by Aven Ellis
“MUM!” Roman gasps. “What are you wearing? It’s not Christmas Eve!”
It’s all I can do not to laugh. The jumper is so bad, it’s brilliant.
His mother immediately dips into a deep curtsy, ignoring Roman’s horror, and then rises to greet me. “I can’t believe you’re here, Your Royal Highness. In my home! It’s truly an honour, and while I know it’s humble, I hope you will be happy to celebrate with us!” she says in a rush.
She steps aside to let us in. “Please, please, I insist you call me Liz. No curtsy needed. It is my pleasure to be here.”
“Christmas Eve is not for a few days. What are you talking about, ‘celebrate with us?’” Roman says, fixated on what is happening here.
He has told me that, like with my family, Christmas Eve is the night everyone gathers and opens presents.
“Roman, this is the first time you’ve brought a woman home in ages. Shouldn’t we celebrate together?” she says.
I peek into the living room, where everyone is staring at me. Well, except for Darcy, who is grinning as if he’s enjoying watching Roman squirm.
“I’m Eden, by the way,” his mum says. “Oh, goodness, I can’t believe you are dating Roman! I could squeal with joy. You are the princess I’ve always loved best!”
“I think you are squealing,” a man says, rising to greet me. He is wearing the exact same fireplace jumper as Roman’s mum, the LED lights on the fire blinking away. He’s tall, with thick, dark hair that is beginning to grey, and as he comes nearer, the same hazel eyes I saw in Clive shine back at me. “Hello, Liz, I’m Thomas, Roman’s father.”
“It’s an honour to meet both of you,” I say.
“It’s good to have you celebrate with us,” he says warmly.
“Did anyone think to tell me we were doing our Christmas Eve celebrations tonight?” Roman asks.
“Well, I didn’t know you would be seeing Liz,” Eden says, “so I didn’t have the chance to order her a matching jumper, and I didn’t want her to feel weird being the only one without one. Not that a princess would wear a Christmas jumper, you know.”
“Need a drink yet, Roman?” Darcy calls out from his seat in the living room.
“Maybe five,” he replies.
Darcy snickers. Roman looks like he wants the floorboards to swallow him up.
“Oh, Roman, you know your mum loves Christmas more than anything,” another woman says, coming up to me. “Hello, Princess Elizabeth, I’m Lisa, Roman’s aunt.” Then she squeals, her hands flying to her mouth. “I swear I’m dreaming this. Roman and a princess, whoever could have foreseen this? I waited for your mum and dad to come out of the Lido Wing with you. This is so exciting! Our Roman! You picked our Roman!”
I glance at Roman, who has a deep flush climbing up his neck. “I am the lucky one,” I say, smiling. “Roman is an incredible man, who was obviously raised well by amazing parents.”
“I’m Clark,” Roman’s uncle says. I notice he and Lisa are in different Christmas jumpers. Lisa’s has a pug in a Santa outfit on it, and Clark’s has a Nordic pattern with trees and reindeer.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say.
“Here, here, I’ve forgotten to take your coat, oh my goodness,” Roman’s mother says, flustered. “I’m in a kerfuffle right now!”
“I’ve got it, Mum,” Roman says.
“Oh, first, these are for you,” I say, extending the box to Eden. “Mince pies from my favourite bakery.”
His mother’s eyes light up. “Mince pies are my favourite. Did Roman tell you?”
I smile. “He might have.”
“Oh, this is wonderful, wonderful,” she says. “Let me put these straight in the kitchen, and I’ll check on the turkey.”
Roman helps me out of my coat and then removes his. His father takes them, along with my bag, and whisks them away to another room. I feel Roman’s hand find the small of my back, guiding me into the living room. It’s small but cosy. There’s a Christmas tree in front of the window, filled with multi-coloured fairy lights and all kinds of decorations. There is a fire in the fireplace, and Christmas bunting strung across the mantle. I see the table is set in the adjacent dining room, with Christmas crackers on every place setting. He leads me to the sofa, so I take a seat next to Darcy, and Roman sits on the other side of me.
“Hello, Liz,” Darcy says, smiling at me. “Lovely to see you.”
“Hi, Darcy, how are you?” I ask. “Glad your exams are over?”
I’ve rarely seen Darcy, as he’s been studying the past couple of weeks.
“I’m excited to not be in a book or in a library,” he says, shoving back a lock of wavy hair that has fallen over his brow.
“Where’s Grandfather?” Roman asks, glancing around.
“He’ll be here for Christmas pudding,” Darcy says. “He said he had something to do when I called him, though I don’t know what he could be doing on a Wednesday night, but said he would make it for pudding.”
I don’t look at Roman. I know for a fact Clive and Jillian had a date set up long before this dinner was on the calendar. Those two have taken to each other as fast as Roman and I have, and I’ve never seen Jillian glow like she has since she started dating Clive.
“What would you two like to drink?” Clark asks, smiling at us. “Wine?”
“Ask Liz if she would like wassail!” Roman’s mum calls out from the kitchen.
Wassail? What is wassail? I rack my brain for an answer, but I honestly have no idea.
“What is that?” Roman asks, a crease forming in his brow.
Roman’s mum pops her head in the doorway. “Liz, I have a cookbook based on royal family Christmas traditions, and the royals drank wassail at Christmas during the Tudor period.”
Oh. Good to know.
“Are we having a beheading after pudding, too?” Darcy quips. “If we are adding Tudor traditions and all?”
“Darcy! You are speaking about her history!” Lisa chides. She turns and gives me an apologetic look.
Ah, yes, dear old Henry VIII. While we do share the “belonging to the royal family” bit, luckily, I do not share the urge to behead people.
“I would love to try the wassail,” I say, wanting to please Eden.
“Splendid,” she says, clasping her hands together. She stares at me from the doorway, as if I’m a mirage, before she blinks and scurries back into the kitchen. “Thomas! Please come here and bring Liz a wassail!”
“A what?” he yells from the other side of the house.
“Wassail! Don’t you remember the song?”
“No,” he shouts back.
Roman groans. Darcy laughs. Lisa and Clark are staring at me.
“Why don’t you bring us a bottle?” Darcy says. “Roman here looks like he might need it.”
“A bottle it is!” his uncle cries cheerfully.
“I’ll help,” Lisa says, and they both scurry from the room.
“I’m so sorry,” Roman whispers.
I put my hand on his knee. “It’s okay. Thankfully, the Tudor period is way back in the history of the monarchy,” I tease.
“Roman, if she’s going through that cookbook, you don’t think she’ll throw down a boar’s head on the table, do you?” Darcy asks.
“I hope not,” he groans.
“Well, that would top dinner at home,” I tease. “We have turkey.”
My eyes wander around the room, and they settle on the bookshelves, which contain rows upon rows of books about my family. Picture books of Arthur and Antonia’s wedding. Of my parents’ wedding. A book of Arthur’s coronation. Biographies, including one about Xander that is so full of mistruths, we quote it all the time in our group chat to crack ourselves up.
It’s surreal.
Then my eyes land on a spine that says: Princess Elizabeth: Growing up Royal.
Roman grew up in a home with this book about me on the family bookshelf.
Whoa.
“Roman? Can you come here for a moment?�
� his mum calls out, interrupting my thoughts.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, leaning over and brushing his lips against my cheek.
As soon as he’s gone, Darcy shifts his attention to me. “Is our family freaking you out?” he asks, concern in his voice.
I turn to him. “No. I understand their reaction. I only hope they grow to like me for me. Because I love Roman, and because they think we are good together. I hope they will like me for those reasons above all else.”
A confused expression passes over Darcy’s face. “Why wouldn’t they love you for being Liz? You are incredible, and you don’t need the title for them to see that. Right now, they are awestruck. That will pass soon enough. But what you’ve done to change Roman? They already see that.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“We all thought a part of Roman died when Felicity broke his heart,” Darcy says quietly, referring to Roman’s first love. “It went on for years. I’ve never seen anyone shut down the way he did. It was like one woman broke him, and he put himself in a self-imposed exile. Nobody was worth taking that risk for. Until he met you.”
My heart quickens.
“Liz, we’ve all talked about the change in him. Roman loves you. For him to even date you was a huge deal. For him to bring you here, to meet his mum and dad, means he loves you.”
I blink back tears.
“I know Roman as much as I know myself,” Darcy continues. “I’ve seen him with Felicity, and I’ve seen him with you. He loved Felicity, don’t get me wrong, but his feelings for you are more intense. When he talks about you, it’s with a deep respect for the things you do to help people. How you are passionate and assertive in pursuing issues you believe in. How you face all these challenges that have been put upon you since birth, and you are okay with that because you know the good you can do. He not only loves you, he admires you.”
I clear my throat, hoping I’ll be able to speak.
“I love him,” I confide to Darcy. “I know Felicity let him go, but I never intend to.”
“So you know after only a few weeks?” he challenges.
“I do.”
Now Darcy flashes me a huge smile, and I once again see the resemblance to Roman when he does.
“Brilliant. Will you introduce me to some available women at your wedding?”
I flick him on the arm. “I doubt you will need my help.”
“Roman has that fit gardener thing going on. All I have is architecture. Girls don’t find that as exciting.”
“Darcy. This conversation tells me you love your cousin. You have depth, like he does. There’s a romantic soul in you. Plus, you know Jane Austen. You should have women banging down the door to your flat.”
“As you have seen, you are sadly mistaken about that,” he says. “The only woman banging down the door for me is the one who is delivering my pizza.”
I burst out laughing, and Darcy does, too.
Roman reenters the room with a mug in his hand that has a picture of Antonia plastered on it. “What’s so funny?” he asks. He hands me the mug. “Wassail. Drink at your own risk, because Mum went extra heavy on the spices. I picked this mug for you because it would be awkward for me to see you drinking out of a mug with your own face on it.”
I look at the mug. Antonia smiles creepily back.
I add this to the list of surreal moments of the night.
“Did you find an animal head in the kitchen?” Darcy jokes.
Roman sits down next to me, draping his arm around my shoulders. “No. Just one dry turkey, per Christmas tradition.”
“Are there stuffing balls?” Darcy asks.
“Indeed.”
“Excellent.”
I take a sip of wassail and give thanks that that tradition has died, as the clove is about to choke me. Soon, wine is brought in, and we’re all drinking and laughing. Lisa asks me a million questions about my family, gushing about how much she loves my mum and dad and wanting to know if the papers were right about Xander and India breaking up. I answer her questions carefully, not tipping my hand at all to any behind-the-scenes drama or indicating that I’m glad Xander has finished with India. I’ve found that most of the time, when people say they will keep a secret, they can’t. It never hurts to be safe.
“Time to eat,” Thomas says, carrying in a carved-up turkey on a platter.
“Mum, we can’t all sit around this table,” Roman says as we enter the dining area. “It seats four, not seven.”
“I’ll eat in the living room,” Darcy says.
“Nonsense, we’ll all gather round, nice and cosy!” Eden declares.
“Cosy? We’ll be in each other’s laps,” Thomas says.
I bite my tongue to keep from laughing.
“Roman, Darcy, come on, grab more chairs,” Eden says, ignoring the fact that we’ll be more crowded at this table than walking on Oxford Street on Christmas Eve for last-minute shopping.
Nevertheless, we all squeeze in, shoulder to shoulder, to eat.
“Crackers first,” Eden says excitedly.
I pick up the shiny, wrapped cracker on my plate, one imprinted with Father Christmas, and turn to Roman, who takes the other end. We both tug and it snaps, followed by a pop. Others around the table do the same, and after I help Roman open his, I sift through the contents of mine. I have my joke, of course, my paper crown, and a bright pink plastic ring, which I immediately slip on.
I extend my hand to Roman. “It’s gorgeous,” I say, laughing.
“I got a paperclip,” he says, showing me his.
“Now, everyone, paper hats on,” Eden says excitedly.
“Mum, really?” Roman groans.
“Why not? We do it every year,” Lisa chimes in.
I pick mine up, open it, and place it on my head, and I watch as Roman struggles to get the hat to fit his head.
“They never fit,” he declares as it sits lopsided atop his dark brown locks.
“It’s your massive head,” Darcy chimes in.
I giggle. “I’ll add this to my vault of tiaras,” I tease Roman.
“I thought you wouldn’t wear a tiara until you got married,” Eden says.
“That is true,” I say, nodding. “The first tiara I’ll wear is on my wedding day.”
“Oh, and you get to pick out of the king’s collection!” Lisa says excitedly.
“Yes,” I say. “But Roman thinks I have a vault of jewellery at home, which I don’t, so I like to tease him about it.”
“Now everyone, read your joke!” Eden commands.
I get to go first, and we all read our incredibly bad jokes, groaning often in response. Then the conversation carries on as food is passed around the table. There’s turkey, of course, and roast potatoes and veg, and the stuffing balls Darcy asked about earlier.
Darcy takes a stuffing ball for himself, then passes the platter to Roman. “Make sure you give Liz one of these. Liz, these are the best part of the meal.”
Roman takes two for himself and turns to me. “Would you like one ball or two?”
Darcy roars with laughter. Roman realises how that sounded, and within a second, his neck is turning red.
I burst out laughing, and Roman curses under his breath.
“What will it be, Liz? Roman is offering you one ball or two,” Darcy says to wind him up further.
“Shut up, Darcy,” he snaps, his neck now the colour of a double-decker bus.
“Darcy Lawler! Stop talking about Roman’s balls at the table!” Lisa snaps.
“He’s not talking about my balls!” Roman insists.
“I can’t believe you. We have royalty here. Can we not have a normal conversation that doesn’t revolve around testicles?” Eden cries, her own face now turning pink in mortification.
“This is a normal conversation for us,” Thomas says, winking at me.
“Talking about testicles?” Darcy says, grinning. “You’re right, usually we slide that in right after the weather and before the late
st episode of Strictly Come Dancing.”
“We do not talk about balls!” Lisa insists.
“Stuffing balls. We’re talking about stuffing, not testicles,” Eden declares.
Roman pulls his lopsided crown down over his eyes. “I can’t even look at you, Liz,” he mumbles.
I reach over and push his crown back up on his head. “No, no changes for me, I love this. I’ll take two of your balls,” I say, playing along.
Now the whole table erupts into laughter, and in that moment, I know I’ve kicked down a huge chunk of the wall in them seeing me as Liz.
Dinner progresses, and I was right. The questions shift to getting to know more about me, and not me as a royal. They share stories about themselves and Roman, and the evening is fun and full of laughs.
As promised, Clive shows up in time for dessert, cheerful and excited to see everyone. As soon as he spots me, his face lights up, and he extends his hand to me. “From everything Roman has said about you, I feel like I know you,” he says, his hazel eyes shining at me. “I feel like I should hug you instead of shake your hand.”
“I accept hugs,” I say warmly.
Clive laughs and gives me a bear hug. As he does, he whispers in my ear, “Thank you for giving me the gift of Jillian.”
I’m touched by his words. I move back and smile at him. “Nothing makes me happier than knowing that,” I whisper back, as obviously Clive hasn’t told the family yet.
“This was a night for you and Roman,” he says quietly. “After Christmas, we’ll have another dinner I’m sure.” And from the twinkle in his eye, I know Jillian will be the guest of honour at that one.
“Shall we have dessert now that Dad is here?” Clark asks. “You know I have to have my sweets.”
“And port!” Thomas adds.
“Liz brought mince pies,” Lisa chimes in with eagerness. “Oh, those are my favourite.”
“Liz? Want to help me in the kitchen?’” Roman asks.
I wait for half a second to see if Eden bolts up and yells “no” and instructs me to sit and be waited on, but she’s giggly from wine and smiles at both of us.
I’ve become one of them.
I watch Roman’s family, all laughing and joking and warm with each other, and my heart sees how I fit in. I am happy here, not only with Roman but with these people, too.
