On my way there today. Arranged things with her father Trent last night.
Keep us posted. And don’t get caught up in America. I know it’s tempting after heartbreak but you must come home. I’m not born to be a king.
I must be there for Holland’s memorial and place the one-year wreath on her headstone. For the record, I’m not sure I’m fit to be king either.”
He’d been with Buck and JoJo all day Sunday and off social media. Not that he was on social media very much. Apparently he’d missed an explosive post of him carrying Gemma. He could kick himself in hindsight. What did he think would happen? Carrying a beautiful woman in his arms was too much for people to resist. And he’d seen the hordes of watchers holding up their phones. The Lauchtenland media must be eating it up.
He would ring Gemma after his meeting, see how she fared. Most people longed for a viral social media post, but he had a sense she was not one of them.
However, the task at hand was meeting his sister. He’d arrived at the modern O’Shay’s Shirts home office, and as he walked into the clean, white, almost-sterile lobby, with Gunner on his flank, John collected his thoughts, arranged his expectations. Today he was meeting his sister.
The woman at the receptionist desk glanced up from her computer, then launched to her feet, toppling her chair.
“It’syou.” She yanked off her headset as she stumbled around the desk and curtsied. “Prince John.” She reached over the desk’s riser for her phone. “Can get a selfie? Please?”
“Thank you but no,” Gunner said, stepping in front of John. Security details forbade posing for photos when out and about.
“Alena, leave the prince alone.” A crisp, resonating voice echoed through the cavernous lobby.
An elegant, well-built man in a pale blue button-down and khakis ambled down the wood-and-steel floating staircase.
“Trent O’Shay,” he said, greeting John with a firm handshake. His bold manner was welcoming while broadcasting he was a man of means. The king of an international enterprise. “Come on up.”
John nodded to Gunner, who indicated he would wait in one of the modern, lime-green leather chairs.
“Alena, show his man to the cafeteria.” Trent pointed to Gunner before heading to the second floor.
His man? Gunner would not like that much. He was a trained special forces officer serving in HMSD—Her Majesty’s Security Detail.
“I trust you had no trouble finding us.” At the top of the stairs, Trent led John down a row of glass-and-steel offices with a view toward the river, then down an L-shaped corridor where the offices doubled in size. Overhead, the mountainous ceiling brought in light from every angle.
“This is impressive,” John said.
“After years and years of working in a dark, enclosed, ’60s-era brick structure, we finally came into the twenty-first century.” Trent’s headquarters had a view of Hearts Bend from the river to the highway. “Come on in. Have a seat.” He paused between his desk and a seating area where a rather grand leather couch faced two matching chairs and a designer center table. “Can I get you anything?” He pointed to the paneled wall where John imagined a hidden kitchenette. “Coffee, tea, water, soda, sports drink, juice.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” John started to sit but noticed the company’s pictorial history on the walls.
Trent took a seat on the couch and John knew he was being inspected. Not as a prince but as his daughter’s brother. As Catherine Blue’s son.
“How do you like Hearts Bend? It’s no Port Fressa but very sweet and inviting. We’ve got Nashville and Memphis for culture, should we feel the need.”
“I’m enjoying it. Very peaceful.” John scanned the pictorial avenue and moved down the wall to the beginning.
“Have you tried the Fry Hut yet? Best burger and fries anywhere.”
“Not yet. But Buck has mentioned them.”
“When I was in high school, my buddies and I ate at the Hut every night after football practice. Then went home for dinner and gobbled up whatever our folks made.” His laugh was smooth and rich. John liked him.
“Founded in nineteen hundred.” John read the brass plate tacked to the white oak frame. The history progressed from grainy black-and-white images to the high tech, brilliant colors of the present.
“My great-grandfather started out with a seamstress and a bolt of cloth. He was sixteen.”
“Quite the entrepreneur.” John spotted a young Trent by an industrial loom. His expression bore the same confidence and swagger he displayed in the few photos he’d shared with Mum, which she’d finally shown the family. “I’m sure he’d be impressed with what you’ve done with the business.”
“Maybe. I sometimes think he wonders why we work so hard. He was ambitious, no doubt, and wanted to live well, but he was a family man. And he loved his travels. I’ve not left the office for more than a long weekend fishing trip in seven years.”
“Then you must schedule time away.” John paused at the final photo. It was taken at what appeared to be a new plant with Trent and the striking brunette that was his half sister.
