Page 47 of Cupcake of the Month (Just Add Peaches #2)

She closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath, completely unsurprised when an image of Sebastien and his dark red hair fixed in her mind.

She should call him. He was, after all, a prince, and weren’t princes supposed to rescue damsels in distress?

Of course, he’d been doing that since they met when they were freshmen in college, though he had been a couple years older than Brandi and her cousin Wendy.

Talking to Sebastien would make her feel better. It had nothing to do with his being a royalty or his wonderfully mixed French Italian accent, and everything to do with the years of friendship between them.

But if she called, he’d hear something in her voice, even if she didn’t yet know what she was feeling.

Sad, probably. Annoyed and ticked off, definitely.

Maybe she should text. That way, if he was busy, he could read it when he got around to it, and he couldn’t interpret anything.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he was recovering from some party for the rich and semi-famous, or had a gorgeous socialite gracing his arm.

And maybe his bed.

She should start with something safe. She paused, thumbs hovering over her keyboard, before deciding. Charleston is gorgeous! she texted.

With that out of the way, she settled down to assess her immediate future. She didn’t want to go back to Fountenoy Hall, not yet. And the brief parts of Charleston she saw were pretty. AND—she searched on her phone—there were several whiskey distilleries in town that gave tours.

Boom. Problem solved. She could turn this catastrophe into a work weekend. Though she could be researching her secret project instead. Naw, it was good to have some professional curiosity.

Why are you texting me instead of getting it on with your paramour? Sebastien sent back to her.

Only Sebastien would use language like that. Plus it was a good question, and one she hadn’t anticipated.

Might as well be honest. He’d find out eventually anyway. And at least this way she wouldn’t be around for his smug I told you so . Even if he actually hadn’t said anything this time. Brandi had a talent for picking the wrong kind of man.

My paramour turned out to be my paraless. Anyway, I’ll prob spend the day here, then rent a car and head home. :)

***

Sebastien hated the rise in spirits at Brandi’s words.

And yet, he couldn’t help but be delighted her relationship with Andy hadn’t worked out. Sebastien never liked the guy anyway.

Which wasn’t fair. He wanted Brandi happy. But with him. And he suspected his window to admit it was closing.

Wait for me, mon ange , he texted back. Find something to do. I’ll swing through Charleston and help salvage the weekend.

Swing through. Like he was nearby instead of standing on the deck of a yacht in a completely different state.

The light lapping of the waves gently rocked the ship while he waited for her reply.

He tipped the rest of his mimosa down his throat and placed the flute on the tray of an always-alert, ever-present butler.

No, don’t do that. Not on Valentine’s Day. You should be being someone’s 3.

“Yours,” Sebastien said aloud. He’d been aching for her for forever, waiting for her to realize what she meant to him, but not at the expense of their friendship.

“What was that?” the owner of the yacht asked.

When they had run in to each other at the art gallery yesterday, Sebastien’s bodyman had to remind him the owner’s name was Laura and they had met at some red carpet events and afterparties a few years ago.

Thankfully Sebastien didn’t need his man to tell him they’d never slept together.

Laura had invited Sebastien to join her and friends to see the Miami yacht show…from her own yacht.

Sebastien pressed his phone against his chest, covering his screen as if Laura was trying to peek.

She was a lovely woman with shades of superficial coming from living off family money.

Not that Sebastien was any different, able to trace his wealth and bloodline through the royal history of Casagnes. “Nothing, mia amica .”

I’m not doing much. Give me a few hours. It would take time to find a charter airplane to get him to South Carolina. Rather, it would take his bodyman time to find a charter airplane. He texted one of them to start making calls.

“Are you speaking Italian?” A woman standing nearby fanned her rounded face, taking in Sebastien’s body with invitation in her wide, brown eyes.

She wiggled her shoulders as if overcome with a shiver, the flowing skirt of her white dress fluttering with her.

“You don’t know what that does to me. Say something… sexy.”

It wasn’t the first time women had flirted after hearing his French-Italian accent or speaking in foreign language. He had unabashedly used it in his twenties, but now he was over it.

He gave the woman a quick smile and turned back to Laura. “Can you have someone row me back to shore?”

“Leaving already?” she asked. “I was looking forward to hearing what fantastically royal things you’ve been up to and suavely hit you up for a sketch to auction for my Mom’s foundation.”

“Call me about the sketch.” Sebastien handed Laura a card for his social secretary, who would vet the organization and make sure it aligned with Sebastien’s and his family’s ideals and values.

She took the card, then motioned to her steward. Within minutes, Sebastien was on a tender, flying over the waves and leaving a half dozen yachts behind in the bay. His bodymen awaited him on the dock, ready to keep away any of the selected reporters allowed into the show.

“We found a plane and pilot, Your Highness,” Lo?c said, ushering him through the light crowd oohing and aahing over the boats on display.

They passed groups of people sitting on aquamarine benches and eating beet salads and other small plates.

Sebastien kept his head down, hoping his red hair wouldn’t act as a beacon for any photographers.

Lo?c stayed on his heel to deter anyone from following.

Though Sebastien had fought to have freedom from the traditional rules that came with being a younger-son prince, one thing he didn’t argue against was having Lo?c and Massimo as shadows. They provided the necessary security and made his life convenient. “We should be in the air in an hour.”

“Thank you.” Sebastien slid through the opened door of the rented Mercedes. He hadn’t driven his own car from Fountenoy Hall in Georgia, preferring to fly.

“Massimo will meet us at the air field after he packs your belongings.”

“Very good.” No, Sebastien didn’t mind his privilege one bit.

He settled in for the short drive and let his mind wander.

If he had to guess, Brandi hadn’t contacted her cousin at Fountenoy Hall.

Though Wendy had relaxed a lot over the past year, she still could be biased when it came Brandi and men.

She saw it as being protective. And she was, to a point, but her judgement was clouded by how Brandi used to act.

Brandi may have texted Jordan, but he doubted it.

He was usually the one she called when things didn’t end well.

What kind of mood would she be in? She had high hopes for this Andy.

Sebastien couldn’t imagine what he had done to throw it away.

A discreet look at this man’s background showed nothing out of the ordinary, though there wasn’t much about him.

It had taken time to differentiate between him and other Andy or Andrew Conners. He had a very small digital footprint.

If Sebastien was ever lucky enough to win Brandi’s heart, he’d cherish it.

The flight to South Carolina didn’t take long, and soon Sebastien was in the land of chilly February weather. He left the plane and accommodations to his men and texted Brandi from the beige airport building with its neatly trimmed bushes.

I’m here.

Where are you? she texted back.

He glanced at the rows of private planes behind him, the open sky and water beyond that. Did he want her to know he flew to get there quickly?

Somewhere in Charleston. That was mostly true. He wasn’t sure what the airfield was called. Tell me where you are and I’ll come meet you.

Massimo waited a respectful distance nearby, waiting to be acknowledged. His large, hulking presence garnered a few glances by the patrons waiting in the building. Sebastien raised his eyebrows in question.

“Will you be needing a car, sir?”

Brandi texted him an address. Sebastien looked back at his bodyman. “Better make it two so you can follow behind.”

His man nodded. Soon Sebastien found himself listening to the GPS.

Visions danced in his mind of him and Brandi together.

Visiting an art gallery. Eating fresh oysters.

Going for a walk down a historic Charleston cobblestone street, pausing while he sketched her silhouette.

Then he’d grasp her hand like he’d done so often before, but this time, she’d look at their joined hands and her unusual brown and green eyes would travel up to his face, revealing the flecks of gold near her irises.

And finally, finally, after years of wanting and patiently waiting, he’d kiss her.

Softy at first, but then she’d wrap her arms around his neck and lock her mouth on his.

Three hours after she broke up with her last boyfriend. When she was sad and vulnerable.

Sebastien wasn’t that much of a schmuck.

Schmuck was a good word, definitely fitting of the circumstance. He had stolen it from Jordan.

He pulled into the hotel parking lot, his eyes searching for his blonde angel. Her eyebrows drew down when she spotted the car, but her face brightened when she recognized him. Her smile made heat pool in his gut, but he willed himself still while she entered his car.

“Hey, Charming.” She closed the door behind her and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Anytime.” The air inside sizzled with her presence and he turned down the air conditioning.

“Did you tell Wendy?” Brandi ran her hand over the leather interior and eyed the dual temperature controls. “This has heated seats?”

“When have I ever run to your cousin when it had nothing to do with her, and yes.”

“Afraid the royal ass will get cold?”

“That’s a loaded question.” He tossed her quick smile before pulling out of the lot and onto the busy street. “Want to grab some lunch?”

She groaned as she settled into her seat, eyes closed. “I just want to go home.”