The Love Triangle: Filthy Rich Royals by M. S. Parker

Author:M. S. Parker [Parker, M. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Belmonte Publishing, LLC
Published: 2019-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

Jarek

I’d almost been asleep when Alicia called. Jetlag was pulling a number on me, and I needed to have a clear head for tomorrow. A clear head and a solid eight hours of sleep.

But now, I was energized, and my thoughts were full of her. Again.

After a quick shower, I checked the suite’s fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs and some cheese. It had been fully stocked when I checked in, the attendant at the desk assuring me that, “Everything has already been paid for, so please, don’t let it go to waste.”

Alicia, again, I had no doubt.

Guilty as I felt about her taking care of the food and lodging while I was here, I knew I’d play a lot better if I wasn’t scrimping by on whatever I could afford on the precious little money I had left to my name. I’d definitely slept better last night than I would at a hostel.

“Stop thinking about her,” I told myself. “You need to focus on the tournament, on the game.”

But as I made myself an omelet, she kept intruding.

I ate mechanically, not really tasting anything as I went through my standard, pre-tournament ritual, thinking about the upcoming match, my opponent.

And Alicia crept in again.

“Damn it.” Annoyed with myself—and maybe a little at her because how easily she seemed to overtake everything—I rinsed off the dishes and put them in the rack, then grabbed my phone. I needed to check on my dad anyway.

“Jarek!” Mom answered, her voice easy and warm. “How is Sweden? I caught the match today. You looked great.”

“Hey, Mom. It’s fine…and thanks. I called to see how Dad is doing.”

“Cranky as an old bear. I took him to his first rehab appointment. Today was mostly an evaluation, looking at his diet and exercise and you’d have thought they’d told him he was going to get fitted for his very own Iron Maiden, not have a dietician help us design a healthier diet while a physical therapist outlined some cardiac rehabilitation for him.” Laughter lurked in her voice, but also concern.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Everything is fine, sweetie. It’s just…well, we’re both getting older. Maybe if I’d cooked healthier for us both, this wouldn’t have happened. I just—”

“Mom. Don’t do that to yourself. And you’ve been after him to eat healthier for as long as I can remember. You can’t make him eat the salads you put on the table, you know.” Guilt slid back in, and I wondered if I’d made the right call, coming to Europe.

“You want to bet?”

The retort made me laugh. “Well, maybe you can. Now.”

“It’s good to hear you laugh.” She sighed. “Honestly, baby, it was good to see you again. I know you and I talk, but it’s been so long since you came home…and I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I know why you don’t come back out here often, and I can’t say I blame you. We haven’t made

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