“Take the lilt out of your voice, Mum.”Michael washed down his bite of cake with a hot swallow of tea.“You know protection officers do not fraternize with their charges.”
“Are you reminding me or yourself?Darling, if you ever want to fall in love again, you must get out of the protection business and join the printing business.I’m sixty-three and while I’ve no intention of retiring soon, I need to bring you up to speed.The business is yours to inherit.”
Mum.She never listened.“Take your eyes off me, Mum.Evan is your man.”
“Okay, then give me a better plan for your life than Her Majesty’s Security Detail.Do you fancy following the royal Blues around the rest of your life, dodging bullets and charlatans, working their schedule, living on palace grounds in some tiny apartment?What about your own family, Mick?You’re forty years old.Purnell would not want this for you.”
He gulped down the last of his tea.“Thanks for the tea, Mum.”He rose from the table then bent to kiss her cheek.“We’ll do it again soon.”
“Mick, after this tour of duty with Lady Royal… Wouldn’t that be a good time to end your career with the HMSD?A perfect closure.”
He regarded her for a moment and the way she almost seemed to plead with him.“Be safe on your way back to the office, Mum.”He gave her a nod and smile.
The Clemency district was crowded with commuters on their way home.Michael looked toward Mum’s high-rise apartment that was worth several million pounds.
She assumed he wanted to live her style of life.But he was content with his palace grounds apartment.It had character.As for money, he had a trust from his Pratt ancestors.It was enough for him.
While the Cross family was once one of the wealthiest in the country, a spiritual revival among members of the clan in the eighteenth century had them donating their time and money to the poor.The only inheritance left to present-day descendants was a half dozen lovely estates filled with rare art, furniture, and just enough in the bank for upkeep and taxes.The houses were open to the public throughout the year.
Dad dwelled in the only remaining inhabited manor.
At the corner of Clemency and Queen’s Way, Michael paused.He opened WhatsApp and scrolled through the Pratt anniversary photos.Granny feeding Granddad cake.The two of them dancing to their song.Surrounded by great-grandchildren.
The last photo was from Cousin Darcy and sent privately.He tapped it.
It was of him and Scottie.Walking from the party lights toward his motor.Scottie’s shoes dangling from her fingertips.His jacket over his shoulder.A warm, almost enchanting glow wrapped around them.
Michael zoomed in, his chest filling with the memories of that night.As he walked to the car with Scottie, he was holding her hand, and she was holding his.
Chapter Twelve
Scottie
She wanted to wear jeans, a T-shirt, a UT hoodie, and sneakers for her day at the Midlands Faire, but a militant Choko insisted she slip on a pair of wide-leg tan trousers with a sunny yellow-and-blue floral print top, and a pair of espadrille wedges.
Then she wrapped Scottie’s hair in a loose braid with tendrils curling around her cheeks and neck.
“You’ll be the belle of the faire, Lady Royal.”
“I’d rather blend in.”
“You can’t.You’re representing Her Majesty.”
She was also cold.Did it ever warm up in Lauchtenland?The sea air sank into her bones and never let up.
“You ready for this?”Michael said when they met in the Grand Foyer.He looked regal and serious in his dark suit and white shirt.“A journey into enemy territory?”His gaze swept her up and down, but he said nothing about her appearance, beautiful or otherwise.
She’d not seen him since they arrived at Perrigwynn early yesterday, and his presence now was the warmth she craved.He’d been her rock on the solo engagements earlier in the week, and she’d become dependent on his company.
“Enemy territory?I thought we were going to the Midlands Faire.”
“Six of one, my lady.”Opening the door, he bowed with a sweep of his arm, drawing her attention to his broad, thick hand.The one that had held hers so tenderly Saturday night.“Scottie,” Michael added as he aided her into the car, “the faire will be crowded.Please stay close.”
“Yes, boss.”
Settled into the car, she retreated to her memories, where she could still feel Michael’s hand holding hers.Neither one had realized what they were doing until he opened her car door.Then they broke apart as if caught making out under the football bleachers.Nearly a week later, the look he gave her in that moment, as his hand slipped from hers, still made her sigh.
As they’d driven the two hours back to Hadsby, he let her talk about Dad’s engagement to Remi while the radio played a soft jazz.
