Page 7 of Waiting for a Prince
Then she tilted her head, staring up at him, her voice turning syrupy. “But I won’t. Because I love you.”
You don’t. I know you don’t.
Sam might have had no experience, but he knew love wasn’t sharp like this, love wasn’t a weapon wielded with precision. He nodded, however, because agreeing was safer.
Arguing only made it worse.
She released him, then smoothed down her dress. She jerked her head toward the door. “That’s Dad. I think you’d better stay with us this evening. We’re going out to dinner, and he needs another opportunity to see how well we’re getting along.” She smiled. “To see what a good influence you are on his daughter.”
Yeah, Sam had known that was on the cards. Rebecca couldn’t afford her dad to see the truth. That wouldreallymess things up for her. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why she’d laid into him about not booking a restaurant when she was already going out with her dad, but he kept silent.
It was safer.
The front door opened, and she chose that moment to kiss him, her hand on his neck.
“Am I interrupting something?” Jack Trent’s voice cut through the quiet.
Rebecca took a step back, her hand to her face. “Dad. I didn’t hear you.”
God, she could win an Oscar for that performance.
Jack came over and shook Sam’s hand. “Hey, son. Good to see you. How’s work?”
“It’s great, thank you, Sir.” It wasn’t, but Jack was friends with Sam’s dad, and Sam didn’t want word getting back.
Jack put his arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. “I like your hair. Shame it’s going to get all salted up during the next two days.”
She frowned. “What?”
He rolled his eyes. “I knew you’d forget. The Petersons are having a party on their yacht. We’re driving to Yarmouth in the morning, and then we’re off for two days and nights, sailing.” He stilled. “You did forget, didn’t you?”
She flashed him a bright smile. “Of course I didn’t. And the hair appointment was so I looked my best.”
Jack patted Sam’s arm. “I’d ask you along, but I knew for a fact they’ve invited a ton of guests, so there wouldn’t be any room for you.”
Sam smiled. “That’s okay, sir. Sounds like you’ll have a great time.”
“I’ll go get changed for dinner, while you men decide where you’re taking me.” She headed for the staircase, and Sam was finally able to breathe.
The air felt thick and heavy, as though no matter how much he took in, it would never be enough.
Chapter Three
Monday, July 29
Mark loved Mondays.Okay, so Sundays were pretty cool too, but that was usually when there were more people out and about over the island, as virtually all the shops closed but the attractions, such as they were, remained open. Sunday was Mark’s day to clean his small flat, get the weekly shopping in, and generally work through his To Do list, crossing off each item with relish.
Unfortunately, it was also the day his mother usually chose to make her weekly phone call, and her timing was always lousy.
Monday was his day off. And summer Mondays were the best.
Mark parked the car at Yaverland car park and after paying for his parking ticket, he headed down to the beach to go for a walk along the shore. It was a glorious July morning. The temperature was already pleasant, considering the fact that it was eight o’clock, and there were only a few people dotted over the beach. A few lone dog walkers were the norm at this hour. Mark loved coming here at this time, before all the tourists arrived with their kids, windbreaks and other beachparaphernalia. Come midday, this section of the beach would be knee-deep in children and dogs. Not that Mark had anything against children and dogs—it simply turned a walk along a beach into an obstacle course.
His rucksack nestled between his shoulder blades, Mark strolled along the shoreline, his bare feet leaving indentations in the moist sand. The tide was out, and the sun sparkled on the sea. The only sounds were the waves rolling over the pebbles and the cries of seagulls as they rode the currents of air along the cliffs. Mark wore a tee and a pair of shorts, his flip-flops shoved into a side pocket of the rucksack. The sun heated his skin, and he couldn’t restrain his happy sigh.
I love living on this island.
Most people his age couldn’t wait to get off it, but Mark had no such yearnings. He loved the place all year round. Yes, it was tough living in a tourist spot where the population doubled in the summer, but that was only a small percentage of the year. Mark hated those BMWs—Bitchers, Moaners and Whiners—who were forever complaining about how the level of traffic on the eastern side of the island was a bitch in summertime, how difficult it was to get around with all the tourists everywhere, blah blah blah.
