Royally Yours

by Liz Johnson

  Tyler reached down to pick up the fallen book from the floor and set it back on the shelf where it belonged. “So you’ve tried to be perfect to make up for what happened with your father.”

  Beatrix sighed, looking past him toward the wall lined with book covers that had been framed like artwork between the nooks and crannies. “I hadn’t thought of it in such terms, but yes, that’s probably true.”

  Quite true, actually.

  Tyler took a step closer and set her heart thudding all over again. “Bea, can I offer a thought on this? I know I’m not a royal, but I am a converted journalist.”

  She smiled at the descriptor. “Sure.”

  “No matter how well you present yourself, they will always find something. Always.”

  The truth of his words sunk deep, even as the glow from the streetlamp seemed to reach further through the windows and into the little store.

  He brushed several snowflakes from the shoulders of her coat and took her gently by the arms as he met her gaze. “Lead well. Lead fiercely. Absolutely. But don’t become so obsessed with the way you look on social media and the magazines that you forget the fires that burn in your heart when the fancy clothes are put away and the makeup is removed and you don’t have to stand in those heels.” He titled his chin to the side slightly and smiled. He’d clearly paid attention to how she’d relished wearing tennis shoes while caroling earlier. “You’re valuable, Beatrix, just as you are. And if you could get a hold of that idea, I think maybe the media would run from you rather than vice versa.”

  Warmth flooded her from the inside out, despite the drafty chill of the old building. You are valuable just as you are. He really believed that, didn’t he? Maybe he was right. Maybe the problem wasn’t that perfection continued to elude her, but rather, that she hadn’t discovered her confidence. What sort of example was she setting, after all, for the other young women watching on their phones and television screens?

  “Tyler, that was… ” She fiddled with her wide-rimmed glasses. “Very articulate. And in a bookstore, no less.”

  “I am literate, you know.”

  “I mean, I assumed.” She took a step closer. From here, the emerald of his eyes seemed to flicker as he looked back at her. “But to my credit, you only said you write stories—not that you read them.”

  Tyler smirked. She thought to reach up and kiss him as one kisses someone who has seen you, repeatedly, as no one else ever could, which of course was the most romantic gesture he could ever offer. But she feared she might tarnish the solemn beauty of the moment they’d just shared and so instead, she decided to wait until a different sort of moment presented itself. Even though his breath tickled her senseless.

  Tyler reached for her hand to guide her through the bookshelves. She offered it readily. “I think it’s time I showed you the article I wrote two years ago.”

  Chapter 8

  Tyler led Beatrix up the narrow, winding old stairwell until they reached the rooftop of the bookstore. He held open the door, and she gracefully ducked under his arm as a blast of warm air from the store heated the cold.

  “How quaint.” She started toward the other side of the rooftop, toward the cobblestone alleyway between the other shops and the bookstore. She gasped when she saw the little alley, just as he excepted she would. Garlands with woven white lights draped from one wall to the other, and at the center of each one hung a large, glowing snowflake. “Why, Tyler, from this vantage point the town square looks like something from a postcard.”

  He grinned and came to stand beside her. “Just over there is the hardware store that my friend Charlie runs. She’s in all sorts of trouble with the mayor for not getting her Christmas decorations up.” He pointed to other historic buildings within the square that were adorned with holly and lights and flowers. Beyond them, snow covered the lawn leading to the latticed gazebo, and beyond that, a little chapel with a red door bravely stood as a beacon for hope amidst the chaos of the season.

  “You already saw the coffee shop when we were caroling… let’s see. What else?” He gestured toward several other buildings, their bricks painted red and white and scripted with the business names in old-fashioned lettering. “We have the four ornament shops, as I mentioned earlier, all of which have a specialization, so they stay busy.”

  “Wait a second. Did you just say they have an ornament specialization? What does that even mean?”

  “Oh, you know.” Tyler shrugged, his grin widening. “One has crystal, one does personalization, one is especially kid-friendly so they sell a lot of fairies and trains, and the other… well, I’m not really sure about the other, to be honest. Only tourists go there.”

  Beatrix laughed, and the sound was clear as the inn’s holiday crystal. Did she really have to go back to Ferryridge, and help rule a country?

  “We also have a record store, an ice skating rink, and up the block is a nice library, though the librarian is a bit of a nemesis.”

  Beatrix raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry. Did you just say your nemesis is a librarian?”

  “Tinsel has a yearly newspaper writing contest for kids, you know, to encourage literacy. The librarian beat me. Every. Single. Year.” Tyler shook his head to keep from chuckling. “The repeated defeat killed my confidence. In fact, it’s a wonder I ever did become a journalist. Just think, you and I may not have met if I hadn’t summoned the courage to get over my childhood trauma.”

  Beatrix laughed, then rubbed the sleeves of her coat and glanced over her shoulder to meet his gaze. “I have to admit, Tyler, I am thoroughly captivated.”

  As am I, Princess.

  But of course, Beatrix referred to her surroundings. She continued. “Tinsel has to be one of the most charming towns I’ve ever visited. I feel as though I’ve stepped into a postcard for a few hours.”

  “The town does have that effect, doesn’t it? That’s one of the reasons I decided to purchase the inn. Mayor Hayden gives me a headache, and I’ve got to keep up with things like cinnamon scone recipes.” Tyler grinned. “But I do love living here.”

  “I can see why.” Beatrix lingered over the glowing street lamps and window displays below, then turned back toward the rooftop, which had its own sort of charm thanks to all the time Tyler’s sister spent here. Circular bulbs hung from the wall nearest the stairwell, and cozy cushions in red and green colors were scattered all around the slatted floor. He brushed snow from one of them and invited Beatrix to have a seat while he went over to the safe his buddy kept just inside the stairwell.

  Beatrix didn’t sit. Instead, she followed him.

  Tyler was completely okay with that. He flipped through his key ring for the proper key and slid it into the lock of the green safe behind the stairwell door. Lucas’s shop had seemed like the best place to store the article. Too many people came in and out of The Melody Inn for the article to be secure there, in digital or hard copy.

  But when the lock on the antique front door of the bookstore broke several months ago and Lucas shuffled his feet getting it fixed, Tyler insisted he at least put the article under lock-and-key. So into the vault it went, along with Lucas’s first edition copy of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

  With a click, the lock released. But as Tyler slowly opened the safe door, an unexpected wave of nerves hit him, and his fingers hesitated on the handle. What was he doing? Why had he kept the article all this time, and was showing it to Beatrix really a good idea? For goodness sakes, she was a princess. She would be back to her life of royalty in a blink. What did he think he was going to accomplish by telling her how he felt about her—both then and now?

  But though the thought of her leaving made him uncomfortable, he knew he would regret it if he didn’t take his chances. So he opened the safe door fully, then reached for the stack of papers inside. He held them to his chest as carefully as if he were holding her heart, because maybe in a way he was.

  “Can we read it on the rooftop?” Beatrix rolled her weight up on the toes of her shoes, a
nd she looked as though she might jump with excitement.

  Yes, showing her the story was definitely the right decision. After all, it was her story too, wasn’t it?

  “I don’t see why not.” Tyler held the door for her once more, and she made her way back to the cushion he’d dusted off for her. He pulled another cushion close so he could sit beside her.

  And under the glow of the lantern affixed to the side of the wall, he finally gave her the papers. He hadn’t planned to ever give her the article. Hadn’t planned anything he’d done in the last three hours, actually. But hearing her speak like that about her father and her fears made him realize that she didn’t know what he’d always assumed to be obvious.

  She was a princess in every sense of the word.

  And everyone wanted to read a story about a princess. The only reason the press was so fixated on muddying the waters was because they were such pristine waters to begin with. Wasn’t that the way paparazzi always worked?

  Beatrix glanced over at him, then quietly read the words.

  Princess Beatrix of Ferryridge is known for wearing gowns so elaborate, they might have been worn by Princess Grace Kelly. But in the public eye, the woman hidden beneath all those layers of tulle has remained a mystery. Until now.

  I spent the day with the Princess as she traded her gowns for disguise, blending in with the passersby and living as an average person for several hours. I expected to catalogue a list full of royal eccentricities, such as taking her tea a particular temperature or curtsying at a particular angle of the knees. Imagine my surprise, then, when the woman I met preferred chocolate gelato and purchased a ribbon of satin which she secured as a headband as if she were a fairy.

  Imagine my surprise to note her “disguise” was not in her ability to appear ordinary. Rather, her disguise was her crown—and from it, beneath it, she must invariably disappear into its obligations. I, of course, am every bit as guilty as you. After all, I set out to write a feature story on the world’s most beautiful princess, and you set out to read it. Neither of us, it would seem, ever paused to consider the implications that the world’s most beautiful princess might also be a living human being.

  I began my time with Beatrix at a cafe table on a street corner where she ordered a chocolate croissant and a latte. She seemed delightfully surprised by the milky design of the latte art, and I’ll never forget her timid laughter as she brought the cup of coffee to her lips. She confessed to me she had never patronized a public cafe before. It was in that moment I realized being a princess may be harder work than one might think.

  We then ambled toward Ferryridge’s iconic swan fountain. I dug into my pockets for several coins so Princess Beatrix could make a wish. She turned her back to the water and prepared to toss them over her tightly-pinned hairstyle, but then she noticed several children staring in wonder at the fountain. The princess smiled at each of them, and pressed a tiny coin into their hands. “Wish for the stars,” she told them, “that you may find yourselves in their company.”

  I will never forget the wonder in their eyes. Such little gazes, so wide with hopes and dreams.

  The rest of the afternoon should have been spent taking notes on the Princess’s likes, dislikes, and preferences. But as the hours passed, I never reached for my notebook—so preoccupied was I with this person. She generously acknowledged the persons I walk past on these streets daily, from the poor to the children to the elderly. She offered each person the warmest of smiles. Though it is trite, it is true—I was a better person in her company.

  Her most impulsive and surprising request came when she asked me to take her to the most sanitary tattoo parlor I knew. Typing such a request into my cell phone’s search engine yielded some surprising results, but we finally found a shop that offers discreet services to wealthy and famous clients while protecting their identities. She wanted a star tattoo no larger than the nail of her pinky to commemorate her day among the people of her country, and to remember the advice she’d given those children at the fountain.

  Her dream, come true.

  I must confess, the princess said all these things to me in confidence. She had no idea I was yet another reporter seeking yet another story. She trusted me, let her hair down quite literally, and my only hope is that someday when she reads this article, she will see that what began as deception on my part has turned into the most ardent, affectionate admiration.

  The day I spent with Princess Beatrix will forever be a cherished memory.

  In another world, I might’ve even asked her for coffee on the rooftop of my favorite bookstore. But in this reality—I a reporter and she, royalty—she will always be a cherished friend to me.

  So here’s to you, Princess. May you never stop wishing.

  When Beatrix set the article down in her lap, her hands were trembling. Tyler realized he’d been holding his breath, so he exhaled slowly. The cold air took his breath in little wisps across the space between them.

  Tyler rubbed his nose, which was starting to numb from the chill in the air, then shoved his hands into his pockets. Nervous energy sparked all over his body, fueling the roller coaster climb of his stomach in anticipation of her reaction.

  He bit down on his bottom lip and coached himself to take a deep breath so he didn’t fidget his feet. “No one’s ever read it but you.”

  Beatrix stood and adjusted her glasses. She took his hands in her own, then pressed the article into his palms and raised it to his chest. “Thank you for watching over it for me.” Her voice was hoarse as she said the words.

  His resolve to keep himself collected rolled up-up-up to the top of the tracks as he brushed her hair from her forehead and let his thumb linger on her cheek. “Beatrix,” he whispered.

  “Hmm?” She lifted her chin up to face him. She now stood mere inches away.

  “If tonight is all I have with you, that will be enough for me.”

  He couldn’t tell if the glittering in her eyes was from the lantern above or the Christmas lights or her own merry sparkle. But the next thing he knew, she was leaning closer, and the last of his resolve fell hard with one exhilarating whoosh.

  “Kiss me again,” she murmured, and kiss her he did.

  Chapter 9

  For quite some time now, Harry Wallace had been almost entirely sure Charles was an imbecile. Now he had proof of his suspicion. The weasel had been following Princess Beatrix around Tinsel, trying to photograph her with that inn owner.

  Harry suspected Charles was the one selling tidbits about the Princess to the paparazzi, so he followed them both and caught that fool in the act of snooping. Beatrix nearly caught him too whenever the camera flashed just before she and Tyler reached the bookstore.

  Oh, how he wished she would have run after that flash rather than turning around and cowering. She would have put the boy in his rightful place, which was so long overdue.

  Harry fumed.

  Just wait until the Queen heard about this development.

  Perhaps then she would ease her persuasive influence over the Princess’s marriage prospects. Beatrix deserved someone of stronger character. And in the case of her romantic entanglement with Charles—well, she could only go up from there.

  The Princess and Tyler had just left the bookstore moments prior, but Charles never came out of hiding. He was not smart enough to elude Harry. Which meant only one thing: Charles was still inside the store.

  Harry stretched his neck, which popped at the motion, then rolled his shoulders as he prepared to take the little stairwell to the rooftop where Tyler and Beatrix had rendezvoused. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his sigh from being audible. He was too old and too qualified to be following a little nitwit around a Christmas-obsessed town. Had his life really come to this?

  When he reached the top of the stops, Charles was pocketing his mobile phone and placing several articles of paper back into an open safe. He looked up at Harry and froze like a rabbit trying to appear as a rock.

  That was
his strategy? Really?

  This kid was an idiot.

  “Harry,” he mumbled, clearly fumbling to formulate a new strategy. “Good to see you, old chap. What are you doing downtown at this hour of the evening?”

  “Charles, I know you’re tampering with something. Tell me the entirety of what’s going on, or I will call the authorities for trespassing.”

  Charles held out his hands. “I know how this looks, Harry.”

  “Do you?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I swear to you, I wasn’t stealing anything.” The innocent bunny act had been replaced with a petulant beggar strategy. Harry liked the rabbit-eyed fool better. “Please don’t tell Beatrix,” Charles urged.

  Harry stepped over toward Charles and nearly shoved him out of the way to get a better look in the open safe. He reached inside to find an old copy of A Tale of Two Cities as well as a printout of an article that contained photos of Tyler and Beatrix.

  Harry’s pulse thundered. No wonder Beatrix had seemed so chummy with the innkeeper. This wasn’t their first meeting. He flipped through the pictures.

  Was Tyler the one who accompanied Beatrix on her famous “mystery day” two years ago—when she vanished from the palace and public view for a full twenty-four hours?

  The day the press still sought answers about. The entire reason the Queen had hired Harry as her “driver,” to ensure Beatrix would be watched more dutifully.

  Harry rubbed his forehead. How had he failed to put these pieces together before now? If Tyler had written the article but never sold it, then the only plausible explanation had to be…

  Tyler was in love with her.

  Tyler was probably still in love with her.

  It took all Harry’s self-control not to roll up the article and swat Charles with it as one would handle a persistent fly buzzing just past the ears.

  Harry checked to ensure all the pages were accounted for, then shut the door of the safe. He’d considered following the Princess and Tyler back to the inn but had reasoned Charles was the bigger threat here. His intuition had served him properly. Had he come in time? It appeared the article was still in proper order, and the pictures, neatly stacked when he discovered them.