Once Upon a Prince (13 page)

“Nathaniel, it’s your father.” The music faded. The lights dimmed. And his heart felt cold with the rain.

“Nate?” Susanna said when he ended the call.

“I’ve got to go, Susanna.” He chose the path around the deck to the car park and the SUV. “That was Jon. My father has died.”

December, St. Simons Island

I
understand.” Susanna held the phone beneath her chin so her discouraged exhale didn’t echo in the man’s ear. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Flynn. It was an honor to present you with a proposal.”

She hung up and tossed her phone to her desk as she rocked back in the rickety old chair, pressing her hands over her eyes and resisting the urge to scream.

But when she couldn’t contain her frustration any longer, she let loose a rebel yell and fired out of her chair, banging her shin against the side of the desk. Of course. How symbolic. Now she really wanted to scream. She hobbled to her office door and stepped out onto the fire escape.

“What in blazes is going on?”

The sun barely acknowledged her with a fast wink between two drifting clouds across a lofty blue perch. How was she ever going to get her life going if
nothing
ever came together?

She returned to the closet-sized office she rented from a group of lawyers, a square hovel that had once been an outside
servants’ entrance on the top floor of a refurbished antebellum. The room had one window—the narrow transom above the door.

Her drafting table and one small bookshelf barely fit in the ten-by-ten space. Using the bathroom required a trek down the fire escape, through the kitchen, past the senior lawyer’s office, and down a long tiled hallway. Her heels resounded the entire trip, announcing her destination.

Susanna’s on her way to the bathroom
.

Susanna’s on her way to the bathroom
.

It was embarrassing. Worse, she paid eight hundred dollars a month for this box, which served as a boiler room in August and September and now was a freezer in December. How could a third-floor room on a Georgia island get so cold?

She wore a coat all day except between noon and two when the transom managed to capture the tail end of the sun and warm the place up.

Susanna turned her portable heater on and stretched her cold hands toward the first blast of heat. The initials days of December settled on St. Simons Island with a frost that refused to let go. But there were no snow predictions in the forecast. Thank goodness.

Yet the chill in the air congealed with the chill in her heart. Five months after Nate had left, she missed him. Her heart craved his warmth, his friendship, his presence.

She’d finished his garden. A framed and matted image of it hung on her wall. Sometimes on the slow afternoons when even her email didn’t talk to her, she stared at her rendering of “A King’s Garden” and mentally added two lovers to the garden bench.

Oh, Nate, how did you get under my skin?

He’d paid her in full, up front, and sent a bonus when the job was complete. It was the sum of two gardens, but when she tried to return the money, Jonathan refused to give her a wire transfer number.

The money afforded her this grand, opulent office (ha!) and new computer, but not one job had come her way since. She made ends meet by getting her hands dirty—working at the Rib Shack and taking on small landscaping jobs that required little to no technical design.

Yet the worst part of her life wasn’t her career. It was missing him. Not Adam, the man she’d planned to marry, but Nate, the man she never planned to marry. Nor ever could.

After he left, she did her own research on the Brighton Marriage Act of 1792. Sure enough, the boy was telling the truth. No foreigners were allowed to marry into the line of the throne.

She fell against her desk. “God, I’ve got nothing. Nothing.” A rush of tears came quickly, and she did nothing to stop them.

The depth of her nothingness even followed her as she went house hunting. Susanna had yet to find a new place. Aunt Rue had arrived in October as promised, graciously letting Susanna bunk with her for two months. But by the amount of Christmas baking and decorating Rue was doing, Susanna knew she’d need every inch of the cottage to quarter her holiday guests.

“I’ve got
nothing
.” She eased down to the floor. All her plans had failed. “I–I’m one hundred percent available to you.” She reconfirmed the offering she’d made to God that day on the Christ Church lawn with Nate. “W–who do you have like me? No husband or children, no career, no one needing or expecting me. Well, Mama, to run the back of the house, but shoot, she’s got Catfish and Bristol to take my place. Gladly.”

Susanna was, frankly, a girl who could go anywhere and do anything the Lord needed.

“Jesus, I have to believe you are so good, whatever you have me do, I’ll love it.” Susanna clung to the rise of peace that came with her surrender. “I have to believe …”

She drank of the peace, then hopped up and danced a little jig as she shimmied over to turn on the radio.

Powering it up to a Christmas station, she danced across the office, about to belt out “Hark the Herald,” when Gage darkened her doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Wasn’t this embarrassing? She cleared her throat and glanced at her desk, reaching for the mouse to minimize her Euchre game. She was losing anyway. Big surprise.

“Not having as much fun as you.” He grinned and came the rest of the way into the office.

“You should know better than to sneak up on people.” She sat at her desk, though she’d rather keep dancing. “What do you want?”

Gage had been after her for the last few months to work for him again. She’d resisted. Dread crept over her heart, mocking her joy. Was this God’s answer to her surrender? Go to work for Gage?
Lord, wait now …

“I just came by to let you know you’re off the hook.” He tipped his head to emphasize his point, then reached for the Super Ball she kept on top of her empty pencil canister. He bounced it against the dry, uneven hardwood.

“You hired someone else?” She
was
willing to work with him again. Wasn’t she? If the Lord wanted. Sure. Because God was good and she trusted him. Besides, anything to get her career going, to move her life one inch down the road.

“I hired a landscape architect two weeks ago. She moved down from Charleston this weekend with a client in her hip pocket. We sealed the deal with them an hour ago. So”—he raised his hands to the tiny office—“blessings to you and your itty-bitty space.” He kept the ball bouncing in an even rhythm. Thud against the floor. Smack against his palm.

Susanna came around and snatched the ball mid-bounce. “Just like that? You give up on me?”

“Hey, you’re the one who quit. You’re the one who put me off for months.”

“But you didn’t give me a chance to change my mind.”

“I asked you a half-dozen times. Even sent you a couple of jobs. How’d they work out?”

She bounced the ball against the floor. “They decided to go in another direction.”

“All of them?” Gage couldn’t look more incredulous. “Suz, those jobs were shoo-ins.”

“You sent me three friends of Mrs. Butler’s. She still hates me from the summer, taking her prize guest away.”

“You think I’m that big of a jack wagon? That I’d send you jobs she’d sabotage? Besides, she didn’t know the prince left with you.”

“She must know. I’ve run into her twice, and she gives me the evil eye.” Susanna glared at him with a curled lip. “Trust me, I know the look. And if she does know, I’ll never get a job on this island.” What was she confessing? “Mrs. Butler has her nose in every garden and landscape project on the island, down to south Florida, up to north Georgia, to infinity and beyond.” The thud and smack of the ball had a certain, soothing sound.
This
was why she had the Super Ball in the first place. To bounce off tension.

“You want me to talk to her?”

“No, yes …” She caught the ball and pointed at him. “Only if it comes up in natural conversation.” She returned the Super Ball to the pencil canister. “I’m glad you hired someone. You deserve to have success.”

Gage’s stance softened. He was handsome in his white shirt, dark tie, and gelled hair. “Susanna, I’ve been thinking maybe you and I—”

The office door butted open, and Gracie tripped inside, along with a hearty gush of cold air and a large box in her hands. “Merry Christmas, Suz. Time to decorate this mousetrap you call an office … Gage …” Gracie gave him the once over as she dropped the box to the floor and took out a tiny Christmas tree. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see Susanna.”

“Again I ask,
what
are you doing here?” Gracie and Gage dated once in high school. He broke up with her one second before she was going to tell
him
“it’s not working,” and she’d never forgiven him. She slapped the plastic evergreen on the corner of Susanna’s desk.

“Again, I
came
to see Susanna. What are
you
doing here?”

The thin, bare limbs of the fake tree trembled. A Charlie Brown tree. Just what this office needed. Hands on her waist, Gracie stood back to examine the tree, then she faced Susanna. “Did he tell you, huh? The big mouth. Couldn’t wait … had to run over here and tell you.”

“Gracie,” Gage said, his tone low and warning as he gave her a familiar, knowing look.
What’s with that?
“I came to talk to her about—”

“Yeah, he told me,” Susanna said.

“He did? You don’t look upset. I know you’ve been handling all this so well, but I expected you to be at least aggravated.” Gracie peeled off a strip of duct tape and anchored the tree stand to the desk. “I got some fake snow to cover that up.”

“Why would I be upset?” Susanna peered inside the Christmas box. Come to think of it, a bit of holiday decorating would cheer her up. She picked up a string of silver tinsel and wrapped it around her neck. “He tried to get me back but I refused. I don’t blame him.”

“What?” Gracie grabbed her arms, turning Susanna toward her. “When did he ever try to get you back?”

“Since the summer.”

“Since the summer? Are you kidding me? You never said a word. Girl, I’m about to take away your best-friend card.”

“What? I said a million words. You cheered me on. ‘Go, girl, tell him no, girl.’”

“When did I ever?” Gracie glanced at her before retrieving cottony snow drape from the box.

“Gracie, think now before you—”

“Gage, shhhh.” Gracie shot him a curled-lip look. “This is girlfriend talk. She never told me Adam tried to get her back.”

“And there you go …” Gage stepped back, grinning, arms folded. “After this you can never call me a big mouth again.”

“Adam?” Susanna twisted the tinsel around her fingers. “I’m talking about Gage trying to get me to work for him again. What are
you
talking about?”

“Yeah, Gracie, what
are
you talking about?” Gage shoved aside Susanna’s pencil canister and collection of McDonald’s toys to perch on the edge of her desk. “I came to tell her I’d finally hired a landscape architect.”

“Oh.” Gracie’s cheeks flushed pink. A rare and unusual sight.

“Gracie, what’s this about Adam?” Five minutes ago, Susanna was confident about throwing her life into God’s hands. He had her back and she could do anything he called her to do. But news about Adam speared her confidence with doubt.

Gracie buried her attention in the Christmas box. “Won’t these white lights brighten things up around here?”

“Gracie.”

“You tell her.” She shot up and cut a pleading glance toward Gage.

“No way. You started this.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Susanna said. “I don’t care who started it, but someone had better finish it.”

“Adam’s getting married.” Gracie and Gage. In harmony.

“Married?” Susanna unwound the tinsel and let it slither back into the box. “To Sheree?”

“Yeah, so you knew?” Gracie worked the knots from a string of lights.

“He told me about her when we broke up.” Susanna motioned to the Christmas box. “Is that what this is about?”

“No, I really think this office needs some Christmas cheer.” Gracie dropped the lights. “I’m so sorry, Suz.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you told me. I’d find out sooner or later.”

So Adam was moving on. Getting married.

Susanna didn’t have a place to live, but she’d surrendered her last offering to the Lord. Her time. Her will. Her very heart. No sense taking it back now. If all else failed, she knew of a good spot in the woods next to Aurora.

Snow in early December put Nathaniel in a festive spirit, opened his heart for the Christmas season, and for a moment allowed him to forget the weight of preparing for his coronation.

He grieved his father still, wishing he could stride down the hall to ask him questions, glean from his wisdom. He longed for his strength and experience, his knowledge of the kingdom, of the family, of the entail.

This time next month, Nathaniel would be king. Regent of the Brighton Kingdom, the de facto Archduke of the Grand Duchy Hessenberg, head of the state and constitutional monarchy.

Ten million citizens under his care. Ten million hearts funneled into one—his. He must be an advocate for them all. Even the rumbling Hessens whose demand for their independence increased every day.

But they were all bound by the decisions of their forefathers and the ironclad entail. One of the latest headlines declared Brighton had stolen the rights to Hessenberg. Another declared that the royal family from the House of Augustine-Saxon had been murdered or exiled so far away they’d never be found again.

And yet, somehow, in the midst of the recent turmoil, the lovely Lady Genevieve came to the surface, a bright star willing to “save the day.”

Recently, Nathaniel resolved, if it came down to it, he would sacrifice himself, his heart, for the welfare of Brighton and independence of Hessenberg and marry Ginny.

Shouts from the staff’s children playing in the fresh snow beneath his window drew his attention from his worries. Gladly, Nathaniel shoved away from his desk for the window.

Whoa …
Young Seamus Mackinder plastered pretty Sarah Warren with a fat snowball. She chased him ’round a tree, tackled him, and pushed his face beneath the snow.

Atta, girl. Don’t let the lads best you
.