by: Tomi Tabb
Series: Friends of the Unexpected Royals
Genre: Romantic Comedy/Contemporary Romance
Release Date: August 30, 2024
Min grew up with dreams of becoming a professional ballerina, but fate had other plans for her.
Fresh out of the London School of Fashion, she’s set her sights on one goal: earning an internship at one of the most exclusive fashion houses in the country—the Clarissa Lee Atelier.
When a series of unfortunate events leads to an unexpected meet-cute with a tall, dark, and handsome royal guard, Min’s plans are suddenly turned upside down.
She never expected to end up with a date with a soldier named Sam instead of applying for her internship.
Despite the setback, it’s not long before Min is offered her shot at a dream design commission. This is everything she’s been working toward. Devoting all her time and energy to it should be a no brainer, except she’s started to fall for Sam, who’s also laser focused on advancing in the army while taking care of his sisters.
As they navigate their growing feelings for each other, Min finds herself at a crossroads. With their careers on the line, can Min and Sam find the time to get their happily ever after?
Disconnecting the call, I move off to the side set my coffee down, and take a moment to drop my phone into my bag next to my palace security badge. I grimace as I see loose pencils and pens, tangled cords, containers of makeup, a pair of socks, lotions, hand sanitizers, hair ties, and an entire pack of Tesco tea biscuits that I don’t even remember buying. At least it’s unopened, although it may be all crumbly. One of these days, I’ll get around to buying an organizer or using pouches so it looks a little less like a junk drawer, but for now, the best I can do is pretend the mess doesn’t exist.
Zipping the bag closed, I reach for my coffee and notice a piece of metal attached to a leather strap sitting next to it. It looks like something that might’ve fallen off a soldier’s uniform. It takes me a second, but I recognize the mysterious leather-and-metal strap as a spur.
Glancing around me, I see the yard is devoid of any police officers. Normally, they’re all over the place, but apparently, not this morning. I walk deeper into the yard. Maybe I can pass this over to the foot guard who stands sentry near the black slatted stable door. But as I approach, I find his post is empty too. I frown and finally just decide to leave it with the gent staffing the kiosk selling tourist trinkets opposite me. There are about ten people clustered around the cart.
“At least the guy is inside,” I mutter to myself.
However, just as I make my way over, he disappears. I squeeze my eyes shut. What is it with everyone today?
“Excuse me, do you know where the clerk has gone?” I ask a woman in an ice-blue jacket who’s inspecting an “I Heart London” shot glass.
“He’s around back checking a couple T-shirt sizes for me.”
“Thanks.”
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s now ten forty. I don’t have much more time to waste. I walk around to the backside of the cart under the archway.
“Stand clear of the arches!” a strong, gruff voice bellows.
My blood pressure rises about ten points. I drop my coffee and bag, and jump back. A guard in a navy-blue cloak with a red collar materializes out of nowhere. He stomps his foot and shoots me an ice-cold glare.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “Look, all I want to do is return this”—I hold up the spur—“to whomever it belongs. I didn’t want somebody walking away with it.”
His expression remains stony.
“I’m just going to put it down on the ground out of the tourists’ reach and maybe somebody can retrieve it when they relieve you from your post later.”
There is no movement. Hurriedly, I take a step into the forbidden zone, drop the spur behind the pillar, and retreat. That’s my good deed for the day.
Brushing my hands against my jeans, I turn around to retrieve my bag. To my horror, a woman in a red beanie and black puffer coat has her grimy hands on my wallet and phone.
“Give those back!” I scream.
Her eyes widen. She drops my phone, but keeps hold of my wallet and sprints into the darkened tunnel that connects the courtyard to the sandy parade grounds.
“Stop!” I shout. “Thief!”
Zipping the bag closed, I reach for my coffee and notice a piece of metal attached to a leather strap sitting next to it. It looks like something that might’ve fallen off a soldier’s uniform. It takes me a second, but I recognize the mysterious leather-and-metal strap as a spur.
Glancing around me, I see the yard is devoid of any police officers. Normally, they’re all over the place, but apparently, not this morning. I walk deeper into the yard. Maybe I can pass this over to the foot guard who stands sentry near the black slatted stable door. But as I approach, I find his post is empty too. I frown and finally just decide to leave it with the gent staffing the kiosk selling tourist trinkets opposite me. There are about ten people clustered around the cart.
“At least the guy is inside,” I mutter to myself.
However, just as I make my way over, he disappears. I squeeze my eyes shut. What is it with everyone today?
“Excuse me, do you know where the clerk has gone?” I ask a woman in an ice-blue jacket who’s inspecting an “I Heart London” shot glass.
“He’s around back checking a couple T-shirt sizes for me.”
“Thanks.”
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s now ten forty. I don’t have much more time to waste. I walk around to the backside of the cart under the archway.
“Stand clear of the arches!” a strong, gruff voice bellows.
My blood pressure rises about ten points. I drop my coffee and bag, and jump back. A guard in a navy-blue cloak with a red collar materializes out of nowhere. He stomps his foot and shoots me an ice-cold glare.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “Look, all I want to do is return this”—I hold up the spur—“to whomever it belongs. I didn’t want somebody walking away with it.”
His expression remains stony.
“I’m just going to put it down on the ground out of the tourists’ reach and maybe somebody can retrieve it when they relieve you from your post later.”
There is no movement. Hurriedly, I take a step into the forbidden zone, drop the spur behind the pillar, and retreat. That’s my good deed for the day.
Brushing my hands against my jeans, I turn around to retrieve my bag. To my horror, a woman in a red beanie and black puffer coat has her grimy hands on my wallet and phone.
“Give those back!” I scream.
Her eyes widen. She drops my phone, but keeps hold of my wallet and sprints into the darkened tunnel that connects the courtyard to the sandy parade grounds.
“Stop!” I shout. “Thief!”
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Her first published novel, "Dancing With a Royal," made its debut in 2020.
Outside of her day job, and attending grad school, Tomi enjoys figure skating and hunting for new pumpkin flavored foods. Her current favorite item is pumpkin spice Milano cookies.
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