by Aven Ellis
I hear anguish lacing his voice. He can never go out to a bar and have a drink and have it be as simple as that.
Just a normal bloke, I think, remembering his words to me, is something Christian can never be.
But you can with me, I vow. I will do my best to give you that, the normalcy you crave, like you gave it to me when you found out about my medical tests.
“I know why you chose to close yourself off from the world,” I say quietly. “It’s safer that way for you.”
“After university, I’m supposed to enter the military, but Father said that was another way for me to hide and he’s forbidding it.”
He’s opened the door for me to ask about his family life. What goes on beyond the beautiful palace walls the rest of the world sees.
“How do you feel about that?”
Christian shifts his gaze to the fire, and I watch as the shadows from the flames dance across his handsome face.
“All royals tend to serve in the military, so I understand it’s another pre-determined part of my life that I have to accept.”
“Do you want to be in the military?”
“Honestly? It appealed to me,” Christian says. “I’d be a service member with a purpose. I want to serve the country that has given me so much. In the military, I’d be another man, no special treatment given to me because I’m a prince. I’d be protected from the press and the public, and I wanted that. It was more time to be normal, at least as normal as life can be for me. My parents, however, think I’ve made myself too isolated.”
“Have you?” I ask gently, running my hand through his golden curls.
“I have had eyes on me since the moment Mum and Dad walked out of the hospital with me cradled in Mum’s arms. I find it suffocating to be watched all the time,” Christian says, the words coming out in a rush. “I feel like I’m being celebrated for no reason. What have I done? If I go out in London, I’m photographed the whole time, even if I’m in a store like Waitrose buying a bag of crisps. My security detail is following me, people are snapping me with mobile phones, and I swear to God, I just want to be alone to buy the damn crisps.”
I continue to stroke his hair, aware the dam is about to burst.
“I don’t know what my purpose is,” Christian says, his eyes fixated on the flames dancing in front of us. “When I’m in school, I have a purpose. If I go to the army, I’m given a new purpose. But I don’t know how to find my life in the monarchy. Do I show up where Mum’s secretary tells me to go? What does that do? Shouldn’t I do something that has meaning to me? If I’m going to use my name, shouldn’t it be for something I’m passionate about, rather than what the king and queen think I should do? I’m a prince, but I have to be more than that to be deserving of the life I’ve been born into. The people expect more, and so do I. I just don’t know what more is.”
Once I figure it out, will I do it justice like my father does with his work?” he continues, the words continuing to tumble out in a rush. “Can I ever do anything without being judged and watched and written about, if what I’m doing is right or important enough? No, I can’t, and when I think about all this being the rest of my life, I suffocate inside. That’s when I want to stay inside my house watching quiz shows and dreaming of going to an army base where nobody can bother me. And now that option has been taken away, and it’s one more thing I have no choice in, one more reminder that I’m not normal. I’ll never be normal, and I don’t know how to cope with all of this.”
He falls silent and exhales sharply. I lean my head down onto his shoulder, not saying a word, but watching the roaring fire and listening to the surf crash against the shore. I wince as I feel Christian’s heart pounding inside his chest, and I know he has carried this burden alone. I know, by the way the words came bursting out, his friends don’t know this. I don’t even think Xander knows this. Christian tried to be the mature, dutiful son and shove this all down, finding it easier to stay out of the eyes of the world than to bear the consequences of being judged by everyone around him.
I give him a moment to recover, and then I speak from my heart, probably in a way nobody has ever spoken to him before.
“I think,” I say softly, “you will find your purpose. You will find something that is meaningful and yours. Not Queen Antonia’s programs, not King Arthur’s, but something that touches your heart where you can make a difference. Something you’ll fight for. You’ll challenge people and create something that belongs to you. But you can’t find it in your house or by staying away from people. You have to be in the world to find out what it needs.
“You are a prince, but a student prince,” I say, continuing. “You haven’t been a true working royal, and if you go straight into the military, you delay that. Maybe King Arthur is trying to let you explore what your future could be so you can find it, Christian. Maybe he wants you to be exposed to all kinds of people and experiences to help you find yourself on that level before going into the military.”
Christian remains silent.
“I promise I’ll help you find it,” I whisper to him.
He slides his fingertips to my chin, tilting my face up toward him. His eyes are now filled with gratitude.
“Thank you,” he whispers to me. “For being here. For being you.”
He lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me lovingly, slowly moving his warm lips against mine, his tongue gently exploring my mouth, and love for Christian fills every inch of me.
Christian breaks the kiss and brushes his lips against my forehead, and a blissful sigh escapes my lips.
“Father might be as noble as you say,” he says, as I tuck my head back down on his chest. “But if Mum is driving this, she wants to use her Golden Prince to deflect from the bad press Xander is getting. I think she might have leaked that recluse story to the press to get Father to press me into royal service faster. She says it’s to save me from myself. At least that is the story she’s spinning.”
I sit straight up. “What?” I ask, appalled. “Your mother would do that to you? She actually leaks lies to the media to get you to do what she wants?”
Christian sighs. “I told you my family was a whole other layer to deal with, including my manipulating mother.”
My God, it is a TV movie, I think, shocked.
Every time I’ve seen Queen Antonia on TV or in a glossy celebrity magazine, she is smiling. Always perfect, with her jet-black hair done in an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck, and always dressed in an impeccable suit. She is always bending down and accepting flowers from her adoring well-wishers, looking genuinely happy to be with people.
Unless she is not what she seems.
Whoa Count: Three.
“Are you still in?” Christian asks quietly, interrupting my thoughts.
“What?”
“I’ve only given you the tip of the iceberg with my family tonight. We’re talking a Titanic-sized iceberg. It’s straight ahead of you, Clementine. Except unlike the Titanic, you can avoid this one. I’m giving you fair warning.”
“Queen Antonia is not scarier than a brain tumor. I’m solid.”
“I love you,” Christian says.
“I love you, too.”
Christian yawns, and I can see not sleeping has finally caught up with him.
“You need to go to bed,” I say.
“Only if you come with me.”
“I will, but we have one order of business first.”
Christian cocks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“We have to make a s’more!”
He begins laughing. “Yes, that was the allure of this place. Not the view, not the luxury suite, but the fact that you can make a s’more.”
I get off his lap and reach for the s’more kit we ordered.
“You will understand once you eat one.”
“I can’t wait to be enlightened,” Christian says dryly.
“Oh, you will,” I say, opening the box. “These are fabulous marshmallows; look how big and thick t
hey are!”
Christian stands up as I put the marshmallow on the end of a roasting stick.
“Here,” I say, handing the stick to him. “Get that nice and lightly browned, not charred. Charred is gross. Your job is to get a perfectly toasted marshmallow.”
“What if I mess this up?”
“Then I veer the Titanic away from the iceberg.”
Christian begins laughing, and oh, how I love being the one who can add lightness to his life.
“Yes. You don’t fear my crazy family, but you do fear I won’t be able to toast a marshmallow to your liking.”
“Christian. Life is all about priorities.”
I take a graham cracker, place a square of chocolate on it, and wait for Christian to finish roasting the marshmallow.
He takes it off the fire and examines it, and I realize when he’s thinking about something he gets a cute little crease across the bridge of his nose.
Oh, how I love these little moments of discovery with him. And now that we’ll be able to FaceTime, I can continue to see these things in him.
My heart catches when I realize he will go home Monday night. Now that he’s here, I can’t imagine him leaving me.
“How is this, Ace?”
I shove that thought away. We still have Sunday and Monday together, and I want to savor every minute with him.
“I’m so glad we don’t have to break up,” I tease. “It’s perfect.”
I take the marshmallow and put it on top of the chocolate, then add the top graham cracker and give it a slight squish.
“You get the first bite,” I say, holding the s’more up to his mouth.
He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully for a moment.
“It’s sweet,” he mumbles with his mouth full.
“I know, isn’t it so good?”
Christian swallows. “No. It’s too sweet.”
“What?” I cry, pretending to be aghast. I turn and take a bite of the s’more and groan the second I get that magical combination of sticky toasted marshmallow, melting chocolate, and graham cracker. “Mmm. So. Good!”
I can feel marshmallow on my lower lip, and I’m about to lick it off when Christian’s mouth is on mine, his tongue lightly trailing the smudge of marshmallow.
Oh, my.
“I think I’m coming around on the s’more,” Christian murmurs sexily against my lips.
I drop the s’more.
Christian scoops me up in his arms.
“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, kissing my temple.
I smile as I lock my arms around the back of his neck. While I know he’ll be crashing any minute now, I’ll be up for hours, touching Christian every few minutes to make sure he’s real. This is my life, and this spectacular man is my boyfriend.
If I am dreaming, I definitely don’t want to wake up.
Chapter 10
I like Long, Romantic Walks by the Shore …
“I can’t believe it’s already Monday,” I say, a lump forming in my throat. “You’ll be leaving in hours.”
Christian and I are walking along the Pacific Coast, our last walk before he heads to the airport. Bear is scampering ahead, happily running along the edge of the ocean, letting the cold water splash him. The overcast sky reflects the feeling in my heart. The clouds have covered my happiness and won’t go away until I land in the UK in a few weeks.
Walking behind us are Oliver and Peter, two of his protection officers, dressed casually in half-zips and baseball caps, blending in with everyone around us. Christian has drawn a few stares from people on our beach walks in a “he looks familiar” kind of way.
Otherwise, our weekend together has gone under the radar. He told his friends he was going away for the weekend but left it at that. Christian told his parents yesterday that he had gone off the grid for a few days and would be back on Tuesday. From the side of the conversation I heard, it didn’t go over very well when he said he was in Northern California.
I told everyone I had checked into a hotel while giving the lavender oil a chance to leave the apartment so I could be headache-free. Paisley asked why I didn’t stay with her, but I said I wanted a weekend with the remote and room service and needed lots of rest time. Of course, they couldn’t argue with that logic. For once, nobody knows what I’m doing. I should feel guilty about lying, but I don’t. My parents and Paisley are overly cautious with me, always checking where I am and what I’m doing. It’s exhausting living in that cage.
With Christian, I feel free. There’s a new normal with him, one where he doesn’t see the girl who had the tumor.
Christian only sees the woman he loves.
We spent our time together enjoying long walks by the ocean, taking in the sunset from our patio while trying the local wines, ordering room service, binge-watching stupid reality TV shows, and making love.
I’ve never been happier.
“I don’t want to go,” Christian says. “But we both have to get back to our lives.”
I nod as another big wave comes crashing ashore. “I know. It’s just so hard,” I say, my voice shaking.
“Hey,” Christian says, stopping to gaze down at me, his piercing blue eyes blazing with conviction, “we are going to make this work. We are going to see each other and see where this goes. I know one thing for sure, Clementine. I’m in this. I’m not going to go home and let this die out. If that means waiting for weeks before I can see you, touch you, kiss you, then so be it. I will do it because I want to be with you.”
“I love you,” I say as a gust of air rolls off the ocean and blows my hair dramatically across my face. I reach up and push it back.
“I wish I could do that for you,” he says, his expression full of longing.
“You can do it in private,” I say.
“We could go back to the room and do all kinds of things in private,” Christian teases.
“You just want me for sex.”
“Who do you think I am, Xander?”
I begin to laugh. While my heart is still sad, I know Christian is nothing like Xander. He is as invested in this as I am, committed to me, to starting a relationship, and to seeing what this could become between us.
“Come on, let’s sit,” Christian says, moving up from the shoreline before taking a seat. I call Bear, and he happily comes running back to me as I drop down on the cold sand next to Christian.
We’re both silent as we look out over the gloomy horizon.
“Clementine?”
I turn to find he’s already staring at me.
“These past few days with you have been the happiest I can remember,” he says quietly. “You make me laugh. You make me feel loved. For the first time in my life, I feel normal. You are the only person who has ever made me feel that way.”
Tears fill my eyes. “I feel all those same things about you. I’m not the girl who had a tumor. I’m not fragile in your eyes.”
“No, I’ve never seen you that way. You’re Clementine to me. The beautiful girl with flaming red hair who wants to work with antiques because they have stories. You talk to me about normal things, even if it’s that nonsense about sugar cookies being the greatest cookie of all time. You’re the girl who has horrible taste in TV and can’t do anagrams—”
I burst out laughing. “I love that my top qualities include my argumentative spunk regarding sugar cookies and that I’m shit at figuring out your anagrams.”
A sexy chuckle escapes his throat. “I love those things about you.”
“Good. I’ll make sure in our next FaceTime that I go over the merits of royal icing with you. Ha-ha! Royal icing, should be right in your wheelhouse.”
Christian groans. “Next you’ll tell me your favorite color is royal blue.”
“Hmm, I think I could fancy a royal shade of blue,” I tease, putting on an accent for him.
“If you start using all British terms or a fake accent I’ll break up with you,” Christian says, his eyes sparkling at me. “Nothing is worse than an Am
erican trying to act British. Besides, part of your charm is the fact that you are an American with a wonderful accent and odd terms for things.”
“I could see that as part of your online dating profile,” I say. “Young, quiz-loving man seeks American who is crap at puzzles, loves reality TV, and enjoys long, romantic walks by the shore.”
“You forgot insanely sexy.”
“Oh, yes, insanely sexy would definitely be a part of it. Now, what would mine say?”
“Vivacious redhead seeks recluse hoarder who loves curry takeaway.”
I roar with laughter, so much so that Bear barks and moves over to Christian, who begins rubbing his head affectionately.
“Confession,” I say. “This might change everything.”
Christian’s mouth turns up in that sexy smile that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Go on.”
“I hate the smell of the spices used in curry,” I admit.
“What?”
“I can’t stand it.”
“How is that possible? Curry is brilliant.”
“No, curry is nasty.”
“You’re right. This does change everything.”
“As in?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at him.
“I’ll obviously have to find another American who is curry-compatible.”
I give him the stink eye, and he laughs loudly.
Christian clears his throat. “We need to talk about what we do in the next few weeks, until you come to Cambridge.”
“Okay.”
“Who do you think should know about us?” Christian asks. “We need to be careful. People can promise not to say anything, but they can’t always resist the urge to tell.”
“This is a difficult secret to keep. I want to tell Chels and Bryn, but they’ll freak out over the prince thing.”
“I know,” he says, nodding.
“Your friends will have to know since I’ll be staying with them.”
