Chapter Two
Gus
Floridana Beach, later in the day
It’s possible for a prince to hide. Though he’d known that sooner or later the paparazzi, or someone would find him out, he never imagined it would be the beautiful Daffodil Caron.
Looking up from his station behind the bar at the Captain’s Hideaway, he wondered if he’d see her again.
She was more lovely than he remembered. Then again he’d not seen in her in quite a while. Seeing her made him long for his family and the comforts of home. Even if his home was a palace.
But running into her—or hitting her with a Frisbee—again would be unwise. Too many encounters would risk his secret. Nevertheless, he held onto the sweet, warm sentiment that had filled his chest since their eyes met in recognition.
When she said, “You’re Prince Augustus Carwyn George of Lauchtenland’s House of Blue” he felt the words rattle in his bones. For the first time in well over two years, he wanted to be that chap again.
It was time to go home. Not that Dad or Mum or John would let him get away with missing the wedding ball and the ceremony. And after his year of healing, he almost looked forward to it.
Still there remained a certain dread about hosting John’s wedding ball, as all royal House of Blue siblings did for one another, in light of his own wedding fiasco.
Buck up, lad. Don’t travel the worn roads of pain and despair. Been there. But had taken the exit off during his time in Florida. He must carry home his renewed mind and heart. His hope. The press would be bored with his trials by now. Surely, the lot of them had moved on to John’s successful marriage match. Lady Holland was an outstanding woman.
He didn’t care much for Leslie Ann Parker—how did Daffy know her so well? She was the telly presenter who raised the question: “Why do good women leave him?”
Excellent question. He’d spent the first six months of his Florida getaway pondering that very thing. First to scamper was Coral Winthrop, the beautiful, poised American heiress and owner of CCW Cosmetics. Then Lady Robbi De Smet, daughter of an ancient Lauchtenland family. Never mind their breakup had been mutual. Still, he’d failed to capture her heart.
“Hey, Pete.” Helene, his boss and owner of this quaint little pub, a thatched-hut tiki bar with a wraparound deck edging up to the Atlantic, waved her hand in front of his face. “Where were you? Land far, far away?”
“No, just, um…what can I do for you?” He’d been staring into a bin of limes waiting to be sliced.
Helene Simmons, a fifty-something-year-old woman, with flowing, sun-kissed hair and mischievous green eyes, gave him purpose the day she offered him a job.
He’d come in twice for a bite to eat. The second time she sat at his table announcing, “I like the look of you. Want to work here?”
If she knew his true identity, she’d never let on. Didn’t say a word when he handed over his diplomatic papers to satisfy payroll. Knowing her as he did now, however, the last thing she wanted was the attention caused by a royal prince pouring pints. Which was fine with Gus.
“Carmen called in sick again. You’ll have to bus tables tonight.”
“I thought you fired him.” Gus—preferably known as Pete—lined up limes for slicing.
“Three times but he boomerangs back.” She turned to the man who sat on the stool in front of her. “Ike, how’re you doing? What’ll you have?”
“Same.” Ike reached for the beer nuts. “Pete, how you doing?”
“Can’t complain.”
In fact, he was grateful. It was in the daily routine of this bar that he’d found relief from his shame. How the one person he loved more than anything, the one he believed would share his life, the one to whom he’d given his heart, had humiliated him in front of millions.
It took him over a year to abandon the idea she did it on purpose. As if performing the world’s most elaborate prank. Then Robbi came along and proved to be a good boost to his confidence.
In the last year, Gus had mellowed. During the slump between lunch and happy hour, he listened to the old guys tell wild, exaggerated tales of surfing the “big one,” or of wrestling with a swordfish. En garde. And he found a rhythm that healed his scarred heart.
When the singer arrived at night with her guitar, he served drinks and wiped down the bar, letting the lyrics of hope and love seep in.
Maybe, just maybe… One day. Years from now. He’d fall in love again. Truth be told, there were enough love songs in the world—including the entire Beatles’ collection—to win him back to romance. To trust another woman with his heart. He just needed gobs of time.
By the time he’d sliced the pile of limes then lemons for happy hour, the first wave of spring breakers arrived, sunburned and shivering.
“Helene, I’m going to bus some tables.” Filling a bucket with hot water and soap, Gus grabbed a clean towel and an empty bin for the dirties and headed out to the tables.
Out on the deck, he collected dishes and wiped the tables, his mind drifting back to Daffy, his true identity and duty, and the reality that John’s wedding was a mere eight weeks away. The ball? Seven weeks. Gus must do a smashing job for John because his brother did nothing less for him.
His past must not continue to impact the future—especially his brother’s future. Gus must take back control of his life.
Wringing out his towel, Gus looked out over the beach toward the ocean and the pinkish red sunset. He’d miss this place but it was time—
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Helene reached for the tub and began clearing the last table. “How was Adler this morning?”
“Delirious with joy, chasing the Frisbee up and down the beach.”
“Don’t make her like you more than me. She is my dog.” Her deep chuckle carried the rasp of a former smoker.
“She adores you.” Gus moved to wipe down the table.
Helene anchored the loaded bin on her hip. “You have something to tell me, Pete? Or should I say, Prince Augustus?”
He paused in mid-motion, then went back to wiping the table. “How long have you known?”
“Since you handed me your papers.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I read up on you. I understood why you were here. I wanted to give you space.”
“Thank you.” He dropped the dish towel in the bucket with a splash. “I almost feel myself again.”
“But?”
“My brother’s getting married and I need to be there for him.” Gus reached for the bucket as a group of bikini-clad girls approached the deck. “I’ve shirked too many duties. It’s tradition for the brother or sister of the groom to host a wedding ball, which takes place the week before the ceremony. More than host really, I’m responsible for the entire event. From planning to execution. To make it all about the happy couple. My brother was there for me when I was getting married. Never complained that his little brother would stand at the altar before him. I should have gone home sooner. But I wasn’t ready. Told myself I didn’t want to leave you in a bind.”
He still wasn’t ready to face the media, but he was ready to see his family and friends.