Once Upon a Prince

TWO

I’m going out.” Nathaniel glanced to the dining-room table for the keys to the motorcar, the rented black SUV.

He thought Liam had deposited them there after he’d returned from his daily breakfast errand.

“Going where?” Jonathan, Nathaniel’s aide, crossed the living room with his iPad in hand, concern creasing his face.

“Nowhere. Just out.” Where were those blasted keys? Nathaniel lifted the newspaper Liam had been reading. Aha …

“Liam’s gone for a run.” Jonathan returned his attention to his iPad, tapping the screen, scrolling through his emails, no doubt. “Wait for him to return.”

“I don’t need Liam.”

The aide snapped his attention to Nathaniel. “You’re not going alone.”

“I don’t need a security officer with me on this small island. No one even knows I’m here.”

“Mrs. Butler knows you’re here.”

“Yes, but I’m her surprise guest at the benefit, so I’m sure she’s not made my presence known. Besides, Americans love the British princes. Us Brighton lads go virtually unnoticed.”

“The Crown will have my head if anything happens to you.”

“Shall I send a note, tell them I’m choosing to wander about on my own, absolve you of all responsibility?”

“Now you patronize me.”

“And you worry too much, Jonathan.” Nathaniel turned, signaling the end of the conversation. He was going for a drive—alone.

Having been on the island for three days at the family’s American holiday cottage, Nathaniel had seen nothing except the beach, which was beautiful, the pinched expression of his aide and solemn countenance of his security officer, both of whom were fine friends but not beautiful to behold.

Three grown men on holiday, lounging in a hundred-year-old cottage, watching movies and playing an ancient Brighton card game, made Nathaniel restless.

Technically, though, he’d traveled to America on business, not for a holiday. The king’s business, to be exact. So the kingdom of Brighton owed Nathaniel a true vacation. One with sun and surf and perhaps the company of a pretty woman with whom to dine.

In light of this, his aide and beloved nation could spot him an hour or two on his own.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Jonathan dashed around the sofa to intercept Nathaniel in the foyer.

“Gladly, no.” Nathaniel stepped around him and into the sunshine and freedom. He loved his country. Loved Brighton’s low-cloud days that had a nip in the air, but he also loved the sun, the heat, and the endless blue sky of Georgia. “It’s a small island. I’m sure I can manage my way round.” He smiled at Jonathan, so serious and intense. The man took his duties as aide to the crown prince of Brighton most seriously.

“I’ll go with you.”

“Jonathan, I need a moment to myself.” Nathaniel slipped behind the wheel. “To think.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know … life.”

The man sighed, collapsing his thin shoulders. “You have your mobile?”

Nathaniel patted his trouser pocket, where he’d tucked the phone. “Go back to what you were doing, Jon. I’ll not be gone long.”

Pulling out of the drive, Nathaniel turned south on Ocean Boulevard and powered down all the windows.

The sun-baked July breeze filled the interior and blew his hair, the loose threads of his shirt, and the nagging thoughts on his heart.

Easing off the accelerator, Nathaniel jutted his elbow out the window, slid down in the seat, and steered the big machine through the dappled light where the brightness of the afternoon was giving way to the textured shadows of evening.

His tension began to ease at the sight of an old woman riding her bicycle on the dirt path next to the road.

Still, the news at home hadn’t been good before he left. Dad’s health was failing. Nathaniel half suspected he’d sent him on this junket not to please distant cousin Carlene Butler but because this might be Nathaniel’s last excursion as a free man. At thirty-two, he thought he had years—decades—before becoming king.

But instead he had months. A year tops.

He steered the car around a curve with a sense of familiarity. He needed more time. To soak up Dad’s wisdom. To amend his youthful rebellion and indiscretions.

“You will be king within the year. Prepare yourself.” Dad was so matter-of-fact. So true to form. King first, man second.

“Dad, no, you’re going to recover …”

Nathaniel slowed for a traffic light, inhaling the scent of sweet jasmine. It brought memories of home. Of his youth summers with Dad, Mum, and little brother, Stephen, at Parrsons House.

When the light flashed green, Nathaniel urged the car forward, taking the roundabout along Frederica to Demere.

Surely this ride was what he needed. Fresh perspective. Life was changing, wasn’t it? Too suddenly. Too quickly.

The pressure to choose a bride would increase the moment he returned to Brighton. From Mum first, then Dad. After that, the King’s Office. Perhaps the prime minister would want to “have a word.”

Say, Nathaniel, what thoughts have you given to choosing a wife? The throne needs an heir.

As of late, the media had begun to mimic their British and German cousins, printing salacious stories on the royal princes, trying to sell papers, casting aspersions about the crown prince’s marriage intentions, reminding the populace of his youthful indiscretions, and that he’d not had a serious girlfriend in ten years. Fine that … a decade. Though he had been seen as of late with the beautiful Lady Genevieve Hawthorne.

Nathaniel took the Torras Causeway toward Brunswick, curving right or left as the road dictated, letting it lead him.

He turned a sharp, sudden right when his eye caught a street sign. Prince Street.

Slowing down, the SUV drifted through the shade under the live oaks, the breeze gentling past. Prince Street … The sign freed a bit of his hope, made him feel like everything would be all right. As if he might actually be in the right place at the right time. An unusual sensation for crown princes.

Lord, am I ready …

He was about to turn around when a strong feminine voice captured his attention. Nathaniel leaned over the wheel, squinting through the sun and shade. A woman walked ’round a car parked under an enormous, craggy old tree. A motley-looking man traipsed after her.

She stopped, wagged a metal rod or some such at him, and pointed down the road as if telling him to leave.

The man stepped forward with a wolfish grin. She swung at him. Good going, girl.

Nathaniel pulled his SUV under the tree, parking next to the small, green Cabrio and stepped out.

“Might I be of assistance?”

The woman whirled around, giving him a wide-eyed expression. The threads of light falling through the trees haloed her golden hair. “There you are. What took you so long?” She jammed the rod toward him. “I told this guy you were on your way … darling.” She made a face. “Can you believe it? Another flat tire.” Her laugh carried no merriment. “The lug nuts are stuck tighter than a drum.”

“Well, then, let’s get them unstuck.” Nathaniel took the cross wrench from the woman and examined it. He’d changed a few tires in his day. During his university years, racing over country roads had been a pastime for letting off steam.

He shifted his gaze to the pierced and tattooed man. He was thin, wearing tattered, soiled clothing, and Nathaniel felt sure he only wanted money. He was also sure the girl could’ve taken him if it had come to a brawl. “You can move on now.”

“I only offered to help.” The man stepped back.

“But I asked you to leave and you didn’t.” The woman bent toward him, hands on her hips, fire in her tone.

Nathaniel smiled. He liked her.

“Be on your way.” Nathaniel slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the twenty-dollar bill he’d collected before going on his drive. Stepping around the blonde, he offered his hand to the man, pressing the bill into his gritty palm. “Have yourself a hot meal.”

The man popped open the twenty and held it up, a hard glare in his eyes. “You rich folk think you can just do whatever you please, don’t you?”

“And what do you folk think? You can continue pressing a lady when she asks you to leave?”

The man swore, tucked the money in his pocket, and walked off, talking to himself, filling the air with foul words.

“I could’ve done that.” She turned a bit of her fire onto Nathaniel. “Given him money. You know he’s going to buy booze or drugs, right?”

Nathaniel shrugged, watching her for a moment. She didn’t seem to recognize him. But who would expect a real prince right here, right now? “Or he might buy a nice hot dinner. Seems the lad could use it.” Nathaniel wrapped his fingers around the cool metal wrench. Something about her made him want to wrap his arms around her and assure her that he didn’t care what the man did with the money, only that she was safe.

“Have we met before?” he asked, knowing he had not met this woman, but something about her seemed so familiar. Warm and perfect.

“No.” She took the wrench from him. “Thanks for stopping. I appreciate it. But I can take it from here.” Her voice wavered, and Nathaniel caught the glassy sheen of tears in her eyes before she glanced away.

“Are you sure? What of those tight lug nuts? I’ve changed lots of tires in my time.” Nathaniel held out his hand, palm up. “What say we work at it together. Get you going straightaway.”

“Straightaway to where? To what?” She fell against the car, exhaling, her wind-tangled ponytail falling over her shoulder. “What a stupid, rotten day.”

Nathaniel sobered when she released a sharp sob.

“Ah, what’s wrong? Can’t be all that bad, can it?”

She swerved around, punishing the flat tire with a sharp kick. “Stupid, rotten day.”

“It’s just a flat tire.”

She glared at him, a pink hue rimming her flooded blue eyes. “We were supposed to be forever, you know? Twelve years …

Who waits twelve years for a guy if it’s not for forever?”

“Ah, lover’s quarrel.”

“Quarrel? No. Complete breakdown of what we thought we wanted in life, in our relationship.” The first splash of tears hit her high, smooth cheeks. She brushed them away with the back of her hand, kicked the tire one last time, and passed behind Nathaniel toward the tree. “I don’t know why I came here. I just got in the car and drove.” She glanced back at the motor, making a face. “And I find myself here, at good ol’ Lover’s Oak.”

“So this tree has a name and a tale?” Nathaniel came around the car, surveying the thick, curvy, Medusa-like limbs of the expansive oak.

“The tree is legend. Fabled to be nine hundred years old, a place where native braves met their maidens.” She smoothed her hand along the curve of the lowest limb as if she might feel the tree’s pulse, as if she might discern the stories of days gone by.

“Do you suppose it’s true?” Nathaniel was acquainted with legends and fables, long tales of bravery, love, and courage. They were a part of Brighton. A part of his five-hundred-year-old family tree.

She peered over at him. “I wanted to get engaged under this tree. Soft white lights swinging from the branches. Maybe a string quartet playing over there.” She pointed to the edge of the median. “Something special, romantic.”

“But your lad had other intentions.”

Tears filled the corners of her eyes. “I–I just … wanted …” She shook her head as she lowered her gaze. “I’ve been such a fool.”

“I don’t think anyone who freely gives her heart is a fool.”

She sat down on the stump creasing the middle of the wide tree’s base, face in her hands, weeping softly.

What was he to do? He didn’t know the woman. And tears? He’d never been much good with tears.

“It’s quite courageous. To give one’s heart.” What did he know? He’d failed at love once and never attempted it again.

She dried her face on the sleeve of her shirt. “I never expected much. Just love and devotion, you know? That he would do what he said he’d do … marry me. I lived my childhood not knowing what my parents were doing from one moment to the next. Kiss and make up or fire the dinner dishes at each other. I was fine with simple and slow, taking our time. We both went to college, started our careers.” She inhaled a long, shaky breath. “He did four tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

“A soldier.”

“Marine. Captain.”

“I served in the navy myself. Four years.”

“Were you deployed?” She stood straighter.

How could he tell her? His birth status kept him from being deployed. That he presented more of a danger to his countrymen than the enemy. “I never shipped out to conflict zones.”

“Are you from England?”

“Brighton Kingdom.”

“Brighton. Beautiful gardens in Brighton.”

“You know of our gardens?”

“Studied your Lecharran Garden in college. I’m a landscape architect—well, when I’m not serving up barbecue at the Rib Shack.” Her eyes were clear, her gaze a strong blue when she looked at him. “I thought he was going to propose on the beach. Forget the tree, the twinkling lights, the quartet. We were finally moving forward.” She smashed her fist against her palm, almost laughing.

“You are a beautiful woman. I’m sure there are a number of men?”

“Number of men? No, no … no. Look … What’s your name?” Whatever process she was going through, it seemed to rebuke her sobs and energize her.

“Nate.” He offered his hand. “Nate Kenneth.” Parts of his name anyway. His traveling name.

“Susanna Truitt.” She shook his hand, and he loved the feel of her grip.

“You were saying?”

“What? Yeah, you said …” Her eyes lingered on his face. Her hand remained in his. “Men. A number of men, right?” She slipped from his grasp.

His instinct was to reach for her again, but he curled his fingers into his palm instead.

“I don’t want men. I want one man.” She held up her finger. “One true love.”

“There’s only one?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

She pressed her hand over her heart. “My heart tells me. There is one for me. Only one.”

Her words vibrated through him—hot, exploding, bringing to life his own thoughts on love. “You almost convince me.”

“Then you’re as foolish as I am.” She broke a dead twig from the tree and crumbled the leaves in her hand. “I thought I’d found him.” Bits and pieces of dried brown leaves fluttered to the ground. “But I didn’t.” She breathed in a slow, quivering breath.

“Maybe he’ll come ’round.” If the man had half a wit. How could he walk away from her? From Susanna?

“He’s met someone else.” Her eyes glistened again, and the tip of her perfect nose reddened. “He said he found the right ring but not the right girl.”

“Oh, he said that? He’s an honest chap if not a bit brutal.”

She shook her head, tapping her chest with her fingers. “The worst part of this is realizing I was so focused on him proposing one day I never imagined my answer. When he so honestly said he’d found the right ring but not the right girl, I was mad. Hoo boy, was I mad. But the more we talked, the more I realized … we were a high school romance plan gone wrong. Now all I can think is if he’d proposed”—she snapped another thin, dead twig from the tree—“I’m not sure I’d have said yes.”

“You’re not sure?” Nathaniel swallowed the hurrah pressing on his tongue. What right did the man have to this beauty if he’d break her heart with such a harsh confession?

“Argh. I don’t know.” Her gentle words bent and swayed with her Georgia accent. “I just hung on so tight …” She fisted the air. “He said I loved the plan more than him. But who does that? I told him he was crazy. But, Nate, he might just be right. I put all of my eggs in the marry-Adam-Peters basket and that was that. End of story.”

“So you don’t love him either?”

“Yes … no … I don’t know.” She squinted at him. “You’re pushy for just having met me.” Her laugh-cry escaped into the air between them. “Except I feel”—she fell against the wide, split base of the ancient tree—”peace. Something I’ve not felt in a long time. You know how you can hold on to something so tight … you’re so close you can’t even really see what you’re clinging to anymore?”

Yes, he knew.

“Then you finally let go, only to see your hands are all rope burned and the pot of gold at the end of your rainbow turned out to be a pile of candy wrappers glinting in the sun.”

Nathaniel snorted a light laugh but pulled it in, not sure she intended to be funny. “But now the future is yours to own, to mold.”

She examined her palms as if she expected to find rope burns. “What a waste.” She snapped her attention to him. “And look at me, telling all my woes to a complete stranger.”

“Not so strange, I hope. Just new.” Nathaniel had liked her a minute ago. He’d moved on to adoring her. “You’ve a career?”

“Not much going on in the landscape-architecture business these days. People aren’t redoing their grounds. They’re saving money.” She peered at the twilight sky, then held out her hand for the wrench. “I’m sure you have other things to do than talk to me. I can change the tire.”

“It’s been a pleasure to talk with you.” Nathaniel walked to the flat and dropped to one knee. She’d kicked the old tire. He could kiss it. Because it had gone flat, he’d met the enchanting Susanna. “I envy you, Susanna. You have your life ahead of you, free to do whatever, start fresh, go wherever you want, do whatever you want.”

“Keep talking, bubba. I might start believing you.” She dropped the jack to the ground and shoved it under the car.

He loosened the lug nuts. “Consider some who have their lives planned for them from before they were born. No chance to make a change or go about as they please.”

“I don’t know anyone like that around here. Maybe Mose Watson, who’s set to inherit his daddy’s real estate business, but they’re millionaires, and I don’t hear Mose complaining.”

“But if Mose wanted to leave, could he?”

“Technically. Though his old man might have a conniption.”

She made him laugh. Inside and out. She made him forget the burden of having his future all planned, not just by his parents, but by five hundred years of history.

If he considered his destiny, in the deepest hours of night when he couldn’t sleep, the burden nearly stole his breath.

But for now, Brighton Kingdom and his very orchestrated future didn’t matter. Only the summer breeze slipping through Lover’s Oak and assisting Susanna mattered.

Nathaniel removed the lug nuts and then worked the flat tire from the axle. “My mates and I used to let off steam in our university years racing cars down country roads.” He let a memory rise in his soul and do the talking. “One of us always flattened a tire. But it was good to have a go at it with my mates.”

“Sounds like you miss it.” She peered at him through the golden wisps of her hair that had been freed from her ponytail.

“It was a different time. We were young and impetuous, thought we were invincible.”

“And now?”

“I’m respectable and not so impetuous nor invincible.”

“Is that bad?” She tugged the spare out of the trunk and dropped it next to Nathaniel.

“At the moment, not at all.” He paused. “Not at all.” For a sweet Southern moment, he let the light and life of Miss Susanna Truitt sink into the most secret place of his heart.