Page 3 of The Prince Who Loved Me

On her freakin’ weekend off.

On freakin’ Valentine’s Day. Where she had cajoled Wendy into working extra because her guy lived at the Inn with them and Brandi only saw hers once every couple of weeks when he was traveling through Georgia.

She closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath, completely unsurprised when an image of Sebastien and hisdark red hair fixed in her mind. She should call him. He was, after all, a prince, and weren’t princes supposed to rescue damsels in distress? Of course, he’d been doing that since they met when they were freshmen in college, though he had been a couple years older than Brandi and her cousin Wendy.

Talking to Sebastien would make her feel better. It had nothing to do with his being a royalty or his wonderfully mixed French Italian accent, and everything to do with the years of friendship between them.

But if she called, he’d hear something in her voice, even if she didn’t yet know what she was feeling. Sad, probably. Annoyed and ticked off, definitely. Maybe she should text. That way, if he was busy, he could read it when he got around to it, and he couldn’t interpret anything. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was recovering from some party for the rich and semi-famous, or had a gorgeous socialite gracing his arm.

And maybe his bed.

She should start with something safe. She paused, thumbs hovering over her keyboard, before deciding.Charleston is gorgeous!she texted.

With that out of the way, she settled down to assess her immediate future. She didn’t want to go back to Fountenoy Hall, not yet. And the brief parts of Charleston she saw were pretty. AND—she searched on her phone—there were several whiskey distilleries in town that gave tours.

Boom. Problem solved. She could turn this catastrophe into a work weekend. Though she could be researching her secret project instead. Naw, it was good to have some professional curiosity.

Why are you texting me instead of getting it on with your paramour?Sebastien sent back to her.

Only Sebastien would use language like that. Plus it was a good question, and one she hadn’t anticipated.

Might as well be honest. He’d find out eventually anyway. And at least this way she wouldn’t be around for his smugI told you so. Even if he actually hadn’t said anything this time. Brandi had a talent for picking the wrong kind of man.

My paramour turned out to be my paraless. Anyway, I’ll prob spend the day here, then rent a car and head home. :)

***

Sebastien hated the rise in spirits at Brandi’s words.

And yet, he couldn’t help but be delighted her relationship with Andy hadn’t worked out. Sebastien never liked the guy anyway.

Which wasn’t fair. He wanted Brandi happy. But with him. And he suspected his window to admit it was closing.

Wait for me,mon ange, he texted back.Find something to do.I’ll swing through Charleston and help salvage the weekend.

Swing through. Like he was nearby instead of standing on the deck of a yacht in a completely different state. The light lapping of the waves gently rocked the ship while he waited for her reply. He tipped the rest of his mimosa down his throat and placed the flute on the tray of an always-alert, ever-present butler.

No, don’t do that. Not on Valentine’s Day. You should be being someone’s <3.

“Yours,” Sebastien said aloud. He’d been aching for her for forever, waiting for her to realize what she meant to him, but not at the expense of their friendship.

“What was that?” the owner of the yacht asked. When they had run in to each other at the art gallery yesterday, Sebastien’s bodyman had to remind him the owner’s name was Laura and they had met at some red carpet events and afterparties a few years ago. Thankfully Sebastien didn’t needhis man to tell him they’d never slept together.

Laura had invited Sebastien to join her and friends to see the Miami yacht show…from her own yacht.

Sebastien pressed his phone against his chest, covering his screen as if Laura was trying to peek. She was a lovely woman with shades of superficial coming from living off family money. Not that Sebastien was any different, able to trace his wealth and bloodline through the royal history of Casagnes. “Nothing,mia amica.”

I’m not doing much. Give me a few hours.It would take time to find a charter airplane to get him to South Carolina. Rather, it would take his bodyman time to find a charter airplane. He texted one of them to start making calls.

“Are you speaking Italian?” A woman standing nearby fanned her rounded face, taking in Sebastien’s body with invitation in her wide, brown eyes. She wiggled her shoulders as if overcome with a shiver, the flowing skirt of her white dress fluttering with her. “You don’t know what that does to me. Say something…sexy.”

It wasn’t the first time women had flirted after hearing his French-Italian accent or speaking in foreign language. He had unabashedly used it in his twenties, but now he was over it.

He gave the woman a quick smile and turned back to Laura. “Can you have someone row me back to shore?”

“Leaving already?” she asked. “I was looking forward to hearing what fantastically royal things you’ve been up to and suavely hit you up for a sketch to auction for my Mom’s foundation.”

“Call me about the sketch.” Sebastien handed Laura a card for his social secretary, who would vet the organization and make sure it aligned with Sebastien’s and his family’s ideals and values.