Page 2 of Waiting for a Prince (Island Tales #1)

Thank God he had Sonia to talk to at work.

The fact that Mark was gay was no big deal to her and he always felt totally at ease when he was with her.

The rest of the girls made all the right noises, but Mark could tell when someone was genuinely comfortable being around him.

And as for Marie… The fewer dealings Mark had with her, the better.

Too bad she was his boss.

“You can’t hide out in here all the while she’s having her hair done,” Sonia reasoned. “If Marie catches on…”

She didn’t have to say another word.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” he grumbled. He had his hairpieces to finish, after all.

He trudged out of the kitchen and back to the centre unit, keeping his eyes away from the fantasy husband who sat drinking tea.

Mark caught Sonia’s sympathetic expression as she returned to her client, and he shrugged.

Mark struggled for the forty minutes to keep his mind on the job.

It was as though invisible strings kept tugging his head, forcing it to turn toward the window, no matter how hard he fought to concentrate on his mundane task.

Each time Marie passed by, however, Mark kept his head down, fervently hoping she saw how caught up he was in his work.

But once she’d gone, there was that urge to look at the perfect straight guy just one more time.

“He your type then?”

Mark looked up to find April standing next to him, her arms loaded down with clean towels, her jaws moving ceaselessly as she worked on yet another stick of chewing gum.

Mark feigned puzzlement. April flicked her head toward Sam.

“The hunk on the couch.” It was evident she was asking merely to be sociable.

April rarely bothered to speak to him. She was usually more interested in what color she could dye her hair next.

Today’s choice was purple, and together with the purple sparkly eye shadow and lips the color and size of ripe, swollen grapes, she was getting a few glances.

And not for the right reasons. Mark was amazed Marie hadn’t said anything yet.

He glanced at his watch. The day was still young, though.

Mark gave a non-committal shrug. “Not really,” he said indifferently, lying through his teeth.

“I’m not sure I have a type, in any case.

” Like he’d discuss it with her . April gave a bored nod and went on her way, taking with her the odour of spearmint which seemed to surround her perpetually.

Mark glanced wearily at his watch yet again and gave a sigh.

Only six more hours to go. And fortunately, it was time for his break.

Yes !

He nipped into the kitchen and put the kettle on, before dropping a teabag into his mug. He couldn’t resist one more glance. He peered out and then froze.

Sam was stony-faced, his gaze fixed on the woman who was glaring at him.

“What do you mean, you didn’t book the restaurant?”

“Becky, you?—”

She cut him off. “I told you not to call me that,” she said through gritted teeth. “My name is Rebecca .”

Sam got to his feet and reached for his black leather jacket which was draped over the back of the couch.

“Well, Rebecca , about two hours ago, you said you’d changed your mind, and you didn’t want to go tonight.

And I haven’t suddenly developed amnesia.

” He slung the jacket over his shoulder.

“So I’ll talk to you when you’ve finished here.

Buzz me when you’re ready.” He squared his shoulders.

Mark noted the quick swallow as Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed, the slight tremor that rippled through his lean body.

His words might have been bold, but to Mark’s way of thinking, they seemed more like a smokescreen. The guy was nervous.

“Where are you going?” Rebecca called out as Sam turned and walked out of the salon onto the bright sunlit street.

He kept right on going toward Union Street, his head down.

Mark glanced furtively to see how Rebecca was faring.

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright.

Sonia was making soothing noises, but Mark could’ve told her the attempts to placate Rebecca didn’t even register on the woman’s spectrum.

Sonia didn’t exist, as far as she was concerned.

The shocked stares of the three clients in the salon served only to infuriate her further.

She pressed her red lips together and swivelled in her seat to stare at her reflection.

Mark wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming out of her ears.

Wow… the lady has a temper .

And that was all it took to have Mark get out of there as fast as he could.

He retreated into the kitchen and poured boiling water onto the tea bag.

He stood there, eyes closed, fists clenched.

Mark hated scenes like this, so reminiscent of his childhood.

Christ, Sam could have been his father, only the man had never once stood up to his wife like Sam had just now in all their sixteen years of marriage.

Mark had to fight to maintain his composure.

Don’t think about that now. Dad’s out of it, thank God .

The sound of someone clearing their throat had Mark opening his eyes in a hurry. He sighed with relief when he saw it was Sonia, who regarded him anxiously.

“Are you all right, sweetie?” She laid a gentle hand on his arm, her soft voice like music. Sonia’s family came from Portugal, but her accent seemed to be a hybrid of different nationalities. She always spoke kindly to everyone, and give them their due, no one had a bad word to say about the woman.

“Has she gone?” Mark asked. The salon was quiet once more, save for the music and the soft murmurs between the stylists and their clients. Sonia nodded and Mark pushed out the breath he’d been holding in a long exhale.

“Anything you want to tell me about, Mark?” She squeezed his arm.

Mark shook his head, although he was genuinely touched. “Nothing you could help with, Sonia.” He leaned across and kissed her cheek and she blushed fetchingly. “But thank you.” She patted his arm and withdrew, leaving him to sip his tea in silence.

Unfortunately, a sip or two was all he had time for.

Marie stuck her head around the door and tapped her watch impatiently.

“But this is my bre—” That was as far as he got before Marie’s eyes bulged.

“The salon is a mess, Mark. That’s your responsibility, isn’t it? That’s what I pay you for, isn’t it?” There was no humour in her thin smile.

Mark gave up. No use arguing with the boss when she’d plainly had it in for him since the minute he’d walked through the door that morning.

“Yes, Marie,” he intoned, the words disturbing the air in front of his face, nothing more. With a final glare she withdrew, and Mark poured away the tea with a heavy sigh.

Back to work .

Five o’clock and Mark was itching to be out of there.

The salon was spotless. The centre unit was spic and span, not a single stray hair remained on the laminated floor and to the rear of the salon, the second waiting area with its comfy purple leather couch and silk flower arrangements was immaculate.

Let her find fault with that.

All the girls were waiting by the door as Marie gave the salon a final check.

April and Wendy were already on their phones, no doubt texting their friends as to where they would all meet up.

Mark had gone along with them on a couple of occasions, but he hadn’t done that for a while now.

He’d grown bored of being required to give his opinion of every guy who walked through the main door of the pub.

Apparently, being gay meant he fancied every bloke on the Isle of Wight.

Yeah, right .

Carol, the receptionist, was talking animatedly with Deb and Janine about a party that she was giving the following month, to which they had all been invited. Sonia was on her phone, talking to her husband Stewart. She caught sight of Mark and smiled warmly.

“All done, ladies—and Mark,” Marie announced at last, reserving another thin-lipped smile for Mark.

“Have a good weekend and see you next week.” The staff filed out of the salon, Mark trailing behind.

He avoided making eye contact with Marie as he slipped past her, relieved to see Sonia waiting for him.

The rest of the girls had already dispersed, most of them in the direction of Wetherspoons for a drink or three.

Sonia’s eyes sparkled with good humour. “Want to walk with me down Union Street? I’m parked at the bottom today. There were no spaces near here this morning.”

Mark nodded. They were going the same way anyway. They turned the corner and began the trek down the steep hill which was the main street in Ryde. Sonia linked her arm through his and they walked in silence for a minute or two.

“What was going on earlier, sweetie?”

Mark’s brow furrowed. “When?” The whole day had been shit from beginning to end.

“When I found you in the kitchen. You were looking stressed out.”

Mark thought back. His brow cleared. “Oh, it was just the usual Marie shit.”

“Sure that was all?” He could hear the concern. Bless her .

Mark squeezed her hand. “Yeah, I’m sure. Besides, day over, right?”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Hoo, yeah. Stewart says he has a delicious dinner waiting for me.”

Mark grinned. “Lucky girl.” She beamed. She and Stewart seemed to be a match made in heaven. The thought sobered him momentarily. The Isle of Wight wasn’t exactly brimming over with gay men. In fact, the pickings were slim.

Maybe I’m looking in the wrong places. There seemed to be gay men crawling out of the woodwork when Pride rolled around. Then he smiled to himself. Yeah, and about ninety percent of them probably came over on the ferry for the event.

Sonia squeezed his arm. “You’ll find someone, sweetie.”

He couldn’t help but smile. How does she do that ? Sonia had a touch of the psychic about her sometimes. She gestured with a wide sweep of her arm. “Somewhere out there is the perfect guy for you.”

Mark followed the direction of her arm. “Yeah, exactly—over the Solent in Portsmouth.” They both laughed.

They reached the foot of the hill and crossed the road to enter the main car park, which was virtually empty. Sonia stopped by her little VW Polo and pulled Mark into a fierce hug.

“You try and relax this weekend, hon,” she admonished. “Enjoy your day off. Maybe go across to the mainland tonight? You never know. Your prince might be waiting for you in some gay bar as we speak.” She winked.

Mark kissed her cheek. “Sorry, Sonia, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen.

You have your fairy tale guy, but they’d run out by the time I came along.

Go home to your man and have a nice weekend.

” Her face fell and Mark felt like shit for passing his negativity onto her.

He kissed her again. “Don’t mind me. Get a few beers down me and I’ll feel much better. ”

Appearing only slightly reassured, Sonia bobbed her head and climbed into her car.

She waved cheerily to him as she headed out of the car park.

Mark walked slowly over to his aging Ford Fiesta and got in.

Instead of turning the ignition, he stared out through the windscreen at the horizon, where the Spinnaker Tower rose above the Portsmouth landscape across the water.

He could hear the hovercraft revving up, ready to speed its occupants over to the mainland where home awaited some of them, a night of fun for others.

He wasn’t in the mood for fun.

For some reason his thoughts turned to the couple in the salon. He could still see that beautiful guy—Sam, that was it—and his partner. The way she spoke to him. Her words hadn’t been that vitriolic, but there’d been no hint of warmth. And as for shouting at him like that when he left the salon?

I wouldn’t have turned back either.

For some reason, what came to mind was a conversation with his father some years previous.

“I shouldn’t have put up with it for so long, Mark.”

Mark clutched his father’s hand. “Then why did you?” He had to know.

Fred Horrocks had looked so small and frail, lying there in that hospital bed. There seemed to be tubes everywhere, but the steady beep of the heart monitor comforted the fifteen-year-old Mark, reassuring him that his father would recover.

“I thought it would get better,” his dad said at last. “I thought, ‘there has to be an end to all this anger, doesn’t there?’ I mean, she can’t have an infinite supply, can she?

” He attempted to smile, but his face suddenly contorted in a grimace as the steady beep changed to a more erratic rhythm.

Mark looked around in desperation for someone, anyone , to help his father, and was then pushed aside as the doctors and nurses fought to revive him, leaving the teenager standing beyond the curtain, listening to the last breaths his father gasped on this Earth.

The cardiac arrest which had struck without warning three hours previously had apparently not given up, and his father’s damaged heart evidently saw the futility in fighting a losing battle.

Tears streaked down his face as he watched the shadow-play on the curtain surrounding his father, as figures slowly retreated, pulling back in defeat.

“Mark?”

He stiffened at the sound of his mother’s voice as she came up behind him. He didn’t turn. He couldn’t bear to look at her right now.

“You’re too late. He’s gone.”

Mark shook himself, pushing down the painful memory that had only lost a little of its intensity during the last five years.

Where did that come from? There’d been nothing in the byplay he’d witnessed between Sam and Rebecca to bring the memory to the surface. A lovers’ tiff, that was all it had been.

He let his mind drift to Sam.

Where can I find a guy who looks like you, Sam?

Where is my Prince Charming?

He snorted. If he wanted one of those, he’d have to leave the island.

Prince Charmings were in short supply.