by Ellie Hall
Birdie giggled.
Charlotte had met Penny several times and had asked if it would be okay to introduce her and the prince to her daughter at the reception. She warned them about the starstruck excitement that was likely to ensue.
After Charlotte made introductions, Birdie launched in the many questions she’d been saving for just such an occasion.
Among them were: “What is it like to live in the castle in Concordia?” (Grand and sometimes drafty.)
“When were they getting married?” (Later in the summer.)
“Do you like dogs?”
“Yes, we have a puppy named Duke.” Oliver seemed charmed by the little girl.
“Duke? Like in my story,” Birdie chirped and then told them all about Rupert and Roofus. Then she asked, “Is Princess Ava here?”
Oliver looked around. “She’s a slippery one. Isn’t a big fan of large crowds and getting all dressed up,” he confessed.
“But she’s a princess.”
Oliver considered that. “More of a tomboy princess.”
Birdie giggled.
Oliver nodded at Penny and said, “Miss Birdie, would you take this first dance with me?” He extended his hand and Charlotte was almost certain her six-year-old daughter swooned a little. She was thankful Oliver played along and indulged her fairytale fantasy even though it would be the only thing she’d hear about for ages.
Charlotte chatted with Penny for a few minutes and then Will and Emma strode over, followed by Wyatt.
Emma introduced him to Penny, but his eyes remained fixed on Charlotte before he cleared his throat and made a point of turning away.
Will clapped him on the back. “Why don’t you and Charlotte dance again. Get to know each other since you’ll be touring around London together.”
Emma clapped. “That’s a great idea. Wait, Charlotte, didn’t you mention Birdie is going to summer camp? You should trade. Since you’re showing Wyatt around the city and then Birdie will be gone, the two of you could go back to the States to the ranch. You’d love it there.”
Will agreed.
Charlotte balked.
Wyatt groaned. His expression was stormy like he’d rather stand in the rain on a cold and blustery day or wade into the North Sea in the dead of winter.
The last thing Charlotte needed was to be near him any longer than necessary or endure his moodiness. She said the simplest thing she could. “No.”
Chapter 6
Wyatt
It was loud in the ballroom with all of the guests talking along with the music playing and the swishing of gowns and clicking of heels as they danced in the background. Will mentioned something about how Charlotte would enjoy the quiet at the ranch, in stark contrast to the ballroom. Emma started to ask Wyatt about the horses, but all he heard was how Charlotte had said no. Not that Wyatt had officially asked her to join him for a visit to the ranch. Not that he even wanted her to go there. Even so, her answer still would’ve been no.
It was better that way, apart. The greater the distance, an ocean for instance, between him and Charlotte the safer he was from losing control and overstepping the invisible boundary between his friendship with Will and Wyatt’s attraction to Charlotte.
As the afternoon ceremony passed into the evening reception, there was no denying the charge between them.
He’d felt it when she’d linked arms with him and the pair walked down the aisle—thankfully, away from the altar because unlike Will, Wyatt was not interested in marriage.
He’d felt the chemistry, mixed with concern, when her emotions shaded in so fully during the carriage ride. He fought the urge to ask her if she wanted to talk about her father—he certainly could relate to having a deadbeat dad. But it wasn’t his place to pry.
Then, seated next to her at the dining table, it was all he could do to turn away from her and lead Leo into thinking he might win Wyatt over and score an invitation to one of his properties. He didn’t want her to witness the intensity in his eyes when he gazed at her, the desire on his lips when she spoke, or the heat that radiated off him in waves at their proximity. She was Will’s little sister and he’d deny his attraction to her until the end.
There was no other option. Case closed.
Amanda made her way across the room. For once he was thankful for her presence because it meant an escape. The two of them could dance and it would distract him from Charlotte. She planted her hand, capped with long, manicured nails, on his shoulder.
“Care to introduce me?” Her gaze landed on the groom. “But of course, I know Will,” she purred.
Wyatt knew it was best to get her and the implication in her words away from Will and his bride as quickly as possible. “Actually, care to dance?” he asked, leading her away.
At the same time, a little girl rushed over to the group and threw her arms around Charlotte’s legs. “That was like a dream, Mummy.”
Wyatt caught the edge of Charlotte’s smile.
Then Birdie spotted him and in a small voice said, “Who is that? He’s handsome. Is he a prince too?”
Charlotte’s lips dipped as Wyatt passed with Amanda clinging to his arm.
“That’s no one,” Charlotte said.
Seemingly satisfied or distracted, the little girl said, “Uncle Will, are you a prince now?”
Then he was out of earshot, but Charlotte’s comment stung. No one.
Perhaps he misunderstood. Maybe she meant he wasn’t a prince, which was true. Even though Emma had a surprise in her lineage, he was certain his father was a backwoods loser who inherited a ranch from Wyatt’s granddaddy then practically drove the thing into the ground. His mother wasn’t much better and took off on them when he was young.
The sting settled into his bones and filled him with questions, uncertainty. Not even Amanda, whose dancing turned the eyes of several of the nearby men, could distract him. Eventually, he excused himself and stepped to a refreshments table and got a glass of water. He took care not to peruse the room lest he draw Charlotte’s attention. It didn’t matter though because Will appeared. “The Princess and I are about to make our not-so-secret escape, but everyone here will insist on saying goodbye. I wanted a moment with you before the chaos begins and to thank you for everything, especially handling Fabian.”
“You saw him?” Wyatt asked, surprise.
“He practically had gold coins gleaming in his eyes. I figured he’d turn up once the announcements were made about our marriage then Emma’s noble status. Although I didn’t expect he’d crash the wedding.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Nah, don’t worry about me.” Will brightened. “Don’t forget, you’re meeting up with Charlotte tomorrow for a tour of London. She has an itinerary planned for the remainder of your stay.”
After the pair said goodbye, Wyatt wondered why Will was so insistent he connect with Charlotte. Without intending to, his eyes landed on her standing alone across the room. Her features were delicate, feminine, and her skin so smooth and fair. Then he realized Will meant for him to look after her—like an older brother. That was the only conceivable reason he could come up with.
After the guests bid the bride and groom farewell, the festivities continued in the palace. However, Wyatt returned to his hotel, alone. As he drifted to sleep, he couldn’t get the image of Charlotte, dressed in that particular shade of blue that drew out the silver in her eyes, also alone in the ballroom.
Wyatt woke to bright sunshine slicing through a gap in the hotel room curtains. At Will’s suggestion, and because he’d stayed there in the past, The Four Seasons was home for the next few nights. Which left him with the chore of figuring out what to do for the next few days. He should’ve done a better job communicating with Will about his stay. If Wyatt had known Will wouldn’t be around, he would’ve scheduled his return the day after the wedding. He didn’t go on a honeymoon when he’d spontaneously married so many years ago. But he should’ve expected Will and Emma to be taking one—even if it was
delayed while Will tended to his business affairs.
What he did understand though was that Will wanted him to look after his little sister. He gave in and pulled out his phone, found her number, and tapped call. A smile formed on his lips at the sound of her outgoing message.
His voice was rough with sleep, but he said he was free if she had indeed made an itinerary as Will had claimed.
After a shower, Wyatt’s phone lit up with a text. It was from Charlotte and only included an address on Cromwell Road and the time to meet: ten a.m., which left him with only an hour.
Shortly after, he navigated the streets. He was glad to stretch his legs and breathe the relatively fresh air after the day of travel and then the wedding.
The address led him to the Victoria and Albert Museum Café, which was an exquisite example of architecture. He was practically blinded by the gold and shining marble. But there was nothing as exquisite as the woman seated alone at the table in the center of the room. He sighed, shaking off the feeling and preparing himself to provide her with companionship. It had to be tough for her to have her brother gone so often with little in the way of family. He knew the feeling.
He crossed the dining area and greeted her with all of the swarthiness of a rhino in a museum. He bumped into the table and all of the glass and ceramic chimed in alarm. He spread his hands out to be sure nothing was going to fall or break—they were in a museum, well, the café after all. He suddenly felt uncharacteristically awkward, like he was still a gangly high schooler—all elbows and knees before he’d filled out.
“Late night?” she asked.
“No, actually. I left just after Will and Emma.”
“Oh, me too. Lovely wedding though.”
Wyatt nodded and then looked around, feeling as though they were back in the palace. He gestured to the gilded opulence. “Already missing the venue?”
She almost laughed. “I wasn’t sure what your interests were: museums, art, history, literature, music, film…There’s a little bit of everything here and it’s free so if you don’t like it—”
Considering her brother was a billionaire, he was surprised to hear her consideration for money. Maybe she thought he was a poor farmer. His watch glinted in the sunlight streaming through the high windows. It alone could probably pay for their breakfast at the café for the next year, not that he got caught up in things like that. But he didn’t want her worrying about the costs of things on his account, especially not when Will wanted him to look after her.
After they ordered their meals, they engaged in superficial small talk, leading Wyatt to the glaring realization that she was a refined lady and he was a rough cowboy. She was used to finery and city life. He was most content in the saddle and in the country. He’d probably been around horses and ranch hands too long.
When she’d finished her tea, they strolled through the museum and conversation continued to stall when they passed a sneaker exhibit and noted a peculiar odor. His commentary on sneaker freshener almost made her giggle.
“I think I could use some fresh air,” she said.
Although the museum was extraordinary, he was glad to be outside. As they strolled along quaint little lanes, blooming with flowers, he spotted a man wearing a New York Yankees baseball hat and sunglasses that he’d seen in the sneaker exhibit. Wyatt was a Rangers fan, thanks to his granddad, though he preferred football—the American kind. He had the notion that it was a small world and he fought against wanting it to be bigger in order to create distance between himself and Charlotte—or wishing it be even smaller to draw them nearer.
When they reached Saint James Park, the lush greenery made him breathe easier and he noticed Charlotte settled as well.
A group of children played on the lawn and Charlotte’s lips lifted into a smile then quickly fell.
“You have a daughter.” He wasn’t sure if it was a statement or question or what he meant by it, but he figured it could break the ice or wall or whatever fortification formed between them.
Under no circumstances could he permit his attraction to Charlotte, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be friendly instead of enduring the awkward, stilted chatter that had sparingly passed between them.
“Birdie. She’s six. The flower girl yesterday.” Her words were short. Clipped.
He had no idea what to say. Then an idea struck. “What was Will like when he was six?” Wyatt prepared for some juicy stories to tease his friend with.
“Oh, he was mischievous,” she went on to roast her brother with tales of pranks, embarrassments, and one time when he’d stapled his shirt to his desk in case it tore and was afraid to move all day, remaining in the class until after the final bell rang.
“He was too proud to admit his mistake. Our teacher was terrifying. That was back when they still used rulers against our hands when we were out of line.”
“He didn’t even get up to go to the bathroom?” Wyatt was practically rolling on the ground with laughter.
“Not even for lunch and believe it or not William was a chubby fellow until he hit his teens and stretched out. He grew six inches one summer.”
“Wait, you said our teacher. Were you in the same grade?” He thought maybe grade levels worked differently in England.
The space between her eyebrows pinched together. “No, we’re twins.”
Wyatt’s head sunk back. “Really? He never mentioned that.” So she wasn’t really his little sister, unless by a few seconds or minutes.
They’d exited the park and were nearing Westminster Bridge and the Queen’s Walk.
“It’s no secret really, except from our father.”
“You mean, Fabian doesn’t know—?” His question hung in the air because he didn’t understand.
“He didn't know about me until recently. Our parents had a volatile relationship. My mother was wonderful and I miss her every day, but she desired certain things Fabian didn’t give her: commitment, kindness, love. When our mother discovered she was pregnant she only told him he was having a son—something he always wanted, but I guess that wasn't enough. She never saw him again.”
As they crossed the bridge with the sun shining above and the water sparkling below, something passed between them that went beyond the wild sparks of his attraction.
Wyatt understood how deeply the past could inform the present. How the decisions others made for their son’s or daughter’s lives had long term implications. The devasting hurt, creating fissures in Charlotte’s expression, revealing the brokenness she felt inside—all a result of mistakes her parents had made. It was something he recognized because he experienced it too.
They paused on the bridge. Wyatt rested his forearms on the thick stone rail.
“Our mother felt bad about not telling him the truth. In a way, it’s good because I’ve never had to deal with his nonsense like Will has, but in another way, it’s like I’m invisible.”
It was then he understood something else about her, she was lonely, often alone. But she was anything but invisible.
She pointed toward the vista along the edge of the river. “That’s the Tate Modern and over there is St. Paul’s Cathedral.” She gestured to a few other points of interest, but she was the prize among them all. Her striking eyes. The slope of her neck. Her delicate collarbones. The curves that followed.
He wanted to kiss her eyelids so she’d see that she wasn’t at all invisible; to plant his lips on her neck so she’d feel her beauty…
“Wyatt?” she asked when his gaze lingered on her longer than was customary.
“Yeah.” He shook off the moment of deep distraction, longing, desire. Then his attention landed on the guy in the New York Yankees hat again. Perhaps he was on the same spontaneous walking tour as them. However, the salt and pepper hair peeking out from the sides suggested otherwise.
For Charlotte’s sake, he fought against the urge to introduce the man to his fists. “Let’s go.” He instinctively reached for her hand, gripping it tightly. If Will had wanted
Wyatt to look after his sister because he’d known Fabian would be tailing them, a heads up would’ve been nice. He didn’t dare say anything in case it alarmed Charlotte.
When they reached the other side of the bridge, Southbank was a circus, literally. There were performers and stalls, music and a makeshift theater.
“Welcome to summer in London,” Charlotte said. “I prefer the weather, but the crowds can be a little crazy.”
They’d walked several miles and it was nearly lunch. It seemed the crowds provided cover for them to lose Fabian as he followed them around the city.
“How about lunch?” Wyatt asked. “Someplace quiet, private.” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a come on, but he wanted to get her as far away from Fabian as possible.
She led them through the park, past a carnival, complete with bumper cars. “Not a word to Birdie about the bumper cars or spinning teacups. Definitely, don’t say anything about the pony rides. Though, chances are she already knows they’re in town.”
Wyatt made a my lips are sealed gesture, trying to play it cool even though he was fuming inside. It was his opinion that Fabian gave up rights to a relationship with his daughter the moment he turned his back on her mother. Not to mention she clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
They crossed another bridge and then passed Broad Court, lined with the iconic red telephone booths. Thankfully, there still was no sign of Fabian.
The end of a narrow alleyway opened to a beautiful and private courtyard café, blooming with flowers. They took a table and Wyatt considered how to broach the topic of her father to get more information without seeming nosy or upsetting her. He needed to know what he was dealing with.
Instead, the conversation flowed naturally to the ranch, a topic he was all too happy to discuss, especially since it seemed they’d lost Fabian. He told her how he’d saved it from ruin and hosted twenty-nine horses—rescues mostly.
They’d only just finished their sandwiches when Wyatt spotted the telltale baseball hat as Fabian approached down the alley. Wyatt punched a text into his phone along with his location, threw a hundred-dollar bill on the table, and took Charlotte’s hand in his.