When I imagined my wedding night, I never expected that I’d be standing outside my beloved wife’s bedroom door, pounding on it to let me inside.“You can’t avoid me forever!” I pounded my fist one last time against the expensive wood.“Of course I can. Have you seen this place? It’s fucking huge!”I heard what sounded like rustling. I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the door. I’d imagined helping Niamh out of her wedding dress, but here I was, a dog barking at the door to be let in.“Niamh,” I said, forcing calm into my voice. “We need to talk.”“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m tired. Go away.”I growled. I jiggled the knob, but it stayed firmly locked. Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I turned to see my secretary Arthur Laurent, who was studiously avoiding looking at the locked door.“Would you like me to procure the key from Madam LeRoux, Your Highness?” he asked in French. While I spoke English solely with my American bride, I rarel
The Prince I Love to HateThe Princess I Hate to LoveSay You’re MineAll I Ask of YouMake Me YoursHold Me CloseWar of the RosesPetal PluckerHe Loves Me, He Loves Me NotOopsie DaisyincludingThen Came YouTaking a Chance on LoveAll I Want Is YouMy One and OnlyThe Nearness of YouThe Very Thought of YouIf I Can’t Have YouDream a Little Dream of MeSomeone to Watch Over MeTill There Was YouI’ll Be Home for Christmas
A coffee addict and cat lover, USA Today bestselling author Iris Morland writes sparkling, swoon-worthy romances, including the Flower Shop Sisters and the Love Everlasting series.If she's not reading or writing, she enjoys binging on Netflix shows and cooking something delicious.Sign up for my newsletter to stay up-to-date with new releases, sales, and exclusive giveaways! Facebook Twitter BookBub Goodreads Instagram
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.The Prince I Love to HateCopyright © 2021 by Iris MorlandPublished by Blue Violet Press LLCSeattle, WashingtonCover design by Qamber DesignsAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I said as the taxi driver stopped in front of the house.No, it wasn’t a house. It was a mansion. More accurately, it was an entire estate.The driver gave me a strange look. “You touring this place?”“Yeah, kinda.” I handed him a few Euros and opened the car door, rather wishing I could ask him to go with me. But he’d already driven off by the time I’d been tempted to turn around and ask him to tour the place with me.Okay, tour wasn’t the right word. Wrap my head around what I was seeing would be more accurate.I mean, I’d known that Grandda Gallagher had been rich—he’d left me a rather large inheritance, after all—but this rich? I’d somehow missed that memo.“He probably buried gold bars in the backyard,” my older brother Liam had said darkly before I’d flown from Seattle all the way to Ireland. “Along with all of the bodies.”As far as I knew, our grandda hadn’t been a murderer—just a judgmental arsehole, as Liam liked to call him. Or when Li
It was still early morning, and I had hours to kill before I could meet with Mr. McDonnell later that afternoon. My stomach rumbled ominously. I hadn’t eaten since I’d gotten on the plane over nine hours ago, and I was on the verge of getting full-on hangry.But I had no idea how I went about feeding myself in this place. Did I just…go to the kitchen? Or would some red-cheeked cook tell me to get lost? This isn’t Downton Abbey, I reminded myself. And you’re hardly Lady Mary who’s never made a cup of coffee on her own.I got dressed and, after asking an unsuspecting maid where the kitchen was located, made my way downstairs. I was afraid I’d gotten lost when I smelled food. I headed toward the scent of cooking meat, my mouth practically watering.Before you got to the main part of the kitchen, there was a smaller entranceway that looked like a gigantic pantry. There were cans and bags of all kinds of food, along with fresh produce in baskets. I snagged a banana and began to eat it.
I shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but despite the silky sheets and a mattress that could’ve easily fit four adults, I couldn’t fall asleep. Sighing, I sat up in bed and rubbed my temples.“Stupid jet lag,” I muttered to myself. I’d even taken a Benadryl, but all it had done was make me feel fuzzy-headed. Gulping down a glass of water, I went to sit in front of the fireplace—no fire, it was the middle of summer, after all—and after turning on a light, tried to read a book.But my brain kept bouncing from subject to subject. After I’d encountered Golden Man, I’d met with Mr. McDonnell.Months ago, Mr. McDonnell had written me a letter to inform me that Grandda had left me more than just the inheritance that had paid for my college education. When I’d written back via email, because this was the twenty-first century after all, Mr. McDonnell had sent his reply once again on actual paper.I didn’t understand his drive to waste money on postage, but per
The next morning, I considered calling Liam to tell him about the stranger in the library but then thought better of it. My older brother was way overprotective. Knowing him, he’d fly straight here to pummel somebody—anybody.Instead, I called Rachel, who’d been my roommate my last two years at Harvard and who now lived in New York City with her girlfriend Maddie. She was one of the most levelheaded people I knew. I could tell her that I’d met five blue aliens and we’d all gotten high on bath salts and eaten our weight in fish and chips, and she wouldn’t bat an eyelash.First of all,I gave her the short version of what I’d learned from Mr. McDonnell about my father and the mysterious clock I was now supposed to search for.“Do you even know what the clock looks like?” said Rachel.I was currently sitting outside, my cup of coffee having already gone cold from the chill wind blowing off of the water. “Um, I have no idea. It’s a clock. I’m assuming it has two hands