by Gwen Hayes
“Lucy, I’d rather be alone.”
“Well, I don’t think that’s true. And I don’t think you believe that either. But don’t worry, you’ll be alone soon enough, right? If you let her get away.”
He cleared his mind, focused on his breathing. “It’s complicated.”
Maybe she’d assume he meant he had someone back in California waiting for him. That he was a cheater and she’d leave him alone.
“I recognized her. On the bus.”
Harmon stiffened. Waited for what came next.
“I don’t think anyone else does. They royal family of Sivartania was my weird little hobby when I was a girl. I spent most of my childhood wanting to be Princess Merriam. Right up until the time my mom died of cancer the same month she lost her mom. Then I felt, I don’t know, close to her. Not creepy close—don’t get all secret service-y with me.” She recognized him too then. Though he was never the object of the photographs, he was all too often in them. A job hazard for needing to stick close to his principals.
“I kept a scrapbook. I was really cheesy about it, too. I always thought if we met, Princess Merriam and I, we’d be friends. Of course, it was always in someplace like the palace or Monte Carlo. I never expected to befriend her on a bus.” She shook her head. “And I will admit a crush on her brother, too. This week has been pretty surreal for me if you think about it.”
“Why are you telling me this? Are you planning on selling your story? Blackmail the royals?”
She looked at him over her sunglasses. “I have pictures of you in my scrapbook, too. One from when you were kids. The rest just from the paparazzi shots. You never smile.”
“I’m a bodyguard.” Where was she going with this?
“I’m not selling the story to a reporter, Harmon. I am a reporter. But you know that, I’m sure.”
“You write the obits in small paper outside Atlanta.” She was one of the first dossiers he’d acquired due to her closeness with Merriam.
“We all gotta start somewhere.”
“So, you are, what, pushing for an exclusive? Going to jumpstart your career on the royal family?”
“Man, you really are a scowly cynic. She’s my friend. She’s been my friend since I was four. I don’t suppose you understand that. I know it sounds weird. But I only want what is best for her. That’s why I took her under my wing from the start. That’s why I didn’t out her secret identity. That’s why I tried to get her to admit her feelings for you by staging that little intervention. I’m not going to do anything to hurt her.”
“Then you’re not a very good reporter.” His history with the press went back a long way. They were friendly until they weren’t.
She made an impatient sound. One he’d heard from Merriam a time or two. “I found you to tell you that you are making a terrible mistake. The pictures I have of you? I asked my mom to snap pictures of my scrapbook with her phone and send them to me.” She took out her phone, passed it to him. “Look at yourself.”
He started thumbing through the photographs. “Again, bodyguards don’t usually smile.”
“Look at the way you are looking at her, Harmon. Look closer.” She made a frustrated growl in the back of her throat. “Never mind. I’ll just tell you. You look at her like you’re in love with her. You have for years. Why are you throwing that away? Now, when you have everything you want in your reach?”
He looked at the pictures more closely, trying to see what she was seeing. What people saw when they looked at him—which he assumed until now was not much. But there it was. Naked longing on his face. Death glances at whatever man was on her arm.
He pushed the phone at her. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Why?” She looked at her phone. “She loves you. She asked you to marry her. Why won’t you? I mean, sure…it’s a little against protocol I guess. But I’m sure it’s not the first time that people of different stations or whatever fell in love.”
Harmon got up, slipped his shoes on. “It’s more complicated than that.” He packed up the small tackle box. “What are you asking for to kill the story? You’re not the first member of the press I’ve dealt with.” She just stared at him like he had two heads. “What’s your price?”
Not deterred, Lucy stood up. “This isn’t about my story. This is about my friend.”
He shook his head and began walking back to the fishing shack. Lucy following. Of course. She scented blood, she couldn’t very well leave him be now, could she?
On the trail, they ran into Matthew and a guard, and both looked a little surprised to see him with Lucy.
Matthew surely didn’t think he’d taken up with her?
But then his eyes lighted on Lucy, and he gave her one of his trademark smiles. She blushed and smiled back. He’d have to warn him off her.
Matthew directed his attention to Harmon. “I was just talking to Maryanne and—”
“Save it Prince Matthew,” Lucy said. “I’ll run this down quickly. I recognized the princess right away. I’ve always been one of her fans, since I was a kid. I know who all of you are. And I’m trying to talk some sense into your duke friend here. They belong together.”
Matthew looked surprised, but before he could talk, Harmon said, “She’s a reporter. She smells a juicy story. Don’t tell her anything.”
Hand on hips, Lucy ground out, “I’m not going to write a story to hurt anyone. I’m here as her friend. Begging you to stop breaking her heart.”
Matthew reached for her hand. “Lovely Lucy. I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.”
They all walked toward the fishing shack where Harmon would return his rod and tackle box. “What kind of complication is more important than true love?”
“Princess Merriam is to marry another. It will be announced next week.”
Harmon needed him to stop telling her details for her exposé. But she seemed like she was more enraged than unscrupulous. “Whoever he is can stuff it. She doesn’t want to marry him. She asked Harmon.”
“I can’t marry her.”
“Why not? Surely the king wants her to be happy. Why won’t he let you marry her?”
Prince Matthew, usually so jovial, looked at Harmon with ice in his eyes. “Harmon was my father’s first choice, actually.”
“What?” she asked. And Harmon stiffened. He didn’t realize that Matthew knew. Had he already told Merriam?
“My father asked Harmon to marry her and Harmon turned the offer down. He could have married her. He said he didn’t want to.”
Harmon was processing the change in Lucy’s eyes—anger to disbelief to sadness—when he realized she was looking at something. Someone.
Merriam.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE BOTTOM FELL OUT OF Merriam’s heart, loosening all her tightly held feelings and letting them tumble and sink painfully as they went. She grabbed the arm of the guard she’d brought with her to steady herself.
They’d just turned the corner in time to hear Matthew tell Lucy, not her, but her friend Lucy, that Harmon could have been the man she got betrothed to next week. Could have been the man she married. Could have been the man to give her babies and a life.
But that he hadn’t wanted her.
The humiliation came in waves as the awkward group stayed silent, each processing their role in this twisted melodrama. No one wanting to be the first to explain. No one even wanting to make eye contact with her.
When Harmon finally looked up, she choked on a sob. His eyes were full of pity. He was sorry for her. She thought of all the times over the week that she’d thrown herself at him, and here the poor man had already told her father he didn’t want her.
How could she have been so wrong?
She was suddenly so cold. She felt the ice forming in her veins, felt the frost begin to cover her heart. And that was good. Freezing out her feelings seemed like a great idea right now.
Never speaking to her brother again also seemed prudent. For keeping that little bit to himself, that h
e’d known Harmon didn’t want her, yet allowing her to continue to throw herself at him. For encouraging her even, last night.
She was probably done with Lucy as well. That she was here with these men who’d conspired against her. That they would tell her freely but not Merriam herself. That she found out Merriam’s secrets not from Merriam, but by two of the three men who always had more control of her life than she did. It would be too embarrassing to try to keep up a friendship after today.
And Harmon. Well that went without saying, didn’t it?
Mixed in with the pity, she saw regret in his eyes. She felt like she was standing in front of him naked. Every flaw exposed, every insecurity she’d ever had written on her skin. So many she had. Her vanity. Her silliness. Her irresponsibility. Her rebellious nature. Her unrelenting drive to get attention from her father, from him.
And he just stood there.
Say something, Harmon. Say something. But he just let her twist in the wind.
He didn’t tell her what she’d overheard was a mistake. He didn’t tell her that he wanted her. He didn’t get on his knees and tell her he was sorry. That the way he’d touched her hadn’t been a lie. That the way she touched him had changed him. Made him better. Because that’s what she’d foolishly thought. That he could see her, the real Merriam. That she was becoming the woman that could change him with her love.
That she could save him. That she was worth saving, too.
So, let the ice come. Let it cover the weaknesses that stained her. Let the chill deaden her heart so it could never be broken again.
When she opened her mouth, it was Princess Merriam who spoke, for Maryanne Marsh was a memory now. Somebody she used to know. “Well, Duke Carlysle, you could have saved everyone the trouble from the very first.”
“Merriam…” but he didn’t follow it with anything else.
“I think it’s best that you address me in a less familiar tone, Carlysle.” She noticed the fishing pole in his hand. “I trust you have work you should be doing, if your fishing break is over. I won’t keep you from it.”
She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t shed another tear for him. She felt a bit like she was watching from outside herself as Princess Merriam nodded regally to her brother and then to Lucy before she turned and followed the path back to Matthew’s cabin.
To her guard, she said, “When we reach the cabin, I need to arrange a call.”
“Yes, your majesty. I can arrange a secure line. Who would you like to speak to.”
“The King of Sivartania.”
It was past time for Papa to listen to what she had to say.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Five months later
Camp Firefly Falls in the autumn was even more beautiful than in the summer. The russet and orange leaves clung to the trees rimming the lake for one last dazzling show mirrored on the placid water. The last session of camp had ended weeks ago, but instead of making camp feel too quiet and lonely, it’s as if Mother Nature exhaled a long, soft sigh. One Merriam certainly echoed.
Merriam, Lucy, and Heather Tully, the director of the camp, rested in the Adirondack chairs facing the lake while they sipped spiced cider from tin mugs. They’d just put the finishing touches on a camp session she would personally sponsor every year for adults with developmental disabilities who no longer qualified for the programs that often sent kids to camp. Insurance and specialized camp counselors were going to be expensive. Luckily, her foundation could afford it.
It had been a long five months, beginning with the phone call to Papa. But as the crisp breeze teased her face, she realized it was worth it.
She’d hired Lucy away from her obit job to be her press secretary. Lucy now traveled the world with Merriam as she spent time becoming an ambassador. She wasn’t sure of what yet. There were so many world problems to tackle. But she was young and rich. It was time she used her privilege for making a difference.
She stayed well away from Harmon, putting Lucy in charge of making sure he knew her schedule and he posted anyone but himself to her protection detail.
She stayed away from her old crowd, preferring to plan her photo ops rather than be blindsided by them these days.
And she wasn’t getting married.
At least not for a long time.
Putting her foot down with the king had not been easy on the phone. Or in person. Or any of the other times she had to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that she was not going to agree to an arranged marriage.
But she’d done it. Matthew and even Aunt Elaine stood by her.
Now she was working on being her own woman. Not the wild princess. Not the biddable one either. Just being herself. And she was fine.
If only her heart were as easy to convince as her brain.
She never stopped thinking about her damned duke. Oh, they both had an unspoken agreement to not speak and never, under any circumstances, make eye contact. But after her heart got through a month or so of deep freeze, it thawed, of all the stupid things it could do. Because once it did, it ached all the time.
She was still in love with him. She would likely always be in love with him.
“You told me to tell you when you were brooding,” Lucy said, nudging Merriam with her foot. “You’re brooding.”
The problem with becoming best friends with your press secretary was that they not only managed your public persona, but called you on your private one. “Whatever.”
Heather curled on her side in her chair to face Merriam. “Man trouble, Princess?”
Heather had been rather gracious about dealing with Merriam after the whole “Maryanne and her brother Martin” debacle. But they’d thrown a lot of money at the camp for Merriam’s idea, so she supposed it made them even.
Man trouble. Yes indeed. “Is there any other kind?”
Heather shook her head. “No, not really.”
“You should talk to him,” Lucy said.
“That is the worst advice you have given me.” Which up to now, the only spotty advice had been a Lippie in the wrong shade of red. Lucy was the best decision she’d ever made. “It’s better this way.”
No talking. No looking.
“This might be a problem,” Heather said to Lucy.
“It will be fine,” Lucy answered.
“What are you guys talking about?” Merriam had an uneasy feeling. She cocked her head. “What is that noise?”
She didn’t have to wait long when the helicopter came into view. It flew over them, but it was clearly getting ready to land. And land it did, behind them in the middle of the field not far from where they sat.
Her guards didn’t even look at it. The uneasy feeling grew. “You two are not surprised that a helicopter just dropped from the sky.” They both shook their heads with mock-sorry expressions on their faces.
They got up and made their way slowly to the field. Somehow, she knew this was about her, so she wasn’t surprised when Harmon got out of the chopper.
Not surprised, but not unaffected.
He was looking right at her, his serious curmudgeon face on. She couldn’t look away, not after all these months of covert glances. She wrapped her arms around herself to hold her frantically racing heart inside.
Harmon was a work of art in blue jeans and a plaid shirt. She wanted to rush to him, jump in his arms. But he wasn’t hers. He didn’t want her. Why couldn’t her heart figure that out? The things he’d said to her, the way he’d acted, had been part of the theater they’d been trying to put on for everyone else. He’d gotten caught up in it. So had she. It wasn’t as if he’d set out to hurt her. She was sure the thought that he had taken it too far weighed on his mind all the time. Harmon cared about her and her family. His honor must have taken quite a hit when he realized that instead of protecting her, he’d done harm, even though he never meant to.
It’s why she couldn’t hate him. Life would be so much easier if she could just hate him.
Maybe she should talk to him. Absolve him. Maybe if she
did, she could move on. But facing the humiliation seemed like an insurmountable task. When he stopped directly in front of her, it became Herculean.
“Princess Merriam,” his voice was low and darkly shadowed with nuance.
“Duke Carlysle.”
The chopper was still stirring the breeze, and some of her hair escaped the messy bun and flew into her face. Harmon reached out automatically to push it away, but his hand paused midway.
She couldn’t pretend to be unaffected anymore, so she moved her gaze to his shoes. “Why are you here?”
He gently tilted her chin back up, his dark gaze locked on her. His broody eyes gave nothing away, but their intensity seared into her. He indicated behind her, to the lodge, so she turned and started walking that way. He didn’t touch her, but his presence felt heavy all over her just the same.
Once they stepped inside, he led her to the great room with the windows looking over the lake. She stopped and pulled his arm. “Please tell me what this is about. Is my family all right?”
“I’m sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Yes, your family is fine. This isn’t about them. It’s about us.”
“Us?”
He winced at her question. Like it was an accusation.
“Us.”
“Harmon, I really don’t understand what is going on here.”
“I resigned my post.”
There was not one single other thing he could have said that would have surprised her more. Not even that aliens had landed. “I…I don’t know what to say. What does that mean? I thought you had to…well, you’re the Carlysle.”
“I broke a centuries-old tradition.”
“Why? I don’t understand.” Being the Carlysle was so much a part of him, she couldn’t separate the two now. How must he be doing it?
“When your father, my king, asked me to take you in marriage—I wanted to. I didn’t even care that you would have had no choice. I wanted you so badly.”
If only she’d stayed a few minutes longer that day. If she’d heard him reject her, she would have been saved from everything that happened at camp. “But you told him you didn’t want me.”