A March Bride (A Year of Weddings 1 #4)(2)

“You know you did, mate . . . We were there, eyewitnesses . . .”

Susanna tuned in to the conversation around her.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Nigel.” Nathaniel’s protest launched a jovial debate among his friends, an aristocratic group of eight who seemed to look to Nigel as their leader.

Susanna smiled, rocking from one high-heeled foot to the other, exhaling. She had no idea what they were going on about, but lately Nathaniel seemed to have many things in his life that excluded her.

Which led to her feeling a bit like an outsider, even among her garden “friends”—the potted palms, hydrangeas, lilies, and royal maples.

“So, Susanna, how is every little thing?” This from Winnie, Nigel’s girlfriend.

“Every little thing is just fine.” It was the bigger things that concerned her.

He’s changed his mind. Of course. It would be on par for her love life. Adam had changed his mind. Why not Nathaniel?

“I can’t imagine all you’re going through for this wedding.” Winnie chortled. “It’s the wedding of the century.”

“So they say.” Susanna’s legs wobbled a bit as she pushed her smile wider.

First lesson in being a royal? Smile. Be cordial. And stand a lot. Who knew royal life included so much standing? And handshaking. Lots and lots of handshaking.

And pulling out the hand sanitizer was considered ill form.

Susanna had rallied the King’s Office to let her wear sneakers or flip-flops for long receiving lines, but the protocol officers flatly refused.

“Tell me, are you nervous?” Winnie pressed her hand on Susanna’s arm. A move, she’d learned, that was acceptable for family and close friends, but not others. “I’d be a nervous wreck. The Liberty Press is reporting a telly audience of over a billion.”

Susanna’s smile faltered as a fresh wave of nerves washed ashore. “Well, then, we’re going to need a bigger cake.”

Winnie stared at her, then tee-hee’d. “You’re quite droll, Susanna. I like that in a woman.”

With that, Winnie returned to reminiscing with the men and Susanna was back to feeling alone and aching for home. For warmth. For unobstructed sunlight.

Aching for her own folks with whom to reminisce. She’d not been to Georgia since her best friend Gracie’s wedding last October. She’d finally said yes to her boyfriend, Ethan.

But even then, it wasn’t really like being home. Nathaniel couldn’t get away, so Susanna traveled with a security officer and stayed in a hotel.

She returned to Brighton, a North Sea island gem, and enjoyed a lovely, mild October only to have November descend with gray days and an early snow.

For four long months, Susanna hibernated in palaces and castles, enduring the Brighton winter while being schooled on Brighton law, customs, traditions, and how to be the wife of a king.

So today as the sun crested the first pure blue, cloudless sky of March, she felt ready to burst with longing for south Georgia’s heat and balmy breezes.

She missed the wind in the live oaks and the jaunty sway of Spanish moss, the fragrance of Daddy’s barbecue sauce simmering on the Rib Shack’s stove tops, the feel of a surfboard under her arm, and above all, the ability to move about town without a gaggle of photographers on her heels.

She longed to hear Daddy’s “Hello, kitten” and Mama’s “Susanna Jean, need you to pull a shift at the Shack.” She missed hearing her baby sister, Avery’s, exuberance about . . . everything.

“Susanna—” Nigel leaned toward her. “Surely Nathaniel told you the story of the skiing bear.” Nigel’s laugh bent him backward and he seemed more like a frivolous playboy than the CEO of his own shipping company.

“A skiing bear?” She glanced at Nathaniel, who smiled, shaking his head and sipping from his champagne flute. He didn’t care much for champagne, but he held a glass out of respect for his host and hostess. “No, he didn’t.”

“It’s an old story, love.” He peeked at her, then away, down the wide aisle of the warm, bright atrium, toward the open doors. A fresh breeze sauntered in and rustled a few maple branches, spraying the atrium with the saline fragrance of the bay. “I’d nearly forgotten all about it.”

“Forgotten it?” Nigel’s tone contained no reserve. “Please, Nathaniel, it was the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t remember when I laughed so hard, I’ll tell you that, old chap.”

There, she caught a hint of Nathaniel’s laugh. Something he’d not done much of lately.

Susanna regarded him for a moment, trying to figure what bothered him. What bothered her.

As their wedding drew near, her man looked . . . sad.

He’s changed his mind and he’s afraid to tell me!

Her heart crashed and her lungs strained for a pure breath. It took every ounce of her will not to run out of the atrium.

“Susanna, you should’ve seen him.” Nigel’s story reeled in the rest of the circle—Winnie, Blythe and Morton, Lord Michael Dean and his wife, Lady Ruthie, and her sister, Lady Becky. “The lot of us went skiing on a spring holiday from university. Michael, Mortie, you were there, remember?”

Skiing on spring break? A luxury in Susanna’s world. She’d spent every spring and summer break from the University of Georgia at her parents’ barbecue place, waiting tables and running the back of the house just to earn enough of her living expenses for the following semester.