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‘Of course.’ He smiled then. ‘You’re very like your brother. At the end of the day, most of the team would relax with a cold beer. But Nathan said nothing could refresh you like a cup of tea.’
She could almost hear her brother’s voice saying the words, and it put a lump in her throat.
‘Strong enough to stand a spoon up in. One sugar. A dash of milk. And in a mug, not a cup,’ he added.
That was when she knew for sure that he really had been close to Nathan. Because it was exactly what her brother would’ve said. And all of a sudden she felt a bit less wary of him.
‘I remember,’ she said, her breath catching.
‘Do you take yours the same way?’ he asked.
Normally she was just grateful if her tea was hot. ‘Yes. Thank you, Your Royal Highness.’
And he actually made the mug of tea for her himself. No calling room service, no pretensions. Were princes supposed to be like this?
And, she noticed, he joined her in drinking tea. He didn’t take sugar in his, though.
‘Cheers,’ he said, lifting his mug in a toast. ‘To Nathan.’
She lifted her own mug. ‘To Nathan.’
‘You must miss him terribly. As do I.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch, Miss Phillips. Life is a little bit complicated at the moment.’
‘Complicated?’
He shrugged. ‘My father died not long after Nathan was killed. Obviously my older brother will be the one to succeed him, but there’s a lot of political stuff to sort out.’
She’d had no idea that he’d lost his father, too. ‘My condolences on the loss of your father, Your Royal Highness,’ she said formally.
‘Thank you. I know you’ve been in that situation.’
‘Except I was ten when Dad died,’ she said. ‘He was killed in action, too.’
‘That’s tough for you,’ he said. ‘Losing your father and your brother the same way.’
‘It’s one of the reasons why I worked here tonight,’ she said. ‘I wanted to do my bit to help the charity.’ To support children who’d been bereaved the way she had, because she knew what it felt like.
‘You were a volunteer tonight?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Yes. Though, actually, my day job’s in a café.’ A proper Italian café, run by a middle-aged couple from Naples who’d taken her to their hearts and who always sent her home after her shift with treats for her mum.
‘It’s good of you to help. Thank you.’ He paused. ‘How is your mother?’
‘Fine.’ It wasn’t strictly true, although thankfully this week Grace was having a good patch where she was fully mobile and not quite as exhausted. Chronic fatigue syndrome was the kind of illness that had peaks and troughs, and Tia knew that a good week like this would be balanced out by one where her mother could barely get out of bed and would need a lot more help with day-to-day things.
‘I’m sorry. I should’ve kept in touch.’
‘Or come to his funeral.’ The rebuke tumbled out before she could stop it.
He inclined his head. ‘My apologies. I intended to be there. But I was called away on a mission, and it wasn’t one that I could delegate to someone else.’
That hadn’t occurred to her. It was a valid excuse, she supposed, though she still thought he could’ve sent her mother a personal note.
As if he’d guessed at what she was thinking, he said, ‘I did write a letter to apologise for my absence.’
‘Mum didn’t get any letter from you.’
He frowned. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t arrive. I promise you, I did write.’
‘It must’ve got lost in the post. That’s not your fault.’ Though he hadn’t followed up on his note after his mission. Surely he could’ve found the time to at least call her mother?
He took a deep breath. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing,’ she said immediately. They didn’t need to lean on anyone. She and Grace were doing just fine on their own. They had their routines and they had good friends to support them. They didn’t need a prince throwing money at them to salve his conscience.
