by Aven Ellis
“It’s hideous,” he says.
“I love it.”
“Ah, wait, I have a tree topper in that last bag,” Roman remembers, interrupting my thoughts. He moves over and pulls it out. “A fairy.” Then he shoots me a sheepish grin. “They were out of angels.”
“She’s lovely,” I say, giggling.
“You shall do the honours,” he says, handing her to me.
“I can’t reach that high,” I say, gazing to the top of the tall tree.
“Then it’s a good thing you have me around,” Roman says, picking me up.
I laugh, and he does too, as he easily holds me up in his arms so I can put the fairy on the tree.
I place the fairy on top, and she immediately flops to the side.
“She’s drunk,” I say, laughing.
“Our tree is absolutely the most hideous one in England.”
“I’d say the Commonwealth,” I tease.
I turn back to him, and Roman doesn’t put me down. I move my hands to his face and kiss him. I kiss him for this tree. For listening to me. For showing me what love can be.
His tongue moves against mine in increasing tempo. Heat begins to build in me, and within seconds, he’s lowering me to the sofa. I moan softly against his mouth as his hand slides over my breast, caressing it as he deepens the kiss.
“Wait,” I say, putting my hand on his chest and causing him to stop. “I have a present for you.”
“Oh, I think I’m about to open a great present right here,” he says sexily, his fingertips dancing around the waistband of my jeans.
“Roman, I’m serious. I have a special present for you. Please open it now.”
A smile passes over his handsome face. He lowers his mouth to mine and presses a sweet kiss against my lips. “As you wish. As long as you don’t forget where we left off.”
“Believe me, I won’t,” I promise. “I’ll get it ready, and then you can come in when I call for you.”
Roman gives me a quizzical look but gets up so I can slip into the kitchen. I take out the gift box, and then a bottle of port, and put three glasses next to it.
“All right,” I call out. “Please come into the kitchen.”
I hear Roman move across the hardwood floor and enter the kitchen, where I’m standing next to the box.
“Open this,” I say excitedly.
A curious expression filters across his handsome face. “From The Biscuit Cutter, I see.”
“What can I say? You have excellent taste in bakeries.”
Roman slides off the ribbon, and I hold my breath as he lifts the lid and the layer of tissue on top. I watch him, waiting for realisation to kick in.
He peers down at the cake, his hands slowly moving over the items: the marzipan, the decorations and the ready to roll fondant.
“I think it’s time to bring your Christmas cake tradition back,” I say softly. “To celebrate your grandmother.”
Roman keeps his eyes cast down. He swallows hard, and I panic. Did I make a mistake with this gift? Is it too much?
Slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet mine. I’m shocked to see that they are teary.
“This,” he says, his voice thick, “is the best present I’ve ever received. Thank you. Thank you for bringing her back to me tonight with this gesture.”
I fight back my own tears.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say. “But there’s one thing we have to do first.”
I turn around to reveal the port and three glasses.
“We’ll all have one. Even your grandmother, in spirit.”
“You remembered,” Roman says, his eyes searching mine.
“Of course I did. It was important to you.”
He draws me into his chest, holding me tightly. I snuggle against his checked shirt, inhaling the sandalwood soap on his skin and listening to his heartbeat.
In this moment, I know I’m in the place where I’m meant to be. With this man. Celebrating his beloved grandmother and a tradition Roman thought he lost forever when she died.
This is what love is.
And this is what I will give Roman for the rest of his life if he falls in love with me, too.
Chapter 20
Spilling the Tea
The temperature has taken a strong dip as I make the walk from my cottage to Helene’s apartment at Kensington Palace on Friday.
I shiver inside my coat. I’m cold and I’m tired. Yesterday was exhausting. I was up late with Roman on Wednesday night and then woke up early with him to have breakfast before he went to work. Then I had a meeting with Cecelia, followed by a draining lunch with Mum, who went on about how Father is destroying our family and the possibility of my sisters finding out.
I wince as they come to mind. They would be upset that I knew and didn’t say a word, but it’s not my story to tell. Victoria would explode. She would hate Father for what he did and hold on to that anger. Bella would be upended in a different way. She is incredibly close to Father. They are so similar in interests—both avid consumers of history—and how they see the world, it would destroy the perfect picture she has of him—and a huge part of her heart, too.
My hair blows straight back as the biting air cuts across me. I managed to put my worries aside to attend my board meeting this afternoon, for a culinary arts organisation for teens in trouble. It was a great meeting, and I loved working with the board to come up with ideas for fundraisers. One is going to be a dinner created by the students this spring, which I will host at St. James’s Palace. It will be a black-tie affair, with the price of the tickets going towards the expansion of the programme. The students will get to man the palace kitchen for the night, and I can’t wait to see what they will do.
After this busy day, I should collapse on my bed and settle for a bowl of Frosted Shreddies and my joggers, but I always rally when it’s time for tea at Helene’s. I smile as I gaze at the Clock Tower wing, which is where apartment 1A is. It’s actually is a four-storey house with 30 rooms. I’ll have to remember to tell Roman this; he’ll find it amusing.
I tuck my chin down as the wind whips up again, trying to stay warm. Tea sounds so good right now, and nothing warms my heart like spending a Friday evening with Clementine, Helene, and Jillian. Since Clementine introduced Jillian to Helene, they have become thick as thieves, and she has become part of the weekly afternoon tea.
I walk up to the door and ring the doorbell. I’m ushered in by her butler, Thomas.
“Good afternoon, Your Royal Highness,” he says.
I smile at him. This is our routine whenever my schedule permits me to come to Friday tea.
“You know to call me Liz,” I say, as I always do.
The older man with salt and pepper hair smiles sagely at me. “Yes, ma’am.”
I slip out of my coat, and he takes it, carefully draping it over his arm. “Thank you,” I say, “and the day you call me Liz will make me incredibly happy.”
He chuckles. “That, my lady, won’t happen.”
“Well, it should,” I say. “But I know you will not let down that royal guard of yours, will you?”
“No, ma’am.”
I shake my head and cross the expansive foyer, with a black-and-white marbled checked floor and equine-inspired art on the walls. I hear my aunt’s laughter coming from the living room, and my heart is happy as I approach the doorway.
As I stand in the entrance, I find myself still amazed at the renovation that has taken place in this room. Helene let Jillian, a retired interior designer, go to town on her living room, and now it’s refreshed and chic. There’s a large tartan Chesterfield sofa with zebra and silver pillows and a round, rosewood coffee table with a lush arrangement of white flowers and greenery in a crystal vase. Two houndstooth armchairs are across from the sofa, on the other side of the table. A plush silver chair is next to the roaring fire, and the same deep shade of silver is used for the long, floor-to-ceiling curtains. On the other side of the room is a gorgeous, sophisticated Christmas tree,
the opposite of mine, with white, twinkling fairy lights and modern decorations in silver, tartan and zebra patterns. It’s a complete departure from the stuffy chintz and gold that was here before.
I’m the last to arrive, and as I walk into the room, Helene rises to greet me. “Oh, my darling Liz, you’re finally here,” she says, pressing a kiss on my cheek.
“You know this is the best part of Friday,” I say, returning her kiss with a warm hug.
I take my seat next to Clementine on the sofa. “Hello,” I greet her, smiling.
“Hello,” she says, smiling brightly back at me.
I turn to Jillian. “How are you, Jillian?”
“I’m wonderful. Dragging this apartment out of the thirteenth century has been my biggest design challenge ever.”
“She lies,” Helene says. “Eighteenth century is more like it.”
“This room is more you,” I say, thinking of my fun-loving aunt, who has a wicked sense of humour and modern tendencies.
“Who knew I liked zebra?” Helene asks. “Well, I like it on almost everything except boxers. If I saw a zebra print on a seventy-year-old man, I’d scream in horror.”
“I’d pass out if I had the pleasure of seeing boxers, zebra pattern or not,” Jillian declares. She shifts her attention to Clementine. “Live the dream, darling.”
Clementine laughs. “Oh, I am.”
I smile. I love how easy it is to discuss anything with Jillian and Helene.
“So I’ve done a thing,” Jillian says, leaning forward in her chair.
“What?” Clementine asks.
“I’ve joined a dating website,” Jillian announces.
“Get out!” Clementine cries in joy.
“She needs to,” Helene says. “You should see these men. Older than dust. Too horrid for our vibrant Jillian.”
“I thought I would have to do some swipe thing,” Jillian says. “But no. They send you a list of matches.”
“They’re all dreadful,” Helene complains as the tea trolley is brought in.
“Are you both looking at the profiles together?” I ask.
“No, Jillian sends me the candidates on WhatsApp.”
“You have a WhatsApp account?” I ask.
“Of course I do,” Helene says as Kim, one of her household servers, begins setting up the coffee table for tea.
I smile as I see a carafe for hot water and an assortment of tea bags. Helene hates dealing with tea leaves, so she doesn’t. Antonia would not approve of using tea bags for an afternoon tea. I glance around the revamped living room. She’d hate this design, too. And she would be aghast at the idea of Helene using WhatsApp and checking out men with her friend.
In fact, Antonia might form two wrinkles in her forehead with that thought.
“Why are we not all on a chat then?” Clementine asks, picking up her phone. “We need to have a chat.”
“I need to see these men this site is suggesting for Jillian,” I say, opening my bag and retrieving my own phone.
“No, you don’t,” Jillian groans. “It figures. I’m finally brave enough to put myself back out there, and all my matches are rubbish.”
“Surely not all of them?”
“Yes,” she and Helene say at the same time. Then they collapse into a fit of laughter.
They truly are the best of friends, two brilliant women in the next act of their lives, and I’m blessed to be a part of this scene.
I see I have a new message from Jess, the girl I met last Saturday at greenhouse yoga. The instructor passed her a message from me, and now I have received one directly from her, as I decided I trusted her enough to give her my contact information. I read her message:
What a great surprise to hear from you… I feel like I should say Your Royal Highness. Is that right? I’ve seen that there is going to be a pop-up yoga class at the greenhouse again tomorrow. You game? Then maybe lunch at the estate café afterwards?
Ooh! I don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow, so I can do this. I can also see Roman, as he likes to work Saturday mornings.
“There’s another greenhouse yoga class tomorrow at Cheltham House,” I tell the group as I begin to message Jess back. “I’m going to meet a friend I made there last week if anyone wants to come.”
“I’d say you met a friend,” Clementine says knowingly as Christmas cupcakes are placed on the table.
Helene and Jillian’s heads swivel in unison to look directly at me.
“Friend?” Helene asks, arching her eyebrow up.
I can’t help it. I beam.
“Yes. His name is Roman, and he’s a gardener on the estate. I met him briefly during the time Clementine worked there, and I reconnected with him last week.”
“I think it’s time you spilled the tea,” Helene says.
“If you had added me to your secret WhatsApp, you’d know,” I tease.
“Valid point,” Helene says, her blue eyes twinkling. But you have been added. Now tell me about Roman,” Helene says.
“I will, but first I need to reply to Jess. Does anyone else want to go tomorrow? Eight o’clock in the morning?”
“I’d like to go,” Jillian says as Kim takes the tea trolley out of the room.
“Christian and I are meeting with our wedding planner at nine,” Clementine says, reaching for a tub of hot chocolate, which Helene provides because Clem hates tea.
“I’m giddy imagining the response Her Majesty had to the fact that you and Christian hired an outsider to take the reins,” Helene says. “Did she get a crease in her forehead?”
I burst out laughing. “I’m sure she wanted to. How dare you not use her people?” I tease.
Clementine sighs. “She wasn’t happy, but Christian said she didn’t have a choice.”
“Wedding planning is hard enough when it’s a normal wedding,” Jillian says. “I can’t imagine planning one for the world to see.”
Clementine’s face freezes. I see panic over what her new reality truly is—a rare occurrence. My stomach flips. If I married Roman, it would be a royal wedding, like this one, with crowds and global television coverage. He would have to say his vows to the world and ride in an open carriage afterwards to a cheering public.
He would hate that, I think in a panic. It’s not him. At all.
“My dear Clementine, all will be well,” Helene assures her. “All that matters is that you are marrying Christian. You’ve handled all your appearances beautifully. You are going to be fine. Even better when you imagine Christian waiting for you inside the church.”
I see Clem’s shoulders lower. She exhales. “Yes.”
“And we’ll be right there with you,” Jillian promises.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “You are going to be a gorgeous bride, with a beautiful wedding and a dream life, not because my cousin is a prince but because you are marrying the man you love.”
“Thank you. Most days I’m fine—better than fine—as I do realise I’m living a dream. But a royal wedding is insane. I have sketches coming from the top five designers of my choosing for my gown and a choice of historic chapels. The world is interested in my vows, and I am both humbled and happy.”
“I was in your shoes once,” Helene says. “When I married Paul. I grew up along with the royal family, ran in the same social circles, had been to Buckingham Palace many, many times, and I was still petrified on my wedding day.”
“Hell, I was, and I didn’t have a royal wedding,” Jillian says.
I can see Clementine putting all this into perspective, and at least for now, she doesn’t seem so overwhelmed.
“Are you all right now, sweetheart?” Jillian asks with grandmotherly concern for her.
“Yes, thanks to all of you,” she says.
“So I can send this text,” I say, coming back around to the topic at hand. “Clementine is a ‘no’ for yoga. Jillian is a ‘yes.’ What about you, Helene?”
“No. I’m going to the Welsh National Opera in Cardiff tomorrow night,
so I’ll be getting my hair done and then travelling. I’m leaving out the fact that my body is so stiff, it would fold like a bad hand of cards.”
“Pfft, that is why you need yoga,” Jillian says.
“That is why I don’t need yoga,” Helene retorts. “Now, tea time. Pour.”
“I hope you have more than one cup, because I can pour the tea endlessly about Roman,” I say, sighing happily. “He is smart. Confident. Quirky. Protective. Gentle. He loves the earth and finds his happiness in the garden, nurturing plants to grow and thrive. That comes across in how he treats me, too. I feel like he wants me to be myself and thrive in my role, but on my terms. I’ve only known him a week, but we’ve spent so much time together, Helene. I know this man, and I know he’s for me.”
“I think I need another cup, because the tea is spilling over about him,” Helene says, smiling. “You’re like Christian, you know that?”
“How so?”
“You both walled yourselves off from romance for so long. Then all of a sudden, you meet that right person, and I see the light come on in both of you. You have never spoken so animatedly about anything other than your work, Liz. But now I hear the excitement in your voice. Your eyes are shining, and you are glowing with joy. Which makes me so happy, because you deserve all the happiness in the world.”
“Don’t make me cry,” I say, blinking.
“I could cry for you, because Roman is wonderful,” Clementine says, grasping my hand and squeezing it affectionately. “I always hoped you two would find your way together.”
“I do worry about how he’ll handle the media attention,” I confide. “He loves working in quiet. How will he handle the press waiting for him when he leaves work? Or when they are waiting for him outside his flat?” The joy is sucked right out of my heart as reality hits. “Or when the press mocks him for not being who a princess should be with.”
“Liz. Don’t underestimate him,” Helene warns. “You talk to him about your fears. You prepare him. It’s dangerous to start writing reactions for him.”
