So even though the entire kingdom of Gallantia hates me, and my mother has been texting nonstop, life could be worse.
As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone pings again.
“What’s the latest?” Andrew asks.
I lift my sunglasses and squint at the screen as I read aloud, “If you don’t call me, I’m going to have myself put in a medical coma, Sabrina. And I may not come out again. Comas can be difficult.”
Andrew snorts.
He’s finding all of this terribly amusing.
But then, he has no frame of reference for mama drama. His mother was remarkably calm when we announced we were calling off the wedding because I wasn’t Elizabeth, and Andrew and I both felt that who you’re going to marry is a decision no relative should make for you. She even seemed to understand why I’d done what I’d done.
I know it will take time to earn her trust again, but Felicity made it clear that her son’s happiness comes first, and if exploring a relationship with “the wrong twin” is what he wants, she’s one hundred percent on board.
That was the Baden Bergen Post’s headline the day we flew to Spain—“Prince Woos Wrong Twin!” It stretched in giant letters across the front page, above a picture from the engagement ceremony in which I look like a hunchback picking her nose. I wasn’t picking, of course—I was scratching one side!—but the local press has decided to hate me for being Sabrina instead of the late-king-approved Elizabeth.
The backlash was another reason Andrew thought we should disappear for a while. And so this island off the coast of Spain has become our refuge.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t secretly wish we could stay here forever, shacked up in our white stucco condo with fresh marmalade and toast delivered every morning with our coffee and no international gossip to deal with.
My phone pings again, and I read my mother’s next text, “I’ve contacted my physician. He’s ordering the medications now. I should be in a coma before nightfall. If you’d like to discuss the path forward, please call immediately. I’m going to be napping the rest of the day to prepare for the procedure.”
Andrew grins. “Because you should always be nice and rested before having yourself put in a medical coma.”
I toss my phone on the towel by my feet with a sigh as I sit up, crossing my legs and staring out across the calm blue sea. “Maybe I should call her.”
“She’s just going to say the same thing she said last time you spoke,” Andrew says. “That running away to the beach with me makes you look like a mean, evil, husband-stealing hussy and that you should come home and hide your shame under an elderberry shrub for the rest of your natural life.”
I slap a hand to my forehead with a groan. “I keep hoping Lizzy will come home and explain everything, and Mama will give me a break already.”
“You’ve already explained everything,” Andrew points out.
“Yes, but she’ll believe me if Lizzy backs me up. Maybe.” I cross my fingers. “Hopefully?”
My sister is still officially “missing,” though no one is too terribly worried about her. She called late the evening of the engagement, insisted she was fine, apologized for tricking me into going to Gallantia in her place, and promised to explain everything properly when she had a chance. Sadly, she didn’t have time at that moment and, in a rare display of rudeness from my sweet sister, hung up on me before I could get more than two words in.
I still don’t know where she is or what she’s up to—or why she’s up to it with Jeffrey, who is still with her, according to a text he sent to Andrew early the next morning—but I have a newfound respect for my sister’s shrewdness. She’s a woman with a plan, a lot of plans. Sometimes, they’re a little crazy, but they seem to be working out nicely so far.
I turn to Andrew, admiring the way a sweat droplet slides down his chest to pool in his abdominal crevice. His abs and their crevices are some of my many favorite things on earth. His body is a work of art, a finely tuned lovemaking machine, and all I need for endless entertainment. Forget the ruin tours and cave expeditions that locals hawk on the streets as we wander to dinner each night. All I need is this man.
“Don’t you think?” he asks, making me blink and murmur, “Sorry—I wasn’t listening. I was drooling.”
“I like it when I make you drool.” He rolls onto his side on his lounger and reaches out to trace the skin above my bikini bottom, making me shiver. “I’ve been drooling over this part all day. Why is the small of your back so damned sexy? I want to bite it.”
“I’ll allow that. In private,” I add with a laugh, pushing on his suntan-lotion-slick shoulder when he shifts closer, teeth bared. “We’re not giving the tabloids any more steamy pictures on this trip. I would prefer the slut narrative fade away as soon as possible.”
Andrew settles back onto his chair with a disgusted sound. “It’s all a bunch of horse shit anyway. No one’s calling me a slut, and I actually am one.”
I turn to face him, propping my head in my hand. “You are not.”
“Well, not anymore.” His gaze rakes up and down my body in a way that makes me feel positively delicious. And tingly. And ready to head inside for our daily “afternoon nap,” during which we do no napping whatsoever.
Reading my mind, he murmurs, “Nap time?”
“Yes, please, I—” I’m cut off by three sharp pings from my phone. Growling, I grab it and draw back my arm, but Andrew snatches it from my fingers before I can hurl it into the sea.
“Why don’t we just turn this off for a while?” he says, logically. “Easier than buying a new phone on an island the size of a postage stamp.”
“I feel like I need to keep it on. In case Lizzy texts or calls.”
“Another good reason to keep it out of the ocean, then.” He turns it off and tosses it into our beach bag. “And Lizzy is fine. She’s with Jeffrey. He won’t let anything bad happen to her.”
“But what if he’s the bad thing happening to her?” I ask. “She’s only had one boyfriend, and that was a long time ago. I’m not sure she has what it takes to hold her own in a normal adult relationship—if that’s even what they’re doing.”
“Well, Jeffrey’s far from normal, so either way, they should be fine.”
I arch a brow. “Seriously? That’s all you’ve got to say about it?”
“I don’t like to stick my nose in other people’s business. Especially my brother’s.” He slides his sunglasses down, his eyes glittering wickedly into mine over the top. “Speaking of sex rodeos…”
I bite back a smile. “Were we speaking of sex rodeos?”
“We should have been. Better yet, we should be having one. Why aren’t we making that happen, Sabrina?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Because you like to talk a lot?”
Laughing, he hauls me into his lap, dancing his fingers up and down my ribs, making me giggle as he scoops me up in his arms and heads for the back of our beachside condo.
I link my wrists behind his neck. “Should we bring the swim bag and towels in?”
“No, we’re going back out to sunbathe naked when we’re done.”