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He was trying to picture his father’s face as he absorbed the details of their conversation. Jackson, like Galveston was not on Edward’s map for Royal Resorts expansion. This not so minor detail would surely have his father fiddling with the end of his handmade silk tie. Either that or pulling on the cuffs of his expensive Savile Row shirt.
“Leave your suit alone,” murmured Bryce.
There was silence on the other end of the line for a minute, then the click of a door being closed. Bryce checked his watch. It was mid-afternoon in New York, Edward would still be in his office. It was clear his father didn’t want anyone else to overhear the next part of their conversation.
“It’s a girl, isn’t it? Please tell me this is about a girl.”
The hopeful pleading in Edward’s voice spoke of a man eager to see at least one of his adult sons settled with a partner. Of course the second Alice Royal got wind of this discussion, Bryce’s mother would be checking her social calendar and picking out mother of the groom evening gowns. He could just imagine the cream of New York’s society event planners hotly contesting the ultimate prize of being asked to arrange a House of Royal wedding and reception.
His parents romance had been love at first sight. Across a crowded, but elegant ballroom in London gazes had met, and hearts secured. Legend further had it that Edward Royal had asked to speak to his future father in law the very next morning. Thirty six years, three sons, and the marriage was still going strong. If only everyone’s love story ran that smoothly.
I wonder if I will get the chance to share a similar story with Vivian.
A cup of steaming hot coffee was placed in front of Bryce, along with what appeared to be a chicken and coleslaw sandwich on white bread. He mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to the waitress.
“Yes, Dad it is about a girl.”
He held the phone away from his ear, while Edward let out a very refined English cheer. “Huzzah!” It was then backed up with an unrestrained, “Yes!”
Bryce picked up his sandwich and took a bite. It was delicious. The chicken tasted like it had been roasted in buttermilk. The coleslaw finely chopped by the hands of an artisan.
This sandwich alone was worth coming all the way to Jackson, Mississippi. He washed the mouthful down with the dark, bitter coffee. His tastebuds were still doing a happy dance when his father finally added a gushing. “So, tell me more. Who is she?”
God, we sound like a pair of school girls, gossiping over some cute boy.
There was no point in attempting to lie to his father. Janice, no doubt, would have spoken to her son Patrick, and news of Bryce’s mystery expedition to Texas would have already gotten back to New York.
He sat back in the booth and composed himself. “Do you remember Vivian Holte, the writer from Luxury Hotels and Resorts Worldwide? She was the one who gave us a three star review for Laguna Beach.”
“Yes, I know who she is, I’ve read that article several dozen times. Go on.”
How did he phrase this without it sounding sleazy? “Well…Vivian and I met the first night I was in California. Neither of us knew who the other one was. We caught up again at breakfast. One thing led to another. Let me cut to the chase. To cut a long story short. Ah...”
He really didn’t want to be having this conversation. Not in the middle of a small café in an out of the way airport. His father’s silence was all the confirmation Bryce needed for him to know he wouldn’t be getting away with not sharing the rest of the story.
“We shared a special night together, then she checked out of the resort and basically ghosted me. I was hurt. Ok, I was humiliated. When the review came out and I discovered who she was, and what she had been doing at Laguna Beach, I was furious. I then did something that was stupid and spiteful. I flew to Galveston to apologize to her.”
“That doesn’t explain why you are in Jackson, or why my plane is in Texas. Or what is happening with Vivian Holte.”
His phone buzzed and Bryce pulled it away from his ear. The brief text from Patrick noted a time of arrival and a link to where he should go in order to meet the Royal Resorts jet.
“I’ve just got a message from Patrick. The jet will be here in a few hours, and I will be back in New York tonight. I will tell you everything when I get home. I promise.”
Edward mumbled something inaudible, but his message was clear. He was none too pleased with being made to wait. Bryce suspected the only thing which would satisfy his father was if he arrived home on the Royal Resorts jet with a brand new fiancée in tow.
Bryce ended the call. With no clue as to where Vivian was, the chances of him even beginning to solve the problem of their spluttering romance were remote at best. Wherever she was, he was certain she hated his guts. All the ground he had gained last night was now gone.
He could try and blame Jordan for some of this mess, but the truth was he had been the one to break her trust. He’d lashed out with his own review, and it had hit home.
What was he to do? Any message he attempted to leave with the receptionist at LHRW would likely be tossed in the trash. Or they would simply hang up on him thinking it a prank.
The only way he could think of getting Vivian to hear the truth was if he did what he had done in Galveston. Find her. Talk to her.
And this time for heaven’s sake tell her how you feel. That you love her.
The first thing he was going to do once he did make it back to New York was to call on the match making services of Mia and Sheila. A smart businessman always relied upon the experts. He might be a well-connected billionaire, but he could admit to being a clueless male. When it came to securing his happily ever after, Bryce Royal wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
CHAPTERFORTY-SEVEN
