Sparks Fly Read online

  “Ouch,” he says through clenched teeth.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t pretty, but man, the look on their faces when they found out it was Everly by my side was priceless. I was just doing what they want me to do,” I say, trying to act innocent.

  “Ha! And breaking how many laws in the process?”

  I shrug. “If they are making me marry someone I don’t know, then at least I’ll do it my way.”

  “Well, now you know her. And…”

  My lips tilt up into a slight grin. “And yeah, I think this might actually work. She’s so free spirited, and I think she fits right in with us.”

  “Hell yeah, she does. She was right there, every step of the way. Did she ever show you any doubt?” he asks.

  “Not once. She was down for whatever we had planned, and the expression on her face when that plane went over us was nothing but fear and excitement. I watched her. She never once shied away.”

  “Plus she’s fucking hot!” Logan quirks an eyebrow.

  “Watch it,” I growl, but he just laughs.

  “You really think you could marry this chick?”

  “I have four months to figure it out, but… yeah, if she’s anything like last night I could make her my queen.”

  Logan rolls his eyes, and I laugh, hitting his shoulder before turning to see the local news station’s breaking news.

  “Good morning, Canterbury, today starts off with some breaking news coming from the Royal Palace. Prince Sage was arrested last night on suspicions of starting a fire with illegal fireworks, but what everyone is up in a frenzy about is the identity of his female cohort. We’re going to Kristen who is live at the scene of the fire.”

  The shot switches to a woman standing next to a scorched field. “Good morning, Canterbury. Late last night, a fire broke out when none other than Canterbury’s own, Prince Sage Stevinson, set off illegal fireworks with a group of friends. Thankfully, crews were able to gain control of the fire, but what is shocking the nation is who Prince Sage was with.

  “All fingers have been pointing to him picking Marie Dotson, one of the four women in line to marry the Prince, but last night one of the people arrested with Sage was Everly Stanley. Miss Stanley was also in the running to wed Prince Sage, but our sources tell us that due to technicalities, King William announced she was out of the running. So the question lingers, what kind of girl is Everly Stanley? Why is she out of the running? Was it her influence that started this fire?”

  Anger boils inside me. I hate what the media considers breaking news. The fire, yes, that is justified. Who I was with shouldn’t be more of the news story than the actual fire, and the fact that they are blaming my actions on her infuriates me.

  Exiting the locker room, I’m more pumped to burn off some steam than I’ve ever been.

  How bad did I screw things up last night?

  I text Everly as I lie in bed later that night.

  It’s been a shit day. I had to listen to my father yell about the fire, Everly, and what he considers to be “best for my future.” Why can’t I be the one to decide that? I’ll be damned if he thinks he can lock me up, forcing me to marry against my will.

  So I guess I can save this number in my phone now as Sage?

  Do you never want to see me again?

  Do I have a choice?

  Come on, that’s harsh.

  Is it though?

  I don’t like this forced marriage thing any more than you do.

  So you don’t want to marry me?

  I didn’t say that.

  Am I just supposed to sit and wait now, counting my lucky stars, hoping I’m the one?

  The sarcasm in her text makes me laugh and even turns me on a bit. I like a girl with sass.

  No. That’s exactly what I don’t want. Why do you think I planned all of that last night?

  Not sure. Why did you?

  Because I had to know you. The real you. Not the girl vying for her chance to be my wife.

  Didn’t you mean to type dying for the chance? Is that what you think all girls dream of? To be your wife?

  I laugh out loud. She seems to be the only one I’ve ever met that doesn’t look at me that way. Not even the first day we met. I already know the answer, but I need to see if she’ll be honest enough to tell me herself.

  So you don’t want to be my wife?

  There’s a long pause, which I like. She’s thinking about it. I close my eyes, praying she’ll pass this final test.

  It’s nothing against you. I don’t want to be forced to marry anyone. I want to marry because I want to. Prince or not. That doesn’t matter to me. Call me weird.

  I’d rather call you Everly.

  Ha Ha Ha

  Have dinner with me?

  Why?

  So I can get to know you.

  I’m sorry. Last night was fun, but I’m not really cut out for the royal lifestyle.

  That kiss sure seemed like you were cut out for me though.

  Can’t you choose one of the other girls, and we can pretend it didn’t work between us?

  Sorry. You see I’m not really cut out for the royal lifestyle, either, so… no. Have dinner with me?

  I’m busy.

  No, you’re not. You’re texting me, so you can’t be that busy.

  It’s eleven at night.

  So.

  So…not really time for dinner.

  We make our own rules remember?

  Are you always this persistent?

  Yes. Come on, have dinner with me. I refuse to take no for an answer.

  Fine, your Royal Highness. Where should I meet you?

  I’ll be at your house in ten minutes.

  One of the benefits of having a snobbish family is no one ever expects me to actually drive myself. Stealthily exiting my house, I leave from the employee parking lot of the palace in my BMW M3.

  Now that I’ve moved home for good, this freedom will end soon when the security team catches on, but I plan on taking advantage for as long as possible. In London I was able to travel freely, I want that same lifestyle here.

  I pull up to Everly’s house, and she’s waiting outside for me. When we met at The Ridge she was dressed up, and last night she was dressed to kill, but now, she’s dressed in the comfiest way, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  I can tell she didn’t change a thing about her when we got off the phone, and this is who she is when she’s at home about to go to bed. As she approaches, I see she has on no makeup, and the messy bun in her hair gives her a just-fucked look—all I can envision is her underneath me.

  Those shorts, though. Damn. They’re about to do me in with the seventies roller-skating vibe, trimmed in white. I make sure to adjust my pants before she hops in the car.

  “No bike tonight?”

  “Nice to see you, too,” I tease. “But no, I wanted to actually be able to talk.”

  “And that can’t be done when we get where we’re going?”

  My lips quirk at her snarky tone. “Duly noted, next time I’ll bring it.”

  “If there is a next time,” she says, reaching for her seatbelt.

  “We’ll see about that.” I grin in her direction before pulling away from her house.

  She eyes me suspiciously, and I chuckle to myself, making a right onto the next street and speeding away.

  “So what restaurant is open this late at night?” she asks. “Oh, wait, I forgot who I was talking to. Should I ask which place we’re breaking into for food?”

  “Very funny. What, you didn’t have a good time last night?”

  “It was alright, I guess…until you got me arrested.” She winks, and I love that she’s messing with me.

  “Yeah, but I also got us off, so I guess a thank you is in order.”

  “Ha! Hardly. But, seriously, where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll see.” I smile quickly before turning my attention to the road and reaching to adjust the radio.

  Born for Greatness by Papa Roach
plays, and I turn it up, glancing in her direction for approval. When she smiles, raising her eyebrows quickly in agreement, I fall for her even more. It’s a genuine smile when she starts bobbing her head and singing the lyrics.

  I can’t imagine any of the other girls I met even listening to my kind of music, let alone singing it.

  When we pull up to The Ridge, she turns to me. “Um, they’re closed,” she states the obvious.

  “Well, then it’s a good thing I brought food with me.” I nod my head to the backseat where a bag sits.

  “Uh, okay.” She timidly opens the door.

  As I walk around the car, I approach her, reaching for her hand and waiting patiently for her to give it to me.

  She stares at me for a long moment, testing me in her own way, but I don’t back down. Instead, I stand there, with my palm up, awaiting the inevitable.

  The electric jolt that whizzes through me when her soft, delicate fingers cradle mine is indescribable. This sense of trust she’s instilling in me with this small gesture is one more step toward being whole for the first time in a while.

  We walk hand in hand behind the building and climb our way to her spot high on the rock.

  “Wait.” She stops when she realizes where we're going. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain when we get there,” I say, pulling her toward me.

  Thankfully, she follows me, and once I lay down the blanket I brought, and we sit down, she wastes no time asking again.

  “Okay, we're here. Tell me. Why are we at my secret place? How did you know this was even here?”

  “I’ve been at college in London for the past four years, but I was in boarding school in Switzerland for several years before that, and when I was home to visit, I would look out my window”—I point to a corner of the palace—“and always saw this mysterious girl, hiding from the world. I wanted so much to meet her, to ask her name, to find out what was going on inside her head when she was there alone. But I never did...”

  I pause to pull out the two beers I brought along with the sandwiches I whipped up quickly.

  She sees the clear wrapped package and quirks a brow. "Peanut butter and jelly?"

  "It's not the most romantic meal, but it's my favorite late-night snack."

  She lifts her eyes from the sandwich to mine, those clear-blue orbs dancing in the moonlight. "So this is the real you?"

  I furrow my brow, confused by what she thought I've been doing for the last twenty-four hours.

  She leans in, her breath a whisper on my skin. "Not the bikes or the fireworks. That's your spirit, your drive for life. But this—here—this is you?"

  My chest relaxes. I didn't even realize I was nervous. Something in what she's saying—no in what she's seeing in me—fills my body with a lightness I haven’t experienced in years, possibly ever with a female.

  "Yes. This is me."

  Seemingly satisfied with my answer, she kicks off her flip-flops, holds it up to the beer bottle, and pops the top with the opener under her shoe.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Do you seriously have a bottle opener on your shoe?”

  “Duh, you never know when you may need to pop a top. They come in handy pretty often.” She hands me my beer, and we clink the necks together before she says, “Continue.”

  “Where was I?”

  “Why didn’t you ever say hello?”

  I take a long swig of my beer. “I guess as time went on, you became this enigma. Something I wanted but couldn’t have because of the whole royal-tradition thing.”

  “And you let that stand in your way? For that long?” she asks like she wouldn’t have done the same.

  “The more time that passed, the more I liked the mystery. I was afraid if I got to know you, you wouldn’t be who I envisioned. I didn’t want to ruin what I made you out to be in my head. You would be the girl I dreamed about when I was unhappy with whoever I was forced to marry.”

  “Wow, are you serious? Should I be flattered?”

  I’m surprised by her response. Again, she shocks me by saying the exact opposite of what I think she will.

  “I thought you would be,” I say, trying to defend my words.

  “You just told me you would be dreaming of me while you fucked your wife.” Her face scrunches in disgust.

  I laugh out loud, almost spitting out my drink. “Um, no. I didn’t say that.”

  “But that’s what you meant.”

  I tilt my head to meet her downcast gaze. When she raises her eyes to mine, I grin. “Okay, fine. That’s what I meant. But it’s a compliment.”

  She repositions her legs and I can’t help but envision them wrapped around me right now.

  “As someone who might be forced to be your wife, it’s not comforting to know that you would be thinking of someone else while you were with me.”

  “No, see that’s where you’re wrong. I would be thinking of you. And only you. I’ve never thought about any other girl like that.”

  She brings her beer to her lips, taking a long draw, and it’s more to stall her response than it is to enjoy her drink.

  Before she can reply, I continue, “And what do you mean by forced to be my wife?” Frustration brews inside me.

  “I’m just calling it how I see it,” she states nonchalantly before taking a bite of her sandwich.

  “I don’t ever want to force anyone to marry me.” I put down my beer and get up, needing to separate myself from her for a second, so I don’t show a side of myself I’m not fond of.

  Most of the time I’m a pretty even-keeled guy, but when it comes to certain things, like this marriage being out of my control, I tend to get a little pissed off. Hearing she felt forced definitely kicked up my anger a notch.

  “Whoa, did I hit a nerve?” She stands, coming over to where I am.

  “Do you think this is what I want? To be forced to marry someone I don’t even know just because of who we were both born to?”

  The expression on her face says it all. She does. She thinks that’s what’s going on, and it makes me sick to my stomach.

  There’s silence between us, and I’m not sure how to continue. I turn to stand with my back to her, looking out on the view of the city.

  I hear her stir but don’t turn to see what she’s doing. If she’s leaving then let her. I’d rather be unhappy with who I choose than know she’s the unhappy one in the relationship. It’s my family that’s royal, not hers. Screw bloodlines.

  To my surprise, both of her hands reach around my stomach as she stands behind me, resting her head on my back. “If that’s the truth, then why am I here?”

  I hold her hand, pulling it tighter around me before turning to face her. “Did you not listen to a word I just said?”

  She glances up at me, and her face melts my heart. She’s so pure, so genuine. Something I never thought I would find.

  “I heard you,” she whispers, staring at me.

  “Then don’t you understand? You’re here because my dream girl walked into my reality the other day, and I want to actually get to know her. Not for them. Not for this absurd expectation. For me.”

  Her eyes search mine for something more so I lean in, kissing her, trying to prove my words are the truth.

  When her head tilts to the side and her lips part slightly, inviting me in, I take full advantage by wrapping my hands around the nape of her neck and through her hair, holding her there. Every second gets better and I need her to feel this too.

  Her warmth pressed against me makes my cock twitch, so I reluctantly pull away before she notices. I want to get to know her before I start thinking with my other head.

  I break our kiss and press my forehead against hers, keeping my hands around the nape of her neck. “You’re here because I want you here. I hope you feel the same way.”

  “I’m starting to,” she whispers.

  I place my lips on her forehead once more before grabbing her hand and sitting back down. I’m not done getting to know her, and e
ven though we just had a big breakthrough, there’s still a lot I want to learn.

  “So why have you been going along with these meetings if you were so against them?” she asks, her eyebrows pinching with confusion.

  “It’s hard to explain. I’ve fought for a lot of freedoms, but this was the one thing I couldn’t change.”

  “Then what have you changed?”

  “Unfortunately, nothing in Canterbury yet, but I hope to change everything one day.”

  “How so?” She takes a bite of her sandwich, tilting her head with curiosity.

  I love the way she’s genuinely interested in what I have to say. I take a swig of my beer, swallowing it before I say, “I lied when I said I was studying business in London.”

  “You, the Prince of Canterbury, lied to me?” She mocks offense, making me laugh.

  I grin, happy we were able to get back to this playful demeanor we seem to have together. “My parents—no, my dad—is ashamed of what I studied.”

  “How can a parent be ashamed of what their child studied?”

  “When it’s African cultures and foreign affairs, believe me, he wants nothing to do with it. To him, anyone below the royal family is not to his standards. He thinks someone of my stature isn’t supposed to work with his hands. That’s why I’ve been gone for as long as I have. He didn’t want any of the stories to hit the media here.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” she asks in disbelief.

  “Wish I was.” I shake my head while taking another drink.

  “So that’s what you want to change?”

  “Yup. That and so much more. I’ve done amazing things in other countries. I want to do that here. I’ve told my father if I can’t be king the way I want to be, then I don’t want to be king at all.”