Page 1 of Regally Binding

Chapter One

Liss checked her mobile from under the bar as she wiped down the worn wood. Still no message from her latest Tinder match, although there was a breaking news notification about the Royal family. Liss swiped the notification away without reading it. She just wanted a response to the underwear picture it took all her courage to send. She shouldn’t have done it, but she wanted to feel attractive and carefree and like her best friend, Isla, who wouldn’t hesitate to send something like that.

“Have you heard from Hugo today? He’s checking in a lot,” Greg, the pub’s regular, whose ear hair was longer than his eyelashes, said through a yawn before supping the head of his pint. His dog, Joyce, was propped on his knees, eyeballing Liss.

“Not yet,” Liss replied with a shrug. Hugo, the pub’s owner, used to be happy with Liss running the place, but now, there were rumours that he was selling the pub to a chain, which would leave Liss without a job.

“You could do better than this place, you know,” Greg added, tipping his head in the direction of the two university students who were sucking face. “You could run a bar where your boss doesn’t take credit for your ideas.”

“A smile from you is worth the stuff I have to put up with,” Liss said, her gaze flicking to her phone, where another breaking news notification flashed up. She swiped it away without reading it as Greg grunted. It was probably about the royal wedding happening later in the year.

Steve, one of Liss’s closest friends and the pub’s deputy manager, was making the most of the late morning lull, readinga newspaper while occasionally glancing at Liss above it. “Liss won’t leave us. She always says this place is her family.”

He had a point. It had been like her family since her mum died.

“We all know why you stay, Steve, even though you spend too much time judging the people who drink here,” Greg grumbled as he fed Joyce bits of sausage. “Especially when your middle-class parents with upper-class judgements visit.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve retorted with a huff. But he did. Liss and Isla had spoken to him about it before. He grumbled that he could work in any city job.

Liss stared at her phone, willing the guy she’d sent an underwear pic to respond as she rejoined the conversation. “Why do you stay he—”

“No phones while working,” Steve mumbled, cutting off Liss.

Liss dropped her grubby cloth onto the bar and glared. “I’m well aware. I was the one who came up with the rule.”

“Who are you waiting to hear from?” Steve replied, dropping the paper and collecting glasses.

The one thing Liss refused to talk to Steve about was her dating life or, rather, lack thereof. He always got weird about it but never explained why. And besides, it was humiliating telling anyone that she’d messaged a sexy picture to a man she’d not yet met, and he hadn’t replied. She tucked her phone in her pocket. “Oh, it’s nothing—”

“BBC1! BBC1! Give me the remote, Liss!” Isla ran into the pub, saving Liss from the awkward conversation.

“Isla, chill.” Liss paused at the till, pushing back strands of her brown hair before surrendering to the frizz and tying it into a ponytail. The humidity wasn’t helping the frizz, nor were the hoodie and jeans she’d thrown on that morning.

Isla dived onto the bar and fumbled for the remote they kept near the tills.

“Isla, no.” Liss slapped Isla’s hand away and popped the remote into the back pocket of her jeans. This pub was her kingdom; not even her best friend controlled the television. “You have no say on the channel the pub is watching.”

Isla did a dramatic look behind her. “You’re the only one of the five people here who cares.”

“We’re fifteen minutes from the lunch crowd coming in, and they’ll want to watch horse racing,” Liss countered, hands on the curve of her hips. “Tell me what’s so important, and I’ll consider changing the channel.”

Isla huffed before throwing her arms in the air.

Liss stood on the step behind the bar she used when she needed to meet customers’ stares, which was tricky at her five-foot height. She eyeballed her bestie.

“Liss has more attitude than the King’s corgi,” Greg said with a chuckle.

He was kind of right. If you put her in front of anyone but her friends and punters, she turned into her latest date, running for the door with no intention of returning. But in the bar, she controlled her anxiety.

“The King, the actual King, is doing a live broadcast in two minutes,” Isla ranted.

“And that’s important because?” Liss wiped the bar with the damp and oddly smelling cloth. Maybe she should consider moving on, but this was the only place she’d worked since dropping out of university five years ago. And her only skills were pulling pints and cleaning toilets.

Joyce, the dog, walked around the bar and sniffed the spilt beer on Liss’s dirty Doc Martens. Even the scents from her mango moisturiser and vanilla and strawberry shower gel weren’t strong enough to overwhelm the beer smell. Liss’s raised eyebrows were enough to send the pup back to its owner, though not before Liss sneaked her a biscuit from her pocket.

“This never happens.” Isla’s leg bounced.

Liss moved around the bar and started moving chairs to prepare for the lunchtime rush. Isla followed her around the pub.

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