Charmed By The Mountain Prince: An Arranged Marriage Romance

by Frankie Love

  She meets my gaze. “You mean that? You’re sorry?”

  “I am sorry.”

  “How sorry?”

  “Sorry enough that I’m willing to make a few concessions to make our living situation less tense.”

  “Concessions? Jesus, Garrick. I’m your wife.”

  “Exactly.”

  “As your wife I want more than a concession. I want your—”

  She stops herself mid-sentence, looks at her hands, then clasps them tightly, pulling them into her lap. Her cheeks flush and she looks embarrassed.

  “What is it?” I ask, as gently as I can manage. “What do you want?”

  Iris shakes her head, and I see a trace of tears in the corner of her eyes. Damn it, the last thing I want to do is make my wife cry.

  “Listen, when I said concessions I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I have a few ideas of how we can compromise, is all. What you said this morning made a lot of sense. We should have some electricity in our place. And we should get a refrigerator. Maybe even a proper stove. That way you can cook our meals.”

  Iris looks at me, jaw-dropped.

  “What did I say now?” I ask, incredulous, pushing away my plate of food untouched.

  “So I can cook you your meals?” she balks. “That’s what I’m here for? That’s what you want from me?”

  “Hell, no. There’s a lot more I want from you. I think you gave me a pretty good hint of what you’re capable of in the bathroom.”

  “Garrick, I’m a princess,” she whisper-yells. “And you know what? All women are princesses for that matter. All wives are. All partners are. And to think I’m here just to suck your cock and make you dinner? God. If you see me….”

  She shakes her head, a blurry of tears filling her eyes. She must realize that there are people all around us, because she lowers her voice and speaks through gritted teeth.

  “If you see me just as a thing to have, instead of a person to have and to hold ... someone to cherish ... I don’t see how this is going to work.”

  “Iris,” I say reaching for her, realizing too late how fucking insane I sounded.

  But it’s too late. She’s stepped off the stool and headed to the door.

  Kurt may not have heard the entire domestic exchange, but he’s got the gist of it. He shoots me a raised eyebrow, shakes his head. “Prince Charming, you have some work to do.”

  19

  I wipe tears from my eyes as I leave the bar. I’m embarrassed—and not because I wanted to exude some sort of perfection. Not in the least.

  I may be a princess, but I’m far from perfect.

  I run as fast as I can and duck into a side street, crouching behind a dumpster where, in the least ladylike way, I cry my heart out.

  I got uncomfortable at the bar, mostly because I realized Garrett doesn’t feel the way for me that I feel for him. I feel attracted to him sure, but more than that, I feel a connection to him. When his hands hold me, when his eyes meet mine, it feels like we’re connected on a level deeper than the physical.

  It feels like we’re connected, and it feels like love. There are glimpses where I think he truly sees me, truly understands me. Then the moment passes and his stubbornness gets in the way of anything real.

  I’m embarrassed because I was so close to telling him that yes, I truly am falling for him.

  But I know he isn’t falling for me.

  I’m just the person he wants to order around the cabin.

  Back in Elexia, when I sat with Dahlia and packed my clothes, she told me I needed to brace myself for the worst-case scenario—worst-case scenario being that Garrick doesn’t want to be married to me. I told myself that wasn’t even a real option.

  Of course I want my husband to want me. Sure, it’s an arranged marriage, but I have this naïve desire to be swept off my feet and carried away to a romantic happily-ever-after. Full-on unicorn rides into the sunset.

  But as I sat in the bar, listening to Garrick’s words, on the heels of me getting on my knees, I couldn’t help but feel like a fool.

  I thought he and I were getting closer, and I have all these big feelings—feelings of wanting to be his.

  I want to yell at him or scream at him. I wanted my plan, this plan where I buy fancy lingerie and whipped fucking cream, to work. I thought maybe it could be as easy and light as that.

  As if this was something besides my actual life, my actual marriage. Garrick deserves more than that.

  Our marriage deserves more than a push-up bra and an aerosol can. Doesn’t it?

  In the street, there are tourists all around taking pictures of the wedding chapel in which I was just married, posing in front of white horses that draw carriages, snapping photos in front of the city square.

  I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be around all these people, in a country that feels unknown. I thought I wanted an adventure, but right now I just want to curl up in bed and cry.

  Shoving my hands in my new coat’s pockets, I walk down the alley, knowing I need to make my way toward the cabin. Where else am I supposed to go? The castle isn’t an option.

  I could see through the flimsy façade of Garrick’s parents last night, see the way our marriage was a show for them. An opportunity for them to put us on parade, just like Garrick wanted to avoid. They may be my in-laws, but they don’t feel like family.

  And that’s what’s so crazy about Garrick. I’ve only known him a day ... yet already I’m willing to fight for this marriage.

  And yes, fight him, too.

  I want to punch him in the face. I want to yell at him and scream at him and tell him how I really feel. He hurt me—but that doesn’t mean I’m going to run away from him.

  I stop in my tracks, realizing that’s exactly what I’m doing. I ran out of the bar, instead of sitting and saying Garrick, listen to me. You’re hurting me. I deserve better.

  I should have stayed.

  I keep saying I want an adventure, but what that really comes down to is wanting to experience things outside of my comfort zone, being forced to expand into a bigger, better person.

  Being brave is an adventure too, it’s walking into the unknown. And maybe the adventure I’m looking for is inside a tiny cabin with a man who makes my knees weak and my belly flop and my pussy ache.

  Maybe that isn’t settling for something small.

  Maybe it’s granting myself permission to take a leap of faith with the man I’m married to.

  The man I have fallen for. Hard.

  Maybe if I jump, he’ll catch me.

  I take a deep breath and turn around, knowing that I need to march back into that bar and give Garrick a piece of my mind, not caring who hears me. I’m going to go in there and let him know that I’m fighting for this.

  For us.

  And that I won’t walk away again.

  I’ll also explain that he is a freaking idiot to think I’ll starch his flannel shirts and make him beef stew every night.

  I’m a princess. Just like every other woman. And I deserve to be treated as such.

  Hell, I’ll drag him back down to that bathroom screaming his face off and tell him how I really feel. Because blinking back tears does nothing, and wiping away tears isn’t going to get me the marriage I want. The relationship I want.

  The life I want.

  Running away is only going to leave me alone.

  At the bar, I pull open the door, and scan the room. Garrick isn’t here. I bite my bottom lip, wondering where he went.

  Kurt’s eyes meet mine. He walks over to me, handing me a handkerchief. “He left Princess, moments after you ran out. But that must have been ten minutes ago, or more. Want to come to the bar, love, and have a drink?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Thank you, but I need to get home.”

  I swallow, shocked that when I say home, I mean Garrick’s cabin.

  Right now, that’s the only place I want to be.

  And I hope he’s there waiting for me.


  20

  When I leave the bar and realize Iris has left the city square without a backward glance, I know there’s only one way I can make it up to her.

  There’s only one way that matters.

  I duck my head, not wanting to garner the attention of any of the fucking tourists.

  I walk straight to the castle, refusing to let my stupid ideas get in the way of the one good thing that’s ever happened to me.

  The moment I laid eyes on Iris at the chapel, I knew she was an angel—one I don’t deserve. And I know we have a whole slew of things we need to discuss and work out, but none of those things matter. The second I flippantly said that she could cook me dinner on a new stove, I knew I sounded like an idiot.

  I saw her eyes fill with tears, saw her shake her head in her disappointment. Disappointment in me.

  That’s the last thing I ever wanted. It’s a feeling I never want her to experience again. It’s not fair, to cradle her in my arms all night and then disregard her value the next day, to give her those kinds of highs and lows. She deserves better than that.

  Every woman does.

  And I’m going to show her that I’ll give up the things I hold so tightly—my cabin, my self-reliance, my asshole M.O.—because none of that matters if I don’t have her.

  I walk straight inside the castle, not waiting for the footman to open the fucking door or the butler to address me. The conversation I need to have has waited too fucking long.

  Running my hand over my beard, I pause before my father’s office. Taking a deep breath, I know I’m about to say something I never thought I’d fucking say.

  The very thing that only yesterday I swore I never would. It’s crazy to think how much can change in such a short amount of time. But none of my ideals are worth having if I’m alone.

  I knock on the door, wait for my father to answer.

  “Yes?” he calls.

  I turn the door handle and step inside his wood paneled office. It’s claustrophobic in here. Books line the shelves, but more than that, everything is polished and perfectly in place, not a detail overlooked. The Historic vibe is strong, and everything is a relic, which is strange considering none of it has any personal value to anyone left living.

  But my father is meticulous about the appearance of things. And this office is more my father than anything. I sigh, resigning myself to the realization that it will be my space one day. But knowing why I came here, I know that it may be my space sooner than I ever anticipated.

  “Father, I came to discuss an urgent matter with you.”

  “Urgent?” my father cocks an eye at me and motions to the chair opposite him. He sits behind a desk with papers piled high.

  I know I’ve slacked off long enough, not taking my role as the heir to the throne seriously in the way my father wishes. But all it took was one massive look of disappointment on my bride’s face for me to realize it’s time I change my ways. Even if it means spending less time in the village and more time with pompous dignitaries.

  “What brings you here exactly, Garrick?” my father asks.

  I sit down and look at him straight on. “I have a request of you. I know it’s the exact opposite of everything I’ve been saying for years, but I’ve had a change of heart.”

  “Don’t tell me you think you’re sending Iris back? You married her. There’s no way you can get out of this now. She’s your wife, damn it, Garrick.”

  “God no,” I say, revolted at the idea of sending Iris anywhere but to my bed. “I don’t want out.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want in. I want in on the family business. No more refusing to play by your rules. No more dismissing the royal court. No more leaving the party early.”

  “Oh, really?” he asks, disbelief written across his face. “And what’s in this for you?”

  “Iris,” I tell him plainly. “Iris is all I’m after.”

  My father’s eyes narrow, but he can see the genuine look on my face. He shakes his head, a grin on his face. “I told you back at your cabin last week that marriage was a compromise. You took your old father’s advice to heart, I take it?”

  “Iris’s heart is all I want.”

  My father stands, shakes my hand. He calls in my mother, and we discuss the details. She throws her arms around me, the most affection I think I’ve ever received from her.

  I’d be offended, but if this is what Iris wants, this is what I’ll do.

  “Garrick, I’m so proud of you,” she says squeezing my shoulders. “Finally getting some sense. Marriage will do that to a man. We need to call in the bulldozers!”

  I feel my shoulders tense at her words. My cabin means a hell of a lot to me, and her dismissal isn’t appreciated. There’s no way in hell that thing is going to be bulldozed.

  Instead of addressing it, I step away from her hug, not wanting to sour the mood. I’ve never made my parents so proud. But their pride means so little. That isn’t why I am doing this.

  My father pours us each a drink, and we raise our glasses in a toast.

  “To new beginnings,” my father says.

  I down the whiskey and make my way outside. I need to get out of this stifling castle and win over the heart of my wife.

  21

  I arrive at the empty cabin and see several packages have been delivered to our front door. It’s all the items I bought earlier.

  None of them hold the same pleasure now that I’m here alone, now that I’ve decided my tactics of winning over my husband were childish and immature.

  Carrying them inside, I unwrap the pieces and look at each item carefully. Fingering the soft silky fabric of the nightgowns and panties, all I can imagine is wearing them for Garrick.

  My heart swells with emotion, realizing that if I could rewrite history, I’d never run out of the bar. I would stay, and explain that he was being a horse’s ass.

  It’s then that I know, I’m not just falling for him.

  I love him.

  Because I know he said some shitty things at the bar, but I know without a doubt he’ll come to his senses and apologize. He offered me a compromise—and yes, I was looking for more, but this last twenty-four hours has been a shock to my system, and I know it must be equally shocking to his. We’re forging a life together, when we are both used to seeing things from only our own points of view.

  And I know the way he looked into my eyes, the way he touched my skin and held me in his strong arms … I know he will come back here tonight.

  I look at the suitcase next to my dresser, noting that I have no plans of packing it anytime soon—unless Garrick is taking me on a honeymoon.

  With intent, I place my new lace bras and panties in the drawers in which they belong. Looking out the small window, I see that the sun has set. The day has disappeared before my eyes. I guess I was out shopping a lot longer than I thought.

  Giving a blowjob longer than I thought.

  Fighting more than I wanted.

  I look at the wood stove. The fire is long gone, and I feel a chill spread over me.

  I can’t even take a shower to warm up.

  Soon enough, though, I’ll at least be able to plug in an electric blanket. Garrick said he would install a stove and electrical sockets.

  Is that enough?

  Garrick built this cabin with his hands. That’s sexy and strong, and not something I should have so easily dismissed.

  Looking around the cabin, I know that this is my home.

  I bite my lip, knowing that eventually Garrick will arrive. We’ll fight, surely—but afterward, we’ll make up.

  My heart stirs. I want to offer my love to him, starting with my body.

  I slip off my clothes, and look in the drawer for a white teddy, the sexiest one of the bunch. I pull it on, and the white lace pulls tight across my nipples, the plunging neckline leaves nothing to the imagination. The thong bottom exposes my ass, and the mesh back is cut out. I can already imagine his fingers stroking across my skin.
<
br />   I grab a long white silk robe and tie it around my waist, covering the secret beneath. Just as I cinch the belt, the door to the cabin opens.

  Suddenly, I’m nervous.

  I want to see his eyes so I can better understand him

  “Iris?” he calls out.

  I step away from the dresser. “I’m here.”

  Garrick’s back is to me as he shuts and locks the front door. His broad shoulders remind me he’s a strong, capable man … and I believe he’s capable of loving me.

  I believe in him.

  He turns to face me, his eyes stern. It surprises me to see him stepping inside from the cold, his face that of a man who lives his life in the mountains. He has a beanie over his hair, no princely crown to speak of. His coat collar is high on his chin and his breath is frosty.

  “It’s fucking frigid in here,” he says, clasping his hands together.

  “I know. I didn’t know how to start the fire.”

  He waves a hand at my words. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t expect you to.”

  Confusion envelops me.

  He must see it, because he shakes his head, walking toward me. “Damn it, that came out wrong. I mean I should never have left you here alone when it’s so cold out. I should have been here to stoke a fire.”

  “Where have you been?” I ask as he turns to the wood stove and opens the door to it, adding a few logs along with kindling and striking a match.

  “I looked for you after you left the pub, but I didn’t know where you went.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” I press. “Where did you go, Garrick?”

  He stands and walks back to me. This time his shoulders fall, his eyes are on me. I watch him swallow, inhale, then reach for my hands.

  “I had to speak with my father.” His thumb rubs circles over the top of my skin. His touch is distracting.

  I try to focus. “Why your father? You can’t stand him or the castle.”

  “I had to make some plans.” He brushes off my question again.

  I’m getting impatient. “What kind of plans?”