The Princess Pose (The Modern Royals Series Book 2)

by Aven Ellis

  That moment, while no first kiss was involved, was magically, wonderfully, romantically, most ardently perfect.

  With a huge grin, I dash up the stairs, practically counting the minutes until he’s home.

  And calling me Lizzie.

  Chapter 8

  Toast at Christian’s

  I don’t even have to ring the bell at Christian’s cottage on Sunday morning. It’s nine o’clock, and since we all moved into Kensington Palace this summer, Clementine and Christian always have their door open for Sunday breakfast for members of the squad.

  I open the door, step inside, and call out, “I’m here.”

  Which is a miracle considering I talked to Roman until three in the morning, and then spent another two hours lying in bed thinking about him. I have no doubt I appear haggard and tired, but I have never felt such exhilaration and so much anticipation to see what happens next.

  Luckily, I won’t have to wait long. Roman is coming to my place tomorrow night, and it’s my turn to entertain him for dinner.

  I hang up my coat and walk towards the back of their house, to the kitchen. Clementine is poring over her diary, scribbling notes and sipping a hot chocolate in a Princess Fiona mug from the movie Shrek. She’s wearing a Cambridge sweatshirt and is fresh-faced, with her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Christian, on the other hand, is standing at the hob, flipping pancakes. There is no chef employed in their household, although few would believe it. This is part of doing things their way. Both of them like the routine of cooking together and decided to continue it. Apparently, according to Xander, it caused a row between Antonia and Christian, as she called them undignified and the beginning of the unravelling of the monarchy.

  Dear old Antonia. Such a proper ray of sunshine and modernity.

  “Good morning,” Christian calls out cheerfully. I notice he has a bag of mini M&Ms out and is sprinkling them over the tops of the pancakes on the griddle pan. “Do you still want eggs and avocado toast? Or pancakes? I got these mini M&Ms from America, and they are perfect for pancakes.”

  “Oh, did any fun flavours come in your shipment? Did Bryn find those hot cocoa-flavoured M&Ms?” I ask, sitting across from Clementine. Bryn is one of Clementine’s old roommates from Stanford, and she’s Christian’s source for all the fun flavours available in America.

  “Who cares about M&Ms?” Clementine cries impatiently. “How is Roman? How did it go last night? I’m dying. Dying!”

  “Please tell her,” Christian says, expertly flipping his pancakes. “I’d hate to have her die before our first walkabout and public engagement on Tuesday. I’d rather not be stuck with Xander and Cling Film for future appearances as a substitute for my Fiona.”

  I burst out laughing at his dry humour. “I want to talk about Xander and India. What is he doing? Outside of being stupid at nightclubs on a few occasions, he’s never done anything so… so…” I stop, as the behaviour is so un-Xander that I’m at a loss for words.

  “So smacking of Xander having a quarter-life crisis?” Christian supplies as he stacks pancakes on a plate.

  Ooh. Christian might be right. Xander is leaving the military at the start of the year to take on more royal duties. With Christian getting married in the spring, he will face even more media pressure than before to find a wife before he turns thirty. Personally, I think Xander should marry if and when he wants. He always does what he wants normally, so this sudden dive into a relationship with India surprises me.

  There has to be more to it than a quarter-life crisis, I think.

  “No, no, I want to hear about Roman first,” Clementine says firmly, interrupting my thoughts of Xander. “I want good news first. Not news of my beloved future brother-in-law making a huge mistake with his first dive into romance. So, tell me about your date last night while I get water for your tea.”

  Warmth spreads across my cheeks as I remember Roman pressing a kiss upon my palm. Making me dinner. Telling me about his childhood in Shepherd’s Bush and the Christmas cake his grandmother loved to make half-sloshed.

  “He’s real,” I say without thinking. “Kind. Genuine. Down to earth. We talked for hours, and then for hours more on the phone after I got home. I’ve never wanted to spend this kind of time with any man.”

  Clementine brings me a mug and the box of Twinings Earl Grey teabags she keeps for my visits. I put my tea bag in, and she pours water over the top of it. Christian comes over to the table and places a stack of pancakes at Clementine’s place.

  “There you go, Ace,” he says.

  I see the look of love they exchange over simple gestures like these. Christian makes her breakfast and calls her Ace, while Clementine has her friend in America buy special treats because she knows Christian loves them.

  “Thank you, love,” she says, smiling at him.

  He sinks down in the chair next to me. “That’s how I felt about Clementine,” he says, dousing his pancakes in syrup. “When we started talking, I knew she was different.”

  “I’ll start your toast,” Clementine says.

  “Please sit down and eat your pancakes,” I insist, rising from my seat. “I can get my own eggs and toast.”

  “Fine, this one time, I’ll let you,” she replies, smiling and taking a seat as I pop some bread into the toaster. “But back to Roman. I’m telling you, he is a good guy. There’s no pretence with him. Everything you described about him is the man I know.”

  “He’s so grounded,” I say. I pluck an avocado and a lemon from the basket on the worktop. “Roman is honest about what he likes and what he wants. He’s sentimental when it comes to his family. He’s passionate about horticulture, and he even wanted to hear about my fountain pens. Can you believe it?”

  I abruptly stop. I’m babbling like a girl with her first crush. I feel giddy as the things I discovered about him yesterday replay in my mind.

  “You told him about the pens?” Christian teases, spearing some of his pancakes and popping them into his mouth.

  “Yes,” I say as I open the avocado and put it into a bowl so I can mash it. “Roman found my interest in pens intriguing.”

  “Oh, he must have it bad if he can indulge your pen talk,” Christian says.

  “You shut up,” I reply, trying not to laugh.

  I feel Clementine’s gaze on me and turn my attention to her. She’s smiling happily, and I know she’s excited for the possibility of me and Roman dating.

  My toast pops up, and I put the avocado on it, followed by a drizzle of olive oil and a squeeze of lemon. I decide to pass on the eggs for now, as I’m eager to sit down and talk more about Roman.

  “He’s a tremendous cook,” I say, gushing as I take my place at the table. “He grew all the vegetables he served at dinner.”

  “A shocking twist, with him being a gardener,” Christian says dryly.

  “Stop it,” Clementine chastises, giving him a look.

  “All right, I know that look. Go on, Liz,” he says.

  “We talked all night, long after dinner was finished and we had cleaned up. I stayed there for hours, and it felt like mere minutes. We’re so different in so many ways. We grew up differently, in different worlds, but so much of him resonates with me. His work ethic is like mine. We both want to inspire and create change in the world as part of our work. We both love our own time, alone or with our circles of friends.”

  “The differences can be strengths,” Clementine says, gazing lovingly at Christian.

  “I want what you two have,” I admit, pausing to take a bite of my toast. “The only fear I have is, if Roman truly sees my world, will it scare him off? Will it be too much for a man like him, who loves the solitude of the garden?”

  I can’t believe I admitted that to them. We’ve only had one dinner and not even one real kiss on the lips, yet I’m trying to plan for future problems, much like I do when I prepare for an event. I’m always looking for potential problems and planning for them.

  Because I know those things coul
d happen.

  Just like my royal life becoming something that turns Roman away from me.

  “I think I can speak to this better than anyone,” Clementine says. “I knew I loved Christian. Just Christian. I understood his world was going to be hard on me. Sometimes, it’s harder than I thought it would be, and I know six months from now, when the press gets bored of being nice to me, they will try to turn my world upside down with horrible stories.

  “But the love I have for this man sitting across the table from me,” she continues, beaming at Christian, “is what matters at the end of the day. I will get through whatever happens in this gilded world because I love him. I’ll have my hard day, and I’ll text you to come watch movies with me or grab Jillian for some gin and tonics. But I’ll always go straight to Christian the second I see him and wrap my arms around him and know all of this is worth it because I love him. Whoever loves you for you will feel the same way.”

  I glance at Christian, whose eyes have nothing but love and admiration for Clementine in them.

  “You can find someone who doesn’t care about the monarchy, Liz.” he says. “Who isn’t trying to use you, who is willing to come into this world and live in this goldfish bowl. Is it harder bringing people like Clem and Roman into this life? Of course. But is it worth it? Yes. If you fall in love with him, and he with you, and you both want to be together, that is all that matters.”

  I study my cousin and his fiancée, and I can only hope that I can find what they found: a love that is strong and a true partnership. They are two people who celebrate their individuality but love what they share together equally as much.

  “And if you dare go out and find someone who is supposedly easy and knows the family business,” Christian continues, “and pursue a relationship for that reason like my brother Xander the former Philanderer, I shall never speak to you again. If Roman is the man for you, and you’re willing to guide him into this world and protect him as much as you can, you do that. Because I don’t believe for one second Xander will be happy with India.”

  “Is that why he’s testing the waters with her?” I ask.

  “I talked to James this morning,” Christian says, referring to his younger brother, who is away at university. “Xander told him he knows it’s time to start being serious. Even in this day and age, he knows his role is to secure the future of the monarchy, and he has to think about getting married at some point. Which means no more club philandering. India, as he told James, understands this world. She knows the part to play, and he feels it will be easier to find a woman from his own social circle as opposed to going outside it, like we are.”

  Oh, no. The idea of Xander settling and spending the rest of his life with someone he doesn’t love passionately because he thinks it will be easier breaks my heart.

  “I’ll talk to him,” I say, nodding. “I think a quarter-life crisis—combined with the reality of how hard it is to bring someone into his life is as the future king—is driving these decisions. As hard as it will be for Clementine, and let’s, for sake of conversation, say Roman, it will be so much worse for someone who will be the future queen.”

  “He’s going to end up like our Father,” Christian says, sighing heavily. “He’ll pick the right woman and screw himself. Xander will be stuck in a marriage with a woman he doesn’t love.”

  I swallow hard. If Christian only knew he could be talking about my father with those same words, too. Except my father didn’t take the road Arthur did. My fa—

  “All right, enough of this,” Clementine says quickly, interrupting my thoughts. “Maybe India will bore him to tears, and he’ll move on.”

  The conversation shifts to the big week ahead, with Clementine and Christian doing their first public appearance since their engagement photocall. Clementine has had Buckingham Palace staff working with her on what to expect, like how to exit a car and not to pose for selfies or sign autographs. She’s received her first stack of notes on who she will be talking to, with their histories, and has been counselled on what to wear.

  “You are going to be overwhelmed with how excited people are to see you and Christian,” I say. “But you are going to be utterly fantastic as the duchess you soon will be.”

  Clementine exhales loudly. “Next spring, I’ll be a duchess. Of something,” she says, shaking her head. “This is insane.”

  I smile. Arthur will give them an official title that will be released after they are married.

  “Yes, you are marrying me to be the Duchess of Something,” Christian teases.

  We sit around after we’ve finished eating, lingering over our hot drinks, the conversation rolling from how the members of the squad are doing to what is going on in the news and how soon Christmas is coming.

  Clementine snickers after I say that.

  “What?” I ask.

  “That is such a British thing to say. I hear that several times a day. You all are obsessed with how soon it’s coming, and it’s only the first week of December.”

  “Well, it is soon,” I say, grinning at her.

  “Christmas isn’t soon,” Clementine counters, “but your second date with Roman is.”

  I blush at the reminder, as if I needed one.

  My second date with Roman is tomorrow night. While I’m looking forward to my adventure with SCOUTS 4 GIRLS on Monday, I’m eagerly anticipating the moment when Roman shows up at my door at Wren House.

  And even more eager to see if we will share our first kiss.

  Chapter 9

  Pretty in Pink

  I review the notes in my diary as Cecelia, the personal secretary assigned to me from my father’s staff at St. James’s Palace, drives us to the school that has the chapter of the SCOUT 4 GIRLS group that I’m visiting today.

  “May I tell you something?” she asks as she stops in London traffic.

  I glance up at her profile. “You may tell me anything. You know I value your honesty and guidance.” And I do. Cecelia is a veteran of the Royal Household and knows how to navigate the press better than almost anyone.

  Her lips tip upwards in a small, approving smile. I almost laugh. She tries so hard to be business all the time, but in our months together, we’ve grown close. I can tell she views me as more than an assignment now, which makes me happy.

  “You are beautiful in colour,” Cecelia says softly, referring to the bright pink cashmere jumper and wool overcoat I selected for my visit today. “I always thought you would be, but I knew your theory on wearing white. I thought you used white to protect yourself, as your armour.”

  “Armour?” I ask, confused.

  “White is safe. Expected. You are so careful of making a misstep, either with the press or with Arthur. But it’s good to take chances, Liz. They don’t always work out, but you are a vibrant young woman, and the future of this monarchy. It’s good to see you show more of your true self with your clothing.”

  I know she’s right. I carefully thought out my strategy with white and the image it projected, and I wanted to be safe. I didn’t want to fail. But since taking a chance to try and find Roman, I’ve seen the wonderful things that can happen when I do take a risk, even a small one.

  “So why pink today?” Cecelia asks as the light turns green.

  I blush. I turn my head and stare out the window of the Range Rover so she can’t see my expression of happiness. I can’t tell her the truth, that when Roman and I talked on the phone last night, he mentioned how beautiful I was with my pink scarf on the other night, how it lit up my face. I’m wearing this as a secret hello for him, before our date this evening.

  I paired my colourful jumper and coat with winter white trousers and black high heeled boots, but pink is the dominant colour today. I told him this morning to pay attention to my appearance and look for a hidden message for him. After hearing Cecelia’s words, I think I’ll start to incorporate more colour into my appearances.

  “It was just time to try something new,” I tell her.

  I pick
up my phone and go to the Twitter list I’ve created for the royal reporters I follow. A stream of coverage for Antonia’s event pops up. She is visiting a neurology wing at a London hospital as part of her new cause in honour of her most beloved future daughter-in-law, Clementine, who had her own battle with a brain tumour.

  My stomach recoils with nausea. Antonia hates Clementine, but since the public adores her, she has shifted her strategy to ride that wave of popularity and be the doting future mother-in-law.

  For a moment, I wonder if Xander is right. If he did marry a girl like India, his life would be much easier. India would be entering a world she knows, one she is at ease with, and she would do it with the full support of the queen and her staff, unlike Clementine.

  I swallow. Antonia would view Roman the same as Clementine, as an intruder unworthy of the monarchy.

  She would never support Roman in this world.

  I shake the thought from my head and scold myself for planning ahead again with him. I come back to today and focus on the load of press Antonia is receiving, which is good. I know not to upstage her, so I made sure to schedule my appearance after hers. I am hosting a reception at Buckingham Palace tomorrow night, but I made sure she wasn’t appearing anywhere that night before I put the event in my diary.

  I exhale. It’s such a balancing act, more than I ever dreamt it would be. But it’s crucial to never upstage Her Majesty.

  Cecelia draws near the school in Islington. I see crowds have gathered outside the barriers, and of course, the press and paparazzi are waiting for me, too. I close my diary and put away my fountain pen. I already have planned who I will meet upon entering the school, who will show me around, etc., but I always go off-script a bit, too. People know I will pose for pictures before going in, to make the press’s job a bit easier. I always stop and talk to some of the people kind enough to wait outside, in the cold, to greet me, and I do the same on the way out, too.