Page 8 of Royal Agenda

“Wouldn’t mind sorting through his for a while,” she mumbled.

The dog shoved his head under her hand and whimpered. She scratched behind his ears as she worked over the short encounter. “He called me beautiful,” she said. “Does he do that to all the ladies?” Checking his name tag, she laughed. “Bear?” Scratching more intently, she asked again. “Does he charm all the women?” A true Isl$ would do precisely that. They were the most charming men on the planet, and, generally, women were suckers for their incredibly romantic natures.

Bear’s back foot thumped the floor in sync with her, scratching his ear. “Well, if you’re not going to spill his secrets, then I’m going to class with Grandma.” She gave him one more good scratch, said goodbye to Sweetie, and then took the stairs. All the while, she fought the urge to picture the stranger on a surfboard. Now that was picture-worthy!

Two

Ryker Rockefeller (not his real name) was shaken by his encounter with the beautiful woman and an alligator.

And a dog . . . but Bear was not at all dangerous.

Sweetie, if given the chance, would eat his left foot. Her muzzle was not just to make the residents of The Palms feel safe with her in the building but to prevent her from gobbling up unsuspecting victims. She may be fascinating and majestic as one of God’s creations, but she could be deadly if not controlled.

Yet his pulse had never raced in her presence before. Not even when Aaron, her owner, took off the muzzle and fed her half a rotisserie chicken. He pressed his hand to his heart, feeling it throb inside his chest as well as pound against his ribs. It beat out a message he knew better than to ignore.

The woman was the dangerous one.

Captivating blue eyes, round, expressive lips, and her slightly upturned nose spoke of innocence and intelligence, and he was drawn to her in a completely unexpected way. “Like a shark,” he mumbled to himself. His deep male instincts rose to the surface, turning him into a huntsman, a protector, and a lover, and consumed him in such a way that all he could hear was a buzzing noise, and all he could feel was the force of his heart pumping blood through his veins as the desire to learn if her skin was as soft as it seemed.

The feeling was too much. She was too much.

Her mention of his homeland was the ice bath he desperately needed to regain his senses.

Glancing at his phone, he quickly discarded the idea of using it to contact his security. Phones were tapped and traced. He doubted anyone in the underbelly could have gotten past the firewalls set up by the US Navy SEAL team assigned to this special mission.

There were protocols to follow. The farther he moved from the lobby–and her–the clearer his thoughts became, and he moved with a purpose into the busy kitchen at The Palms, feeling as though he were in enemy territory and wondering if the dishwashers or cooks had been spying on him this whole time.

“You!” Chef Bruno barked at him. “Get out of my kitchen.”

Ryker pulled himself up to his full height, his back military straight and his shoulders square. Chef Bruno may be holding a cleaver, but he would not intimidate a member of the royal de Luca household. “I am looking for Cocoa.”

Cocoa, the talented pastry chef, was married to Aaron, a recently retired Navy man, alligator rescue specialist, Sweetie’s owner, and trustworthy friend. He would be on the property today, and his wife, who was utterly smitten with him, would know where to find him. Thankfully, Sweetie was in the lobby distracting the possible spy.

“She’s out there,” Bruno jerked the glinting knife toward the back patio. “It’s Tarts and Toddlers Tuesday at the pool.”

Ryker stayed in place for three more seconds to prove that he would leave when he wanted. The longer he was away from home, the more he wondered if he was programmed to behave that way or if he had a stubborn streak. His sisters would claim it was stubbornness. At the thought of them, his heart tugged, and he moved quickly, hoping to leave behind the sense of homesickness that always gripped the shirttails of thoughts of his family.

He passed through the dining room, where residents—clients in the barbershop located upstairs—called out greetings or waved hello. Once a world traveler and representative of his country, his world quickly shrunk to Diamond Cove and The Palms when tragedy struck Isola de la Famiglia.

As far as exiles went, Diamond Cove wasn’t a horrible place to be shipwrecked. The residents were fun, quirky, and opinionated, and the beach was stunning. The work was so far removed from his life as a prince that some days, as he swept hair or advised a man on how to trim nose hair, even he would not believe he was a prince.

Nevertheless, if he had arrived under better circumstances, he would recommend the secluded Florida town to other royals as a secluded getaway where the world would not find them and the people would treat them as friends.

Pushing through the double glass doors, he left the air conditioning behind and stepped into the muggy heat that clung to his skin like beard oil and smelled of chlorine and sunscreen. He shaded his eyes as they acclimated to the sunshine.

The Palms sported an impressive backyard—as Americans called them. There was a six-inch deep pool with a playground in the center, tall, multi-colored poles that sprayed water on the children and their caregivers, and a bucket that dumped water every seven minutes on the dot. To the left of that was a mini golf course for people of all ages. A lazy river circled the entire course, shaded by palm trees and decorated with flowers blooming in many colors and scents.

To the left of the golf course was a large swimming pool. On weekends, Samantha, the activities director, set up a movie screen, and residents and their guests floated in the pool as they watched everything from classics to semi-new releases. If moviegoers did not want to get wet, they could sit around the pool at one of the tables. On hot days, the umbrellas provided shade for retirees and their families.

Between the pool deck and the lazy river was a walkway that led to a snack shack where they sold cold drinks, popsicles, soft-serve ice cream cones, and frozen ice drinks.

Adjacent to the snack shack was the storage building. Inside was where the paddle boards and other lake equipment were stored until it was needed for a yoga class on the water or by a resident to cruise around the lake. It also housed a bug-out bag full of weapons and minimal diving equipment in the rafters. Of course, only seven people knew about that. The SEAL team had stashes all over The Palms since it was where Ryker spent his days. They also carried weapons, but no one wanted to be outgunned should the situation arise.

In the middle of the lake was the library. Accessible by one bridge, you had to use the main building’s front entrance to access the world-class atheneum. The library was a stunning observatory turned book vault by the owners of The Palms, Adam and Bella Moreau.

Ryker had explored every inch of The Palms within his first week here—a sense of unfulfilled wanderlust racing through his veins. His life before Diamond Cove was the life he had always wanted and the one he had worked hard to make possible. The decision to give it up was not difficult—he would always put his family and country first. But actually, living here had been a royal adjustment.

Cocoa and Aaron stood next to a food cart, holding an umbrella over the tarts to keep the direct sun off of them as Cocoa considered her options for table placement. She wore her white chef coat and had her long blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She had, what his SEAL friends called, the All-American girl look about her. Ryker’s sisters would have dubbed her a natural beauty who was confident in her skin. Ryker called her a kind person with a big heart and mad skills with a whisk and he could not have asked for a better woman for his friend.

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