Page 8 of Waiting for a Prince (Island Tales #1)

Chapter Six

Cowes was heaving as usual. Most of the time it was a trendy little town with fashionable boutiques which seemed to cater exclusively for the yachting brigade, but that went into overdrive during Cowes week.

Anyone who was anyone was out and about, watching the races, drinking Pimms from the balcony of the Royal Yacht Club and hanging out on some of the more fabulous-looking boats.

But on the Friday night, most of the island turned out to see the fireworks, which were always impressive.

And after a deficit of five years, the crowds were bigger than ever.

The quay was a surging mass of spectators, clutching plastic glasses of beer or wine, everyone eagerly awaiting darkness to fall so the show could begin.

The harbour was filled with boats as people tried to get the best vantage point from which to observe the proceedings.

Mark loved the fireworks, but that was because he was basically a big kid. Yeah, he listened to the oohs and ahs of the people around him with a big grin on his face, but his voice joined theirs readily enough.

He stood near the beer tent, clutching his pint of Wight Gold, an island brewed beer.

He scanned the crowd, looking for Sam. It was seven thirty and as yet there was no sign of him.

Mark thought briefly about texting him, but he didn’t want to bother the man, especially as Sam had let slip in his last phone call the previous night that Rebecca was coming too.

I don’t get it. For a man whose girlfriend had just told him she’d be accompanying him, Sam didn’t seem all that happy about the prospect.

Maybe I’m hearing things. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.

What’s more likely is that I’m projecting my own feelings onto the situation.

Three days had passed since Sam had invited him, and Mark had spent them thinking of nothing but this evening.

If he were being honest, he knew it wasn’t the prospect of the fireworks that had kindled his enthusiasm, but of spending time with Sam.

Knowing the girlfriend was going to be there had put a dampener on his mood that he couldn’t account for. It wasn’t a date, for goodness’ sake.

Hasn’t stopped you thinking about him all week, though, has it ?

The thought gave him a brief pang of guilt.

The marquee near the Yacht club was packed as the people crowded in to watch the band perform.

Mark loved live music. The Hamsters were an eclectic bunch of guys, some sporting long beards like the guys in ZZ Top, and the lead singer resembled nothing more than an aging hippie.

But when they sang, the hairs stood up on Mark’s arms. Man, they were fantastic.

The band launched into a set of Jimi Hendrix numbers.

The strains of Purple Haze had the crowd joining in with enthusiasm.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” a voice yelled near his ear.

Mark turned to find Sam next to him, dressed in a T-shirt with a Union flag emblazoned on the front and a pair of tight jeans. In his hand was a pint of beer. Sam’s short dark hair was gelled and spiky. Those brilliant blue eyes regarded him. For a second, Mark went weak at the knees.

God, he looks good . Then he did a quick reassessment, Good? More like downright fuckable . No sooner had the thought occurred to him, he pushed it aside, berating himself.

Stop torturing yourself. It ain’t gonna happen .

In the past week, he had come to look forward to Sam’s texts and calls. Every night there’d been something from him. Mark had to admit it—the man always made him feel good.

Sam’s face lit up in a wide grin. “You been here long?” He raised his voice to carry over the sound of the band.

Mark shrugged. “About forty-five minutes.” He held up his phone and stared pointedly at Sam. “One of us was on time.” His lips twisted into a smirk.

Sam’s face fell. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was on the phone to Rebecca. She was busy arranging to meet up with her friends. Looks like they’re all going to be here, too.”

Mark glanced around, curious. “So… where is she?”

Sam’s neutral expression made him even more curious. “She told me to wait here for her. She’ll be here in a minute. Her Dad is a member of the Yacht Club and she’s meeting him there.”

Mark let out a long whistle. “Yacht Club? Is Daddy loaded, then?” Owning a yacht was not a cheap hobby.

Sam gave a nod. “A fact she reminds me of constantly.”

His whole demeanour was puzzling. Did he not want to have Rebecca as a girlfriend?

I just don’t get it. Mark frowned. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask his new friend what was going on—until a loud voice broke in.

“Sam, who is this?”

Mark bristled at Rebecca’s tone. He turned to face her, taking in the casual clothes he felt sure had come with a not-so-casual price tag. She looked down her nose at him, and that raised his hackles even more.

You’re not even trying to hide your disdain, are you?

His assumption of a week ago that she’d been having a bad day flew out the window.

Mark had a feeling Rebecca was like this 24/7.

Sam jumped in hurriedly. “This is Mark. You met him last Saturday when you were having your hair done. Remember?” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers gripping the plastic pint pot containing his beer.

Rebecca wrinkled her nose. “Oh yes—the tea boy.”

Mark’s nostrils flared, and Sam laid a hand on his arm. Mark could just about make out the almost imperceptible shake of Sam’s head. He took a deep, calming breath.

“Sam, Dad wants us to join him at the club.” Rebecca barely gave Mark a passing glance. “We don’t want to keep him waiting, do we?”

Sam gave Mark an apologetic look, although his words were directed to her. “No, I guess not.” He dropped his voice lower. “Sorry, Mark. I... I’ll call you tomorrow, all right?”

And that was apparently the end of their evening together.

Well fuck.

Mark nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Go on, have fun.” The expression on Sam’s face made that doubtful, however. Rebecca pulled Sam’s arm impatiently as she edged her way through the crowd toward the Yacht Club, Sam glancing back at Mark just once before he disappeared into the throng.

It was official. Mark did not like Sam’s girlfriend.

He drained the last of his pint and looked at his watch. The fireworks weren’t due to start until nine thirty, but the encounter with Rebecca had taken the shine off his evening. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to stay around to watch the display.

What was foremost in his mind was the look on Sam’s face.

His friend wasn’t happy, that much was clear. Mark wished there was something he could do. And then it hit him. In the space of a week, less even, Sam had gotten under his skin.

How the hell did he do that so fast?

All Mark knew was, Sam had become important to him. And Mark wanted to help him. He’d just have to figure out how.

Sam stood on the balcony of the Yacht Club, scanning the crowds below for any sign of Mark, but the throng seemed to have swallowed him up.

“Isn’t this fun?” Rebecca finished her glass of champagne, then went in search of another.

Sam hadn’t touched his. He was surrounded by well-dressed people all talking about boats, the week’s races, the price of fuel…

I don’t fit it here.

Rebecca glanced at his tee. “You might have worn something else. I mean, jeans . They’re not even designer jeans. And you could’ve worn a jacket. Everyone can see your tattoos.” She wrinkled her nose again. “I can see your nipple rings through that cheap T-shirt.”

Sam bit his lip. “Anyone would think you disapproved. What’s hanging in your navel tonight? Is it the drop crystal or the blue stone?”

Her eyes flashed. “Except no one can see my piercing, can they? And I don’t know why you decided to have tattoos.”

He sighed. “Everyone has them nowadays. Even your friends have them.” He smiled. “So does your dad.” The tats on Jack’s forearms looked as if they’d been done a long time ago.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I need a drink.” She strode toward the bar.

“Sam, how’s your dad?”

Talk of the devil…

Sam forced a smile. “He’s fine, sir.”

Jack Trent chuckled. “The stories I could tell you… We got up to some stuff when we were at school together, your dad and I.” He cocked his head. “You’ve got your mother’s looks.”

He smiled. “That’s what everyone says.”

Jack glanced around, then leaned in. “You and Becky… I’m glad it’s working out.” His voice was just loud enough to be heard over the noise from below.

It was so far from working out as to be laughable. All Sam could do was nod.

“She seems happy. You’re obviously good for her.”

Sam knew happy was a euphemism for something else. Probably calm . And still he couldn’t speak.

“Are you okay, Sam?”

He swallowed. “Yes, sir. I’m tired, that’s all. I’ve been working hard.”

Jack smiled. “Then this is exactly what you need. A night off.” He nodded toward Sam’s glass. “Would you like something else to drink? Not everyone is into champagne, contrary to what Becky thinks.”

Sam didn’t want anything else to drink. He simply wanted to get out of there.

Fat chance of that happening.

Rebecca reappeared, holding another glass of champagne. “Dad, Councillor Waterman was looking for you.” She gave him a bright smile.

Jack let out an exaggerated sigh. “I know what he wants. Another donation to one of the council’s projects.” He patted Sam’s arm. “Good to see you here, son.” And then he was gone, submerged into a tightly packed room full of people all talking way too loudly.

Rebecca’s smile faded. “Did you and Dad have a good talk?”

“Yeah.”

Her brow furrowed. “Did you talk about me?”

He knew what she wanted to hear. “He thinks I’m good for you. That you seem happy.”

Her eyes shone. “Well, that’s brightened my night.

” She hooked her arm through his. “Why don’t we go inside?

I’ll introduce you to some more of my friends.

” She glanced at the swelling throng below, her nose wrinkling again.

“It’ll be quieter in there. And let’s face it, anywhere’s better than being down there. That music…” She shuddered.

Sam would have given anything to be caught up in the crowd of people listening to the Hamsters.

What was nearer the truth was that he wanted to be with Mark, someone who liked his company.

Someone he could trust.