36. Hank
HANK
At the end of January, I make my first visit to Ardenia. I’m nervous. This is meeting your new boyfriend’s family times one thousand.
I’m meeting my boyfriend’s family…and his staff and royal subjects.
Oh, and he sent his royal jet to pick me up in Sourwood.
Nervous? He texts while I board a private plane for the first time in my life.
Duh, I write back. Have I told you that I hate flying?
A few times, yes. Statistically, it’s the safest form of travel. Nick reassures me of that every time I start to freak out. Fortunately, my love of Nick outweighs my fear of flying.
It’s going to be great. Everyone is going to love you, he texts.
I’m not so sure about that. Nick thinks I’m a worthy boyfriend, but what does the rest of Ardenia have to say?
Griffin, who’s a mechanic at the private airport where the plane takes off, swings by before takeoff to wish me luck.
“Nervous?” he asks.
“Everyone keeps asking me that. Of course I am!” Usually, I’m good with meeting the family. Cathy’s parents liked me more than she did. Nick’s dad, the king of Ardenia, may be tougher to please.
“If it makes you feel better,” Griffin says. “This plane? It’s a little old, and I’ve seen nicer.”
Somehow, that gives me a sliver of relief.
The first thing I notice about Ardenia is how woodsy it is. As the plane descends, I make out pockets of towns amid dense trails of trees rolling over mountains. Right now, all the trees are bare, but I can only imagine how green and lush it will look in summer.
Nick meets me on the tarmac. My nerves subside when I see him.
It’s been nearly a month since we’ve been together.
He had to fly back to Ardenia right after New Year’s to rescind his renouncement of rights and throw himself into royal duties he’d punted on in December.
We’ve gotten by with FaceTime calls and texting, but now I need to hold him in person.
He’s flanked by a security guard in a black suit and a personal secretary who reminds me of my scary fourth grade teacher. I believe their names are Alfred and Agnes. Nick sent me a lot of information, and it’s a bit jumbled in my brain.
“Your Highness,” I say. Damn, I almost forgot how good Nick looks. And Nick in a suit? Yum.
He wraps me in a hug, and for a second, all of the pomp and circumstance of where I am fades away, and we’re just snuggling on my ratty couch.
“How was the flight?”
“Great. I watched half a season of Young Sheldon. That young Sheldon. He’s so smart, and yet he still manages to get into hijinks.”
Alfred steps forward and shakes my hand so hard he cuts off circulation for a second. “Alfred. I am His Majesty’s personal security. I need to pat you down.”
“Shouldn’t you buy me a drink first?”
“No.” Sarcasm doesn’t seem to be on his wavelength. Noted. Alfred pats me down more thoroughly than any TSA agent has done.
“Alfred, is this necessary?” Nick asks.
“Your Highness, there’s always a chance Mr. Rush could be a sleeper agent activated by our enemies ready to brandish a weapon.”
If Alfred keeps patting me like this, I may accidentally brandish a certain weapon. He stands back up before this gets too awkward and gives Nick a confirmed nod that no, I am not a sleeper agent.
“Thank you, Alfred,” Nick says.
“Is it my turn?” I ask Alfred. It’s hard not to crack a joke around someone so serious.
“Your turn for what?” Alfred asks back, blank-faced. Agnes lets a smile slip from her stern exterior. At least someone here finds me kinda funny.
“Nothing. Can I call you Alfie?”
“No.” He steps back behind Nick.
“This is Agnes, my personal secretary,” Nick says.
“Mr. Rush, a pleasure.” Her warmth is an unexpected treat considering her schoolmarm appearance.
She shakes my hand while holding a tablet in the other.
“I’ve scheduled a welcome tea for you to meet the staff in the castle, as well as give you a tour.
Then, you’ll meet with the head of the Ardenian archives for a talk on the history of our country, to get you acclimated to your new home. ”
“Any room in there for a nap?” I ask.
“A nap, sir?” Agnes quirks her head.
“Agnes, the man has just traveled halfway around the world. Surely, he’s tired,” Nick says, offering me a supportive wink.
“Right,” she says. “We can adjust your schedule as needed.”
“Is there a part of the schedule where the royal highness and I can have some private time?” I ask.
Alfred and Agnes’s eyes ever-so-slightly bulge from their heads.
“Not—I mean, just time where we can hang out together and talk. I wasn’t talking about sex.
Unless that is something we have to schedule. ”
“It is not, sir,” Agnes says.
“Oh.” I rub my head. “Great, you just met me and now you’re probably thinking about me naked. Shoot.” I’m an instant royal disaster. Although if they’ve met other Americans before, chances are this isn’t the first time they’ve stumbled into inappropriate conversation.
“Don’t worry, Hank. We will have time to catch up. I’ve missed you.” Nick reaches for my hand, steadying my heart.
Well, one person on this tarmac likes me. Perhaps I should tape my mouth shut for the rest of the trip.
Am I cut out for the royal life?
Up until I stepped foot in Nick’s castle, the nicest building I’d ever been inside of was Sourwood’s local library. This place is nice. Cheesecake Factory-nice.
Like legit fancy. We’re talking chandeliers and those couches that look old and expensive but you can’t actually lounge in.
People mill about through long corridors and into rooms with high ceilings. Places to go. Important things to do.
My boots feel too loud against the polished floor. My jacket feels too cheap. I keep my hands shoved in my pockets so I won’t touch anything and accidentally break something that probably costs more than my house.
“This is normal,” I mutter under my breath, even though it very much isn’t.
Everywhere I look, there’s something else to remind me I don’t belong here.
Gilded frames. Oil paintings of people who definitely never worried about missing a rent payment.
Massive windows spilling in pale light. It’s beautiful in a way that feels untouchable, like a museum exhibit I somehow wandered into without a ticket.
Nick fits here.
That thought hits harder than I expect. I can picture him in this space too easily—sharp suit, easy confidence, that way he carries himself like he’s meant to be wherever he stands. Like rooms bend around him instead of the other way around.
Me? I’m trying not to scuff the floor.
“Mr. Rush, can I help you find something?” Leslie asks, a polite young woman assigned to be my liaison at the castle. I have a sneaking suspicion her main role is making sure I don’t touch anything.
“I’m just exploring. Is that okay?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says hesitantly. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“No. Just wanted to stroll.”
“Stroll. Yes. Certainly, Mr. Rush.” She stays behind while I continue walking around, wondering how the heck I’m going to fit in here.
I turn down a side corridor, mostly because it’s empty, and I need a second to breathe. The air shifts as I go, cooler, a little damp. Less polished. Less perfect.
And then I hear it.
A soft, steady drip.
I stop.
There it is again. Under the hum of palace hubbub. Drip. Drip. Drip.
It’s a small, ordinary sound, but it cuts straight through all this grandeur like a crack in glass.
I run back to Leslie. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what, Mr. Rush?”
“A dripping sound?”
We pause, and I watch her strain to hear it. She laughs it off. “We hear noises like that all the time around here. It’s an old castle.”
“You’ve heard this dripping sound before?”
“Is it a drip? I think it’s just the walls creaking?”
“That’s definitely a drip. I’ve heard enough of them in my life.”
I follow the faint sound, instincts kicking in before I even think about it, down another narrower hall to a door halfway down. Unlike the beautiful, well-crafted entrances in the palace, this plain, metal door is meant to be ignored.
“Mr. Rush, where are you going?” Leslie jogs to catch up to me.
Inside is a maintenance room—or at least something close to it. Not pretty. Not gilded. Pipes run along the walls, some old, some newer, all of them doing their job quietly.
Except one.
Water beads along a joint in the pipe, gathering before dropping to the floor with that same steady rhythm. There’s already a small dark stain spreading beneath it.
I huff out a breath before I can stop myself, something in my chest loosening for the first time since I walked in.
“Sir.” Leslie stops at the door.
“Well,” I murmur, stepping closer. “There you are.”
I crouch down, leaning in to get a better look. It’s not bad. Loose fitting, maybe a worn seal. The kind of thing that’s a few weeks away from turning into a bigger problem if left alone.
For a second, I just stay there, staring at it, and I feel ridiculous, maybe, for how relieved I am. Out there, everything is perfect in a way I don’t understand. In here, something’s wrong in a way I do.
Footsteps echo behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see Agnes hovering uncertainly in the doorway.
“Mr. Rush! What are you doing? Is everything alright, sir?”
I almost laugh at the sir.
“Yeah,” I say, pushing to my feet and wiping my hands on my pants out of habit. “Actually, no. You’ve got a leak here.” I nod toward the pipe. “Nothing catastrophic yet, but it’ll get worse if it sits.”
She and Leslie step closer, frowning slightly like they can see it now that I’ve pointed it out.
“Oh.” Agnes frowns. “I—thank you for noticing. I can call for—”
“I can fix it.”
The words are out before I overthink them.
She blinks at me. “You can?”
I shrug, suddenly aware again of where I am, of the castle and the polished floors and the fact that my life savings couldn’t even cover a single piece of art hanging on the walls.
“Yeah,” I say anyway. “If you’ve got a wrench and a replacement seal, I can take care of it. It’s not complicated. I may not know what a salad fork is, but pipes…pipes I know.”
“What’s going on?” asks a man in a suit who stops by the entrance.
“Mr. Rush is fixing a leaky pipe for us,” Agnes tells him.
“That’s the dripping sound! I thought I kept hearing something. Thank you, Mr. Rush!” The guy gives me a thumbs up and stops another palace staff member. “Jeremy, he found what’s been causing that drip sound.”
“Right on!” Jeremy says. “Thank goodness you’re here, Mr. Rush.”
The two men continue on their way.
“Shall I call maintenance?” Leslie asks Agnes.
“I can fix it right now,” I tell them. “I like being useful.”
There’s a pause. Then, slowly, Agnes nods and gives me the first real smile I’ve gotten out of her.
“I’ll…get you those tools, sir.”
I look back at the pipe, at the steady drip that doesn’t care about history or wealth.
My shoulders settle. Maybe palace life is for me. I just have to set the rules.