by Rachel Hauck
“Susanna! There you are …” Gage charged into the waiting area with the fierceness of a mad bull. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Daddy had a small heart attack.”
“I spent all night apologizing to Mrs. Butler—”
“Excuse me, Gage, but Daddy had a heart attack.” She was awake now, trembling with adrenaline.
“We’re never going to get the job,” Gage huffed, hands on his hips. “I took out a loan … made payroll … because I was so sure we’d—”
“Please do not imply we’re not getting this job because of me. Please.”
“No, not really.” Gage dropped to the nearest chair. “She didn’t even notice you’d gone. I’m just mad. Her guest speaker disappeared, and she was so frantic I couldn’t get one word in about how Gage Stone Associates should be her architects of choice. I’m sure Hayes & Associates down in Savannah will get the job.” His tone sank, despondent and weak. “We’ll go under without this job. Do you hear me, Susanna? Under.”
“Know what, Gage?” Susanna faced him, reaching for her courage. “I’ll make your burden a bit lighter. I quit.” If she’d learned anything from the breakup with Adam, it was to let go. Open up her heart to new possibilities. Leap.
“Quit?” He mocked her resignation with a hard laugh. “Come on. Be real. Where are you going to go if you leave me?”
“I don’t know, Gage. I don’t know.” She fortified herself with a big, cleansing breath. Exhaling all the gunk of having to live by the plan. “But for the first time in my life, I don’t care.”
SEVEN
Nathaniel ran down the beach under a vanguard of seagulls. Images of Susanna soared through his mind. He’d woken up thinking of her and had yet to shake her from his thoughts.
He’d returned from his call with Liam to find her trembling, pacing, talking to herself. Her boss had come ‘round, and she’d mustered the courage to quit her job. For what reason, Nathaniel did not know, nor did he inquire while driving her home. But he loved her spunk in the shadow of losing her would-be fiancé.
“I quit.”
How incredibly freeing. Nathaniel had never in his life uttered those words. He’d resigned his naval commission. Stepped down as CEO of his communications company. All for the sake of the Crown.
But quit? He’d never been allowed. Or privileged to do so.
Quitting was a freedom most people took for granted. The chance to pull up an oar and row on the other side.
When the cottage came into view, Nathaniel sprinted up the beach path, shoving through the sea oats and overgrown palmettos. The sand slipped beneath his trainers, so he had to concentrate on each long stride.
A low stone wall hemmed in the St. Simons cottage, which had been given to the Brighton royal family, to Great-Great-Grandfather Nathaniel I in 1902. Pre-war, the family annually made the voyage to America, to St. Simons Island. But in recent decades … The rusting hinges of the wrought-iron gate squeaked as Nathaniel pushed into the front garden.
He paused to take in his surroundings. The grounds were a bit of a mess and quite run down, distressed, untended.
Nathaniel hadn’t been to the island in twenty years, but he remembered Dad’s beautiful garden and lawn. Where weeds now grew, there’d been a rose bed. Along the lattice of the veranda, Dad had mulched beds of hedges and hibiscus. Nate only remembered because of the alliteration—hedges and hibiscus. Gardens were Dad’s pastime. He said it helped him commune with God. Hours upon hours he’d kneel in the dirt, digging and planting, tending and pruning. Communing.
When he became ill, so did his gardens.
Nathaniel walked up the tattered path, pausing halfway to the house. He’d not inherited his father’s skill with plants and flowers, but he knew of someone who might have an eye for restoring the garden’s glory. Perhaps a beautiful landscape architect in need of employ.
Jonathan stepped onto the veranda from the kitchen, letting the screen door clack behind him.
“You’re in the news.” He held up his iPad.
“American or Brightonian?” Nathaniel joined his aide on the porch. A steady sea-salt breeze brushed under the eaves. With a final glance at the garden, he made up his mind. For his father’s sake, he’d do something about the garden’s abysmal state. It would warm the king’s heart.
“Brightonian. We kept you out of the local paper here. Mrs. Butler kept her part of the bargain.” Jonathan hooked a chair with his sandaled foot and sat as he began to read. “Though she was pretty upset at you for disappearing.”
“Invite her to tea. I’ll apologize.” Nathaniel sat in the adjacent chair. He listened as Jon read aloud, tension building in his chest.
“‘ … with the king growing ill, is Prince Nathaniel ready to take on the kingdom and manage the end of the entail? He can’t even seem to find love and a wife and secure the House of Stratton with an heir.’”
“Jon, seriously, are you making that up?”
“Reading straight off the LibP’s web page.”
“The Liberty Press? And they call themselves a fine newspaper of record … Is there a point to all of this?”
“Yes, I’m getting to it.” He scrolled down. “Ah, here ‘tis. ‘We have a suggestion for the prince—Lady Genevieve Hawthorne.’” Jonathan paused to peer at Nathaniel.
“Oh mercy. And who wrote this inspired piece?”
“Claudette Hein.”
“Ah, of course.” She was one of Ginny’s best friends and a fiery, active Hessenberg reporter writing for Brighton’s leading paper, the Liberty Press.
“And I should marry Ginny because she’s a distant cousin to Prince Francis?”
Jonathan shifted forward, setting aside his iPad. “Naturally. She could make the end of the entail like a fairy tale. A Hessen princess, from the line of Prince Francis, giving the country independence, making them a sovereign nation again. It would earn you a lot of points with the people.”
“What about this people?” Nathaniel tapped his chest. “I’ve to live with myself and the decisions I make.”
He stood and leaned against the nearest porch post. Today, he didn’t want to talk about entails and agreements or marrying out of duty. He wanted to imagine a lush garden and a beautiful woman in the midst. Susanna. But his thoughts were trapped in the discussion of the entail. “Ginny is not Hessenberg’s solution. She’s not in the grand duke’s royal line, just a very distant cousin through a morganatic marriage a hundred and fifty years ago. The Hawthornes gave up their rights to the throne long before the entail.”
“But the entail ends next year, Nathaniel. People are getting restless, looking for a solution. Is it possible for Hessenberg to be independent again? The EU has promised their financial support to help Hessenberg stand on her own.”
“Yes and generous trade agreements are being discussed with the UK and Germany. But if it requires me to marry Ginny …” He’d have to consider it, wouldn’t he? Could he just reject it out of hand?
“King Nathaniel I and Prince Francis must have had something in mind by requiring an heir at the end of the entail.” Nathaniel determined to seek for it.
“Certainly, Hessenberg was the last autocrat. Prince Francis, well, the House of Augustine-Saxon practically owned all of Hessenberg.”
“‘Tis why they were in no shape for a war.”
“A hundred years later, Nate”—Jonathan shook his head—”Ginny looks like heir enough.”
“She’s a noble. Not a royal. Prince Francis wanted Hessenberg to return to the royal family.”
Judging from King Nathaniel I’s diaries, Nathaniel knew his great-great-grandfather valued the role of kings in government and culture. It’s why he agreed to aid Prince Francis in the first place. To save a nation. Now the end of the entail looked to fall to the next King Nathaniel. Him.
“It doesn’t matter what they wanted, Nathaniel. It matters what you and your father want.”
“But it does matter what they wanted. Maybe they a
re gone, but their will projects on us today. King Nathaniel I’s blood flows through my veins.” Nathaniel returned to his seat and reached for Jon’s iPad. “I’ll not marry a woman I don’t love. I value freedom and independence, but I also value true love.” He scrolled through the story. “Do you think Ginny knew about this piece? She and Claudette go back to university.”
“Who knows? Does Ginny want to be the heir? If so, the only way for her to become a royal is to marry one. That’s you, chap.”
“There’s my brother, the formidable Prince Stephen.” Nathaniel handed back the iPad. He didn’t want to read any more. It soured his thoughts of the garden and the girl. “That would be a train wreck.”
“Something baffles me, Nathaniel,” Jon said. “You’ve been friends with Ginny for years. Romantically linked in times past.”
“We went on a few dates.” Besides, he’d not yet met someone like Susanna.
“Why not marry her? She’s a Brightonian icon. Olympic champion. Miss Brighton Universe. I don’t think I need to remind you that she’s hot, my friend. Unbelievably hot.”
“There’s more to a relationship than hot, Jon.” There was Susanna. Beautiful in every way.
“Yes, but it’s a fantastic start.”
Nathaniel glared at his dignified aide. “You marry her then.”
“Me? I’m not even titled. She’s of higher rank than I am, technically speaking.”
“Well, then, I’ll take care of that straightaway when we return home. I’ll have the king grant you knighthood. Sir Jonathan Oliver.”
“Fine, but it buys Ginny nothing. She doesn’t want a knight; she wants a crown prince.”
“She’ll grow gray waiting.”
The notion of partnering with Genevieve ruffled Nathaniel to his core. The pressure to marry was always on the crown prince, but the pressure to marry someone specific was new and unwelcome.
“Come on, Nate.” Jonathan locked his hands behind his head, posturing himself as if they were discussing rugby scores instead of Nathaniel’s life, his heart, the future of two nations. “Lady Genevieve may be an easy solution to a very emotional problem.”
“Easy for whom?” No doubt Ginny was a Brightonian star. But not his star. Though Mum and most of the royal court seemed to love her. “The entailment requires a legitimate heir with rights to the throne. Ginny is not legitimate.”
“Too bad you can’t just style her as royal princess and be done with it.”
“If the Crown styles her as a princess before the lease ends, we’ll find ourselves before a European Union court. Not to mention the sanctions of our own Parliament. Or the fact it would appear as if a royal title can be bought. Sold to the highest bidder.”
“So if not Ginny, who are you going to marry?”
“The woman I love.” Nathaniel moved to the edge of the veranda and gazed over the lawn. “I’m thinking of redoing the garden. I think Dad would like that. What do you think?”
“We? As in you and me? I can’t grow weeds, let alone real honest-to-goodness flowers.”
“Susanna is a landscape architect.”
“The girl who took you from Mrs. Butler’s dinner?” Jonathan joined Nathaniel at the veranda steps. “Please don’t tell me you fancy her.”
“She’s recently unemployed. A small, quick landscape hire might be just be the encouragement she needs.”
“Avoidance equals a confession.”
“I admit nothing.”
“You’ve not even told me how you met her.”
“Nor will I.” He treasured the memory of meeting her under the tree. With the rest of his life spilling into Brighton and Hessenberg papers, he’d keep Susanna his secret. “I think she’d do a lovely job on the garden.”
“If you want to redo the garden, I’ll arrange for proposals from other landscapers and architects.” Jon jogged down the steps and kicked at the lawn’s brown, weedy edge.
“No need. Susanna is my choice.” Nathaniel motioned to the small enclosed area. “It’s one garden, Jon.”
“You do fancy her.” Jon stared over at him. “Nathaniel, what are you thinking? She knows who you are and—”
“She doesn’t.” Nathaniel reached for the green leaves swaying in the breeze from the end of a sagging tree branch. “I introduced myself as Nate Kenneth.”
“What about your speech at the benefit?”
“She was outside on her mobile.”
“How convenient.”
“Yes, quite.” Nathaniel made a face at Jonathan. “But I’m a prince, not a miracle worker. The call was purely coincidence.”
“This is a waste of your time.”
“Redoing the garden is a perfect use of my time.”
“You know what I mean, Nathaniel.”
“Shall you ring her for an appointment or shall I?”
“I’ll arrange it.” Jonathan retrieved his iPad.
“While you’re at it, please call Mrs. Butler. Invite her to tea. I’ll apologize for my absence last night.”
“Already done. Scheduled for today at four.”
“Good, good. Arrange for Susanna to come in the morning, will you?” Or tonight. Perhaps right now.
If he could, Nathaniel would spend every day of his holiday with her.
A garden project would be the perfect connection. And the perfect barrier. Intrigued by her, drawn to her, Nathaniel realized Jonathan’s alarm was just. He must guard himself. He could never be anything more than friends with Susanna Truitt.
Tuesday morning, Susanna woke early, slipped on a pair of shorts and a top, gathered some boxes she’d left in the garage from her initial move back to the island, and headed to the office.
Gage was there, but he made himself scarce while she collected her stuff. Only Myrna tried to stop her.
“Suz, stay. He needs you. We all need you. You’re the calm in the storm.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t, Myrna. I have to do this. I can’t explain why. I just know I do.”
Susanna carried her boxes to her car, exhilarated. She was free—really free—finishing what Adam had started. Kicking her plans and comfort zones out from under her.
Next she stopped by the hospital to sit with Daddy. He was out of surgery and recuperating in his room.
“Surgery went like a dream,” Mama had whispered with emotion when Susanna had called earlier to check on him.
By noon, she was home again with a free afternoon stretching ahead of her. She’d never had a day of nothing before.
By two, she’d cleaned the kitchen cabinets and vacuumed and mopped the tile floor. After a second shower, she grabbed an orange and headed out to the backyard deck.
“Suz, you here?”
“Yeah, back deck.” Susanna squinted over her shoulder through the sunbeams to see Gracie stroll toward her.
Best friends comforted the soul like none other.
Plopping down in the Adirondack chair beside Susanna, Gracie gathered her dark hair and piled it on top of her head. “Man, it’s hot.” She eyed Susanna’s orange. “Are you going to eat that?”
“I am eating it.” Susanna peeled off a slice for Gracie.
“So I have a question.” Gracie shoved the piece into her mouth. “How come I had to hear about my best friend breaking up with her boyfriend from Mary Jo at the produce market?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah? Doing what? You quit your job too.”
Susanna looked askance. “How’d you find out?”
“Myna called me. You know she’s thick as thieves with my Aunt Lisa.”
“Sorry.” She passed Gracie another orange slice. That ought to buy her an ounce of forgiveness. “I was going to call you but—”
“It’s okay, Suz.” Gracie lifted her face to the sun. “After fifteen years of friendship, I know you need time to process. But can I just say, wow, I’m proud of you. The girl with the plan, the girl who researches impulse buys, is freestyling it.” Gracie held out her hand for another slice. �
��Remember that bicycle you wanted to buy a few years ago?”
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?” Susanna passed over more of her orange. “I just wanted to get the right bike. Make sure I would really use it.”
“And you last rode it … when?” Gracie nodded at the yellow beach bike chained to the back porch.
“You think you’re so funny. I was going to go for a ride tonight.” Susanna made a face at her. “But Mama’s got me running the Rib Shack while she sits with Daddy.”
“If I didn’t know your mama so well, I’d say that was a lousy excuse, working at the Shack. How’s your dad, by the way? Which I forgive you for, for not calling me when he was rushed to the hospital.” Gracie held out her hand and Susanna just handed over the rest of the orange.
“I was going to call you. And ride my bike.” A ride through the island sunshine would be nice … a sweet breeze in her hair, sunshine on her shoulders, the sweet kiss of her freedom in her heart.
“So, really. How are you doing, Suz? Why’d you quit?”