“Gus, you always have my friendship.” She took a step back. What was it about his smile that made her feel welcomed? Wanted? What did it reflect from his soul that she understood?
“When I saw your Instagram post, I didn’t think clearly. I reacted based on past experiences, past betrayals. Not at all fair.”
“You thought I’d betrayed you too. Because you were betrayed so cruelly by someone you loved.Notthat you loveme. Or I you. I mean— Not, um, inthatway.” It was hard to pedal when one’s foot was in one’s mouth.
His smile dropped her into the nearest chair, hand to her warm cheek.
“I should have all that mess behind me by now. Should be ready to move on.” He pumped the air with his fist. “Not everyone will betray me the way Coral did. It’s just—”
“You get a knot in your belly every time something smacks of it? Or breach of trust? I get it. Been there. Nothing feels right. There are no comforts. Not even food or the telly.”
“Exactly. And I hope you’ve not been through what I’ve been through.”
“Well, I wasn’t left at the altar—not yet anyway.” She made a face and flashed her ring finger. “But I’ve been let down by others, by myself even. I was turned inside out over what Leslie Ann did.”
Gus’s light faded. “Have you two made up? If you haven’t, you won’t get a speech from me.”
“We were stuck in that cottage together. We have the same friends. So yes, I’ve forgiven her. She’s promised not to include me in any more royal family stories. Not that I have anything to contribute.”
“I suppose we all need our friends. To forgive.” He hesitated, then sat on the edge of the love seat. “To be honest, I’m not sure how to forgive Coral. We’re not friends, so I don’t have to navigate that breach.” He said her name without a hiccup. “Mum asked me if I still loved her. I said I’d only stopped hating her.”
“Hate only costs you, Gus. Doesn’t harm her at all.” From the hallway, one of the six grandfather clocks chimed the midnight hour.
“No, but hating her made me feel good.” He shook his head. “That’s a lie. I felt horrible. I’m just not sure she deserves my forgiveness.”
Daffy eased down deeper into the club chair. “Do any of us deserve forgiveness?”
“Ah, now you’re going philosophical on me, and meanwhile, the clock is telling me I shall turn from a handsome prince into a chubby mouse. I should go.”
“You’re not a Disney animated mouse.” His nickname as a kid was Gus-Gus. When he gained weight, tabloids posted images of Cinderella’s chubby friend with Gus’s face. “Or the Pudgy Prince.”
“But I do love cheese.” His grin teased the rosy hue to her face again.
She laughed as he said goodnight, closing the door before Gus asked about her tell. Maybe it was because she was so tired. Or newly engaged. Or that the memories of her two summers at Hadsby with John and Gus, the adventures and laughter, came back so easily. But their brief conversation seeped into some of the cracks of her soul. Places she hadn’t known were dry and thirsty. Places where she’d missed her old friend.
* * *
Gus
He had a good weekend. Met with old and good friends. Had a blast. He needed to forget himself and laugh. On Saturday and Sunday, he explored the castle renovations, which were more impressive than he realized.
The old family homestead was set for the next generation, and the one after. Despite being constructed of stone and timber, Hadsby had always been a place of elegance and luxury. Every regent from the sixteenth century on had found a way to put his or her mark on the old fortification. Especially since flaming arrows and ballista stones no longer threatened the high walls.
Monday morning, Gus met with Dalholm’s mayor and police commissioner to discuss the influx of visitors and tourists for the ball and thank them on behalf of the queen for all their hard work.
In the afternoon, he visited one of the hamlet’s new tech companies, Smart Life, where their young CEO, Callie Porter, outlined a way to turn Hadsby into a smart castle. One day the staff at Perrigwynn would be able to manage security, lighting, even some cleaning aspects of Hadsby from Port Fressa.
In the evening, he ate a solitary dinner with a footman waiting on him. On the credenza, silver tureens warmed salmon, roasted potatoes, asparagus, and an apple tart pudding.
“And what is your name?” Gus reached for his wine.
“Miles, sir.”
“Is everyone else in the servants’ hall? The staff? The members of the Royal Trust?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I’ll join them there tomorrow. Let Cranston and Chef Charles know.” It seemed he had a bit of Pete George left in him.
