To Love a Prince

by Rachel Hauck

  When the singer arrived at night with her guitar, he served drinks and wiped down the bar, letting the lyrics of hope and love seep in.

  Maybe, just maybe… One day. Years from now. He’d fall in love again. Truth be told, there were enough love songs in the world—including the entire Beatles’ collection—to win him back to romance. To trust another woman with his heart. He just needed gobs of time.

  By the time he’d sliced the pile of limes then lemons for happy hour, the first wave of spring breakers arrived, sunburned and shivering.

  “Helene, I’m going to bus some tables.” Filling a bucket with hot water and soap, Gus grabbed a clean towel and an empty bin for the dirties and headed out to the tables.

  Out on the deck, he collected dishes and wiped the tables, his mind drifting back to Daffy, his true identity and duty, and the reality that John’s wedding was a mere eight weeks away. The ball? Seven weeks. Gus must do a smashing job for John because his brother did nothing less for him.

  His past must not continue to impact the future—especially his brother’s future. Gus must take back control of his life.

  Wringing out his towel, Gus looked out over the beach toward the ocean and the pinkish red sunset. He’d miss this place but it was time—

  “You want to tell me what’s going on?” Helene reached for the tub and began clearing the last table. “How was Adler this morning?”

  “Delirious with joy, chasing the Frisbee up and down the beach.”

  “Don’t make her like you more than me. She is my dog.” Her deep chuckle carried the rasp of a former smoker.

  “She adores you.” Gus moved to wipe down the table.

  Helene anchored the loaded bin on her hip. “You have something to tell me, Pete? Or should I say, Prince Augustus?”

  He paused in mid-motion, then went back to wiping the table. “How long have you known?”

  “Since you handed me your papers.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I read up on you. I understood why you were here. I wanted to give you space.”

  “Thank you.” He dropped the dish towel in the bucket with a splash. “I almost feel myself again.”

  “But?”

  “My brother’s getting married and I need to be there for him.” Gus reached for the bucket as a group of bikini-clad girls approached the deck. “I’ve shirked too many duties. It’s tradition for the brother or sister of the groom to host a wedding ball, which takes place the week before the ceremony. More than host really, I’m responsible for the entire event. From planning to execution. To make it all about the happy couple. My brother was there for me when I was getting married. Never complained that his little brother would stand at the altar before him. I should have gone home sooner. But I wasn’t ready. Told myself I didn’t want to leave you in a bind.”

  He still wasn’t ready to face the media, but he was ready to see his family and friends.

  A clatter sounded from the kitchen. Helene called toward the kitchen. “Roswell, everything all right?” The old cook answered like a drunken sailor. Helene grinned and turned for the door. “I’d better get in there. When do you want to leave?”

  And just like that, his time in Florida was over.

  “Next week, I reckon.”

  Helene hesitated, then walked over for a one-arm embrace. “I’m going to miss you. I’d like to say you were the son I never had, but even I couldn’t believe I’d ever give birth to a prince.”

  “A prince is nothing more than a son, a brother, a friend.” Gus rested his chin on the top of her frizzy hair. “You and my mum would get along just fine.”

  “Stop or you’ll make me cry.” Helene pulled away as another crash echoed from the bowels of the Hideaway. “What is going on in there?”

  Gus laughed, his eyes misting. What was it his grandfather used to say? “If you didn’t miss where you’ve been, it didn’t mean that much to you.”

  He wished he’d known his grandfather King Rein IV better. He died just after Gus’s fifth birthday.

  Finishing outside, Gus dumped the dirty dish water and headed to load the dishwasher, surprised, yet not surprised, to see Carmen standing there.

  “I thought you called off.”

  “I changed my mind.” The man-child of twenty-two loaded the dishes.

  “Carmen, I’m leaving soon. I’ve business elsewhere. Try to step it up for Helene.”

  He looked at Gus with surprise. “Where’re you going?”

  “Home.” To stand on precious Lauchtenland soil once again. The nation in the North Sea that defeated the Normans. That held off the Nazis when threatened, and that was becoming the Silicon Valley of Europe.

  Now that he’d made up his mind, a tightness he didn’t know he had eased. He’d call John on his break. Let him know he’d be there for him.

  Just like you were for me.

  A lot of things had changed in the last year. He’d lost weight, muscled up, and become a regular Joe. Or a regular Pete as it were.

  But it was time to be a prince again. To put the past behind him. Once and for all.

  Chapter Three

  Daffy

  She was lost in a romance novel when Leslie Ann knocked on her door. They’d come in after lunch for naps and for assessing their sunburns.

  Leslie Ann was burned but Ella was roasted. Daffy refrained from saying, “I told you so.” She, on the other hand, was a golden color with a touch of pink on her nose.

  “I’m starving,” Leslie Ann said, smelling of aloe lotion. “Let’s go eat.”

  Daffy closed her book. “How’s the burn victim?”

  “Moaning. I just lathered her with lotion. She needs to get dressed.” Leslie Ann disappeared down the hall. “Ella, come on, we’re going to the Hideaway.”

  “Just leave me for dead.” Ella’s response was muffled and pitiful.

  Daffy stepped around Leslie Ann and eased open Ella’s door. “You’ll feel better if you get moving. After you eat.”

  “Thank you for not saying ‘I told you so.’”

  “You’re welcome.”

  While Ella dressed to a constant chorus of “Ouch, ouch,” and “ooh, ooh,” Leslie Ann sorted the contents of her crossbody bag.

  Daffy took a seat on the couch to check her email and listened to Mum’s voice message.

  “Do you want to stage the wedding dresses at Hadsby for the ball?”

  Stage the royal wedding dresses? At Hadsby Castle? For the ball? Mum, why are you even asking? Of course! Daffy answered with a text. Mum and Dad would be getting ready for bed.

  Mum, yes!!!! I’ll stage the dresses. You know I’m dying to see the Princess Louisa.

  Good. Are you sure? You’ll have to go straight up after your holiday. Won’t you miss Thomas?

  He’ll understand. Seeing the Princess Louisa in person? I’m in.

  “Ella, sometime this century, love.” Leslie Ann joined Daffy on the couch. “What was your mum’s message? Something about Hadsby?”

  “Mum assigned me to the wedding dress parade at Hadsby.”

  “You’ll finally get to see the Louisa?” Leslie Ann gripped Daffy’s arm and gave her the look—the one that said, “Get me in to do a feature.”

  “You know the RT has strict media rules. You want to see the dress, go through the office.”

  “What’s the benefit of having a friend with the Royal Trust if she won’t do me favors?” Leslie Ann tapped on her phone. “I have so many stories developing I won’t have time anyway. Ella! Coming or not?”

  The Princess Louisa had set the standard in late nineteenth-and early twentieth-century wedding gowns. At least with the aristocracy and wealthy. Designed by an obscure Dalholm designer, Taffron Björk, the gown remained timeless. Taffron quickly faded from the fashion world, and the Louisa was his only known gown.

  As for Daffy, both the gown and Björk fascinated her. She wrote her dissertation on its unique mark in the fashion world and how the RT maintained the
gown one hundred twenty years later. She also recapped the life of the man who designed a wedding dress for a princess and was never heard of again.

  He died in ’48 at the age of ninety-two. In her research, Daffy stumbled upon a quote from his beloved wife, who died in ’55, claiming he’d designed one last special gown before his death. If he had, no one had ever seen it.

  “Help.” Ella appeared in the lounge wearing a yellow sundress, which only accentuated her radiating skin. She held her arms out to the side, her steps mimicking a bowlegged American cowboy. A bottle of Bactine dangling from her finger tips. “Spray me. I’m dying.”

  “Come here, love. You’re not dying.” Daffy reached for the bottle and coated her sister’s skin with the liquid contents.

  “I’m wondering why Ella and I look like Rudolph’s nose,” Leslie Ann said. “While Daffy looks like ‘The Girl from Ipanema.’ All golden and brown.”

  “I inherited the Italian blood.”

  “Italian blood? With your mass of red curls and blue eyes? Ella’s the one with dark hair and eyes.”

  “Take it up with the Almighty.” Daffy applied another layer of Bactine. For good measure. Ella winced with every touch. “I got the Lauchten and Italian side of Dad’s family. Ella is stuck with Mum’s Lauchten and Irish. I had no choice in the matter.”

  “Interesting.” Leslie Ann moved to the sliding glass door and stepped onto the deck. A saline breeze brushed through the cottage. “Well, you may have Italian blood and an enviable tan, but your face glowed this morning after talking to that shirtless chap with the abs.”

  “So? I was warm from my errand. And what abs? He had abs?” Daffy capped the Bactine and walked with Ella out to the deck.

  “Warm? The breeze was like ice. And don’t even tell me you didn’t see his abs. Lying doesn’t suit you.”

  “No, that’s your thing.” With a laugh, Daffy linked her arm through her friend’s. “We’re in Florida on holiday. How glorious!”

  “You lovelies go ahead.” Ella’s pace matched that of a hermit crab. “I’ll be along. Save me a seat.”

  “We can’t leave you behind.” Daffy and Leslie Ann flanked Ella and headed down the beach.

  The evening was stunning, cool and salty, full of sounds only God could create. Above them, the pinkish sunset swallowed the blue sky, and the scene demanded contemplation.

  Daffy sank into the silence as the three of them walked to the pub. Any more questions from Leslie Ann about the shirtless chap, and she’d blush again. This time she couldn’t blame the sun or a jog to the cottage and back.

  She didn’t understand the blushing. She wasn’t one to do so easily. But it started when she was a girl. Whenever the prince came round. Well, no worry. She’d not see him again.

  The Captain’s Hideaway was packed on this Monday night. A group of uni students hovered on the deck, the lads in Ohio State shirts and caps, the girls in tops adorned with Greek letters.

  “Excuse us. Pardon us.” Leslie Ann pushed inside, past the picnic tables to the high tops on the other side of the dining area. “Broadcast presenter coming through.”

  “They have no idea who you are, Leslie Ann,” Ella said as they cut through the crowd. “I thought this was a quiet, private beach. Where did these people come from?”

  “Probably on holiday, like us.” Daffy chose the only vacant seating and passed out the table menus. She liked the feel of this place. Peaceful, homey, as if one could come here to raise a pint and laugh with one’s mates.

  That’s what they did at home. The three of them along with their friends. They migrated to Pub Clemency on Friday nights to hang out with Kayle and Frank, Tonya and Marlow, Albert, Rick, Jones, and Thomas. If she moved to America, she’d miss those nights.

  “I’m having a cheeseburger.” Ella slapped her menu closed.

  “Same.” Leslie Ann shoved her menu aside and took out her phone. “Snapping a picture for the mates at home. Our Florida Pub Clemency.”

  Daffy smiled as the server, a young man with a surfer vibe, set down tall tumblers of water and asked if they were ready to order.

  Three for three. Cheeseburger, fries, and a diet fizzy.

  “If you see the chap who hit you with a Frisbee, point him out.” Leslie Ann scanned the room. “You might have a boyfriend, but I don’t.”

  Daffy rested her cheek in her hand as a warm blush bloomed on her cheeks. Don’t think about him. Prince Augustus had to stop turning her cheeks into candied apples. He was a friend—no, more like an acquaintance. An HRH. Royalty. Out of her league, no matter what their past.

  “Did you see the puddings?” Daffy reached for her menu again “What do you think of sharing the chocolate molten cake?”

  “Daff, your face is all blotchy.” Leslie Ann pressed her hand on the menu. “I barely mention the chap on the beach and look, we could fly a sleigh by your light.”

  “You exaggerate. Ella, cake for pudding?” Daffy put the menu away. “Really, LA, I’m not one of your interviewees on the Morning Show.

  “Did he ask you out?” Leslie Ann came at her again with her deep, controlled reporter voice. The one she’d used when she broke the university cheating scandal. “Is that why you’re blushing?”

  “Les, why are you making a deal of it?” Ella to the rescue. About time. “So she blushes?”

  “Yes, yes, he did ask me out.” Thank you, Leslie Ann, for the excuse. “After he inquired of the cottage. We’re madly in love. Going to get married as soon as the law allows.” Daffy leaned to see down the aisle. “Where is our server with those fizzies? I’m parched.”

  “Okay, fine, but don’t be a smarty.” Leslie Ann shoved Daffy’s tumbler of water toward her. “Drink this if you’re thirsty. Look, I’ve known you for thirteen years. I can’t recall you ever blushing. Well, except when Sprite Crandall dumped out your handbag and a tampon landed on his foot.”

  “He turned into a flaming bush.” Daffy slipped from her chair. “I think I’ll go to the loo.” She shot Ella a look. Not another word!

  Ella knew Daffy blushed when Prince Gus was around. It began during the writing of My Life with the Prince. Mum noticed it whenever Gus was around and teased her. The more she teased, the redder Daffy beamed. However, in the last eighteen years she’d not blushed once over the prince. Well, maybe a few times when she passed him at the palace. When she helped Mum with some Royal Trust function.

  Following the neon light to the loo, Daffy rounded a corner just as a chap came in from the deck toting a loaded bin of dishes. She cried out, but too late. The whole lot slipped from his hands and crashed on the floor.

  “I am so sorry.” Daffy dropped to clean up the mess at the exact same time as he, and their foreheads conked.

  She moaned. He swore. Then hollered for someone named Carmen to bring a mop and broom.

  “Please.” He raised his hand to stop her efforts to help. “I’ve got this. Go.”

  “It’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  He tossed a broken piece of glass into the bin as he reached for the broom and mop brought ’round by another chap. “You should go,” he said.

  “I insist—” When she looked up to plead her case, her eyes met his. “Your Highness.”

  “Pete, remember?”

  “You work here?” She lowered her voice to a raspy whisper.

  “Are you here with your mates?” He abandoned his American accent and spoke with the full lilt of home.

  “Leslie Ann insisted we come for burgers.”

  “But you’ve kept my secret?”

  “Of course. She knows nothing. Nor does Ella. They asked about the man on the beach and I told them you were interested in renting the cottage. Leslie Ann thinks you asked me on a date. I told her we were getting married to shut her up. You really hid here all year?”

  “Amazingly, yes.” His fingers grazed hers as they reached for the same glass. Daffy pulled away from the heat of his touch.

  “Rather brilliant, I say.” She
reached for the broom. “I’ll sweep, you mop.”

  After they cleaned up the mess, Prince Gus started for the kitchen, then hesitated. “I’ve avoided the Lauchtenland media for over a year. Do people wonder where I am?”

  “At first, you were all they talked about. But once your brother became engaged, the news focused on him.”

  “As it should. Is Lady Holland being embraced?” He set the bin on a counter just inside the kitchen entry.

  “I believe so. She’s very charming and classy. Well suited for the job of future queen.”

  “What do you think of her?”

  “Me?” She shrugged. “She seems very real and sweet. Beautiful and poised. Prince John seems to adore her.”

  “But how is she in person? She seems a grand choice but I only remember her from school days. And at a distance.”

  “I’ve never met her. Why and where would I?”

  Gus’s attention lingered on her. “With the Royal Trust, of course. At the portraiture. You attended my, my, you know…” He studied his worn black trainers. “Mum adores her and she and John have been friends for years. I guess Cupid finally fired his arrow and hit my brother.”

  So, it still bothered him. His story. How the American heiress ran off. Daffy had represented the Royal Trust during their wedding portrait, taking notes, describing the scene, documenting the marriage that would become part of Lauchtenland and House of Blue history for the generations to come. However, two months later, she removed the portrait from the frame and, along with her notes, stored the lot in the trust office’s attic.

  “You’ll be at the wedding, of course.” Her words were an attempt to fill the void.

  “Naturally. In fact, I must get home to arrange John’s wedding ball. The planners have done most of the work without me. But I should be there to tie all the ribbons and bows, make sure the affair is about John and Holland.”

  “Good, good. He’ll be glad, I’m sure.”

  “And you? What are you up to, besides preserving royal artifacts and helping me clean up dirty dishes?” He turned her face to see where the Frisbee hit. “And getting hit with runaway Frisbees.”