Like in my stories, like the one who kissed Sleeping Beauty?”Jessica glanced up from the sink of dishes to focus on the television on the counter nearest the farmhouse table. She had turned the channel to cartoons for Samantha to watch while the four-year-old ate her breakfast, but the screen displayed no animated figures. Just a tall man in a dark, tailored suit.As a reporter announced that Prince Sebastian Cavanaugh had called this press conference at the sheriff’s office, a camera zoomed in on the royal’s face. It was all chiseled features—rigid jaw, aristocratic cheekbones beneath intense, dark blue eyes and his nose was just slightly bent in an arrogant tilt. She doubted it could have once been broken. After all, he was a prince—privileged and protected.He was one of the five rulers of island nations in the Mediterranean, who had, along with their entourages, converged on Dumont, Wyoming, for a summit meeting two weeks ago. That meeting had yet to occur.Jessica didn’t need to listen to the press conference to learn why; she already knew.
