Chapter 1
Francesca
“Take a breath, Lucas,” I said as I flopped on my bed, holding the phone to my ear while simultaneously holding in the sigh begging to be let out.
“Please tell me I’m doing the right thing, Frankie,” Lucas said. The tremor in his voice was a dead giveaway to just how freaked out he was.
“You know I can’t do that,” I replied. “You love her, though, right?”
“Clarissa is exactly what I need in a wife,” he said, and I rolled my eyes.
Clarissa was annoying and vain and vapid and I didn’t like her at all, but I knew Lucas’ mother loved her and would be overjoyed if—when—Lucas asked her to marry him. Me, not so much.
“But do you love her?” I asked again.
Lucas was my best friend, and we’d been best friends since we met on the first day of college. Harvard was a big, scary school, and I’d glommed onto Lucas almost from the moment I bumped into him and spilled his armful of books everywhere. He was awkward and adorable and the sweetest guy I’d ever known. I, on the other hand, was a little more rough and tumble and had been accused of being too brash on occasion. We shouldn’t work as friends, but we did, which was why I’d never pursued the crush I had on him. No way was I going to jeopardize our friendship when I knew there could never be a future between the two of us.
That didn’t mean I wanted him to marry Clarissa, though.
It also didn’t mean I could tell him my honest thoughts on their future union.
“I enjoy spending time with her,” he replied. “And we have a lot in common. Mother loves her and Clarissa loves Mother, so…”
Should I point out to him he still had not told me he loved her? Probably not. I’d already pushed him enough, and I knew if I pushed too hard he would curl up in a ball like an armadillo and not speak to me for a few days.
“So you’re going to ask her then?” I prompted. “You’ll propose to Clarissa tonight? I hope you booked a great restaurant. Have you bought the ring?”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” he said, sounding more confident with each affirmative answer. “I booked a table at Menton months ago and I had the ring custom made. I stalked her Instagram feed for design ideas.”
I rolled my eyes again. Of course Clarissa had been posting pictures of engagement rings on her Instagram feed. She was as subtle as a tank rolling down a hill.
“Ooh, Menton, classy,” I said brightly. “So, you’re all set then. This time tomorrow you’ll be a fiancé!”
“Oh God,” he muttered.
It shouldn’t make me happy that he seemed to be doubting his decision to ask Clarissa to marry him, right? I mean, that would make me a bad friend…wouldn’t it?
Before I could say something to assuage his fears, I heard a commotion on his end of the phone and the unmistakable voice of his mother.
“Uh, Frankie? I have to go. Mother is here.”
“No problem,” I replied, but he’d already disconnected.
I groaned and tossed my phone onto the bed.
“Why, God, why? Why did it have to be Clarissa?”
I growled again in frustration and kicked my legs against the mattress like a two year old throwing a temper tantrum.
I wanted Lucas to be happy. I wanted him to find someone who would love and adore him like he deserved, but that person was not Clarissa. And it might be selfish of me, but I wanted him to find someone I could be friends with too. Clarissa didn’t like me and she tried to drive a wedge between my friendship with Lucas every chance she got. I knew that if—when—he married her, it would be the death knell for our BFF status.
But maybe that was the wake-up call I needed. I couldn’t pine away for him indefinitely. We would never be more than friends, so I had no right to wish away his happiness just because I didn’t get on with his significant other. I valued my friendship with Lucas above my pride, so if that meant making nice with Clarissa, then I would. I would do anything for Lucas.
The alarm on my phone sounded, and I groaned again as I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I had an appointment with my dissertation supervisor and I couldn’t be late. I was so close to finishing my Ph.D. in sociology, if I 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.”