could only decide on my final dissertation. Being me, I couldn’t just do sociology, I had to throw in a bit of psychology and anthropology as well, just to keep things interesting. Now I wished I hadn’t been so ambitious. Time was ticking and if I didn’t make some progress soon, all those years I’d spent studying would be for nothing.
I turned off the alarm and tossed my phone back on the bed, taking one last look at the picture of me and Lucas that was my phone’s wallpaper. It was my favorite photo of us, of him. He was laughing, and completely unaware of just how good looking he was, although that wasn’t unusual. Lucas had no idea just how beautiful he was. Thick, ebony hair that was always just a touch too long and always a bit too unruly, and warm brown eyes that I could stare into indefinitely. He had the best smile, with deep dimples and the longest, darkest eyelashes I’d ever seen on anybody—male or female. He also gave the best hugs and although I wasn’t an overly affectionate person, I could never turn down being wrapped in his arms.
It was just such a shame that he didn’t see me as anything other than his friend.
I sighed and stalked into the bathroom for a shower. He was only hours away from proposing to the woman of his dreams. I needed to stop mooning after him and get on with my own life…specifically, decide on the subject for my dissertation. If I could distract myself with work, then maybe I could finally get over this childish crush.
I snorted. Not likely, but it was a wonderful goal to have, at least.
Lucas
“Lucas!”
I disconnected from Frankie and looked up at my mother. She was a striking woman, her dark hair rich and glossy and stylishly swept up on top of her head. She wore a designer pants suit in white and accessorized with gold jewelry. Even her heeled sandals glittered gold.
“Lucas,” she said again, barging into my office waving around an envelope.
Annabel, my assistant, gave me an apologetic look before she closed the door and left me alone with my mother.
“Mother,” I said, standing and stepping around my desk to greet her. I angled my head to accept her kiss on the cheek and then guided her to a chair. But she didn’t sit. Instead, she shoved the envelope she’d been holding into my face.
“Lucas,” she said, barely keeping her voice at a respectable decibel. “It’s from the king.”
I pushed my glasses up my nose and took a breath to steady my nerves. My parents had kept me informed with all the goings on in Kalopsia. I barely remembered the Mediterranean island where I was born, as we’d fled from the ‘troubles’ twelve years ago. My parents had taken their raïda distillery business and moved it, and our family, to America, the land of promise. Raïda was an intense spirit, similar to ouzo or sambuca, and had a reputation for being a modern day absinthe. The company had grown exponentially since moving to America and my parents had never looked back.
“You need to open it,” my mother insisted urgently. “Right now.”
I took the envelope and turned it over in my hand. I knew the prince had returned to Kalopsia—he was the king now—I just didn’t know why he would send me a letter. Why me and not my parents? They were the ones with the title; I was just the son, and not a very impressive one at that. My younger sister was far more accomplished and the jewel in the Andino family. Me? I was just the accountant.
“Lucas,” my mother encouraged. “Open it.”
“Why haven’t you opened it already?” I asked, moving back around to the other side of my desk and falling into my chair. I adjusted my glasses again and looked to my mother. Her cheeks flushed. “You opened it already,” I said with a sigh.
“Just read it,” she said, finally taking her seat.
I turned the envelope over in my hands and looked at the wax seal which had been cracked and then clumsily re-sealed. My stomach cramped and my knee bobbed nervously. As if I didn’t have enough to be nervous about today. The ring I’d had made for Clarissa sat heavily in my pocket, and the words I’d been practicing all day ran around in my head and got incredibly jumbled. Now I had a wax-sealed missive from a king. It felt like getting sent