Rescuing the Royal Runaway Bride

by Ally Blake

  “Hey.”

  Sadie sniffed, wiped her cheek against her shoulder and spun to find Hugo framed by the heavy brick doorway.

  He said, “Only the Keeper of the Flags is meant to have a key to this spot.”

  Sadie lifted a finger from its warm cocoon to tap the side of her nose. “I have contacts.”

  Hugo ambled to Sadie’s side. He sat, then swore at the freezing cold of the brick beneath his hands.

  Sadie offered him some of her blanket. He refused with a manly shake of the head.

  Together, in silence, they looked out over Vallemont as they had a zillion times before. He’d first brought her up here when she was six or seven. She’d also found him here a few weeks back, after Prince Reynaldo had made him the offer he couldn’t refuse.

  Sadie asked, “How did you know I was here?”

  “At least half a dozen people told me they’d seen you sneaking through the palace, heading this way.”

  “Oh. I thought I’d made it without being seen.”

  “A running theme in your life of late.”

  Sadie groaned. “Tell me about it. A few hours ago I thought I’d made it all the way through Heathrow unseen before a pair of Americans asked me for a selfie.”

  Hugo shot her a smile. “And there I was thinking you were still in London. In fact, I had the funny feeling you were going to be there for some time.”

  “Nah. This is where I belong.” Sadie rested her chin against her knees and glanced at her old friend. “If I hadn’t run, would you have gone through with it?”

  “Of course,” said Hugo without missing a beat.

  “Even though you don’t love me, and never have.”

  “I do—”

  “Hugo, come on. Does your tummy tighten every time you lay eyes on me? Do you come out in goosebumps if I simply brush your arm? Do you ache for me when we’re apart?”

  Hugo’s silence was answer enough.

  “Then consider yourself lucky one of us was smart enough to walk away.”

  Hugo nodded. “Done.” And like that they put the Great Hiccup of their lifelong friendship behind them.

  Then, with a bump to her shoulder with his, Hugo asked, “When did you develop such specific parameters for what it means to be in love?”

  Sadie bit her lip.

  “Because I’ve never heard you talk that way. You’re always so blasé about such things. I’m assuming this is a new development. Very recent, in fact. Days old, at the very most.”

  “Drop it.”

  “No, I don’t think I will. Why aren’t you in London, Sadie?”

  If she could have pulled the blanket over her head she would have. But that would have been the old Sadie—make a joke of things, do a little tap dance to distract everyone from anything unpleasant.

  So why wasn’t she in London? As difficult or ugly as they might be, the new Sadie was all about the truths.

  The truth was she might not physically be there, but her heart was. And her head. And she wasn’t going to sit there and do nothing about that any more.

  She pulled herself to standing and threw Hugo the blanket.

  “Come on, get up.”

  “Why?”

  “You and I have some work to do.”

  * * *

  A week later Will sat staring at his laptop.

  Or through his laptop would have been a more fitting description, as the words of the position paper he was attempting to outline were swimming before his eyes.

  He could be doing this on a plane to Geneva, where he was due to present his famous “Scenes from the Orion Nebula” lecture the next day. He did some of his best work on planes, alone, uninterrupted, the white noise creating a prefect creative cocoon.

  Instead here he sat, in a village pub, with no Wi-Fi and limited phone reception, waiting to feel the satisfied glow that came from one of the best weeks of his career.

  An offer had come through on the Orion Nebula game, and he’d sold, tripling his investment overnight.

  An array of radio telescopes in Chile had picked up space noise for a few seconds in the direction of Orion’s Belt and he’d been there to hear it.

  He’d been offered the European Space Agency’s top spot on the Future Commission—focusing on how best to channel research and funding for telescopes to be launched into space.

  Best of all, an unknown benefactor had gifted five years to the Templeton Grant. Natalie had connected the call from the prime minister, who’d bashfully agreed to join forces now that he didn’t have to justify the initial expense, promising to announce it at the World Science Symposium later that year.

  But no glow came.

  His phone rang. In pure relief, he answered it without looking at the caller details. “Darcy.”

  “Where are you?”

  Hugo. Will sat up so fast he knocked his beer, the froth sloshing over the rim and onto his laptop.

  Mopping it up with a napkin, he said, “Is everything all right? Is she okay?”

  Hugo laughed. “Sadie’s fine. As far as I know.”

  “What do you mean, as far as you know? Isn’t she with you?”

  “Of course she’s not with me, you damn fool. In fact—No. Yes. I’m going to say it. She should be with you.”

  Wincing, Will screwed the napkin into a ball. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m a well-educated man. I have seen the world. And I am a prince. Therefore, I am never wrong.”

  It was so unlike Hugo to pull the prince card, Will actually coughed out a laugh.

  “She left of her own free will,” said Will.

  “Did you ask her to stay?”

  “You know as well as I do that there’s no telling her anything. I’ve never met anyone as stubborn.” As quick to laughter, as emotional, bright, indefatigable, raw, sweet, thoughtful, warm.

  “Hmm. I feel as if I have.”

  Will tossed the damp napkin onto the table.

  Hugo went on. “I have never seen you as relaxed as you were when you were with her. She was the best thing that ever happened to you, my friend. How the hell could you have let her go?”

  Will knew Hugo was pushing for a reaction. He was good at it.

  “Right back at you,” Will gritted out, unsurprised when Hugo laughed down the phone.

  “So, where are you?”

  Will looked up from his laptop at the rustic walls, the craggy-mountain motif carved into the bar, the framed picture of the reigning Prince of Vallemont on the wall, the pink and rose-gold trim on the bar towels. All he said was, “In a pub.”

  “Alone?”

  Alone. Funny how that word had been his touchstone for so many years. A motivator, a goal. He’d held on to the fact that his aloneness gave him an edge, time and motivation to work hard, to better focus, to give himself over to the study of the whys of the universe.

  Now the word felt like an open wound.

  “Yes, I’m alone. I just felt the need to stretch my legs.”

  Stretching them all the way to a small pub in Vallemont. With a view over the thatched rooftops of Bellponte to the top corner of a crumbling hotel with a lopsided Tower Room that looked as though it might fall off the side of the building at any moment.

  Will asked, “I am an important man with much work to do. Did you call me for a reason?”

  “Go online, stream Vallemontian station, Channel Four, at five o’clock our time.”

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “Because, old friend, for all the stars and moons and planets and galaxies you have unravelled in your search for the meaning of life, I’d bet the palace it won’t compare to what Channel Four is about to teach you.”

  Will drummed his fingers against the table top and looked up at the TV playing silently above the
bar. The logo at the bottom of the screen said Channel Four. If that wasn’t a sign he had no idea what was. “Fine. I’ll track it down.”

  “My work here is done,” said Hugo, and then he was gone.

  Will checked his watch. Fifteen minutes until five.

  He closed his laptop and worked on his beer. A low hum of pub chatter and occasional laughter punctuated clinking glassware and the ting of the cash register as Will watched the clock tick down.

  Just on five a “special presentation” graphic flashed onto the screen.

  A young woman’s smiling face mouthed words Will couldn’t hear. Closed-caption text scrolled across the bottom of the screen, stating the journalist’s name, stipulating that she was a former pupil of the Vallemont School of Drama and therefore a one-time student of Mercedes Gray Leonine, and was happy to be able to facilitate the evening’s special event.

  And then...there she was.

  Will felt his stomach drop away at the sight of her. Her mussed red hair was slicked back and pinned off her face with a clip. Long, sparkly earrings swung against her shoulders and a pale floral top clung to her elegant frame.

  She looked different—still, somehow, serene. She looked so beautiful it hurt to blink. And even with the sound turned down he could hear her voice. The bravado. The humour. The strength. The vulnerability. As if she were sitting right beside him.

  God, how he wished she were sitting beside him. How he wished he could touch her, hold her, kiss her, hear her voice for real; watch her animated face as she told a story; watch her quiet face as she listened to one of his.

  For a man who didn’t believe in wishes, they came so thick and fast he couldn’t keep up.

  The interviewer leaned forward and the camera pulled out to show Sadie sitting on a white couch in a large, old-fashioned-looking room that was no doubt in the palace. And there Hugo sat, right beside her.

  Even without sound it was clear how fond they were of one another. Nothing more. No romantic tension. No sideways glances. Just friendship. And honest remorse at the way things had been handled.

  “Turn it up!” someone called from across the room. “The TV—turn it up.”

  The barkeeper did as asked, and Sadie’s voice blasted across the pub.

  “Our reasons were private, but we hope you believe us when we say they were just and good. We were blinded by a need to do the right thing; we just...didn’t think things through to their logical conclusions. And if a man like Prince Alessandro says he’ll marry you it’s pretty hard to say no. Just look at him!”

  The interviewer laughed. Blushed. A woman at a table behind Will said, “Oh, I’m looking.”

  “If you take anything from this interview, know that your Prince is one of the very best men you could ever hope to meet. Second-best at worst. He’s just not the man for me.”

  And then Sadie looked into the camera. She looked right into Will’s eyes. It was a split second, a blink. But he felt that look as if she’d reached out and grabbed him by the heart and squeezed.

  “And you, Prince Alessandro—is Mercedes not the woman for you?”

  He smiled, and Sadie turned to him, which was when Will saw the clip in her hair. Silver, sparkly, a shooting star.

  Will didn’t realise he was on his feet until someone behind him politely asked him to sit down.

  “Don’t answer that,” she said. “He’ll just say something charming so as not to hurt my feelings. But I’d have driven the Prince crazy. And Vallemont does not need a crazy prince. Look at Prince Reynaldo—such a benevolent leader, so forward-thinking. So generous.”

  Will noted that Hugo looked down at that point, hiding a wry smile.

  “Not only on a personal level—having always been so kind to me, the daughter of a palace maid. Did you know he’s recently personally invested in a number of international grants towards the arts and sciences, making Vallemont not only the most beautiful country in the world, but also one of the most progressive?”

  The interviewer looked dutifully amazed. “Well, that is news.”

  The interviewer then turned to Hugo, asking him a spate of questions that Will barely heard. While Sadie leant back in the chair and breathed out long and slow. Only then did Will see how tired she seemed, the slight smudges under her eyes that even television make-up couldn’t quite hide.

  Sitting through the rest of the interview was the hardest thing Will had ever done in his entire life, but he had to, in case she had any more hidden messages for him. For that was what the interview had been. That was why Hugo had made him watch.

  By the end of the interview it was made very clear that this would be the only time they would talk of it; that they believed their explanation and apologies were done. A great big line had been drawn under the day Sadie left Hugo at the altar. This chapter of the country’s history was well and truly closed.

  Then it was over.

  Will’s glass sat in a puddle of condensation next to a very large tip as he dashed from the pub.

  Outside, he had no idea which way to turn. He grabbed his phone, jabbed in Hugo’s number.

  Hugo answered on the first ring. “Hey, mate, how’s things?”

  “Where is she?” Will asked, walking just to feel as though he was going somewhere.

  “Now he’s in an all fire rush—”

  “Hugo.”

  Hugo chuckled. “She moved out of the palace the day she came back.”

  “What’s her mother’s new address?”

  “She’s not there either. For now she’s taken a room in that dilapidated old hovel you holed her up in for those first couple of days.”

  And suddenly Will was running, scooting around people blocking his way, leaping over a display of boxes holding masses of pink flowers. His shoes slapped against the uneven pavement, his jacket and scarf flying out behind him.

  “Probably a good time to tell you I’m heading away for a while.”

  Will made a left, realised he’d taken a wrong turn. Spinning on his heel, he made a right instead. “Where are you going?”

  “Not sure it matters right now. I just wanted you to know so if you don’t hear from me you understand why.”

  Reading between the lines, Will knew: Hugo had taken the olive branch.

  Will turned the corner to find himself facing La Tulipe. The window to the Tower Room was open, the gauzy curtain flapping in the wintry breeze.

  His lungs burned from the icy air. His neck itched from the heat of the woollen scarf. And as he shook out his cold fingers he realised he’d left his laptop, his notes, his life’s work behind in the pub.

  The fact that he felt zero compunction to leave this spot to collect his all-important work was final proof of how fundamentally his world view had broadened. Made room for diversion, for insouciance, for the contents of the room above. And it would still be there when he got around to picking it up. This was Vallemont, after all.

  Will breathed out fast and hard. The last of his breath leaving on a laugh.

  “Everything all right, Darcy?” Hugo asked over the phone.

  “It’s been a big few days.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Promise me something. Next time you agree to marry a girl, you actually go through with it.”

  Hugo laughed. “I don’t think that will be a problem I will ever have to face again.”

  After a loaded beat, Hugo hung up.

  Will put the phone in his pocket and stared up at the open window.

  She had left. And he had let her go. Because when you lose enough of the people you love, letting people go became a fallback position.

  Only here he was. Because he’d been looking at it all wrong.

  Gravity wasn’t entirely destructive. It helped hold the entire universe together.

  Looking around, he picked up a small stone. He
threw it towards the window, hearing it skitter across the balcony floor.

  A few seconds later he picked up another and tried again. This time the stone hit the glass door.

  His heart was thundering in his chest by that stage, as if it were trying to kick its way through his ribs.

  Then the door moved, the curtains sucking inside the room.

  And there she was. Beneath a fluffy pink beanie with a pompom on top, her hair bobbed on her shoulders. Her lips were painted a pretty pale pink. A dark floral dress flared at her wrists and landed just above her knees. Brown tights disappeared into knee-high boots.

  “Sadie.”

  “Quite the aim you have.”

  “Had to do something when we skipped out on school. Skimming stones at a local lake was right up there.”

  Her hands gripped the railing. “Were you just passing through?”

  “I was, in fact, enjoying a quiet beer in a pub down the way when I saw you on the television.”

  “You did?” She licked her lips. “Was it any good? I couldn’t bring myself to watch.”

  He moved closer to the building, so that he could see her better. “I liked your hair clip.”

  Her hand moved to her beanie, her cheeks pinking.

  “I do have one question for you though.”

  She leant her arms against the railing. “What’s that?”

  “It was Reynaldo behind the Templeton Grant. And you were the one behind Reynaldo.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  “How on earth did you swing it?”

  “Prince Reynaldo put the hard word on a friend of mine once. I figured it was time someone did the same back to him.”

  “What did you give up in return?”

  A slow grin spread across her face. “A promise to never again agree to marry anyone in his family. It was a difficult decision but in the end I felt it was the right one for me.”

  “Not only for you,” he said.

  She breathed out hard and fast. Her smile was open and warm, and just like that he let it in. He let her in. Let her fill him up. Take him over. And it was as if he’d opened his eyes fully for the first time in his life.

  Had the sky been that blue a moment before? The buildings that many shades of yellow? Did winter ever smell this good?