A Love that Endures 3 Read online

  Before Mick could respond, a man named Charles, redhaired and fidgety, spoke. “Hey, if you’re not hungry for food, I, uh, have a little, uh . . .” He began to jerkily reach into his pocket.

  David held a hand up definitively. “No. Thank you.”

  The scrawny man shrugged, unabashed, and walked away from the heater. When he was gone, Mick rolled his eyes. “Too skint to buy his own ciggies or scran but always has a bag of something or other on ‘im. Bastard.”

  “Aye, but there’s hope for him yet,” Giles said, as he swayed slightly beside the heater, a glass bottle in his hands. “That used to be you, ‘fore you got off the candy yourself.”

  “Seven whole months off the stuff. Never going back, neither,” Mick replied with a grin.

  The conversation continued around David, but once he had regained the feeling in his hands, he turned and made his way to the bush he kept his carboard and blanket in. If he was lucky, everything would still be there for another night.

  The thudding of quick footsteps behind him interrupted David’s plans.

  “David, lad. Hey. What’s the rush?”

  Mick jogged up to walk beside David in the cold, yellow light of the car park. A light misting of rain dewed his thin hair, making it glitter in the night.

  “No rush. Just turning in for the night,” David said. But he already knew that sleep wouldn’t come easily.

  Mick seemed to see right through the excuse. But his next statement was slow and hesitant. “All right. Yeah. But, uh, after yesterday I, uh, just wanted to make sure you don’t have anything you want to, uh . . . talk about.”

  David stopped and turned to Mick with a pointed look. Nope. Nothing to talk about here.

  “Look, lad,” Mick pressed on. “You can talk to ol’ Mickey, okay? I know you and that bird was a thing, like, and I know you’re a solid bloke. I seen you give your last pence to people in this joint a hundred times. You wrote me CV when I was looking for jobs. You ain’t much of a talker, but you’re me mate. And, well, we ain’t never talked about it, but I followed your story. I believe you. And now I want to ‘elp.”

  “Help how, Mick?” David countered, not trying to stop the incredulity in his voice. “Are you going to smuggle the world’s most high-profile princess out to a tent city so I can hold a meeting with her in my cardboard office?”

  Mick put his pale hands on his narrow hips. “C’mon, mate. There’s other ways to get you in front of ‘er. Before she leaves off to Esserby with that toff. You got to strike now!” Mick clapped his hands together for emphasis.

  David turned to Mick and held his hands out, signaling his friend to stop. “I appreciate your concern, mate, I do. And your vote of confidence. But that situation is pretty hopeless. If you really want to help, help me find a job so I can afford a flat. Help me find some jeans and shoes that fit. Help me keep the damn junkies from stealing any more of my stuff.”

  “Oh, so you’re planning to stay ‘ere long term now? C’mon, we all know you don’t belong somewhere like . . .”

  David interrupted, feeling exasperated. “Somewhere like the place where I am? Yeah, well . . . I’m here anyway. And for the time being, I have no hope of going anywhere else. So what’s the point in even having this discussion?”

  “David,” Mick started.

  But with that, David retreated, storming off to gather his pathetic lodgings for the night.

  4

  Katy

  “Any chance this guy isn’t a nutter?” Oliver asked out of the side of his mouth.

  Standing beside him on the stone steps of the palace, her hands clasped in front of her, Katy delivered her fiancé a furtive smile and then a playfully admonishing look.

  “Be nice,” she whispered, though she knew he could tell she was suppressing a laugh.

  Oliver winked and quietly spoke again. “I know, I know. I’ll be nice. But come on. Who plans to get married a month after meeting somebody? We haven’t even met this guy yet, and we’re supposed to attend a wedding in a fortnight . . .?”

  The driver opened the back door of the stretch limo in the drive, and a shiny blonde bob bounced out immediately.

  “Katy!”

  Katy smiled, genuinely and broadly. Things may have been drab and gray in her life, but hearing the chipper voice of her cousin and best friend managed to bring back some light and color. With Cassie around, Katy felt so much less alone.

  She waved down at Cassie and then watched as a formally dressed man exited the limo behind her cousin. He was surprisingly large, with broad, bulky shoulders and a wide chest. His blond hair was parted and gelled, and a row of golden rings on his fingers reflected the light back into Katy’s eyes. When he saw Oliver and Katy waiting to greet them, he flashed them a dazzling smile with oversized, bright white teeth.

  “A bodybuilding millionaire. Definitely her type,” Oliver whispered.

  “Shh!” Katy hushed him with a probably improperly concealed grin.

  He’s certainly not wrong.

  She watched as her cousin’s limo driver began to fumble with an impressive assortment of designer luggage. Unbothered, Cassie hugged her Hermès bag close to her white sundress, grabbed her fiancé by the hand, and began to wobble up the steps toward Oliver and Katy in her tall heels.

  When they were close enough, the two women embraced like sisters.

  “Oh, I missed you!” Cassie said cheerfully as she hugged Katy.

  “I missed you, too,” Katy replied into her cousin’s blonde hair. And then, lowly, she added, “More than you know.”

  When Cassie pulled away, she grabbed her fiancé’s hand again, and Katy turned to him expectantly.

  “Princess Katerina and Duke Oliver, I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé: Boris Ivanov of St. Petersburg.” Cassie gazed up admiringly at the blond man, her eyes big, her cheeks pink.

  Boris held out his hand to Katy, and she gently grasped it. With her hand in his, he pulled Katy’s knuckles up to his thin lips and delivered a lingering kiss.

  “Charmed,” he said in a deep, thickly accented voice.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Katy replied politely.

  Boris didn’t release her hand, however. And he stared up at her with a smoldering intensity that made Katy feel quite uncomfortable.

  She didn’t seem to be the only one.

  “Yes, well, she certainly is charming. But I’m not so bad myself,” Oliver interrupted. Then he stuck out his hand for Boris—not sideways, for a handshake, but knuckles up, inviting Boris to kiss it.

  Oliver! It’s hard enough to maintain my composure.

  But Boris took it in stride—or perhaps didn’t notice the gesture at all—and responded by knocking his knuckles against Oliver’s in a fist bump.

  “You two are going to love each other, I’m sure,” Cassie chimed in happily, looking between Boris and Oliver. “You have a lot in common.”

  “Yes, we’re both about to marry wonderful women,” Oliver replied good-naturedly. “We’re lucky men, Boris.”

  Boris didn’t bother to reply.

  Cassie grinned up at her fiancé. “Just two more weeks. I can’t believe it.”

  “Neither could we,” Oliver added.

  Katy quickly glazed over his subtle insult. “We were just so happy to hear the news, Cassie. I know you’ll make a beautiful bride.”

  Cassie grabbed her cousin’s hand appreciatively. “Thank you, Katy. And I know you will, too.”

  As her cousin squeezed lovingly, Katy felt her heart sink into her stomach.

  * * *

  “I agree with your parents. It’s tacky, frankly.” Oliver took a sip from his drink and resumed his stare out the palace window. In the gray light of a drizzling London afternoon, Katy noticed just how much Oliver resembled his father. Sometimes his dry judgment was humorous, but often he took it a little too far. She could see him this way—staring disapprovingly out of a window—for the next three decades, until he slowly but surely became his father.


  And Katy would get to witness the transformation firsthand.

  “I’m not jazzed about the wedding, either,” Katy admitted from beside Oliver, casting an embarrassed sideways glance at the other person in the room: an event planner who was there to help them make some party decisions. The woman was several yards away from where they stood at Oliver’s favored spot at the window, near a long dining table spread with small tasting plates. At the moment, she was doing her best to look busy and uninterested in the private conversation, but Katy knew firsthand how people could talk.

  Is this really the best time to bring this up, Oliver?

  Still, Katy somewhat agreed—she wasn’t too impressed by her first meeting with this mysterious new beau. But she couldn’t deny that Cassie had been speaking very highly about him, and, while Katy knew her cousin to make less-than-stellar choices with men, she was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  There must be something about Boris that only Cassie sees . . . since I certainly don’t.

  “But Cassie sought my approval, when she didn’t even need to. She wanted to make sure it wouldn’t take away from our party in any way,” Katy went on. “And as for Boris . . . well, those are her choices to make. If Cassie’s happy, then that’s all that matters.”

  Besides, trying to convince Cassie of anything she doesn't want to see is bound to be a futile endeavor.

  Oliver turned and looked back at the table, seeming as though he was not even going to respond to everything Katy had just said. It was one of his worst habits. He could certainly be lovely and empathetic and supportive, but he was also quite stubborn at times. Katy decided to take the lead, and walked to the table. Oliver went on, following behind her, as she looked over the spread.

  “You should’ve told her to wait at least a month or two. Is her grasp on Boris so tenuous that they have to be married only a week after our engagement party?” Oliver said.

  “Her parents and my parents will both be here for some time after the party. And London is special to Cassie. It’s where her parents were married.”

  Not that when she has her wedding is really any of our business. She’s a grown woman!

  “London will still be here in a month, Katerina,” Oliver replied shortly.

  The event planner cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Why don’t I leave you two to sample the dishes? Just tell me what works and what to nix. I’ll handle the rest.”

  Katy turned and nodded graciously, thanking and dismissing her at once.

  When they were alone again, she turned to Oliver. “Hopefully our poor event planner didn’t get the impression that you don’t care for Cassie.”

  Oliver didn’t exactly deny the accusation.

  “Gertie?” Oliver asked, referring to the event planner. “Katerina, please. That woman has been in charge of events here since before I was born. Trust me, she knows much more sordid details about the royal family than this little tiff.”

  Katy shook her head and turned back to the table. Fine china cradled rich little bites of assorted dishes: goat’s cheese salad with parsley and fig, pickled vegetables with seeded crackers and jams, marinated halloumi, confit potatoes. . .

  And it’ll all taste like ashes in my mouth.

  Not that she blamed the cooks for that. Or the event planner. Or even Oliver. If anything, she blamed herself for just . . . not taking the same joys in life that she had before.

  She blamed herself for being so stagnant in life, unable to pull herself out of the dark recesses of her heart and mind. Unable to forget.

  Oblivious, Oliver looked down at the spread. “Seems like a tad much for just an engagement party. Some of this stuff is part of a traditional wedding feast.”

  Katy nodded. She related most to Oliver when he displayed his distaste for certain fineries. Though she still found his rigid attention to traditions and etiquette a bit stodgy. And he could be so condescending at times.

  Oliver waved his hand. “But it all looks fine to me, more or less. I don’t have a strong opinion here. It’s your decision.”

  “I don’t really care, either,” Katy replied.

  Oliver looked at her intently before replying. “I didn’t say I don’t care, love. I do. I just meant . . .”

  Katy braced herself, knowing exactly where the conversation was about to go but unable to stop it.

  “Well, it just seems like this party would mean more, for us and for our guests, if you and I could at least consider the timing.” He paused. “I mean, of the wedding. Our wedding.”

  Katy tried to act casual. “Oliver, plenty of people throw engagement parties without announcing a date. Weren’t you just complaining about Cassie’s engagement being too brief?”

  “We don’t have to announce, Katerina. But between you and I, it would be nice to at least have an idea. Six months? A year? Two?”

  It was Katy’s turn to walk to the window now. Anything to escape the all-too-familiar barrage of questioning. Either not noticing or choosing to ignore her cue, Oliver followed.

  “Look, I know you don’t want to set a date. Or talk about venues. Or guest lists, or attire, or . . . anything wedding related at all, really.”

  Katy closed her eyes, wincing a bit at bitter memories of this same conversation echoing between them time and again over the past few months. She didn’t speak.

  “I know you’re not ready for all that yet. But I just need some assurances from you that this is what you want. Because sometimes . . .” Oliver paused again, painfully. “Sometimes it feels like it isn’t.”

  Katy opened her eyes and turned to Oliver. Her heart clenched in her chest at his kind but sorrowful eyes. What could she say? That she was just as confused about her intentions as he was? That she cared deeply about him as a person but couldn’t bring herself to truly love him, even though she wished she could? That she couldn’t offer him any assurances, though she felt obligated to? But before she could say anything, the tall door behind them creaked open.

  “Knock, knock!” Gertie said playfully. “Just wanted to check in and make sure . . .” She stopped when she noticed Oliver and Katy, now standing by the window once more. “Oh, I’m sorry. I can give you a little longer.”

  “No, no,” Katy said, burying the conversation all over again. “We’ve decided. Everything looks lovely. Nothing needs to be removed.”

  Gertie smiled, but then looked down at the untouched food. “Are you sure you don’t want to taste any of it first?”

  5

  David

  The heater was a short-lived luxury.

  As was so often the case, someone—who probably needed a drug fix—had dragged it off and sold it in the night. Leaving David, Giles, Tina, Mick, and Aggie around another foul-smelling fire encased in a rusty barrel.

  Charles was nowhere to be found, to Mick’s deep suspicion.

  “Good,” he said bitterly, pulling a damp blanket around his thin shoulders. “Maybe ‘e’ll bugger off once and for all this time. Probably ‘igh as a kite after selling it off.”

  Giles was more sympathetic, though no less drunk than usual. “Poor fella. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. He’ll get a little too excited, feeling like a big man with his bag, and they’ll fish him out of the bay in a couple of days.”

  “Charles? Nah,” Tina protested casually as she puffed on a cigarette. “I seen him mainline gasoline. That man can’t be killed. Liver like a donkey.”

  David listened without engaging, though he was a little worried for his campmate’s well-being. It wouldn’t be the first time an acquaintance had met a mysterious end since he’d been living on the streets. And while Charles was no gentleman, he was still a human being with feelings, prospects, and a story.

  “I don’t know why we can’t just have David ask a favor of his prissy little ex-gal,” Tina said, casting a mischievous grin at David from across the fire. “I seen that she’s in town. She’s positively dripping with that dirty Lorrellian money, right? Tell her we need a new heater!”


  David stared at Tina blankly.

  “Forget ‘er, David. She’s just ‘aving a cob on,” Mick interrupted, gesturing at Tina. “Now she ain’t got Charles to warm ’er tent for ‘er.”

  “Charles couldn’t warm a puddin’ with a blowlamp,” Tina countered. Then, seductively, she added, “But David . . .”

  “Perhaps we could refrain from using my personal life as joke fodder?” David interrupted in frustration. He looked around the fire at several faces, noticing for the first time that old Ms. Jenson was fast asleep in her lawn chair. “I know you all know my business already, but can you keep it to yourselves? Or just wait to talk about me until I’m not around? Because I don’t want to hear about it, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

  The atmosphere grew tense. Even Tina’s scabbed lips were no longer smiling.

  “Don’t let it get to you, David,” Giles said thickly. His lids were heavy with alcohol. “How long have you been here? A month? Less?”

  David looked at Giles and nodded, though he wasn’t sure how the timeline was relevant.

  “Some of us have been here for years. Tina, for instance.”

  Giles nodded in her direction before turning back to David. “We’ve all heard her story. Addiction. Trauma. Prostitution. Tale as old as time. Aggie?”

  He swung his heard toward the sleeping old woman. “No kids. No house. Got swindled out of her life savings. Mick?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Everybody knows mine,” Mick chimed in. But Giles went on anyway.

  “Great parents. Big house. But threw it all away thieving and lying to get his fix. Now the family can’t trust him and his friends are all gone.”

  “Thanks for going easy on me.” Mick chuckled in a self-deprecating way.