Chapter 25 #2
“Dad.” Scottie knelt in front of him. The man who’d stitched her prom dress at the zero hour as the limousine pulled up to the house.
The one who’d watched chick flicks and rom-coms, who listened to her babble on and on about school while she did her homework and he cooked dinner.
The one who did everything in his power to keep her from life’s pain.
He’d dedicated his whole life to her. Her heritage wasn’t O’Shay Shirts, it was him. Dad. Fritz and Shug. She flung her arms around him.
“I love you, Dad. I don’t care about O’Shay Shirts. I care about you. About us. The family, you and Remi, and your happily ever after.”
He batted away the tears resting in the corner of his eye. “I didn’t want to hide another story from you like I had to with your mother. I wanted you to know before the news and—”
“Dad, stop. There’s no blame in any of this.
Businesses are raised up and brought low.
Bought and sold. Started and ended. Few things go on forever.
But we’re forever. Our family.” She squeezed his hand, the one that had held hers through fevers and first heartbreaks.
“I can’t wait to see what the future has for you and Remi and our newly blended family.
I’ll find something to do.” Scottie shot a look toward Shug. “Don’t say marriage and family.”
“I’ll say it if I have a mind and don’t tell me what to do, young’un.”
Dad’s laugh was solid and genuine. “I’m famished. How about that lunch, Mom?”
“Just the ticket.” Shug stood, popping her hands together. “Y’all sit tight. I’ll bring it out to the patio. It’s not too hot yet. How about a swim later? Water polo? Boys against girls.”
“Sounds good, but I want to partner with my girl,” Dad said, his eyes boring into hers with gratitude and love. “Just the two of us. One last time before everything changes.”
Scottie kissed his cheek. “One last time, but Dad, in case you haven’t noticed, everything has already changed.”
* * *
Michael
October
In the new wing of the Cross PF Youth Football League hub, Michael toured Her Majesty, Queen Catherine the Second, showing her round the construction to the architectural renderings framed and hanging on a wall.
Not long after Scottie returned to Hearts Bend, he decided life was too short to wait for right moments.
He’d taken a chance with Scottie and his heart, why not with his career?
He resigned from Her Majesty’s Security Detail, moved into one of the quaint Cross cottages along the old Port Fressa quay, and over the summer became the leader of the Cross youth football league.
This was what he was meant to do.
“All of this will be new. We’ve finalized the plans and obtained the permits. Construction should start next week.”
Queen Catherine had rung him up out of the blue, inquiring about a tour of the new Cross PF Youth Football League’s facilities.
She seemed strong and healthy, wearing a bright yellow dress coat, her dark handbag swinging from a gloved hand as she leaned toward the glass case containing old photos of the league. “The article I read said you’ve plans for a hub in Dalholm as well.”
The queen looked at him for confirmation, but he knew the football facility was not on her mind, didn’t he? She wanted to ask about Scottie.
“We do, ma’am. We’d like one in The Haskells, and Branford-on-the-Reserve.”
“Marvelous. Sport is good for our young people.” The queen walked on, inspecting the drawings attached to the wall.
Her team of two protection officers circulated through the enclosed space and stayed on her six.
“It suits you, Michael, leading the charge for the entire Cross Youth Athletic Association. It’s run aground of late. ”
“Thank you, ma’am. With everything that happened… I felt it was time for a change.”
Queen Catherine’s expression was one of a mother speaking to the man who loved her daughter.
“I miss her,” she said softly.
“As do I.”
“I’d planned a grand final day for us.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Michael had been made privy to her plans the night of the ball. She’d wanted Scottie’s last days to be fun and adventurous.
“Lunch at a vineyard in The Haskells, then a ride on the gondolas over the mountains.” The queen walked toward the doors opened to the pitch.
“I wanted her to see some of the shops in the old foothill villages. My father used to take us there every year when Arabella and I were girls. We were allowed to run free across the wide board floors, the proprietors smiling on us, letting us choose whatever we wanted from the candy jars. My favorite doll was handmade by a Grandma Moses sort of woman. I can still see the lines fanning out from her bright eyes.”
“If I may, ma’am, Lady Royal never saw our world, our way of life, as hers. I think we all forgot how American she is, forthright, determined, stubborn.”
“And broken, as we all are. I wanted to help her heal. She certainly helped me heal.”
“She only recently admitted she was wounded.”
“Michael, don’t you think she could’ve learned our ways?
Princess Gemma has adapted into royal life.
As has Imani. I forget sometimes they’re American.
What of the Brighton Princesses, Susanna, Corina, and Avery?
Even the Grand Duchess of Hessenberg, Princess Regina, is an American.
They have southern American roots, yet have taken to their duty and positions quite well. Even splendidly.”
“They all fell in love,” he said. “And the truth about their mother was never a secret turned national headline.”
“She resented it, resented me, I think. I could see it on her when she came to say goodbye. How perhaps I’d gotten between her and of her calling.” The queen made her way to the green pitch, her protection team close behind. “I loved football as a girl. I was quite good.”
“You should come play sometime. We’ll have a charity match. As your health allows.”
“I’m improving every day. Since the night of the ball, the restoration of the Fickle family, the awakening of the Eye of God, the pain lessens, and my strength is returning.” She nodded at Michael, smiling. “May I be candid? I was quite certain Lady Royal fell in love with you.”
“She said she loved me. And I love her. But when the news hit, she claimed it was all a fantasy, ma’am. Even suggested we staged the Eye of God with tech chaps from New Hamlet.”
“Really? I should send her an article on how impossible that light is for man to make. But I won’t. I know Trent losing O’Shay knocked her sideways. I wish he’d have telephoned, let me know it was coming.”
“He tried to speak with Scottie, but she kept missing or putting off his calls until after the ball.”
“I suppose things happen as they do for a reason.” Spying a soccer ball on the sidelines, the queen quick-stepped over and gave it a kick. “Do keep me posted on your progress. Do you need investors? The king consort and I like to give from our private coffers to worthy ventures.”
“Pratt Printing has been generous, ma’am. But if you care to give, we won’t say no.”
“I’ll speak with my husband. And let’s work on that charity match.”
Outside the hub, as a fall breeze nipped at golden and burnished red leaves, the queen took a moment to take it all in. For a moment, she wasn’t his sovereign or one of the most esteemed royals in the world—she was the mother of the woman he loved.
“Did you know her father is getting married this weekend?” Queen Catherine started for the tinted-window Range Rover where a protection officer waited by an open door. “I sent her a text of encouragement, but she only responded with a smiley face.”
“She does the same with me.”
Queen Catherine paused by the motor with a final glance at Michael. “One last thing. You know that very special and surprising leather book you discovered in the chapel cellar? I was wondering if you might do me a favor?”