by Rachel Hauck
“You mock me, mate.” Nathaniel patted his shoulder as he passed him on his way through the door.
“Mock you? No, I envy you. You have your pick of lovelies.”
“Who want my crown not my heart.”
“The least of which is Lady Genevieve.” Jonathan’s tone was teasing, leading.
“I see I was a fool to bring up the subject of love. Can we just get on with the evening?” Outside in the side driveway, Liam stood by the motorcar in his dark suit and shades. He looked like a movie character. It was one of the reasons Nathaniel liked the former special-forces major. He so looked the part, one could hardly believe he actually was a royal security officer.
Nathaniel rode to Mrs. Butler’s in quiet contemplation as the pinkish lines of evening fell through the canopying oaks. Talk of his ancestors, of the 1914 Entailment, rattled the doubt resting in his bones. Was his calling to be king of Brighton man’s idea or God’s?
What choice did he have? What choice did God have? Nathaniel was the son of a king, who was the son of a king, who was a son of a king dating back five hundred years.
And what of his father’s failing health? Would he be king before he was ready? Where were the decades of time he thought he had to prepare?
As if his thoughts weren’t tangled enough, he pictured her.
Susanna.
Jon peered around to the front seat. “You know what? Forget the entail. I think you’re right. Your greatest challenge is to find a wife. You and Prince Stephen are the hope of the House of Stratton.”
Was he telegraphing his thoughts? “I’d rather fight through the entail.” He wanted to get married. But not because it fit his job description as a crown prince.
He wanted to marry for love.
Susanna remained in his thoughts until he corralled his image of her and sent it back to the dark recesses. Dreaming of her was a complete waste of time. He had a better chance of finding an heir to the Hessenberg throne than of marrying Susanna Truitt.
But oh, he wanted to see her again, practically yearned for it. So much so that on Sunday, Jon inquired about his grimace. Nathaniel quickly blamed heartburn from too much pizza.
On Sunday he took two five-mile runs—one in the morning, one in the evening—to distract his heart from her. Why go where he absolutely could not?
Then today, while attempting to read the ninety-nine-year-old entail, his mind rebelled, refusing to embrace another wherewithin and hitherunto so he could dream of a girl with cerulean-colored eyes and a smile that blinded his heart.
He’d come to the island on his father’s business and a short holiday. No more. No less. To consider romance was foolhardy.
Because his name, his destiny, everything about him was for the king and Brighton Kingdom.
Right down to the beating of his heart.
FIVE
At six-thirty, Susanna slipped into the black sheath dress she kept in her closet for weddings and marine balls, along with a pair of matching heels.
Black. How fitting. In the aftermath of finding out white wasn’t in her near or distant future, an elegant evening in a black gown, socializing with south Georgia’s elite, almost mocked her. But instead, she chose to see it as a bit cathartic.
She fought the wash of sadness as she leaned toward her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You’re going to get over this, Suz. Adam did what you should’ve done long ago—speak the truth.”
But twelve years? Ugh. It made her stomach knot and ring out all kinds of sour regret. Why had she remained silent when deep down … deep down, she knew? It made her question her integrity and discernment. Her courage.
But she’d been blinded by the safety of a life with the controlled and honorable Adam Peters. Sure, they had their quarrels and fights, but in the end, he was her safe and steady future. Someone she could count on.
A horn blast from the driveway below told her the time for reflection was over. She grabbed her silver clutch from the dresser and stuffed it with a twenty-dollar bill, lipstick, and her cell phone.
Time to move out—an Adam saying she’d adopted—and move on.
Gage met her at the door with a bouquet of flowers and shoved them at her with an awkward “here.”
“O–okay.” Her hand trembled as she gripped the plastic wrapping, the adrenaline and hope of moving on without Adam waning. She felt weak and watery. “Gage, I–I … Thank you for these.”
The giving and getting of flowers had often been a source of contention with Adam. Gage knew that, or at least he used to know. He’d sided with Susanna once when Adam was home on leave.
“Give the girl some flowers, Adam.”
The no-nonsense marine considered flowers a waste of money. Susanna agreed most of the time. Except for anniversaries, birthdays, and Valentine’s Day. Especially when he’d been deployed most of the last six years. He missed all but one of her last seven birthdays.
“Yeah, forget it. I saw them at Publix. I like the orange flowers. Listen …” Gage tipped his head toward his car and offered his arm. “Here’s how we ought to play tonight—”
“Gage, wait, maybe you should just go without me.” Susanna stepped back inside the house, setting the bouquet on a table inside the door. She couldn’t do this … she couldn’t … The whole island knew.
Found the right ring but not the right girl.
“Come on, Suz. Let’s win this one. This hospital gig will keep us in the black for a year.”
“Us?”
“Yes, us. The firm.” He offered his arm again, but Susanna descended the steps on her own. Handsome in his black tux and styled hair, Gage was just her boss. Just her friend.
At the Butlers’, Gage pulled up to valet parking, checked his appearance in the rearview, and turned to Susanna before handing over his keys to the approaching red-vested man.
“Schmooze, schmooze, schmooze. That’s our game plan. And oh, the event coordinator told me the hospital board members will be wearing red-ribbon pins.”
“The event coordinator?” Susanna opened her car door.
“One can find out a lot over dinner and a boatload of compliments.”
“Gage, it’s a job. Don’t sell your soul for it.”
“We need this, Susanna. We. Need. This.”
The Butler mansion was beautiful—cut from old river stone and inlaid with a marble foyer. A crystal chandelier hung above the hand-carved mahogany staircase and damask curtains adorned the twenty-foot windows.
Susanna had been inside once before, years ago, when Mrs. Butler had invited her to join the Debutants, a social service organization. Every spring, they’d plant flowers all over the island and hold a themed cotillion on a Saturday evening.
But the opulence and marbled wealth of the mansion, the grace and affluence of the other girls applying for the Debutants, sent Susanna back to herself. Her roots. To where she belonged—playing varsity volleyball and waiting tables at the Rib Shack, her surfboard leaning against the back kitchen wall.
Then, that summer, Adam came for dinner at the Shack with his parents. They left, but he waited for Susanna in the parking lot until closing so he could ask her to the movies.
“Let the schmoozing begin.” Gage ushered her into the ballroom, alive with tuxedos and sequined gowns flowing over a gleaming walnut dance floor.
The warm air skirted around Susanna. She already wanted to leave. A passing server stuck a glass of wine in her hand, and she stepped farther into the Georgia aristocratic set, almost hankering for her surfboard and a whiff of barbecue.
Spotting a woman with a red-ribbon pin on the strap of her dress, Susanna inhaled deeply and worked her way through the crowd of guests. Let the schmoozing begin.
“Hello,” Susanna said. There were three of them—spandexed into gowns cut too tight and too low.
“Hey there,” they said, flickering glances toward Susanna.
“Do you really think he’s coming?” This from a bouffant blonde wearing a blue strapless gown. It barel
y contained her obvious charms. “Carlene Butler has been claiming royal roots since Nixon was president. But I’ve never seen one ounce of proof.” The woman downed the last of her wine and licked her lips. “Not one.”
“Not just roots, sugar. She’s related to the royal family.” The brunette with the red-ribbon pin snickered into her glass. “I bet the royals have something to say about Carlene Butler’s claims.”
“Hush up, y’all.” The rebuke came from a brilliant redhead in a canary-yellow gown. “Carlene is a fine, upstanding woman. Hold your gossip until we know for sure if he’s here or not.”
He who? Susanna set her wine on a passing tray of empty glasses. The last thing her bruised heart needed was the elixir of fermented grapes. She had to keep her wits about her.
The redhead bobbed her head toward Susanna. “Aren’t you Glo Truitt’s girl?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Liz Cane.” She switched her wine glass to her left hand and offered her right. “You remember me? I’m your Aunt Jen’s friend. This here is Cybil and Babe.” The blonde and brunette. “Anyway, shug. I am so sorry.” The woman pressed her hand on Susanna’s arm. “That Peters boy oughta be shot.”
Ho boy. Embarrassment perspired across Susanna’s forehead.
“Why? What’d he do?” Babe stepped close, her eyes glinting with a yearn for gossip.
“Nothing,” Susanna said. This wasn’t their business. But she was grateful that one person on the island didn’t seem to know her personal woes.
“He told her he’d found the right ring but not the right girl.”
Cybil and Babe gasped in unison and drew back, their hands pressed over their hearts.
“He did not.” Cybil’s eyes could not be wider with shock. “How in the world are you not in a million pieces?”
“Oh, my stars. I’d be completely gone … just gone.” Babe inspected Susanna as if she might find a very obvious, exposing crack. “Him a decorated marine, a war hero and all?”
“He was being honest,” Susanna blurted the confession, wishing it back because it invited more conversation. She wanted to schmooze the red-ribbon lady, Babe, about the hospital wing. Not discuss her broken love life.
“Honest?” Cybil scoffed and stopped a passing server for a fresh round of wine. She took two glasses and passed one to Babe. “There’s honest, darling, then there’s brutal.”
“But I’m not the right girl.” Stop talking, Susanna. These women were not worthy of her confession. They were strangers with a voyeuristic concern. “Babe, you’re on the hospital wing committee?”
“Shug, don’t even. We know you work for Gage Stone.” Babe peered over the rim of her crystal glass. “What’s he thinking bringing you out to kiss our grits while you’re grieving such a love tragedy.”
Oh, brother. Well, then. No flies on Babe. Susanna hunted the room for Gage and finally spied him standing with a regal, silver-haired woman wearing an elegant cream gown. Carlene Butler. He caught sight of her and waved her over.
“Excuse me.” Susanna wove through the thick crowd. There had to be no less than three hundred people in the petite ballroom. “Pardon me.” She drew up thin, trying to pass between small clusters of women.
Why were they congealing together instead of making way?
“Just let me through here …” She smiled at the backs of heads. Was something interesting happening by the entrance? Heat radiated from warm body to warm body. Susanna began to feel like she couldn’t draw a pure breath.
Have … to … get … out.
“He’s here.”
“Where?”
“Is that him?”
“Oh, my …”
Her head pounded with the force of their whispers. Who’s here? Finally, a sliver of an opening appeared amid the thicket of tuxes and gowns. Susanna broke free into a cool pocket just as three tall, dark-haired men with a palatable air of authority parted the awed guests. Susanna was pressed out of her free zone and back into the whispering heat.
“It’s not him.”
“Oh, such a shame. Are you sure?”
“By golly, it’s him. Mercy a-mighty, he’s here.”
Yeah, well, she was out. Forget Gage and schmoozing, Susanna craved fresh air. It wasn’t just the crowded hot ballroom, it was life, crowding in on her and pressing down. When her phone rang from her clutch, it was the perfect escape.
“Excuse me. Please, excuse me.” Cutting east toward the ballroom’s single-door exit, Susanna left the mysterious guests and the crowd behind. Besides, the special guests had captured everyone’s attention and all schmoozing had temporarily stopped.
Gage should’ve made better use of his dinner and compliments with the event planner and found out about the special guests. But knowing him, the only information he wanted was the names of the power players on the hospital building committee.
“Hello?” Her voice echoed in the high, domed foyer as she exited the ballroom. Her heels clicked against the sleek floor.
“Suzy, w–where are you?” Avery.
“Out with Gage. At some benefit at the Butlers’. Aves, are you okay?” Susanna left the house and stepped into a hazy pink night. At seventeen, her baby sister was athletic, smart, popular, and a bit spoiled, but the pang in her voice was more than teen melodrama. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Daddy. He was in the kitchen working … next thing I knew, he was on the floor, holding his arm.”
“Call 9-1-1.”
“Catfish already called, but Suz, Daddy says he won’t go to the hospital, and Mama isn’t here.”
“Remind him that she’ll come back sooner or later and—”
“Daddy.” Avery’s voice came muffled through the phone. “Suzy said Mama will come back sooner or later.”
Susanna could hear her father speaking in the background.
“Okay, he’ll go.” Avery’s voice buoyed with tangible relief.
“Call me when you get on the ambulance. I’m on my way to the hospital.” She swung around to head toward the Butlers’ massive double front doors. She needed to find Gage.
“Suz, I’m scared.”
“It’s going to be all right, Avery. Let the paramedics take care of him. You just stay calm.”
“I will, but pray. Please pray.”
Susanna leaned against a porch column and fixed her thoughts on the Healer. Her prayer was short but full of the wind from her own heart. Heal Daddy.
She could hear Avery crying and the wail of a siren through the phone.
“They’re here.”
“You go. Be with Daddy. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
When Susanna entered the foyer again, guests were clapping, leaning and pushing forward to the front of the room.
All right, Gage. Where are you?
Smiles lit the warm faces of the guests and their dubious whispers were now filled with belief.
“Can you believe it? Right here on St. Simons Island.”
“Such a marvelous speech.”
“Brief and to the point. The way I like it.” A microphone screech pierced the air causing the guests to ooh and angle back. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. Please start making your way to the dining room.”
Susanna shoved through the crowd to where she’d last seen Gage. The guests congealed at the very narrow dining hall doors. She was never going to find him in this mess.
She dialed his phone, but it went straight to voice mail.
Wait. What was she thinking? Gage’s car and keys were with the valet. Surely he would concede her emergency and bring the car around.
Whirling for the front door, Susanna took one step before running into a wall of a man.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry, but I really need to—”
“Susanna?”
She peeked up at the chiseled face of Nate Kenneth. “Nate? Hey, what are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you.” He smiled and bowed slightly. An electric sensation dashed through her bel
ly. “I’m here to support the new hospital wing.”
“I came with my boss. He’s trying to win the expansion job.” She glanced back toward the ballroom. One last chance to spot Gage before she borrowed his car. He’d be mad, but when he learned the truth, he’d understand. Completely. Right? Never mind his car was his first true love.
“You look troubled.”
“I need to get to the hospital.” Come on, Gage. Where are you? I’m taking your car. “My sister called …” She faced Nate, and his steady attention nearly made her knees wobble. “My father …”
“What are you doing standing here? Let’s get you to the hospital. Come.” He unbuttoned his tux jacket and offered her his hand. “I’ll drive you.”
“No, no. I can’t ask you to do that, Nate. Thank you.” She glanced around again. “I can take my boss’s car. If the valet will give me his keys.”
“My car is right this way.” He grabbed her hand without waiting for her reply and drew her toward a dim, narrow hallway, slipping his phone from his jacket pocket. “Liam, come ’round to the car. A friend needs a ride to the hospital.”
“Nate, I can’t take you from this dinner.” She had to stretch to keep in rhythm with his long strides. “Did you hear? There’s some special, royal guest.” The carpet pile caught the tip of her heel, and she fell against his arm.
