To Win A Crown (True Blue Royal #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Scottie

For the most part, her days were the same as before. She woke early for a workout, ate a protein-laden breakfast with the occasional Danish from Haven’s Bakery, captained her creative ship, O’Shay Shirts, dined at her favorite hometown hotspots like Valentino’s and Ella’s Diner.

She grabbed coffee with friends, played pickleball, rode horses, hung out with Dad or her grandparents on the weekend—if work didn’t call—and when he wasn’t consumed with the spring planting, she curled up with her boyfriend of two years, Cap Henderson.

She chatted with folks around town, most of whom she’d known her whole life, asked about their jobs or health, and wowed over the fact that Lila Smith’s Great-uncle Beau was still picking and grinning around town and in Nashville.

He’d once played at the Grand Ole Opry. This was Scottie O’Shay in Hearts Bend, Tennessee, the small town tucked under Nashville’s shadow, defined by cozy streets, long traditions, Friday night football, guitar circles, and Sunday evening potlucks.

Yet deep down, her inner O’Shay bedrock had shifted. She’d discovered the truth. And as much as she wanted to pretend, she could carry on as usual, she found herself gazing out her office window toward the east, daydreaming about a land far, far away, and wondering “What if…”

“Scottie, oh my, oh my, it’s here.” Penny, her assistant, beamed from the other side of her desk, the latest edition of GQ pressed against her chest. “You are on the cover of GQ.”

“Yes, I know. I was at the photo shoot,” she said, reaching for the magazine, staring at her own image and seeing the doubt in her eyes. Could the rest of the world see it too?

“It just arrived with a bouquet of flowers from the editor.” Penny disappeared for half a second to return with a very large vase containing a very large bouquet of wildflowers.

“Send him a nice thank you, will you, Penny?” Scottie flipped through the pages with marked reserve, finding her featured article, stiffening slightly at the headline.

She’s a Wildflower in the World of Men’s Fashion. Princess Scottie O’Shay.

She sank slowly to her chair. Why, why, why? People didn’t listen. She’d been adamant with the reporter, Rance Howell, to not refer to her as a princess. Because she wasn’t one.

“But your mother is a queen.”

“Yes, I realize it’s confusing, but her status does not change mine. Please don’t use the title related to me.”

He answered with a smile that said he’d write the story however he wanted.

“We’re celebrating in the lunchroom with cake,” Penny said, flipping through a second copy of the magazine, making notes on various pages with her black Sharpie.

She liked to scout out and research O’Shay’s competition.

She was southern, no nonsense, skilled, and invaluable.

“Scottie, these pictures of you are gorgeous and the article is—” She glanced up.

“Didn’t you tell him not to call you a princess? ”

“I did. But it’s done now.” Scottie tossed the magazine to her desk. She’d read the article later. Rance Howell’s faux paus aside, being featured in GQ was huge for O’Shay Shirts. “So, what kind of cake?”

“Two kinds. Vanilla with buttercream icing and chocolate-on-chocolate. Your fave. Haven’s just delivered them. The interns are decorating, so we have a few minutes.”

“This is a win for all of us, so don’t put the spotlight on me.

” She’d been on national morning shows repping O’Shay Shirts many times in the last ten years.

She’d been in People and Vogue, for her role as a woman in a menswear world, but never GQ.

“Besides, I’ve been featured in mags and other places. ”

She suspected GQ’s interests peaked when the world learned the Queen of Lauchtenland, Catherine the Second, had a secret daughter. Scottie. But so what? She’d ride a bit of notoriety for the good of the company.

“True, but you’ve never been on the cover before.”

“Reach out to Rance Howell for me,” Scottie said. “Ask him what about ‘don’t use the title princess’ was confusing.”

Penny shot her a sly grin. “Gotcha, boss.” She exited the office with a final reminder. “Cake in twenty-seven minutes.”

Scottie glanced out her corner office window, the one framing the western tip of Hearts Bend and a curve of the Cumberland River, and wondered what her mother, the queen, was doing about now. Sitting down to a sumptuous Perrigwynn Palace dinner?

She moved away from her daydreams toward her drawing board spread with sketches for the winter line. She was irritatingly a week behind. Her concentration kept slipping. More and more her heart yearned to explore another life.

Ah, forget it. She was just restless, and work cured restlessness. Or maybe she just needed to fall all the way in love with Cap, get married, and make a baby. Though at thirty-eight, staring down the barrel of thirty-nine, the internal drumbeats of motherhood remained a distant sound.

Stepping over a pile of fabric samples on the floor, she sat at her board and took up her pencil.

She began every collection with pencil and paper.

Photographs of models were strewn along the edges.

Some of the men were lean, others beefier.

Some bald and some with thick-styled or wild hair.

She had shots of men in suits sitting in a boardroom.

Others wore leisure wear on the golf course or on the beach.

Scottie caught the edge of a photo she’d taken herself and had the marketing department enlarge for her.

Pulling it free, she smiled at the face of her brother Gus.

Too handsome for his own good. But as modest as they came.

Especially for a prince. He’d make a great model, but he’d refused her half-joking offer to work for O’Shay.

As he should. He was a working royal for the House of Blue.

The truth of it all still caught in her in a funny way.

She had a brother. Two brothers. She was a big sister, and that singular reality was a big part of why her world tilted.

That, and the fact her mother was not dead but very much alive, living in a Lauchtenland palace as queen and supreme monarch.

Such a reality would tilt anyone’s world, no doubt.

The only reason she hadn’t capsized completely was because of her O’Shay roots.

She was heir to the men’s fashion line, O’Shay Shirts.

Great-grandpa Loom had passed the company to Grandpa Fritz, who gave the reins to Dad.

Scottie was next in line. A handful of O’Shay cousins worked as production managers, accountants, sales directors, quality assurance, and HR, but everyone knew the next ruler of O’Shay Shirts was Scottie.

So why, in the quiet hours, did she long for a home that was not her home? Why did she text her sisters-in-law for pictures of the kids? Why did she hate missing out on their lives? More than anything, why did she miss the mother she never knew?

Back to the drawing board. She stared at the casual suit she’d sketched, frowned, and wondered if it looked too Don Johnson, 1980s.

“Scottie?” Penny peeked in, pointing to her watch. “Cake time. And we moved the winter design meeting back an hour.”

“Is this too Miami Vice?” Scottie held up the drawing.

“Yes, but the ’80s are trending. Go for it.”

“You think I can risk millions of dollars on ‘go for it’?”

“If you don’t want to know what I think, don’t ask. Did you hear me about cake and the design meeting?”

“Yes, to both. Is Matteo ready to present his designs? I told him not to waste our time.”

Matteo Rossi, whom she had stolen from Armani, was her first hire since Dad and the Board promoted her to Creative Director three years ago.

He was talented, creative, and often completely unrealistic.

But he excelled in designing clothes for men, so she waded through his Halloween-like ideas and the no-man-would-ever-wear-that options to find the gems. Which were plenty.

“He says he’s good to go.”

“Then let’s eat cake.” Scottie headed for the door, pointing to the UPS boxes. “Open those while I’m in the design review, please.”

Boxes and packages sent directly to Scottie were, well, a bit of a sociology lesson. Some came with drawings and clothing samples from would-be designers often asking for internships, just looking for a chance to succeed.

Others contained a piece of O’Shay clothing with a wine stain and long, ragged tear. “I caught my husband cheating wearing your shirt!”

Most often: gifts from House of Blue fans, like a cheap crown or a home-sewn gown by a woman who thought it might be nice for Scottie’s next ball.

Never mind she’d never attended a royal ball.

In the three years she’d known Queen Catherine—Kate—was her mother, she’d visited with her as many times.

Usually for a week around the Christmas holiday.

The queen had once traveled to Hearts Bend with her son, Crown Prince John, whose wife, Princess Gemma, was a hometown girl—whom John met while on a mission from Kate to woo Scottie into the Blue family.

But the queen battled illness and rarely traveled.

In case anyone wondered, a royal presence in quaint Hearts Bend was no small thing. HB also boasted a country music star and a pro football quarterback. The weekends were flooded with tourists.

“Coming for cake?” Dad peeked in, smiling, looking youthful for his sixty-two years. Also, he was in love. Another factor that tilted her world a little. Trent O’Shay in love. Dad never dated when she was growing up. It was always the two of them, plus his parents, Shug and Fritz.

“See you in there.” Scottie reached for her phone as a text from Private pinged.

Kate: Hello. It’s been a while since we chatted. I know you’re busy so no reason to reply quickly. I just wanted to say I am thinking of you.

Her mother, Kate. Texting from a double-dog top security mobile phone.

She was about to reply when a familiar masculine voice asked, “You busy?”

“Cap, hey, what are you doing in town?” Scottie met her boyfriend of two years in the middle of her office for a kiss.

Dusty and dirty, dressed in jeans, checkered shirt with a white tee peeking over the top, and well-worn work boots, Cap was the epitome of the all-American boy.

Tall, good-looking, athletic and smart, devoted to his friends and family, he was a former member of the elite 75th Army Ranger Regiment turned farmer.

When he had finished saving the world, he hung up his rifle and boots for the two-hundred-year-old Henderson farm, a hundred-and-twenty acres spread along the Cumberland River.

“I came in to do some banking and stop by the post office. Here.” He handed Scottie a cup from Java Jane’s. “I was wondering if we could grab a burger from the Fry Hut later. Have a picnic in Gardenia Park.”

“Sure. Should be fun.” She sipped the hot, creamy latte.

“Isn’t tonight the first spring concert?

” Local bands auditioned for the coveted spot on the park’s stage.

Being so close to Nashville, the talent was strong and the competition fierce.

“They have cake for me in the lunchroom. Care to join?” She eyed him over the rim of her latte.

“Cake? What’s going… Ah, the GQ spread?”

Scottie pointed to the magazine on her desk. “Don’t worry, I won’t get a big head over it.”

Cap laughed. “I’m not worried, Princess Scottie.”

“Stop. I’m not a—”

“Princess. So you’ve said.” He regarded the cover for a long moment, almost sighed, then scooted over to kiss her cheek.

“Beautiful cover, babe. Bring me a piece of cake to the park. I’d love to stay, but I need to get back to the farm.

” He backed toward the door. “So, Gardenia Park? Seven o’clock?

I’ll bring the cheeseburgers with the works and fries.

” His eyes checked hers for confirmation.

“Seven o’clock. I’ll bring you that piece of cake,” she said, his stiff posture tapping her curiosity.

“Cap, is everything okay?” She was still learning to read him.

In the two years they’d been a couple, they’d not developed a deep relationship between his farming schedule and her workload. Still, she was hopeful.

“Yeah, everything is…yeah…” He paused in the doorway. “You, um, look beautiful.”

“So you said, Cap Henderson.”

Something was up. She felt it in her bones.