by Aven Ellis
“Don’t you dare take back this invitation!” I say gleefully. “I can’t wait to go with you!”
A smile lights up his gorgeous face.
“You will stay overnight at Windsor in your own guest room. I’ll try to visit, but I very well might find grandmother sitting outside my door with a golf club to bash me on the head if I try to slip out to your room.”
I laugh at the image of the Dowager Queen, in one of her signature belted jackets with a brooch pinned on it, snarling at Christian as he dares to open his door.
“You’re a prince; I’m sure it’s in your DNA to scale a wall or something, right?” I tease.
He chuckles, that wonderful throaty laugh I find so sexy, and I feel butterflies in my stomach.
I’m going to be a guest at Windsor Castle.
“Christian! What am I going to wear? I don’t have anything for an event like this. I need a hat. How do I get a fancy hat last minute?”
“Darling, I will pay for everything you need,” Christian says as my panic takes over. “Just plan on going shopping while I’m at Ascot on Wednesday. You’ll need multiple outfits, as we change several times a day, but I’ll give you all those details later. For now, please put Ascot aside. I want to celebrate this day with you. You graduated from a top university, and that will not go unnoticed.”
I’m beaming and shaking with excitement.
“You know you’ll have to go to dinner with my family tonight,” I say, straightening his navy silk tie.
“Paisley already adjusted the reservation for one more,” Christian says, his full lips curving up into a smile. “She also made sure there is a table for my security team next to us.”
“Paisley was in on this?” I ask.
“She thought it was brilliant,” Christian says, grinning broadly at me. “How do you think I found you in this crowd, Fiona?”
I turn around, and Paisley and Evan wave at us. Paisley has truly come around to seeing me as an adult now, and I think Christian has been a huge part of that.
“Um,” Christian says, “your parents are the ones over there glaring at me, yes?”
I sigh. My dad is indeed glaring at Christian, while my mom stares at him like he’s a hologram.
I sigh and face Christian. “Yes. But you know you aren’t going to win them over on the first visit, or maybe even the tenth. You’re taking their little bird away. Worse, you are encouraging her to fly rather than stay in her cage.”
“I suppose it’s fair,” Christian says. “You have to deal with Her Majesty. You still get the bad end of the deal, I’m afraid.”
“No. I get you, and that’s all that matters.”
“Clementine?”
“Yes?”
“I’d rather like to kiss you now.”
I smirk at him. “I thought your family doesn’t believe in showing affection in public.”
“They don’t. But I told you before, I’m not going to live that way.”
“So, you want to kiss me in public?” I ask, elated.
“I do. But only if you are okay with us being recorded and photographed. I understand if you’d rather not start today, Clementine.”
“I feel like it’s the perfect day. We’re graduating to the real world, and I’m overjoyed that you want to show the world what we have.”
“I do.”
“Then kiss me already,” I tease.
“There’s no going back now,” Christian says as his hands glide through my hair.
“Good, because I don’t want to.”
Christian lowers his mouth to mine, claiming it in a sweet kiss. This will be all over social media today, the papers tomorrow, and I don’t care.
To my heart’s delight, the prince who used to hide from the world doesn’t care, either.
Not only have I turned a page with Stanford, but I’m turning a huge one with Christian in this very public display of affection. What we have known in our hearts is official to the world now. We’ll punctuate the moment with my appearance in the royal box at Ascot next week.
We are a couple.
Tomorrow, we’ll write the first chapter in our story.
Together.
Chapter 22
Gin and Tonics
“You need to pinch me right now!” I cry excitedly to Christian. “London is amazing. Ah-ma-zing! And this is my city now. I can’t believe I live here!”
“Careful, Ace, you might get whiplash with all your head turning,” Christian says, smiling.
We might be dead tired from our flight from San Jose—Bear is snoring in the back seat—but I can’t get enough of it. I’m soaking in every historic site, telling Christian everywhere I need to go in a non-stop rambling list. I must get in a red phone booth and take a double-decker bus and shop at the Harrods food court. I want to see the Tower of London—ha, funny to think that is part of Christian’s family line—and see a show at the theatre. The London Eye is a must, and so is the Victoria and Albert Museum—and it blows my mind that this is another part of Christian’s family tree.
“Oh! I recognize this from Google Maps,” I say as Christian turns down a street in the Kensington neighborhood. “We’re near my flat!”
Christian’s smile broadens. “Your flat. God, I love how that sounds.”
“Me, too.”
I’m so happy, even seeing our kiss splashed across social media didn’t bother me. The headlines probably made Queen Antonia go into a rage: The Hermit Prince in Love! An American Lands the Heart of the Golden Prince! Clemmie Snags a Prince! Love Graduates! The Prince Finds His Princess? We laughed at them, but I did tell Christian if he dared to call me “Clemmie,” we’d have serious words.
I recognize the white-stucco Victorian building on the corner of the tree-lined street, and my history-loving heart swoons at the sight. It has glorious bay windows, and you step down stairs and through a black iron gate to enter the unit.
My new home.
“Oh, that’s my flat,” I gasp as Christian parks the Range Rover and waits for his security detail to follow suit. “My home. I’m home.”
“You are home,” Christian repeats, smiling at me.
He leans in and gives me a sweet kiss on the lips.
“Do you want me to walk Bear first?” I say, thinking aloud. “So you can stay in the car as long as possible? And not attract attention?”
“The press will be all over this place in days,” Christian says, his eyes darkening. “As soon as they start following you, I’ll have Father issue a warning.”
“What? No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to do that.”
“For God’s sake, Clementine, they will be relentless. We went public at Stanford, so we’re fair game now. You are the game, my love. They will pursue you and hound you like prey. I won’t let them do it.”
“I don’t want to start off on that foot with the media,” I say, shaking my head. “I want to prove I can handle them.”
“To whom?” Christian says. “Who do you have to prove anything to, Clementine?”
To your mother, I think. To my parents. I want to show them I’m not weak and that I can handle this life without the Golden Prince running to my rescue the first day I’m in the United Kingdom.
“I’m asking you not to,” I say, avoiding his question. “Please.”
Christian rubs his hand over his jaw.
“Okay,” he relents. “But I don’t like this.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Thank you. You are a prince, you know that?”
“Ha-ha, I’m way too tired to give you crap for that one.”
“Let me get Bear out. Then we can meet Jillian together.”
“No, I’ll come with you. We aren’t going to hide, right?”
I’m so proud of his courage I could burst. “No, we’re not.”
We step out of the car, as do Oliver and James, who always seem to be the agents on duty when we travel. Bear starts barking excitedly, and Christian hooks up his leash.
“Come on, big Bear. Welcome to the city,” Christian says, getting him out of the back.
I smile as Bear jumps down and begins sniffing the sidewalk. Christian walks him a bit down the block, and I look around my new street in complete awe.
My life really is a royal romance TV movie.
Except it’s real.
Christian returns and says, “Here, if you take Bear, I’ll get your suitcase.”
“You just want to grab that bag of Caramel M&M’s before you head back to the palace,” I tease.
“Of course I do. Those are fantastic,” Christian quips.
I wait with Bear while Christian retrieves my suitcase and duffel bag. That’s all I brought. I can’t believe I’m starting my new life with nothing more than two bags in hand.
Christian slams the back door, and Oliver walks ahead while James follows us from behind. I open the black iron gate, and Bear eagerly leads me down the stairs to the cutest little terrace with modern, outdoor wicker seating in black with charcoal cushions and blooming purple clematis flowers climbing up the walls.
“It’s so chic,” I say in surprise.
“Yeah,” Christian says, taking a second to study it. “Definitely not the Dowager Queen chintz.”
I snicker at that. Then I lower my head toward Christian so I can whisper, “I have to admit, in my head, Jillian will have chintz inside with lots of house plants and lace.”
“What will she be wearing?”
I think for a moment. “A long tunic and pants in the same color?” I say, thinking of what my grandma Allison wears.
“I say,” Christian says, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “she’ll be wearing florals and a big cardigan.”
“Winner buys dinner this Friday night?” I suggest.
“You’re on.”
I head toward Jillian’s shiny black door. I rap against it, and Bear starts barking. I shush him, as I don’t want Jillian to be overwhelmed by him before she opens the door.
“Coming!” an English-accented voice calls out.
The door unlocks, and I anxiously wait to see Jillian for the first time. As the door swings open, my jaw hits the ground. I don’t need to look at Christian to know his has done the same.
“Clementine, it’s lovely to have you here,” she says, smiling brightly at me. “Welcome to London—and your new home.”
I can’t formulate a response.
Jillian isn’t in a tunic. Or pantsuit.
Jillian, with her above the shoulders, tousled platinum hair, is wearing full makeup and is immaculately dressed in an oversized, crisp, white, dress shirt; designer skinny jeans; and the most amazing pair of open-toed, black, studded high heels. A huge, multi-colored statement necklace adorns her neck, one filled with crystals and amazing colors of red, amber, green and black, and a smile lights up her stunning face.
She’s gorgeous.
And the chicest woman I have ever seen.
“I’m sorry for how I’m dressed,” I blurt out, realizing I’m standing before this stylish woman in jeans that should have been retired two years ago and are fraying at the ends and ripped at the knees—and not by design. And to compliment the jeans that need to be recycled? I’m wearing a white T-shirt with a black, pilled, duster sweater thrown over the top. My hair is in a messy knot, and my sunglasses are parked on the top of my head.
I need to learn from Jillian, quickly, because this would not make a good photo for Queen Antonia to see in the press. Oh, crap, a headline flashes through my head:
Hot Mess Clemmie Unsuitable for Buckingham Palace, Queen Antonia declares National Emergency and begs Hoarder Prince to find a Suitable Girlfriend
I make a note to beg Jillian to be my Yoda of fashion.
Jillian furrows her brow. “I beg your pardon?”
Her comment snaps me out of my thoughts.
“I’m sorry. I’m Clementine, and it’s good to meet you,” I say, recovering. “This is Christian,” I say, introducing him as a normal human instead of a prince.
“Your Royal Highness,” Jillian says. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
I notice Jillian follows protocol and doesn’t extend her hand first for a handshake, as Christian had instructed me to do with King Arthur. She glances briefly at Oliver and James, who begin their retreat and do their disappearing act.
“The pleasure is mine,” Christian says, smiling warmly at her as he extends his hand for her to shake.
Bear begins barking, and Jillian’s face lights up.
“And you must be Bear,” she says, her green eyes sparkling. “This house will be a proper home now with an Airedale in it.” Jillian extends her hand for Bear to sniff, and after he does, she affectionately rubs his head.
“I’ll make sure I keep him clean,” I say, hoping immaculate Jillian won’t have second thoughts about the hot mess American with the big dog being in her home.
Jillian lifts a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. “There’s no such thing as living a good life without having a fair bit of dirt in it.”
Wow. I need to get that saying embroidered on a pillow.
“Please, come in,” Jillian says, stepping aside.
If my eyes weren’t already bulging out of my head, they are the second I step inside the flat onto the gray hardwood floors.
There’s no chintz, or an abundance of houseplants, or doilies, or any of the other stereotypical images I had in my head when I thought of Jillian’s flat.
It’s completely modern.
To my left, there’s a small galley kitchen with black cabinets and granite countertops. It’s obvious Jillian has done recent updates as everything is sparkling new. All the appliances are stainless steel.
“Obviously, this is the kitchen,” Jillian says. She takes a few steps to the right into a large common room. “This is the living room. I do apologize, as I don’t keep a TV in here, but I do have one in your bedroom for you.”
I keep Bear close to me on his leash as I stare in awe at the stunning room. The color palette is a dove gray with cream and pops of burgundy. The fabrics are sumptuous and inviting. Silk pillows, all perfectly plumped, fill the back of a gray velvet sofa. Two chairs in cream are directly across from it, and a burgundy, fabric ottoman serves as the coffee table, with interior design books stacked on top. A round dining table is in front of two french doors which lead to the terrace, with four upholstered, dove-gray chairs around it.
There’s a gorgeous mosaic art piece that takes up the space where a flat-screened TV would be, and there’s a low, black table underneath it, with a tray with a bottle of gin and a vintage ice bucket.
“You have Georgian gin glasses,” I say aloud, marveling at the wonderful sight. “Those are circa 1770!”
“You do know your antiques,” Jillian says, her eyes dancing at me.
“Antique bar wear, dishes, cutlery—it’s kind of my thing.”
“Oh, yes, I love accenting with period pieces here and there,” Jillian says. “I have some exquisite china I can show you later. But first, I must confess something that, as an American with ideas of how we Brits should be, might disappoint you.”
“What is that?” I ask.
“I do not believe in afternoon tea, or any tea, for that matter. I believe in an afternoon gin and tonic.”
Christian grins. “I’d say that is a definite improvement over a cup of tea.”
“We are going to get along just fine, Jillian, because I don’t care for tea.”
“Perfect. Once you get settled and get some rest, we’ll celebrate your arrival with gin and tonics. I have a lovely Scottish gin I’ll introduce you to. Now, let me show you to your room.”
Christian and I follow Jillian down the hall. She points out a bathroom to the right and my room on the left. Jillian opens the door, and while the room is tiny, it’s appointed as luxuriously as the rest of the flat. There’s a built-in wardrobe for my things. The queen-sized bed has a tufted, upholstered headboard in dove gray. The bedding fabric is exquisit
e, white with gray piping, and a thick, cashmere gray blanket is draped across the end of the bed. There’s a round, black nightstand next to the bed with a modern-crystal lamp, a few books, and an interesting silver grasshopper figure on top.
“The grasshopper is for good luck,” Jillian explains. “I keep one in my room, too.”
“I love it,” I say, smiling.
“Well, I know you have a bag to unpack, and you must be absolutely exhausted,” Jillian says, resting her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll leave you alone for a while, but once you’ve had some sleep, we can continue to get to know each other. Oh, and before I forget, your key.”
Jillian hands me my key to the flat and smiles. “Once again, welcome to your new home.”
Then she turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.
Christian and I look at each other.
“She’s not what I expected, and I mean that in the best way possible,” I say as I slip the key into my jeans pocket. “She is cool. And I love that Jillian doesn’t seem to care that you’re a prince. She didn’t go all wide-eyed and fawn upon meeting you.”
“I know, I rather liked that.”
“I know you did.”
“But you lucked out. Not only does she seem fantastic, but this place is incredible,” Christian says, his voice reflecting the same shock that I have. “I could live in a home like this. It’s ace.”
“With enough antique accents, I could, too,” I say.
“That goes without saying. I know you need your antiques, Fiona,” he says, grinning.
I let Bear off his leash, not like there’s much room for him to go anywhere, and since the bed takes up most of the room, he flops down on the spot. I kick off my tennis shoes and drape my old cardigan across the end of the bed.
“He has the right idea,” Christian says, taking off his baseball hat and tossing it on the nightstand, where it catches on the grasshopper’s antennas. “Oh, handy hat holder for me there,” he quips.
