3. Scarlett
Chapter 3
Scarlett
“ O h my God! Mom! Did you hear the podcast?” Mariah comes sliding into the kitchen on stocking feet.
I place her breakfast burrito on the center island. I really want to say no. I really want to say, ‘I barely think about that podcast until you or Ruby brings it up’ and mean it.
But of course, I heard it. Because I’ve subscribed to the stupid thing, and I get notifications and that one pinged first thing this morning. And I’m clearly a masochist because I listen to every single episode. Usually twice.
I’m pathetic.
It’s one thing to be hung up on a hot one-night stand—okay, it was three nights, and it was beyond hot, so I give myself a little grace there—but it’s an entirely different thing to stalk the guy afterward. Especially after telling his best friend, in no uncertain terms, that I forbade him to even tell the guy where I am now living.
I can not see Cian O’Grady again.
I’d known that even before I left him sleeping, all gorgeous and rumpled and sexy in that hotel bed—the nicest hotel and best bed I’ve ever slept in. Ever.
I can’t see him again because he’s wrong for me. I’m wrong for him. We’re wrong for each other. He’s exactly the opposite of the type of guy I should ever get involved with. I’m not interested in any guy really, but especially not a guy like Cian.
And he doesn’t want me.
I guess he thinks he does. According to Henry anyway.
Okay, and according to Cian and his, ‘I know it’s crazy but I’m falling in love with you, Scarlett,’ that last night we were together.
I can’t get that out of my head. I can still hear it as if he just said it last night.
But it was over a year ago. Well over a year ago. A year and a half now. Still, that deep, gravelly voice is crystal clear in my mind. And at night, when it’s quiet and dark, I can close my eyes and conjure how his hands felt stroking my back, how his hard, hot chest felt against my cheek, and how those words wrapped around me.
Right before cold reality splashed over me as I remembered that he didn’t know me. That he was falling in love with another woman all together.
Which was fine then and it’s fine now. It was one weekend and only one weekend.
I believed that when I thought he was just a cute, young, sexy, rich guy who made me lose my mind for a weekend.
But now? I definitely believe it now. Now that I know he’s a prince and has immeasurable wealth and power and influence.
Of course , when I do something spontaneous and throw my inhibitions out and actually have a good time, I do it with a guy like that.
The universe hates me.
Actually…I’m pretty sure it’s punishing me.
Still.
I force enthusiasm into my voice. “I did!” I give Mariah a smile. “Linnea and Jonah. Wow! I didn’t see that coming at all .”
“Right?” Mariah asks, grinning at me. “They are so great together. I love it. Jonah is so hot.”
He is. I don’t comment on that though. She’s fifteen and I know she’s noticing how guys look and that’s fine, but Jonah Greene is twice her age at least and is a bearded, broody, tattooed bodyguard. Not sure I want to know that’s my daughter’s type just yet.
I turn to refill my cup. “I really like what I know about Linnea. She seems pretty kickass. Good for her marrying someone unexpected like that.”
Ugh. I know all about Linnea Olsen and I wish I didn’t. Not because of her . She really does seem amazing. It’s just one more sign that I know way too much about the royal family of Cara and their friends. And lovers.
I didn’t even know that Cara existed until a few months ago. And there’s no reason for me to know. I’m not a citizen of Cara. I’m not in politics in the US. I don’t follow hockey or gymnastics, so I only know Astrid Olsen’s name because of her post-injury advocacy work. There’s no way I would have known her older sister’s name was Linnea if it wasn’t for Cian. I certainly wouldn’t know who Linnea was in love with and who she’d married in a whirlwind wedding last night right on the heels of Prince Torin and Princess Abigail’s wedding if it wasn’t for Cian. I wouldn’t even know who Prince Torin and Princess Abigail were.
Well, if it wasn’t for Henry showing up and telling me all about Cian.
I wouldn’t have known Cian was a fucking prince. I would have gone on living my life thinking I’d had a hot weekend fling with some amazing guy I’d met at my sister’s club and would never see again.
But now I can see him whenever I want to… online. You have to search for them but there are lots of photos. And stories. There’s a whole damned podcast that talks about Cian’s family and they mention the youngest playboy prince as much as they possibly can.
He’s understandably a favorite topic. He’s fun and charming and adventurous and seemingly a bit of a troublemaker, which makes for amazing podcast material.
And terrible boyfriend material for a single mom from Ohio who needs to keep her head down and be humble in order to make the second chance in her hometown work.
Why can’t Henry understand that?
He seemed to think that knowing Cian is a prince, that weekends like the one we had in the Presidential Suite at the Windsor Court hotel in New Orleans could be my everyday life, would be a selling point.
Nope. No way. Not at all.
Henry Dean, Cian’s best friend, is on my shit list for a number of reasons.
First and foremost, for tracking me down.
Secondly for making my sister fall for him and then breaking her heart.
Thirdly for telling us who Cian really is and getting us all caught up in the royal history and gossip from his home country.
Ruby was the one that started all of this. She was very interested in the royal prince thing.
She’s kind of on my shit list too, as a matter of fact.
“ Of course, Linnea is kickass,” Mariah says, plopping onto the stool across the island from me. “I think it’s romantic that they couldn’t wait. I bet they got all caught up in Torin and Abigail’s wedding and just had to get married too.”
Hmm. Two years ago, my cynical ass would have said no way do people get caught up like that. Love like that isn’t real. People don’t just look at each other and say I can’t live another day without you .
In fact, that kind of emotion, in my experience, is the sure-fire way to send a guy running in the opposite direction.
But, then Cian O’Grady swept into my life…
Okay, I was the one that told him he could have anything he wanted from me for twenty-four hours. And when he asked for twenty-four more after that, I said yes. And when he asked for more after that , I said yes to that too.
But he was the one who pulled out his platinum credit card and gave me a fucking fantasy weekend straight out of the best romantic movie ever.
And that was even without the sex.
I might have been the one to ask if he wanted to go to a hotel, but he was the one who told me he was falling in love with me.
So hell, if Jonah Greene rocked Linnea Olsen’s world even a fraction of the way Cian rocked mine, then said he loved her and asked her marry him, I don’t blame the woman for saying yes.
If it works out, great.
If it doesn’t… well, I still don’t blame her for falling for it.
Chemistry can be very potent and idiot-inducing.
“But anyway,” Mariah goes on. “That’s not the one I’m talking about.”
I sip from my cup. “What do you mean?”
“There was another episode published an hour ago!”
I frown. I’d missed that notification while I was getting ready for work. I glance at my phone, but resist reaching for it. I do not need to look. “Well, there’s a lot going on. It’s been a little chaotic over there.” I feel my palm itching to grab my phone. What’s going on? Cian was at the wedding. Do they mention him again in this new episode?
Ugh .
“Cian and Henry are missing!”
I freeze with my mug halfway to my mouth. I stare at Mariah. She’s studying her phone.
“What?” I ask, trying not to sound too interested. Or worried.
I’m not worried exactly. I know Henry and there’s no way anything bad happened.
But what does the podcast mean ‘they’re missing’?
I’d tried to resist. I’d told myself it was stupid to learn anything at all about the man I planned to never see again.
But it was very hard to ignore Henry telling me that Cian had been looking for me ever since our night together. That had made my heart beat a little harder, I’ll admit.
I haven’t forgotten him. I’ve replayed our weekend over and over again.
Of course I have.
I’m a single mom who does not date, does not have flings, doesn’t even have sex, who is living back in my hometown where at least half of the people hate me, trying to prove that I’ve changed, trying to avoid my father, and trying to keep my dead step-father’s garage in business.
There’s not a lot of fun in my life right now. So does my mind wander back to the weekend that felt like a fucking fantasy from start to finish? To the man who made me feel like a goddess from minute one? To the Windsor Court hotel, the luxurious bubble baths, the decadent food, the expensive dress he bought me, the laughter, the flirting, and the holy-shit-hot sex?
Um, yes.
Of course it does.
Often.
That weekend was like a dream come true.
And then I find out that I said ‘what the hell’, shed all of my careful ways, and I ended up taking my clothes off for a prince ?
I mean…that can’t be real, right? How does that happen?
But it’s real. And in the past few months since Henry tracked us down, I’ve Googled the hell out of Cara and the royal family and learned the entire history, past and present.
Ruby and Mariah are just as obsessed.
Mariah is still studying her phone. She starts to read. “As we know they were at the wedding and then sources report they were at the late family-only dinner. But when everyone woke up this morning, they were gone, and no one knows where they went.”
The three of us now listen religiously to the podcast Wait ’Til I Tell Ye and discuss each episode. The podcast is from Cara, and you definitely have to know it exists to find it. It’s two women who talk about everything from the weather to beauty tips to local events like farmers’ markets and art fairs. But they also love to cover the royal family. And lately they’ve had a lot of fodder.
It was like a royal reality show. It really is pretty intriguing and kind of fun to follow. Beautiful, rich, powerful people are fun to watch from a distance. And in this case, they are all good people. Everything I can find points to that fact. They are generous, charitable, and are working on policies that will actually help people.
And yes, the podcast mentions Cian from time to time.
And even though every time I hear his name, my heart skips, I’ve learned some very important things. He’s a playboy. He’s the youngest of the royal grandchildren so he has no chance of taking the throne and, seemingly, has no real responsibilities of any kind. And everyone adores him. In the ‘isn’t he cute and fun’ way. Not in any kind of ‘we can totally depend on him’ way.
He loves to party, he loves to travel, and he loves to have a good time.
Which is fine. That’s his prerogative. It’s none of my business.
Because we’re nothing. We’re each other’s past. And we’re barely that.
Mariah keeps going. “We also have it on good authority that they have not returned to Louisiana.”
Cian and his siblings have been living in the US for the last several years. His brother Torin—the future king—just returned to Cara, but the others all live in US, including Cian and Henry who live in a tiny town in Louisiana where Cian’s sister, Fiona, runs an animal sanctuary. There are giraffes and penguins on the bayou because of Fiona and friends.
Finally, Mariah looks up at me. “What do you think is going on?”
I take another sip of coffee, stalling. Mariah knows about me and Cian. She doesn’t know all the provocative details, of course, but she knows we ‘went out’ the weekend before we moved to Ohio and now, thanks to Henry and Ruby, she knows that Cian thinks he’s in love with me and wants to see me again.
Mariah is very much in favor of that.
As is Ruby.
I’m completely outnumbered.
“I have no idea,” I finally say. “I don’t know him that well. I don’t know where else he’d go besides Louisiana.”
Mariah sits up straighter, her eyes wide. “What if they’re coming here ?”
I shake my head. “They’re not. You know that. You know I told Henry I don’t want to see him and now Henry and Ruby have broken up. They’re probably on their way to deep-sea dive or mountain climb somewhere.”
That’s more his style. He and Henry are always doing something fun and spontaneous.
Another reason we’d be terrible together. Spontaneity only gets me into trouble. I’ve proven that over and over.
I cannot see Cian. I have no desire to repeat…
Okay, that’s a lie. I’d love to repeat our weekend.
But anything beyond that? No. Absolutely not. Had I met him a year before I did? Maybe. Maybe .
But now? A flashy, pseudo-famous, staggeringly wealthy boyfriend who is related to a king and a billionaire and who has some definite skeletons in his closet—beautiful women with broken hearts, parties with property damage, one- or two-night stints in jail, and God knows what else—is absolutely the last person I need in my life.
I’m laying low. I’m keeping my head down. I’m trying to prove I’m not the sanctimonious bitch I was when I lived here before.
I just want to live a good life and prove that people can change, can see the error of their ways, and can make amends.
Cian O’Grady is not a bad person.
He’s just not a lay-low-head-down-simple-life person.
Even in the fifty-five hours I spent with him I knew that, and now I’ve read plenty of proof.
Mariah slumps on her stool and picks up her burrito. “I know. Ruby’s so sad. I hope she doesn’t listen to this episode.”
I nod. “Yeah, me too.”
Henry Dean made my little sister fall hard and fast. He fell too. I believe that. But he realized he couldn’t keep seeing her if he had to lie to Cian about it and despite her feelings for him, Ruby had my back and told him that if I didn’t want Cian to know, then Henry couldn’t say anything.
So they broke up.
Ruby insists that it was for the best and that she’s fine.
She really isn’t though.
She’s sad. And I’m pretty sure she’s cried. Ruby isn’t the crying-over-a-guy type.
I feel like crap.
So I really hope she’s quit the podcast.
Mariah’s typing on her phone. I nudge her plate closer to her. “Hey, you need to eat and get to school.”
“I know. Just a sec.”
A moment later her phone pings with a message. She grins. “Henry says they’re fine.”
I straighten. “You texted Henry?”
She looks up. “Yeah.”
“You…have his number?”
“Of course. He said to text or call any time if I need something.”
I don’t know how to feel about that. Henry Dean is clearly used to getting his way. He’s charming but bossy. He definitely always thinks he’s right. Though when he promised not to tell Cian where I am, I believed him. He has a lot of opinions, but he’s also always been respectful and kind to both Mariah and me.
It just didn’t occur to me that he might be an ongoing friend to Mariah after he and Ruby broke up a month ago.
“That’s… nice.” My daughter having a good friend who’s a bodyguard can’t be bad, right?
Her phone pings again. “He says he’s with Cian. They’re both good.”
My heart trips. Just reading his name does that to me, so hearing it out loud and getting the news that he’s fine—even though I didn’t really think there was cause for concern (just curiosity and interest)—makes my heart do a double flip.
“Good,” I say, hoping Mariah doesn’t notice my voice sounds like I’m talking through a tight throat. “So now you can go to school and not worry.”
She nods. “Yeah, exactly.”
I study her for a moment. I think she was actually concerned.
Oh boy. Her being this interested in and caring about these men that Ruby and I do not want to see again is not good.
“Get going. And don’t forget to run the dishwasher and put the casserole in the oven when you get home.”
She slides off the stool. “I will, but then I’m going to Greta’s to work on our project.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I think quickly. “I won’t be home from the shop ’til about seven. Ruby’s bartending until five or so. Don’t worry about the casserole. Can you just grab something before you head to Greta’s?”
“Yeah,” she answers, starting for the stairs. “I’ll be fine.”
She will. Ruby and I have raised Mariah to be very independent and to be a problem-solver. “Love you!” I call after her.
“Me too!” comes her answer from up the stairs.
When I hear her bathroom door shut, I grab for my phone and open my podcast app. Wait ’Til I Tell Ye is the first one on my list. I open it and scroll to the transcript for the latest show.
Because of course I do.
I really need to get over this.
Maybe tomorrow.