“I get it. It was just me and my mom growing up, but the thing is, here, you can be quiet and eat your breakfast, or you can jump on the table and belt out a Celine Dion power ballad. It doesn’t matter. They’re just really easy-going. So, eat what you want, do what you want, and give yourself time to get used to the Bowie clan.”

“That’s great advice.”

“Good.” Knox put a chocolate croissant on her plate and headed outside.

And suddenly Rosalina was hungry. Starving, in fact. She hadn’t really eaten dinner last night, and then, of course, she’d had sex twice.

The memory of Brodie’s cock in her mouth, his desperate expression right before he’d shoved his face in her neck, sent a blast of awareness through her. Oh, my. She turned to find him talking to his brothers, laughing. He was so ruggedly handsome, so powerful…he was just everything she’d never known she’d wanted in a man.

He glanced at her with a warm, sweet smile. His brother must’ve said something about them, because he elbowed him and said, “Fuck off.”

Turning back to the island, she piled scrambled eggs onto her plate. A slice of bacon, a sausage patty…even a cinnamon roll. God, she never indulged like this.

And then, just as she was heading outside, a voice called, “Rosalina?”

The room went quiet, and she whipped around to find—

“Marcel?”

“Hello.” He looked around the room with his superior air.

How had she never noticed that before? Her family took its role as monarchs seriously, but they viewed themselves as caretakers, guardians of the people and the country. They never viewed themselves as better. They were just stewards of the land their forefathers had claimed in battles.

Maybe it was the contrast of the Bowie family—all four extremely accomplished and wealthy men were humble, generous, and viewed themselves as no different than anyone else— but in this setting, Marcel came off as pompous.

Flustered, she set her plate down and crossed the room. “This is Marcel, a friend from St. Christophe.” Just as the family started to migrate towards them to say hello, Rosalina grabbed his arm and said, “Can you please excuse us?” Crap. Back in princess mode. Well, what the hell was Marcel doing in Calamity? She didn’t want St. Christophe crashing in on her freedom. She led Marcel across the living room and out the front door. Once in the shade of the porch, she turned to him. “What’re you doing here?”

In his khakis and white dress shirt, sandy hair held in place with pomade, he looked refined and totally out of place on the Bowie ranch. “You’re not talking to me, Rosalina. You’ve ignored my calls and my texts. What did you expect me to do?”