by Liz Johnson
Wait. Were those Tyler’s?
Chapter 12
The theatrics playing out in front of her were more dramatic than an audition for children’s theater. Beatrix had a superlative sense of obligation to preserve the peace. But at some point, enough was enough.
“Excuse me.” Beatrix stood with newfound stability on Hazel’s tennis shoes as her gaze moved slowly and intentionally from each person in the room. She had handled roomfuls of paparazzi. Been trolled on the Internet when she decided to stop digitally editing her social media photos.
But now, with one flick of a match, the fire within her sparked readily. And now she realized what it meant to have a voice—for she had been standing on platforms both physically and digitally and rendered completely silent in front of the microphone by a wide array of invisible bullies.
She had let other people tell her that her hair must be pinned though the style regularly gave her headaches. She wore three-inch, nude heels to elongate her legs without being flamboyant. She had never been allowed to frolic in snow or walk barefoot through the gardens. Even as a child, she was expected to perform flawlessly for everyone watching. For truly, even as a child, they had been watching.
First her mother—who meant well, at least. Then the media, who couldn’t care less about her well-being. And now, even strangers on the Internet with nothing better to do with their time than to criticize public figures who were never quite skinny enough, interesting enough, or pretty enough for their liking.
Each person in Mayor Hayden’s living room stared back at her, waiting to hear what she was going to say next.
Indeed, she had only just begun.
She would use her platforms, both large and small, to make a real change for good in the world. She would warm the frozen hearts, light the shadows she’d been hiding within. She would listen to the pathetic rumors in the papers no longer. They would listen to her instead.
And she would wear whatever shoes she wished.
Beatrix lifted her chin then, not because she heard her mother’s voice but because she heard her own. She directed her attention to Charles first.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’ve done now, Charles, or how you’ve gotten yourself tangled up with the mayor of this sweet little town, but I can tell you this. I am done with your drama. We both know you’re more interested in my title than my person, and I have realized with sudden and almost embarrassing clarity that I let you parade around in such a way for far too long.”
Charles’ hand flew to his chest, as if these words hurt him. She was very confident he’d make a full recovery. “But, Beatrix—”
“What part of my assessment do you find appalling? Its truth or the ease with which I communicate it?”
He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t seem to find the words.
Harry grinned. Tyler swooshed his fist triumphantly through the air.
Not so fast, Prince Charming.
She turned to him next and looked at him directly. How could you? Did you not actually love me? Her gaze begged. But such questions would render no helpful output. So instead she said what needed to be said. “Tyler, I trust you will be able to work out all the particulars of this key situation with Charles and the mayor.” She swallowed and sniffled. Perhaps he would assume her nose was simply cold. “I am surprised to see the article you wrote on the Internet, but I suppose I shouldn’t be.”
The color drained from Tyler’s face like a watercolor painting drenched with a fresh splash of water. He bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head. “But Beatrix, surely you don’t think I’m the one who posted the article.”
He held her gaze as the lines around his eyes tightened with what she imagined could only be desperation. So he had cared for her to some extent. She could hold on to that, at least. “All I know, Tyler, is it’s now on the Internet, and you wrote it.”
He shook his head. But what defense could he offer?
“It’s best we part ways, I think, for obvious reasons.” She shifted toward Mayor Hayden before Tyler could notice the little tears beginning to collect in the rims of her eyes. “Mayor, do you know of another location where myself and Harry, my security personnel, might stay tonight?”
Seemed Mayor Hayden had been stunned into silence. He blinked. Repeatedly.
As he did, his wife stepped forward. “Your Highness—” Her curtsy was not necessary but nevertheless, appreciated. “You and Harry are welcome to stay here for the night.” She glanced toward the mayor for confirmation. He nodded. Apparently the stupor was fading. “I’m sure my husband can resolve the key issue without involving you or your security.”
Beatrix folded her hands neatly. “Wonderful. We would be greatly obliged.” She looked toward Harry. “Would you mind collecting my things from the inn? You’ll find them neatly stacked within my baggage. I’m rather fatigued and prefer not to return.”
Harry nodded. “As you wish.”
Oh, but nothing about this scenario was as she’d wished.
Five hours later, a groggy Tyler shuffled in his Sherpa slippers through the kitchen, looking for the scones that Beatrix had made.
Leaving her two years ago had been hard.
But leaving her two years ago had been nothing like this.
He hadn’t slept all night and doubted whether the sinking nausea in his stomach would ever relent. So far, it had only worsened.
Two days ago, he would have called her an enchanting princess and his time with her, a dream. But today, she was something else. She had become the dream he would leave everything else to pursue.
If only he could.
He unwrapped the tray of scones and removed one. The taste of it was even better than he remembered. He closed his eyes as he chewed.
He started to cover the rest of the scones, then thought better of it. What if other guests wandered into the kitchen in the next few hours and assumed these scones were for the taking?
He snapped. He had the perfect idea—he would freeze them. It was absolutely pathetic and he’d never admit it to anyone, but he wanted to keep a taste of that day for the Januarys and Februarys ahead.
Tyler reached for freezer bags, arranged the scones inside, then carefully squeezed the extra air out of each before sealing them up and putting them in the freezer.
There. That would do.
He brushed the crumbs from his hands, strangely comforted by the thought of preserving her scones. But the feeling didn’t last for long. Because as he glanced over at the mixing bowls that still needed washing, an image of Beatrix in this kitchen last night flashed through his mind. She had smiled at him, sprinkling cinnamon and sugar and all manner of goodness on the scones just as she sprinkled a little bit of sweetness and a little bit of zest on everything she touched.
Tyler set the rest of his scone down on the kitchen counter and rubbed his face with his hands, groaning. What was he going to do with himself now?
This was the power she held over him. She had turned him from a content, successful inn owner into a man who was literally freezing pastries.
The sound of footsteps interrupted his wallowing. Tyler frowned, glancing up at the clock. Surely no one was already awake and ready for coffee at this hour?
The footsteps grew louder and louder until a tiny, pajama-clad boy rounded the corner. Tyler crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. “Ollie, what are you doing up?”
His nephew walked over and reached his little arms up to be held. Tyler gladly acquiesced. Ollie’s eyes were wide as gumballs, a sure sign he was still very tired.
“Did you know it’s very cold on Neptune?” He asked his uncle. “Too cold even for dinosaurs.” Ollie pretended his hands were claws.
“Is that right?” Were these the thoughts that awoke his nephew?
“What about you?” Ollie reached out to tap Tyler’s five o’clock shadow.
Tyler raised his eyebrows in animated surprise. “Could I live on Neptune?”
Ollie started g
iggling, then squeezed Tyler’s neck. “No, Uncle Ty! Don’t be ridiculous.” He exaggerated each syllable of the word. “I mean what are you doing awake?”
“Oh.” Tyler adjusted Ollie’s weight on his right hip. “That.”
“Are you scared?” Ollie frowned. “Sometimes I wake up early when I’m scared.”
Well, that was perceptive.
Tyler didn’t know what to say, stunned as he was by his nephew’s awareness. The truth seemed the best option. “I’m not sure I’m scared so much as sad, Little Man.”
Ollie took Tyler’s face in both his hands. “Aww! Did my mommy not let you have a popsicle? That always makes me sad too.”
“That would be sad, for sure.” A grin began to tug at Tyler. “But no, I miss a friend of mine. We had a miscommunication, and now things are all messed up.”
Ollie squeezed his cheeks. “Uncle Tyler! Mommy always says when people love each other, they say I’m sorry and do whatever it takes to make things better.”
“Does your mommy say that?” Tyler slowly slid his nephew back to the ground. His pulse began to race with the possibility of what if. Maybe, just maybe, if he insisted she hear him out…
Tyler ruffled the boy’s hair. “Your mother is a very smart woman, Ollie.”
“She is, Uncle Ty. You should listen to her.” Ollie took two steps closer to the freezer and flashed a grin so cute, it was worthy of a Christmas card. “Since I gave you good advice, can I please, please, please have a popsicle?”
Tyler opened the freezer before he could think better of it and pulled out a cherry one, Ollie’s favorite. “You can only have this if after you eat it, you go straight back to sleep or at least pretend to be asleep until your mother goes in there.”
Ollie leapt toward the popsicle and snatched it out of his hand. “Only if you promise to talk to the nice woman.”
Touché.
Chapter 13
Tyler stood in front of Mayor Hayden’s front door and stretched his neck back and forth, then shook his hands to relieve his nerves. He’d made some bold moves in his time, but never anything like this.
The first flickers of dawn were beginning to light the sky, and Tyler swept his hand over his freshly-shaven face, willing himself forward with a deep breath. After all, what was the worst that could happen? He’d already been rejected. There was no going down from here.
He’d worn the sweater Hazel bought him last Christmas—she called it a jewel-toned emerald—under his best khaki jacket, jeans, and oxfords. Shamelessly, he’d hoped if he looked the part she would consider him prince potential.
He didn’t look the part. Well, not really. Because most of these clothes came from L.L. Bean, and he imagined William and Harry probably shopped at some kind of royal store or had their clothes tailored. Regardless, he did look like he was trying, and that was something. At least, he hoped it was something.
Tyler moistened his lips and grimaced as he reached to knock on the door. Before he could get to Beatrix, he would have to go through someone just as intimidating. The mayor.
He knocked three times.
Several minutes later, Mayor Hayden creaked the door halfway open. He wore bright, flannel pajamas and a long robe over them. That man in a robe was an image which would forever be seared in Tyler’s mind. But he was doing this for Beatrix. He had to stay focused. He would just try to avert his eyes whenever possible.
“I wondered how long it would take before you showed up.”
Tyler rested one hand against the doorframe. “I’m not responsible for that article.”
“You wrote it, didn’t you?” The mayor tightened the belt of his robe. What was this, karate class?
“Well, yes. Technically.” Tyler pushed off the doorframe and rubbed the arms of his coat. The temperatures were getting chilly. Would the man let him inside already? “Look.” He emphasized the thought with his hands. “I did not put the thing on the Internet. I don’t know who did, but—”
“Are you really that far behind?” Mayor Hayden rolled his eyes. “Of course you know who did.”
Wait. What?
Tyler frowned. “You don’t mean…”
“Charles. Obviously. It’s why he had your keys.” Mayor Hayden looked out over his yard as a nine-foot snowman inflatable wobbled back and forth. “You left in such a rush, I didn’t get to explain.”
Tyler covered his mouth with his hands and blew into them for warmth. “Does Beatrix know?”
Mayor Hayden shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. She wouldn’t let anyone talk with her after you left last night. Not even Harry. Said she was exhausted and needed sleep, but between you and me, I don’t think she was sleeping.”
Yeah, Tyler knew the feeling.
“Are you going to let me inside, or are we just going to stand here in the cold?”
The mayor hesitated, as if the next move were Tyler’s to make.
Tyler sighed. “All right, Hayden. What do you want?”
The snowman seemed to sufficiently stabilize. The man moved his attention from the inflatable to Tyler. “I want you to dress up like the town founder for the Christmas parade.”
He had to be kidding. Tyler stared back at him. But Mayor Hayden didn’t budge.
“Fine,” Tyler huffed. “I’ll dress up for the parade.”
“And wear a wig.”
Tyler glared. “You’re pushing it.”
“You love her, don’t you?” Mayor Hayden shuffled his feet in his slippers.
“I will staple the town ordinances to my blazer if you want me to. For the love of candy canes, man, let me inside.”
But the mayor reached for the door handle. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. You know how strongly I feel about respecting the privacy of the royals and the royally-famous.” He smiled as if his little royally-famous quip was hilarious.
Tyler was not humored. “Then why did I just volunteer for your parade?”
“Beats me. But I sure am relieved you did.” Mayor Hayden started to close the door, then stopped. “Her bedroom is the window on the far left side of the house. I suppose if you were, say, caroling outside, I couldn’t prohibit you.”
Tyler didn’t know whether he should be thankful for this information or furious about the parade situation. So he mumbled, “okay,” and started across the lawn before the mayor even finished locking the front door.
Beatrix tossed and turned under the thick sheets. Her pillow was still damp from tears, and she’d begun to sweat from the weight of all the blankets. She looked toward the window that was framed by two small Christmas trees. Through small, open slats between the blinds, the depth of night was giving way to the soft, first light of morning.
And she couldn’t be more relieved.
Tinsel represented a wonderful place of could-be’s. But no one could stay within a dream.
Beyond all the gimmicky décor of the room, a framed painting of the wise men following the Star of Bethlehem caught Beatrix’s attention. She hadn’t noticed it last night in the dark. But now with the fresh sunlight coming inside, she sat up in the bed, transfixed by the painting, and reached to touch the star tattoo on her right, upper hip.
She knew the story, of course. God sent a star to guide three Magi to Bethlehem, the place where the Savior of the world had been born. But the king only encouraged their journey because he was threatened by this promise. So threatened, actually, that he conspired to kill Jesus. But God had other plans, and the wise men took a different route home.
As she looked toward the painting across the room, Beatrix considered for the first time that the king was not only trying to kill Jesus, the Son of God, but he was also trying to kill Jesus, the hope of those who trusted in Him. And maybe that was part of the king’s problem. He just couldn’t cope with the thought the people might trust in a good hope, a good purpose, that was larger than himself.
The question was, what did that hope look like for Beatrix, over two thousand years later? And was she, herself a roy
al authority, pointing people to something that was larger than herself?
She rubbed her eyes, which were still puffy from all the crying she’d done in the night. If she were being honest with herself, she couldn’t say she’d been all that intentional about using her authority for the good of others. If anything, she’d cowered from the responsibility of it all.
But no more.
Beatrix slinked back under the covers and put a pillow over her face to block out the ever-brightening sunlight. Maybe with this new thought, she’d have the measure of peace she needed for the sleep that had eluded her. If last night’s events weren’t already enough, the late-night phone call with her mother had further amplified her nervous energy, and she’d hardly slept. A few hours’ rest would do her good. If nothing else, in sleep she could forget about Tyler.
But when she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice singing carols just as he had the night prior. She tried burrowing further under the covers, but the memory of his singing only grew louder, until it became nearly audible.
“Beatrix.” Three taps against her window.
Wait a second.
She sat up with a start, opening her eyes wide. Had she imagined that?
Beatrix grabbed her wide-framed glasses and put them on. She practically jumped out of the bed, straightened the ornament-themed pajamas Lavinia had loaned her last night, and hurried over to the window. Her fingers hesitated over the cord to the blinds. What if she opened them and discovered nothing but a yard full of inflatables and lights?
But on the contrary, what if Tyler really had come? She knew how much determination it must have taken to show up at the mayor’s house. The least she could do was hear what he had to say.
Little by little, she raised the blinds, and her heart raced like a skater across the ice when she saw him.
He’d come. He’d actually come.
He waved awkwardly. Beatrix laughed. She unlatched the window and raised it up. “Are you sneaking in?” She stood to the side to give him plenty of space.
