Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door

by Jackie Braun

  Holly waited until the weather settled down to call her parents. She had been gone nearly eighteen hours. Her father would be irritated by her disappearance. Her mother would be livid. A small part of her hoped they would also be worried. Instantly, she felt guilty. Of course, she didn’t want them to worry. Besides, she was a grown woman. Wanting them to worry was childish, petty.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out her cell phone. While she’d been in the shower, Nate must have been in her room. The window had been closed and the bed remade with fresh linens. A pale lavender coverlet was turned down, revealing floral sheets beneath. Leftovers from his parents, no doubt. The other ones would have been perfectly fine, but she appreciated his thoughtfulness. If only she could be sure it was thoughtfulness. Recalling the conversation she’d overheard earlier, she wondered if hospitality had been at the root of his actions, or embarrassment.

  She’s out of my league.

  Long ago, Holly had come to terms with the fact that to some people—most people—she would always have a title before her name. Ultimately, that was why she hadn’t been completely truthful with Nate when they were children.

  When she’d started coming to the island at ten, her being a princess had been an afterthought in her mind. He was the son of northern Michigan resort owners. She was the daughter of European royalty. Later, she’d liked just a little too much that he saw her as a girl rather than, well, a goal. Even back then, the mothers of sons from around the kingdom had been busy trying to arrange meetings.

  As if she hadn’t felt conspicuous enough.

  “Winning your favor would be quite a coup,” Olivia had explained, when Holly had asked her mother about the fuss.

  For the mothers or for the boys? she’d wondered. But Holly hadn’t bothered to ask.

  She frowned now. Not at the memories of awkward first dances and dinners, but at her phone. She wasn’t getting a signal.

  She was halfway down the stairs when Nate started up. They hadn’t finished their earlier conversation; instead she’d taken the easy way out and retreated upstairs after Hank’s untimely interruption.

  They eyed one another warily now.

  “Need something?” Nate asked.

  “I was hoping to place a call to my parents, but my cell isn’t receiving a signal.”

  “Only a couple of carriers work on the island and even then, service is spotty at best. You can use the phone in the kitchen,” he offered.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him she would be phoning abroad and certain charges would apply. But since she’d already offended him once by offering to pay for her room, she remained mum. Somehow, she would find a way to compensate him.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded and started up. Two steps past her he stopped. “Do your parents know where you are?”

  “Not exactly.” The note she’d had Henry give Olivia just said that Holly was safe and would be in touch with contact information.

  “Does anyone?”

  She offered a half smile. “You do.”

  He frowned. “This island is a good place to get away, Holly, but people here read newspapers and own televisions. We’re not backward.”

  “I never said you were,” she replied defensively.

  “But you thought it.”

  She folded her arms. “You don’t know what I think.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.” The apology turned empty when he said, “I don’t know you well enough.”

  She swallowed, a little unnerved by how badly it hurt for him to say so. There was a time when she’d thought he was the only person on the planet who remotely got who she was.

  Nate continued. “Look, all I’m saying is that even Hank thought you looked familiar and he’s hardly the sort to pay attention to the news, much less the tabloids.”

  She lifted her chin a notch. “As you said earlier, I managed to hide in plain sight when I was a girl.”

  “Yeah, but as you said earlier, you were decked out in shorts and pigtails back then.”

  “I left my tiara home for this trip, too,” she said dryly. “And I didn’t pack a single ball gown. I think I can fit in. Before the flight over with Hank, a woman in town told me I looked like Princess Hollyn. We both laughed. After all, what would Princess Hollyn Saldani of Morenci be doing here?”

  “It’s not the French Riviera,” he agreed on a drawl.

  “No. It’s far more appealing.”

  Her satisfaction at his surprise was short-lived.

  “Never been there, so I wouldn’t know.” With a shrug, he continued up the steps.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WHERE in God’s name are you?” Olivia boomed as soon as she came on the line, her tone far more threatening than the earlier thunder.

  Just as Holly had suspected, it wasn’t worry that had her mother’s voice rising a couple of octaves, but outrage. Holly brought the receiver back to her ear and replied, “I’m safe.”

  “That’s not an answer, Hollyn.”

  “And I’m not a child, Mother.”

  “Then stop acting like one and return home immediately. You have obligations. You have functions to attend, some of which we have already had to postpone or cancel.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her mother’s tone moderated and lost the Texas twang it acquired whenever Olivia was good and upset. “When can we expect you?”

  “As I said in my note, I won’t be gone long. I’ll be home in a week.” Holly wasn’t sure what made her add, “Or closer to ten days.”

  “Hollyn!”

  She held the phone away from her ear again, missing part of what her mother was saying. What she caught when she brought it back was “People are depending on you.”

  Holly’s shoulders sagged even as her chest grew tight. “I know they are, Mother.”

  “I might have expected a stunt like this when you were in your teens, but you’re a grown woman. I know it’s different, but when I was your age, I was already wearing the Miss Texas crown and had competed nationally. I was living up to my obligations.”

  Vastly different, and that was your choice. But Holly didn’t say the words out loud. She had no desire to rehash what was a very old argument and one she apparently had no hope of ever winning. In addition to knowing best, her mother was always right.

  “Where are you?” Olivia asked a second time. “I’m assuming that you are no longer in Morenci. We’ve already checked all of your usual haunts and hideouts. Discreetly, of course, since the photographers have been on the lookout for you as well.”

  “Actually, I’m no longer in Europe. I’m in America.”

  “Heart Island.”

  Holly was sure her mother issued the words through clenched teeth.

  “Yes.”

  “Why in God’s name would you go there?”

  Olivia had never understood either Gran’s or Holly’s attachment to the island. There was nothing to do on that rugged patch of land, she claimed. No department stores to shop at, no fancy restaurants to dine in, no culture whatsoever to be had unless one went to what remained of a British fort, one of the last holdings from the War of 1812. The fort itself had burned to the ground, but some of its foundation remained, and a large, green historical marker rose in the center, explaining the place’s significance.

  Big whoop, to use Olivia’s old vernacular.

  “It’s peaceful here,” Holly said. Even as the storm rumbled in the distance, she knew that to be true.

  “It’s peaceful at that discreet little spa that’s tucked up in the hillside just outside Cannes.”

  Another argument that Holly couldn’t win. Her and Olivia’s views on what constituted a relaxing sojourn were just too different, which explained why her mother had been bored to tears the couple of times during Olivia’s childhood that Gran had taken her camping. Fishing, beachcombing, hiking trails—those things had amounted to torture in Olivia’s book.

  As Gran used to say, “I guess my love
for the outdoors skipped a generation.”

  And Olivia’s love for wearing fancy gowns and a crown had skipped a generation, too.

  “Phillip has called several times already,” her mother said now.

  Holly wanted to feel elated at the news or at least suitably guilty that the man she’d been linked with for the past several months was anxious to reach her. What she felt was … nothing. There was a great black hole in her emotions where Phillip was concerned.

  They’d met more than a year ago when his company had been awarded one of the kingdom’s highest honors for its environmental record. Her mother had insisted Holly call him personally after the award ceremony to invite him to the special dinner for honorees held at the palace.

  She’d done so, and she’d sat next to him in the palace’s opulent dining hall. They’d talked, laughed. It had been enough to convince Olivia of their suitability, especially given his flush bank account and impeccable breeding.

  After that, Phillip had turned up at all sorts of events at the queen’s urging. Holly was used to her mother’s machinations. She’d seen no harm at first, despite Olivia’s claim that it was time Holly settle down and marry.

  “You’ll be thirty before you know it.” That warning first came not long after Holly turned twenty. These days it was her mother’s stock phrase.

  Phillip was handsome, thoughtful and accomplished. He treated Holly like the queen she would someday become. Both in public and in private he said all of the right things. He did all of the right things, too, deferring to her position, all while making it clear he was in no way without authority.

  Yet, if he never called her again, Holly would easily forget he existed. That wasn’t right, but it was a fact. One that only she seemed to think mattered. Even Phillip had changed the subject the few times she’d tried to broach it with him.

  “You had plans to attend the opera for the opening night of Madame Butterfly last evening,” her mother was reminding her. “His family box remained dark. We issued a press release saying you’d fallen ill, which also helped to explain your earlier absence from the annual garden show, but you know how easily rumors get started and then spread, Hollyn. I’m sure they are already swirling.”

  “Yes.” And her mother was only too happy to help them along when it suited her agenda. Hence the widespread notion that an engagement to Phillip was imminent, even though Holly had been dragging her feet in accepting his proposal of marriage. “I’ll call him later. Apologize.”

  Holly would, too. Phillip was a decent man. He deserved that much.

  “He’s worried about you. And a little hurt.”

  Holly felt a twinge of guilt. No matter her feelings—or lack of them—where Phillip was concerned, she hadn’t intended to make him worry or hurt his feelings. “Phillip said that?”

  “Well, not in so many words,” her mother replied. “But I could hear it in his voice. You took off without a word to anyone, including him.”

  “Did you tell him the truth? Or does he also think I’m unwell.”

  “I thought it best to tell him the truth, just in case your image winds up in the tabloids, completely refuting our claims of illness. After all, the two of you are betrothed.”

  Holly’s guilt evaporated. Annoyance took its place. “Phillip and I aren’t betrothed. Yes, he’s asked, but I haven’t said yes, Mother.”

  A moot point, apparently. This was yet another decision being made by forces beyond Holly’s control. Olivia’s next words made that much clear.

  “But you will. He’s perfect for you, Hollyn. So much more pragmatic than you are, my dear,” she said on a sigh. “That’s exactly what you need. He’ll help keep your feet planted firmly on the ground. Together, the two of you make an excellent team.”

  A team?

  How lovely. And how romantic. But to her mother’s way of thinking, when it came to the marriage of her only daughter, true love wasn’t as important as bloodlines and tradition.

  Olivia had her reasons, and Holly understood them even if she wasn’t quite willing to bow to them any longer. Her parents’ romance had been scandalous and deemed unacceptable by the older guard, including Holly’s father’s parents. Even though both of them were deceased now, Olivia was still desperate to toe the line and make her daughter do the same.

  It had taken Olivia years to be taken seriously. For that reason, she was determined that her only child be above reproach.

  Her mother continued. “Just as importantly, Phillip is the ideal husband for Morenci’s future queen.” Olivia ticked off his attributes, all of which Holly had heard before. “He comes from a prominent and well-regarded family. He has his own fortune, which grows daily thanks to his business acumen. If there are skeletons in the man’s closet, none have been found. And believe me, your father and I have hired the most tenacious people to look.”

  “Mother—”

  “I want to spare you the scrutiny your father faced for marrying me.”

  “You’re a wonderful queen and a caring mother.” It was true. Even as Holly chafed against Olivia’s sometimes overbearing actions, she understood it was love that guided them.

  “A spring wedding would be lovely,” Olivia was saying. “It would give Morencians something to look forward to. And, God knows, with the current economic conditions and that nasty flood that damaged so much of the business district last fall, they need something to buoy their spirits. Your nuptials, my dear, are just what the doctor ordered for our country.”

  Forget the weight on her shoulders. Now, Holly felt queasy, and her legs turned to rubber. Before they gave out completely, she managed to slip onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Outside, the rain that an hour ago had been torrential was merely insistent as it tapped at the window.

  She rubbed her left temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache start to take hold. So much responsibility, Holly thought, as the heavy yoke began to settle firmly into place once again.

  “Mother, please.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave talk of weddings to a later date. When can we expect you?”

  “I already told you—”

  “When?” Olivia interrupted.

  A cartoon stuck to Nate’s refrigerator door caught Holly’s attention. It showed a sloe-eyed man lounging on a dock with a pole in one hand, a beverage in the other. Gone Fishing, it read. So simple. So utterly ideal. “A week at the earliest. I’ll call if I decide to be longer.”

  “H-H-Hollyn!” Olivia sputtered.

  Holly talked over her protest. “Sorry. I have to go. There’s a storm here and the reception isn’t very good. I’ll call again soon. I promise. Give my love to Father.” And with that, she hung up.

  Nate spied Holly when he reached the bottom of the stairs. She was seated on the couch with her arms wrapped around her knees, which she’d pulled to her chest. Her gaze was on the window, but he doubted she was seeing anything, both because of the darkness and the vacancy of her expression. Even a far-off flash of lightning failed to make her blink.

  He almost turned back around. He didn’t want to disturb her. But she looked so lost, and, given her pose and the way she’d pulled back her hair, a lot like the girl she’d been.

  “I’m thinking that phone call didn’t go very well.”

  She started at the sound of his voice and uncoiled. It was almost comical the way she smoothed down her shorts once her feet were settled on the ground, as if she were wearing a silk ball gown rather than simple cotton.

  “Not very well, no.”

  “Parents worry,” he said, thinking of his own. “I talk to my folks regularly and without fail my mother still asks if I’ve been taking my vitamins.”

  He’d hoped to get a laugh out of her, or at least a smile. Her frown deepened. “My relationship with my parents, my mother in particular, is a little more complicated.”

  “I know.” He took a seat on the couch, leaving a full cushion between them.

  “Sometimes I feel like she’s more worried ab
out how I’ll fare in the history books a few generations from now than, well, about me. I know she has her reasons, but …” Her frown deepened. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Okay. What?”

  She turned, the beginnings of a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “How about you? From what you said earlier, I know you attended university and after graduation lived in Chicago for a time. What else?”

  That was broad enough to keep him talking for hours. Nate would much rather rehash her life. God knew, he wanted some of the blanks filled in, blanks that the tabloids couldn’t possibly know or get right. Had she really been in love with him all those years ago? Had she hoped, as much as he had, that they could find a way to be together? Did she love this guy she was supposedly going to marry?

  Instead of asking any of those questions, he nodded.

  He wasn’t completely comfortable talking about himself, especially since his life, even what he considered the highlights, might not be all that exciting from her point of view. But she smiled, nodded encouragingly, as he told her about the summer internship he’d had between his junior and senior years of college at a hotel in New York’s Times Square.

  “New York is something,” Holly said. “So much energy and so much to do. It’s my mother’s favorite city, though she wouldn’t admit to that publicly for obvious reasons.”

  “It’s something,” he agreed. Though he had a feeling she’d enjoyed a bird’s-eye view from some penthouse apartment, where he’d shared a tiny walk-up with four other interns in a section of the city that wouldn’t make it on any tourist maps.

  “Anyway, after graduation from the University of Michigan, I took a job in Chicago and attended Northwestern in the evenings to earn my MBA.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  He shrugged, but damn if he wasn’t warmed by her compliment.

  “And now I’m here.”

  “Doing what you love.”

  She’d summed it up perfectly. All he could do was nod.

  “I envy you that,” she said softly.

  “You envy me.” He realized as soon as he said it that he’d insulted her.