Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Christopher has demons of his own. He catches the princess and falls harder than he should.
Is this just a two-night, snowed-in love affair, or can they make it work? Only time will tell!
This is a short & steamy modern-day fairytale retelling by ChaShiree M. & M.K. Moore.
This is Book Two of the Evergreen Romance Series.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER
ONE
ANYA
As the second oldest child of King Leyland and Queen Orchid, I’ve never wanted anything that I didn’t get. I’ve always had a roof over my head, well, several roofs, clothes on my back, and food in my belly. I’ve had the very best education that money could buy. I have several cars, should I choose to drive, though my personal driver, Martin, usually drives me wherever I wish to go. I have enough clothes and shoes to start my own department store. I’m a freaking princess. My life could be so much worse. I shouldn’t be petty. I shouldn’t be so churlish, but I can’t help it. Especially right now. I can feel my anger and jealousy rising as my sister hugs my parents after her announcement. While champagne gets passed around, I slip out of the room as angry tears slide down my cheeks.
I am way too damn old to be jealous of my sister’s happiness, but here I am, sulking like a petulant child as I watch my sister get engaged to a man she doesn’t really know. What kind of name is Prince Frost anyways? I huff to myself as I walk from the warm, cozy palace toward the wharf. I snuck out of my bedroom, climbed down the balcony, and then walked down the long winding drive, through the gates, and down the hill toward town. No one is going to miss me anyway. Now that I’m walking, I realize that my jealousy isn’t so much directed at Elisa but at the fact that I want to be in love. I always have. I have dreamed of a man ever since I was a little girl. It’s always the same person. He grew up with me. I never saw his face, but he was always with me until suddenly, I stopped dreaming last year. It was a shock, but I never have and will never forget him. I’ve mourned the loss of him. It felt like he died, and I couldn’t tell anyone about it because I knew they’d think I was crazy.
As I’ve been rage walking, I’ve been thinking about him so long that I’ve walked past town and down to the docks. The water has always called to me, but today, it’s calling to me hard. I sit down on an empty bench. I’ve always loved the sights by the seaside. There are always so many fascinating people to watch coming and going. No one recognizes me here, and I love that.
I watch as vendors close up their stands. I watch a young, frazzled mother scold her child for trying to walk across the street without looking both ways. I watch a group of fishmongers sort the day’s catch that two big trawlers have hauled in. I watch several ice fishermen, one in particular, bring their hooks up empty. I can see them discussing this, but can’t clearly hear what they say. The one I’ve been watching is tall. He looks like a Viking lumberjack, with blonde hair and icy blue eyes that I can see even from this distance. I feel like I’m in a trance when I look at him. There’s something about him that I can’t quite place. Do I know him? Has he delivered fish to the palace before? No, I’m sure I’d remember him. I can’t stop staring at him. I must look crazy, but I can’t help myself. The older one with the long grey beard claps the other on the back, and they return to their hooks. They talk some more, and then my Viking laughs, and it carries across the space and washes over my body. Goosebumps pop up over my skin, and I don’t hate it.
When the big one I’ve been watching takes his basket and moves away from the water's edge, I get up and follow him without thinking. I have no idea why. I’m not paying attention when I hear him shout, “Whoa. Slow down, buddy!” I stop dead in my tracks, and that was a mistake because the next thing I know, a big body is crashing into me, and I’m covered in stinky fish juice. What a great first impression. Though, to be fair, he stinks, too, now.
Say something, Anya. Anything. Don’t just stare at the man. Say something. He’s going to think you don’t have two thoughts to rub together. Oh, my God, that’s not even a phrase; I don’t have two thoughts to rub together.
He takes his basket back, then he speaks, and I’m struck even dumber… Oh, no… he hates me. How can I fix this? Why do I even want to?
CHAPTER
TWO
CHRISTOPHER
“Another light day, eh Christ?” I nod at the other ice fisherman to the right of me. He is pulling out his traps, which are also light.