The Royal Wedding Collection

by Rachel Hauck

“A sudden widespread disaster. War. Terrorist attack.”

  “Does a headline suggesting you’re engaged to Lady Genevieve Hawthorne qualify?”

  “Engaged?” Nathaniel slammed the door shut, reaching for the tablet. He trusted Brighton’s leading newspaper to confirm any royal engagement with the King’s Office.

  Prince Nathaniel’s Marriage to Lady Genevieve Hawthorne Solves It All.

  Bookmakers Give 3-to-1 Odds for End-of-Year Proposal.

  “This is from the Informant?” Nathaniel scanned the article. Rubbish. Every word. The Informant was the gossip rag, purposefully inciting and salacious. But even this was below their standards.

  “This is Liberty Press. Informant’s not jumped on this one.”

  The LibP? Nathaniel handed back Jon’s tablet. “Something’s not right.”

  “Every once in a while the LibP prints something outlandish. Remember when Prince Stephen failed to make the rugby team his first year at university?”

  “Miserable. Humiliated my poor brother all the more when Dad asked the press corps to leave him alone.”

  Poor Stephen. He’d had photographers and reporters trailing him for weeks, recording his relentless effort to improve his game. They’d made all kinds of outlandish statements.

  “Morris Alderman has Hessenberg ties. Not to mention his buddies in Brighton politics who want to cut Hessenberg free so we can save our own financial necks,” Jon said, leaning against the back of the couch. “You’ve got pressure coming from all sides, chap. Alderman doesn’t seem shy about forcing you into some kind of nineteenth-century arranged marriage for the sake of a nation.”

  “Bully for him. He can run his paper his way,” Nathaniel said, taking his leave. “We all want Hessenberg’s independence and a break in our financial quagmire.”

  King Nathaniel I and Prince Francis were not wise when it came to projecting the exchequer accounts of each country. “As for me, I’m going to work before I get docked for being late.”

  The emotional wrestling over the blasted entail darkened his heart. Couldn’t he just forget it for a few days and soak in the sunshine of Susanna?

  At five after eleven, Susanna peered into Mama’s office as she tugged off her apron. “I don’t know how Daddy does this night after night. We must have run twelve-hundred plates through the window tonight.”

  “More. Running the totals now.” Mama motioned toward the back door. “Check on the Englishman. I sent him out with the trash.”

  “He’s not English. He’s Brightonian.”

  “Well, he sounds English.” Mama’s fingers flew over the keys as she added receipts. “I’m sure going to miss that boy when he goes home. Though I never saw a man cut up vegetables so slow. Mercy a-mighty.”

  Mama had about gone crazy on Nate when he’d only produced one container of sliced tomatoes after an hour at the prep table.

  “But he’s a master at the dishwasher, Mama. That counts for something.”

  “Yes, indeed it does. And after he spiffed up the bathroom, I plum-near put a place setting in there.” The machine crunched Mama’s final total, spitting out a long white tape.

  Susanna reached for a towel and dried her hands. “I’ll go check on him.” She retrieved two Rib Shack tumblers, filled them with ice and soda, then pushed through the screen door.

  The back deck faced the southern side of the inlet under the watchful eye of the St. Simons lighthouse.

  Several customers lingered at their tables, listening to Mickey, the seasoned Irish singer who graced the Shack’s back deck five nights a week.

  Gracie was here with her man, Ethan-the-sailor, her head bent against his, enraptured, speaking low and intimately.

  Susanna scanned the deck and beach, looking for Nate. Had it just been five days since she walked along the shore with Adam? Since she learned the life she’d been waiting for would never be?

  At times, it felt like she’d been stuck in a really bad story, unaware that other books or stories existed.

  Then someone—God—gave her a new book. One with creamy blank pages waiting for a new story to be told.

  The image lingered in her heart as Nate emerged from the darkness, dusting his palms.

  “I was getting worried.” She offered him one of the tumblers of cold cola. “Wouldn’t be the first time the Dumpster ate someone.”

  “Not to worry, I’m trained in defeating man-eating Dumpsters.” He took a long sip of the cola. “I speared the beast into submission.”

  “Hurrah.” Susanna pumped her fist in victory. “But where, O brave knight, is your sword?”

  “In the belly of the beast, naturally.” Nate cut a swath in the air, then held his palm over her eyes. “Don’t look, fair maiden. It’s a gruesome sight.”

  She snatched his hand away with a laugh. “Do you have a knight complex?”

  “No, but I do have a prince complex.”

  “Then it’s lucky you’re not a prince.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” He took a gulp from his tumbler, turning his attention to Mickey as he ended his song, the last note ringing out from his guitar.

  “I love Mickey’s music,” Susanna said.

  “Yes, he’s quite good.” Nate peered down at her, started to say something else but headed for the deck instead, taking a seat on the nearest picnic table.

  Susanna followed and sat next to him, waiting for Mickey to start another song. Being with Nate was the nicest sensation she’d experienced in a really long time.

  “I like it here,” he said, glancing around the deck, then at her. “It’s lovely. Most lovely.”

  Lovely. The confession sank through her, warm and silky, though at times she felt like he spoke in metaphors, challenging her to read between the lines.

  “Come on, Nate, it’s crazy around here, and you know it.” She sipped her drink and scooted an inch away from him. Remember you’re in rebound mode, girl.

  “Why not work here, Suz?” Nate angled around to face her. “Take over the business?”

  She shook her head. “When I was a kid …” Her tone was meant for him alone. “Mama and Daddy fought. Not little squabbles over disciplining me or balancing the checkbook but with fists flying and paint-peeling cursing. Daddy would yell at me to go to my room. I’d hide in my closet and pretend it was my secret garden. No one could get me because the closet had a magic door.”

  “So your love of gardens began.”

  “Pretty much. My safe place. By the time they healed their marriage when I was twelve, I’d read a hundred books about gardens. Fiction, nonfiction. The garden section of the newspaper. I wanted to study horticulture and work in one of the world’s great gardens—the Biltmore or the Brooklyn Botanical or the Claude Monet in Normandy. But Adam convinced me those jobs were few and far between, hard to get. He said architecture was the way to go.”

  “He may have been right.” Nate stared right into her soul. “But he didn’t hear your dream, did he?”

  “I think he meant well.” Forgotten remnants of her arguments with Adam elbowed forward. Her dreams versus his. A tug-of-war over when his season ended and hers, rather theirs, began. Dark moments she’d shoved aside for the sake of the relationship. The almighty plan. “I chose to believe Adam would do anything for me.” The confession broke another thin shackle of her former life. “But it was my expectation, not his demonstration.”

  “A girl in love has a right to believe her man would lay down his life for her.”

  She gawked at him with bold skepticism. “Earth to Nate.”

  “What about your father? And his love for your mum?”

  His soft suggestion inspired tears. How did he see so much so soon? “He’s very devoted to Mama, but she demands it.”

  “And he freely gives it. He could walk away if he wanted. As he’d done in the past.”

  “I never saw it that way before,” she said as Mickey rolled from one ballad to the next. This one had a minor-key melody that stirred Susanna’s soul. “But yeah, D
addy would do just about anything for Mama.”

  “And she him.”

  Susanna peered at Nate. Maybe it was his accent or his Brighton birth or her crazy imagination or too many hours in the Rib Shack kitchen, but she felt as if she’d seen him before.

  He caught her gaze and raised his hand as if he might stroke her face, but then pulled it away. “Can I ask you something?” he said.

  “I’m twenty-nine,” she answered without waiting for the question. He was getting to her. Too much. Too soon. So she moved another inch away from his intimate intonations by blocking his probing with a snide response. “And I won’t tell you how much I weigh.” She sipped from her soda, eyeing him over the rim of her tumbler.

  He released his melodic, easy laugh. “Okay, I wasn’t going to ask either of those, but good to know.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two. And nearly thirteen stone.”

  “Stones or pounds, I’m still not telling you how much I weigh.”

  “What made you stay with Adam for so long?”

  Ah, a fair question. She shrugged. “The idea that I knew what tomorrow would bring. Adam. Eventually marriage. I didn’t have to worry, you know? I liked things being secure and nailed down. By-product of the parental units fighting in my formative years. Can I ask you something?”

  “I have a younger brother. I like dogs and cats, and I once had a pet mouse named Clint Eastwood.” He turned toward Susanna, grinning, his arms spread wide.

  She laughed. “Clint Eastwood? That’s a mighty big name for a mouse.”

  “He wore it well.”

  “Why did you say you were envious of me earlier?”

  “Because.” He turned forward again and raised his tumbler to take a drink, covering his answer. “I just am. You have options. A blank diary in which to design your life.”

  How did he read her heart so well? “And you don’t?”

  “Sakes alive.” Mama emerged from the back door with Mickey’s complimentary plate of ribs and a broom. “What is all my help doing out here? Here you go, Mick. Nice singing tonight.” She aimed the broom at Nate. “Dishwasher, no slacking off now. Just got you trained up right. Susanna, I’m going to head on home to tend to your daddy. Can you finish closing and lock up? Avery’s got the front of the house all but done.”

  “It’ll cost you overtime pay.”

  “How about I let you keep your job?”

  “Say, Mama. Nate here hired me to design his daddy’s garden.” Susanna patted Nate’s shoulders, letting her hand slip over the contours of his broad, firm back. Nate leaned ever so slightly into her touch.

  “Did he now? Good for you. Get his money up front, Suz.” The screen door banged as Mama returned to the kitchen, her voice filling every glorious pocket of the Shack. “Aves, shug, get finished up and come straight home. School tomorrow.”

  “Get his money up front?” Nate looked aghast. “Is she serious?”

  “Mama never jokes about money.” Susanna patted his shoulder one last time before pulling her hand away, the threads of his shirt releasing a subtle woodsy scent.

  “By George, I do believe I’m offended.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you hired me to do the garden, not Mama.” Susanna collected their empty tumblers. She’d prefer to sit on the deck talking to him all night, but it was time to get to work. “Listen, why don’t you head on home? We’re all done here except for the kitchen checklist and lock up.”

  “Are you sure? I can stay to help.”

  He was sweet. So very sweet. “Avery and I are old hands. We got it. Ten minutes and we’re out. Go on.” Before I lean to kiss you. “You worked hard tonight.”

  He removed his apron. “So the garden?”

  “I’ll start drawing up formal plans in the morning.”

  He slapped his hand to his chest. “Makes me glad.” His smile stole another small chunk of her heart, and when he leaned in to hug her, she curled into his arms. “Good night, Susanna.”

  “‘Night, Nate.”

  He passed Mickey, complimenting his music, digging change and a few loose bills from his pocket for the tip jar. “Puts me in mind of the old country.”

  Mickey acknowledged Nate with a nod, his mouth full of a meaty rib. He didn’t bother to stop the barbecue sauce running down his chin.

  “Good night again, Susanna.” Nate stepped toward the front of the deck.

  “Good night, Nate.”

  She waited on the deck until she heard the rumble of his SUV and saw the glow of taillights disappearing down the road.

  And she missed him.

  “You like him.”

  Susanna snapped around toward Mickey.

  “We just met.” She collected Mickey’s plate of gnawed rib bones and pile of used napkins.

  “So? You never liked a dude you just met before?” Mickey flicked his last bone onto the plate.

  “Mick, I just broke up with Adam.”

  “You’re full of excuses. Just admit it. Never saw you with Peters anyway.”

  “What is it with people?” Susanna snatched up his tumbler. “Twelve years with a man, and no one manages to tell me what they really think of him? He breaks up with me, and the whole island practically applauds. Do you want a refill?”

  “Sweet tea.” Mickey tore open a wet wipe with his teeth. “Oh, hey, take the change from the tip jar. Use it for the jukebox while you close up.”

  “I don’t like him, Mickey. Not in the way you mean.” Susanna set down the dirty dishes and reached into the jar, fishing out quarters. “Even if I did—which again, I don’t—he lives four bazillion miles away. Across the Atlantic and halfway into the North Sea.”

  “So you know where he lives?”

  Susanna banged into the kitchen, leaving Mickey and his amusing chuckle on the deck. What did he know? Old Irish-singing coot. He wasn’t even really Irish, for crying out loud.

  Placing the dishes by the dishwasher, Susanna checked on Avery and the front of the house. “You almost done?”

  “Just have the foyer to mop,” Avery said without looking up, moving the mop evenly across the stained concrete floor. “Then run down the checklist and take out the last of the trash.”

  “Mickey gave me change for the jukebox.” Susanna walked to the music machine. “What do you want to hear?”

  “Blake Shelton.”

  Okay, but first her old favorite. Susanna dropped the first quarter in and punched A10. Patsy Cline singing “Crazy.”

  Avery came up behind her and draped her long, slender arms around Susanna’s shoulders. “You doing okay?”

  “Crazy, crazy for feeling so lonely …”

  “I’m more than okay.” Susanna peered into her sister’s brown eyes. So like Mama’s. Intense but tempered with compassion. “Now tell me which Blake Shelton song.”

  “‘God Gave Me You.’” Avery tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tapped the glass.

  Maybe it was the remains of Mickey’s ballads or Patsy’s evocative vocals, but Susanna knew in that moment how much she loved her sister. How baby Avery, the surprise child, had saved them all.

  She planted a kiss on her sister’s forehead.

  “Hey, what was that for?” Avery raised her chin, pressing her fingers over Susanna’s kiss.

  “For being you.”

  “Ah, it’s nothing.” Avery flicked her hand and made a face. “It’s easy to be me.” She laughed. “You paved the way, you know.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t really around for you, Aves.” Regret had a certain timeless sting.

  “Crazy for feeling so lonely …”

  “You were in college, working.”

  “I was too focused on Adam.”

  “Well, if you want to make it up to me, I saw some great shoes in the mall.”

  Susanna laughed. “I bet you did. Here I am being gushy and sentimental, and you work it toward shopping.”

  “Whatever. It’s your guilt.” Avery returned to her m
op bucket. “I was just giving you options.”

  Clever girl. Mama’s daughter for sure. “How about this? You get to pick another song.” Susanna flashed her the last quarter from the jar.

  “I’d rather have the shoes.”

  “Pick a song.”

  “Miranda Lambert. ‘The House That Built Me.’”

  Patsy’s voice faded as Susanna searched the song list for “The House That Built Me” and a song she wanted to hear. Maybe something from the eighties.

  Blake’s smooth tenor awoke the melody in Susanna’s heart. She hummed along, whispering the lyrics.

  She was about to drop the next quarter down the jukebox’s gullet when she noticed something different about the silver piece.

  Stepping into the recessed lighting, Susanna examined the coin. It was imprinted with a young man’s profile. A profile she recognized. One she’d sat next to on the back deck ten minutes ago.

  Blake sang, “God gave me you for the ups and downs …”

  She flipped the coin over.

  Brighton Kingdom. Prince Nathaniel. Quarter pound sterling.

  Nate. She stared at the coin with cold realization. Prince Nathaniel? Nate Kenneth was Prince Nathaniel?

  She glanced toward the bathrooms, the kitchen, and the man-eating Dumpster. She’d called him bubba. Mama’d had him Cloroxing toilets. Scrubbing grease traps.