Suddenly she stood before him, her gaze locked with his. She smiled and reached for the big bloke’s hand. He whispered in her ear, and her shoulders relaxed as she nodded.
Coral. His Coral. The woman he wanted to marry. The one who filled, then broke, his heart. Gus braced for the cannon fire of anger and heat of resentment.
Sour words lined up, ones he’d stored up for this moment, should it ever come, ready to march through his lips and shame her the way she’d shamed him.
Every speech, every spitting word he’d delivered while driving in his car, showering, or mopping a greasy floor at the Captain’s Hideaway was polished and ready for action. Of course, he’d filled himself with nothing else. Nothing forgiving or redeeming.
“Coral.” His tone was cold. Hard.
“Your Royal Highness.” She offered her hand, bowing low into a deep curtsy. The kind one offered in surrender, in humility, head bowed so her chin nearly touched her chest. “Thank you for having us.” Her soft voice barely reached his ears.
Just like that, every barricade crumbled. His eyes filled and after a moment, he cupped his hand with hers. She raised up, her heart swimming in her eyes. A sob broke through her chest. “I’m so, so—”
“Coral.” Gus enveloped her in the tightest possible embrace, cradling her head as her cheek fell against his shoulder. Her soft weeping watered his dry, cracked ground.
“I am so, so sorry. I never, ever wanted to hurt you. Never.” Her repeated repentance filled his ears, his heart, his soul.
“Shhh, Coral.” Together they swayed side to side. “Of course not, of course. It’s all right, love, it’s all right. I forgive you. I forgive you.”
Headlines flashed across his memory.
Panicked Princess.
Princess-Almost Is Pathetic.
Prince Augustus Barely Escapes Mad Heiress.
Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie.
How did he not see? She’d suffered every bit as much as he. Pieces of buried conversation came to mind.
“What do you think about God? Our wedding vows are full of pledges to Him.”
“I think nothing of Him. Those vows are a thousand years old. Just tradition.”
“Gus, do you believe in a higher power? In God?”
“What? No. I believe in myself. I’m my own higher power.”
“I thought we could read the Bible.”
“You read. Give me the Twitter version.”
“Do you forgive me?” He spoke the words low, the urge to justify himself gone. “For not coming after you? For not hearing, not listening?”
“No, no, you must forgive me. I was so wrong and foolish.”
“Yes, love, but now I realize, so was I.”
The foyer guests no longer mattered. How long they held each other weeping and healing, letting go, whispering deep sentiments didn’t matter. Moment by moment, they were healing each other and finding freedom through the simple gift of forgiveness.
Chapter Thirty-One
Gus
They agreed to meet in his apartment that evening after Cranston rang the dinner gong. From now on out, Hadsby reverted to the old ways.
The dressing gong rang an hour before dinner, allowing guests time to change into suits and ties, and dresses. Nothing fancy. No one had a lady’s maid or a valet. Though Gus noted a few personal stylists sneaking around the back stairs.
