A Love that Endures 3 Page 2

  The last lingering flame of hope inside of David had finally burned out the evening that he’d walked into the car park where the vagrants of the city had set up their makeshift town, the backpack on his back containing the few possessions he’d salvaged. He had sighed, swallowed his pride, and accepted his new lot in life. It had been the death of the old David.

  Or at least, he’d thought it was. But apparently there had been just a sliver of that pesky optimism left behind. And it was just enough to tremble and ache with the news of Princess Katerina’s engagement.

  As the rain seeped through the cardboard of his roof and fell onto the newspapers in fat droplets, and as car horns blared and sirens whined around him in the dodgy part of London, David Rosen, or the last shred of him, sat awash in the new sting of old, long-dead emotion.

  But when he was done, another all-too-familiar emotion rose up in hope’s pathetic stead. A burning desire. An unfulfilled need.

  A need for justice.

  2

  Katy

  “Katerina? Katerina, love?”

  From somewhere deep in her own thoughts, Katy was vaguely aware of someone calling her name. But it took several long moments to respond.

  “Katerina?”

  “Hmm?” Katy said with a little jump. She turned to look at the man beside her.

  Duke Oliver Pemberton smiled and chuckled softly. “Where’d you go?”

  “What?” Katy replied, still not completely present. “I’m right here.”

  “Um, yes,” he said. “I meant . . . well, never mind.”

  Sitting beside her in the back of a dark luxury sedan, Oliver reached to take one of Katy’s hands where it rested in her lap. He squeezed gently. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Katy nodded slightly, her eyes still turned to the darkly tinted windows of the car. Outside, lining the long sidewalk that led to the palace, a large crowd of waving, excited people held signs and bouquets.

  “Welcome to London, Princess Katerina,” one of the signs read.

  Police officers in yellow safety vests and checkered hats held the crowds at bay as the vehicle slowly made its way along the cobbled road. They were almost to the palace now, and Katy felt a distinct feeling of unease settle over her. She adjusted in her seat and tried to subtly remove her hand from Oliver’s grasp.

  “I should’ve expected this type of crowd,” Oliver mused. “I’m sure they’re all vying for a glance at the loveliest princess in the world.”

  He looked adoringly at Katy, who offered him a small, appreciative smile in return. Still, her hand grew clammier by the second.

  “I’m sure they’re hoping to see you, as well. Your people love you,” Katy replied. And it was true. Oliver was a popular and beloved ruler.

  He rubbed the side of her hand with his thumb as he held it with his own.

  “I guess the most obvious answer,” Oliver went on with a little shrug, “is that they’re here to celebrate our happy engagement.”

  Katy didn’t reply. Instead, she gently squeezed Oliver’s fingers, then extricated her hand from his.

  “My parents should already be here,” Oliver said, his hand retreating reluctantly from Katy’s lap. “Do you know when the Lorellian king and queen will arrive?”

  “Within the next few days, I suppose.”

  “Well,” Oliver replied, “hopefully they’ll make it before the party.”

  Katy sensed that he was joking, but she couldn’t muster the energy to laugh. Instead, she forced a quick smile in Oliver’s direction before turning back to the window.

  “I jest, of course,” he continued. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Katy echoed.

  Oliver looked over Katy’s shoulder at the throngs of adoring civilians. People, young and old alike, waved and smiled as they passed. Neither Oliver nor Katy waved back, knowing that the windows were too dark to see through.

  “What about your cousin?” Oliver went on, settling back in the plush leather seat as the vehicle began its climb up the last hill before the palace gates. Katy knew the ride well. She had taken it more than a dozen times in her twenty-six years, though she hadn’t been in London at all since . . . well, in the past six years or so.

  “She might already be there,” Katy replied. “I’m not sure. We haven’t talked much in the past month or so, since she is so busy planning.”

  “Ah, yes,” Oliver said. “Still seems a tad impulsive to me. Though I suppose soon we’ll see for ourselves why she’s so impatient to marry this Boris gent.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Katy responded absentmindedly. Her mind wandered to her cousin, Cassie, and her sudden engagement news. Katy’s parents had snidely remarked that it was fortuitous timing on Cassie’s part, to announce a whirlwind engagement days before Oliver and Katy made their own newsworthy announcement of their plan to wed. But Cassie truly did seem quite taken with her new Russian beau. So Katy was excited to meet him.

  Or, rather, as excited as she could be. It was a slightly brighter shade of gray, in years of monochromatic emotions. It seemed like nothing dredged up real, vibrant feeling in Katy anymore. Not since leaving Harvard. Not since leaving the United States. Not since leaving . . .

  “Here we are.” Oliver interrupted her thoughts, mercifully, as the palace gates came into view. “Finally. I’m so ready to stretch my legs after just the drive from Esserby to pick you up at the airport. I imagine you feel similarly after your flight from Lorria.”

  Katy was ready to get out of the car, but only because she found it draining to be forced into constant conversation with Oliver. He was lovely, of course, but sometimes he could be a bit bland. And she tried her best to be polite. But he didn’t seem to pick up on the hints she tried to drop that sometimes she preferred to keep quiet and to herself.

  If you think it’s bad now, wait until you’re married and living together in Esserby.

  Katy’s hands fidgeted in her lap.

  The crowd was at its thickest right outside of the palace gates. Two dozen police held their arms out wide to keep people behind the wooden barriers as the gates slowly creaked open. The crowd cheered and cried out Oliver and Katerina’s names, their welcome signs held aloft, while the sedan slowly made its way through the gates and into the palace proper. Inside the gates, royal guards stood at rigid attention.

  The car ambled up the drive and then stopped in front of the magnificent stone steps. Oliver’s parents, Prince Gregory and Princess Harriet, stood at the base of the steps in greeting. Out of the corner of her eye, Katy watched Oliver smile broadly at seeing his parents again, and a tinge of jealousy briefly coursed through her. But she quickly buried it and turned expectantly to her fiancé instead, waiting for him to make the first move.

  “They’re going to love you,” Oliver said comfortingly.

  A guard approached their door and opened it. Katy took a deep breath.

  She stepped out, smoothing down her pastel dress and keeping her heeled feet together as she had always been taught. Then she clasped her hands in front of her while she waited for Oliver to exit the car.

  He followed, staring excitedly up the steps at his parents, moving up beside her and crooking his arm in Katy’s direction. She took it dutifully, and he led her up the steps.

  “Mom. Pop,” Oliver said happily. “It is my pleasure to introduce to you my fiancée, Princess Katerina of Lorria.”

  Katy offered a small bow as Princess Harriet, a tall blonde woman in her mid-fifties, extended her diamond-encrusted hand. Katy took it and felt a soft squeeze.

  “I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl, Katerina. You’ve grown into such a lovely young woman. Our Oliver is lucky to have you.”

  “Indeed,” Prince Gregory added in a rich baritone. His once-brown hair was streaked with distinguished grays, both on top of his head and throughout his full beard. “A fine match. One in which both kingdoms can rejoice.”

  “Thank you, Pop,” Oliver said warmly. Th
en he turned to Katy.

  Suddenly it dawned on her that everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to respond. Katy shifted her weight, feeling one of her heels pinching.

  “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you,” Katy started, feeling less confident than she used to in these settings. “And I’m . . . Oliver and I, I mean, are so happy to join our families.”

  The prince and princess nodded before Prince Gregory replied.

  “Well, you must be a very special young woman to finally coax Ollie out of his country ways,” he joked, casting a playful glance at his son. “The future king of Lorria! For years, his mother and I were convinced he’d be content just herding sheep and woodcarving on that little farm of his. But you, Princess Katerina, must’ve finally made a royal out of him.”

  Oliver laughed along with his father, and Katy gently smiled. But Princess Harriet admonished them.

  “Now, Greg. Don’t go scaring the poor girl away from Esserby.” She turned to Katy. “It really is a lovely estate, dear. And it’s my understanding that you’ll be moving there with Oliver soon. Is that correct?”

  Oliver answered for Katy. “We’ll be in Esserby for the foreseeable future, yes. After our fortnight in London. We’ll do our wedding planning there and perhaps even the ceremony. We haven’t decided yet. After that, our permanent house in Lorria should be ready.”

  “Good,” Gregory replied. “That will give us some time to prepare your brother to take on your role in Esserby. And then Princess Katerina can try to shape you up for your new princely duties.” He winked paternally at Katy.

  Katy adjusted her weight again, feeling her feet begin to throb in her shoes.

  “Well, why don’t we head inside, then?” Harriet finished. “The press should be finished setting up for your formal introduction to Her Majesty.”

  “Yes, Mother is so looking forward to meeting you. And you’ll have time to freshen up and change before facing the cameras,” Gregory said, offering Katy his arm.

  Katy gracefully accepted and began her way up the steps with her future husband and in-laws. But with every step up, her anxiety grew. She was stepping in the wrong direction, toward a life that she didn’t truly want, and she knew it.

  But she felt like she didn’t have a choice.

  3

  David

  “You’re short.”

  David looked straight into the barista’s face, her condescending voice still echoing between his ears, and then looked back down at the money in his hand: a pound note and two fifty pence pieces. He looked back up at the barista.

  “Pardon me, miss. Been out of maths for a while, but I’m pretty sure this is two pounds.”

  A chalkboard menu behind the counter clearly stated the price of a regular cup of coffee: £2.

  “You’re a quid short. Price hike,” the barista replied flatly, leaning to her side to deliver a pointed glance behind David.

  He could hear the line of people begin to grumble over his shoulder. David sighed and reached into the pocket of his too-loose jeans. It wasn’t worth the fight. He was used to this type of unfair treatment by the occasional service worker who didn’t want to clean up after tramps in their store—or perhaps one who had recognized him from the old tabloids. If he caused a scene, he knew this woman would just threaten to call the police and have him escorted out. And they would easily take her side over some gaunt, bearded vagrant badly in need of a haircut and a belt.

  Besides, even with the extra quid, it was still one of the cheapest places around to watch the evening news. The hot brew was just a perk. David laid the rest of the money down on the counter and waited patiently for the barista to pour an underfilled cup of black coffee. She placed it in front of him with a blank expression.

  “Next in queue!”

  David turned and made his way to one of the worn leather couches in the coffee shop. The BBC was just beginning their evening broadcast, but most of the patrons were more involved in their individual smartphones or laptops.

  One perk to being homeless, I suppose. I’m not tethered to a device.

  David sank down into his seat and then glanced around. It didn’t seem that anyone had recognized him this time around, which was good. It was also reasonable, since his hair and facial hair were so different now. He was also a bit thinner. But sometimes he would still be called out by name—then invariably laughed at or looked down upon. He always preferred when his anonymity held.

  Not that he could blame his detractors. If everything they believed were actually true, he’d hate himself just as much as they hated him.

  “In royal news tonight,” the anchorwoman began in a distinguished voice, cutting into David’s thoughts and stealing his attention. He turned his eyes to the television screen and braced himself.

  “Princess Katerina de Courtes of Lorria arrived in London this morning ahead of her engagement party. She was accompanied by her fiancé, Duke Oliver Pemberton of Esserby, for her meeting with Prince Gregory, Princess Harriet, and the queen herself.”

  The screen cut to a prerecorded video of Oliver kissing the hand of the queen, and then, walking beside him . . .

  David gripped his coffee tightly, only nominally aware of the way his fingertips burned against the hot paper cup. The coffee shop faded around him. The uni students, business professionals, and chattering children melted out of his awareness. As David watched the television, he felt himself suddenly and strangely alone. Alone with the woman who had appeared on the screen, as beautiful and graceful as she had ever been. Perhaps even more so.

  As David watched, his heart thumping madly in his chest, Princess Katerina de Courtes of Lorria took the queen’s hand and then bowed gently in her direction. The queen smiled and said something to Oliver. But the news anchor’s voice was the only sound that accompanied the footage.

  “The princess and future prince of Lorria will be guests at the palace for two weeks before returning together to Esserby. Upon his brother Oliver’s marriage, for which no date has yet been announced, Archibald Pemberton will become the new duke of Esserby.”

  On the screen, Oliver took the arm of his fiancée, and David felt his heart sink down into his stomach. He studied Katy’s face. She was smiling. She was radiant. She was beloved.

  But was she happy?

  David knew Katy’s face well. He had lovingly memorized its features and lines over the course of their too-short time together. And then he had obsessed over its absence when she was stolen away from him. He’d been able to see her just as vividly from his cold cell in Massachusetts as he could now, watching her use her “princess smile” on the telly.

  And that’s why he caught the subtle unhappiness in her eyes. That’s how he knew her joy wasn’t genuine. That’s how he could tell that she wasn’t leaning in to Oliver or even standing closer to him than she absolutely had to.

  Though perhaps that was just what he wanted to see.

  The screen cut away, back to the news anchorwoman. “In other news, Tory leader . . .”

  David didn’t register the rest of her sentence. Though the images on the screen were now of gray-haired politicians talking over each other, David could still see Katy just as clearly as he had moments before.

  His Katy. Once upon a time. But now, by all appearances, she seemed to be Oliver’s Katy. David released his paper cup slightly, finally aware again of the pain in his fingertips.

  Would Katy be with Oliver if she hadn’t been lied to and misled by her parents? Would she inevitably have ended up realizing that she was far out of David’s league by now and left him for a more suitable match? Had it been bound to happen, if not when it did, then later down the road?

  Or would he and Katy have made it work, against all odds?

  David didn’t know the answer to those questions. And the unsurety roared like wildfire inside of him.

  If Katy had stayed with David—if she had truly loved him the way that he thought that she did—then maybe, if he could tell her the truth, just m
aybe . . .

  David took a long swig of his bitter drink. What was the point of even considering impossibilities?

  * * *

  “Feeling any better, dear?” Ms. Jenson asked in her raspy voice. “Mick said you was just knackered last night.”

  David nodded curtly. “Yes, Ms. Jenson. That was it. Just tired.”

  Ms. Jenson smiled, her few remaining teeth a bit spotty. “Please, dear. I’m not your mum’s friend. Just call me Aggie. No need for formalities here.”

  David nodded again, but he already knew that he wouldn’t be able to honor the older woman’s request. Being in a homeless camp for a month didn’t negate almost two decades of expected manners and etiquette, drilled into him while his adopted parents were still alive. It wasn’t a habit he was looking to break.

  David walked farther into the shantytown, past some boxes and tents that had already been set up for the night. Ahead of him, beneath the overbridge, a dozen or so people were gathered around a large outdoor heater that someone had nicked from a restaurant patio, or perhaps a nice backyard. David wasn’t a fan of theft at the best of times, but it was currently quite cold out, and he wasn’t going to bring it up.

  “David!” Mick waved as David approached the group. He was eating out of a tin, probably something cheap and filling, like beans. David had eaten a lot of beans lately. “Hey, lad. Grab some scran. Plenty to go around.”

  David held his hands out to the heater, feeling the sensation flow back into his long, elegant fingers. He was glad that they wouldn’t have to set any fires for a while, since it usually ended with the desperate burning of keepsakes and treasures around the camp. “I’m set, mate. Thanks.”