Page 29 of Mistletoe Season
A Mistletoe Prince
Pepper Basham
One
Partially self-imposed exile.
What had his life come to?
Prince Arran St. Clare of Skymar sighed as he drove, staring out the window at the unfamiliar passing landscape. If only he’d known his parents’ plans when he’d asked them for help, he may have chosen to continue his more entertaining, but less fulfilling, role of rogue prince. But the past few months, as the mounting tabloid and newspaper headlines continued to flaunt his ungoverned lifestyle, the shame he had for his behavior had intensified.
How could he have allowed a broken heart to lead him into utter madness for nearly two years?
Especially since he’d been making better choices over the past few months, only to become, quite unexpectedly, caught up in another mistake. A mistake that led him to using royal funds for a rather scandalous party aboard a yacht. Accidentally, of course.
His body drooped from the internal wrestling match between his pride, his need for change, and his towering list of mistakes.
Images of the most recent media photos rushed to mind. Famous women and superficial relationships. Parties with less-than-ideal outcomes. A video of him landing a punch on Lord Darrick.
He winced.
If he’d known Rachelle was the daughter of the overprotective and highly popular conservative leader in Skymar, Arran wouldn’t have pursued a harmless moonlit swim with her.
Punching her father had been entirely provoked. And, unfortunately, captured on video for the whole world to see.
An uncomfortable twinge tightened his chest. Words from the most recent newsprints repeated in his head.
Playboy.
Troublemaker.
Embarrassment.
All arrows finally hitting their mark.
He couldn’t continue on his present course. The disappointment on his parents’ faces bled clearly into his mind. Perhaps he deserved his fate: eight weeks with his little sister and her new American husband, living as a commoner and working construction in a small, backward town in North Carolina...withoutroyal funds.
Plus, part of the agreement with his parents meant Arran would assist with some Christmas charity.
Well, at least he knew how to navigate service projects, a skill for which he particularly excelled among his siblings.
A text popped up on the screen of the car.
Ellie:Expect a feast for dinner. Luke is grilling steak.
Ellie:And watch out for bears. You’re coming in late, so there’s a chance one might run along your path.
Arran stopped the car in the middle of the street and stared at the message. Bears? Seriously? Bears “along your path,” as if it were the most normal remark in the world. He shook his head, a new twin wave of humiliation and annoyance rising in his chest.
He didn’t need the oversight of hislittlesister or her country husband to reform. Oh no! He could manage his own reformation.
After all, he was twenty-eight years old.
Plus, bears?Where on earth had his parents sent him?
The GPS glitched and then turned him down a street with brick and stone buildings lining either side of the road. Only a few shops glowed with welcome in the dusk shadows. Most looked closed for the evening.
He brought the car to a stop at the next traffic light and waited for another GPS command. Nothing. Giving the phone a quick refresh, he tried again.
