Right.” I sound convincing, even to myself.
“So you’re going to have to let them in. That’s why you’re going to do the show. Right?”
A pause.
Do I want to fall in love? Yes. Of course. Everyone needs love in their life, even the Party Princess.
I want my own happily ever after, just like my brothers are getting. Only it’s proven to be a little more difficult for me.
I somehow manage to intimidate the good men, or push them away when they get too close. And the ones I should avoid with a ten-foot-pole flock around me like zombies looking for a brain. And honestly, some of them wear me down with their constant litany of compliments and presents of shiny things.
Also, it’s like my heart stopped accepting guests after Mom died.
The Suitor—and Suitorette—shows may be formulaic reality television, full of needless drama and some contestants only there to find their fifteen minutes of fame, but it has worked its magic for some couples. Grayson and Bexley are the perfect example.
There may be more, but I’d have to look them up. I’ve watched a handful of episodes, enough to know what’s in store for me, but I’m not a huge fan.
I think that’s best.
“It’ll be fun. I’ll fall in love,” I say blithely. “I’ll be so soft I’ll be squishy. No need to worry about anything. No one has to worry about anything.”
I should reiterate that to my brothers. Because as soon as they hear I’m going to be the next Suitorette—and I know Grayson will tell Odin, who will tell the others—they will start to worry about why I’m doing it, how it will it work, and when I’ll make a scene on television.
The why will be the big question.
All four of them have upped communication with me since Spencer got together with Abigail.
Even though they all claim that I drive them crazy, I know they all have a soft spot for their little sister.
If I told them earlier, they would ask the questions and give me the advice like they know what’s best for me. They would think I’m doing this because of Spencer Laz and I’m not.
I’m really not.
And although I refuse to lie to other people, no one said anything about lying to myself.
The truth of the matter is that Spencer is with Abigail. And I need to find someone fast so I can stop feeling like I’ve had an essential part of my body ripped off.
Maybe not essential, like a hand or a foot. More like my elbow is missing and it’s stopping me from doing things like I used to do them.
That’s why I’m going on the show.
To learn to live without my elbow.