The Princess Pose (The Modern Royals Series Book 2)

by Aven Ellis

  I nod, although I don’t want to spook Roman with all this talk after a week.

  “I’m always here to talk to him, as I know his experience from the commoner side,” Clementine adds. “The squad, once they all know, will help him adjust.”

  I exhale. “What about Antonia? You don’t think she’ll make his life hell?”

  I keep my tea with Antonia a secret. Otherwise, Helene would be dialing up Arthur, and Clementine would be telling Christian, and that’s not what I want. This is my adult problem to handle.

  Somehow.

  “Oh, she can bloody well piss off,” Helene says.

  I can’t help but giggle, as does Clementine.

  “Helene!” I cry.

  “She’s a miserable woman who is desperately wanting her family to remain as elitist as possible,” Helene continues. “She and the old dowager queen can get their knickers in a twist about a gardener ruining the bloodlines, which is ridiculous. Who cares? The world is changing, and they are utterly tone deaf to it. Do you see how people love Clementine? The modern love story? You would be the same. The gardener and the princess. I think it sounds lovely.”

  “Love will always have challenges,” Jillian says. “However, your position is a bit different to Christian’s, as you are more removed from the throne. There will be an interest in you, but Roman will never gather the attention that Clementine, as an American becoming a duchess, will.”

  I absorb the advice of these wise women and decide they are right. If Roman falls in love with me, he’ll go through these challenges. It won’t be easy, but I know if his heart is involved, he can do it.

  “Enough talk of what can go wrong,” Helene advises. “Let’s talk about what can go right.”

  “Talk? I think we need to celebrate,” Jillian declares. “Liz has found a good man, who I doubt would wear zebra boxers.”

  “Oh, no, he doesn’t,” I say without thinking.

  All eyes shift to me.

  Now my face is on fire.

  “You’ve slept with him!” Helene says gleefully.

  I know my raging red face has provided the answer.

  “How come you didn’t tell me?” Clementine squeals, although I can tell she is delighted.

  “I take it it was good?” Jillian asks, leaning forward in her chair.

  “Isn’t the old saying ‘a lady never tells?’” I ask.

  “Nobody here is a lady,” Helene teases. “I think there’s more tea to be spilled.”

  “Oh, forget tea. It’s time for champagne,” Jillian says.

  “Splendid idea,” Helene says, picking up her phone. “Kim? Please bring in some champagne… Yes, that is all, thank you.”

  “We’re having champagne because I had great sex?” I ask, laughing.

  “Oh, so it was great?” Jillian asks. “We must have a drink to that!”

  “I’ll celebrate anyone who is having sex,” Helene declares.

  “You could be having sex,” Jillian points out. “You are a vivacious, witty, spectacularly attractive, mature woman.”

  Helene shoots her a pointed look. “Yes, but I’m aiming for a man who has teeth. The last man who hit on me was Lord Hampshire, and I’m sorry, when his dentures slipped during dinner, I could imagine that happening during sex.”

  “He could have taken them out for you,” Jillian says, her eyes sparkling.

  “Oh, yes, I’d love nothing more than to look over at the bedside table and see his dentures in a cup.”

  “Wouldn’t he put them at the sink, by the toothbrushes?”

  “He can put his teeth anywhere he likes. I’m not sleeping with him. Besides, I think he has a saggy butt. Oh, I miss a nice, tight bum. You should put that on your dating profile, Jillian. Seeking to date a nice, lovely man with a glorious bum.”

  Now Clementine and I are dying with laughter, and Helene and Jillian join in. I feel as though my life is so much richer with these incredible women, who have faced all kinds of challenges in their lifetime and have come out the other side as strong, funny, witty, engaging people. Friendship truly knows no age boundary.

  As they continue to laugh and joke, I know I’d be a wise woman to take their advice to heart. Clementine has been in Roman’s shoes. Helene and Jillian have decades of life experience for me to take in when it comes to romance and relationships.

  If I take their word, and Roman falls in love with me, we’ll be okay.

  And that thought is worth a glass of champagne indeed.

  Chapter 21

  Ready for Headstands

  I head across the grounds of Cheltham House, ready for my yoga class this morning. I’m truly impressed at the grasses and flowers still in bloom in December. I know from Roman that it takes a lot of planning to keep the grounds beautiful all year round, and he does a lot of research to ensure they are colourful and enticing no matter what time of year it is.

  Thinking of Roman and meeting my friends for this class are what is keeping me going despite the headlines that have hit this morning. They painted me in a negative light and are complete rubbish and untrue, which normally would make me laugh. But not this time, because I know where this leak came from.

  Antonia has launched the first attack in her war against me.

  In her lies, spun by her allies to more than willing tabloid ears, she has pitted me against Clementine. My stomach churns as I remember seeing the articles that appeared in the squad chat this morning. The headlines are imprinted in my brain:

  COLOUR OF JEALOUSY?

  GREEN WITH ENVY LIZZIE LEAVES WHITE BEHIND AS CLEMMIE’S POPULARITY SOARS.

  ROYAL FEUD: THREATENED BY CLEMMIE, LIZ VOWS WAR

  TROUBLE AT KENSINGTON PALACE?

  TRUE COLOURS—LIZZIE IN A TIZZY OVER CLEMMIE

  I get furious as they flash through my head. Amelia called me, pissed at how ridiculous the press was being, dreaming this up within a week of Clementine’s first public appearance. Roman, who likes to arrive early on the estate, hasn’t seen them yet and won’t until he’s done with work. He’ll be as furious as Amelia when the alerts come up on his phone.

  The squad, on the other hand, thought it was hysterical, as they don’t know it was Antonia who planted the stories and thought the press had been eager for a good duchess versus princess cage match.

  But I do.

  I also know this is a warm-up for her real attacks.

  I pop open the door to the greenhouse. I’ve arrived early to make sure Jillian and Jess will be able to put their mats by mine. I find a spot in the back and unroll my mat. I think about all the articles and comments and tweets and posts that are going to happen while I’m in here this morning, with no way to stop it. I must shrug it off and stay the course.

  And keep Roman under wraps until I’m sure he can handle the press and public scrutiny that is going to come his way.

  A few more students arrive, and I know I’m recognised. I smile and say “hello,” they do the same, and I wonder if they’ve seen the headlines. Do they think I’m evil? That I honestly hate Clementine? That I am nothing more than a spoilt, jealous cow?

  I haven’t even looked to see what Twitter is saying.

  Ugh, I don’t want to know.

  Well, I kind of want to know.

  No, I do not!

  The door opens again, and in walks Jillian, so I leave the stupid idea of retrieving my mobile and scanning Twitter aside.

  For now.

  I watch as she approaches. Jillian has mastered chic on a whole new level. Her silver hair is swept back into a chignon. Her warm-up jacket is a fitted pale grey, with zips on the sides and thumb holes on the sleeves, and her yoga leggings are amazing. They are shimmery and slick and seem like a wet second skin.

  Endlessly cool.

  Jillian smiles as she sees me. “Good morning,” she says, taking the space to my right. She eases off her black yoga rucksack and sets it next to her feet, which are adorned with grey New Balance trainers. She unzips her jacket to reveal a black and gr
ey camo vest, and when she takes it off, I see her arms are perfectly toned.

  “What is your secret?” I ask. “Your body is incredible.”

  Jillian ties her jacket around her lithe frame. “This body is built by yoga, lots of laughs, a balanced diet, and by finding ample joy in simple things. And gin and tonics,” she adds with a wink.

  I love the truthfulness in her answer, and I know she has provided me with a wonderful roadmap to keep in mind for the rest of my life.

  As we chat, out of the corner of my eye, I see a woman holding up her phone. She is acting like she’s reading it, but I know she’s taking a picture of me. I know I can’t control this, but with the media in the mood to kick me around, will the fact that I’m revealing my stomach in a cropped yoga top in public be considered un-princess like? Too showy? Even though half the class is full of them, will I be held to a different standard?

  I already know the answer to that.

  Part of me is angry. Angry because I can’t be a modern woman working out in clothes that make me feel happy and comfortable in my own skin. Angry that I will be judged on something so stupid. And angry that I’m the one who provided the trolls with this ammunition instead of wearing a more modest top.

  Wait a minute.

  I stand up a bit straighter. I am a role model for younger women. Modern women. I’m wearing nothing that no other woman would wear to a yoga class. It’s no different than wearing a bikini at the beach.

  So screw it.

  The door is continually opening now with students streaming in, and I spot Jess. I smile, nodding to my left, where I parked my yoga bag to save her a spot.

  “Good morning,” she says cheerfully.

  I wonder if she has seen the articles yet.

  Liz, shut up, I will myself. You can’t spend the whole morning wondering if people have seen that you are an evil, jealous cow on their Facebook feed this morning.

  “Good morning,” I say, smiling at her. “Jess, I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Jillian Park. Jillian, this is Jess Lui.”

  Jillian smiles at her. “Hello, Jess. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Jess says, her face lighting up in a warm smile.

  “I’m so glad you wanted to meet up,” I say to Jess. “I’m excited about eating afterwards.”

  “Me, too. Have you ever been to the café here? All the produce and herbs are grown right here on the estate.”

  Pride for Roman takes over. I know he’s laid out the culinary garden, and the project has been his baby. His kitchen garden was designed with thoughts on what the chef here could use season by season for sustainability. Every seed, every plant, was put into the earth by his own hands, with each one having a purpose.

  “I haven’t, but I’m looking forward to it,” I say.

  I shift my attention out the windows of the greenhouse. Not for paparazzi like last time, but for Roman. He did say he was working this morning, and when I told him I’d be here for yoga, he said he wouldn’t be able to resist stealing a look at me, which made me happy.

  A tall, elegant woman steps to the front of the room. “Hello, my name is Grace, and I’ll be leading our practice today,” she says. “Please put all your belongings at the back of the room, and make sure your phones are put on silent as I want you all to be in the moment.”

  People begin moving around, and I wonder how much I can stay in the moment when I know Roman might be watching me. A triumphant feeling takes over. Now I’m pleased I wore my black, strappy crop top and long black yoga pants. If Roman is going to sneak a peek, I want it to be a good one.

  Class begins, and I do all I can to focus on my practice. How is it I can walk down endless stairs at BP in high heels, but when I’m in yoga poses, I get wobbly?

  As soon as we start, I know my mind isn’t in the right place. I’m thinking about those stupid articles. Trolls. Antonia. Roman. I go through the motions, but I’m not into it. We work through sequences, and finally, we are at the point where we are going to do a headstand. I had mastered this previously in my private yoga sessions a few weeks ago, and I’m eager to see if I can do it as well as last time.

  I move my hands into position and lower my head to the floor. I lift my hips, straighten my legs, and then walk them towards my head. I’ve done this twice before, so I’m feeling confident about my ability to do it in this class.

  I lift one leg towards the ceiling, moving it into proper alignment. Then I lift my other leg. I don’t get it up right. I try again. No. Now I’m frustrated because I know I can do this. I hate nothing more than knowing I can do something and having problems doing it. I lift my leg again, and as soon as I get it up to the top, I lose my balance and BAM! I flop over on to my back, landing on my mat with a huge thud that echoes through the greenhouse. I accidentally kick my water bottle into the woman in front of me, sending it rolling into her bum as she’s completed her stand and is in child’s pose.

  I gasp, as the pain shooting through my bum and my back is excruciating. But that is nothing compared to the mortification I feel. I had the most ungraceful fall ever. Yet despite my whopping fall, everyone else in the class is going about their practice as if nothing has happened.

  How are they not laughing?

  I glance over at Jess, who has gracefully lowered herself out of her headstand, and her dark-brown eyes dart over to me for a second. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

  I force myself up to a sitting position and nod. She tries to stifle a laugh, and it comes out in a snorting sound, and then she begins to have a coughing fit.

  Now Jillian starts laughing, and I do, too.

  We can’t stop.

  “I need to leave; this is rude,” I whisper to Jess.

  “I think it’s time for a coffee,” Jillian says.

  Jess nods.

  I feel as if I’m being watched again. I turn and glance out the window. There, I find Roman, watching me with a huge smile. My embarrassment increases tenfold. I know from the amusement on his face, he saw my epic headstand fail.

  The three of us roll up our yoga mats, and since we are at the back of the room, we’re able to slip into our shoes and jackets without distracting the class. I’m the first one out the door of the greenhouse so I can say hello to Roman.

  He has a shovel in his hands, which he is casually leaning forward on, and a slightly curved smile on his face. His boots are covered in mud, and I see his red and black checked shirt is stained with it, too. There’s a swipe of dirt across his cheek, and I long to brush it away with my fingertips but resist the urge.

  Oh, Roman is gloriously sexy when he’s working in the garden.

  I lead Jess and Jillian over to him. “Before we get our drinks, I want to introduce you both to a friend of mine who works here.”

  “Hi,” I say, smiling at Roman but not touching him because we are in public. “Roman, I’d like you to meet Jess Lui.”

  “I’d shake your hand, but for obvious reasons, I won’t,” he says, smiling at her.

  “Thank you,” Jess says, smiling back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Then I present Jillian. “And this is Jillian Park, a dear friend of Clementine’s.”

  “Pleasure,” Roman says, nodding.

  “Likewise,” she says. “Both Clementine and Liz speak highly of you.”

  I watch as that cute flush climbs up his neck from the compliment.

  “Thank you,” he says softly.

  “So you might have seen my, uh, ungraceful fall out of my headstand,” I say.

  Now a huge smile lights up his face. “Hmm. Ungraceful is one way to put it.”

  “Stop,” I warn him, laughing.

  Roman gives me a deep, sexy chuckle, and goosebumps sweep over my skin.

  I see another member of the gardening staff come down the path towards us. This man is older, with thick, silvery hair and a tall frame, and he’s carrying a pair of huge clippers in one hand. As he nears us, I can clearly see his full lips and strong j
aw. There’s no doubt in my mind who I’m seeing.

  This man is Roman’s grandfather.

  I hold my breath. I wonder if Roman will introduce us, and if so, will his grandfather know who I am? Maybe not, since we’ve only just started dating. He stops next to Roman, and now the resemblance is even stronger. Same height.

  And the same hazel eyes.

  “Grandfather, I’d like you to meet Liz,” Roman says.

  “A true pleasure, Your Royal Highness,” he says.

  “Oh no, call me Liz, please,” I implore.

  “Roman told me you’d say that,” he replies, smiling broadly at me. “He’s told me a lot about you.”

  Happiness radiates through me from this confession. “He knows me well,” I say, glancing at Roman. I turn my attention back to his grandfather. “But please, I beg you, call me Liz, Mr. Lawler.”

  “I shall call you Liz as long as you call me Clive,” he says warmly.

  “Grandfather, these are Liz’s friends, Jess and Jillian,” Roman says, introducing them.

  Clive says hello to Jess, but when his gaze shifts to Jillian, his eyes linger for a moment.

  “Jillian,” he says slowly. “Lovely to meet you.”

  “Clementine used to rent a room in Jillian’s flat,” Roman explains. “Until recently.”

  “It’s so dreadfully empty without her,” Jillian says. “It’s me prattling around with the telly turned up for sound.”

  “I do the same thing,” Clive says, nodding. Then he smiles, and my heart melts when I see that it’s the same smile that Roman bestows on me. “If you rented a room to Clementine, you must have seen Cheltham House before.”

  “I was here at the house for a tea last month celebrating caregivers,” Jillian explains. “My husband passed away from Alzheimer’s years ago.”

  Clive’s eyes widen. “My wife did as well.”

  I watch this exchange with interest. I steal a glance at Roman, who seems to be studying the interaction between Jillian and his grandfather as much as I am.