The Prince: The Young Royals 1

by S. A. Gordon

  “I’ll negotiate it.” Mindy hugged her quickly. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Caitlin grinned as she served up the coffee to a customer who looked delighted to be the recipient of her smile.

  “I know you,” said the middle-aged woman brightly.

  “I’ve been here a while,” said Caitlin, smiling and turning back to the machine.

  “No, it’s not that—I’d know your pretty face anywhere. You’re the prince’s girlfriend!”

  Caitlin’s jaw clenched and she prayed her cheeks hadn’t turned red.

  “Not me, ma’am,” she managed to say, forcing brightness.

  “It is you.”

  Caitlin was tempted to rebut her again but she knew from past experience that this would just prolong a conversation she didn’t want to have.

  “Or it was you, right?” the woman said, still seemingly delighted at having met Caitlin. “They say he’s dating all sorts of people now.”

  Caitlin’s throat tightened. “Enjoy your coffee,” she said, and walked out to the kitchen.

  *

  As painful as it was going to be, Caitlin knew she had to force herself to look now—to go to websites and see what David was doing without her. She knew there would be photos and articles aplenty—finding out information about him would never be problematic. It was the avoidance of it that had caused strain.

  Caitlin went to the website of the most sensational of all the daily UK newspapers: one that relied heavily on large photographs and small interstitial text. It was the photographs she wanted—if there were photographs of him with other women, then she’d know he had really moved on. Speculation in an article wasn’t proof, but photographs were.

  She scanned through the last few weeks’ worth of articles about him. There he was at engagements, looking handsome in his exquisitely tailored suits. There he was in ceremonial dress with his sisters. A few photos of him on holidays on some island, talking to unidentified young women. But no photos of him on anything that could be construed as a romantic encounter. No shots of him touching anyone, let alone hugging or kissing another woman. She felt reassured that at least he hadn’t forgotten her so quickly. It didn’t make her hurt less—but nor did she hurt more. It was probably all she could expect for the moment. And by the time he became involved with someone else—by the time he got married; by the time he had children—she’d be hurting so much less that she’d be able to handle these incremental pains that accompanied evidence that his life was moving on without her. Just as hers was moving on without him.

  *

  The beach was just as David remembered it: long and white, with the tips of the small Atlantic waves lapping at its edge. The houses weren’t all the same—some bore the marks of renovations in progress, some had new cars in their driveways, some had gardens that had been wholly done over, mature trees obviously ripped out and replaced with whatever the owners thought was the fashion now. All this change was waste, he thought—so much waste, and to what end? He knew he came from a country whose buildings were older, from a city whose streets were just the uppermost layer of countless strata of paths trod before. Perhaps that made him more of a traditionalist than he liked to admit. Perhaps it was just that his sister was now the one responsible for that country, its streets, its people, its history and the remnants of its empire. And he felt responsible for her, so by extension these concerns were his own.

  The United States of America had once been an outpost of that empire but he did not feel at home here. The country that had once seemed like a safely familiar escape—the same language, similar customs, streets that he could not become lost in—was now too much like the New World to suit him. It had been kind of his friends to invite him to stay in Sag Harbor again, but he wondered if his only motive in being here was to try to re-create something that was indisputably lost. And now, having failed, he was being critical of everything, like some ratty old curmudgeon. It wasn’t a side of himself he liked.

  In just under a year he’d come to worry so much about continuing the work that various strands of his family had maintained for centuries—and which the recent generations had protected—that he’d become a company man almost overnight. It seemed almost comical, but he realized now that he and his sisters had duties that were deadly serious.

  They filled his life, these duties. But they didn’t stop him feeling lonely. He could admit it to himself: since Caitlin had left, and especially since Alix’s Coronation, he had felt lonelier than he ever had. Alix was still his sister but she was so busy now. And Margaret was having a small rebellion, running off to Caribbean islands with Hal, being photographed at one white-sand beach after another, for weeks on end. And Margaret was also desperately keen for David to meet some friend’s stepsister—Lady Henrietta Something—as apparently she’d had a crush on David for years and would love to be Duchess of whatever place Alix decided to make David a duke of when he married. Sussex, so the rumor went—not that there were many options. And it was all hypothetical anyway, while he remained without a bride.

  In the months since Caitlin had left—in the whole year since they had first spoken to each other, here on this beach—David had not met another woman who interested him half as much as Caitlin still did. Now that he was first in line to the throne, the look in women’s eyes had changed—it was flintier than it used to be; there were titles in these women’s pupils and schemes in their irises. This change had made him wary of people in general. The sort of woman who approached him was not the sort of woman who was good for him, and the sort of woman who was good for him would likely run a mile from the life he could offer her. Just as Caitlin had.

  If he was honest with himself, he was afraid for his future. He was exquisitely aware that he did not have the worries of most of his sister’s subjects: he was wealthy beyond his needs, he had staff who could arrange his entire life for him and he never needed to do housework, let alone any other type of work if he didn’t want to. But it was a long life to live alone. And he was genuinely scared that he would have to live it alone—that for all his privilege, for all the people he met, for all the opportunities he had, he would never meet someone else with whom he wanted to share all of that.

  Certainly he could make a marriage that would suit the Crown and court—there were members of the aristocracy, like this Lady Henrietta, and minor Europeans royals who would happily forego the chance of a genuine relationship for a shot at being a princess of the United Kingdom and a duchess of wherever. The thought of doing that, however, made him feel ill. It wasn’t the life he wanted. It wasn’t the life his mother had brought him up to lead. His mother had been passionate and headstrong—by her own admission—but her heart had been more vast than any continent they could ever visit and she had encouraged him to let his be, too. She had known that Alexandra would need to be more circumspect—and by nature she was anyway. But his mother had always told David to believe in the fire that had surged within him from the time he was a small boy—the fire that signified his hunger for life, for experience, for connection.

  David walked to the point where his last stroll on this beach had taken him, shadowed always by his protection officers. Not Mick and Stan this time—they were taking a deserved vacation. This time he had Jack and Roberto. He didn’t mind them, although he did have to restrain himself from talking to Jack about his sister.

  Sighing, David turned and looked back up the beach. If he half closed his eyes, maybe he could picture Caitlin standing there, looking out to sea, as vulnerable as she had been that morning. He had been instantly attracted to her—her disheveled hair, her beautiful eyes, her lush lips, her complete reluctance to hide her feelings from him. He had met her as she really was, and accordingly he had offered her the truth in himself too. Her heart was open—to life, to him. It was what he’d first noticed in her. It was what he had hoped to show her in himself, but he’d been stuck in the sludge of circumstance.

  She was gone, though—really gone. He�
�d thought that maybe she’d change her mind and contact him, tell him that she’d considered everything and she wasn’t prepared to live without him. But she hadn’t. And he wasn’t sure that it would be fair to contact her now, no matter what his sisters said—despite what he’d said to her. To do so would be pressuring her, and if she ever came back to him he wanted to know that it was because it was her choice. Because she wanted him. It didn’t stop the pain, though—that very real pang in his chest that happened every time he thought of her. It was the mark she’d left on him and he knew now that it was probably all he’d ever have of her. He could accept that, if it was what she really wanted. He could accept being lonely as long as he didn’t make her sad. He couldn’t bear upsetting her—not again, when he’d seen in her eyes how lonely he’d made her during their time in London. Worse, he’d felt powerless to prevent that happening to her. With everything he could command in this life, he couldn’t stop the woman he loved from feeling as though he didn’t love her enough to make up for … what? For his life. For his family. For his title. For him. He did, though. He wished he’d begged for a little more time. He wished she could feel what was inside his heart and how it belonged to her.

  He had to try to tell her. He knew it, now, with a conviction he hadn’t felt for many things in his life. So much of his life—of his sisters’ lives—was proscribed by other people and what they wanted and needed of them. Caitlin was his, and his alone. He needed her. Perhaps he hadn’t made that clear enough to her. He loved her, yes; he wanted her. But he also needed her. It wasn’t something he could explain rationally—it was something he felt, stronger in intensity than anything he’d known. Strong enough to give him the courage to try to find her. To tell her.

  Turning now to look at the water, David imagined Caitlin as she had been, walking on this beach with him, laughing with him—laughing at him, in that disarming way she had—before everything had become too complicated, and he smiled. He could only smile when he thought of her that way.

  “I love you,” he whispered to the wind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Caitlin concentrated on putting a smile on her face as the post-lunch crowd started to stream into the café: office workers taking a coffee break, moms grabbing a quick coffee before doing school pick-up, people having meetings, freelancers who came in for the java and the wifi. She knew some of them; thankfully, none of them recognized her. Now, almost a year since she had last seen David, the days when people would squint at her and ask, “Aren’t you …?” were almost gone. And when they weren’t, Caitlin no longer denied that she was who they thought she was; she’d just smile and make their coffee.

  “Hey, Sam,” she called out to a regular, “here’s your latte.”

  Sam—all six-foot-two of him with his bright green eyes and thick black hair—approached the bench and winked at her.

  “Thanks, doll,” he said. “Changed your mind about going on a date with me yet?”

  “You’re funny,” Caitlin said, handing him the takeaway coffee.

  “You’re the mother of my children, Caitlin, I’m tellin’ ya.”

  “I’ll let my ovaries know,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Ha! Sure!” He raised his coffee in salute.

  Sam tried the same lines every time he came into the café, which was at least once a day. Caitlin knew he was sincere—he wanted her to go on a date with him—but he was so clumsy about it. So many men were clumsy about it. So many men were boring and inarticulate and lacking in awareness about anything but themselves. So many men weren’t David. But Caitlin was better, now, at training herself to not think about David. Although he was her first thought every morning, she was growing more adept at shaking off those thoughts during the day.

  The mid-afternoon rush passed quickly, as it always did, and Caitlin was grateful for that. She was looking forward to getting home and just sitting still for a while, reading her book, looking at the sunset. In the meantime she focused on her tasks: grind the coffee, make the coffee, wipe the nozzle, wipe the bench. She wished she’d known that being a barista could be so meditative—she might have taken it up earlier. It wasn’t the career she’d dreamed of but it was the job she needed right now, as she attempted to change gears in her life. She had tried the glamorous existence—living in New York, working for a famous magazine, running around bars and trying to be cool. She supposed that getting involved with David had been part of that. She had tried to be someone she wasn’t. She had thought she could keep pace with his life but she couldn’t, in the end. She hadn’t been enough for him because she just couldn’t handle what being involved with him required. He had, however, always been enough for her. But, then, her life had been small compared to his. It was smaller now. So small she sometimes thought she’d disappear into the grains of sand on one of San Diego’s lesser-known beaches.

  At 4 p.m. Caitlin looked around the café and saw that there were only a few stragglers. She stretched, getting out the kinks that came from twisting and turning at the machine all day.

  “Twenty minutes, C!” called out Mindy, so that Caitlin knew how much longer they had until closing. They never closed until Mindy called it.

  Caitlin waved her acknowledgment and checked her station to see if anything needed cleaning and tidying. Over the last few months she’d gained a new appreciation for keeping things neat—it gave her a sense of control over a life that had so suddenly seemed not to belong to her.

  As the door opened, Caitlin glanced up to see how many coffees she might need to make and saw two men come in. She leaned on the beach near the espresso machine and waited for the order, then frowned and surreptitiously glanced back to the men. They were dressed similarly, in camel-colored pants and expensive-looking blue shirts. They had short, almost military-style haircuts and they were shooting glances around the room.

  They were completely out of context but suddenly she recognized one of them: it was Stan. She was sure of it. She stood up straighter and frowned. What on earth would Stan be doing here? And who was the guy with him? It wasn’t Mick. Was Stan working in the US now?

  Then Caitlin became aware of someone standing on the other side of the machine and she leaned back to see who it was, worried that she’d missed an order and a customer was waiting.

  It didn’t take long for Caitlin to realize that it wasn’t a customer. And it wasn’t Stan either.

  “Hello, my love,” said David.

  *

  “How did you find me?’ Caitlin said, more sternly than she intended. She realized she was frowning, even though her heart was racing and her stomach felt like it had moved into another dimension of time.

  David frowned back at her and she marveled at seeing those little furrows in his forehead again. She’d missed him. Oh, how she had missed him. She hadn’t realized how much until he was standing before her.

  “You’re making it sound like you’ve been trying to hide from me,” he said. “I didn’t think that was the case.”

  “It …” Caitlin exhaled heavily and looked over to where Mindy was watching her, making some fairly animated hand gestures.

  Caitlin turned back to David and felt her heart clench as she looked into those eyes that she loved—looked at the man she still loved. And he must still love her too, otherwise why would he be here? After so much time?

  “It’s not the case,” she said at last. “But I want to know how you found me.”

  David’s expression changed to one of faint amusement. “I have my ways.”

  Caitlin glowered.

  “Your Facebook profile isn’t private, my love. And your location is on it. It didn’t take long for my office to find out where your mother lives—her number is listed. I called her this morning and she said you would be here.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes.” He still looked amused. In that way he had, she remembered—he’d never deny his position or his privilege, never deny that it brought him special access to things, that people didn�
�t say no to him because of it, and he seemed to find it vaguely funny. At first she’d thought his behavior might be arrogance but after a while she’d realized that acknowledging his position made life easier, for him and for everyone he encountered. If he tap danced around it—tried to pretend that it didn’t make him special—it could look as though he was trying to claim that all the advantages that came his way did so because he was individually extraordinary. But he was so aware that it was his family that made him special; he would never want to claim otherwise. It was one of the things she loved about him. One of the things she had missed so much that she thought at times she’d never be able to get up in the mornings.

  “Well,” he continued, “she had a few stern words for me too.”

  Caitlin’s eyes widened. “She didn’t!”

  “My love, your vocabulary was never this limited before.” Now he smiled to show his teeth and leaned over the counter, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ve missed you so,” he whispered.

  Caitlin recoiled. “Then why has it taken you this long to find me?” she said, an edge in her voice. “No matter how you found me.”

  David pursed his lips. “You left me, Caitlin. And I respected that. I didn’t think it was a tactic—I knew you weren’t comfortable with what you experienced in London. With …” He waved his hand. “My life. And everything that comes with it. I knew that if I was to come after you—if I was going to try to persuade you to be with me, despite your reservations—then it couldn’t be until my life had settled down a bit. That was the worst time of all to bring you into that world. I realize that now. I was being selfish—I wanted you with me so badly. But there was so much change, and we were all grieving so much, that it could never have been anything that would appeal to you. And I’m so sorry for that.”

  His eyes darkened and he pressed his lips together firmly. Caitlin had never seen him cry—not in person, not in pictures—but it looked now as if he would.