Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door

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Confessions of

a Girl-Next-Door

Jackie Braun

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To little princesses everywhere …

CHAPTER ONE

HOLLYN Elise Phillipa Saldani always did what was expected of her. As next in line for the throne of the tiny Mediterranean principality of Morenci, she’d known from an early age what her duties entailed and she’d followed them to the letter. Which was why her driver looked at her as if she were speaking a language other than the four in which she was fluent when she said, “Take me to the airport, please.”

“The airport, Your Highness?” Henry asked.

She settled back in the plush leather seat of the limousine and fussed with the folds of her full skirt. Even though her heart was hammering, Hollyn said with characteristic calm, “Yes. The airport.”

Henry wasn’t mollified. He lifted one bushy eyebrow and inquired, “Are we picking up a passenger, then, on our way to the annual garden party? The queen didn’t mention it.”

No, indeed. Her mother hadn’t mentioned it, because Olivia Saldani wasn’t privy to Hollyn’s last-minute change in plans.

“We are not picking up a passenger.” Hollyn moistened her lips. This was it. There would be no turning back once she said the words. Once she gave the edict, her will would be done. “You are dropping one off. Me.”

Henry cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon. I must not have heard you correctly.”

“Yes, you did.” Despite her nerves, she smiled. “Your hearing is as good now as it was when you caught me trying to take out the Bentley with cousin Amelia when I was sixteen.”

“Your giggles gave you away, Your Highness.”

She sighed. “It’s just Hollyn.”

But she hadn’t been “just Hollyn” in too many years to count. Not to Henry or the other people who staffed the royal palace. Or the citizens of the small kingdom that she would one day rule. To them she was Princess Hollyn, daughter of King Franco and Queen Olivia, next in line to the Morenci throne and rumored to be soon engaged to the son of one of the country’s most celebrated and dashing young businessmen.

Duty. She understood it and accepted it. But that didn’t mean she liked it. Or that she didn’t wish, sometimes, that she could be an ordinary young woman, living a simpler life.

Holly.

The nickname whispered from her past, beckoning from across the Atlantic. She allowed herself the luxury of recalling the boy who’d called her that. In her memory, a pair of wide-set brown eyes crinkled with a smile that also caused his cheeks to dent.

At fifteen, Nathaniel Matthews had been surprisingly self-assured and determined to break free of the small community the past two generations of his family had so eagerly embraced. She’d found the tiny island tucked between Canada and America in Lake Huron a paradise.

She’d spent five summers on Heart Island, so named because of its shape, living in anonymity and loving every minute of her unregimented life. No teas or cotillions to attend. No fussy state dinners. And no boring garden parties where more eyes would be focused on her than the blooms.

“The airport,” she said again. “A plane is waiting for me.”

Not the royal jet, but a private one she’d chartered for this trip. In the rearview mirror, she saw Henry’s brows draw together. His perplexed expression was endearing and nostalgic. She remembered that look of concern from the days when he’d taught her to drive on the palace grounds. Afterward, she and Henry had laughed like a pair of loons at her exploits, which included an encounter with a bee-infested log. It was doubtful this day would end with much mirth.

“I’m leaving, Henry.”

“Your mother never spoke of it.”

Hollyn fussed with the folds of her skirt again. She couldn’t wait to take it off and change into something less formal. “She doesn’t know.”

Those bushy brows drew together a second time. “But, Your Highness …”

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling swallowed up by a life that so many other young women in her kingdom considered a dream. For her, lately at least, it had become a nightmare.

“It’s Hollyn. Please, Henry, just call me Hollyn.”

When he stopped the car at a light, he turned with a tentative smile. “Hollyn.”

Despite her best efforts to remain firm, her eyes filled with tears.

“I need a holiday, Henry. Just a few days, a week at the most, to be by myself. My life has been decided since before my birth, and now, with all of the pressure to accept Phillip’s proposal … please.” Her voice faltered.

Perhaps it was that more than her words that caused Henry to nod. After all, she was known for her stoicism.

“The airport,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He sounded only marginally concerned when he asked, “And what am I to tell Her Majesty?”

Hollyn took a moment, drawing in a breath and working up the nerve to go against her mother’s wishes. No one crossed Olivia without expecting retribution.

“You are to tell her that, at my command, you dropped me off at the airport. I have a letter for you to give to her that will explain my decision and my whereabouts. It also instructs her not to censure you in any way for carrying out my orders.”

He smiled as he shook his head. “I’d do it anyway, you know.”

She did.

Their gazes caught in the rearview mirror. “Thank you, Henry. I know this is an imposition.”

He shrugged and pushed his trademark black cap back on his forehead. “I’ve never considered you an imposition, Hollyn.”

Her eyes pooled with tears upon hearing her given name, uttered this time without any prompting. But there was no time to give in to sentiment, even if Henry would have allowed it. They had arrived at the small country’s only airport. Henry brought the limo around to a private entrance reserved for VIPs and royalty. They were shielded from prying eyes, although an industrious paparazzo or two had managed to breach security in the past. She held her breath, silently chanting, “Not today. Please, not today,” as Henry unloaded the luggage she’d stowed, unbeknownst to him, in the limousine’s trunk. He added to the trolley the three sleek designer bags whose contents she could barely remember packing, she’d done it so quickly. But then, where she was going, she wouldn’t need much. No ball gowns, no ostentatious jewels or tiaras. As she recalled, shoes had been optional.

“I hope you find what it is you seek,” he said softly once they were inside. Then he wrapped her in the kind of hug a father might, though her own wasn’t one for displays of affection, whether in public or private.

“At the moment, Henry, all I seek is peace.”

“Then that, my dear, is what I wish for you.” He kissed her cheek and stepped away. “Write?”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. “I won’t be gone that long. As I said, a week at most.”

He remained serious. “Be in touch when you can.”

“Of course.”

An hour later, as she settled into one of the plush seats of the private jet she’d chartered, she thought of her request.

Peace.

She might as well have been asking for the moon. But with most of the paparazzi tied up at the annual garden party, and no one but Henry privy to her travel plans at this point, perhaps she would be able to make a clean getaway. She’d worry about a “clean arrival” once she got to where she was going.

Nate was seated on the deck of his home. He was finishing up a burger that he’d picked up from a local pub before heading home, and enjoying a cold beer when he spied the Cessna riding low on the horizon over Lake Huron.

Hell of an evening to land a seaplane, given the wind.

Even on the relatively protected waters of Heart Island’s Pettibone Bay, whitecaps sent waves crashing on the beach with unrelenting precision. Forecasters were calling for a doozy of a storm, likely to hit sometime before midnight. The islanders, especially those along the coastline, were battened down, ready. Storms such as these weren’t uncommon in summer, which was why people with any sense were already in for the night, their planes and boats secured to wait out the worst of the weather.

What in the hell was Hank Whitey thinking?

Sure, the pilot had a penchant for taking risks. Last week, he’d bluffed his way through their weekly poker game with a pathetic hand of cards. But Hank generally wasn’t one to take risks with his plane; the aircraft was his livelihood.

Nate went inside, set his unfinished beer on the counter and headed out. Not only was he curious about Hank’s explanation, but the man was also going to need a hand.

By the time Nate jogged down to the sand, Hank had already bypassed the dock at the Haven Marina, which was part of the resort Nate owned. On a really calm day, Hank might have moored there. Today, not a chance. The waves tossed the small plane around as if it weighed no more than a fishing bobber.

Nate would give Hank this. The guy was a capable pilot, even if his judgment was a bit questionable. Just beyond the plane, a jagged outcropping of rocks lined a slim finger of land that jutted to where a lighthouse stood. With the wind pushing toward those rocks, it took experience and skill to guide the Cessna toward the sandy beach instead.

Nate waited until the single engine was cut and the plane’s propeller finally stopped chopping the air before he kicked off his shoes and waded out into the thigh-deep water. The waves made keeping his balance difficult and the cuffs of his shorts were wet in no time. Hank’s door opened and the man let out a whoop of joy, which was entirely appropriate given the circumstances.

“You’re damned lucky to be in one piece!” Nate shouted to be heard over the wind.

“Hey, Nate. Can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Glad to see you, too, Hank. Alive. What in the hell were you thinking?”

The passenger door opened then. A woman, beautiful and amazingly composed under the circumstances, smiled at Nate. “I’m to blame, I’m afraid. I was so eager to get here that I offered Mr. Whitey triple his normal fee.”

Her crisp accent had Nate’s brows tugging together. He knew that voice. He blinked. He knew … that face. Despite all of the years that had passed, he knew it in an instant. Heart-shaped, with a delicate nose, a pair of perfect lips and eyes as blue as Huron’s deepest waters.

His gut clenched as time reeled backward. He was a teenager again, carefree, happy, experiencing his first love … before having his heart brutally ripped from his chest.

“Holly?”

“It’s been a long time.”

She had the nerve to smile, which caused his teeth to clench. After all these years, he still felt betrayed, even if he also understood why she’d misled him. She hadn’t owed him the truth.

That didn’t stop him from wanting an explanation now. “Why are you here?”

Her smile disappeared. Her composure slipped. “I needed to get away. I needed … a holiday.”

He could read between both the lines in her words and the one now denting the flesh between her eyes. She wanted normalcy. Anonymity.

That’s what her American grandmother had been after, too, when she’d insisted Holly spend her summers on the island when she was a girl. From ages ten through fifteen, Holly and the older woman had shown up faithfully the second week in June and then stayed through the second week in August, renting the largest and most secluded of the resort’s cottages.

He and Holly had become fast friends when she was ten and he was twelve. When she’d been fifteen to his seventeen, they’d had more on their minds than seeing who could swim the fastest to the floating dock out in front of his parents’ house.

“So, you nearly killed Hank here? Well, I guess your wish is his command.”

“I coulda said no, Nate,” Hank argued, no doubt perplexed by the irritation in Nate’s tone.

Nate was a little perplexed, too. This anger, these emotions, they belonged to the past. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “No one says no to a princess, Hank”

The other man looked confused. Holly looked desperate. “I’m just an ordinary woman, Nate.”

The wind gusted, and the waves slapped higher on his thighs. He decided to allow the distinction for now, even though he knew firsthand that nothing about her was ordinary. Hell, he’d known that to be the case even when he hadn’t been privy to her true identity and royal lineage.

He waded the rest of the way to the plane’s float. “Put your arms around my neck.”

“Excuse me?”

Perversely, he enjoyed the fact that her eyes widened. Nervous, Princess? he wanted to ask. It would make him feel better to know that she was as shaken by this unexpected reunion as he was. Instead, Nate nodded in the direction of the shore. “Unless you’d rather walk to the beach, I’ll carry you. I’m guessing those pretty shoes of yours probably aren’t meant to get wet.”

They were red leather flats with fat bows stretched across the toes. He could only guess what they cost. In her world, they would be considered casual. As would the understated linen suit she’d paired with them. In his, they would pass for Sunday best. If this was the kind of clothing she’d brought to blend in with the locals and the majority of tourists, she was going to stick out like a sore thumb.

“Right.” She gave a quick dip of her chin before tilting it up. He remembered that defiant gesture from their childhood. She’d used it whenever he’d issued a dare.

“We don’t have all day,” he prodded when she hesitated. “I have to help Hank secure his plane for the night.”

“I’m not staying,” Hank called from the other side of the Cessna. “Got a card game waiting for me back on the mainland. Gerald’s cousin is in town. Guy is damned unlucky at poker, but he bets like a Vegas high roller.”

“You’re staying,” Nate disagreed. “One suicide mission an evening is enough. You can bunk at my place.”

Hank cocked his head to one side as if considering. “Got any cold beer?”

“Yeah.”

The other man shrugged. “I guess I can be persuaded. ‘Sides, the guy’s here through the weekend. I’ll settle for picking your pocket at cards tonight.”

Nate turned his attention back to Holly and held out his arms. She offered a tentative smile as she reached for him, and then she was in his embrace. She felt a little too good there, a little too perfect, with the side of her body pressed against his chest. Nate recalled the girl she’d been: long-limbed and lithe, verging on skinny. This was no girl he held. While she was still slender, during the intervening years she’d filled out nicely in all of the right places.

He started toward the shore, eager for the safety of the sand so that he could release her. Be free of her? Not likely. Until today, he’d thought he had been. Now? He was cursing his arrogance. She’d always been there, in the back of his mind.

His stride was purposeful, but perhaps a little too fast given the conditions and the added distraction of a beautiful woman in his arms. She had his hormones starting to lurch as powerfully as the surf. He stubbed his toe on a rock and managed to right his balance only to lose it again entirely when his other foot connected with another one.

“Nate!”

Holly’s grip on his neck tightened to a choke hold as he veered from one side to the other. He tried to right himself, but it was too late. Momentum and waves were working against him. He knew a moment of utter defeat just before he toppled over, sending them both into the chilly, knee-deep water. It was too shallow for her to be submerged completely, but between the waves and the splash their bodies made going down, they were both good and soaked. The hair on one side of her head was slicked to her face. So much for the shoes he’d so chivalrously offered to help save from harm. They likely were as ruined as her oatmeal-colored pant-suit.

He expected outrage from her, perhaps even a good dressing down. She was a princess,

after all. And he was but the owner of a small, albeit well-tended, resort.

But what he heard over the wind as Holly pushed to her feet was laughter. Unrestrained, boisterous laughter.

“That was smooth, Nathaniel. Yes, indeed. Very smooth.” Grinning, she put out a hand, offering to help him up. She looked just then very much like the impish young girl who used to take such delight in playing pranks on him.

Nate felt like an idiot, and he knew he looked ridiculous. That didn’t stop him from clasping her palm. Nor did it prevent him from joining in her mirth as he rose and shoved the hair back from his face. The situation was funny, even if it came at his expense.

Behind them, Hank was chortling away, too. Nate groaned. His reputation was toast. Unless he got lucky and the storm took out the phone lines and closed the locals’ favorite tavern, news of this mishap would be the talk of the island before another sunset.

“Sorry about that. I lost my footing.” As they reached the shore, he couldn’t resist adding, “I might have maintained my balance,

but you’ve put on a few pounds since we were kids.”

Holly turned. Her mouth formed an indignant O as she thumped his chest with one small fist. “A gentleman isn’t supposed to say such things to a lady.”

Her words, even though they were said in jest, caused him to sober. She was more than a lady, she was a princess. Just that quickly, the gulf between their worlds gaped wide once more.

Hooking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, “I’d better go and give Hank a hand.”

It took no more than fifteen minutes for Nate and the pilot to pull the plane ashore and beach it. Just to be on the safe side, they used the trunk of a big cedar tree that leaned toward the lake as a mooring. The Cessna wouldn’t be going anywhere, despite the coming storm. Nate hoped the same could be said for all of the boats and the several large yachts moored at the resort’s marina. Time would tell.

All the while, Holly waited patiently out of the way, soaked to the skin and shivering, but no complaints passed her lips. And he’d been expecting them. When her luggage was unloaded, her expression was one of chagrin.

“Just how long are you here for?” Nate asked, eyeing the trio of designer bags.

A pair of delicate shoulders rose in a shrug. “Perhaps as much as a week.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “A week, hmm?” He could pack for a week in one small duffel, especially this time of year.

“I wasn’t sure what I would need,” she said.

For a moment he forgot that he was speaking to royalty. She was simply Holly. “Tank tops, shorts, a pair of comfortable walking shoes, maybe a hoodie for cool nights and a swimsuit would do.”

“I packed those …. And a little bit more.”

“So I see.”

The contents of his closet could fit in those bags, but Nate decided to give her a break. After all, he’d been around enough women to know they had a whole different definition for the word essentials.

She reached for the smallest bag. It had wheels, not that they would do much good on the sand. “Sorry to be an imposition.”

An interesting choice of words, to be sure.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

Her expression brightened. “I’d hoped to rent the cottage Gran and I always stayed in at your parents’ resort.”

“My parents are gone.”

“Gone?” She looked alarmed.

“Retired,” he clarified. “They moved to Florida four years ago.” Just after he’d returned to the island from a job at one of the swankiest hotels in Chicago.

“The resort?”

Normally, it would give Nate great satisfaction to claim ownership and to admit that he’d expanded the place considerably since taking over. But this was Princess Hollyn Saldani. He doubted she would be impressed.

“I’m the owner now.”

“Oh.” One syllable that told him how enthused she was, but he’d give her this, she rallied fast. “I was hoping to find a place available.”

“Sorry.” He shook his head slowly, not sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. “We’re all booked up at the moment. In fact, I don’t know that there’s a vacancy anywhere on the island until after the Fourth of July.”

Usually, given how far north the island was, its resorts weren’t full with patrons until after Independence Day. But this year, warm weather had come early and people from downstate were willing to make the drive and then the short ferry trip from Michigan’s upper peninsula to the island.

“I wasn’t thinking. I should have made arrangements ahead of time,” she murmured. “Do you suppose there are any homes for rent on the island? I’d love to be on the water, of course, but I’ll take what I can get at this point. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

It was an interesting statement coming from a woman who was next in line to the throne of her own kingdom.

“I don’t know of anything offhand. You can check, but given the time of day and the storm, my guess is that most places are closed for the night.” He snorted. “You know the island. Sidewalks pretty much roll up after eight o’clock.”

He imagined she’d grown accustomed to glitzy, late-night parties with exclusive guest lists and the finest gourmet cuisine. Yet she didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of no real nightlife here.

Her smile was nostalgic, damned near fond, when she replied, “Yes, I remember.”

Was that really why she’d come?

Sure, she’d told him she needed to get away, but weren’t there all sorts of fancy spas in Europe—and America, for that matter—more likely to fit the bill for a royal retreat than an out-of-the-way island that catered to the needs of middle-class tourists seeking good fishing, great scenery and a slower pace?