Throne for a Loop

by Jenny Gardiner

  And then, what would be the chances that he’d end up at fault for what could be construed as a command performance with the very same person, all these years later. Yeesh.

  He hadn’t thought about that incident in many years. It was definitely one of those things he’d wished he could have put out of his mind for good; it was an unfortunate ghost from the past coming back to haunt him now.

  Sawyer had struggled as a child in the Yorkshire Dales in Northern England, where he grew up outside the tiny village of Thornton Rust. The dales were a beautiful yet ruggedly wild countryside filled with lush, green-pastured valleys delineated by ancient drystone walls and intersected by the occasional mountains. The area, which bordered the hauntingly beautiful English moors, could be storybook-perfect or perfectly scary, depending on your perspective. For Sawyer, it veered toward the latter, mostly because it was a lonely upbringing for him. For one thing, there were far more sheep than humans surrounding the countryside, and he spent much of his time there alone. But what really made it unbearable was his father’s mercurial temper.

  Sawyer knew from an early age he wanted something more than to take over his father’s sheep farm one day and certainly more than being the sole obstacle between his father’s hurtful hands and his mother’s vulnerable face. Which was why he’d researched boarding schools and eventually applied, amazingly winning a full ride to one of Europe’s premier boarding schools, Académie Saint Thaddaeus.

  Oddly, the school was named in honor of Saint Jude Thaddaeus, better known as Jude, patron saint of lost causes, although Sawyer was pretty certain that’s why they tacked on the name Thaddaeus, so it didn’t sound like the school was for losers seeking an education. But he sort of liked the idea of the place being a savior for him because he otherwise likely would have been a lost cause. Sawyer’s plan was to return home as soon as he finished school to free his mother from his father’s ironclad grip. His goal was to hunker down and excel academically, and eventually, he’d rescue her from his brutality. He was glad he was spared that potentially frightening intervention when his father dropped dead of a heart attack while inoculating sheep one blustery winter morning. Sawyer and his mother were free. His mother sold the farm and moved to York, where she met a lovely man who tended to her every need.

  Being a kid on scholarship at the Académie had its downsides. Not the least of which was being surrounded by impossibly wealthy kids who not only couldn’t relate to someone like Sawyer but often had complete disdain for the likes of him. Sure, he made friends with some of the kids, but then there were the cliques like Amelie Baumgartner and her minions: the sycophantic teenage girls who swarmed around her like so many gnats in the hopes of garnering a glimmer of attention from her. He figured they’d rather be in her good graces than the object of her scorn, which he knew from his own experience could be extensive and onerous. Because for some reason, Amelie had it out for him and spared no effort in trying to make his life miserable.

  If she and her cadre of nasties weren’t openly mocking him, they were conspiring with some of the boys to do unkind things like putting a mouse in his pillowcase for him to discover after the lights were out. He always had to be on guard for the next stunt that would embarrass him.

  It’s why he was so proud of himself for his planned takedown of Amelie: he knew she would never live it down, once her peers discovered what was causing that noise in her backpack.

  He’d woken early that morning and picked the lock on Amelie’s locker, zipping the plastic cock into the otherwise empty front pocket of her backpack. He’d hoped she had no plans to stick anything else in it that day. When it came time for the test, Sawyer took a seat in the back row of the class, at a desk in the farthest corner from her. He wanted to lay low and steer clear of any suspicion. Plus, from there he could watch it all unfold and laugh his ass off while Amelie suffered some much-deserved embarrassment.

  He hadn’t even paid attention at first to where the buzzing was coming from. He heard it, sure, but his eyes were fixed on that test while he occasionally pressed the remote-control button, secured deep in the front pocket of his school uniform khakis. It wasn’t until Monsieur Henri marched to that other girl’s desk that he started to wonder what was wrong.

  Before he knew it, that poor girl was confronted by the teacher, and she fled the classroom in tears, never even finishing her test. Monsieur Henri demanded that the rest of the class settle down and continue on with the exams, so Sawyer didn’t even have a chance to try to make it right with her. And there was no way he was going to own up to this during class and end up being the goat who everyone hated. He planned to seek her out later and apologize for what he’d done.

  By dinner that night, everyone knew the girl had left the school. When word got out that Sawyer had been the perpetrator of the prank, his street cred grew exponentially. So it was with some reluctance that Sawyer adopted the mantle of unwitting campus hero, not because he pranked Isabella in particular, but simply because his practical joke was pretty damned original and had the whole school abuzz (excuse the pun) for days. But it always made him feel a little sick to the stomach that it was at the expense of that poor girl who never returned to the school for him to make amends.

  And now, all these years later, she finally seemed to be having her inadvertent revenge on him. He hated to admit he deserved it.

  ~*~

  Thank goodness for contracts, was all Sawyer could say. Because at least he didn’t lose business as suddenly as he feared. He’d already had plenty of events lined up with people in Monaforte who were contractually obligated to remain with him, even if they didn’t particularly want to.

  Of course, he had no idea who was or was not passing judgment on him at this point, but he had to admit to feeling a tinge of paranoia that everyone he dealt with resented him for what he’d done to Isabella. How could they not? From what he’d learned since her birthday party implosion, Monafortians loved their princess, which wasn’t such a stretch. After a little Google sleuthing, he discovered she was all about charitable outreach and spent a considerable amount of time in the trenches supporting programs aimed at helping the downtrodden. Besides being actively involved with a number of groups that aided children with chronic and terminal illnesses, she’d spearheaded beautification efforts along roadsides, advocated for the restoration of historical buildings that developers were trying to tear down and replace with condominiums, worked with rescue operations to find homes for abandoned dogs and cats, and had even recently launched a program to aid the many refugees streaming into Europe from war-torn countries.

  She was the bloody damned human equivalent of a cross between a panda bear and a unicorn, tied up with a bow made from a glittering rainbow: adorable, rare, and precious. He was certain her peeps would not cotton to the man who shamed her at her own birthday party.

  So maybe when he undertook each new catering event now, he was a little less emotionally engaged than he’d been before. It was hard not to be, looking over your shoulder as he felt he had to. Since that party, he basically kept his nose down and did what he had to, working hard but trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He was even a bit bummed about having let Louie go, the bastard, only because he was pretty swamped and had relied heavily on his second in command to work out details for each gig. And he sure wasn’t going to bring someone new on now that he had pending uncertainty about the future of his business.

  Tonight, he was happy to have the distraction of attending a party for once, rather than working it. Though he partially wished he was catering the thing instead, as it would be guaranteed income he could sock away for when the business dried up.

  Sawyer chose not to drive his work van to the party; no sense in engendering hostility from any FotP (Friends of the Princess), who might see his truck emblazoned with the distinctive DaVinci’s logo and pelt it with eggs. Or rocks. Instead, he took his humble motor scooter—since he wasn’t out to impress anyone, it was no big deal to have to leave at the en
d of the night on a motorbike. He wasn’t sure if there would be anyone there he knew but for Gabriella, a friend from university days. He’d even checked with her and she was well aware of the “situation,” making sure he wasn’t going to be uninvited under the circumstances, but she promised Sawyer he was more than welcome to attend and that he’d be fine.

  As he climbed the imposing steps and paused before the large mahogany front doors, ringing the doorbell, he glanced in through the windows. Where he saw a woman who looked suspiciously familiar to him. One who might just kill him were she to know he was there. Just as he was about to turn to leave undetected, Gabriella greeted him at the entry, looking beautifully curvy in a bright purple flouncy cocktail dress with a cinched waist and flared pleated skirt, her chestnut bob and warm, hazel eyes a welcoming sight to see.

  “Sawyer!” she said, embracing him in a warm hug. “I was hoping you’d show up!”

  Only now, knowing what—or, at least, whom—was looming inside, Sawyer wished in a bad way he’d done just about anything other than show up on Gabriella’s doorstep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Here, try this,” Clementine said to Isabella, handing her something bubbly.

  Isabella took a sip. “Mmm, delish,” she said. “What’s it called?”

  “It’s a French Seventy-Five,” she said. “Gin and lemon juice with champagne. How could you go wrong?”

  “This is just what the doctor ordered after the week I’ve had,” Bella said. “Just keep ’em coming.”

  “If you’re not careful drinking those things, Isabella, we’ll be scraping you off the historic Italian tile flooring of this palazzo,” Edouardo said. “And I’d feel responsible as the official escort tonight, so don’t fail me.”

  “Ack, that would be most unpleasant. I’ll be a good girl and not drink everyone under the table,” she said as she leaned forward and asked the bartender for a second drink.

  ~*~

  It didn’t take Isabella long to start feeling the effects of the gin on top of the champagne.

  “So, Edouardo,” she said, tugging on his lapels. “What’s your plan of action tonight? Inquiring minds want to know.”

  “I was thinking perhaps a little pairing of my beloved brother with, say, Gabriella, perhaps?” Clementine said on his behalf, leaning over his shoulder.

  “Uh, do I have any say in this matter?” he said.

  “Why, what fun would that be, brother dearest?” Clem said.

  Her brother looked over at Sebastian, who was avoiding judgment by remaining quiet near the bar.

  “Huh? Me? I have no opinion about this whatsoever,” Sebastian said, taking a swig of his bourbon.

  “So you don’t think Gabriella’s good enough for me?” Edouardo said, his temper inching up with his voice decibel.

  Sebastian held up his hands in mock surrender. “Dude, I’m steering clear of this because there is no way I can come out a winner. I love your sister and she loves you and she thinks you should work your many charms on Gabriella, so I say go for it. Whatever you do, please, just don’t hit me.”

  Sebastian was still a little nervous around his girlfriend’s brother because Edouardo had practically tried to throttle him when some surreptitious video of him licking body shots off of Clementine’s body accidentally ended up in his smartphone’s inbox.

  Sebastian was just trying to figure out some more diversionary conversation with the man when Gabriella came over, greeting each of them with a two-cheek kiss, ending with Edouardo, who eyed her up for a good long minute.

  “Well, hello, handsome,” she said to him. “How have we never met?”

  Clementine started laughing. “Gab, that’s Eddie.”

  Eddie?

  “Oh, my goodness! Little Eddie? Impossible!”

  “Little, wittle, Eddie,” Sebastian said in a baby-talk voice, placing his arm over Edouardo’s shoulder and squeezing his cheek. “What a charming little nickname.”

  Edouardo frowned, his eyebrows sloping inward in a grimace. But not for long, because Gabriella had grabbed his tie.

  “What a handsome man you’ve grown into,” she said, stroking his tie and pulling it toward her as if it was something a little more intimate she was fondling.

  “I was just saying to myself, ‘Self, I think I should make sure Gabriella got a chance to spend some time with Edouardo tonight,’” Clem said with an exaggerated wink.

  “That self of yours is a wise woman,” Gab said.

  They all laughed.

  “But seriously, Eddie, let’s get together. I’d love to catch up,” Gabriella said. “Speaking of catching up, do you all know my friend from university?”

  She reached past a cluster of guests who stood talking nearby and pulled Sawyer over by the arm.

  “Everyone, this is Sawyer Patterson who cooks a mean meal, if you’re ever looking for a man who likes to play with his food.”

  The group got silent, and Isabella’s eyes widened. For a minute, she looked like she was going to blow a gasket, but instead, she extended her hand, reminding herself of the conversation she’d had with her mother.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” she said, practically biting her tongue to avoid the onset of her pending freak-out.

  Clementine looked from her friend to Sawyer and back again. “Um, yeah,” she said. “Uh. Yes, then. Sawyer, I think I may have mentioned I thought you and Isabella might get along famously.”

  “Or infamously, as the case may be,” Sawyer said, knitting his eyebrows, looking around as if he expected a couple of hit men to come after him at any minute with semiautomatic weapons.

  Isabella smiled the type of smile a pregnant woman might force on her face at a cocktail party if she was in labor but pretending everything was fine.

  “Uh, speaking of infamous,” Sawyer said, daring to look over at Isabella as he cleared his throat. “Would it be possible for us to speak in private for just a brief moment, Your Highness?”

  The rest of the group looked at each other with curiosity.

  Your Highness? Gabriella mouthed to Clementine, who suppressed a laugh.

  Isabella glanced out of the corner of her eye at Clem, looking a bit like a wild horse that was pinned in and about to be lassoed into submission.

  “There’s just something I’d like to say to you,” Sawyer said. “It won’t take but a minute.”

  “Well, then,” Bella said, dusting her hands as if finishing a hard job, “by all means. Have at it.”

  “You can go down this hallway,” Gabriella said. “There’s a servant’s room at the very end that’s currently unoccupied.”

  “In that case,” Sawyer said, “after you.” He extended his arm and Isabella led the way, with Sawyer likely hoping it wasn’t to his eventual death and dismemberment.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I’ll have you know I’m employing every scintilla of self-control to not pull back and land a left hook on your chin. Or better yet, your liver,” Isabella said through gritted teeth as they walked down the hall. “Don’t for a second think I’m somehow endorsing you. Instead, I am trying hard to live in the moment and practice mindful, loving kindness. Hence, the lack of physical violence.”

  “Look, I appreciate your not causing bodily harm, really I do. I’m a firm believer that war is not the answer,” Sawyer said. “I just really need to explain some things to you. I hope you’ll understand.”

  “I’m particularly not interested in lengthy diatribes about anything.”

  “I don’t even know what a diatribe is, so no worries, I won’t be employing them.”

  “Funny,” she said as she entered the room with the closed door.

  “More like funny looking,” he said,poking fun at her, his mouth curling up into a smile on one side of his face.

  She just gave him a smirk in reply.

  The two of them stood next to one another in the dimly lit room. It contained nothing but a queen-sized bed with an overstuffed duvet t
hat made Isabella want to curl under it and hide, she so hated confrontation. Or pull him under there with her because if she was being truthful, the man was too good-looking for his own good. Not that she was paying attention because she wasn’t. But once you let go of the anger, it’s amazing how you notice things you otherwise wouldn’t have picked up on. Like his light gray-blue eyes that looked like windows into his soul. His dark, evil soul.

  Oh, God, she wasn’t allowed to think that way. She wanted to do her mother proud by being above it all, not stooping to the ugliness. Besides, there was really very little ugliness in front of her. Instead, there was this man who fit his slacks amazingly well. Like seriously, he must use a Stairmaster pretty regularly to get a butt like that, and if she wanted to look longer—she didn’t—she might even notice his broad chest and strong arms, no doubt from lifting heavy pots in the kitchen. Heavy pots of delicious food she’d be more than happy to eat with him. More like with someone like him but not him because she wasn’t about to commune over a dinner table with this man anytime soon.

  Sawyer extended his hand toward the bed. “Have a seat, please,” he said.

  Bella looked at where his hand pointed, then looked at him, then looked at that bed again.

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why? You planning to smother me under the goose down duvet?”

  She let out a little laugh. “To tell the truth, I hadn’t thought about it but now that you mention it, that’s not such a bad plan. Thanks for the suggestion.”

  He shrugged. “Any time I can be of help.”

  “Because that’s worked so well so far.”

  “About that,” he started to say.

  “Ugh, please, I just don’t want to rehash this.”

  “I need to explain,” he said, placing his drink on the nearby nightstand before sitting down on the bed. “But please, would you join me?”