Once Upon a Prince (27 page)

“Gage and Gracie.”

“Ah, of course.” Adam laughed, his perfect skin pulling taut over his perfect features. “Can’t keep a secret with those two.”

“I met someone too.”

“Really?” Adam regarded her for a moment. “He’s a lucky son-of-a-gun.”

“But he lives in Europe and—” She inhaled, fortifying her heart. “It’s a long, complicated story.”

“You always wanted to work in Europe’s gardens. There’s
nothing holding you here.” Adam nudged her with his words, with a sharp jab of his elbow to her ribs. “Why not go?”

“Yeah, true.” She sighed, tears rising and burning. She always believed she’d lift her wings and fly away.

“Mom and Dad are throwing a little party for Sheree and me tonight. I’d love it if you’d come by the house. Say hi. Meet Sheree.”

Susanna peered up at him. “Sounds lovely. I’d love to meet her.” Honest. She would.

“Good, good.” He took a step back, hesitated, then strode forward and kissed her on the cheek. “You look good.”

“So do you. S–see you, Adam.” Susanna headed back inside, rounded the kitchen corner toward the storeroom, and pulled the door closed behind her.

Sinking down to the floor, she drew her legs to her chest and let her sobs push her forehead to her knees. For the past, the present, the unknown future.

For Adam. For Nate. For losing her office. For letting go and admitting the truth—she loved Nathaniel. For the courage to discover a part of herself she never knew before.

A light tap on the door stirred her to look up. “Yeah?” She dabbed her face with the back of her hand. “Who is it?”

When no one answered, Susanna twisted the knob, cracking open the door. A cold Diet Coke, a glass of ice, and a chocolate bar sat on a small tray. With a laugh, she pulled in the comfort and closed the door.

“You’re all right, Bonnie,” she whispered, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig. “You’re all right.”

Two Months Later, March

D
id you see this morning’s paper?” Jon tossed a copy of the
LibP
onto the desk, the colorful newsprint slicing through the nine o’clock sun beaming through the windows.

Nathaniel looked up from his dailies. The headline speculated, “Lady Genevieve Hawthorn, a Duchess of the People,” over a crisp, beautiful image of Ginny in a tailored blue suit, wooing schoolchildren in Hessenberg’s capital city, Strauberg.

“I’ve got to give her credit. She’s working this like a champ.”

“She’s on with
Madeline & Hyacinth Live!
today at four.”

“If I were so inclined to marry her, doesn’t she realize how difficult all this campaigning makes it?” Nathaniel pushed away from his desk.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not planning to marry her.”

“You were pushing for it a few months back.”

“Before she showed her dark underbelly.”

Nathaniel regarded his aide. “We’ve known of her dark, controlling, manipulative side since university. Don’t act surprised.”

“But she never used her evil against us, Nathaniel.”

“By the way, we found out how the
LibP
got a picture of you and Susanna.” Jon took a seat and shoved a brown dossier toward Nathaniel. “You were tagged on Facebook.”

“I have a Facebook?” Nathaniel asked, surprised.

“You have a fan page. We follow it just to see what people are posting. You’re quite popular. The owner is a Brighton woman. Married with kids. It’s all innocent enough. But a woman at the Butler benefit found the page and posted the picture of you and Susanna. She and her family were at the Rib Shack the night you two sat on the deck.”

“Where can I see this page?” Nathaniel sat at his computer and launched a browser.

“Nathaniel, I have news.” He glanced around to see Jon leaning forward, tapping the dossier. “There’s a Hessenberg heir.”

“There’s a—” Nathaniel snapped up the dossier. “Really, chap? There’s an heir? Who?” He flipped through the pages, weighing the revelation.

A few months ago he had hope after reading the initial interview Jonathan and Tanner did with Yardley Prather, but finding an heir proved to be tedious and tangled with international red tape.

Yardley’s older brother had been in attendance at the entail signing. Prince Francis was more given to parties than military strategy, but the crafty grand duke knew enough about entails to require his own heir, whoever he or she may be, to inherit back the land at the expiration of the entail.

“Jon, there’s nothing new here,” Nathaniel said, scanning the old information, searching for the new.

“Keep reading.”

Prince Francis fled to Sweden where he died in 1944 at the age of seventy-six.

Yardley Prather believed he died of a broken heart.

What remained of the House of Augustine-Saxon crumbled
under the weight of two world wars. Artifacts and records had been destroyed by World War II German surface-to-surface missiles.

“So where is this heir?” Nathaniel skimmed the report pages.

Jonathan took the dossier, leafed to the last page, and set it in front of him. “Here.” He handed the dossier back to Nathaniel. “Lady Alice Stephanie Regina.”

“Moved to New York after the war. British flyer she married … killed in ‘45.” Nathaniel shook his head. “This family certainly knew tragedy.”

“Alice had enough of war and skipped the pond to America.”

For the first time in two months, Nathaniel allowed his heart to hope. Really hope. “How sure are we about all of this?”

“I’ve had the staff rooting around in files locked in rooms we’d forgotten about, calling over to London, checking marriage certificates and birth notices, death notices in London and New York. The American law firm we hired found record of an Alice Edmunds arriving in New York, August 13, 1946, but that’s where the trail ends.”

“Good job.” Nathaniel’s smile ballooned over his white clouds of hope. “I knew it, chap. I knew it. We’re going to find an heir.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. We may not find anyone of the grand duke’s line. Alice may have died or never remarried.”

“Don’t say it. We’re going to find her great-granddaughter.” He popped his hands together, grinning. “Let’s have Lady Genevieve to tea when we tell her.”

“We? You. I don’t want to be in that firestorm.”

“Firestorm? It’ll be a bright, happy day, Jon. Come on. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of Ginny.”

“Terrified. Now that I know her true colors.”

Nathaniel regarded his aide and friend. “What do you think of Susanna now?”

The man gathered up the dossier. “That I wish she’d been born in Brighton.”

Nathaniel returned to his apartment and inhaled the glorious smells of Jacque’s cooking.

“Malcolm, are those dumplings I smell?”

“Your Majesty’s favorite.” Nate’s butler bobbed out of the kitchen. “They’re calling for a fresh snow tonight, sir. I thought warm dumplings would cheer you. Jacque agreed.”

“You’re too good to me.” Nathaniel turned when he heard the knock on the door. He reached for the handle, motioning to Malcolm to attend to his duties.

Ginny stood on the other side. “Hello, Nathaniel.” She crossed the threshold with one long, stiletto-heeled stride.

Malcolm ducked back into the kitchen.

“Ginny. What brings you ‘round?” Nathaniel loosened his tie. Dad honored the king’s office by wearing one every day, but Nathaniel had arrived to work his first day as king with an open collar. Then he sat behind the desk where the kings before him—his forefathers—sat. He rang Jonathan straightaway to bring him a tie.

“It’s been two months. I think I’ve proven I’m the people’s choice.” Ginny walked from the foyer to the living room and draped herself in a chair in a way that allowed her sheer blouse to hint at her womanly features.

“I didn’t realize there was a contest.”

“Nathaniel, you’re not thinking.” She spoke like a CEO rather than an intended lover. “We can be a powerhouse, spearheading a strong, enduring monarchy.”

“I think I can do that without you.”

“Think?”

“Know.”

“Know? Do you hear yourself? You have no confidence. You need me to assure you, remind you of who you are.”

“You want to see confidence?”

“Yes, in all of blazes, yes.” She walked over to him and leaned in, her sweet perfume belying her true identity. “Show me some courage. Marry me.”

“There’s no courage in marrying a woman I don’t love and who doesn’t love me. Sounds rather cowardly.”

“Nathaniel.” She stepped into him, powering up her wiles. Her long, sleek hair flowed like rich oil over her shoulders. Nathaniel stepped out of her reach. “Here’s how this plays out. You marry me, style me as Queen Genevieve of Brighton and grand duchess of Hessenberg. Right before the entail ends, we’ll divorce.”

“Divorce?”

“Yes, darling, the nasty, ugly D-word.”

“I’m not marrying you with the intention of divorcing you. I’m head of the church, the defender of the faith, Ginny. Not to mention it’s a stupid idea.”

“Listen to me. This is a win-win-win-win. Just before the entail ends, we’ll have a horrible row. In public. I might even be willing to succumb to an affair and let you toss me out on my ear.” She flailed her arms about with dramatic flair. “You demand a divorce. The press will agree.” She lowered her voice. “I know I can get the
LibP
to agree. The other papers will follow. And off I go. You strip me of my HRH Queen Genevieve title, but I’ll retain the one of grand duchess because when the entail ends, I’ll be the legitimate royal heir, inheriting the land of my ancestors. It’ll be all nice and legal. I’ll ask the governor, Seamus Fitzsimmons, to be prime minister and form a government.” Ah, so she did woo Seamus. Prime minister, eh?

“How long have you been planning this one?”

“What is wrong with you, Nathaniel?” Desperation exploded in her voice. “The plan is perfect. Everyone gets what they want. An independent Hessenberg and Brighton free from her economy.”

“And you get to be a royal.”

“Yes, I get to be a royal. So sue me.”

“You know we can’t divorce unless the archbishop and the Parliament approve.”

“They won’t force you to stay with an adulteress.”

“You have this all worked out, don’t you?” He moved from anger to pity. “You factor everyone into your schemes and think we’ll all play along. But I can’t lie to myself or to the people. I most certainly cannot stand before God and make a vow I don’t intend to keep.”

The desperation in her eyes rose to a roaring fire. “A grand duchess. Me. Her Royal Highness, Queen Genevieve, grand duchess of Hessenberg. By some fluke of history, war, and the destroyed records of my dear departed distant cousin, Prince Francis, I am in line to be a woman standing on the stage of the world’s leaders. A grand duchess when there is rarely such a thing anymore.”

“Are you that fixated on titles? Ginny, you can change the world where you stand. One person at a time. With your family, your company, your charities. You don’t need to be grand duchess. It’s not a power grab. You won’t be ruler, empress, queen, potentate, commander of all. You’ll be a servant to millions of people. It’s daunting, I tell you.”

“They’ll love me.” Something otherworldly flared in her eyes, and it chilled Nathaniel to the bone. His spirit churned.

“Ginny, if the Lord called you to the throne in Brighton, he’ll put you there. But it’s not going to be through me.” Nathaniel walked to the door and held it open for his departing guest. “Have a good day.”

She reared back, stiff, hostile, eyes narrowed with anger. “I warned you.”

“And I am warning you.” Calm. Steady. Confident. He locked his eyes on her and she broke.

“You’re a fool, Nathaniel.” She snatched up her bag and stormed out the door, upbraiding him with one final glance.

“A fool, you say? Then why would you want to marry me? A fool.”

She released a small, frustrated scream and barged down the hall. Nathaniel eased the door closed, then collapsed in his favorite chair. That exchange felt kind of good. Empowering. It was way better to confront a Jezebel than to kowtow to one.

He slipped his phone from his pocket and dialed Henry. The confrontation with Ginny sparked his courage. If he was going to become the king he wanted to be, then it must begin with becoming the man he wanted to be.

St. Simons Island

T
he chiffon rays of the March sun stretched down from an azure sky, dropping gold on the Spanish moss dangling from the knotted oak shading Granddaddy’s old garage, a detached building with a sliding door and oil stains from his old Plymouth.

The afternoon light and all its warmth barely reached the edge of the concrete floor. In the shadow, Susanna worked at her computer to the hum of a creaking ceiling fan.

Daddy had strung an internet cable from her grandparents’ house, out the back porch, through the grass like a skinny blue snake, across the end of the driveway, through the seeped-in oil stains on the garage concrete, and into the back of her iMac.

“Craig Hobbs, please,” Susanna said into the phone, propping her elbows on the desk, studying the pegboard walls.

She’d played in here as a kid, climbing behind the big steering wheel of Granddaddy’s car, pretending to drive down Ocean Boulevard with the wind in her hair, making motor sounds in her throat. She’d felt safe in the old garage, away from the fighting
and screaming at home. Behind the big wheel, she was free, commanding her own destiny.

“Yes, Mr. Hobbs.” She sat up straight when the president of Drapper Clothing answered. “My name’s Susanna Truitt. I’m a landscape architect on St. Simons Island, Georgia.”

“If you’re calling about the landscape project, the bidding closed two days ago.”

“Yes sir, I realize that, but I’d heard Remington had withdrawn, so I thought—”

“Do you know how many bids we received? One less will expedite our decision.”

Susanna jumped to her feet, pushing her chair into the rusty, old deep cooler circa 1960. “I’ll do it pro bono.”

“Pro bono?” He laughed. But not the kind that warmed a desperate girl’s heart. “Have you seen the plans? We’re building a multimillion-dollar factory and offices.”

“Yes sir.” Her friend from the Atlanta-based Remington & Co. had called last night with a tip on the job with the words “multimillion-dollar project.” No more. No less. “The design work I’ll do pro bono. I’ll bring a top-notch crew up to Atlanta and get the project done in half the time of most firms. You pay labor for the crew and materials.”

Silence. Then a long sigh. “Why would we hire you, Miss—”

“Truitt. Susanna Truitt.”

“—when we can afford the best?”

“I’m the best, sir, if you don’t mind me saying. You just don’t know it yet.” Oh, wow, hello bold and brash, pull up a chair and join the conversation. Desperation made a confident business partner.

“I’m not sure I know how to respond, Miss Truitt.” No laughter this time. No amusement.

“Mr. Hobbs, listen, I can do this. I don’t mind working for free to prove myself to you. I know you have plans for another
factory.”
Thank you
, Forbes. “With plans for a few brick-and-mortar stores. I want to be your landscape architect.”

“Miss Truitt, I admire your spirit, but we have a formal process in place to choose our vendors. I think I’ll stick with the plan for now.”

“Mr. Hobbs, I totally understand.” Susanna walked to the edge of the garage and stuck her flip-flopped foot into the edge of the sun. “I’m a by-the-plan girl myself. But I’ve recently learned life is rather dull if we don’t leap, take a chance once in a while. Trust our gut.”

“How’d that work for you, Miss Truitt?”

“If you must know, stinky. I got my heart broken twice in five months, but if I had to do it again, I would. And that’s a monumental confession for me. Join me, Mr. Hobbs, let go, change the plan”—she lowered the receiver below her chin and steadied her voice—“discovering what else is out there, even if it’s just a new piece of you, is worth it.”

He didn’t answer, but sighed. Susanna leaned against the faded, barn-red wall of the garage, hooking her fingers into her jeans pockets.
Come on, Mr. Hobbs. Take a chance
.

She pictured the founder and CEO at his desk, angled back in his chair, decked out in a pullover and khakis, his fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, asking himself why his assistant passed along a call from a crazy lady. “Like I said, Miss Truitt. I admire your spirit. But—”

The most humiliating word in the human language.
But
.

“Our processes and plans work fine for us. We’re a growing company. I can’t start leaping without looking now.”

“But isn’t that how you got to where you are now? Leaping? Taking chances?”

“Yes, but there’s a time and place. Hiring an overeager landscape architect right now is not one of them.” He added a few kind words about hanging in there, how a girl with her gumption was
sure to go far. When he said good-bye, Susanna returned to her desk with the wind chasing her, flitting her papers and twisting her hair.

She pressed her fingers against her eyes and shoved the bubbles of tears back into their bottle.

“Can I buy you a Diet Coke?”

Susanna raised her eyes to see Gage walking through the wide garage door, a cold soda bottle swinging from his hand.

“Didn’t your mama teach you not to sneak up on people?” She took the offered Coke and twisted off the cap.

“Sneak? The garage door is wide open. Didn’t you hear my truck?” Gage pointed to his vehicle parked in a glob of light as he walked behind her desk to perch on the old cooler.

“I was busy. Working.” Susanna stooped to pick up the papers the wind rustled off her desk.

“I can see.” Gage motioned to her screen. “Solitaire is time consuming.”

“Did you come here to torment me? Isn’t there a kitten to harass somewhere?”

“How long have you been in these luxury quarters?”

“Two months.”

He whistled. “Any business?”

“Noneya.”

“Noneya?” His laugh drew her smile to the surface. “What are we, in third grade?” He swigged his co-cola with casual swagger. “None ya business?”

“Mrs. Caller. Okay … I took a job with Mrs. Caller.”

Gage guffawed, slapped his thigh with his free hand, then covered his laugh with his fist. “I didn’t realize you were that destitute.”

“Destitute? She’s a fine, good paying—” Oh who was she kidding? Susanna laughed, then moaned, cradling her head in her hands. “I’ve changed her spring garden plans ten times. Ten
times. In two weeks. I’ve already lost money and we’ve not even started.”

“Ten times? Girl, I’m impressed. There was a time when even one change sent you up the wall. And now look at you … set up in this fancy office … your own internet cable …” He angled back to tap the blue cable hooked to her computer.

She smacked his hand. “Leave it alone. I just got it all working.” Then she rocked back in her chair with another moan. “I’m trying here, Gage.”

“What happened to the prince?”

“He became a king.”

Once Avery posted her entire coronation adventure on Facebook, all of the island knew the truth about Nate Kenneth. The paper ran a story quoting the indomitable Mrs. Butler, “Unlike the Truitt girls, I was trying to be discreet. Let my dear cousin visit the island in peace.”

Dear cousin, my eye …
She wanted him all to herself.

She peered into Gage’s mahogany eyes. So very different from Nathaniel’s light blue irises that matched the hue of the winter mountaintops.

“And?” he said.

“There’s no
and
, Gage. He became king, went on with his life. I’m going on with mine.”

He bent to see her face, his gaze narrowed at her. “With Mrs. Caller?”

“Yes, with Mrs. Caller.” Susanna’s stomach rumbled, and she had a sudden urge for chocolate. “She’s going to give me an extra hundred dollars for all my troubles.”

Gage laughed way too easily, way too loud. “Susanna, end this misery and come back to work for me.”

“You have that fancy landscape architect, remember. Miss La-di-da.”

“I fired her.”

“You’re kidding.” It was her turn to down her co-cola with a casual swagger. “We’re a mess, you and me.”

“Yep, you and me.” A pink hue tinted his high, lean cheeks. “I was thinking we could be a mess together. At work.” He walked to the cooler, pretending to be interested in the rusty old thing. “Outside of work.” He rapped on the cooler lid. “This thing work?”

“It’s full of Diet Coke and barbecue sauce.”
Outside of work?
She regarded him from under her tipped brow. “I–I d–don’t know. I–I mean, Daddy went to all the trouble to string the internet cable across the lawn. I got a fan.” She pointed overhead. “And the fridge.”

He stared at the daylight framed by the garage door. “You’ll start at your old salary plus ten percent. I’ll give you a bonus on all jobs you do. You can have fifty percent of any clients you bring in as long as you make a profit.” He finally looked back at her.

“If I could bring in clients, I wouldn’t need to work for you, Gage.”

“I have the reputation. Well, building one. You just need to get some jobs going, Suz. Build some momentum. You’ll be in high demand.” He picked at the wrapping on his soda bottle. “As for the other thing, we can take it slow, you know, see how it goes. Adam’s moved on, the prince is a king, and suddenly I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have the prettiest girl I’ve ever known sitting in front of me. Available.” He held her gaze for only a moment. “She makes me think of a field after a spring rain.”

“Gage.” That was the nicest thing he’d ever said to her. And by far the most poetic. She didn’t know he had it in him. And she sympathized with him in that moment, putting himself out there, laying his heart on the line. She admired him for it. But she was powerless to do anything about it. “I can’t work for you
and
date you.”

“Then you’re fired.”

“I’m not even hired yet.” She walked over, gave his arm a friendly tug. “I think I’d best just stay here in my old garage.”
Hear what I’m saying, friend
.

“I’ll treat you right.”

“I remember in eleventh grade you brought flowers to Willa Lund every day until she said yes to your homecoming invitation. You were persistent.” Susanna patted his shoulder. “Every girl wanted to be your girlfriend.”

“But I wanted you. Before Adam even knew you existed.”

She peered up at him. “You never said a word.”

He shrugged. “Too chicken to talk to you, let alone ask you out. What would I do if you said no?” Gage snatched her hand. “Come work for me. We’ll be Stone & Truitt, powerhouse Southern firm. All business, above board, strictly professional. If, over time, something more happens, then”—he skipped his booted foot over the cracked concrete floor—“we’ll see where that leads. You’re a great landscape architect. But no one is going to find that out as long as you’re working in an old garage.”

This wasn’t
the
plan. Broken heart. Detached garage office. Faltered career. Ex-boyfriend. Prince. King. Gage Stone. “Let me think about it, okay? I’ll call you.”

He gave her a somber nod, then smiled. “Don’t let Mrs. Caller make too many changes. She’s just lonely, Susanna. Rich, but lonely.”

“I know.” She liked Mrs. Caller. Susanna had a lot in common with the old Georgia belle.

She walked Gage to the edge of the garage, then waved as he fired up his truck and backed down the drive. “Don’t drive over my cable.”

Back at her desk, Susanna finished her Diet Coke and fielded his invitation, rather invitations plural, tossing them around in her heart.

Could she date Gage? It had been two months since the
coronation, and she’d not heard boo from Nate. But she thought of him every day.

She was waiting for a ripple of news that he’d proposed to Lady Genevieve or some Brighton lady. Or news that a resolution to the entail had been discovered.

Reaching to her track pad, she surfed the web for the Brighton papers. Last time she looked, Lady Genevieve was wooing Hessenberg schoolchildren. Predictions of a royal wedding flourished.

Gage’s offer of love reminded her how much she missed Nathaniel. How she loved him. Heaven help her, she loved a man who lived four thousand miles away.

She played their few private moments together over and over in her mind like humming a favorite song. But the images had begun to wear thin, lose their impact on her heart. Her memory of his fine, pristine voice was starting to fade and on occasion sound a lot like Daddy’s Southern twang.

When the
Liberty Press
unfolded on her screen, Susanna braced herself as she forayed into Brighton’s world.

She half closed her eyes and clenched her stomach, expecting to see a big ol’ honking headline:

Then,
then
, she could truly let go and convince her heart it was time to move on. He wasn’t coming for her. They were the wrong people at the wrong time. Or maybe the right people at the wrong time. But
wrong
definitely factored into the whole equation.

But there was no
ENGAGED!
headline. She exhaled, then heated with frustration.
Come on, Nate, get it over with. Propose already
.

But why was she thinking of Nate? A man, a nice man, a handsome man, a successful man wanted her. She didn’t love Gage, but
she could learn to love him, right? After all, love was a choice, wasn’t it?

Susanna shoved away from her desk and pressed the heel of her hands to her forehead. Eight months after she’d prayed with Nathaniel on Christ Church grounds, she still had nothing.

“Lord, is this what you have for me? Gage? Do I move? Stay on the island? Can you please get Nathaniel out of my heart?”

She mimed pulling him out of her chest. Mimed tossing away the largeness sensation she carried with her every day.

She thought of the green lawn of Christ Church. God had something for her. She just knew it. So how was she to stumble upon it? How did she live day-to-day trusting him to be in charge of the outcome?

Grabbing her purse, she started for her car. She stopped and gasped when she saw the gold Louboutins she’d tossed to the back of her closet when she returned from Brighton sitting on the edge of the garage floor, glittering in the sunlight.

“Aurora!” Susanna picked up the shoes and ran onto the lawn. “Where are you? Aurora. Come back here. You’ve got to stop this. How did you get into my closet?” Mama! She probably let her in.