Page 58 of The Prince and the Puck
A smile pulled his tanned cheeks wide. “She’ll marry me whether I’m a king or a pauper. That’s the kind of love I was lucky enough to find.” My heart flipped at his words. Luck was right. I envied him.
“Lamb. You should be king.”
He shrugged and smiled, so calm I wished I could channel some of whatever newfound Zen he’d found when I was on the ice. “It’s too late, Deckkie. I’ve come to terms with it.”
I shook my head and grabbed his shoulder. “It’s not too late. I’m not king yet!”
“The kingdom has deemed me unfit.”
I frowned at him. Before me stood a man who seemed as fit as any. “Tell me the truth. All those years of rehab… did it work?”
Lambert held my gaze for a second and then dropped it, a secret smile playing on his lips. “Truth?” He asked looking up and scrubbing the back of his neck with a hand.
“Yeah.”
“The first time was enough. Scared me straight.”
That didn’t make any sense, and I told him so. He’d been to rehab at least three times since then.
“Celeste was a counselor there,” he said, catching my eyes and then turning his gaze out to sea. “I’ve known her since I was eighteen. First, she was just helping me, but then… things shifted. Going back was a way to get a week to spend with her, out of the media’s eye line. A way to get to know each other without all the pressure.”
“And a few months ago? Dad’s incident?”
“That was awful timing. I was vacationing on the other side of the island with Celeste—it was when I proposed. But as soon as Dad collapsed, the media swarmed in, and I had to play the part to protect her.”
“I don’t get it,” I admitted.
“This life,” Lambert gestured toward the security behind us. “It’s not for everyone. I didn’t want to force it on her. So I kept her as far from it as I could. Whether that was pretending to need to go back to rehab or renting a villa under an alias and ditching security for a week.”
I shook my head. “You dirty dog.”
He smiled. “I was just trying to protect her.”
“And destroying your own reputation in the process.”
His smile grew dimmer. “I succeeded there, that’s for sure. And now that it matters, it’s too late to fix.”
“I’m not king yet,” I reminded him.
“But you will be. That’s what the people want, what Dad wants. I ruined my image long ago, and our people have a long memory.”
No. I couldn’t accept that. He would make a good king, much better than I would. I didn’t want it, didn’t want to be here at all. Then a thought occurred to me. “It’s just PR, Lamb. We just need to rehab your image a little bit.”
He raised an eyebrow. “PR, huh? That something you learned in the league?”
“A little bit, yeah. But I know someone else who’s great at it.” We needed to find Lizzy.
Finding Eliza Canfield was easier said than done.
Together, Lambert and I located her residence—the same place she’d lived with her mother growing up. But neither her mother or Lizzy seemed to be home. Or at least no one answered the door.
“Want me to open it for you, sir?” the closest security guard asked me.
I stared at him. “I can’t just go walking into people’s houses.”
“You can, actually. You’re the prince.”
I gave him a stern look. “That does not make it right.”
