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But he was the one who pulled out his platinum credit card and gave me a fucking fantasy weekend straight out of the best romantic movie ever.
And that was even without the sex.
I might have been the one to ask if he wanted to go to a hotel, buthewas the one who told me he was falling in love with me.
So hell, if Jonah Greene rocked Linnea Olsen’s world even a fraction of the way Cian rocked mine, then said he loved her and asked her marry him, I don’t blame the woman for saying yes.
If it works out, great.
If it doesn’t… well, I still don’t blame her for falling for it.
Chemistry can be very potent and idiot-inducing.
“But anyway,” Mariah goes on. “That’s not the one I’m talking about.”
I sip from my cup. “What do you mean?”
“There was another episode published an hour ago!”
I frown. I’d missed that notification while I was getting ready for work. I glance at my phone, but resist reaching for it. I donotneed to look. “Well, there’s a lot going on. It’s been a little chaotic over there.” I feel my palm itching to grab my phone. What’s going on? Cian was at the wedding. Do they mention him again in this new episode?
Ugh.
“Cian and Henry are missing!”
I freeze with my mug halfway to my mouth. I stare at Mariah. She’s studying her phone.
“What?” I ask, trying not to sound too interested. Or worried.
I’m notworriedexactly. I know Henry and there’s no way anything bad happened.
But what does the podcast mean ‘they’re missing’?
I’d tried to resist. I’d told myself it was stupid to learn anything at all about the man I planned to never see again.
But it was very hard to ignore Henry telling me that Cian had been looking for me ever since our night together. That had made my heart beat a little harder, I’ll admit.
I haven’t forgotten him. I’ve replayed our weekend over and over again.
Of course I have.
I’m a single mom who doesnotdate, doesnothave flings, doesn’t even have sex, who is living back in my hometown where at least half of the people hate me, trying to prove that I’ve changed, trying to avoid my father, and trying to keep my dead step-father’s garage in business.
There’s not a lot of fun in my life right now. So does my mind wander back to the weekend that felt like a fucking fantasy from start to finish? To the man who made me feel like a goddess from minute one? To the Windsor Court hotel, the luxurious bubble baths, the decadent food, the expensive dress he bought me, the laughter, the flirting, and the holy-shit-hot sex?
Um, yes.
Of course it does.
Often.
That weekend was like a dream come true.
And then I find out that I said ‘what the hell’, shed all of my careful ways, and I ended up taking my clothes off for aprince?
I mean…that can’t be real, right? How does that happen?
But it’s real. And in the past few months since Henry tracked us down, I’ve Googled the hell out of Cara and the royal family and learned the entire history, past and present.