by Jackie Braun
Nate turned off the shower and stepped back. She glanced away.
“Everything okay?”
She pushed away all thoughts of her mother, Phillip and the responsibilities waiting for her upon her return. She was free now.
“I didn’t see the lever,” she said quietly.
“No one does. It’s old-fashioned, which is why I had them all replaced in the cottages when I took over. Saved me or whoever else was manning the front desk at the marina office a lot of phone calls.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I haven’t gotten around to this one yet.”
“I’m sure it hasn’t been a priority.”
“Not exactly,” he agreed. “I’ve put most of my time and resources into the cottages.”
“Walking up from the beach, it looked like there were more of those than there used to be.”
He nodded. “I was always after Dad to expand, but he said he and Mom had enough to keep them busy with what they had.”
“I liked your parents.” She smiled, enveloped in simple and homey memories so unlike the majority of those from her childhood. That, too, she realized now, was part of the reason she’d come here. Simplicity. Her complicated, overrun life yearned for it. “They always made feel at home when I stopped over from my grandmother’s cottage, even when they had work to do and guests to attend to.”
“They liked you, too. They were always after me to be as polite as you were.”
They both laughed. Then sobered. Silence stretched. For a moment, given the way he was watching her, she thought he might stroke her cheek. He’d raised his hand. But it fell away and he blurted out, “Fresh towels.”
Holly blinked.
“Um, for your shower. They’re in the cabinet next to the sink. Washcloths, too.”
“Right.”
“One more thing, Holly.”
She nodded, feeling ridiculously expectant as she waited for him to continue.
“Don’t flush the toilet right before you get in the shower or you’ll wind up scalded.” He cleared his throat. His cheeks grew pink. “Another of those things I haven’t gotten around to updating.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE storm was in full swing by the time Holly came downstairs an hour later. Rain pelted the windows and lightning illuminated the inky sky, followed by loud crashes of thunder that shook the home’s foundation. It was a spectacle to behold, by turns frightening and thrilling. Even so, Hank was sprawled out on the couch, his snores competing with the storm. She envied the man’s ability to fall asleep so easily. Even on perfectly quiet nights, Holly seldom slept soundly. She usually had too much going through her mind to relax and simply drift off. She’d tried the old remedies, such as counting sheep and listening to soothing music. Neither had much effect. Meditation sometimes worked. As did reading really, really boring accounts of her country’s gross domestic product.
The royal physician blamed her insomnia on anxiety and had prescribed pills that she rarely took. They made her too groggy the next day, as if she were walking through a fog. She preferred to have her wits about her, even if it meant slumbering off sometimes during a dinner party. A picture of her with her eyes closed and her chin resting on her chest had graced the front page of a newspaper not long ago.
“This is exactly the kind of publicity you need to avoid,” her mother had warned. “Royal or not, the press can turn public sentiment against you in a heartbeat.”
Even so, Holly had been reluctant to take the pills. Still, she wondered if she would come to regret not bringing them with her for this trip.
Nate stood at the glass door that opened to the deck, one hand in the front pocket of a pair of wrinkled cargo shorts, the other holding a beer. He’d taken a shower. She’d heard the water in his bathroom running not long after she’d shut off the water in the guest bath. His hair was still wet. He wore it on the long side, though not as long as he had as a boy. Back then, it had nearly brushed his shoulders. Now, it just grazed his collar. The color had gotten darker over the years. It bordered on brown, but the sun had left its mark with the kind of highlights that women—and some men—spent vast sums of money at salons hoping to achieve. She couldn’t imagine him sitting still long enough to let a stylist work her magic.
“It’s impolite to stare, you know.”
Too late she realized that he’d been watching her reflection in the glass.
“Yes. It is. I apologize.”
She crossed to where he stood. Just as she reached his side, a bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky, followed closely by a deafening boom. She jumped. Nate’s arm shot out, encircling her waist. Then Hank snorted and they broke apart, both of them turning to watch the pilot as he stirred, but only enough to roll over on the couch. He didn’t wake.
“He sleeps like the dead,” Nate remarked, taking a pull of his beer. He seemed to remember his manners then. “Can I get you something to drink?”
A cup of freshly brewed tea would have been lovely. And way too much trouble. She nodded toward the beverage in his hand. “A beer, please.”
His brows arched in doubt. “A beer?”
“That is what you’re drinking.”
“Uh-huh. It’s a beer.” He stated the obvious, clearly expecting her to change her mind.
“Then that’s what I’ll have. Please.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding none too convinced. But he went to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a second long-necked bottle. Before handing it to her, he paused. “I’ll get you a glass.”
“No need. I can drink out of a bottle.” Before he could protest, she took a sip.
This American beer was less robust than the ales favored in her country, but she liked the taste. Even more, she liked the seeming normalcy of drinking a beer from a bottle and watching a storm roll over the big lake.
“I’d forgotten how fierce the thunderstorms here can be.”
“They pack a lot of punch,” he agreed. “It has to do with the water. They tend to pick up steam moving over the Great Lakes. The good news is they usually pass as quickly as they come.”
“I remember. Tomorrow, when we wake up, it will be like it never happened,” she murmured.
But Nate was shaking his head. “There will be plenty of fallout. And I’ll be out there cleaning up the debris. Everything has consequences, Holly.”
“Are we still talking about the storm?”
He shrugged.
“You’re angry with me.” She said it as a statement rather than a question.
“Angry?” The corners of his mouth turned down in denial. “Why would I be angry? I mean, who am I to be angry?”
“Don’t.” She plucked at the edges of the label on the beer bottle. “I wanted to tell you who I was, Nate.”
“But you didn’t.” Despite his claim that he wasn’t angry, it was obvious in his tone.
“No. I didn’t.”
“Why?”
She sucked in a breath, memories of those carefree summers making her want to sigh. At last, she said, “I didn’t want things to change. I wanted to be just Holly.”
“You were never just Holly.” His tone was as low and ominous as the storm.
“I was,” she insisted. “Here, on this island, for all of those blissful summers, I was just Holly. I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to coming to Heart each year. I started counting down the days just after the New Year. I didn’t have any obligations when I was here. This was every bit the haven your resort’s name proclaims it to be.”
But Nate was shaking his head. “It was a fantasy,” he insisted.
“All right.” She wouldn’t parse words. “It was a fantasy. But I needed it, Nate. Desperately.”
She still did. He didn’t know what it was like. How utterly on display she’d always felt back in her country. So little had been private, especially since her mother had insisted on granting the media unprecedented access.
Holly’s first birthday? The cameras had been rolling, the enti
re party nationally televised so that everyone in Morenci could ooh and aah as the little princess messily gobbled up cake, opened her presents and then toddled on shaky legs around the palace garden. Sure, it had served as a fundraiser for a leading birth-defects charity, but still, it had set the tone. Every birthday, every milestone after that, had been open to the public via the media.
It was tiring to be smiling for the cameras at all times. It left very little room for one to be oneself. Sometimes, Holly felt like a fraud. She wasn’t always happy or poised or eager to share her attention with whomever was demanding it.
Heaven help her, but sometimes she wanted to be selfish and irritable, maybe stamp her feet in protest or outrage or just because she was having a bad day. Perhaps even raise her voice or slam a door or break a dish. As if … She nearly laughed, just thinking of how outrageous such things would be. She hadn’t been allowed the luxury of a tantrum.
But then, a couple of weeks ago, the idea of packing her bags and taking off unannounced had seemed outrageous and undoable. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.
Holly glanced at Nate. Given his rigid posture, she half expected him to disagree. Instead, he nodded slowly.
“I guess I can understand that.”
“You can?”
He turned to face her. “After college, I worked in a very upscale hotel in Chicago. We catered to a lot of celebrity clientele. I know actors and rock stars aren’t quite the same as royalty.”
“Close enough,” she murmured.
“Yeah. Well, I realized pretty quickly that their lifestyle wasn’t always as glamorous as it seemed to much of their adoring public.”
“It’s not,” she agreed softly. She scratched at the bottle’s label again with one of her nails and frowned. “Everyone thinks they know you.”
He turned. “I didn’t know you at all.”
“Nate—”
He was already facing the window again as he added, “Anyway, with all those pushy managers, obsessed fans and paparazzi trying to get to them twenty-four seven, I figured out pretty quickly that it’s got to be annoying.”
“There’s very little privacy.” Thinking again of her mother’s open-palace-door policy, she added, “Very little.”
“Yet you managed it for five summers.”
Her lips curved at the memories.
“You know, running around in shorts and bathing suits, with my hair pulled into crooked pigtails, I didn’t look very much like a princess. I think that’s why I got away with it.” She laughed ruefully. “Now, had I been wearing my royal tiara …”
As jokes went, it fell abominably flat. Nate wasn’t amused. Far from it, if his tone were any indication.
“I felt like an idiot for not figuring it out. Holly … Hollyn.” A snort escaped as he glanced her way. He raised his beer, took a sip. His gaze still on her, he said, “You must have thought I was pretty dense, especially those last couple of summers.”
“No, Nate. Never. Honestly. I thought you were …” Perfect. Gorgeous. My one true love. She felt herself blush.
He apparently thought he had his answer. “You did.”
“No. You were … my best friend.”
Even before the words were out, Holly was calling herself a liar. He’d been so much more than that. Of course, she’d been fifteen years old at the time, flush with hormones and full of girlish fantasies about the future she and Nate would have together. A future that could never be.
“I missed you, Nate.”
Her whispered words surprised them both.
It was a moment before he said, “That first summer you didn’t show up on Heart, I all but haunted the cabin where you used to stay with your grandmother. I was sure you were just late. But guest after guest arrived and none of them was you. My parents finally started telling me in advance who had rented the place. It was getting embarrassing, I guess.”
Beyond wryness, was that pain she heard in his voice? It was selfish of her to hope so. Nonetheless, she did, recalling how she’d begged her mother to let her go and, then, begged her grandmother to intervene again.
“I can’t, my girl,” the older woman had told her. “It’s time for you to accept your destiny. But I hope you’ll never forget who you really are.”
How ironic that all these years later, Holly still wasn’t sure.
“So, was she really your grandmother? For a while, after I found out the truth, I thought maybe she was just another part of your cover.”
“No.” Her smile was fond. “She was really my gran.”
“Your mother’s mom,” he guessed. “Now that I think of it, she had a bit of a Texas accent.”
“As does my own mother, when she allows it to slip. Which is rare.” Holly frowned. “She put her past behind her.” Feeling disloyal, Holly added, “She wasn’t exactly accepted in Morenci at first, despite her position.” Every misstep and gaffe had been fodder for the gossip mill. The old guard was appalled that a Texas beauty queen had snagged their bachelor king.
“That must have been difficult for her.”
“It was.” It also was the reason Holly had given her mother as much free rein with her life as she had. She knew how hard Olivia had tried to fit in. How much she had sacrificed to belong. She was finally getting the respect she deserved. But it had come after years of scrutiny and criticism.
“So, your mother wanted you to come here.”
Holly’s laughter erupted. “Good heavens, no.” She took another sip of beer and composed herself. “It was Gran’s idea. She was determined that I should know and appreciate my American roots. A friend of hers came to the island one summer, told her how wonderfully secluded it was. She rented the cottage under an alias and set the plans in motion. Her objective was that I would have as normal a childhood as could be had under the circumstances.”
“Hard to fault her for that.”
“My mother did,” Holly replied dryly. “Believe me, it was a regular argument between the two of them.”
“A battle royale?”
She sent him a black look.
“Sorry.” He sipped his own beer. “So, what about your father? What did he think of your summers abroad?”
Her father? King Franco was a busy man. Sometimes she wondered if he remembered he had a daughter. She’d long felt like a disappointment.
“My father didn’t think them necessary. After all, being royal is all he’s ever known. But he didn’t really care one way or another.” She swallowed, determined to keep her tone nonchalant. “My being born female was a bit of a letdown, especially since he and my mother had no other children.”
“But you’re still the heir to the throne, right?”
“Yes.”
“So?”
Holly shrugged. “He wanted a son.” A fact that had caused Olivia no small amount of anxiety and dismay. Her mother had already felt her new country found her lacking. When she failed to produce a male heir, well …
“I’m glad he didn’t get his way.”
Her cheeks grew warm. Even the storm’s fury faded into the background as they eyed one another. Nate lifted a hand, stroked her cheek with his knuckles. The touch was light and brief. Her body’s response was neither. And that was before his head tipped down and his lips brushed hers.
They’d kissed before. Her last summer on the island. A lifetime ago. The moment remained enshrined in her memory. It had been her first real kiss. Afterward, her heart had hammered and her breath had hitched.
“I love you.”
The words had slipped out, soft and almost inaudible. But Nate had gathered her close and kissed her again, this time with more urgency. Even so, that long-ago kiss was nothing like this one, even if it held much of the same desperate yearning.
She’d never known this kind of need. It was every bit as brash and demanding as the storm battering the island. As such, it refused to be denied. She wound her arms tighter around Nate’s neck, pulling their bodies together and giving in to the kind of pa
ssion that she’d only glimpsed in the past, and never with anyone but this man.
“Holly.” Nate murmured her name.
His use of her nickname was enough to snap her back to the present. As much as she might wish things could be different, she was no longer an idealistic girl. She understood the futility of “if only,” and so she ended things before they could progress too far.
Afterward, Nate pressed the cold base of his beer bottle against his forehead and closed his eyes.
“Some things get better with age,” it sounded like he murmured.
She touched her lips. Indeed, they did.
“I wrote you a letter the first summer I didn’t come. I wanted to explain why I wouldn’t be here.”
He lowered his hand, opened his eyes. “I never got a letter.”
“That’s because I didn’t send it.” It was folded up and tucked in her bureau drawer along with the other mementos of their summers together. Seashells, a picture of the first fish she’d caught, an old-fashioned glass cola bottle they’d found during a hike on the beach.
“Why?”
Because I was a coward. Because I was heartbroken. She sipped her beer, took her time swallowing.
“Because I didn’t think you would understand.”
“What I didn’t understand was how you could just not return. Or write back. You never wrote back, Holly.”
Guilt nipped hard as she recalled the letters Nate had written to her in care of the post office box her grandmother had set up. Gran had forwarded the letters faithfully, and Holly had read every one, her heart breaking anew when they’d finally stopped coming, although that was exactly what she’d expected to happen. What she told herself she wanted. Nate needed to move on with his life. Just as she was moving on with hers.
Hank snuffled loudly on the couch. Where the thunder hadn’t roused him, the sound of his own snoring apparently did the trick. His eyelids flickered and he pulled himself to a sitting position, then scrubbed his face and offered a sheepish smile.
“Guess I drifted off.” His gaze darted between the two of them. “Did I miss anything?”
“Just one hell of a storm,” Nate said evenly before heading into the kitchen.