Rescuing the Royal Runaway Bride

by Ally Blake

  Will rubbed a hand over his chin to find it rough. Somehow he’d forgotten his nightly shave. Reminding himself to fix that tomorrow, he said, “This telescope isn’t big enough for any serious research. I bring it with me more out of sentimentality than anything else.”

  “You? Sentimental?”

  “Apparently so. It was a gift.” Swallow. “From my sister.” He braced himself against the jagged knot tightening in his belly. Then he moved on. “What would you like to see?”

  “Me? Wow. I suddenly feel really ignorant. I don’t know all that much about what’s out there apart from, you know, moon, stars. The earth is the centre of the universe.”

  Will’s mouth twitched. Then he leaned down, adjusted direction and focus and found the general direction of his telescope’s namesake. Then he pushed back the chair, and motioned for Sadie to have a look.

  Adjusting her robe, Sadie shuffled in closer to the telescope. Will had to press himself hard against the railing so as not to be right behind her as, fingers lightly gripping the eyepiece, she bent to have a look.

  Sadie’s mouth stretched into a slow smile. “Oh. Oh, Will. That is...spectacular.”

  “Pleiades,” he said. “Otherwise known as the Seven Sisters. Maia is the fourth brightest.”

  She stood and blinked up into the cosmos. “Show me more. Show me your very favourite thing out there. Show me something that makes a man like you gasp with delight.”

  Will cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I’ve ever gasped, in delight or otherwise.”

  Her grin was bright, even in the low moonlight. “Maybe you’re just not doing it right.” She flicked a glance to the sky. “Maybe you could lighten up a little. Put that frown of yours away for a bit and find the delight. Maybe you just have to look harder.”

  He looked, but not at the sky. At her profile, open and bright. At the dishevelled way she’d tied her gown. At her leopard-print toenails as her toes curled into the cold floor.

  For the first time since Natalie had rung him about the invitation, Will purposely wondered about the girl Hugo had planned to marry, opening the part of himself he preferred to keep under lock and key—that place that bred what ifs and if onlys.

  It was his turn to imagine as he attempted to picture the Hugo he knew with this restive, indefatigable, unkempt creature.

  And couldn’t.

  Deep down in a place both unfamiliar and disquieting, Will wondered how Hugo could have chosen a woman who was so clearly not meant for him.

  Will cleared his throat and did a mental about-turn.

  Nothing was meant in this world. Nothing was for ever. Planets collided, suns faded, worlds were destroyed by their own cores, imploding in on themselves in utter self-destruction. The universe was random and chaotic and it was foolish to think otherwise.

  “Move aside.” He gave her a nudge with his hip so that he might shift the telescope a smidgeon.

  “Should I prepare myself to be amazed?” she asked as they swapped places again, this time the front of her dressing gown brushing against his arm. His hairs stood on end, chasing the sensation.

  His voice was gruff as he said, “I would think the purpose of preparation was to avoid surprise.”

  “We shall see,” she said. This time Sadie held her breath. Her voice revenant, she whispered, “What am I looking at now?”

  “That would be Orion. A diffuse nebula in the Milky Way. Around one thousand five hundred light-years from here and containing thousands of stars, it is the nearest star-forming region to Earth.”

  Will had heard Orion, so optically beautiful, described as “angel’s breath against a frosted sky”. He believed its true beauty was that it was their best glimpse into how the universe had begun.

  Sadie pulled back. She looked up at the sky for a good while. Then, her voice rusty, she said, “I can’t even find the words, Will. It’s beautiful, to be sure. But also...somehow hollow. Like if you look at it too long, all that darkness would see your darkness until it becomes one. ‘Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.’”

  Her last words had been so soft he wasn’t even sure she’d meant to say them out loud. The order tickled at the corner of Will’s brain. He sorted through the databanks of information he’d stored over the years and found a match. Macbeth.

  Catalogued under cosmic quotes he’d kept note of over the years, he found, “‘When beggars die there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.’”

  She blinked as if coming out of a trance, then turned to him, incredulous. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously what?”

  “You’re quoting Shakespeare. Again.”

  “I’m very well-read.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.” She shook her head. “Because that’s my thing, you know. My mission in life is to show attention-deficient young adults how to concentrate long enough to get through an entire Shakespearean play. Huh. I just realised. Will. Will Shakespeare. You have the same name.”

  As her gaze held his and didn’t let go, Will felt the air shift between them. A wind of change. A disturbance in the force. Electric currents zapped and collided until he was all but sure he’d see sparks.

  But deeper, beneath it all, a sense of recognition; of shared experience; of lives lived parallel; of truth. Will felt its pull like a physical thing.

  People spoke of chemistry being the reason people were drawn to one another. But it was gravity that caused one body to revolve around another. That said the denser gravity of a planet could draw on the lesser gravity of a meteor, leading to destruction, sometimes on a grand scale.

  Sadie’s gaze snapped to something over his shoulder.

  “Did you see that?” Sadie gasped. “Keep watching. Keep watching... There!”

  Will looked up. He watched as another shooting star flashed, flew and disappeared, disintegrating into a mass of scattered space dust.

  If he’d believed in such things he might have taken it as a sign.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SADIE WOKE UP with a start.

  It was deep in the heart of the witching hour; that time of night when every sound, every thought felt heightened. Her skin prickled with sweat. Unfamiliar sheets twisted around her legs. Her chemise had ridden high enough to nearly strangle her.

  She wriggled and rolled, kicking off blankets, and scrambled up towards a mound of pillows. Holding her legs to her chest, she stared into the semi-darkness. Embers crackled in the fireplace below, the eerie golden glow casting light and shadow over the room. And over the man sleeping on the couch.

  She couldn’t make out much detail bar one bare arm dangling off the edge, fingertips nearly grazing the floor. A large naked foot hooked over the arm rest.

  It was more than enough.

  She looked away, towards the French door, towards the palace; towards her bed, her pillow, her home. She wondered if Hugo had managed to fall asleep or if he was still awake, lamenting what might have been, or relieved she’d let him off the hook.

  She slid back down into the big, soft bed, pulling her sheets up to her neck and trying to recapture her dream. But all she remembered were insubstantial threads, like ribbons in a storm.

  A few moments later she lifted her head, checking to make sure Will was actually asleep. His arm lifted and fell, as if in time with long, slow breaths.

  Whatever. Sleep or no sleep, as soon as Hugo sent someone to get her, chances were she’d never see Will again.

  There hadn’t exactly been time or opportunity to uncover why Will and Hugo had been estranged since school, despite the fact there was clearly great mutual respect. But it must have been significant. A great fight? A deep betrayal? Or had she simply read Macbeth so many times she saw potential drama everywhere she looked?

  No. Something must have happened. In her experien
ce, men didn’t lash out like wounded animals unless they felt cornered.

  Her father had been the first. Taking umbrage to the fact Sadie’s mother had dared love his child as much as she loved him. For that he had left and not looked back.

  Then there had been her acting coach in New York. An older man, a faded Paul Newman wannabe, he’d been her teacher, then her mentor, dangling the string of success for a couple of years. Once she’d bitten he’d become her agent. Not a good one, but the fact he’d seen something in her had felt like enough. Until the day he offered her a part—not the lead—in the “adult” film he was producing. When she’d refused, point blank, he’d kicked her to the kerb, leaving her homeless, the entire experience telling her it was time to head home.

  She’d even seen how implacable Hugo could be, if those in his care were under attack. It was the very reason he’d wanted to marry her, after all.

  Will’s “self-sabotage” accusation hovered on the edge of her subconscious, but she brushed it away.

  She’d heard them called “the rational sex”, but in her experience men made decisions based on emotion over common sense far more than women.

  From what she’d seen of Will Darcy so far, he’d not proven to be any different.

  More awake than asleep now, Sadie laid herself out as flat as she could, becoming one with the mattress, and closed her eyes. She breathed slowly through her nose and wondered... Did Will dream? If so, of what? Supernovas and little green men? Or was he a classicist—dreaming of memory, hope, wishes, flying, falling, desire...

  Just like that, her own dream came back to her in a rush. Hurtling through a sky filled with planets, a great, hot sun and bright, thrusting comets. Only she wasn’t falling, she was being held. Protected. By a pair of strong, warm arms. While also being shown the moon and stars.

  She grabbed a spare pillow and shoved it over her head.

  * * *

  Will woke feeling as if he’d been hit by a truck.

  Every muscle, joint and bone ached from trying to curl six feet two inches onto an over-soft two-seater.

  He pressed himself to sitting, then rubbed both hands hard over his face in an effort to put all the bits back into the right place.

  Will checked his phone. It was a little after seven. He had had eleven missed messages overnight. Not unusual. The stars were always out somewhere in the world. He listened to them all, took mental notes and sent word to Natalie how to deal with each.

  She hadn’t yet sent word about a meeting time with the prime minister regarding the Templeton Grant. He nudged her to make it the number-one priority.

  The moment he’d heard the grant was in jeopardy he’d felt a strange compulsion, a knowledge deep in his bones, that he had to use the power of his reputation for more than simply work.

  For Professor Templeton’s gentle patience had been Will’s deliverance at a time when things had gone either way, and it seemed only right that he make sure the next generation of students would have the chance to find their path as he did that long-ago day.

  Following that one random astronomy class, Will had doubled up on his degree, joined as many research projects as would have him. He’d worked nights, checking the university’s telescope minute by minute for whichever project needed data at the time. And eventually he’d earned the Templeton Grant himself for his independent study on the Orion Nebula. It had paid his way through university, in one fell swoop giving him complete independence from his grandparents and showing them he was neither indolent nor inadequate. He was bloody hardworking and exceedingly bright. Despite them.

  Clair would have been the same, if she’d been given the chance. So what choice did Will have but to take every opportunity she’d never had?

  Keeping watch over Sadie had nudged him off course, which was not a comfortable place for him to be. Nevertheless, after a prolonged beat, he sent another message to Natalie asking her to cancel or postpone—with apologies—everything he had on for the next twenty-four hours. To keep the day after that on standby. And please not to injure herself when she fell over in shock.

  Then he threw his phone into his leather bag and stood.

  He rolled his shoulders. Cricked his neck.

  Glancing towards the raised platform, he could make out the lump of Sadie’s form. Fast sleep.

  Weak, dreary sunlight attempted to breach the curtains before seeming to give up.

  Hunger gnawed at his belly. If Hugo wasn’t here soon he’d have to head out and source some real food.

  But first...needs must.

  He grabbed his leather bag and headed to the bathroom. Since he couldn’t get there without passing Sadie’s bed, he found her splayed on her stomach like a human starfish, one hand hanging off one side, a toe hanging off the other. The sheets were twisted around her and tugged from their moorings. Her hair was splayed out across the white sheets like a red wine spill.

  An empty chocolate packet lay open on the bedside table. And below it, in a pile on the floor, was her dressing gown. Meaning beneath the twisted sheets she wore...

  Will kept his eyes straight ahead as he moved into the bathroom and shut the door. Two minutes later he was stripped and standing beneath a hot shower. And he did what he always did near water: he closed his eyes and let his mind go.

  It wasn’t an unusual phenomenon that his most complete theories had come to him while in the shower. Having nothing else to worry about, the mind travelled in disparate directions and made random connections it would otherwise miss.

  He waited for his mind to mull over tricky calculations he’d been asked to weigh in on. Or the three-dimensional graphics of the Orion Nebula the gaming team in Oxford were working on.

  But instead his head filled with silken, wine-red hair, soft, cool skin, eyes so deep they seemed to go on for ever.

  Jaw clenching, he dragged his tired eyes open.

  So, no stream of consciousness, then. Purposeful analysis was the order of the day. He began, as he always did, with known data.

  Fact: he’d been on edge for days. Weeks even. Knowing he was set to face Hugo, to face his part in the derailment of their friendship, knowing that watching someone else take his sister’s place at Hugo’s side would be...difficult. No, it would be insufferable.

  Fact: stress led to surges of adrenaline, a natural human response to an extraordinary amount of stimuli. Biological readiness for a fight or flight led to heightened senses. Which then led to a natural physical response to the attractive woman he was sharing a hotel room with.

  Fact: he clearly wasn’t the only one suffering this...natural human response.

  He was suddenly back on the balcony the night before, Sadie’s energy tangling with his, the stars shining in her eyes. Gravity, attraction, the heady pull of mutual intrigue, of the thrill of discovery drawing them together.

  He was not unduly attracted to his old friend’s runaway bride. It was simple science.

  And yet he turned off the hot water and stuck his head under the cold until it began to burn.

  When he’d punished himself enough, Will turned off the water, shaking off the chilly droplets. And stilled. Listening.

  He’d heard something. A knock at the front door?

  Hugo.

  He reached for a towel to find the nearest towel rail empty. A quick glance found Sadie’s towel flopped over the side of the bath.

  Upon a thorough search he couldn’t find another. So, grabbing her towel, he rubbed himself down, straining to hear voices. But the room seemed quiet.

  “Sadie?” he called, his voice echoing in the small, steamy room. No response.

  There. The front door opening. And closing.

  “Dammit. Sadie!”

  He couldn’t seem to get himself dry. Because the towel was damp. Redolent with the scent of honeysuckle.

  “Saaadiiie!”

&n
bsp; The bathroom door swung open and with the rush of clear air came Sadie. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  Will swept the towel around his waist, clamping it together with one fierce hand at his hip. “Hell, Sadie!”

  “What?” she said, swallowing a yawn. “You were the one bellowing my name.”

  Her hair was crushed against one side of her head where it had dried while she was sleeping. A crease from her pillow lined her cheek. Thankfully she was now wearing her dressing gown, though it sat twisted, half falling off one shoulder. When she absently tugged the sash tight it made no difference.

  “I thought maybe you’d slipped, or...something.” Her words faded as she seemed to realise his state of undress.

  Under her unchecked gaze, Will felt the water dripping off his hair and rolling over his shoulders. His skin felt tight, and sensitive. Even with the heat of the shower still filling the room, goosebumps sprang up over his arms. When he felt other parts of himself beginning to stir he gathered the towel more tightly and growled, “Sadie.”

  She blinked. Slowly. Then she swallowed. Her next breath in was long and slow. Then her eyes rose to his. “Hmm? What? No? Wait... What on earth...?”

  She took a full step towards him. Close enough that he saw the genuine worry in her eyes, the constellation of slightly darker freckles on her left cheek. Close enough that her hand hovered an inch from his chest.

  She reached a hand towards his chest. Will clenched all over. Now what was she playing at?

  Then she asked, “Is that a bruise?”

  Will looked down to find a dark variegated stripe angling across his chest. He lifted a hand and ran it over the contusion. Thinking back, he came to a likely conclusion.

  “I slammed on my brakes,” he said, his voice rusty. “My seatbelt did its job.”

  Her eyes whipped to his. Energy crackled through the fog, the level fit to reach the back of a large theatre. “That happened when you stopped for me? Does it hurt?”

  She lifted her hand again, and this time he knew she was set to touch him.