Page 17 of Waiting for a Prince
His heartbeat raced. “Actually, I’d already planned on meeting a friend there.”
“Well, you can say hello to your friend, then join us. I’m sure having a glass of champagne at the Royal Yacht Club would be infinitely preferable to drinking beer from a plastic pint pot while your eardrums bleed.”
“Does that invitation include my friend?”
Sam had a feeling he already knew the answer to that one.
“Members only.You’reonly allowed in because Dad is… well, Dad.” Rebecca made an impatient noise. “Do I tell Dad you’ll be there or not?”
“I’ll meet you there, all right?”
That was all Sam was willing to commit to at that point.
Rebecca huffed. “Iwasgoing to suggest coming to see you this evening, but now I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. You seem to be in a mood, and that means I’d probably end up in a bad mood too.”
No probably about it.
And if Sam was in a mood, Rebecca was the cause of it.
“I’m still working,” he told her. “I don’t think I’d be good company.”
“And it’s not as if we’d be doing anything, other than watching TV, is it?”
Rebecca’s sly dig brought home to him the utter ridiculousness of his predicament.
“Rebecca… How much longer is this going to continue?”
There was a pause. “Until Dad is convinced. Until I say so. But you have nothing to complain about. The longer we’re together, the safer you are. Isn’t that right?”
She knew damn well it was.
Rebecca Trent had him by the balls, and what made it worse?
She had claws.
Chapter Six
Friday, August 2
Cowes was heaving as usual.Most of the time it was a trendy little town with fashionable boutiques which seemed to cater exclusively for the yachting brigade, but that went into overdrive during Cowes week. Anyone who wasanyonewas out and about, watching the races, drinking Pimms from the balcony of the Royal Yacht Club and hanging out on some of the more fabulous-looking boats.
But on the Friday night, most of the island turned out to see the fireworks, which were always impressive. And after a deficit of five years, the crowds were bigger than ever. The quay was a surging mass of spectators, clutching plastic glasses of beer or wine, everyone eagerly awaiting darkness to fall so the show could begin. The harbour was filled with boats as people tried to get the best vantage point from which to observe the proceedings.
Mark loved the fireworks, but that was because he was basically a big kid. Yeah, he listened to theoohsandahsof the people around him with a big grin on his face, but his voice joined theirs readily enough.
He stood near the beer tent, clutching his pint of Wight Gold, an island brewed beer. He scanned the crowd, looking for Sam. It was seven thirty and as yet there was no sign of him. Mark thought briefly about texting him, but he didn’t want to bother the man, especially as Sam had let slip in his last phone call the previous night that Rebecca was coming too.
I don’t get it.For a man whose girlfriend had just told him she’d be accompanying him, Sam didn’t seem all that happy about the prospect.
Maybe I’m hearing things. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.
What’s more likely is that I’m projecting my own feelings onto the situation.
Three days had passed since Sam had invited him, and Mark had spent them thinking of nothing but this evening. If he were being honest, he knew it wasn’t the prospect of the fireworks that had kindled his enthusiasm, but of spending time with Sam. Knowing the girlfriend was going to be there had put a dampener on his mood that he couldn’t account for. It wasn’t a date, for goodness’ sake.
Hasn’t stopped you thinking about him all week, though, has it?
The thought gave him a brief pang of guilt.
