by Jackie Braun
Nate blinked at that. “Off the marina dock. Really?”
Mick was nodding. “A kid of about ten hauled that one up, and with a bamboo pole of all things. No proper reel even. Even the old-timers who camp out at the end of the dock were impressed.”
“And a little envious, I bet.”
“Yep. That kind of luck and the good memories of today will bring the family back next year.”
Which gave Nate an idea.
The older man’s expression soured, but Nate was only half listening as Mick launched into a lengthy complaint about the cormorants he’d seen earlier on a sandbar a hundred yards off the marina. The diving birds could ruin a good fishing spot.
Nate was busy putting together some supplies. The rod he selected offered good flex. The reel wasn’t top-of-the-line, but it would do the job. He had bobbers, sinkers and hooks in the tackle box back at his house. As well as the other equipment necessary to do a little recreational fishing.
Meanwhile, Mick had wound himself up good. “Damned birds are pests!” Next he would be declaring that they should be shot on sight regardless of their protection under the federal law as migratory fowl.
Nate glanced over at him when Mick became silent. A frown wrinkled the older man’s forehead.
“What are you doing there? Something happen to that fancy rod and reel of yours?”
“This is for someone else. A guest.” Nostalgia had him smiling. “She used to be one hell of an angler.”
“She forget to bring her stuff this trip?”
“Something like that,” Nate replied.
Mick seemed to accept the explanation. Then he remarked. “I saw you out driving with a girl today. The Burns boys told me she was an old friend of the family.”
Nate cleared his throat. “Old friend. Exactly.”
Mick looked about as convinced as Nate felt in offering the description. He tried again. “Holly. You remember her.” How could anyone forget her? “She, um, used to come here with her grandmother when she was a kid.”
Mick’s eyes narrowed. “That skinny little kid with the funny accent?”
Nate nearly choked on his laughter. He figured Holly would be as amused by the description as he was. “That’s one way to describe her. She wasn’t from around these parts.” He coughed and added a vague “Europe.”
“Europe?”
Let’s not go there. So, Nate redirected. “Yes, but her grandmother was from Texas. Add those two locations together and it’s no wonder you thought she talked a little funny.”
The older man was nodding, “Sure, sure. I remember her now. The grandmother was a looker. I seem to remember some talk …” Mick’s words trailed off and he glanced sharply at Nate.
“The island gets under people’s skin. Once they’ve come here, experienced it, they always find their way back.”
“I’d say so.” Mick’s expression was knowing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE was the one seated on the deck enjoying a beer when he arrived home a couple of hours later. Any awkwardness she might have felt evaporated when she spied the fishing pole.
Her eyes lit up like a kid’s at Christmas. “Is that for me?”
Nate nodded. “I didn’t figure you had remembered to pack your fishing pole.”
He’d attached the reel at the marina. It just needed tackle and some bait and she would be ready to cast the line into the bay.
“It’s perfect.”
“It’s a fishing pole.”
“Yes, but you’re the only person I know who would think to give me one.”
From her tone and glowing expression he knew she meant that as a compliment.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can we go fishing?”
“Right now?”
Some of her excitement dimmed. “I’m sorry. You probably have other things to do.”
He couldn’t think of one. For that matter, even if he did, he would have cleared his schedule, just to see her eyes light up again.
“It’s not that, Holly. It’s the license. We used to sell them at the marina, but since the state Department of Natural Resources and Environment started leasing office space from us last summer, we decided to leave that to them.”
“They’re closed for the day,” she ventured.
“Besides, the best fishing around here is in the morning off the marina dock.”
“I guess I can wait.” She leaned the pole against the cedar siding. “Patience is a virtue, or so I’ve been told.”
Patience. Nate was feeling anything but at the moment. Need growled along with his stomach.
“Dinner,” he blurted out. “We should eat.”
Holly claimed not to be hungry, but she was a guest in his home, under his care, and he knew she hadn’t eaten much all day. Now it was past seven o’clock.
Briefly, Nate considered making spaghetti. He was quite capable of boiling water, cooking pasta and heating up sauce from a jar. Chop up some lettuce for a salad, add in some garlic toast and it was a tasty and filling meal. One that had been a staple of his diet during college. It still was when he chose to eat in. But spaghetti—even paired with a salad and some garlic bread, neither of which he had on hand—wouldn’t address the main issue.
If they stayed in, they would be alone. No chaperones. No excuses to heed. As much as Nate wanted to be with Holly, he didn’t want to rush things. That roller coaster be damned. She wasn’t the only one who didn’t trust herself.
“How about we go out?” he asked.
“If that’s what you want.”
What he wanted? Nate bit back a groan. He wasn’t going to go there.
“Out. Definitely.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just going to change my, uh …” He motioned to his clothing, wondering what he had in his closet besides T-shirts that didn’t require an iron’s attention.
Her brow crinkled. “Should I change as well?”
“No.” She was perfect just as she was.
Upstairs, Nate decided on a quick shower and, after a glance at his reflection in the mirror, a shave. He took a little extra care with his hair, adding in some styling gel that the woman who regularly cut his hair had recommended. He was overdue for a cut, so he hoped it would tame the worst of his waves. While he was at it, he gargled with a mint-flavored mouthwash and slapped on some cologne whose cap was layered in dust from disuse.
In his bedroom closet, he found a pair of khaki shorts. No cargo pockets on the sides of these. He added a pale blue button-down shirt. He could have left it untucked, but he decided to go the more formal route, which required him to add a belt. Sandals and sneakers were out. Nate had a pair of deck shoes … somewhere. He found them under his bed surrounded by dust bunnies.
“You look very nice,” Holly said when he came downstairs. “And do I smell cologne?”
Nate felt heat gather in his cheeks. “I showered,” he said by way of explanation.
“Your hair looks different, too.”
He shrugged. “Combed it.”
“Very debonair.” She tucked away a smile. She was teasing him.
“I may not be Prince Charming, but I don’t always look like a beach bum.”
It sounded like she said, “Who wants Prince Charming?” But she’d turned away to collect her purse from the couch.
In the truck she asked, “Are we going to the Fishing Hole? I wasn’t old enough to get in there the last time I was on the island.”
Nate shook his head. “I was thinking of something a little less rowdy. There’s a place called Beside the Bay that has a great outside patio.”
It catered to the yacht crowd and high-end tourists who rented out high-end homes, such as the one Holly would be staying in. It was by far the fanciest establishment on the island, with a Cordon Bleu-trained chef and a stellar wine selection.
“Is the restaurant new?”
“Pretty new.” He nodded. “But it’s been in business for half a dozen years.”
They were shown to a table at the interior of the restaurant, away from the big windows that looked out onto the lake. That was a bit of a disappointment, since the view was five-star.
Even as Holly was resigning herself to a seat indoors, Nate was asking their hostess, whom he of course knew, “Would it be a problem, Danielle, if my friend and I were to dine outside this evening?”
“Not at all, Nate.”
Only a couple of other tables were occupied on the deck, and the people sitting at those were sipping drinks rather than dining. But a smiling waiter brought them a couple of menus a few minutes later and took their drink order. Nate requested an imported beer. Holly went with white wine.
“This is a lovely spot for dinner, Nate. Thank you.”
“The view is hard to compete with, but the food is pretty good, too.” Curiosity had him asking, “What kind of places do you frequent back home? Are you still a fan of pepperoni pizza?”
“I am.” She laughed. “Not that there are many places in Morenci that serve the kind found here in the States.” Holly leaned closer and in a low voice confided, “For my sixteenth birthday, my grandmother had a pizzeria send me a dozen pies via airmail.”
“I’m thinking they probably weren’t still hot when they arrived.”
“They were frozen. I ate one a week for three months, despite my mother’s warnings that the grease would make my face break out.”
“So, if you don’t hang out at the local pizzeria, where do you go to eat?”
“I don’t dine out very often,” she admitted. “Not at restaurants at least. Mostly, when I’m not eating in, I’m at some sort of official function, a charity ball or state dinner. The food is wonderful, of course, but … it’s not the same.”
“That’s because it’s work.”
She glanced up. “Yes. Exactly.”
“That must be hard.”
“It’s … expected.”
“Doesn’t make it less difficult.”
“No.”
The waiter arrived with their drinks and took their entrée orders. They’d decided to forgo an appetizer since their meals came with salads and a cup of the day’s soup. They both went with blackened lake trout.
Once they were alone again, Nate asked, “So, where do you and Phillip go on an evening out?”
“Actually, Phillip and I rarely appear in public unless it’s at official events.”
Hence the swirl of rumors regarding the serious nature of their relationship, he guessed.
“So, you dine in?”
“Yes. At the palace. And …”
“His home?” he finished for her.
Holly nodded, her gaze riveted to the lake. The sun was just starting to lower over the bay, but he doubted that was what captivated her attention. “In addition to his family’s estates in Morenci, he has a lovely villa in the south of France.”
Despite her rather unimpressed tone, Nate’s head felt as if it would explode. He wasn’t going to try to compete with the guy. There was no reason to, but still …
A small voice reminded him that Holly didn’t love Phillip. As much as Nate wanted to latch onto that, he couldn’t help wondering if she could be happy living a different lifestyle. One slower-paced and far more casual. And not just for a couple of weeks, but 24/7? Even as he was telling himself that some things just weren’t meant to be, he was recalling her expression when he’d given her the fishing pole.
Before either of them could speak again, a woman appeared at their table. She was older, a little on the plump side, and carried in her hands a little dog that was outfitted with more bling than most Hollywood starlets wore on Oscar night.
There was a good bit of the South in her drawl when she said, “I hate to interrupt your dinner, young lady, but I just have to say what a striking resemblance you bear to Princess Hollyn of Morenci.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Holly replied, neither acknowledging her true identity nor denying it.
“Oh, my gosh! And you talk like her, too!” the woman exclaimed with such excitement it caused her little dog to start yipping.
The other diners glanced their way. Nate’s stomach pitched and rolled. This was it. She was exposed. Holly, on the other hand, appeared unaffected.
In a confidential tone, she said, “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“Yes?” The older woman leaned in eagerly.
“I’m a celebrity impersonator.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I make a good living at it, too. I think it’s my accent that clinches it for me. I’ve worked for years to perfect it.”
“It’s very good. You had me fooled.”
“Not to brag, but my agent tells me I’m the best of the bunch.”
“Oh, you are,” the other woman gushed. “You absolutely are.”
“Thank you for saying so. It’s always good to hear from an objective person. My mother, of course, thinks I’m spot on.” Holly shrugged. “But she’s my mother. What else is she supposed to think?”
The woman nodded before casting a sheepish glance Nate’s way. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your dinner.” Her gaze back on Holly, she said, “I was going to ask for your autograph and to see if you wanted to take a picture with me.”
“Really? I’m so flattered.”
“But since you’re not who I thought you were …” The woman’s cheeks flamed scarlet. “I mean, I’d be happy to have my picture taken with you anyway.”
“That’s kind, but I think you should aim your camera lens at that incredible view.” Holly pointed to the lake, where the sun was starting to set. “It’s far more memorable than I am, believe me.”
“I think I’ll do just that,” the woman agreed. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For?”
“Being so gracious. I’ve approached real celebrities who weren’t half as kind and patient as you are, and you’re not anyone.” She coughed delicately. “Well, you know what I mean.”
“I do. And the pleasure was mine.”
Holly was grinning from ear to ear when the woman left.
“I’d say you handled that encounter like a pro,” Nate told her.
“I was feeling inspired.” Holly shrugged then. “Besides, if I had been rude or standoffish, it only would have raised her suspicions.”
“Is that the only reason you weren’t rude or standoffish?” he asked.
“Of course not. People are curious. Most of them, such as that woman, mean no harm. They are what you would call starstruck.”
Nate grinned. “You make a good celebrity impersonator, by the way. Do you do that often?”
“Actually, that was a first for me.”
“Really?”
“I’m not often without a royal escort. Still, it seemed like a good idea in this instance,” Holly explained. “After all, she had me pegged. Flat-out denial only would have made it worse. This way, she feels like she’s part of the deception.”
It was hard not to marvel at Holly’s cleverness and composure. “She didn’t even want to snap your photograph.”
“Exactly.”
He liked her all the more for the jaunty smile she beamed at him afterward. There was so much of that young girl he remembered still inside her.
Their drinks arrived along with a basket of freshly baked rolls and their salads.
Nate raised his beverage in a toast. “To a rising star.”
Holly clinked her wineglass against his beer glass, but she set it back on the table without taking a sip. She seemed circumspect when she said, “I am hardly a star. I was born into my position and the corresponding celebrity. I’ve done nothing to earn either.”
“I don’t know about that. I mean, the position part, I’ll give you. You were born into the role of princess. Call it fate or luck or whatever. But how you choose to act in public and use celebrity is entirely up to you.”
“It’s a lot of responsibility.” He saw her swallow and her shoulders sagged a little, as if bowing under the weight of that responsibility.
“It’s a lot of power, too,” he said quietly.
“I have no power, Nate. I can’t even decide my own future.” Her laughter was surprisingly sardonic. She must have realized it. She added in a tone more suited to a civics teacher, “The royal family’s role in Morenci is purely ceremonial and has been for more than a century. We don’t set policy or make laws.”
“But you still wield a lot of influence, Holly. It’s up to you how you choose to use it. I think you know that, which is why you’ve been a voice for orphans in some of the world’s poorest countries and championed access to education for girls in cultures that traditionally reserve that right only for boys.”
“You’ve been reading up on me, I see.” She leveled the accusation playfully, but a hint of embarrassment stained her cheeks as she reached for one of the warm rolls.
“I’ve followed your life over the years,” he admitted. Odd, but a day ago no one would have been able to force Nate to make such a confession. Now, he continued, “I wondered how you were and what your life was like when the public wasn’t watching. I wondered, you know, if you were okay.”
In the images of her that he’d seen on television or in print she’d seemed so reserved, so … lifeless.
“You were worried about me?” She broke off a piece of roll.
Dangerous territory, he decided, but he answered truthfully. “I was.” As mad as he’d been, and as hurt, he’d also been concerned.
“I wondered if you were all right as well. And if … if you’d forgiven me.”
He hadn’t. Until she’d returned. Holding a grudge made even less sense than holding on to the tender feelings he had for her. But those tender feelings, he knew, would be much harder to set free.
“I’m not mad anymore. You did what you felt you had to do, maybe even what was for the best. But I wish you’d sent that letter you told me you’d written. I wish I would have heard it from you rather than seeing you in a televised special on European royalty not long after you’d turned sixteen.”
