To Save a King, page 13
“Don’t just stand there, Prince John, move in, look like a man in love.” Taylor circled, aiming her camera.
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Taylor, stop,” Gemma said. “Leave him alone.”
“I’m far too common to be in the photo with Gemma.” John motioned to his shorts and T-shirt. But oh, he was anything but common.
“Click-click with my editing software and you’re wearing an Armani tux.”
“I can’t,” John said, though a part of him wanted a picture with this beautiful woman. “Too risky. If it went public—”
“Your Royal Highness, I understand your position.” Taylor came behind him and shifted his position and raised his chin. “If these get out, the press will have you engaged and down the aisle before you know it.”
“Yes. Fueled by the pressure to take my future king oath, which requires me to be married—”
“I get it. Trust me. These are for me.”
“You can trust her, Prince, but you don’t have to do this.” Gemma leaned toward her friend. “Does he, Taylor?”
“I can’t resist shooting a stunningly gorgeous couple. It’s against my photographer’s oath. Besides, when am I going to get a chance to capture a crown prince on film again?”
“I’ll hire you to come to Lauchtenland.”
Taylor continued circling, snapping pictures, giving small commands that they each obeyed with puzzling curiosity.
“Taylor, stop, give him a chance to walk away.” Gemma held up her hand to block the next shot.
“If you want out, move, sir,” Taylor said, all the while circling, capturing everything with her lens, and John, whether by want or reflex, posed and smiled.
When she was satisfied, she asked Gemma to break away so the prince could pose on his own.
Taylor promised a thumb drive so he could use them for himself. John agreed a photo of him alone might make a good gift for Mum. Most of the photographs of him on the Family mantel were with Holland.
Meanwhile, Gemma walked off toward her ringing phone. When she answered, her speech spiked the fragrant air.
“Never… You heard me. Matt…not your business.”
John had one ear on Taylor and the other on Gemma.
“Put your hands in your pockets…now take them out…good…walk away…come toward me…raise your chin just…perfect. One more…look at me.”
Meanwhile, Gemma gazed off toward the shadows of the shading trees. She seemed so frail. The call demolished the confidence she exuded a few moments ago, the confidence he saw the day they met.
“Everything all right?” he asked. Win this one, Gemma. Fight on.
“Absolutely.” She masked whatever emotions she battled as she walked toward him. “Hey, you’re a pretty hot model, Prince. If the royal thing doesn’t work out—”
He laughed, which made her laugh, and suddenly everything seemed right. With her. With him. With their mutual shadows. But he knew it wasn’t.
If he could, he’d take on this Matt fellow for her, but since she’d said nothing about him really, John decided to leave it alone. Besides, he’d return home in a few weeks, back to his life, the investiture ceremony—if Mum changed the writ—placing the final memorial wreath on Holland’s grave, finding a way to carve out the rest of his life.
However, for his remaining time in Hearts Bend, he’d do everything in his power to shine some light in Gemma’s life, and in doing so, seek some for himself. He was sure Holland wouldn’t mind. She’d always been generous of spirit. So befriending Gemma was in fact honoring his dead wife’s legacy. A worthy, worthy endeavor.
“The Chamber Office announced more cancellations from the queen’s diary. Her Majesty will not attend the opening of the Royal Symphony. Princess Arabella will represent the Family. This is the third event the queen has missed in a week, and the Office confirms the queen is ‘under the weather.’”
— Sydney Fritz, News at Six, LTV-1
“Hamish Fickle is so hot. Anyone have a fan account on him yet? Saw him on Afternoons with Ari talking about the investiture and how Prince John has to be married. Such an antiquated rule. Anyone else with me on that? Still, I love HamFick!”
— @StefwithanF on Instagram
“A lower court of the Justice Ministry heard arguments today in the case of Eloise Ltd. versus the Reingard Industries. Reingard snapped up the Midlands property just after the land was cleared for development leaving Eloise out of pocket for the environmental study fees but no land.”
— Perry Copperfield, Cable News PF
Chapter Twelve
Gemma
As the sun moved west over Hearts Bend, she finished the shop’s inventory and started to clean her desk, which was lined with coffee-stained cups.
“Are you coming tonight?” JoJo offered Gemma a cheese snack. “It’ll be fun. Buck’s tricked out his truck with everything but the kitchen sink.”
“I don’t know.” She peeled the wrapper from a turkey stick and took a bite. Lunch. “Imani’s manning the puppies this afternoon but she has a shift at Ella’s tonight. Thursday night is one of their busiest. We’ve trained Justin and Penny to help out if needed but they also have jobs and responsibilities with their families.”
In the past week and a half she’d become a mother hen over those sweet puppies. Feeding them, weighing them, sleeping beside them. Tweedy and Blue also took ownership, sleeping by them and washing them, observing very closely as they were fed and weighed.
“You have to come. A late showing of Casablanca at the drive-in. Nine forty-five. Seriously, you should see Buck’s truck. It’s ridiculous. He had custom seats made for the bed. It’s a rolling living room, I tell you. He purchased a professional-grade popcorn machine. I can’t believe the theater owner is letting him bring it in, but apparently the drive-in machine is on the fritz. We’ll be serving popcorn to moviegoers all night.”
“How’s he going to pop popcorn at a drive-in?”
“With a mini generator. Word to the wise, when you see his setup, do not ask how any of it works. You’ll miss the movie.”
“I guess I could make it by nine forty-five. Let me see if Justin and Penny can puppy sit. Or my parents. But they play cards Thursday nights. The diner closes at eleven so Imani might be home before the midnight feeding.” Sweet JoJo feigned interest as Gemma worked out her schedule verbally.
However, feeding the puppies had become the highlight of her days. Their little personalities were starting to show. Joey liked to eat on his back, resting in her palm. Rachel preferred to be flat on her wee belly. Gemma loved the sweet, eager slurping sounds of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and every meal in between.
She bonded with them over their helplessness. She would be their champion.
“Buck said Prince John was coming.” JoJo acted all casual, moving about the office, but there was a hint of something, a feeling, like a bomb going off.
“The prince? Oh, well, good for him.” He never said. And he’d been with her last night, helping with the puppies.
The first week he stayed in the barn every night. Then they worked out a schedule for him to split his nights with Imani. Now that basketball camp was over, Gemma didn’t mind Imani sleeping on a bed of hay. John and Gunner took day shifts when Gemma worked. Most of the time John stayed to help with the evening feedings as well.
How easily they’d fallen into a comfortable routine. When feeding and weighing the puppies, or tending the rest of the herd, they worked in a synchronized tandem, choosing opposite chores without discussion. They chatted about movies and television, music, sports, education, his time in the military, her family, his family. She even braved a few Hollywood stories. Like being in a Super Bowl commercial and her small part in the movie Bound By Love.
But they did not talk about Holland. And definitely not about Matt Biglow.
“‘Good for him’?” JoJo said. “Come on, dish. What’s going on between you two?” She shoved aside the mugs and perched on the edge of the desk. “That gorgeous hunk of a prince spends so much time with you I think Buck is jealous.”
“He’s simply helping with the puppies. Nothing more. Well, he helps with the herd too. It’s rather sweet and to be honest, I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”
“Have you two ever, you know, gotten romantic?”
“What? No. Geez, Jo. He’s still in love with his wife. And I’m not in the market for romance.”
“You do know he’s turned down Buck for golf. A game he loves. He’s not gone riding or to the shooting range.” JoJo tapped Gemma’s shoulder as if to really get her attention. “We invited him to the Vegas concert, a city on his bucket list, and he respectfully declined.”
“Good, he’s not missing anything.”
“I think he’s in love.”
“If you’re going to talk crazy, I’m leaving.” Gemma collected the dirty mugs and headed for the door downstairs, her hip bothering her more today than in the past. She blamed sleeping in the barn but until the puppies were strong enough to be on their own, she’d deal with it.
“You mean to tell me two gorgeous, kind, intelligent people are hanging out together all day and sometimes all night and there’s no chemistry?”
“I never said we didn’t have chemistry.” Gemma continued down the stairs, wishing back her words. But JoJo caught them.
“I knew it! I told Buck, ‘They’d make such a good couple.’”
“We are not a couple. Now or ever. Jo, he’s a prince. Get your head on straight.” In the butler’s pantry, Gemma filled the sink with hot sudsy water and sank the mugs. “Don’t make something of nothing. We’re friends and we get along, but that’s the end of it. To be honest, I think we remind each other there is good in the world. Hope.”
“Gemma,” JoJo said with a bit of a sigh as she reached below the sink for the dish drainer. “Your limp… What happened in Hollywood? Why won’t you tell us? I can’t help but feel it’s holding you back somehow.”
“I’ve told you. I got tired of the rat race.”
Every once in a while, JoJo or Haley butted into her business. As good friends do. Gemma didn’t blame them. She knew they cared. One rarely limps home after twelve years without ever speaking of it.
“And your hip?”
“Told you that too. There I was on the Great Wall of China for a photo shoot when a spaceship burst through the clouds.” She raised her voice for dramatic effect. “We were all terrified, as you can only imagine, and we were frozen with fear. Then bam! Chaos, scrambling, running, screaming, every man for himself. I started—”
“Fine. Don’t tell me.”
“Just because you don’t believe me doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Is it true?”
The shop chimes told them someone had walked in. Jo stuck her head out of the pantry and called, “Be right there,” then offered a final word to Gemma. “You know we love you no matter what, right?”
Gemma resented how the conversation stirred her tears. “Yeah, I know. Go, greet the customer.”
She was confronted with the fact she’d not fooled her friends as well as she’d thought. They didn’t know the details of her sordid story, but they knew.
So tell them.
Gemma rehearsed her story as she washed the mugs and set them in the drainer. How she’d begin, which details she’d share, which ones she’d omit, but when she imagined their faces, she felt sick. No, she’d never tell. Ever.
She’d just emptied the sink when her phone pinged. Gemma pulled it from her pocket to see she had a message.
The male voice was deep and craggy, from a man named B. A. Carpenter, Attorney at Law. Said he needed to talk to her.
But she didn’t know B. A. Carpenter or why he’d be calling her. Probably a scam. Once in L.A., at some swanky party with too much booze and drugs, she sat next to a man who spent his life developing email and telephone scams. All quite illegal but he boasted as if he’d won an Oscar.
Gemma deleted B. A. Carpenter’s message and finished cleaning up the kitchen. Truth was, she’d tried to tell her story once. During her hospital stay when a compassionate nurse found her crying. But the moment she started speaking, only sobs came out.
The pain she battled was more than physical, more than healing from a broken hip. The pain was soul piercing and hidden in a place no bandages or medicine could reach.
Yet it was in that moment with the nurse she’d surrendered. She’d go home. Give up the dream of “being somebody.” Even the prodigal son was wise enough to realize returning home after his life of foolishness was better than living with pigs.
And for Gemma, home meant her journey of a thousand bad decisions would end.
Chapter Thirteen
John
Scottie greeted him as he entered her office by handing him a deep blue, glossy shirt box tied with a yellow ribbon. “Dad had these made for you. The House of Blue crest is sewn over the pocket. If you want a couple for your brother, let us know.”
“How did you know my size?”
“Forty-four regular.” She slid open a part of a wood-paneled wall to reveal a kitchenette. “A bit wider in the shoulders and tapered at the waist. Does someone tailor your shirts in Port Fressa?”
“Depends on the shirt. How’d you do that?” John set the box on a live edge, polished table positioned in front of a modern, deep-green couch with a low back and wood frame.
“It’s my superpower. Coffee? Tea?”
“Tea if I’m staying long enough?”
“I’m sorry we’ve not connected before now. My trip to New York last week was unexpected.” She set out two mugs bearing the O’Shay logo then activated an electric kettle.
“No worry. You’ve a business to run and I’ve been helping with newborn puppies.”
“Puppies? How’d you get roped into that?” She held up a carton of cream and he nodded.
“The night I had dinner with you and Trent, Gemma invited me in to finish our carry-away desserts. We’d just finished when Doc Goodwin dropped off six two-day-old puppies. Since they need feeding around the clock, we banded together to keep the wee things alive.”
“I didn’t peg you for the rescue type but now that you mention it…” Scottie held up a familiar tin of tea. “Lauchtenland’s Titus blend. Is that okay?”
“You’ve a Titus blend?” Hands locked behind his back, he approached his sister as he might approach the skittish Whinny. “I’m surprised you have anything from Lauchtenland.”
“You make me sound like a bigot,” she said. “I’m stubborn but not unreasonable. I thought why not start with their famous tea?”
“Fair enough.” He stepped a bit closer. “And?”
“I have a cup every morning.” Her confession was slightly bent with humor and the long drawl of the American south.
“Shall I take it you are warming to my homeland? More specifically, the House of Blue?”
Her laugh carried the same resonance as Mum’s. “It will take more than a cup of tea, I’m afraid.”
She handed John a steaming mug, talking all the while about how they designed and made his shirts, leading him to a small seating area by the window.
“What shall we talk about?” she said. “Our childhoods? Our likes and dislikes? Why you grew up with our mama and I didn’t?”
“I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick.”
“Maybe, but I had Shug, so it wasn’t a total loss.”
“Why do you call her Shug?”
“Shug is short for sugar. And it’s what she wanted. The first time Dad referred to her as ‘grandma’ she had a coronary. Hyperbolically speaking, of course. She said her grandmother was Grandma and a nastier woman never drew a breath. So she wanted something sweet.”
“Like sugar,” he said.
“Exactly. Then Fritz claimed he wanted a unique name as well. He called his grandfather Fritz, and apparently a sweeter man never drew a breath, so he claimed the name.”
“What are they like? Shug and Fritz?”
“She’s queen of the O’Shays, trying to run our private lives while Dad and Fritz run the business. Fritz is semi-retired but he comes into the office a few days a week. Shug also tries to boss around Hearts Bend without ever running for election. If there’s a committee for improving the town, she’s on it. Chairs most of them. It’s a full-time job. But when it came to me, Shug cared for and loved me like no one’s business.”
“You may have had it better than Gus and me, Scottie. Growing up normal, if I’m allowed to use that word. Not having the press spying on you twenty-four seven.”
“Maybe. O’Shay’s Shirts exploded in the mid-90s and suddenly, thanks to the internet, I became small-town royalty. Which comes with its own set of issues. You actually know the people who say mean things. I was a teenager when Dad and Shug and Fritz built their dream homes. Mini mansions with gourmet kitchens, pools, tennis courts, and for Dad, a putting green. People actually accused them of fraud and laundering money. Never occurred to them how hard Dad, Fritz, and Shug worked. The music industry hadn’t started moving into HB yet so anything more than a three- or four-bedroom ranch was a mansion. Then Dad bought his dream sports car. Suddenly people who paid me no mind wanted to be my friend. But I still had a really good group of friends and high school was a blast. When the business was featured in Forbes, some folks started the gossip mill again. Then actor Jesse Gates was seen in an O’Shay shirt and boom, everyone wanted an O’Shay. I’d just graduated but man, it was hard. Not the success, but how everyone treated us. It was like we didn’t belong anymore. Like we’d somehow betrayed the small town code. I think that’s why Shug is so involved. She wants to give back, prove money and some acclaim didn’t change us.”
“So then you know some of what life as a Blue is like. Maybe life, or even God, has prepared you to join our family.”
