Chapter Three
Acheron: She's here again.
Acheron: Yeah, she's back again today.
Acheron: She finally asked our staff about you.
Acheron: Staff says her eyes are puffy.
Acheron: Will you just fucking come and see her for yourself?
****
IS THIS YOUR WAY OFtelling me karma fucking bites, God?
I bet it fucking is.
People like to say that God works in mysterious fucking ways, but I've always thought God gets bored like everyone else, and that's when things go south.
He wants the best for us, sure, but He also likes fucking things up now and then, just to make things more interesting while He munches on popcorn in heaven.
In the years that civil war raged over my kingdom, and every man had to risk his life to free Huzna from tyranny, I was one of those who spoke scathingly of soldiers who felt themselves torn between love and duty.
Duty over personal interests, goddammit.
How difficult was that to process?
That had always been my personal credo, and it was not some platitude I simply mouthed. I always placed duty above all else, and that was also how I ended up engaged in the first place.
There was a Carribean island that we've had our eye on for some years. Its location was a key element in Huzna's defense strategy, and after much wheeling and dealing, I was able to acquire the property on one condition.
The seller wanted his granddaughter to marry a dependable man of his choosing while the girl wanted to marry for love. If I was willing to marry the girl and make her fall in love with me, the island would be mine, and I wouldn't even have to pay a single cent.
It was a deal I didn't hesitate to take, and I didn't pay any heed when my brothers warned me I was being too fucking hasty.
Duty over personal interests, right?
And that was how God had me eating my own words, when He let me meet the girl of my fucking dreams...just when I've already promised to marry someone else.
"This is it," Julian Alexeyev says.
Julian is a Russian professor who also happens to have a billion-dollar fortune, but right now he's taken the role of my chauffeur, and I feel like some inexperienced teenage boy with the way my heart pounds as my friend parks his car facing Mariposa House.
Our vantage point offers a clear unobstructed view of the cafe, and only a half hour passes when I see a girl cycle up to the B&B, her long blond hair loose, and her slim, toned body shown off to its every advantage in her sleeveless sports top and leggings.
"Is that her?" Julian asks.
A clipped nod is all I can manage, since I'm too fucking busy watching her like some crazy fanboy stalking his celebrity crush.
Just seeing her now makes my heart ache, and my knuckles have turned completely white at how hard I'm gripping the door handle. Every damn second is a struggle, every part of me desperately fighting against the urge to snatch her into his arms and give us what we both want.
I miss her, dammit.
That I do so makes me feel like a fool, but I don't give a damn. I know she's a stranger still, but she's already in my blood, and she's all I could think about the past fucking week.
"Did you really make it clear to her that it's impossible for the two of you to have a relationship?"
"I told her to forget about me."