by Rachel Hauck
He laughed. “I’m honored. How grand. I miss them. How is your father healing?”
“Back at work. But Catfish took over a lot of his duties. All Mama lets him do is make sauce and rolls.”
“Very worthy endeavors. I still want his sweet-sauce recipe. And Gracie? What’s going on with her sailor?” Talk of her home settled him. He thought it settled her too.
“She’s in love. Can you believe it?” She perched on the edge of a front-row pew.
“I only saw the sailor a few times but he seemed determined to win her heart.”
“She was just as determined not to let him.”
“But she failed?”
Susanna smiled, nodding. “Best kind of failure. Not to want to fall in love, but then …” The light in her eyes dimmed. “We’re talking about love again.”
“Are you going to be like Gracie? Refuse to fall in love?”
“There’s nothing to refuse, Nate. We had a few moments in Georgia, two people in the midst of big change. One stepping back, one moving forward. Did it ever occur to you that you have feelings for me simply because you can’t have me?”
“I know that feeling. It’s obsessive. Consuming. Blinding. That’s not how I feel about you.” He joined her on the pew. “For five months, I forced myself not to contact you. Tried not to think about you. I wanted to move on. But no matter what I do, the truth demands to be recognized. I love you.”
“Nate, that is both blinding and consuming.” Susanna walked toward one of the moon-haloed windows. “Adam said he and I liked the idea of each other more than each other. He was right. I’m not sure the same isn’t happening here.”
“Not to be rude, but don’t try Adam’s advice on me. And by the way, you think rather highly of yourself if you think I love you just because I can’t have you.”
“Highly of myself?” She crossed back over to him, her heels hard against the plank floor. “Who’s the one who announced to a girl he’d known for two weeks he couldn’t marry her?”
“I did. I don’t deny it. I felt you should know.”
“Talk about thinking highly of oneself.”
“Jon urged me. He thought you might get the wrong impression.”
“Because I’m a dishrag who falls for any handsome man who gives her a bit of a flirt?”
This wasn’t going at all like he’d pictured.
“He knew I fancied you.”
Her breath misted the sanctuary’s chilled air. “Want a newsflash, Nate? I’m not interested in marrying you. You’re pretty cool, and I like hanging out with you, but marriage? Living in Brighton? It’s freezing here. And all this snow? I’d miss the heat and the beach.”
“I’m glad we had this little talk. This exchange will help me get my heart in line.” The candles flickered, breaking up the shadows moving about them.
“Good.” She backed away from him, returning to the blanket. “You’re kind of self-focused, you know.”
“As are you. The wounded woman thing doesn’t play well with you. You’re hiding your strength. I suppose you owe that to Adam.”
“Hey, leave him out of this.”
“Simply making an observation.” Nathaniel joined her on the blanket, his heart awake and burning in his chest.
“Back at you, bub. This whole ‘Ooh, I don’t think I can be king’ crock has got to go. I saw you up there this morning, and you looked like you’d been king for years. Completely comfortable. Like you were born to do this.”
“Why are you still in St. Simons trying to start a business? Why don’t you get out of there? Go back to Atlanta or Birmingham or New York? You’re a talented architect. What about your dream to work in one of the world’s great gardens?”
“Too late.”
“Only if you give up.”
She folded her arms across her torso and closed herself off. “I’ll think about it.” Then she peered at him. “You should think about marrying Lady Genevieve. Might be the best for everyone.”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Just saying.”
“Fine, Susanna, I get it. You’re mad because I told you I love you.” But he didn’t wish back his words. He’d say them again right now if he didn’t know without a doubt she’d belt him.
“I’m mad because you told me, fully aware you can’t do anything about it.”
“And if I could? You made your stand clear. You’d not marry me anyway.”
“Glad we cleared that up.” She brushed a bit of nothing from her jeans, then tugged the edge of the blanket over her.
In the silence, the tension between them ebbed. Nathaniel rested his head against the altar rail. Should he take her back to Parrsons? Forget spending time with her?
“Is it pretty awesome to be a royal?” When he looked over at her, she was peering at him with the faint candlelight flickering in her eyes.
“Awesome?” He’d not fielded such a question in a while. “I don’t know … yeah, I guess. I’ve never know anything else. But I see the privilege and wealth. It affords me good things. I also live under weighty expectations and centuries of history. It’s both comforting and unsettling to know where I come from and where I’m going. Where my children and their children will go.”
“Will you still be Nate Kenneth?”
“When I travel, I’m sure. Yes.”
“Will you introduce yourself to potential dates as Nate or King Nathaniel?”
Did she really want to talk about this? “Depends. If she’s under an oak tree with a flat tire?”
“Don’t … I’m serious here.”
“Marrying a king is not an easy life. Constantly in the public eye. Every move watched and scrutinized. Did you know companies build royal purchase power into their annual budgets?”
“Oh, I couldn’t handle it.” She faced him, sitting cross-legged, her attitude firing.
“Of course you could.” He smiled, grateful the conversation had changed, relieving the tension between them. “One year I fancied a certain brand of sweaters and the company went worldwide. The wife of the king will wield the same power. Not to mention the pressure and expectation to produce an heir.”
“Now that’s pressure.” Susanna tugged the edge of the blanket about her shoulders.
“But most of all, the people want their king happy and in love. It encourages marriage and family, love and commitment, in the fabric of society.”
“I’ll pray for you. I will.”
“We’re in St. Stephen’s Chapel. Can you pray now?” Her prayers for them on the Christ Church grounds still resonated with him. “Next week I’m in a series of meetings about Hessenberg and the entail. And the pressure to marry will intensify.”
“S–sure.” Susanna touched her hand to his knee. Nathaniel closed his eyes and focused heavenward though every part of him wanted to hold her.
Susanna began a slow, clear, whispering song.
Yes, he loves us,
oh, how he loves us.
Nathaniel blended his voice with hers, singing to the true King of Brighton, the One who is Lord of Heaven and Earth.
TWENTY-ONE
A bright light fell over Nathaniel. He stirred, cold and stiff but cozy, still wanting to sleep. A warm body pressed in against him. He reached round behind him, resting his hand on the high curve of a feminine hip.
Susanna. He bolted upright. “Suz.”
They’d talked long into the night—about life and love, about being royal and being Southern. The two factions weren’t so far apart. “Suz.” He gently shook her shoulder.
She bolted upright, bonking her head on the altar. “Ouch … for crying out loud.” She punished the time-darkened wood with a slap of her hand, then scrambled to untangle her feet from the blanket. “Let go, you stupid thing.” Her words created crystal billows in the frigid air.
“I take it you’re not a morning person.” He sat up and smoothed his every-which-way hair into place.
“No, but I’m also not so fond of hitting my head.�
�� She glanced at the morning light shining palely through the window. “What time is it? Did we fall asleep? We did. We fell asleep. We’ve got to go. Your mama is going to hate me.”
“Susanna, I’m a grown man. I can do as I please.” He smoothed his hair into place and picked up the blanket. “She’s not going to hate you.”
All but one of the candles had burned out, and wax stalactites hung from the wooden holders. Nathaniel leaned forward and doused the last remaining flame with a thin, cold puff.
“Do as you please? Are you kidding me?” A fierce blue intensified her eyes. “You can’t just run off and not tell people where you are, Nate. How did we fall asleep all night? We’ve got to go … you’ve got to go.” She charged up the aisle, her hair snapping behind her as if to say, “Yeah, what she said.”
“I’ll just call Jon.” Nathaniel tucked the blanket under his arm and raced after her. Oh, his keys. He ran back and snatched them from the altar railing. “‘Tis fine. Everything is fine. Don’t worry, love.”
She stopped in the foyer doorway. “How can you be so calm? They’ll be looking for you. ‘King disappears on his coronation night.’ It looks like we … you know …” Her expression paled as she motioned to their altar bed. “Slept together.”
“Slept. Yes. Nothing more. You fret so, Suz.” He’d laugh if she weren’t so darn serious. And cute. “If I was needed, or they were concerned, they would’ve called. No one called. I’ll prove it to you.” He patted his pockets for his phone. “Bugger, where’s my phone?”
“Well?” She waited, arms folded, tapping her toe.
“I must have left it in the car.” He shoved past her and out the door, his concern mounting. “I thought no one rang up because they wanted to leave me be.”
“We’re dead.”
Nathaniel paused just outside the door. “We are not dead. I didn’t take you to be such a pessimist.” His eyes searched hers. “But if we were to die, would it be so bad? We had a lovely evening.”
She shoved him on out the door. “Go, get your phone.”
“I’m glad we came up here,” he said, trying to shake off his frustration—first by leaving his phone in the car, second by the sense Susanna was restricting his access to her heart. “This is my favorite place in all of Brighton.”
“I’m glad we came too. It’s a beautiful chapel.”
A swirl of white confronted Nathaniel when he started for his motorcar. “It’s snowing again.”
Susanna slipped on the bottom step and stumbled down to the gravel path.
Nathaniel reached back, catching her in his arms, steadied himself, and held her close.
“Susanna?”
“Nate, we’re not alone.” She pointed behind him, and he whirled ’round just as an army, yea a battalion, of photographers emerged from a motorcade of black SUVs and motor scooters. Their cameras fired a rat-a-tat-tat as Nathaniel stood in freeze-frame with Susanna still in his arms.
“How did they find us?” She shoved away from him.
“Get in my car.” Nathaniel grabbed her hand, shielding her from the digital firing squad. How could he have forgotten? His much ballyhooed antique MG was given to him by his grandfather when he was sixteen. He used to present it at antique motor shows.
“Your Majesty, is this the American girl? The one who didn’t kneel in the abbey?”
“Are you two in love?”
“What about the marriage law?”
“Does Lady Genevieve know you’ve taken a mistress already?”
“Mistress?” Susanna stepped toward the photographers. “Hey, I’m not any man’s mistress.”
“Susanna, please.” He took hold of her arm. “Don’t feed the jackals.”
“I’m not going to let them believe a lie.” She faced them again. “I’m only a friend.”
“A friend?” They cackled. Every man of them. “A friend for a one-nighter? Last hurrah before heading home so you can tell your friends you shagged the Brighton king?”
“No!” Against the pale morning, her cheeks beamed a brilliant red.
“Get in the car, Suz. Don’t encourage them.” But the small sports motor was buried in snow. Nathaniel started scraping and shoveling away the mounds of snow.
“But they’re making stuff up.”
“Susanna. Please.” She must listen to him. “Defending yourself only fans their flames.”
“I’m a friend, just a friend. Which is more than I can say for any of you.”
“Susanna … shovel, please.” Nathaniel was grateful the snow was soft and powderlike. He’d have put the top up last night if he’d known he was going to fall asleep and spend the night.
“We spent the night in prayer and worship.”
“Prayer and worship?” Laughter burst from among the congregation of photographers. “You’re serious? You expect us to believe he prayed with you?”
Susanna began clearing the snow from the car with vigor. “Bunch of meanies.”
“I told you not to engage them.” Nathaniel shoveled faster, the motion warming away the cold but awakening his anxieties.
He’d not been very public with his renewed faith yet. These men would find it hard to believe Nathaniel spent the night with anyone in prayer and worship, let alone a beautiful woman.
“Your Majesty, do you have a word on the explosions this morning?”
He stopped shoveling. “This morning?”
“You’ve not heard?” A red-cheeked man peered from around his camera.
“No, not yet.” Again? Nate jerked open the driver-side door, plopped into his seat, and fired up the engine. “Get in.”
Susanna’s seat was still mostly covered in snow but she jumped in, slamming her door as Nathaniel shot in reverse toward the road, scattering the photographers like wild chickens.
With the road clear, Nathaniel sped toward Parrsons, the wind biting as it dipped down over the windshield.
He glanced at his phone. “Thirty missed calls.”
“I’m sorry, Nate.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“It will be to them. This is why they don’t want Brighton kings marrying foreign women. They steal their affections.”
He peered at her. She was right. She’d stolen his affections. “Those chaps don’t care a whit about my affections.” When he covered the major curves in the road and hit a straight stretch, Nathaniel dialed Jonathan.
“I’m on my way to Parrsons.”
“No, don’t. Parrsons is swarming with press. Where’ve you been? The Royal Guard is on alert.”
“What? Mum knew I was with Susanna.”
“But where? You never returned.”
“Blast it man, the photographers found me. You mean my own security detail couldn’t? I was at St. Stephen’s.”
“The LibP came out with an entire front page photo, half you, half Susanna. Looks as if you were making hot-eyes at each other during the coronation prayers. What was she doing standing?”
“What’s this about another explosion?” He glanced over at Susanna. She sat stiff and pale. He needed to get her to warmth and safety.
“A small bomb. Blew out an empty building. We got a message a few minutes after from a free Hessenberg group, demanding the end to the entail. There’s all kinds of wild speculation in the press this morning. Everything from you purposefully ignoring Lady Genevieve to deny Hessenberg’s independence. Others calling for a revolt. Some saying you’re going to abdicate.”
“Meet me at my office in an hour. And tell the guards to stand down.” He ended the call just as the first small village popped up on the horizon.
“I’m going to drop you off here, Susanna. The press is all over Parrsons.”
Her eyes glistened. “O–okay.”
“This isn’t your fault.” Nathaniel took the first right at cruising speed, then the first left, arriving in a service alley. He idled the MG behind the loading dock of the Horch Bakery, secure from the probing eyes of the press. “This is just the media
being the media. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Were people hurt?” She got out, shivering, shaking the snow from her coat.
“Jon will brief me, but I don’t think so. Henry said not last night. Suzanna, this has nothing to do with me disappearing for a night. Dissenters are just looking for ways to break the entail. To free themselves from the monarchy.”
“It’ll be worse when the pictures of us go live.” The color of cold and emotion shaded her cheeks.
“Let them do their worst. We did nothing wrong.”
“But we gave the appearance of wrong. The people depend on you to do what’s right. To put aside your own desires and will. That’s just for everyday situations. But you have a political entanglement that requires you do what’s right for millions of people. If you’ve lost their trust, you’ve lost them. You’ve lost your ability to influence. So yeah, we did do something wrong.”
He exhaled at her frank truth. “I should have you on my privy council.”
“You should get going.” She walked around the back of the car. “Am I going in here?” She pointed to the bakery’s back door.
“You’ll be safe here. Horch makes the best puffs in Brighton.” Nathaniel reached for the door. “I’ll alert Rollins to send a car when things die down.”
