A March Bride (A Year of Weddings Novella)

by Hauck, Rachel

  “Goose?”

  Top Gun.

  “Tom Cruise. Anthony Green.”

  “Very good, Your Majesty.”

  “If I’m Goose, does that make me your wingman?” He lifted his head, grinning, squinting down at her. “I believe you’re to be my wingman.”

  She grabbed a fistful of his starched shirt. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “You have to give up your American citizenship.”

  “What?” She released him, stepping back. “That’s the writ? Susanna Truitt has to give up her American citizenship? Or does this apply to all people wanting to become citizens of Brighton? Brighton no longer welcomes dual citizenship?”

  “You’ve been a good student of Brighton law and history.” He watched her, trying to read her changing expression.

  “Of course—I want to be a good Brightonian. A good wife to the king. But, Nathaniel, I also want to remain an American.” She fidgeted, gathering her hair in her hands, piling it on her head, then letting it fall loose again. “I mean, it’s all I have left of who I am. I thought it was one of the things you love about me.”

  “Indeed, I do love who you are in every way, and if it were up to me, your American citizenship would not be an issue. But I’m not an autocrat. I’ve a parliament to deal with and they’ve come up with their own constraints. The writ applies only to the Royal Marriage Act. Not to all Brightonians. The proponents argue that the spouse of the monarch cannot have divided loyalties. All laws, all treaties, all acts of war are in the reigning monarch’s name. In this case, mine. If for some wild reason Brighton should find herself on the opposite side of a conflict with America—”

  “They think I’d be a traitor to Brighton?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I wouldn’t. And taking my citizenship doesn’t guarantee my loyalty . . . if I were so inclined to be a traitor.”

  “Agreed. But we can’t know what the future will bring. Surely you see their point, Suz. They want to protect Brighton and her people. They want to protect the royal house.”

  “Protect them from me?” She laughed, mocking. “Little ole Susanna Jean from St. Simons Island? The American government doesn’t even know who I am besides a social security number and a tax bracket.”

  “Maybe before, but they certainly know who you are now.”

  “So what? I have no real authority.”

  “But you have access to people with the real authority. You have access to me. You are an influencer in the world now, Susanna, whether you’ve grasped that or not.”

  “Influencer? I’m fodder for fashion magazines, tabloids, and hate blogs.” She backed up, a dark shadow flickering across her face. “But to me, I’m just your wife-to-be. A landscape architect, Rib Shack waitress from Georgia.”

  “Surely you understand your station is far more than ‘just a,’ Susanna. You’re marrying a king. Don’t play naive. You understood what it meant when you agreed to marry me. You’re on the world’s stage now. Every major American television station has crews and broadcasters setting up shop outside of Watchman Abbey, ready and waiting to report on our wedding. We’ve had hundreds of requests from magazines, newspapers, and broadcast stations in the States and the world for interviews with you. Just you. Not me a’tall. What you say and do will influence nations.”

  “Okay, okay, maybe I kind of knew that when I moved here.” She twisted her hands together. “But now you’re putting skin on it. Giving it eyes and ears . . . and a little beanie cap on its newborn head.”

  “Sweetheart”—he reached for her, smiling—“remember what you told me that day on the grounds of Christ Church? We’d only known each other for a few days, but you so wisely said I was born for a purpose, to have influence in ways most people only dream about. You said of yourself, ‘I’m Susanna Truitt, born on St. Simons, for some purpose. I’m not an accident.’ Don’t let this writ get in the way of what God is doing. With you. With us. The only way my opponents win is if we let this writ come between us.”

  “So it’s done? No way to stop them? At all?” She tempered her voice and Nathaniel detected a small sprinkle of hope.

  “What do you think I’ve been doing the past two months?”

  “That’s why you’ve been distant? Distracted? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you had enough on your docket, love. If I succeeded, then no harm. If they succeeded, then I’d tell you. That’s why Henry pulled me aside at the garden party. The writ was ratified late last night.” He regarded her for a moment, waiting for some kind of reaction, his own small fears blipping over the plains of his heart. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t you have to sign all the laws?”

  “Indeed, but this writ is under the parliamentary jurisdiction on a law I already signed.”

  Listening to his own explanation, he felt his heart begin to crumble. Why in the world would any woman give up her freedom and privacy to marry him?

  His past romantic rejection ghosted through his thoughts. Lady Adel Gardner’s humiliating public refusal ten years ago of Nathaniel’s very public proposal during his father’s birthday party found a fresh breath every now and then, and taunted him.

  “Good heavens, no!” she said into a microphone. “If I marry you, my life will never be my own!”

  Yeah, he’d walked into that one deaf, dumb, blind, and stupid. Not long graduated from university, he was fumbling to find the “next phase” of his life. So why not marry the lovely and fun Adel?

  But she rang the death knell on that plan. And Nathaniel swore off romance afterward, eager to avoid repeating the mistake with another woman. Then he met Susanna under Lovers’ Oak and all his fears vanished.

  “Then it is done. I have no say. If I marry you, I cannot be an American citizen.”

  “Actually, before you marry me, you cannot be an American citizen. Otherwise, I’m in default of the law.”

  “You’re the king. You can’t be arrested or tried.”

  So, she’d studied much of their laws. “No, but it will fire up my political opponents. And yours.” His heart burned in his chest.

  “I have to take the Brighton citizenship oath before our wedding?” She bristled, the light in her eyes laser-thin, her lips drawn and tight. “As if I didn’t have enough to do. I wasn’t planning on taking it until this summer.”

  “We just have to bump it up, is all. Is it all that much of an inconvenience, love?”

  “Yes, it is.” They stood inches from one another, but were miles apart. “You fought for me? Tell me you did.”

  “I fought for you, for our children and their children. But I must admit I see the wisdom of the writ. Not that I doubt your loyalties, but for future generations. It just seems wise that the ruling monarch be married to someone who doesn’t have loyalties to another nation. I understand the limitations of the human heart. One can only be pushed so far.”

  “Nathaniel, just because I give up my American citizenship doesn’t mean I no longer love my country. Doesn’t mean I couldn’t turn into a traitor. Not that I would, mind you.” She backed away, turning into the room. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve moved to a new country, spent nearly ten months learning your culture and traditions, the social strata, not to mention the royal life.”

  “And you’ve done splendidly, Suz. Marrying me is no ordinary melding of two lives.”

  “Two lives?” Susanna whirled back around. “There’s no two here. Only one life. Mine. I’m the one who was required to do all the changing. I have to fit into your life. And gladly, Nathaniel. I love you. But this writ is making me deny the one last thing I have of myself, of what’s wholly mine, of what I bring to this marriage as an American. It’s as if those in Parliament want to crush me. I’m sorry, but it just seems to fly in the face of why you petitioned Parliament for the Marriage Act amendment in the first place.”

  “Exactly my argument when I debated the writ sponsors. But surely you see their reason. The wife of the sovereign must be true
to her country in word if not in deed. Yes, you can remain American in your heart, but to the world you are solely Brightonian.”

  “This is insulting.” She paced around the room. “They all but accuse me of being a spy or committing treason.”

  “No, Susanna, sweetheart, they are really trying to prevent me from expanding my authority by having ties to America. This is more about me than you.” He cut her off as she rounded the room again, gently slipping his arm about her waist. “We’re a small North Sea nation with rich resources. We’ve been threatened in the past. We are well aware it could happen again. Especially on the world’s current stage. While we value and treasure our allies, especially America, members of the royal house must be devoted and committed to Brighton alone. My own loyalty cannot be compromised because of my wife’s nationality. Love, I reasoned at length with the new prime minister, with the leaders of the House of Senators and the House of Commons, trying to win a way for you to be both American and Brightonian, but they passed the citizenship requirement.”

  “And what if I refuse to accept it?”

  He swallowed hard, the sudden jerk of his heartbeat stomping on his next breath. “Then we . . . Are you saying you refuse?”

  “I’m asking, what happens if I do?”

  Their gazes locked. Anxiety pulsed in Nathaniel’s ears. He was going to lose her. Nothing short of abdicating his throne could keep her.

  Was he willing to give up his throne and kingdom, his five-hundred-year heritage and destiny, for her love? Could he do what he was asking her to do?

  “Susanna, I’ve not thought that far, if you must know.” Oh, liar. He’d thought of nothing else. But he needed more time to consider his own response.

  Across the room, the ring of her phone pierced the air. She broke away from his arm. “It’s Mama’s ring tone. We’ve been trying to connect all week but keep missing each other. I need to answer this.”

  “Of course.” A break in the tension was a relief.

  Nathaniel fell against the windowsill, watching the only woman who ever made his heart resound with love answer her phone and greet her mum with a soft, sweet Southern twang.

  He loved the way her words bent and swayed, putting him in mind of Spanish moss swinging from craggy live oak branches on a balmy Georgia evening.

  Oh Susanna . . .

  Yes, Mama, I heard you . . .” Susanna collapsed to the sofa, absorbing Mama’s news about Granny. Pneumonia. Can’t travel to Brighton for the wedding.

  She truly had to give up everything. First the man she loved was telling her she must sacrifice her American citizenship in order to be with him. Now Mama was telling her Granny could not travel? What next?

  “Gracie’s here too,” Mama said. “She’s got something to tell you.”

  Please let it be good news. Susanna listened to the muffled sounds of Mama handing the phone to her matron of honor and best friend since elementary school.

  “Hey, Suz.”

  “Hey, Gracie. How’s the baby?”

  When Gracie and Ethan married in October, they were set to sail around the world until she found out she was pregnant with a honeymoon baby. So they weighed anchor on St. Simons and charted a new course.

  “Good, sort of . . . I’m on bed rest.”

  Susanna rocked forward. “Bed rest? What happened?”

  Gracie detailed her situation as if she were reading from a menu.

  Complications. Spotting. Contractions. Want to give the baby a fighting chance. Doctor said she couldn’t be on her feet for more than an hour a day. “So Marlee, God bless her, is running the salon for me. She’s such a gem.”

  “If you can’t be on your feet, then you can’t travel.” It wasn’t a question. It was a cold, stark revelation. Gracie’s news mingled with Mama’s and Nathaniel’s, creating a cold, chilling cocktail of disappointment in her belly.

  Here she was about to marry a king, and she wasn’t even close to having her dream wedding.

  Watchman Abbey, while stunningly beautiful, was not the sweet haven of Christ Church where she’d dreamed of having her wedding since she was twelve. She loved the ancient church, and never stepped on the lush grounds without feeling the presence of the Divine.

  On top of Granny and Gracie, Susanna had learned in the last two months that her best college buddies, who had all made a pact to attend each other’s weddings, could not come. Not one of the seven. Careers, babies, fear of flying over the Atlantic . . . they had their many reasons for not RSVPing “Attending.”

  She mentally scanned the most recent guest list she’d seen. Shoot, most of her family and extended family weren’t coming.

  Instead, they all informed Mama they preferred to see Susanna and her king at the St. Simons Island reception at the end of April. Asking the kinfolk to fly all the way to Europe? Too rich for their blood.

  Fine, fine, she’d see them in April. But her granny and matron of honor had to be there. They must.

  Susanna felt ill. This was wrong. All wrong. And she’d best open her eyes to the signs. She refused to cling to a plan, again, that was falling apart. She’d not redo her life with Adam Peters.

  “Suz? You all right?” Nathaniel’s bass voice flowed over her shoulder as he tenderly caressed her.

  She shook her head, listening to Gracie apologize ten ways to Sunday, tears bubbling in her eyes.

  “Did you hear me?” Gracie said.

  “Yes, I heard you.” She pressed her hand under her eyes, pushing back her tears. What good were tears now? Crying would change nothing.

  “I’m heartsick over this. Ethan and I have been talking for days, trying to figure a way for me to come, wondering if I should just ignore the doctor’s warning and—”

  “No!” Susanna jumped up. “Don’t even think about it. The baby’s safety is more important than my wedding.”

  “I—I can’t believe this . . . My best friend is not only getting married but getting married to a real honest-to-goodness king and I’m going to miss it.” Susanna heard the muffled sound of Ethan saying something in the background. “Oh right, Suz, Ethan says to tell you he’s arranged with Reverend Smith to broadcast your wedding on a big screen from the Christ Church grounds.” She chuckled. “He worked it all out by himself when he found out most of the parish wanted to watch it together. Everyone is joining in to help with food and setup. Channel 11 is even sending out a news crew.”

  “I always wanted to get married under the oaks on Christ Church grounds.”

  “And you’ll be there, Suz, kinda. On a movie screen via a projection TV. Your mama assured me she’ll get one of your aunts or uncles to get your granny there. I even invited your college friends. We’ll be with you, Suz, I promise. If not in body, then in spirit.”

  Homesickness hooked her heart and furrowed deep. “I miss you, Grace.”

  “Miss you back, Suzy-Q. Big time. It’s not the same around here without you. My baby girl needs to know her Auntie Suz!”

  “It’s a girl?”

  “Naw, we couldn’t tell on the first ultrasound. I’m just speaking it out loud in case God hasn’t made up His mind yet. We’ll know on the second ultrasound. Hopefully.”

  Suddenly, Susanna wanted to go home. Now.

  She needed the sunshine soaking through her skin and warming her cold bones. To walk on the beach. Bury her toes in the wet sand. To get lost in the hubbub of the Rib Shack on a Friday night. To curl up with baby sister Avery on a Sunday afternoon for a classic movie marathon.

  “Listen, here’s your mama. I’ll e-mail you soon, okay? But I know you’re going to be so busy, Susanna. My girl, a real-life queen.”

  “No, just a princess. We decided to let Nathaniel’s mom be the only queen.”

  “Then a real-life princess. Frankly, I like princess better, don’t you? Feels more Disney.”

  “Yeah. Disney.” This wedding felt nothing like a fairy tale.

  “I’m really, really sorry about this, Susanna.”

  “It’s not li
ke you did it on purpose. I understand.” She did, but it hurt.

  “You’re going to be a beautiful bride. We’ll all be praying for you and cheering you on. Go get ’em. Show the world how a good ole Georgia redneck does it.”

  In one sentence, Gracie summed up everything twisting and turning in Susanna’s heart.

  The life she knew was over. Once she said “I will” to Nathaniel, Susanna Jean Truitt from St. Simons Island, Georgia, USA, would be “dead.”

  She’d be a totally new person. Princess Susanna of Brighton Kingdom. Wife of a king. From private citizen to public.

  A Brightonian. A European. She was even changing continents.

  Susanna turned to Nathaniel, who’d perched on the edge of the wing chair, waiting. She loved him. She did, and her heart beat with that truth.

  But was it enough?

  “Shug.” Mama was back on the line. “Don’t worry, we’ll have things buttoned down by the time of your wedding so Daddy and I can be there with—”

  “What? What do you mean so you and Daddy ‘can be here’? You have two brothers and four sisters who can look in on Granny.”

  “Simmer down, Suz. I’m just saying you don’t have to worry about us not making it because Granny’s sick. Grandpa can take care of the little things, and I’ll draw up a schedule so everyone knows when it’s their turn to take care of them.”

  No one in the family dared buck a Glo Truitt schedule.

  “Mama, g-give Granny my love. Tell her I’m praying for her.” Susanna sank down to the couch cushion, trembling, drained, exhausted.

  “Will do, Suzy-Q. She’s devastated to miss this, but we want her well enough to see your children. Now don’t you worry about a thing. Focus on Nate and your wedding. We’ll see you in a few weeks. I hope Gracie’s not being able to come doesn’t dampen things too much.”

  “Even so, it can’t be helped, Mama.”

  The conversation moved to small talk. The Rib Shack business was picking up nicely as word got out that the owners’ daughter was marrying a king.

  Avery was focused on the last months of her senior year and final volleyball season. Another athletic scholarship arrived for her. Ohio State. Which she was seriously considering.