A March Bride (A Year of Weddings 1 #4)(20)

He motioned for her to keep talking as he retrieved his phone and dialed Royal One’s satellite phone.

“So,” she said, elevating her tone with a bit of merriment. “I bet Nathaniel is excited you’re coming back. What? Right, right, you want to surprise him. Cool, way cool.” She made a face, shrugging at Nathaniel. “Well, I’m sorry you won’t be home for pizza. But hey, the only thing that trumps hot cheese pizza is true love, right?” Ha-ha. “Okay, I’ll tell Mama you’ve left. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Here, let me talk to her.” Glo took the phone from Avery, whispering to Nathaniel, “If she’s fixing to take off . . . you best hurry and do whatever it is you can do to stop that plane. Mercy, I sound like I’m in a movie or something.”

Nathaniel was on it, his chest buzzing with untethered emotions, aware of the ramifications. Her plan was ruining his.

But Susanna was returning to Brighton. Of her own accord. He smiled, then stepped out of the office, through the kitchen, and onto the back deck.

Fabian Rainwater, a former pilot for the RAF before joining the king’s service, answered the sat phone.

“Fabian?”

“Your Majesty, is everything all right?”

“Listen, please don’t react if Susanna is in hearing range. But do not take off.”

“I’m in the cockpit now. What reason shall I give her? We’re wheels up at eight o’clock.”

“I’m here. On St. Simons Island to surprise her.”

“I see. Under the radar, I imagine.”

“Very much so.”

“It’s not easy being a king in moments like these, is it?” A soft, humorous lilt bent his words. “What reason shall I give her for the delay?”

“You’re the pilot, Fabian. Make something up.”

“Mechanical?”

“Perfect. But one that cannot be solved easily. No waiting round in Savannah overnight. She must return to the island.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Fabian, you must come along as well. And your copilot.”

“For any special reason?”

“Indeed. A very special reason.”

Nathaniel rang off and tucked his phone in his jeans pocket, his stomach rumbling for the tangy taste of barbecue, his heart churning for her love.





Susanna thumped her suitcase back up the back deck of the Rib Shack, exhausted and disheartened and discombobulated, the ordeal of the past few days weighing on her.

The citizenship writ in Brighton. Her decision to come home. The lack of communication with Nathaniel. Her morning conversation with Mama. Her encounter with Reverend Smith at Christ Church.

Her subsequent decision to return to Brighton.

Visiting with Granny one last time before flying home. She was comforted by the light in Granny’s eyes and the color on her cheeks.

A final stop by Gracie’s.

Scurrying home to pack and get down to Savannah, meet up with the pilot, and wait for wheels up.

The disappointing news that the plane had mechanical problems.

Hiring a car to return to St. Simons with the pilots, Fabian and Roark.

She had spent the car ride with her forehead pressed to the dark window, hiding her tears.

See, this was exactly why she planned things. She wore spontaneity like a wet sack. Thin and falling apart. She should’ve never left Brighton. Now it seemed as if she’d hit a brick wall on returning.

Lord, please, tell Nathaniel I love him.

She’d tried to call—forget surprising him—but his phone went straight to voice mail. So instead she rang Rollins and asked him to arrange for a car to meet her at the Brighton airport.

Then Susanna instructed her lady’s maid, Ansley, to make sure the emerald green Alexander McQueen party dress was ready to go. She would surprise Nathaniel at dinner.

But not tomorrow night after all. Darn plane.

“Well.” Mama stepped onto the deck, a dish towel in her hands. “Just where have you been?”

“Believe it or not, trying to get back to Brighton.”

Mama snapped the air with her towel, tipped back her head, and raised her hand toward heaven. “Thank You, Lord. Finally.”

“I’m not in the mood, Mama.” Susanna kicked her suitcase against the deck rail to let a young family pass.

Mama hollered toward the kitchen door. “Bristol, you got customers on the deck.” She joined Susanna at a table. “So, you were heading home?”

Home? Brighton was home, wasn’t it? “I wanted to surprise Nathaniel.”

“What happened?” Mama ran her strong, soft hand over Susanna’s hair, brushing it away from her neck. Her unexpected tenderness brought Susanna’s tears to the surface. “What made you decide to go back?”

“I prayed a prayer.” Susanna recapped her conversation with Reverend Smith, leaving out the part where she cried over her childhood. Mama didn’t need piled-on guilt.

“So why aren’t you winging it toward Brighton?”

“Mechanical problem. The part won’t arrive until Friday.”

“It’s going to be all right, Susanna.”

“You don’t know that, Mama.” She vaulted off the picnic table bench. “The more I think about it . . . the longer I’m away from Nathaniel, he’s not going to want me back. What kind of woman slips off her engagement ring because the life of her intended comes with certain requirements? I mean, if he was the head of Apple and I was a peon at Microsoft, I wouldn’t think twice about resigning.”