Page 7 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

“No. It’s just me.”

“Okay. But just in case you’re ever bored. You could stop by my flower shop or even join my book club. I run it with Dotty. Have you met her yet?” she asked as I shook my head.

“Her niece runs the hardware store, so you’ll meet her soon. I’d best be off then. I have to get to the shop. See you later.” She waved at me with a bright smile, and just like that, she walked away, leaving me sitting there with my coffee and the uncomfortable feeling that maybe she’d seen right through me.

Back in the present, I start the truck and pull out of the lot, glancing once more at the store as I drive away.

Dodged a bullet today.

Mia might still be inside, talking about wedding plans and family drama, but I know it’s only a matter of time before she crosses paths with me again.

As I drive, I let my mind wander, the familiar rhythm of the road lulling me into a rare moment of reflection. It’s funny how life works. A few years ago, my world couldn’t have been more different. Back then, I was surrounded by stone walls, sprawling grounds, and the weight of a name that came with more expectations than I could carry.

The castle.

That’s what people called it, though it felt more like a prison to me. Everything about it was too big, too grand, too full of reminders that I didn’t fit the mold I was supposed to. My father had built it as a legacy, a monument to our family’s success. But for me, it was just a place where I felt constantly out of place.

Every decision was made for me back then: what to wear, how to speak, who to impress. My days were a series of calculated moves; every moment was planned out to secure the future my family wanted for me. But it wasn’t the future I wanted.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, shaking off the memory. That life feels like a lifetime ago now, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

Bardstown is different. Here, I get to be me—not a name, not a title, just Graham. It’s not fancy, and it’s not always easy, but it’s real. And that’s enough.

The road curves past the open fields, the smell of freshly tilled soil drifting through the window. A few kids play by the fence line of a nearby farm, their laughter carrying on the breeze. It’s small moments like these that make Bardstown feel like home. There’s no pressure here, and no expectations are weighing me down.

I pull into my gravel driveway, the crunch of tires against stone breaking the stillness. As I park the truck and step out, I glance around at the house I’ve made my own before grabbing the hardware bag from the passenger seat and heading inside, the door creaking slightly as I push it open. The air smells faintly of sawdust and coffee, a combination that always feels comforting.I drop the bag on the kitchen table before opening the fridge and grabbing a soda.

I’ve settled into Bardstown fine, and my life has been simple and quiet, but why did I have this unsettling feeling like this is the calm before the storm? It feels like my past is running toward me, and I have no place left to hide. I wonder what would happen if the people of Bardstown discovered my real identity and that I’ve lied to them for seven years.

They better not. They can never find out; I’ll do everything in my power to maintain my false identity as Graham Cole.

SOPHIE

Istare out at the Manhattan skyline, the city lights twinkling like scattered stars, stretching endlessly into the night. It’s the same view I’ve woken up to—and fallen asleep to—for years. It used to make me feel alive, like I was part of something bigger, part of a world that never stopped moving. But tonight, it feels like I’m just watching it from the outside.

The penthouse is quiet, the hum of the city muffled by the thick glass windows. My planner sits open on the bed beside me, each square crammed with appointments, deadlines, and endless tasks. Usually, it’s my pride and joy, proof that I’m in control, that I’ve built a life where I’m the one calling the shots.

But right now, it feels like a weight pressing down on my chest.

I close the planner and toss it onto the nightstand, rubbing my temples. The emails and calls can wait. Everything can stay just for a few minutes.

My phone buzzes on the bed, and I grab it without thinking, expecting to see another message from a client about a last-minute change. Instead, it’s Ethan, my cousin turned soon-to-be groom.

Riley picked the color scheme today—dusty blue and gold. It’s coming together!

I can’t help but smile as I picture Ethan, probably grinning ear to ear, so excited about his wedding that he can’t help but keep me updated on every little detail. I type a quick reply.

Sounds perfect. Dusty blue is a good choice.

His response comes almost immediately.

You’re going to love it, Soph. The whole thing is going to be incredible.

The knot in my chest loosens a little. Ethan’s optimism is infectious, even over text. For the first time all day, I feel a little lighter.

I set my phone down and lean back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Bardstown. It’s been years since I’ve been back. I left that town with a one-way ticket and the determination never to look back.

And I didn’t, not for a long time.

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