by Aven Ellis
The boutique is small and full of gorgeous bridal gowns made of the most exquisite fabrics, with intricate details. Elegant chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the scent of freshly-cut roses fills the air.
“Oh!” Amelia gasps, moving towards the gown that is on display to my right. “Isn’t this gorgeous? See the fullness of the skirt?”
I grin. The way I can go on about pens and Roman can talk about seeds is how Amelia can speak about wedding dresses.
“Your Royal Highness?”
I turn around and see a sales woman approaching me. She is elegantly dressed in a black wrap dress, her silver hair cut into a chic, pixie-like cut.
“I’m Pamela. I will be your fashion consultant today.” She extends her hand, and I shake it.
“Please, call me Liz,” I say, smiling.
“Amelia, welcome back,” she says brightly.
I cock an eyebrow, and Amelia blushes.
“Cocktail gowns,” she says firmly. “Family business, you know.”
Yes. With a huge side of wedding gown daydreaming, I think.
“Amelia tells me you are looking for a reception dress for tonight,” Pamela says, opening her leather journal.
“Yes, I have a formal reception at Buckingham Palace.”
Pamela doesn’t bat an eyelash.
“I have a seamstress on site ready to go, so we can accommodate you today,” she says swiftly.
“Thank you,” I reply, grateful that I am able to get such service.
“We have some lovely winter white gowns that would make stunning evening wear,” she says, leading me towards a display of dresses.
“Oh, no. I want colour.”
Pamela freezes as another sales woman walks by, her heels clicking against the floor and a garment bag rustling as she takes a discreet, one-second glance at me. “Colour?” Pamela repeats, as if she heard me incorrectly.
“Yes. I want colour.”
A smile brightens her face. “Then let’s get you into something fabulous and statement-making.”
Statement-making, I think with excitement.
Yes. That’s what this dress is: a statement that I’m no longer playing it safe. I’m ready to take chances. I want to be seen as a vibrant woman who is confident enough to let the world see my personality in my dress. I’m smart and worthy of the position I have, and no matter what I’m wearing, people can be confident I’m doing the UK proud.
We follow Pamela to the back of the boutique, where the formal dresses are. “A lot of our orders are custom, so we’ll need to find something off the rack that we can alter immediately.”
I glance at Amelia, who gives me a reassuring nod. They begin flicking through gorgeous gowns. I’m shown dresses in rich red, shimmery silver, and deep pink.
I begin to doubt my choice to not wear white. Ugh, I shouldn’t have decided to do this for tonight. As with everything I do, this needed a plan, with examples of what I like, the colours I’d like to try, and plenty of time built in for alterations.
The fact that I’m here, thinking of going so far off my script, should terrify me.
But thanks to Roman, I’m inspired to leave the plan in my diary.
While Amelia and Pamela discuss the merits of a coral twist satin dress, I move down the row, to a rack filled with dark gowns.
Then I freeze.
I see my dress.
I move towards it, drawn to it, needing to touch it.
I pull the dress out, and a gasp escapes my lips.
The dress is a long evening gown in navy. It has a plunging V-neckline, but it’s underneath a sheer navy top with long sleeves. The waist is fitted, and then the dress is straight until it flares a bit at the bottom.
But the best part of the dress is the embroidery. It’s covered in exquisite vines, flowers in full bloom, and butterflies, in shades of rich violet, pink, and greens. I run my fingers over the sheer fabric covering the delicate work, and excitement surges through me.
I draw an anxious breath of air and dare to read the size on the tag. Please be a ten. Please be a ten…
I close my eyes for a brief moment, then make myself check the sizing.
10.
It’s all I can do not to squeal in excitement.
If this dress fits like I think it should, at the most, I might need only minor alterations here and there to perfect the fit. I brought a couple of pairs of heels that would work with assorted colours, but my silver Jimmy Choo heels will be beautiful with this stunning dress.
This dress represents my growth and change in my role.
In myself.
And it’s for the man who has his soul tied to the earth, and who nurtures the land and is passionate about the environment. The man who is bringing beauty in the world to life, and who is stirring this new view of myself.
This dress is not only for me tonight.
It’s for Roman.
Chapter 14
Putting the Cat Among the Pigeons
Cecelia escorts me as we walk towards the Picture Gallery at Buckingham Palace, the majestic room where the reception will begin this evening. I will meet and talk to guests over cups of tea and canapés before moving to the ballroom to give my brief remarks ahead of the presentation of the entrepreneur awards.
“I can’t get over the change in you,” Cecelia says as we move from one long corridor to another on the world-famous red carpeting covering the floors. “You’re wearing colour. Actually, multiple colours, and a pattern!”
“I’ve come to the conclusion,” I say slowly, “that I can prove my value and worth in colour as well as white.”
“The press is going to eat this dress up, as much as they did the red draped coat Clementine wore this afternoon. That asymmetrical cut, with the tartan black-and-red wool sheath underneath, was lovely.”
“She was radiant in all the pictures,” I say, thinking of her and Christian smiling, shaking hands, and talking to the people at their walkabout. “People loved her. Did you see all those American flags woven in with the British ones?”
“I’ve never seen Christian appear more comfortable with the crowds than he was today,” Cecelia adds. “He was smiling and engaging. The sad prince is gone.”
“Did you see how he put his hand on her back protectively?” I ask, warmth filling my heart. “He loves her so much, Cecelia. Clementine is so bright and vivacious, and she brings out the best in him. You could see it today. And he does the same to her.”
My mind shifts to Roman. He has already brought out a change in my clothing, and in my approach to my work.
“You could see how they connected with the people in the senior centre, too.” Cecelia says, interrupting my thoughts. “You would never know it was Clementine’s first event.”
“Clementine is a natural at this. You could see in her reactions with the public that she was sincere.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Cecelia says.
I smile as we near the Picture Gallery. It’s one of my favourite rooms in the palace. Its pink-flocked wallpaper is adorned with some of the best pieces of art in the world, including works by Rembrandt and Rubens. I first fell in love with it for a different reason, however. As a little girl, the pink wallpaper was magnificent, but it was also the place I used to chase Xander up and down when he was annoying me by snatching my doll and then throwing it to Christian as they engaged in a game of keep away, until one of our parents broke it up. Even then, Xander was mischievous.
I pause as I think of India, and how serious and rigid she is, and once again, my gut screams at me that this is not the girl for him. He needs someone to settle him down, yes, but he also needs someone who can push him, challenge him, and keep that spark in his eyes while doing it.
That reminds me: Xander hasn’t returned my phone calls. But he should know he can’t avoid me—or my questions—for long.
I stop as we approach the corridor that leads to the gallery.
“Liz?” Cecelia asks, coming to a stop beside
me.
I realise what I’m about to do. While guests are enjoying their cups of tea in fine china and picking up canapés off silver platters, as soon as I enter, the talk will be of me. They will gossip about my dress and wonder why am I not wearing my signature white.
Like the old British saying, I’m about to put the cat among the pigeons. Antonia will be furious that I defied her tonight and didn’t slip back into my non-threatening custom white.
I hold my head high. I’m proud of the decision I’m making. Yes, there will be consequences, but I’ve learnt that taking risks is important for evolving. It’s how I found Roman. It’s how I’m finding my true identity as a royal, one that is as unique and individual as I am.
As Liz.
And there is no better time to do it than now.
The evening was magnificent.
I feel radiant as I slip through the halls of Buckingham Palace. The reception has ended, and everyone left buzzing about the organisation’s direction for the upcoming year: to help young people get their businesses off the ground. The energy in the room was full of excitement for the future and the young minds who will shape it.
I head back to my office at the palace, which Arthur gave me upon graduation, and slip inside. Normally after an event, I like to sit down and write a report of it while it’s still fresh in my mind, listing what went right, what went wrong, and what I could improve upon.
I sit at my desk, still dressed in the evening gown, and open a new word file on my laptop. As someone who plans everything, I love this part of my work. Dissecting the event to see how it worked and utilising that information for the future is a planner’s dream.
But tonight, I’m distracted. My thoughts aren’t locking into the event post-mortem like they normally do. I glance at my clutch. My mobile is safely tucked away in there, so I can focus on this task and then head home for the night. I don’t need to read press reports or see the first pictures that have shown up on social media, but I’m desperate to know if Roman has texted me.
I want to rehash the night with him and find out if he has seen any pictures and figured out this dress was chosen to honour the way he’s made me feel.
No, I scold myself. You are working right now.
I begin to type:
O4 December
I lift my eyes from the screen to my clutch.
I wonder if Roman messaged me.
We exchanged a few texts as I was getting ready, and I told him to pay attention to my dress this evening. He guessed—incorrectly—that I would be wearing pink.
I tear my eyes away from my clutch and exhale loudly as I watch the blinking cursor on the screen.
Okay. I will write this report, and my reward will be checking my phone for texts from Roman. As soon as I get this done, I will do that.
I dive into my work. Though not completely, as visions of Roman’s smile dance in my head as I go through my usual list of questions and jot down notes on each one.
The second I hit “save,” I reach for my clutch, eagerly retrieving my phone. I feel anxious and excited as I scroll through my messages: one from Amelia, one from Clementine, Victoria…
I stop.
There’s one from Xander, which I am eager to read, but I scroll past that one for now.
Then I see the one I’m looking for:
You were breathtaking tonight in that dress, Lizzie. I can’t imagine what you looked like in person. I’d have a hard time believing anything that beautiful could be real.
My heart is racing from his heartfelt words. I decide to be bold in my response:
I know we don’t have an official engagement on the diary until tomorrow, but I am still in this dress if you would like to verify it is indeed beautiful in person.
I hit send and take a moment to retrieve my navy overcoat from the coat stand.
Ding!
I hurriedly tie the sash around my waist and retrieve my phone to read his reply:
If this is an invitation to meet you at Kensington Palace, it is accepted.
Electricity fills me. I reply that I will meet him there and that I’m leaving Buckingham Palace now.
I slip out of my office, practically floating down the regal halls in exuberance. I can’t wait for Roman to see me in this dress.
And to see how he’ll react when he finds out the inspiration for it.
As I walk down the corridor, still thinking of Roman, I pass a bust of a young Arthur along the wall, from when he was the Prince of Wales.
Prince of Wales.
Xander.
I can’t believe I forgot to read his message! I quickly retrieve my mobile, amazed at how Roman can distract my thoughts, though in the best of ways.
Daring gown tonight, Your Royal Highness. Besides the motivation of pissing off my mum, which puts this in the win column, what is the reason? Oh, and your texts about India? I’m avoiding them. I’m no longer a philanderer, but I’m still annoying.
How does Xander have the amazing ability to be both charming and exasperating within the few characters of a text message? I reply as I continue my journey through BP, as the family calls it, to the car park.
I have been inspired by someone new in my life. His name is Roman, and he’s a gardener for the estate where Clementine used to work. I’m one hundred percent falling for him, Xander. He’s smart. Sensitive. Kind. We’re alike yet different. He challenges me in all the right ways. I know if we get serious, the road ahead will not be easy for him, but I don’t want what is easy. I want what is right.
I hit send. Xander will know that last line is a reference to him choosing India.
By the time I have reached the car park, Xander has replied:
Liz. You can choose the harder path because you aren’t going to be the king. I see what the press has done to Clem. I see how hard it was on Christian. I know she’s being adored now, but we both know that will change. Now that I’m at the point where I need to think about a relationship, I’m not willing to do that. India is a safe choice. She knows this world. More to the point, she can handle it.
I freeze as I reach my car. I’m alarmed that he used the word safe. One thing that has never fit his personality is the word safe. Xander will regret the safe choice for the rest of his life; I know he will. But his words also send a reminder of reality to me, words that make my heart freeze over in fear.
Will Roman be able to handle my world once he is truly inside?
I turn over my shoulder and stare at Buckingham Palace, all lit up against the midnight-blue sky. This isn’t Roman’s world. The man I’m falling for is happy in solitude, in his gardens and home in Shepherd’s Bush, building tables and peering at seeds online.
I bite down hard on my lip. Will he hate this world, even if I’m in it? Will he be wounded by the intrusion and judgements that will enter his life? Is it fair to do this to him? To my surprise, tears fill my eyes, and the palace swims in front of me.
With a jolt, I understand that while I have lived my whole life afraid of men disappointing me, the shoe is now on the other foot. I don’t want to disappoint him. I can’t bring him into my world and have him hate me for it.
Or leave me because of it.
Ding!
I blink back the tears and glance down at my phone. It’s a message in the squad’s WhatsApp group chat. I click on it and see a picture of Clem and Christian, dressed in hoodies and joggers and all cosy on the sofa, their faces lit up in joy. The message underneath reads:
Successful day for the squad! Clementine nailed her first engagement, and Liz knocked that reception out of the park. Anyone up for late night pizza and beer? Let us know.
I re-read the message. Clementine and Christian are happy and in love. They are meant to face this life together. Christian had to take a risk to know that Clementine could be happy in his world, and despite the hardships, she chose this life because she chose him. I have to shove these fears down and allow Roman to make that same choice.
I open the door and
slip inside my car. I draw a breath of air. I’m going to do this the right way. I’m going to keep this relationship a secret until I know Roman can handle what is to come, and he is sure he wants to try this world on for size.
I’m going to protect him with all that I have.
But tonight? I think it’s time for Roman to spend some time with the people who know me the best, and who are closest to my heart.
I’m going to bring him into the squad.
Chapter 15
Parma Ham and Rocket
As I finish touching up my makeup in the hall mirror, I hear the sound of a car travelling down the road. As it grows closer, my stomach tingles, wondering if it could be Roman.
I’ve already asked the squad if he can join us tonight, and the responses ranged from Christian’s “Don’t be daft, of course he can” to a “Squeee! YES!” from Clementine and a “Who is ROMAN?!? You’re bringing a MAN? HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS, ELIZABETH?” from Victoria.
Ha! When my baby sister uses “Elizabeth,” she’s pissed.
But the second Victoria sees me with Roman, she will forget all about the fact that I hadn’t been giving her all the details. All she has ever wanted was for me to stop shutting down around men, and now I can tell her she was right. I realise I do want a man in my life.
And that man is Roman.
I go to the window and part the curtains. I see his Land Rover pulling up to my cottage, and excitement surges through me. I force myself to step back so he won’t find me with my face practically smashed up against the glass in eagerness to see him.
