Page 102 of Rags to Royals

He catches me and smirks. “There will be time for that when I get back.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say with feigned innocence.

“Ha ha,” he says, pulling boxers and then jeans over the main subject of my interest. That still leaves a lot of skin and bulging muscles, though.

He rounds the bed and leans over to give me a kiss. “We’ll be back in a little bit.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Go to the spa if you want. Put it on the room.”

Oh, I like the sound of that. I look toward the bathroom. “Or I might take a soak.”

He straightens and shakes his head. “The bathtub is for both of us later.”

I’m grinning stupidly as the door shuts behind him.

Damn, I really like that guy.

Room service arrives a few minutes later, and I am sipping a perfect cappuccino and munching on delightful strawberries when a thought occurs to me.

I suddenly have a wonderful idea of how to spend the next couple of hours.

And I end up grinning stupidly throughout my quick shower and my phone call to the concierge for help with my plan.

An hour later, I walk through the door of a tiny bar along Bayou Road in Autre, Louisiana. I never would’ve found it if it weren’t for directions from the man at the gas station on the corner as I came into town.

There’s no sign on the building, but this looks like how he described Ellie’s bar.

I park my rental car on the edge of the gravel lot after spotting the car Henry drove us to the hotel in yesterday.

As I step through the door, the room is dark enough it takes my eyes a moment to adjust so it’s the aroma that hits me first—beer, spices, bacon or sausage or both—then the sounds. There’s laughter, conversation—including a loud, “Fuck no!”, and clinking silverware against plates and cups. Once my eyes adjust, I take in a room full of mismatched tables and chairs of all sizes, a long bar along the one entire side of the room with stools of various heights and types.

But the mishmash of “types” doesn’t apply only to the furniture. The people are a hodgepodge as well. There are all sizes, shapes, genders, and ages. And they all seem to be talking at once.

Which means the only person to notice me is the older woman behind the bar. She’s short, has wrinkled tan skin, and wears her long gray hair in a braid down her back. She gives me a big grin. “Hey there.”

Her smile makes me smile. “Hi.”

She beckons me down the bar and points to an open stool.

Just then a loud laugh draws my attention, and I look at the back table. I see Cian right away.

He hasn’t noticed me though, so I slip onto the bar stool. I can watch him from here. I’d love to spy for a few minutes and just watch him with his friends and family.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.

“Sweet tea and a menu?”

She hands over the menu, then starts filling a glass with ice.

I surreptitiously glance at the table to my left. Cian is sitting so that I’m to his left, rather than straight on so I can study the table without being noticed. I take note of the beautiful, dark-haired woman who I know is Fiona, Cian’s sister. The girl to his right is his niece, Saoirse. For a second, I’m hit by a sense of what people must experience when they run across celebrities in public. I’ve only seen these people in photos, and I’ve read about them—or listened to stories about them—on the podcast so they seem a little larger than life to me.

I’m thinking of how cool Mariah would think this was, when Cian looks over. His mouth drops open, and his eyes widen as he straightens. Henry, who is sitting two chairs down, notices Cian’s reaction and looks in my direction. His eyes widen, then he blows out a breath and pushes out of his chair and comes toward me.

I turn back toward the bar as the bartender sets my tea in front of me.

“Take your time with the menu. I’m Ellie. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

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