Page 34 of Royal Trouble
“I thought Lucy’s wedding was a few weeks ago?” Her mom’s melodic laugh carried across the line. “I guess I must’ve gotten the dates wrong. You know me and numbers.”
Dammit. She hated lying to her mom, but no way was she going to admit the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. Her mom didn’t know about Royals Gone Wild—she was under the impression Everly had gotten a full ride to Columbia—and Everly planned to keep it that way.
“Actually, I’m working on a story forOn Pointmagazine. It’s just a trial run, but if I do a good job, they’ll bring me on as a staff writer when I get back to New York.”
“That’s great news!” her mom gushed. “I guess I’ll just have to take a rain check.”
“Definitely. I’ll let you know when I get back.” With any luck, she’d be headed home in a few days—it would be easy enough to change her return ticket—but she didn’t want to jinx herself by saying it aloud.
“Have you heard anything from your agent?”
She sighed. “No. I checked in with her a few weeks ago, and so far, she hasn’t been able to find an editor who’s passionate enough about my book to publish it.”
The call with Marisa hadn’t exactly been encouraging. The agent had hinted it might be time to shelve her manuscript and start working on a new project. It was sound advice, but that manuscript was her baby—she’d poured her heart and soul into it—and the idea of putting it aside to focus on something new chafed.
Be a writer, they said. It’s fun, they said.
“Don’t give up hope. It’s only been a few months,” her mother said cheerfully. Everly smiled in spite of herself. Where she was all glass half empty, her mother was a half full kind of woman. Really, it was a miracle her mother retained such endless optimism given her life experience, but there you had it. “You’re a talented writer, and the fact that you were able to get an agent for your first book is amazing.”
“Spoken like every proud parent ever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’ll see. Either way, the job atOn Pointwill pay the bills, and I’ll be getting paid to write. Double win.”
“That’s my girl.” Her mother cleared her throat. “So, how are things going in Valeria? Have you…have you seen your father?”
Shit. She should’ve known her mother would ask about the duke. Everly had wondered more than once if her mother still harbored feelings for the pompous ass. She’d never married or even dated seriously, and whenever Everly tried to bring the subject up, her mother deflected, saying it was complicated. But really, how complicated was it? He’d abandoned her, turning her out when she needed him most. Paying for Everly’s secondary education hardly made up for all the rest.
“I ran into Katherine,” she admitted, choosing her words carefully. “She invited me for coffee, but I’m not going to go.”
“Why not?”
Was she serious? “Oh, I don’t know, Mom. Maybe because she’s spent my entire life pretending I don’t exist? And I hardly think sharing DNA makes us family.”
“Do not take that tone with me, Everly Jane Wilson.” Damn. Her mom meant business if she was breaking out her full name. “Katherine is not responsible for the actions of her parents, or their choices, any more than you are responsible for mine.” She paused, and when she continued, her tone had softened. “I won’t be around forever, you know. If Katherine wants to try and connect, you should consider getting to know her. Build a bridge. Who knows? You might have more in common than you think.”
“Doubtful,” she muttered, not caring if she sounded like a petulant sixteen-year-old. It seemed to be her default mode when it came to talk of her father.
“Just promise me you’ll consider it?” her mom pressed, unwilling to let it drop.
Before she could answer, the phone beeped. She glanced at the caller ID, her spirits lifting asOn Pointflashed on the screen.
“Hey, Mom. It looks like the magazine is calling. I need to take this. It could be a job offer.”
“Of course, of course. Good luck and let me know how it goes! I love you.”
She quickly returned the sentiment and switched calls.
“Miss Winston. Guy Larson here. I just received your submission.”
Hope knotted in her chest. Was he going to run the story? Had he called to personally offer her the job?
“I have to say,” Mr. Larson continued, his tone giving nothing away, “I was expecting more from you. This story…” He trailed off, and she could almost picture the disappointment on his face. “Well, it’s not your best work. Add to that the fact that you got scooped, and it’s not usable.”
What?How the hell had she been scooped? She grabbed her laptop and opened the browser, doing a quick search. The results came back instantly.
Royal Rumble: The Heir vs. The Spare.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.