He was so lost in thought as he wandered further that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed someone in the water.
She rose from the waves like a siren blooming from the sea. The dark green material of her bathing gown clung to her fair skin and her hair dripped down her back in a dark waterfall. For a moment the clouds parted, the sun shining through in a bright slash where she stood. She was lovely, ethereal and so graceful as she stretched her arms up toward the sunshine. The sopping fabric of her dress clung to her soft curves as she moved.
He must have made a sound because she turned and looked at him and then the sunlight seemed like a joke highlighting his mistake. It was Stella McKay who stared at him with a crease forming between her brows. Stella McKay, his nemesis. Stella McKay, the woman who managed to annoy him by merely existing in her perfect daydream bubble. Stella McKay, who was as reckless and emotionally volatile as Teddy was cautious and controlled.
He hadn’t recognized her with her wild curls flattened by seawater. He should have known her at a glance. Not only had he seen her every summer and winter solstice for his entire life, but she bore a striking likeness to her mother, who was captured in numerous art pieces in Argaria.
Stella had the same dark, waist-length curls and fair skin that pinked with the slightest bit of exertion, but where Cecilia was short and petite, Stella was tall, only a few inches shorter than Teddy, and her eyes were bright green like her father’s instead of cerulean like her mother’s.
He stared at her, trying to figure out how he hadn’t recognized her on sight for what she was: the bane of his existence.
“Can I help you,Your Grace?” Her voice was laced with contempt as she stepped out of the surf and dipped into an offensively shallow curtsey.
That was fine. The feeling was absolutely mutual. Stella was asspoiled as she was ungrateful. Her parents lavished her with praise for doing nothing. She had the freedom to wed anyone she wanted and she possessed the admiration of the people of both kingdoms for no reason other than being the only birth child of Olney’s golden fairy-tale couple.
He sneered at her. “No, I don’t believe there’s a thing you can help me with.”
“Of course not. You just do whatever you want,” she grumbled, stomping by him and picking her towel up before stalking toward the cliff trail. “Royal prick.”
He watched her retreating figure.
Perhaps Stella had done him a small favor. She was right. He could do whatever he wanted. His father was the one who’d taught him it was easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Xander couldn’t fault Teddy for going after what he wanted. Tomorrow he and Grace would go to the Temple of Desiree and, once the witches there confirmed he and Grace were meant to be, they’d be bonded to each other and then he’d finally have proof enough for his parents that she was the only viable option for a wife.
3
STELLA
Stella knew something was wrong the moment she walked into the house. The scent of warm cheese and melted butter hit her as she crossed the pristine foyer. The space was normally a mess in the afternoons, her mother tossing her shawl or kicking off her shoes the moment she got in the door from work. But there were no clothes strewn about the entryway. Everything was neatly hung on the wooden hooks by the door.
It was so unlike Cecilia, who left her signature gentle mess of empty teacups, rumpled blankets, and dog-eared books in every room she entered.
A clatter sounded in the kitchen, and Stella rushed down the hall to check on it.
Leo and Rosie stood in the kitchen doorway, whispering to each other. While they weren’t blood-related to each other or her, Stella often saw similarities in their mannerisms that made her smile. Their mother had always said that the fates brought them all together and Stella had always been comforted by the idea that they belonged to each other even without being bound by blood.
“What’s going on?” Stella asked.
Leo nodded to the kitchen. “Mama’s cooking.”
Stella pushed him aside to see for herself. Sure enough, Cecilia was buttering bread and slicing cheese and humming with a determined frown on her face.
Panic sprung to life in Stella’s chest. Her mother never cooked, preferring instead to be food taste-tester and designated chef-kisser, sitting on the counter while Rainer sliced vegetables or seasoned meat.
“Did she say why?” Stella asked.
Rosie shook her head. “No, she hasn’t said anything, but she didn’t want any help. Papa is out making a delivery and we don’t know what to do.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Stella said.
Rosie whipped her head around to look at her, her shiny dark hair sliding over her shoulder. “What do you know?”
Stella shrugged. “Nothing.”
Leo turned and frowned. “You’re such a bad liar.”
Stella held her hands up to ward them off. “I know what you know. She’s just beenoffrecently.”
“Off how?” Leo whispered. His face turned serious.
