I don’t often get to do publicity for something of my own, but, yahoo! today is that day! My romantic comedy “Prince of a Guy” is in Volume 2. Check out the excerpt below!
What does it mean to be a princess? Is it all about the diamond-studded tiara and the glitzy glittery dress? Is being a princess mean being the center of attention in a ballroom full of admirers? Or is a princess something different? A leader, a visionary, a pioneer? Someone who exudes confidence and kindness, someone brave and courageous? A person who fights for the rights of others?
Seven best-selling authors have come together in Volume 2 of Princess for a Day to share their stories of what being a princess for just one day means to them.
May 20, 2020
Perfectly Poisoned Anthologies
Excerpt from “Prince of a Guy” by Sascha Darlington
“Have you told her yet?” Jeff asks, bouncing into the living room of Mick’s townhouse with the energy of a toddler. He glances from Quincy’s raised, expectant eyebrow to Mick who’s grimacing and making a slashing motion at his throat.
Jeff nods. “You haven’t. Great. That means I’m in time. Let the games begin.”
Quincy turns toward Mick who looks like he wants to kill Jeff. Whatever the secret is, it’s good, and Quincy can’t wait to hear it. She thinks. Then she acknowledges that this could go either way. Jeff’s idea of a fun secret could be anything from excavating a body to adopting a puppy.
Maybe they’ll need something stronger than tea.
“Your timing is impeccable,” Mick says to Jeff in his upper-crust Isle of Rokke accent, which sounds like a British hybrid to Quincy. The one time she called it British, she was on the receiving end of a twenty-minute history and geography lesson regarding English and Dutch influences that would have progressed much longer if their Classical Survey Professor hadn’t walked in and started class. Since then, she’s always teasingly called it “Isle of Rokke accent,” which garners an eye roll. Well worth it.
Jeff hops onto the brown leather recliner, pushes the button that flips out the footrest, and settles in, his brown eyes gleaming. He rubs his hands together in the universal gesture of upcoming desserts.
Mick shakes his head. “Maybe now isn’t the best time.”
“What do you mean? The party’s next week. You’re running out of time, man. Forget best times.”
“Party?” Quincy asks. No one she knew had a birthday next week “What party?”
“His brother the—”
“Stick a sock in it, Jeff,” Mick says abruptly.
Jeff gulps. Quincy’s eyes widen. Definitely not a puppy-tone, more of a body-burying tone.
Mick runs his fingers through his dark brown hair while staring at the coffee table.
Unable to contain his enthusiasm or keep a secret, Jeff leans forward. “Mick’s a—”
“Jeff, I swear. One more word . . .”
“What in the world’s going on, Mick?” Quincy asks, turning sideways on the couch and pulling her legs beneath her. He seems to be taking this thing far too seriously, especially for a party.
“Prince,” Jeff says the one word.