Royally Yours

by Liz Johnson

  Suddenly she turned in his arms, dislodging his kiss but staying close. Her hands pressed flat against the front of his black sweater, smoothing away wrinkles, setting his skin on fire. Her gaze couldn’t seem to make it north of his mouth, and every muscle inside him tensed.

  “I’d really like for there to be a first time.” He echoed her words from the orchard store, and a light smile played across her mouth.

  “I’d like that too.”

  It was all the invitation he needed. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to hers. She relaxed on a sigh, clinging to him, running her hand up to his shoulder and then behind his neck. Her fingers found the short hair on his nape, sliding back and forth over it until his knees threatened to buckle.

  He stumbled forward, pushing her back into the counter, then immediately pivoted to take the brunt of the corner against the small of his back. Never letting her go, never stopping.

  Then suddenly she pulled back just far enough to say, “Careful. The apples.”

  He nodded, waltzing them toward the sink and crashing his elbow into a steel bowl that clattered to the floor.

  “I don’t hear much cooking going on in there,” Gram called from the other room, and they both broke into a fit of laughter.

  Andrew pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing coming in deep, choppy gasps. Hers mirrored his, but she didn’t look away. A light in her eyes as vast as the ocean called to him. But this was neither the time nor the place for more of this.

  “Are you—” He meant to ask if she was all right, but he wasn’t quite sure he could handle a negative response, so he tried again with a lighter tone. “I’ve never been caught snogging in the kitchen before.”

  “Me neither,” she whispered. “But it was totally worth it.”

  It most definitely was. His chest filled with pride and affection and . . . something stronger. Something that promised that with Charlie by his side he could face any challenge.

  And he wanted that.

  Chapter 10

  Charlie tiptoed across the Hillstones’ front lawn under the cover of darkness, Andrew at her side. Even the clouds conspired with them, rolling over the moon and stars and leaving no shadows. The entire street was dark, every lightbulb waiting until Christmas Eve to show off. It was well after midnight, and every door was shut, curtain closed tightly. Not a soul on Candy Cane Lane stirred.

  She giggled like a little girl caught up after her bedtime, and Andrew wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He tried to shush her, but his laughter too filled the silent night.

  “Are you ready?” he whispered.

  She couldn’t begin to tell him how ready she was. They’d worked for three days straight—except for the two hours that afternoon they’d spent making cider—to turn his memory and her vision into a reality. But they’d never seen it underneath a night sky as the judges would. They could have joined the neighbors in their trial runs, but that would have spoiled the surprise. And given the brilliant colors and overwhelming ornaments on every house on the block, the Hillstone house was guaranteed to astonish. It might not win, but it would shock.

  In the best possible way.

  “Do it,” she whispered.

  She could see nothing except his silhouette, but his excitement was palpable as he connected two extension cords.

  The light was blinding at first—from complete darkness to a beam nearly as bright as the Christmas star.

  She flinched and stepped back, right into Andrew’s arms.

  “Whoa.” He whistled long and low in her ear. “That’s something.”

  She grabbed at his hand, opening her eyes all the way to see what they’d created. And it was indeed something. It was every magical, wonderful, peaceful part of Christmas in one beautiful scene. It was first snow and snowshoes in the park. It was the brisk chill of freshly falling snow and the sweet scent of it in the air. All captured on one property.

  “I almost forgot.” He let go of her only long enough to run to the house and flip another switch. Then he was back, racing through the strobe.

  “Look.” Charlie pointed to where the roving spotlight had caught a glittering snowflake on the first evergreen tree. It shimmered and sparkled, dancing in the wind. Suddenly the light jumped to the front of the house and caught the dusting of snow in the corner of the bay window. Then it skipped its way along the porch to a series of giant white snowflakes covered in glitter. They shone like fresh snow under a brand new sun.

  Charlie gasped and clapped her hands silently. It was so much better than she’d even dared to hope. It was humble and elegant, arresting in its simplicity. Every other house on the block had so much more going on. But none of them could measure up to the pure beauty of snow.

  And somehow they’d managed to capture exactly that. Just as he’d described all those days ago at the bakery. It was a winter wonderland. A royal wonderland.

  “We’re going to win.” His whispered words were so soft they floated away on the breeze.

  “I know. Well, done, Prince.”

  “Me? You know what my first try looked like. This is you—all you.” Slowly, he spun her to face him, his hands on her waist firm yet gentle. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me keep my promise to Warner. Thank you for being so brilliant.”

  “I don’t know about brilliant,” she said. “But I’ll take it.”

  He tickled her, and she shrieked.

  “Shhh! You’ll wake up the whole neighborhood.’

  “Well, then don’t tickle me.”

  He paused, his gaze turning heavy, intense. “Hmm . . . what ever shall I do then?”

  Her pulse thudded in her ears, and she couldn’t tell if the evergreen scent that surrounded them was Andrew or the nearby trees. Either way, it was insanely romantic. Too perfect really.

  Not that she was complaining. Not when she had some ideas about how they might pass a few minutes of perfection. Reaching over his shoulders, she clasped her hands behind his neck. He was firm and steady yet inviting, and she burrowed deep against him, tucking her head beneath his chin.

  I love you.

  His fingers squeezed into her hips. Had she said that aloud? Please, no. It was way too soon for declarations of that sort. Too soon for declarations of any sort. She hardly knew him.

  Except she did. She knew the rhythm of his heart deep in his chest. She knew the desire of his heart to help his people. And she knew what he did to her heart.

  It had been a long time since she’d been in love, but she couldn’t mistake the symptoms. And she was going to revel in them as long as she could.

  Burying his nose into her hair, he smiled against the top of her head. “You smell like fresh snow. How do you do that?”

  Leaning back just far enough to catch his gaze and give him a wink, she said, “Magic.”

  Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. And the real magic began. He was so tender, but the longing in him poured into his kiss. Its flames licked at her, threatening to engulf them both. She’d never been more eager to dive into the fire.

  He cupped her cheeks with his big hands, brushing hair from her temples and tucking it behind her ears. Conveniently holding her at the perfect angle for better access to her lips. And then he made a low groan in the back of his throat.

  Her stomach dropped and her heart soared. She’d done that to him. And if she could make that same noise, he’d do it to her too.

  After another long moment, he pulled back only far enough to sneak a deep breath. “Charlotte Hudson, what have you done to me?”

  “Probably the same—”

  “Andrew Archibald Winston! Why are you not on your way home?”

  He ripped away, holding her to arm’s length as he stared at the woman marching toward them. She wore a long, wool trench coat, the belt knotted around her narrow waist. But it was her shoulders—fierce and imposing—that made Charlie scoot another step back, another step closer to the house. And security.

  “Mother.” Andrew bowed his
head, and for a moment she thought his mother might reach out to allow him to kiss her rings.

  She did not. And Charlie was a little bit sad to have missed the opportunity to witness it.

  After all, this was her first—and most certainly her last—time meeting a queen. Not that they’d actually been introduced, but that was merely a formality. Although maybe everything was a formality when it came to royals. What did she know?

  “Well, are you going to invite me in? It’s frigid out here.” The queen’s accent sounded like Andrew’s on steroids. It was crisp and sharp and more than suggested that the queen did not take flack from anyone. Even her eldest son.

  Charlie hadn’t noticed—not when the fire between Andrew and her had been roaring. But without his sweater-clad arms around her, the cold found its way in, making her teeth chatter and hands tremble.

  “Of course.” Andrew swept his arm toward the front door, and his mother marched inside, pausing only to wave at the black Town Car that had arrived unnoticed. If she hadn’t been queen, she’d have had a fine career in the king’s military.

  Behind the queen’s back, Andrew mouthed an apology that made Charlie stifle a laugh. Now they’d both had to apologize for their relations. Royal or not, family was embarrassing.

  Andrew unplugged their masterpiece before going into the house, and Charlie followed him in. The door was barely closed on the wind before the queen turned on her son. “I told you to be back by the Christmas Eve feast. You should have been on a flight tonight. When you didn’t call for the jet, I knew something was wrong.” The queen’s words were clipped and sharp, and if they’d been pointed at her, Charlie would have crumbled.

  Andrew did not. He stood tall, shoulders back and chin high. “Mother, I’d like to introduce you to Charlotte Hudson of Tinsel, Vermont.”

  The lines around the queen’s mouth eased a fraction, and Charlie dipped into the most awkward curtsy ever attempted. “Your Royal—” She glanced at Andrew, who gave his head one hard shake. “Your Majesty.” Andrew nodded, and the queen blinked.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  Clearly not one to linger on introductions, she said, “So you’re the girl in the picture.”

  “Excuse me?” Charlie cocked her head to the side but couldn’t make heads or tails of the queen’s comment.

  “What picture?” Andrew whipped out his phone and thumbed in several letters before his face turned as white as their wonderland.

  “Andrew?”

  He held it up for her, a picture splashed across a gossipy website with a ridiculous headline.

  Prince Andrew Finds New Duet Partner

  And there they were in the picture—unmistakable. Singing Christmas carols at Gram’s home. Her hand resting far too familiarly on his shoulder.

  She didn’t suppose that telling the website she hadn’t known he was a prince at that point would do any good.

  Charlie scanned the article, catching her own name and the associated Broadway reference. But mostly it slammed Andrew as a playboy and ne’er-do-well.

  “Apparently the picture originally appeared on some young woman’s Twitter account.” The queen tsked. “I’ve never seen the appeal, but it did enable me to track you down. Tinsel is an unusual name, after all.”

  Andrew let out a slow breath through tight lips. “Charlie, I’m really sorry about this.”

  She couldn’t stop clasping and unclasping her hands before her. “It’s okay. These things happen.” She wanted to say that they happened to people like Andrew and people who sought out fame. But even in the corner of his spotlight, she was fair game.

  Mostly she wanted to say that these things weren’t supposed to happen in Tinsel.

  “We can take care of this at home,” his mother said.

  Andrew could barely hear over the buzzing in his ears. He’d come to Tinsel to get away from the headlines and gossip rags. He’d come to find a little peace at Christmas.

  Instead he’d found Charlie, who had turned his entire life upside down in two short weeks. Now that he knew what it was like to have her in his life, the very idea of letting her go was preposterous.

  Besides, he’d promised Warner that he’d be here through Christmas Eve.

  “I can’t go back yet. I have commitments here.”

  His mother looked over her shoulder toward the front lawn. “The decorating contest? Yes, the yard is lovely, but you’ve done enough. We have to leave. Tonight.”

  He reached for Charlie’s hand, sliding his fingers between hers, holding on with everything inside him. He could not give her up so easily.

  “I’m staying.”

  “That is not an option.” Her voice shook with that touch of anger that always came out when her children argued with her—which wasn’t often. But at that moment his refusal was enough to set her off. “You are getting on a plane with me right now.”

  “I’m nearly thirty years old, and I have my own plans. Respectfully, I’m going to spend this Christmas in Tinsel. With Charlie.”

  She squeezed his hand, and it felt like a shot of espresso coursing through his veins. He belonged with her.

  His mother paced to the right and then back to her left several times. “Andrew, listen to me. The timing for this could not be worse. This makes you look like a callous rake, philandering around the world after that terrible situation with Alexandra. All while your countrymen are literally losing their jobs. The governors will never take your proposal seriously now. Not unless you meet with them face-to-face. You have to convince them at the feast tomorrow night. You must be there.”

  His stomach knotted, but his chest felt like it was being torn apart. He could not be expected to make that decision. He could not choose between his people and the woman who had stolen his heart.

  And, oh, she had.

  Maybe it had been at the orchard store when he’d held her for the first time or when she freely admitted to stalking him across town. Maybe it had been when she sang—because it felt like it was just for him. Maybe it was the way she put so much of her heart into everything she did or made him laugh out of the blue.

  She was worried about still being an old version of herself, but that woman would never have asked him to share his memories and then showed him how to bring them to life. That woman wouldn’t have driven to an orchard to buy apples for her grandmother’s pie. And she wouldn’t have befriended a lonely prince.

  This woman standing before him had shown him what love was. And now that he’d tasted it, no one else would ever measure up.

  He grabbed for her other hand, swinging her around to stand before him. “Come with me.”

  “What?” She spit out the word, and it stole his breath. He already knew her decision.

  “Come to Marvonia with me. Please. Charlie, I’m in—I have to go back. I have to take care of this proposal. My people are counting on me.”

  “I know.” She nodded, but already the overhead light glistened in her watery eyes. “You should go.”

  “And you should come with me.”

  Her bottom lip began to tremble, and she bit into it with a small shake of her head. “I can’t. You know I can’t. I won’t . . . I can’t be her again.”

  “But you’re not her. I know you’re not.” He held onto her hands as though they were a lifeline. Perhaps they were. “Don’t you see that by not wanting the fame, you’re already a different person?”

  “I don’t want to risk it.”

  “No, you want to play it safe.”

  Fire flashed in her eyes and her nostrils flared. “That’s not fair. You know what happened.”

  “Yes. And I know you’ve been hiding here in Tinsel for eight years. Don’t you think it’s time to face the world again? To take it on? You tackle everything here with so much verve and spice. Why should the rest of the world not get to see you do the same?”

  Lips pursed and eyes narrowed, she tugged her hands free. Apparently that was not a sign that she was considering hi
s request. “You’re in the best tabloid-free town in the country for two weeks, and you’ve already landed me back on the gossip sites.”

  “But I can protect you.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t believe you, Prince.”

  His mother made a sharp click of her tongue, but he had no concern for royal decorum, only for the way his heart was tearing apart. He gasped for a breath, but it was useless. Charlie’s eyes had turned to ice.

  “Go. Go home,” she said. “I’ll pass out the cider tomorrow night. Take care of your people.”

  Her words pierced him, and he longed to rewind the clock ten minutes, to the moment when he’d been on the verge of telling this woman just how much she meant to him.

  But perhaps the wonderland they’d created was only meant to be temporary.

  He closed his eyes, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and let his heart break. “All right, Mother. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 11

  “Remind me why I’m out here on Christmas Eve instead of sitting in front of the fire at home.”

  Charlie tried to smile at Gram’s orneriness, but she couldn’t manage to get her lips to make the motion. They trembled and shook, but there was no joy in her heart. Even as the setting sun caught the remnants of the last snow. Instead she turned her back and set up a small table to hold the slow cooker and cider cups.

  “Oh, honey.” Gram walked up to her, wrapping her puffy arms around her from behind. Gram’s parka made the embrace strangely awkward, and Charlie couldn’t relax into her comfort.

  She jerked away, stalking back toward the house to retrieve the slow cooker. Hugging the pot to her chest, she focused on taking slow, careful steps. Even with the lid on it, the spicy cinnamon scent wrapped around her, warm and sweet.

  One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Don’t spill the cider. Don’t trip.

  Don’t think about Andrew.

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. She’d told herself that a million times since the night before—every time her brain decided to park on a memory of him.