by Aven Ellis
Roman chuckles as I run around.
“I told you I can’t cook,” I say, reaching for a tea towel and drying my hands.
“No, I’d say you were otherwise engaged,” he replies, the gold flecks in his eyes growing more intense.
I put the towel down as Roman moves closer to me, and my breath hitches in my throat. His hands frame my face, and then he drops the gentlest of kisses on my already swollen lips. He lifts his head. His hands slide round to my waist, and they are so huge that they practically span my waistline.
“I was right to be afraid,” he says, his voice low.
Elation fills me as a gentle smile lights up his face.
Roman doesn’t want to kiss anyone other than me.
“I have the same thought,” I say, moving my hands up to his neck. “I like the way you kiss me, Roman.”
He bends over so he can press his forehead to mine. “If you didn’t have dinner in the oven, I’d be content to forgo food and kiss you for the rest of the night.”
I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him. “You’ll be hungry.”
“I don’t think so.”
I laugh and put my hands on his, and he laces his fingers through mine.
“Come on. Let me try this stock one more time and get the risotto back to life. By then, the steaks should be ready.”
I retrieve the ready-made stock from the fridge and a clean saucepan, vowing that no matter what Roman does, I’m going to pay attention this time. He makes it a bit easier for me by picking up his wine glass and taking a sip a few feet away from me.
In other words, out of kissing range.
Which is good.
No. That is bad.
“Lizzie?”
I turn towards him. A serious expression is etched across his gorgeous face.
“Please don’t be afraid of anything in your family changing how I feel.”
My heart stops. I don’t know what to say, but Roman continues.
“We all have crazy families and exes, and yes, you have this whole princess thing, which is a bit of an unusual layer,” he says, running his hand through his hair and messing it up. “But I don’t care. I promise you, there’s nothing you can tell me that will make me change my mind about what I want.”
I think he might be able to hear my heart beating now.
“So, what do you want?” I ask, my voice quiet with hope.
“I want a chance to see what we can be,” Roman says simply. “That’s all that matters to me.”
“That’s all I want, too.”
“I don’t date,” he continues, putting his wine glass aside. He moves behind me and slides his arms around my waist, nuzzling my neck as he does.
“Good, neither do I.”
“So, we’ll not date. Except to date each other.”
I laugh, and Roman chuckles into my skin, his warm breath a delicious sensation against my neck.
“Perfect plan,” he says, standing upright and dropping a kiss on the top of my head.
I somehow manage to successfully heat the stock, which I add to the pan of risotto. Before long, dinner is ready. We move to the dining room and sit at one end of the table.
“Tell me more about Elizabeth of York,” Roman asks quietly.
This time, I feel more secure in the truths I’m about to tell him. Because the man who has held my hands so lovingly, who kissed my palm, who protected me from the press, and who risked his heart by kissing me so passionately this evening isn’t going to be scared off by the reality of my life.
I trust him.
Over dinner, I tell him what it was like to grow up inside palace walls. I explain how I knew early on I was different, and I share the rich experiences this life has afforded me, like being able to travel the globe, live in palaces, and enjoy holidays in places like Africa, Biarritz, and Monaco. I’ve eaten dinner with heads of state in elaborate, beyond reality-type dinners, steeped in that royal magic and protocol.
“I saw a picture of you at a state dinner last summer,” Roman says, gazing at me. “You were in a white evening gown and gloves, and you were breathtaking.’
I blush from his compliment. “Thank you. That was the dinner for the king and queen of Spain.”
“You had some bling that night,” he teases.
I laugh. “Yes. I had a pair of diamond and aquamarine earrings that were a gift from my grandmother.”
“I bet they matched your eyes,” Roman says, gazing at me affectionately. “Your eyes are aquamarine.”
“They did,” I say.
“How come you weren’t wearing a sash like Antonia?” he asks before taking another bite of his risotto.
“Those are royal orders, given as a reward for service,” I explain, taking a sip of wine before continuing. “I have not been awarded one.”
“And no tiara?”
“You are obsessed with the tiara, aren’t you?”
Roman chuckles. “I’ve never had a date with a woman who owns a tiara.”
“You still haven’t,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “I do not have a tiara. In our family, you don’t wear one until you are married. Clementine will get the next tiara to wear in the spring when she marries Christian.”
Roman furrows his brow. “That sounds so archaic.”
“It is. A lot of things about the rules in my life are, from who you talk to at a state dinner and in what order you turn to talk to the next person to the clothing we are expected to wear at traditional events, like Trooping the Colour, down to the necklines and hemlines. Victoria, my youngest sister, loathes it. She once picked out an off-the-shoulder suit, and my parents forbade it, saying she would catch so much hate in the press for being that far off from what we are expected to wear,” I stop for a moment and give Roman a small smile. “She wore it anyway. My parents were upset, Antonia was furious, and the press had a field day, calling her a disrespectful royal, a rebel in clothing, while simultaneously giving her credit for moving the fashion forward a notch.”
I reflect on the memory. Victoria is on Antonia’s bad list after that episode. She barely acknowledges her now, which makes Victoria gleeful. But Victoria doesn’t want to undertake a working role like I do. I’m reminded of my pink outfit today, the awful headline, and how I’ve become a threat Antonia will seek to eliminate.
“Where did you go?”
I blink. Roman is studying me with concern in his eyes.
“I might have gone too far by wearing pink today.”
“What? That’s crazy. It’s a colour.”
“No, I upstaged Antonia’s press today,” I say, treading into the area of family secrets that only Clementine knows.
Now Roman will, too.
“Roman, my family is full of craziness and ugliness,” I say, my face growing warm. I avert my eyes from his and stare down into the deep red wine in my glass instead. “We are worse than any reality TV show you can think of. The public has no idea, none. Palace employees sign confidentiality agreements to keep our secrets. People have been paid off to eliminate things from being revealed. And it’s all so stupid and ridiculous, and I can’t believe the things I’m going to tell you.”
I glance up. Roman reaches over and places his hand over mine in a gesture of comfort.
“The king and queen despise each other,” I admit. “If it weren’t against what was expected, Arthur would have divorced her decades ago.”
Roman’s eyes grow wide. “You’re kidding.”
I shake my head. “I adore Arthur. He is everything you see on TV: strong, quiet, solid. He’s a good man who wants nothing more than to help the people of the United Kingdom flourish.”
“And the queen?”
“She’s an awful person. I know people shouldn’t be black and white, Roman. Nobody should be that one-dimensional. But she is. Antonia cares about her position and hanging on to her youth. She was horrible to Clementine, as she saw her as unworthy of being in this ridiculous family, when she’s been one of the best things to ev
er happen to it.”
Roman stares at me, stunned. “She is an evil queen? This sounds like a book, Lizzie.”
I can feel my blush extend to the roots on my head, and I know I’m bright red in shame. “Antonia likes being Her Majesty. She fell in love with the spotlight, and she can only find value and happiness in adoration from others. Clementine is a threat to that.”
Roman is silent for a moment. “And so are you.”
“Yes,” I say. “She will make my life difficult as long as I’m a working royal. She fought against me taking on this role and suggested I go find a real job. Arthur won that battle, but she isn’t about to let me forget where she thinks I should be.”
“You’ve been nothing but an asset and ambassador for them. People love you. You’ve touched them. If Antonia was truly about serving her kingdom, she’d be proud of you. Not jealous.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s the truth. Those little girls today will never forget the encouragement you gave them. Your words were from your heart. Anyone who hears you speak knows that.”
I’m nothing but grateful for his words. His understanding encourages me to continue to the most painful part of my story.
“My parents are miserable,” I say, diving deeper into the cupboard of Chadwick secrets. “I… I found my father in a compromising position with his top advisor. He’s having an affair.”
Roman’s mouth drops open.
“I have to keep that secret. My sisters don’t know, and the guilt of keeping the secret eats me alive. But it’s not my story to tell. Mum knows, of course. Dad simply said he fell out of love with my mum. But since divorce isn’t an option within our gilded walls, he lives and works with his mistress under the same roof. Mum is a mixture of sadness and fury, one moment raging at him, the next wanting me to help her win him back.”
My voice wobbles. Roman squeezes my hand.
“All of them would be better if they could divorce, but they’re trapped. And while we all act happy and joyful and like the perfect family when outside the beautiful palaces, there is pure misery simmering beneath the surface. Now I’m put in the middle of Mum and Dad and terrified this story will somehow find its way out of St. James’s Palace.”
Roman moves his hand to my cheek. “You don’t deserve this. Any of it. I’m so sorry you’ve had to bear all of this.”
“See?” I say, forcing a smile. “We’re regular, messed up people, too.”
“You’re messed up with better holidays, but yeah, I agree.”
I laugh. He smiles in response.
“I bet you don’t have this kind of crazy.”
Roman shakes his head. “My family is pretty normal. Sure, we have our rows and stuff, and our hard times, like when my grandmother died, but nothing dramatic.”
Once again, I think of how normal and quiet his life is. He has his family, who live in the same neighbourhood he does, and his garden. It’s simple and straightforward, whereas mine is like a snow globe. It’s a glass bowl that people stare at and like to shake up, to watch the glitter swirl and fall.
I’m worried that by bringing Roman into this world, I’m about to shake it up in a way he might hate.
Which will lead to him hating me.
Tears fill my eyes. “I like you. I like you more than I should,” I say, forcing the words out of my thickened throat. “But Roman, I could upend your world. Do you see now what I mean? If you date me, you’ll eventually have to face all of this, along with a media who will want to dig up everything about you.”
To my surprise, he gets up, moves next to my chair, and drops down on one knee, taking my hands in his.
“Maybe I’m ready for an upending,” Roman says, his voice commanding. “My life has been stuck, Lizzie. I’ve been in love only once in my life. Once. I fell in love with a girl called Felicity when we were sixteen. We were together all the way through until my last year of university. We commuted to see each other, texted, and spent hours on FaceTime, dying to see each other again as soon as we could. I thought that was it. Forever.”
I search his eyes. I don’t see sadness there, or lingering desire, but simply a man sharing his story.
“I thought I would marry her,” Roman admits quietly. “Then she broke up with me, over the phone after she picked a row. She told me there was more out there in life, and I wasn’t enough. Felicity said she had fallen out of love and had been faking it for a while, until she could find the nerve to break up with me. She said she needed to find someone who could add the excitement to her life that I couldn’t.”
I wince, as I can’t imagine the kind of pain that must have inflicted on his heart. “I’m so sorry, Roman.”
“I was gutted. I shut down. I buried myself in work; that’s all I did. For years. I decided I’d rather be alone. I didn’t need to open myself up to disappoint someone else. I didn’t date. I didn’t mess around. I chose to close myself off and remain alone.”
He stops speaking for a moment. I remove one of my hands from his and caress his face.
“But one day I found myself inside the gates of Kensington Palace, and I was rescued by this princess with no tiara, but with aquamarine eyes and fire in her heart,” Roman continues. “And I was alive again. Now that I’ve been given this chance, I want to take it. With you.”
My heart is filled with relief. I exhale. Roman’s mouth curves up in response.
“Were you worried I’d leave? I told you I wouldn’t. If anything, you should leave after my confession of living as a hermit gardener.”
I lean forward and press my lips against the bridge of his nose. “I happen to fancy hermit gardeners. And you’ve made me exceedingly happy tonight.”
Roman backs up. “Wait. You have a reason to have a mad crush on me that you don’t even know about. Hold on.”
“Where are you going?” I ask as he walks out of the dining room.
“I’ll be right back.”
I smile. If he only knew I already have a mad crush on him. Because I do. An impossible, fully-fledged, I’m-tumbling-for-this-man kind of crush.
And it’s only our second date.
Roman comes back carrying the white box he had left on the console. He places it in front of me and takes his seat at the table. “For you.”
The box is adorned with a red ribbon, which I untie. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” I say.
“Oh, I know, but you’ll be happy that I did.”
Hmm. I get the ribbon off and lift the lid. As soon as I do, the scent of butter and lemon waft towards me. “Roman!” I gasp.
Because underneath the waxed paper, I find two perfect lemon bars.
“I’m not a baker, but I found one who makes lemon bars.”
“I haven’t had one in so long. Thank you so much!” I cry in delight.
I lift my gaze back up to Roman, this man who wanted to surprise me with my favourite treat, and who decided to protect his heart from any chance of hurt until he met me. The fact that he wants to take this chance with me, with all the drama and baggage that is attached to my name, touches me more than he could ever know.
I’m about to tell him so when I hear my mobile ringing from the living room. I instantly sit straight up. “Oh no,” I whisper as the ringtone I have set for Buckingham Palace fills the air.
“What? Liz? Who is that?”
I draw a deep breath and exhale.
“It’s Antonia.”
Chapter 12
True Colours
“The queen is calling you? Don’t you need to get that?” Roman asks, as I remain seated.
Do I need to get it? I ask myself as the mobile continues to ring. She is the queen—a powerful woman who is already jealous of the attention I’ve been receiving. And now she will be in full-on threat mode because of what the tabloids were saying about her today.
But she’s not my boss. Arthur is. It’s nearly eight o’clock, and I’m not working on behalf of the crown at this moment. “No,” I say, s
tanding up. “I’m going to get some plates for the lemon bars. Would you like a cuppa to go with it?”
Roman studies me carefully. “You are letting Antonia go to voicemail?”
“Yes. She’s not calling to congratulate me on my engagement today. She’s calling to invite me to tea, to mark her turf and send me scurrying away. That is not a phone call I care to take in my off hours, and best of all, I don’t have to. Antonia doesn’t own my time, and she won’t get it until business hours tomorrow.”
A slow smile begins to form on Roman’s face, which blossoms into a beaming grin. “This is why I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says. “This fire. You’re confident. Strong. You don’t take rubbish from anyone, whether it’s the press or the queen. Do you know how attractive it makes you?”
My heart swells. He’s not turned off by the fact that I assert myself; in fact, in his eyes, it makes me sexier.
And the fact that he thinks so makes him hotter to me.
“I’m glad you like strong women,” I say.
Roman rises from his seat and moves closer to me. “Not just any strong woman.”
Ooh!
He reaches for my waist and draws me to him.
“What about the lemon bars?” I tease.
“We’ll have them when I come back for breakfast tomorrow,” he says, dropping his mouth on mine.
“I think I could get used to this,” I say, gazing at Roman across the table. “I have my Earl Grey. I’m indulging in this scrumptious lemon bar for breakfast.”
“Scandalous,” he says, cocking an eyebrow.
I smile and continue. “And I’m sharing this meal with a devilishly gorgeous man. That is the best bit.”
Roman’s neck begins to turn red. He ruffles his hair, which makes it stick up, and oh, I am deliciously smitten with this man.
We stayed up until midnight talking and sipping wine in front of the fireplace, cuddling and kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.
Wonderful, sexy, slow, sizzling wine kisses that are now seared in my memory.
And in my heart.
So much so that Antonia’s voicemail—I’ve been summoned to tea on Wednesday to discuss “proper engagement etiquette”—didn’t even make me mad. I was able to put it in perspective. Meaning, while this tea is code for “don’t ever show me up again, you millennial twit,” and she added a veiled warning that she hoped to see me in a more “appropriately-coloured” dress for my reception tonight, it wasn’t the most important thing in my life. Even a summons from Her Majesty couldn’t ruin my blissful state of mind.
