Royal Vows (Vows #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

MABLE

The last thing anyone would ever call me is spontaneous. I don’t even care for the word. It causes me anxiety. That is likely because if I were to choose a single word to describe my mother, it would be precisely that.

I never knew what was to come next with her.

I’d wake up one morning, and she’d be packing our things and saying we’re spending a month in Amsterdam and then going off to Japan, and who knows where next.

Even with my mom being rather well-off, I always felt as though I was scrambling to make sure she had her passport or had booked her flights.

Once we showed up at the airport, and she hadn’t planned anything, saying it would be more fun that way.

It wasn’t, not to me. I learned quickly that I needed to be the responsible one.

That stuck, and now I’m the way I am, and I rather like it.

There are no surprises. I am the antithesis of my mom.

I couldn’t tell you what country she’s in right now.

Sure, she calls and checks in, but me having gone off to college was best for both of us.

I was accepted into one of the best universities in the world.

Those years in college helped my relationship with my mother, even if I do still feel like I’m her parent at times.

How I am doesn’t bother me. With how much we traveled growing up, I never got the chance to make friends.

I’d struck gold when I got Truly as my roommate. She didn’t mind my quirks.

The university was an all-girl one. With Truly already married, at least on paper, we weren’t out trying to pick up guys.

It was not until my final semester of college that I became aware of how far behind I was in terms of dating.

Out of curiosity, I downloaded a few apps to see what was out there.

Big mistake. I’d gone on a total of two dates, each with a different man but both equally terrible. I also struggled with flirting in messages. I had more than one of them tell me I was boring, cold, and lacked personality. That I wasn’t pretty enough to be so dull.

Ouch. When multiple people who aren’t connected are telling you something about yourself, you need to take a look inside. I’m not really sure how to do that, but I’m taking inspiration from both my mom and Truly.

I’m going to put myself out there, and there is no time better than now with graduation fresh behind me and my best friend off on a honeymoon.

It’s the perfect time to step out and do something I wouldn’t normally do.

That’s why I’m now standing in an airport staring up at the upcoming flights, my hand on my luggage in a death grip.

I spot my flight, double-checking my gate for the tenth time to confirm before making my way toward it.

There is no reason to have anxiety over this.

I don’t have anything pending I need to handle.

I’m good to go. I try to reassure myself, but it’s not helping.

The urge to tuck tail and not go is strong, but I know I need to do this.

I told myself when I landed I’d pick a hotel.

That would make it more spontaneous, but I’m starting to have major regrets.

Maybe I can’t do this. What if I land and there isn’t one with availability?

Then I’ll be stuck with nowhere to go. I’m sure that’s when a hurricane would roll in, and I packed nothing for a hurricane or even googled what I would need for one.

A group of men’s loud cheers pulls my attention. They are all taking shots and appear to be celebrating. When they notice me staring, I quickly look away.

“Hey!”

“Let us buy you a shot or two.”

“Come on over, sweetheart.” They each start to call out. I glance behind me, not sure who they are speaking to.

“They’re talking to you,” a deep voice rumbles from beside me. “I’ll be buying her drinks,” the man tells them, making them all grumble.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth at the sight of him.

Good lord. My fingers tighten around my suitcase handle until the plastic ends bite into my palm.

I am suddenly aware of every choice I made that morning: the practical sneakers, the comfortable sweater that had seemed so sensible at seven a.m., and the glasses I wore because contacts dry out on planes.

I look like someone who checked the weather three times before leaving the house.

So basically, I look like I normally do on a daily basis.

As for this man—and that’s what he is: all man—there is a lot to appreciate. Dark, messy, short hair and even darker eyes. The stranger gives me a slow smile, making one dimple appear that almost takes me out right there.

He towers over me, his broad shoulders encased in a plain white shirt, leaving his arms on full display, showing off a range of tattoos that start at both wrists and lead up until they disappear under his shirt.

I can’t help but wonder what he’s hiding under it.

My fingers itch to undo the buttons and find out.

My eyes drop to his jeans and down to his boots.

His vibe is very much Fuck around with me and you’ll find out.

I’m not sure I want to find out. I’m too much of a scaredy-cat.

His brows lift, and I realize I’m openly inspecting him from head to toe.

I flush red at my open perusal, but I’m not going to apologize.

This is his fault for being so damn handsome.

“I’m Caldwell.” He holds out his hand, and I take it.

“Mable.” When his hand engulfs mine, a wave of heat rolls through my body. It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before with a man. That’s not saying much, since I haven’t really had any experience when it comes to men.

“Mable, interesting name.”

“Thanks,” I croak out.

“Are you headed to the island too?” He nods toward the gate that my plane is leaving out of, where people are already lining up.

I nod. “How about we sit and have that drink until we board?” I nod again.

I’m suddenly incapable of forming words as I try to process the reaction I’m having to this man.

“Gotta give me some words, beautiful.”

“Yes,” I blurt out before my mouth can say no.

That would be my normal response, but I’m here to step outside of my comfort zone.

I can do this. If I make a fool of myself, what does it matter?

I’ll never see this man again come this time next week.

I have the freedom to be anyone I want. There are no preset notions.

“That’s my girl” I think he says, but I must have misheard him. The same as I did when I thought he called me beautiful.

The bartender asks us what we would like to drink as we slide up to the bar on the other side, where I can no longer see the gate. That’s okay, I don’t need to see it. It’s fine, I tell myself. It’s not like the plane is going to leave without us. Or will it?

“What are you having?” he asks me, breaking me from my thoughts. All I have ever had is wine before, so I decide to branch out, be spontaneous. That’s the point of this whole thing to begin with.

“A martini.” I have always wanted to try one but have been intimidated by them.

“What kind?” The bartender’s eyes bounce between Caldwell and me. I notice how they linger on him. I cannot blame her. The two of us don’t fit together.

“She’ll have a Cosmo,” he orders for me, and I let out a small breath of relief. Ordering a drink shouldn’t be harder than my calculus final exam. “Whiskey neat for me.” Caldwell pulls out one of the high-top bar chairs for me.

The Cosmo arrives in a glass that feels too delicate for my clumsy grip. I take a sip, and the tartness surprises me. It’s cranberry and citrus and something alcoholic that burns just enough to remind me I am doing something outside my norm.

Caldwell’s whiskey sits untouched as he watches me, his forearm resting on the bar, the tattoos shifting with the movement.

I want to ask about them, what the ink means, when he got them, but the questions feel too personal, too revealing of how little I know about men like him. About men in general.

“Nervous?” he asks.

“Yes,” I admit because lying seems pointless when he’s looking at me the way he is. “I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

“Talking to strangers. Being...” I gesture vaguely at the bar, the drink, the situation I stumbled into—or did I walk into it? I’m not quite sure. Two sides fighting to win out. “Whatever this is.”

His smile softens, becomes less performative, something almost real flickering in those dark eyes. “Then we’ll have to fix that.”

Is he hitting on me or being social? There is no way he’s hitting on me. I push my glasses up my nose.

“Tell me about yourself, Mable. Don’t leave out any of the details.” His steely gaze has me wanting to divulge every part of me. My nerves have me almost cracking a smile, but the sincerity in his eyes stops me.

“We’ll need much more time than one round of drinks for all of that,” I joke, trying to lighten the intensity.

“That can be arranged.”

For the first time in my life, I want to find out what happens when I don’t plan for it.