3. Escape
3
ESCAPE
ODETTE
“ H e’s black, brown, and white,” I explained. “He’s a King Charles Spaniel, weighing about six kilos. He’s a little lap dog. He’s my baby!”
I panicked. Where was Grieg? He’d been waiting for me before disappearing. He never ran off. I was grateful he’d walked away okay and that a careless driver injured neither of us, but I didn’t know what I’d do without him. The kind stranger who laid into the driver—rightfully so—was keen to help. His friend helped, too.
“Let’s split up,” the stranger said. “Stephen, can you walk the block? Let’s go to this park over here and see if he’s hiding.”
“Good plan,” I said.
Stephen nodded. “What’s his name?”
“Grieg,” I answered.
We split up, covering more ground.
“Like the composer?” The stranger asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “How did you?—”
“I like music, too. Interesting choice.”
We crossed the street and headed to look around the park.
“I am not like obsessed with Grieg. But we got him from some friends. ”
I did not explain more than I had to. Grieg’s parents were the product of Norwegian stock originally bred by Queen Kiersten of Norway. She’d given a breeding pair to my brother-in-law’s mother, Queen Karolina of Lundhavn, as a birthday present. Grieg was brought to me by Karolina at my darkest hour. He’d been handed to me as a precious twelve-week-old puppy. Caring for him got me out of a stupor. He’d given me only love in a time of need. I was desperate to find him unscathed.
“Dogs are special. They’re smart. We’ll find him,” the stranger said.
“He’s everything to me. I take him everywhere. He’s the best boy.”
“Of course.”
“Grieg!” I called.
The stranger and I split. I looked in every bush, shouting his name.
Ten minutes later, I heard the best words. “I found him!”
Racing over, I found Grieg cowering in a bush. I knelt to coax him out.
“Come on, baby,” I said in French. “Are you alright? Let Mama take you home.”
The dog emerged, tail wagging hesitantly. I scooped him up, showering him with kisses. It was such a relief.
“He was rattled. Poor guy,” the stranger said.
“Thank you for your help,” I said. “It meant so much. Now, let’s pray my bike is still back there.”
“Stephen didn’t wander far. I bet it’s fine. People here don’t steal stuff like they do back home.”
“In the States?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sorry, I’m Wyatt. I should have said. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Odie,” I said.
He had no idea who I was, but the driver did. It was blissful to be incognito, and my bike made that even easier. No one suspected me out here cycling about, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was Princess Odette—the Queen’s second-youngest sister.
“Nice to meet you,” Wyatt had a crooked, handsome smile.
He was thinking about something. I couldn’t tell what it was, but I thought for a moment it might be me. He was cute with kind eyes. I flushed at the thought of this handsome American crushing on me. It was flattering but too much. I wanted to say something else—to find another reason to talk—but I couldn’t. It occurred to me that maybe he knew who I was now. Wanting to avoid the awkward dance of him bowing, I spun around and beelined towards my bike with Grieg safe in my arms.
I settled Grieg into the box. I worried he’d be scarred, but he jumped right in. He was ready to go back home to warm comfort.
“You have a good, safe rest of your day,” Wyatt called.
“Thanks. This intersection is a disaster.”
“I’ve noticed.” Wyatt pointed. “A curb bump out could solve problems by slowing cars down.”
“I guess, yeah.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but he seemed to.
I took off, swinging my leg over the bike and leaving the brave stranger behind me. As I rode, I thought about his kindness. The short, handsome man in a suit had been my knight in shining armour.
I returned my bike to the storage shed and carried Grieg into the house. As I passed Alexandra’s office, I mentioned nothing. I didn’t want her to worry too much and ground me. Ingrid, my littlest sister and closest confidante, appeared in my bedroom doorway with questions. She sensed something was off.
“What’s up? How was therapy?”
“It was fine,” I said, dwelling on what happened would do me no good.
“I sort of lost Grieg for a moment, but a kind stranger helped me find him—a cute one.”
“A cute one? Tell me more.”
Ingrid was the pretty one—boy crazy as they came. She’d want to dish.
“I dunno. He was lovely and found my baby.”
Grieg sighed long, having no time for this retelling.
“Did you get the name of your Prince Charming?” Ingrid giggled.
“Wyatt,” I answered. “He’s American.”
“Hotter still. You’ll have to try to find him again, Odie. And, if so, I need deets.”
I smiled, then fought a pang of sadness. Ingrid was off to compete abroad. No longer would my best friend be here. I sensed she would not return under her own volition once she flew the coop. It meant the end of an era.
“Oh, stop it!” Ingrid sensed my worry. “We will have more stories to share. Hotter stories. Exciting ones. Everything is going to be bigger. Now, where did you see him?”
“By the coffee shop,” I answered.
“Go back there! Look hot! Go get your prince, girl!” Ingrid said.
I vowed to return there sometime soon. Maybe she was right? Perhaps I’d run into him. It’s not like Neandia was a big place, after all.