Crown Me, Prince

by Frankie Love

  My sisters and their husbands are waiting for us in the sitting room, along with my father.

  “Dahlia,” Violet says, standing when Lucas and I enter the room. “You’re glowing.”

  “You truly look beautiful,” Iris gushes. “Take a photo of us,” she tells Garrick.

  Garrick shakes his head at Iris, but willingly takes her phone. We all know he’s as anti-technology as it gets, but he never refuses Iris anything.

  Violet, Iris, and I squeeze together and smile, our glittering tiaras balanced on our heads.

  A staff member walks over with a silver tray holding six flutes of champagne. Lucas and I exchange a knowing glance. This moment calls for a toast.

  I may be four months along, but we haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy. We found out when his father was on his deathbed, and it didn’t seem appropriate.

  Now, with my sisters here, it’s time.

  I raise my hand to decline the offer of champagne.

  At the same moment my sisters raise theirs.

  “No thanks,” the three of us say simultaneously.

  Our heads turn, our eyes meet.

  Oh my goodness.

  “Are you pregnant?” we all blurt, before bursting into a fit of giggles.

  “We just found out,” Iris says. “I told Garrick’s parents it was the plan for the honeymoon. And boy, did we deliver!”

  “We are, too,” Violet says, her hand reaching for Hunter. “We’ve known for a few weeks, but wanted to wait until we were all together.”

  “Same with Lucas and me,” I say, covering my mouth. “This is insanity. Three princesses, pregnant together?”

  “No,” Iris corrects. “Two princesses, and a queen.”

  I nod, still in awe that I am about to become Queen of a country. Lucas wraps his arms around me, and I rest my cheek on his chest.

  “I know you ladies aren’t drinking,” Garrick says. “But this still calls for a toast.”

  “Agreed,” Hunter says, his head held high, proud—just as he should be. “To the heirs of Cressia, Alpinweiss, and Rochester.”

  “To the men who knocked us up,” Iris says kissing Garrick’s mouth unabashedly. We laugh, but the emotion of the moment fills the room.

  “And to the women we have the privilege of loving,” Lucas adds, tenderness in his words.

  Violet, Iris, and I are truly the luckiest princesses in the world. We’ve all found our own happily ever afters. We couldn’t have arranged it better if we’d tried.

  There are tears in my eyes as Lucas and I are led to the throne room for the coronation.

  In a moment of great anticipation, and carrying a magnitude of responsibility and honor, the golden crown that graced his father’s head for decades is placed upon Lucas’s.

  And the crown of the queen is placed on mine.

  I look at my husband with reverence, with gratitude. With a heart surging full of love.

  Lucas is no longer a mountain prince, he is a mountain king.

  My mountain king.

  Claimed By The Mountain Man

  Prologue

  Grabbing the Prosecco from the fridge, Everly finds three mason jars, pops the cork, and divvies up the bubbly. The goal tonight is to forget the reality of the situation she and her two best friends have found themselves in.

  Homeless. Jobless. Boy-less.

  Champagne will certainly help the cause.

  “Is that the last bottle?” Delta asks, as Everly balances all three glasses in her hands and walks back into the living room.

  Everly moans as she delivers the drinks. She’s wearing her hair in a messy bun and her nerd-girl glasses contribute to her low-key appearance. But tonight she isn’t acting low-key. Tonight she is dramatic and drunk.

  A dangerous pairing for any twenty-two-year-old woman.

  “The state of my checking account was so depressing I was like, eff it, and bought two more bottles,” she says.

  “That’s what I love about you, Everly,” Delta snorts. “You’re just so damn responsible.” She takes the glass from Everly’s hand and sets it on the coffee table before screwing the cap back on a bottle of eco-friendly nail polish. She’s just painted daisies on her big toes, as if declaring herself the ultimate flower child. Her long hair and boho dress complete the look. She’s a vegan, through and through, and living in Portland, Oregon makes her lifestyle easy.

  Clinking the rims of their glasses, Everly takes a long sip. “I know, it’s hard to be such a put-together adult, but somebody has to do it.” She smirks, knowing she’s anything but put-together.

  “No, but like, for reals, what are we going to do?” Amelia, who is braiding her hair, asks. She’s in ratty sweats and a tank top, but she gets a pass considering Derrick, her boyfriend of four years, just broke up with her. “I mean, all of us were legit counting on staying at Derrick’s summer house for the next three months. Now we’re going to get kicked out of here in a week. Then what?”

  “Calm down. It’s all going to work out,” Everly tells her, not believing the words herself, but knowing Amelia needs the affirmation—considering she’s the one recovering from an unexpected break-up.

  Everly falls onto the couch, squeezing between her two best friends. They all take drinks of the bubbly, each lamenting their own personal hell.

  They aren’t exactly on top of the world. And they feel deceived. The entire universe led them to believe that if they went to college they would be grown-ups. But here they are, all three of them a week out of Oregon State College, with no job prospects, no boyfriends, and—apparently—no housing.

  “This sucks,” Amelia says, her head falling on Everly’s shoulder. “Why didn’t a career counselor ever mention the fact that a Fine Arts degree wouldn’t help me? All it did was teach me that I’m more of a hobbyist in terms of creating visual masterpieces. Like, I can legit scrapbook, but that isn’t a job.”

  “Um, sweetie,” Delta says, “my degree is in Hospitality. There are literally no jobs for me.”

  “You can be a hotel desk clerk,” Everly suggests.

  “Yeah, except I didn’t need a degree for that, and it won’t offer me health insurance or pay my student loans. It’s not realistic.”

  “I know,” Everly says. “Even if I sold a story to some magazine, I’d make what—fifty bucks if I was lucky? And I can’t afford to sit here and write the next great American novel. That won’t pay any of the bills.”

  Everly thought a degree in English Literature would help her become a writer, but so far she’s only completed a few short stories about her life as a college student. Not exactly inspiring.

  “At this point I would do anything to stop feeling so out of control. I just want a plan,” Amelia says. “I feel desperate.”

  “I’m not desperate, I’m just horny as hell. I haven’t been with someone in like, three months,” Delta moans. “I want a husband, someone to keep me warm at night and fuck me all day long.”

  “Then we should have gotten MRS degrees, not BAs,” Everly says, sighing into her champagne. “Not that I’m exactly ready for marriage.”

  Delta and Amelia both look at Everly, giving her puppy dog eyes. It’s no secret that she’s a virgin, and if anyone needs a man, it’s her.

  “What?” Everly shrugs. “I’m not holding out for Mr. Right. The problem is, I’m just never going to meet a guy who is okay with taking it slow.”

  “You don’t need to take it slow,” Amelia says. “You need a man who isn’t going to take no for an answer.”

  “I don’t need to take it slow, either,” Delta says. “I just want to take it, if you know what I mean.”

  Amelia shoves a pillow in Delta’s face. “Yes, we get it. You want to get laid. But on a more serious note, maybe there are new apartments on Craigslist?” Amelia suggests. “You know, since we’re getting evicted.”

  “Not evicted,” Everly reminds her. “It’s just we’re in campus housing. We have to go.”

  “Like, in a week.”
Delta sighs. “This is dumb. Let’s do something bananas. Like, move to a commune. Or become Amish.”

  Noticing the now-empty glasses, Everly returns to the kitchen and brings back some more champagne. “I just want a nice house and a normal life. Nothing crazy, just something regular.”

  “With good sex,” Delta adds, winking. “And on that note, let’s look in the Help Wanted section with an open mind.” She opens her laptop. “At this point we don’t have many requirements.”

  “I just want to get out of this college town,” Amelia says. Forgoing a glass, she grabs the bottle from Everly’s hand and takes a swig. “I can’t handle it here,” she says, wiping her mouth. “There are way too many memories of Derrick and me in this town, and I need to move on. Stat.”

  Delta scrolls through the housing pages, and it’s more of what they’ve already seen. Tiny studios or massive houses requiring three months’ security deposit.

  “Hmmm.” Delta keeps clicking, but there are no new listings. Eventually she takes the bottle from Amelia and drinks before passing it to Everly.

  Everly follows suit, then sits between them once again, starting to feel more than a little tipsy.

  “There’s nothing,” Amelia moans.

  “Even if there were,” Everly adds, “it doesn’t matter. None of us have jobs. That’s priority number one.”

  “Tell me again why none of us have parents who can help out?”

  The three of them were roommates freshman year, and instantly bonded over the fact they’d all been raised by their grandparents. It was such a coincidence—it felt like destiny, and they had to stick together.

  And they always did, through thick and thin, for four years. They put Delta’s grandpa in assisted living, attended the funeral for Everly’s grandma and grandpa, and were there when Amelia’s grandma moved in with her older sister.

  They have family that love them, but not family that can support them, or even house them.

  It’s time they figure this out on their own.

  “Okay, go to the want ads,” Everly says, pointing at the tab on the screen.

  “Let’s see, here.” Delta takes another sip as the page loads.

  The three of them read the job descriptions, not one of them remotely appealing.

  Dog walker, ten hours a week.

  Editor, must be proficient in Dutch.

  Smoothie stand, pasties the required uniform.

  “Well, we could do that,” Delta says, laughing. “We all have decent racks.”

  “More than decent, but that doesn’t mean I could do it,” Everly says, frowning, knowing her looks have never been her problem.

  The problem is, she’s never had a real boyfriend because she always gets so nervous and shy around guys.

  “We’re all cute enough so the tips would be good,” Amelia says, considering the smoothie stand position. “But, it just seems so cold.” She covers her chest with her hands, cracking up.

  Okay, so they are definitely buzzed.

  “This is stupid.” Everly hovers her fingers over Delta’s keyboard. “Let’s try something totally different.”

  In the search bar, she types: pretty girls, college degrees, open-minded, need jobs.

  The first hit causes all three girls to tilt their heads to the side, and reach for the champagne, simultaneously.

  Huh.

  WANTED:

  MODERN MAIL ORDER BRIDES

  FOR ALASKAN MOUNTAIN MEN.

  Chapter 1

  SILAS

  Living in the backwoods of the Alaskan frontier allows me to be the man I’ve always wanted to be. Self-reliant. Independent. I’m my own fucking boss.

  I don’t need anyone telling me what to do, and I sure as hell don’t need someone giving me orders.

  Selling my business two years ago was the best goddamn decision I ever made. Sold my company on the North Slope and made my millions.

  But shit, I only sold so I could get the fuck away from the bullshit that came with being responsible for all those employees. Now, I do what I want, when I want.

  The only thing I’m missing is a woman.

  But I’m getting her today.

  As I’m getting my gear in the floatplane docked at my private lake, Travis pulls up in his ATV. He’s about my age—late twenties—but was born and raised here in the backwoods of the Denali Forest.

  “Dude,” he calls out, grabbing a duffel bag as he heads my way. “So glad you called. I need to get laid in Anchorage. Bad. Once winter hits I’ll be stuck in that cabin with my ma every damn day.”

  “I can’t bring you back, remember?” I cock an eyebrow at him, before triple checking that the plane is in working order. Having my own transportation allows me to get where I need to go, when I need to get there.

  Travis doesn’t have that luxury.

  “I remember you saying that on the radio. No worries. I’ll catch a ride with someone flying through.”

  We get in the plane, and I busy myself with pre-flight check.

  “Why not, though?” he asks. “You getting that much supplies?”

  “No. I’m bringing back a girl.”

  The sky is clear, the snow has long since melted, and the days are bright—as in, the sun doesn’t set until after midnight this time of year.

  I planned this well. Late June is the perfect time to bring a mail order bride to the Alaska wilderness. In the winter, no woman would want to move to the frozen tundra.

  We take off. I’ve travelled this route for the last two years, anytime I needed to show my face in Anchorage to meet with a lawyer, get cash from my bank account, restock supplies—basically any bullshit I can’t do from my off-grid cabin—which has become less and less often the longer I’ve lived out here.

  Still, every time I get in this plane, I forget how cramped it always feels for my broad shoulders and tall stature.

  “You really bringing back a girl?” Travis asks, once the plane is in the air. “Damn, I need to find some tail. Bad.”

  I shake my head at Travis. This guy has zero game. He still lives with his mother and I don’t know if he’s ever had a girlfriend in his life. By the looks of him, I’m guessing no.

  “I’m not just getting some tail. I’m going to pick up my wife.”

  “Shit, man, what?” Travis asks, his wide eyes traveling to mine.

  He’s shocked. And I’m not surprised. Some people might think a mail order bride is old school or crazy or whatever, but I don’t give a fuck about what those people might think.

  The last thing I’m going to do is spend time in Anchorage trolling for a wife. But damn, I want one—need one. I need a woman to cook my food and keep my bed warm. I love living in the middle of nowhere, but I need a woman by my side.

  But no way in hell am I going to waste my time dating some stupid-ass girl from the city. I don’t want a city girl anyway.

  I need a woman who’s ready to make a life with me in the wild.

  When Monique at The Modern Mail Order Bride Service contacted me, at first I thought it was a joke. But it wasn’t. They only serve clients with sizable fortunes—which is how they knew about me in the first place—and have made a niche market for themselves in the Alaskan wilderness.

  Apparently they’re hooking a few other clients up this summer, too.

  I filled out the paperwork this past winter, and when I didn’t hear anything I thought maybe the whole thing was bullshit—which fucking sucked, because by then I had my heart set on making a woman mine.

  But then a week ago I was in town, which isn’t really a town—there’s just a post office and a gas station and a tiny roadhouse. Anyway, I got my mail and, lo and behold, I had a woman coming for me.

  I called Monique while I was there, because of course I don’t have service up at the cabin, only a radio. She said she found me a bride who she thought was a perfect match.

  “Did she meet my requirements? On my application?”

  “She did, Silas. You’ll be very pleased with th
e bride chosen for you.”

  We made the arrangements, I transferred Monique funds for the travel and student loan payment that I agreed to, and I got an appointment with my lawyer in Anchorage for the following week.

  And now I’m ready to meet this mystery woman.

  “What does this girl look like?” Travis asks, pulling me back to the present—which is probably a good fucking thing considering I’m piloting a plane.

  “No fucking clue.” I shrug. I have no qualms about the way I’m going about getting my wife. Fuck, Travis has some slim pickings out here in the wild. I don’t want any leftovers. Instead, I filled out an application specifying exactly what I wanted in a wife.

  Smart. A hard worker. Sexy as fuck.

  It may sound simple, but that’s a tall order out here, where the only girl I’ve seen out here is a female fucking deer.

  “You really have no clue what she looks like?” Travis laughs. “That’s nuts.”

  “The agency said matches work better when you don’t go into it with expectations. It’d be easy to walk away if I knew what she looked like. This way, I’m taking her home regardless if she has blonde hair or black.”

  “You can still send her back, though, right? If you don’t get along?”

  “I can do whatever the hell I want, Travis.”

  That shut him up.

  I had my lawyer look into Monique’s company, and found proper documentation that she’d been placing brides with well-off men for the last decade.

  She knows what she’s doing. There seems to be plenty of men with money who aren’t interested in the bullshit of looking for a wife. I’m not alone in that.

  Today, I’ll meet my bride. Tomorrow I’ll marry her.

  And then I will bring her home.

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  CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN

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