The Cursed Prince Teresa Roman (short novels in english .TXT) 📖

sounds amazing.” One of the advantages of still living at home with my father was that he was a retired chef, so he did most of the cooking. Everything he made was delicious.

I opened the refrigerator, hoping my dad had put a bottle of white wine in there to chill. I was in a celebratory mood for some reason. Maybe it was the invitation. All I knew was that I felt a strange hum of excitement running through me. Like I was on the brink of an adventure.

Chapter 2

Right after I finished washing the dinner dishes, Peter called.

“Hey, beautiful. You want to grab a drink at McAllister’s?” he asked.

More alcohol was probably not a good idea since I was still slightly buzzed from the wine I’d had with dinner, but I wanted to see Peter. His work kept him so busy that it had been a few days since we’d spent time together, and I missed his company.

“Sure. That sounds like fun.”

“Great. I’ll be over in thirty minutes.”

I hung up, went into my room, and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. The blouse and slacks I’d worn to work weren’t particularly sexy, so I decided to change. I fished a short skirt out of my closet, even though it was still pretty chilly outside. Peter would like it, though. He complimented me all the time on my legs. I loosened my long mahogany hair from the elastic that had held it in a ponytail all day and refreshed my eye shadow and mascara. Peter also liked my hazel-green eyes, so I chose a shade of makeup that would bring out their color.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang.

I emerged from my bedroom and grabbed a jacket from the closet.

My dad, who was sitting on the couch, watching TV, hit pause on the remote. “Peter?”

“Yeah. He’s taking me out for drinks.”

My father stared at me and then shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sometimes when I look at you, I can’t help but think of your mom.”

I never knew what to say when he mentioned her. She’d died right after giving birth to me. From the pictures still hanging in the house I knew that my mother had been beautiful, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about our resemblance. I worried that when my dad looked at me, it brought back painful memories. It was obvious that he’d loved her a lot, and after all these years still missed her.

I managed a smile. “I shouldn’t be gone long.”

“Well, have fun. I’ll probably be asleep by the time you get home, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It wasn’t late, but my father was the type who went to bed early and was up before the sun came up. Especially during fishing season. Sometimes days would go by without us crossing paths.

“Good night, Dad.”

I opened the door. Peter smiled and held his hand out to me. “You look beautiful,” he said. His eyes floated down to my bare legs. My heart fluttered at his reaction to my appearance.

I followed him to his car. Peter opened the door for me, and I climbed into the passenger’s seat. As he drove away, his hand found its way to my knee.

“Maybe we should go to my place instead.”

I arched my brow in response. Even in the dark, it was impossible to miss the lust in his eyes. It made my insides shiver. Yet something held me back. We hadn’t been together long, a little over a month. The last few times we’d gotten together Peter had made it obvious that he wanted to move things along, but I’d put the brakes on.

Peter worked a lot. He owned several small businesses, not just in Beaver Falls, but in some of the neighboring towns. When we were together, he showered me with attention: holding doors open for me, taking me to fancy restaurants and never letting me pay. But when we were apart, several days would sometimes pass without so much as a text. I didn’t want to be one of those clingy girlfriends that demanded constant attention from her guy, so I stopped myself from mentioning it. And usually, as soon as it really began to bother me, Peter would call or send a bouquet of roses to my office, and I’d tell myself I was being silly. At twenty-four, I was in no rush to find my Mr. Right. I kind of liked that we were taking things slow, which meant I wasn’t quite ready to jump into bed with him. When it happened, I wanted it to be special.

“Or not,” he said, interpreting my expression correctly.

Beaver Falls was small enough that it didn’t take long to get to the downtown area. Not that we had much of a downtown. The main strip had an antique shop, a bar, several restaurants, and way too many psychics and tarot card readers. Our town’s history was about the only thing that attracted tourists. I’d grown up with kids who swore that their great-uncle Joe or second cousin Maeve could read minds or shapeshift. If you asked me, it was a bunch of garbage. I’d lived here my entire life, and I’d never seen anything I’d call magic. Inwardly, I laughed at the people I saw entering those shops in the hopes of getting their fortunes read. How could anyone believe in that nonsense?

A few minutes later, Peter parked in the lot beside McAllister’s. Just like he always did, he ran around and opened the passenger’s side door for me, taking my hand and helping me out of the car.

We found a small table in the corner of the bar and gave our drink orders to the waitress who stopped by our table. Peter inched his chair closer to me and whispered in my ear, “I’ve missed you.”

His warm breath on my neck made goosebumps rise on my flesh.

“Then don’t be such a stranger,” I said.

“I wish it could be helped,” he replied, lacing his fingers through mine. “You should