by Rachel Hauck
“I remember.”
“He said if I was going to marry you, I’d best get with it. It wasn’t right to make you wait any longer.”
“I love your dad.” A true, blunt confession.
“So I took a little hop across Europe on my way to Afghanistan—London, Paris—searching for a unique engagement ring. I must have looked at a hundred before I finally found one in a little shop outside Paris.”
“Wait … you bought a ring … for me?” She took a hesitant step toward him.
“I did,” he said, with a slow, contemplative nod. “Slapped down my credit card, but when the man asked the name of my amour, my mind went blank. I couldn’t remember.”
“My name? You couldn’t remember my name?” Sadness butterflied in her heart.
“Blank.” He tapped his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “I was distracted, thinking about getting my boots on the ground in Afghanistan, feeling like I was working off a checklist rather than buying a ring for my amour.”
“That’s it? You city hop your way over to Afghanistan, and when buying a ring feels like a chore, you decide I’m not the one? That the plan has drained you of love?” She shifted her stance, balancing on a narrow beam of peace and dread, one foot to the other. What happened to her sensible Adam? “Was Sheree with you?”
“No, Suz. Come on. Sheree and I?” Hands on his hips, he looked everywhere but at her. “The moment I pulled out my credit card, I knew I’d found the right ring but not the right girl.” His glistening gaze landed on her face. “Sheree and I didn’t reconnect until a few months ago.”
“You found the right ring but not the right girl?” She crossed her arms, locked her hands on her elbows, squared her back, and raised her chin. “How can you have the right ring if you have the wrong girl? That … that makes no sense.”
“I just knew I’d found a ring I’d love to give my fiancée someday, but”—he paddled hard against the conversation stream—“I … for the life of me, I couldn’t see myself giving it to you.”
“Adam, you went to Afghanistan seven months ago. You’re just now telling me? We’ve been emailing, talking?”
“I had second thoughts. Maybe it was just cold feet or something. Besides, I didn’t want to break up long-distance. You mean a great deal to me. Twelve years deserves more than a ‘Dear Susanna’ email or hey, ‘Oh by the way,’ on a phone call.”
“Twelve years.” She whirled back toward the Rib Shack. “Twelve years I waited for you, and I get ‘I found the right ring but not the right girl’?”
“Suz, I’m being honest.” Adam ran backward in front of her, his knees high, his form perfect. “If you stop and think, you’ll realize you feel the same way.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel, Adam. Just don’t.” She tried to sprint around him, but he switched directions and kept in step with her. “Try to make yourself feel better by roping me into your wild decision.”
Not the right girl … His words reverberated through her, to her very core.
“You know I’m right.”
His words, his tone, a clarion bell to her heart. Oh mercy, how could it be? Yes, he was right, he was right. And it galled her. “I don’t know what to say to you right now.” Susanna maintained her march toward the Rib Shack’s beachside deck. How had she not seen it? Was she so stuck and stubborn?
“Susanna, the last time I was home, we only saw each other six times. You never came up to Washington.”
“I was working. I have a job.” She lengthened her stride. “I didn’t see you hightailing it home.”
“You were working at the Rib Shack.” He made a wild one-arm gesture toward the restaurant. “You could’ve taken off anytime you wanted.”
She exhaled and stopped midstride. “If you want to break up with me, then do it. But don’t you dump your guilt on me.”
“No guilt dumping here. Just making observations. Suz, you know I’m right. We aren’t each other’s true loves. We were a high school romance that somehow got away from us.”
“Got away from us? Who plans marriage like that?” Susanna pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and turned for the edge of the Atlantic where the evening tide was rolling in. With each swoosh of the foam against the sand, realization washed over her. How had she not seen it? Truth awakened in her thoughts, her heart, and the edges of her senses.
“We were both comfortable. Our relationship was good. Safe. We do like each other, Suz. A lot.”
She peered at him. “I’m twenty-nine, Adam. I want to get married. You’re the only man I’ve dated since I fast-danced with Bobby Conway at the seventh-grade fall dance.” She flung her arms wide. “Now what? You’re done with tours, ready to settle down, make a life for yourself in the States, and suddenly I’m not the right one?”
She rehashed what her heart already knew because it was how she processed. She fought because her dignity demanded it. But the fire of her vehemence never truly flared.
“What? You want me to marry you just because?” He looked incredulous, sounding half terrified.
“Yes, Adam, yes. I do.” Her inner fight tumbled over the ravine of her resolve. She wasn’t going to just walk away from twelve years with an, “Okay, sure, I’m jiving with you. Glad we cleared this up. Have a nice life.”
“You don’t mean it.”
“We’ve said ‘I love you.’ We’ve planned a future together.” She poked his chest with her forefinger to the rumble of sudden, low-passing thunder. Grit rose in her soul. “We. Had. A. Deal.”
Adam gripped her finger. “I love Sheree. Reconnecting with her was when I really knew you and I didn’t love each other in a husband-wife kind of way. If you’d met the right guy and I came home to propose, you’d be the one standing here telling me the ring was right but I was all wrong. You’d know you don’t love me as a woman should love the man she’s going to marry.”
“Stop telling me how I feel.” She gripped her hands into fists. He was such a commander—of men, of her feelings. This habit of his had spiked many of their arguments.
“Then look at me.” He motioned to her with two fingers, then swung them around to his sharp unwavering gaze. “Look here. Tell me you love me like a woman should love a man she’s going to marry.”
“I don’t even know what that means. Love is love.”
“I could break into song over Sheree.”
“Ha, song. Has she heard you sing?”
“Yes, and she lets me sing anyway.”
Susanna folded her arms with a sigh. Any defense she might muster weakened in her heart. “But you don’t want to break into song over me.”
“I don’t. I’m sorry.” His gaze spoke of his regret.
“Yeah, well, me too.” She started up the dunes toward the Rib Shack. Mama, her baby sister, Avery, everyone was waiting inside for the news.
Engagement news.
“Suz?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Adam. “I’m fine.” She didn’t wait for his response, just skirted around the sea oats and up the path to the deck.
Slipping on her flip-flops, she avoided the kitchen and the hovering expectations by heading for the parking lot.
She’d never been into romance, fairy tales, knights in shining armor, or handsome princes riding up to save the day. Just a happily ever after with her strong hometown marine. Now what was the plan for the rest of her life?
TWO
I’m going out.” Nathaniel glanced to the dining-room table for the keys to the motorcar, the rented black SUV.
He thought Liam had deposited them there after he’d returned from his daily breakfast errand.
“Going where?” Jonathan, Nathaniel’s aide, crossed the living room with his iPad in hand, concern creasing his face.
“Nowhere. Just out.” Where were those blasted keys? Nathaniel lifted the newspaper Liam had been reading. Aha …
“Liam’s gone for a run.” Jonathan returned his attention to his iPad, tapping the screen, scrolling through
his emails, no doubt. “Wait for him to return.”
“I don’t need Liam.”
The aide snapped his attention to Nathaniel. “You’re not going alone.”
“I don’t need a security officer with me on this small island. No one even knows I’m here.”
“Mrs. Butler knows you’re here.”
“Yes, but I’m her surprise guest at the benefit, so I’m sure she’s not made my presence known. Besides, Americans love the British princes. Us Brighton lads go virtually unnoticed.”
“The Crown will have my head if anything happens to you.”
“Shall I send a note, tell them I’m choosing to wander about on my own, absolve you of all responsibility?”
“Now you patronize me.”
“And you worry too much, Jonathan.” Nathaniel turned, signaling the end of the conversation. He was going for a drive—alone.
Having been on the island for three days at the family’s American holiday cottage, Nathaniel had seen nothing except the beach, which was beautiful, the pinched expression of his aide and solemn countenance of his security officer, both of whom were fine friends but not beautiful to behold.
Three grown men on holiday, lounging in a hundred-year-old cottage, watching movies and playing an ancient Brighton card game, made Nathaniel restless.
Technically, though, he’d traveled to America on business, not for a holiday. The king’s business, to be exact. So the kingdom of Brighton owed Nathaniel a true vacation. One with sun and surf and perhaps the company of a pretty woman with whom to dine.
In light of this, his aide and beloved nation could spot him an hour or two on his own.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Jonathan dashed around the sofa to intercept Nathaniel in the foyer.
“Gladly, no.” Nathaniel stepped around him and into the sunshine and freedom. He loved his country. Loved Brighton’s low-cloud days that had a nip in the air, but he also loved the sun, the heat, and the endless blue sky of Georgia. “It’s a small island. I’m sure I can manage my way round.” He smiled at Jonathan, so serious and intense. The man took his duties as aide to the crown prince of Brighton most seriously.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Jonathan, I need a moment to myself.” Nathaniel slipped behind the wheel. “To think.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know … life.”
The man sighed, collapsing his thin shoulders. “You have your mobile?”
Nathaniel patted his trouser pocket, where he’d tucked the phone. “Go back to what you were doing, Jon. I’ll not be gone long.”
Pulling out of the drive, Nathaniel turned south on Ocean Boulevard and powered down all the windows.
The sun-baked July breeze filled the interior and blew his hair, the loose threads of his shirt, and the nagging thoughts on his heart.
Easing off the accelerator, Nathaniel jutted his elbow out the window, slid down in the seat, and steered the big machine through the dappled light where the brightness of the afternoon was giving way to the textured shadows of evening.
His tension began to ease at the sight of an old woman riding her bicycle on the dirt path next to the road.
Still, the news at home hadn’t been good before he left. Dad’s health was failing. Nathaniel half suspected he’d sent him on this junket not to please distant cousin Carlene Butler but because this might be Nathaniel’s last excursion as a free man. At thirty-two, he thought he had years—decades—before becoming king.
But instead he had months. A year tops.
He steered the car around a curve with a sense of familiarity. He needed more time. To soak up Dad’s wisdom. To amend his youthful rebellion and indiscretions.
“You will be king within the year. Prepare yourself.” Dad was so matter-of-fact. So true to form. King first, man second.
“Dad, no, you’re going to recover …”
Nathaniel slowed for a traffic light, inhaling the scent of sweet jasmine. It brought memories of home. Of his youth summers with Dad, Mum, and little brother, Stephen, at Parrsons House.
When the light flashed green, Nathaniel urged the car forward, taking the roundabout along Frederica to Demere.
Surely this ride was what he needed. Fresh perspective. Life was changing, wasn’t it? Too suddenly. Too quickly.
The pressure to choose a bride would increase the moment he returned to Brighton. From Mum first, then Dad. After that, the King’s Office. Perhaps the prime minister would want to “have a word.”
Say, Nathaniel, what thoughts have you given to choosing a wife? The throne needs an heir.
As of late, the media had begun to mimic their British and German cousins, printing salacious stories on the royal princes, trying to sell papers, casting aspersions about the crown prince’s marriage intentions, reminding the populace of his youthful indiscretions, and that he’d not had a serious girlfriend in ten years. Fine that … a decade. Though he had been seen as of late with the beautiful Lady Genevieve Hawthorne.
Nathaniel took the Torras Causeway toward Brunswick, curving right or left as the road dictated, letting it lead him.
He turned a sharp, sudden right when his eye caught a street sign. Prince Street.
Slowing down, the SUV drifted through the shade under the live oaks, the breeze gentling past. Prince Street … The sign freed a bit of his hope, made him feel like everything would be all right. As if he might actually be in the right place at the right time. An unusual sensation for crown princes.
Lord, am I ready …
He was about to turn around when a strong feminine voice captured his attention. Nathaniel leaned over the wheel, squinting through the sun and shade. A woman walked ’round a car parked under an enormous, craggy old tree. A motley-looking man traipsed after her.
She stopped, wagged a metal rod or some such at him, and pointed down the road as if telling him to leave.
The man stepped forward with a wolfish grin. She swung at him. Good going, girl.
Nathaniel pulled his SUV under the tree, parking next to the small, green Cabrio and stepped out.
“Might I be of assistance?”
The woman whirled around, giving him a wide-eyed expression. The threads of light falling through the trees haloed her golden hair. “There you are. What took you so long?” She jammed the rod toward him. “I told this guy you were on your way … darling.” She made a face. “Can you believe it? Another flat tire.” Her laugh carried no merriment. “The lug nuts are stuck tighter than a drum.”
“Well, then, let’s get them unstuck.” Nathaniel took the cross wrench from the woman and examined it. He’d changed a few tires in his day. During his university years, racing over country roads had been a pastime for letting off steam.
He shifted his gaze to the pierced and tattooed man. He was thin, wearing tattered, soiled clothing, and Nathaniel felt sure he only wanted money. He was also sure the girl could’ve taken him if it had come to a brawl. “You can move on now.”
“I only offered to help.” The man stepped back.
“But I asked you to leave and you didn’t.” The woman bent toward him, hands on her hips, fire in her tone.
Nathaniel smiled. He liked her.
“Be on your way.” Nathaniel slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the twenty-dollar bill he’d collected before going on his drive. Stepping around the blonde, he offered his hand to the man, pressing the bill into his gritty palm. “Have yourself a hot meal.”
The man popped open the twenty and held it up, a hard glare in his eyes. “You rich folk think you can just do whatever you please, don’t you?”
“And what do you folk think? You can continue pressing a lady when she asks you to leave?”
The man swore, tucked the money in his pocket, and walked off, talking to himself, filling the air with foul words.
“I could’ve done that.” She turned a bit of her fire onto Nathaniel. “Given him money. You know he’s going to buy booze or dr
ugs, right?”
Nathaniel shrugged, watching her for a moment. She didn’t seem to recognize him. But who would expect a real prince right here, right now? “Or he might buy a nice hot dinner. Seems the lad could use it.” Nathaniel wrapped his fingers around the cool metal wrench. Something about her made him want to wrap his arms around her and assure her that he didn’t care what the man did with the money, only that she was safe.
“Have we met before?” he asked, knowing he had not met this woman, but something about her seemed so familiar. Warm and perfect.
“No.” She took the wrench from him. “Thanks for stopping. I appreciate it. But I can take it from here.” Her voice wavered, and Nathaniel caught the glassy sheen of tears in her eyes before she glanced away.
“Are you sure? What of those tight lug nuts? I’ve changed lots of tires in my time.” Nathaniel held out his hand, palm up. “What say we work at it together. Get you going straightaway.”
“Straightaway to where? To what?” She fell against the car, exhaling, her wind-tangled ponytail falling over her shoulder. “What a stupid, rotten day.”
Nathaniel sobered when she released a sharp sob.
“Ah, what’s wrong? Can’t be all that bad, can it?”
She swerved around, punishing the flat tire with a sharp kick. “Stupid, rotten day.”