by Erika Kelly
Now, he was a stranger. All the times they’d experimented with sex, all the awkward moments and kisses and orgasms, all of it rose up and engulfed her in shame.
Because he’d never been attracted to her.
I’m not attracted to him. The revelation struck like a blast of cold water. It seemed, somehow, even worse. How had she not cared about something so fundamental?
What’s wrong with me?
She couldn’t contemplate these questions. First, she had to deal with him. “I didn’t even have a clue you were unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy. I’m not. I love you, Rosalina.”
“Yes, like a sister. I heard. How long has this been going on? All seven years I’ve been away?”
“Of course not.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.” He let out a huff of breath. “It’s been gradual. It started out with stupid flirting, but then it…it just got bigger.”
“How long?”
“Maybe since last Christmas.”
She felt like she was in the last room left in a burning building, flames licking underneath the door, smoke billowing, taking up all the space in her lungs. “I’m just…trying to wrap my head around this. For six months, you’ve led a double life? You’ve been lusting after her, whispering….stealing moments together…kissing her?” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’m such a fool.” The pain was so big and bright, like a sun that was swallowing her whole.
“No, you’re not. You’re the best person I know.” He seemed to have found his purpose. “I swear to you, I’ve never slept with her.”
For some reason that stupid comment made her stronger. “Would you stop saying that? It’s not your free pass. Every second with me for the past six months was a lie. Every time you had sex with me you saw her face. God, Marcel, why didn’t you tell me something was wrong? Why didn’t you ask for more?”
“Can you give more?”
The careless comment kicked her so hard in the stomach she felt nauseated.
“No.” He reached for her, but she shrugged him off. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…you’ve been in school, developing your products…when you come home, you have to do your duties here…there hasn’t been time for us. I’m not blaming you. I swear I’m not. You’ve amazing. I admire you.”
“I guess admiration doesn’t inspire a man to rip off a woman’s clothes. I’m not sure, though, after hearing you lust after another woman, that I can stand to hear how well you think of me.” She drew in a shaky breath and looked him fully in the eyes for the first time. “I trusted you, Marcel. With everything in me, I trusted you, and you broke my heart.”
All the anxiety, the urgency to fix the situation, seemed to crash, and he just looked defeated. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m so damn sorry.”
She believed him. She did. “I don’t care. While I’ve been believing in us, you’ve been stealing secret moments with your lover behind my back. I don’t see how we can come back from this.”
“What’re you saying? We’re still getting married. We have to. You know—”
“Do not talk to me about my duty to this country. When my parents find out what you’ve done, they won’t want me to marry you.”
“They might not want it, but they’ll need you to.”
Now that straightened her spine. “Are you threatening me?”
He looked horrified. “Of course not. Rosalina, I messed up. I did. But can you allow me one screw up? I’ve never done anything like this before. We’ve been friends our whole lives, we will be happy together.” He brought his hands to the sides of his head, scraping his fingers through the short strands of hair. “What have I done?”
“Do you love her?”
His attention snapped to her. “No. I mean, I know that’s not what it looks like, but I don’t love her the way I love you.”
“Yes, I got that. Which, of course, is the whole problem.” The jar had gone warm in her hand. “Look, I need you to do something for me.” She handed it to him. “I’ve finally got it, the formula for the body lotion. I need you to convince your father that expanding our product line will—”
“You’re talking to me about business? That’s what you want to discuss right now?”
“Well, we could talk about what a two-faced liar you are, but that doesn’t seem all that productive.”
“I deserved that, but don’t you think it’s sad that in our worst moment you want to talk about your lotion?”
“No, what’s sad is that for all these months, you didn’t do anything. If you were unhappy, if you were developing feelings for another woman, you could’ve done something for us. Plan a getaway…surprise me at school…take me up against the wall.” Something stirred to life inside her, a long dormant curl of desire, like steam rising from a tea cup. “Instead, you turned to another woman.”
She left the room in a haze. There was too much happening inside her body to separate each individual strand of emotion. Marcel’s betrayal had her reeling, but Fabiana’s words terrified her.
Because they were true.
I’m twenty-five years old, and I’ve never felt passion.
She’d had crushes, of course, but she’d shut them down—simply by changing her patterns. She’d sit in a different section of the lecture hall or go to a different café or bar with her friends.
“Rosalina,” he called. “We’ll work through this. In the meantime, we’ve got to be seen as a happy couple. The vote’s six weeks away.”
Right then, she got a flash of her wedding gown. The famous designer lived, of all places, in a cowboy town in Wyoming. “I think you know me better than that. I wear my emotions on my sleeve. There’s no way I can act like I’m in love with you.”
She’d seen images of the place and had found it charming. Iron hitching posts, strapping men in dusty jeans, pickup trucks, and lassos.
And right then she made a decision.
She was going to get away. To a world that didn’t resemble this one at all.
I’m going to Calamity.
Chapter Three
Leaning against the wall, Brodie Bowie watched the guests gather around the bride and groom in the atelier he and his brothers had built as a surprise wedding gift for Gray’s girlfriend…sorry, Gray’s wife.
Yeah. Gray was married.
Soon, his oldest brother, Will, would make it official with Delilah, and the youngest, Fin, would tie the knot with Callie….and it just felt weird.
Kind of like when Brodie was nine years old, and he and his brothers had snuck out of the house to go skiing under a super moon. Long shadows had disoriented him, and he’d soared right off a cliff. He’d landed on a hard patch of ice, shredding the ligaments in his knee and cracking his skull.
On a helicopter, in the dead of night, he’d come back to consciousness, aware only of a big hand holding his. “Hey, little guy,” his dad had said. Nothing had been scarier than seeing his rough, mountain-man dad turn all sweet and soft. “Next time you’re up for an adventure, invite your old man, huh?”
Head screaming with pain, vision blurry, he’d had no idea what was going on. All he’d known was that one moment he’d been laughing his ass off, caught up in rebellious fun with his brothers, and the next, he was being Life-Flighted to the University of Utah.
On that chopper, his brothers nowhere to be found, he’d felt utterly and completely lost.
That’s what this feels like. Knowing his brothers were gone—well, obviously, not literally gone. Everyone lived on the ranch, and they all still hung out. But it wasn’t the same. That all-for-one, one-for-all bond was over. His brothers had transferred the oath to their women.
And it just baffled him.
One day, they’d all been having a blast snowboarding and surfing, jumping on the jet to go wherever the hell they wanted, free as the wind—and the next three of them were giving dopey-eyed grins to girlfriends. Getting married.
Hard to begrudge the
m anything, though, considering he’d never seen them so happy. So, that was good. But he missed them. Missed knowing they were all in it together.
The door to the salon pushed open, and the hotel’s manager peeked in. He seemed surprised to find Brodie standing there. “Oh, hey, we’ve got an issue.”
Brodie didn’t want to ruin his brother’s wedding reception, so he followed the man out the door, closing it behind him. “What’s up?”
“Princess Rosalina’s here, and she’s got a problem.”
“Who?” He looked past the manager to see a couple of beefy men in black suits standing in the middle of the lobby.
“The princess of St. Christophe. She called yesterday to book a suite, but the one we gave her’s too small.”
He had no idea why the manager would ask for his help. “Well, I can’t do anything about it right now, so I’ll let you figure it out.” Eighteen months ago, Brodie had turned the ghost town adjacent to his family’s three-hundred-thousand-acre legacy ranch into a living museum.
He’d built it, but he’d never been involved in the day-to-day running of the individual businesses.
“Yes, but the only suite that will accommodate her entourage is the three-bedroom.”
Ah. Okay. Now it made sense. “You want me to give up my room?”
“She’s here for a fitting with Knox.” He lifted a shoulder, like it was obvious what Brodie should do. “And she’s a princess.”
“Of a principality the size of my left nut.”
The manager cracked a smile. “I’ll be sure to tell her that.”
He supposed he could crash with one of his brothers. He opened the door to see the wedding party surrounding a small, circular table. Knox, a dark-haired beauty in an extravagant wedding gown of her own design, plucked the fresh pink and white flowers out of the frosting on the tiered cake. Callie stood in the shelter of his youngest brother’s arms, and Delilah canoodled with Ruby, his half-sister. Looked like the chef was singing a song to the rapt little girl.
A strange ache in his chest had him turning back to the hotel manager. He wouldn’t be staying with any of them. “How about putting her detail up in some double rooms? We’re in between tourist seasons.” Which was why he was staying in the hotel to begin with. “I’m sure we’ve got some vacancies.”
The man gave a proud jut of his chin. “Actually, we’re completely booked.”
“Has she checked out the saloon?” They’d restored the original structure, turning the downstairs into a lively tavern and converting the upper levels into a bed and breakfast.
“Brodie, come on, man.” He leaned in. “You want me to tell a princess to find somewhere else to stay?”
“Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll talk to her.” Brodie headed across the wood floor, polished to a high gloss, taking in the lobby he’d designed to fit the time period. Damn, his dad would love this place. The original settlement of Calamity had been too close to the Teton Mountain Range, so they’d moved it a couple miles deeper into the valley. His dad, a history nut, had purchased the ghost town a few years before his death in an avalanche.
Last year, Brodie had hired historians and worked with preservationists to bring the town to life. He’d hired costumed actors to walk the streets and populate the restaurants, the saloon and B&B, and the stores. Scheduled shoot-outs took place throughout the summer. It was pretty cool.
As he approached the bodyguards, the larger one headed toward him with his hand out in greeting.
“Hello, I’m Harrison Vachon.” He spoke with an unusual accent—sounded French, but different.
“Brodie Bowie. So, I understand you need a larger suite?” And, right then, he caught a glimpse of the princess. With her luxurious dark hair, huge black sunglasses, and bright red lipstick, the bombshell tapped furiously on her phone.
Too busy updating your social media accounts to deal with your travel plans, princess?
“When she booked, she’d only planned on bringing me.” The man was the size of a linebacker. “Gustav was a last-minute addition.”
“Is there a problem?” Maybe he’d underestimated her tiny principality. He didn’t need security issues in Owl Hoot.
“Not at all. But she’s the princess of St. Christophe, and her parents are protective of her.”
Awesome. A pampered princess. “Okay. I’ll take care of it.” He gave the man a curt nod and made his way to the front desk. Nodding to the clerks, he slipped into the manager’s office. “Go ahead and clear out my suite. Rosie and her entourage can stay there.”
The manager gave an amused grin. “Rosie?”
“Come on, man, she licks barbecue sauce off her fingers like the rest of us.” On his way out, he rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “Think you can get someone to bring my stuff over to the bunkhouse?”
“You got it.” The manager got up. “Sorry for kicking you out.”
“No big deal. I’m not home all that much.”
As he crossed the lobby, the princess glanced up at him, and their gazes caught. Held. It was the strangest feeling, but time slowed, the chatter in the lobby dulled to white noise, and he watched her jaw slacken, red lips part, and her pale cheeks turn pink.
On any other woman he might’ve picked up attraction, but this one just looked flustered. And it was reinforced when she quickly dropped her gaze back to her phone.
He had no idea what that was about, and he didn’t much care. Pampered women weren’t his thing. He sped up to get back to Gray’s reception. Throwing open the door of the salon, he found his brothers gathered in serious conversation. But, by the time he’d reached them, they’d dispersed.
He caught up with Will. “Hey, what was that all about?”
“We were just talking about that email from Pierce,” Will said. “Trying to figure out how we can help him. I’ve got Ruby, so I can’t do it.”
The oldest sibling had taken on the full-time job of raising their half-sister. Over the course of one summer, Will had gone from being the nine-time world freestyle ski champion to stay-at-home dad. It was humbling.
Brodie admired the hell out of his brother. “What email?” And why would the general manager of the Owl Hoot Consortium talk to his brothers? They’d had very little to do with the creation of the ghost town. “Help him how?”
“Didn’t you read it?” Will asked. “He says they’re underwater. Main Street’s half empty because no one’s going to open a business unless there’s enough traffic coming through town.”
“We have plenty of tourists.” Even though not the intention, Brodie took it as a rebuke. “This hotel’s booked solid even in the shoulder months.”
“Right,” Will said. “The interest’s there, for sure, but the town’s not getting repeat business. There’s not enough going on. It’s pretty expensive to come all the way out here just to see a staged shoot-out and eat in a fancy restaurant.”
That stung. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” This is my baby.
His brother looked at him like he’d just asked him to pitch handfuls of wedding cake at him.
“You’ve moved on.” Will said it like it was obvious. Like he hadn’t given a single thought to including him. When he looked surprised, his brother said, “You’ve got great ideas, you get them up and running, and then you move onto the next project.”
“The next project was Knox’s digital platform,” Brodie said.
Gray’s wife had decided to sell her couture wedding gowns online. Brodie had only meant to talk to some three-D modelers about the concept but had found himself immersed in the whole project. Pretty interesting stuff.
“Don’t know what to tell you.” Will shrugged. “We all got the same email.”
“When?”
“Couple days ago.” Will grinned. “Actually, it was Tuesday. I remember because Ruby had a play date at someone else’s house. My girl walked in the door, spotted their Bernese Mountain dog, and chased him all around the living room. Broke a lamp.”
“Will?” Th
e bride waved him over.
“It’s cool,” his brother said. “We’ll figure it out.”
He took off, leaving Brodie alone. He felt restless, uncomfortable in his skin—which wasn’t normal for him.
Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his emails looking for Pierce’s name. How was it possible that Owl Hoot wasn’t making enough money to cover its costs?
He found the email and quickly scanned it.
…only three shops in the hotel…
…constructed the artisan stalls but never filled them…
…your father’s vision has gone largely unfulfilled.
A sharp pain hit his chest. After his dad died, the four of them had gone through his belongings. Brodie had found a file labeled Ghost Town. In it, he’d found schematics for revitalized buildings, along with cocktail napkins and scraps of paper filled with ideas for attracting tourists to the area.
For a couple of weeks, Brodie had kept the folder to himself. As he often did, he let things burble in his subconscious, until the living museum concept popped up. From there, he’d created a resort spa, a train that took people from Calamity to Owl Hoot, and an amphitheater for live music and Shakespeare in the Park plays.
He’d set up the consortium, hired a general manager to oversee the running of the town…and then he’d gotten involved in Knox’s business. So, yeah, he’d stopped paying attention.
He stepped out to the lobby to take in the shopping arcade. Other than the recently completed wedding gown atelier, the hotel had a gourmet food shop and a clothing boutique. He’d covered a tourist’s basic necessities—souvenirs, picnic lunches, bathing suits for swimming in Calamity’s large lake, and essential toiletries.
Hardly an arcade.
Heading outside, he shielded his eyes from the bright June sun and took in the boardwalks on either side of the street. The costumed jailor was chatting with a cowboy who was just tying up his horse, and patrons entered the saloon for lunch.
In the opposite direction, the work had been completed on a row of connected booths. Given the volatile climate of the region, he’d covered them for inclement weather but gave them doors that opened wide to enable tourists to watch the artists at work.