Mind made up, Loch ended his jog and headed for a vendor selling water bottles. He pulled out a bill and handed it to the man.
The man immediately handed it back. “I can’t break this.”
Loch looked down at the dollar. It was a hundred. “Is it not any good?”
“I don’t take anything bigger than a twenty, buddy.”
“Right.” He dug through his wallet again, found a twenty, and handed it over, then walked away with the bottle.
“You want your change?” the man called after him.
Loch waved a hand, distracted, and continued to walk away. He should call and speak to Franz again. If the man knew what Loch was planning, then perhaps he’d be able to go home a little earlier. He mentally pictured his small villa in the green hills, his horses, the quiet compared to the bustling city around him, the smell of the grass instead of whatever the hell the smell in New York was. Home was definitely appealing. He wondered what Taylor would think of his house. He’d sold the palatial family castle and now lived in a much smaller, Tuscan-style villa that suited him much better. He bet she’d like it, and she’d probably like his horses, too. Maybe he’d get her a horse.
He chugged his water and then pulled out his phone, dialing.
“Franz Bersatz,” the other end answered.
“Yes, this is Loch,” he began. “I’ve an idea.”
“An idea? For what?”
“To take myself out of consideration for the throne. I’m going to marry an American.”
On the other end, the man sputtered. “You . . . you what? You can’t! My lord, think about what you’re doing—”
“I am, actually.” Loch sat back on the park bench, feeling rather pleased with himself. “Thing is, people love a good love story, right? So I show up with my happy bride, we let it leak to the press that it was love at first sight, and everyone thinks I’m a bit of a buffoon, but they don’t want me for the throne any longer, so it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s happy, and I can come home.”
“I really don’t think we have to go to such drastic measures—”
“Not drastic,” Loch assured him. “The girl’s quite nice.” He thought of Taylor and her bouncy breasts. Yeah, quite nice was an understatement. Being temporarily married to her wouldn’t be a chore in the slightest.
“And she’s agreed to this?”
“Getting there.” He just needed to turn on the charm a bit more once he knew she wasn’t hurting from her wounds.
“Is she a fortune hunter? Because—”
“Nah. I’ll get my accountants on it. Have a nice prenup.” He frowned, thinking. “I don’t suppose you know how much money I have, do you?”
The man sputtered. “How should I know?”
He was right. Fair enough. “So, will that work? Give it a few weeks post-marriage and think it’ll be safe for me to return?”
“Loch—my lord, be reasonable.” Franz sounded miserable. “Do not do this. Think of your great-aunt the queen. Would she approve?”
“I think she would, given that I’m taking steps to ensure that her granddaughter is not overthrown.”
Franz sighed. “This feels hasty to me. My lord, it isn’t necessary. Relax. Enjoy your stay in the States. Buy yourself a nice town house and be a visible Bellissime presence over in America. Win them over with your charm. When things are settled here, then you can come home. Is three years really so long a time?”
Funny how the time seemed to get longer every time he talked to the man. Now it was three years? It just convinced Loch even more that his idea was the right one.
Marry Taylor. Go home. Everyone would be happy. “My mind’s made up. Let my great-aunt know my plans. I’ll keep in touch once I’ve married.”
“My lord—”
Loch hung up. He’d heard enough protests. It was a good plan.
Now to go woo his sweet, daffy American.
He grabbed his water bottle and pocketed his phone, heading back to the hotel. It was a few cross-streets away, but considering he’d just jogged for the last two hours, it was not so long a walk. Certainly not worth getting on the subway all sweaty, not with a breeze blowing. He walked, whistling to himself, and almost passed the homeless man without seeing him.
Then, he stopped.
There were no people living on the streets in Bellissime. They were a small, wealthy country with a tiny populace. Even the poor had assistance from the government and were given menial jobs and cheap housing. The man seated on the street was covered head to toe in dirty, worn clothing. He had a ragged beard, a baseball cap shoved down over shaggy hair, and held a cup in his hand. A garbage bag sat on the sidewalk next to him.
Loch paused. He headed over to the man and opened his wallet, then pulled out the hundred-dollar bill. “Here.”
The man took it, looked at it, then handed it back. “Can’t take that.”
“Why not?”
The man looked up at Loch. His face was lined and dirty, but there was a proud set to his expression. “I try to take that anywhere and they’re going to think it’s a fake. Or they’re going to think I stole it. Guys like me only get small change.”
He dug through his wallet, but he only had more hundreds. Damn. “I don’t have anything else.”
The man grunted. “You tried. More than most people do. Thanks anyhow.”
Loch hesitated. “May I ask—”
“Nope.” The man looked down the street.
Oh. He felt a little embarrassed. The man was probably asked the same thing all the time. As he watched several people pass by without even glancing at the man, he felt . . . unhappy. This felt wrong to him, but he didn’t know how to fix it. “Can I buy you lunch at least?”
“You can give me five bucks and I’ll get my own lunch,” the man said. “Otherwise, I’m not interested.”
“Right.” Loch headed down the street. He went into the nearest deli, purchased a sandwich and a drink, broke the hundred, and then returned. The man was still there, gazing off into the distance. Loch put the change from the hundred in the man’s cup, left the bag with the sandwich and drink. The man tipped his hat in thanks.
It still didn’t feel right. He watched as people hurried past, and felt dirty. He needed to do more. But what?
He didn’t have any answers. Suddenly, his own problems felt rather petty, though.
***
Living with Loch was kind of awesome, Taylor decided. Well, when things weren’t completely awkward, that was.