Page 9 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

“Bye, Soph!”

The call ends, leaving me staring at the screen.

I shake my head, setting the phone down as I glance back at the Manhattan skyline. Bardstown. It’s been years since I left, but maybe—just maybe—it’s time to go back.

The room is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside my windows. Her words replay in my mind—encouraging, persuasive, laced with just enough sisterly charm to make me consider something I’ve avoided for nearly a decade.

Bardstown.

I shake my head and turn my attention to my laptop, determined to focus. Work always has a way of grounding me, giving me something to latch onto when my thoughts start to spiral. I pull up my itinerary for tomorrow, scanning through the meetings, calls, and venue walkthroughs.

It’s a packed schedule, as usual. A morning meeting with a client notorious for changing her mind, followed by a two-hour walkthrough at the Preston engagement venue. Then there’s the gala pitch in the evening, the one I’ve been preparing for weeks.

I sigh, leaning forward to make a few adjustments. My fingers move quickly over the keys, but my mind keeps drifting back to Mia’s call. To Bardstown. To the life I left behind.

A notification pops up on the screen, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a memory from my cloud storage, dated almost ten years ago. Curious, I click on it, and a video begins to play.

It’s shaky and was filmed on an old phone that didn’t care much about resolution. The sound is muffled, but I can still make out the laughter.

I see myself first—younger, freer, with my hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. I’m sitting on the edge of a dock, dangling myfeet in the water. Ethan is next to me, tossing rocks into the lake with all the precision of a kid determined to make the perfect splash. It’s one of those holidays where his parents dropped him off at Bardstown to be with us. Those holidays always turned out to be the best.

The camera pans, and there’s my sister, holding up her phone, grinning as she shouts, “Sam! Get in here!”

My brother comes into view, shirtless and dripping wet from the lake. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and he’s grinning that boyish, carefree grin that made everyone love him. He’s holding up a fish—a tiny one, barely worth the effort—but the pride on his face is enough to send all of us into fits of laughter.

“Best fisherman in Bardstown!” he declares, holding the fish aloft like a trophy.

“More like the only fisherman in Bardstown,” I tease, splashing water at him with my foot.

Mia laughs behind the camera. “I’m sending this to everyone!”

“No, you’re not!” Ethan yells, leaping up to grab the phone. The screen tilts wildly as they wrestle for it, the laughter growing louder until the video cuts out abruptly.

I sit back, staring at the frozen frame.

It’s been years since I’ve seen this. Years since, I’ve thought about that day, about how simple and perfect it was. And then I left.

I left Bardstown and everything that made it feel like home. I told myself I was chasing something bigger, something better. And maybe I was. But watching this, I can’t help but feel like I left behind more than I gained.

I close the laptop and stand, pacing the room as the emotions swirl inside me. It’s not just about Sam, or Ethan, or even Mia’s call. It’s about everything I’ve been feeling lately—the restlessness, the exhaustion, the gnawing sense that something’s missing.

Bardstown won’t fix everything, but it’s a start. A place to breathe. A place to feel something again.

I glance at my planner, the pages neatly filled with tasks and deadlines. For the first time, it doesn’t feel like a lifeline. It feels like a cage.

I don’t think so. I grab my phone and dial my assistant’s number.

“Claire,” I say when she answers. “Clear my schedule for the next three months.”

She hesitates. “Three months? Sophie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, and for the first time in a long time, I mean it. “I just need a break.”

After the call, I sit on the edge of my bed, staring out at the city one last time. The skyline is as beautiful as ever, but it doesn’t hold the same magic tonight. I’m not sure how I’ll be able to continue all of my work from Bardstown, but I’ll make it work. I need this break. My body, mind, and soul are begging for it, so I will do just that.

It’s time to go back home.

The days pass in a whirlwind of decisions, to-do lists, and packing. My penthouse, usually so polished and pristine, now looks like a tornado tore through it. Open suitcases lie scattered across the floor, overflowing with everything I might need for Bardstown: casual clothes, a few professional pieces (just in case), and enough skincare products to survive an apocalypse.

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