I join her in raising my glass, “Don’t think I won’t.”
“That reminds me, you’ll have to register a House name and coat of arms. Just something to be thinking about. They have to be turned in with your paperwork before you can be entered into the council.”
“A house name, like a surname?”
“Usually—but not always.”
My own last name springs to mind, but I quickly brush it away. Maybe my foster family’s surname? No, somehow House Keifer doesn’t exactly scream dignified.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I say, returning to my food.
While we eat Sarah tells me more about the island’s history. It turns out it’s a bit of a melting pot—not unlike New York. It served as a refuge for Japanese fleeing World War two, and before that hosted a massive influx of French Protestants fleeing persecution.
“Have I overwhelmed you yet?” She asks, laying her napkin beside her plate.
I shake my head, “No. Just taking it all in. For a small country you have a lot of history.”
“What about your history? Tell me about yourself.”
“Not much to tell,” I admit. “Parents died when I was young, and I was raised in a foster home in Kansas. Moved to the city pretty much the second I turned eighteen. I have two foster sisters, but we aren’t super close. I’ve spent the last few years going to school and working odd jobs to make ends meet. I’m good with computers, but better with people. And apparently I have an impulsive side a mile long because I flew around the world with a bunch of strangers to try to convince a man I barely know to marry me.”
“Some might say that’s brave—not impulsive.”
I snort. “Funny, the word my roommate used was idiotic.”
She chuckles, “I can see what Aiden was so taken with you. You’re very unassuming. I appreciate that, it’s a rare thing here. Most of us feel the need to put on airs, to outdo one another. It’s a bit exhausting, to be honest.”
“Sounds like it,” I offer.
We move from the table to the sofa and I curl my legs beneath me.
“What about you? What’s the story of Sarah?”
She sits back, draping one arm over the sofa gracefully. “Our family came here during the English occupation. They scooped up land and built homes and school, we even built the only university of the island. Our mother died not long after Tommy was born, our father is retired and living in the south of France with his obnoxiously young girlfriend. I’ve taken over the council seat in his absence.”
“Do you enjoy it? The politics?”
She waves a hand, “I do, in fact. I also sit on the board of our family company. Tommy is supposed to be groomed to replace our father in that, but he’s got no desire to do any of that. He’s content to oversee the charitable arm of the business and leave the rest to me.”
“And?” I press.
“And what?”
“And, I dunno. What do you like? What do you do for fun?”
“I like…drafting proposals and reading spreadsheets. I suppose I’m happiest when I’m working toward something I really want.”
I rest my head on my balled fist, “Ok. Million-dollar question. Why are you helping me?”
“I told you, I’m helping Aiden.”
“The land? That alone must be worth a fortune. And the gown? The jet? The classes? I just wanna know if there’s something you’re hoping to gain from all this. I’m not dumb, and I know that in circles like yours, everything has a price. So what is it? What do you get?”
She frowns, leaning forward.
“Genevieve is unfit to rule. I have no doubt that should she become queen, it would be devastating for him both personally and politically. And unfortunately, the only other eligible candidate for the position at the moment is me. And aside from all that, Aiden is…important to me. He’s been a friend, more like family. He helped me through a very difficult time in my life. He’s always so quick to give himself in the service of the people he cares about, I’ve been very fortunate to be on that list.”
“You really think she’d be that bad for Aiden?”
Sarah nods, “If she’s unable to control him, then yes. She is nothing if not shrewd and conniving. She will manipulate, bully, and ultimately ruin Aiden to have her way.”
“Liam mentioned that you’d do it if you had to. Would you really? Marry Aiden?”
She sighs, “It would be pointless, but yes. Though I could not produce an heir for his line. He knows that.”
“What if there were no suitable candidates?” I ask. “What would happen then?”
“In that event each house would bring one eligible female—no matter her rank or origin—forward for selection. The king would choose from that pool.”
I nod. “You said she has to have a title, be from one of the houses, and the right age. What else?”
“Unwed, in good general health, within five years the age of the king, and from one of the noble houses. Most of the ladies in the houses are ineligible because of age or marital status. One has been battling Leukemia for some time, and another is paralyzed from a riding accident as a child.”
“So sexual orientation doesn’t disqualify a candidate?”
“It’s ever been brought up,” she says frankly. “But yes, I suppose I have my own selfish reasons for helping you. I care about Aiden, but I care about my country more. I’d sacrifice myself in its service if I had to. I suppose you’re my only hope of escaping that fate.”
“Is it wrong that it’s comforting to know that at least of Aiden doesn’t choose me, he’s going to have you looking out for him?”
She smiles, “I suppose not. But for now, you should probably try to get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
“Am I going to the coronation?” I ask, standing and wiping my hands down my jeans.
She joins me, rounding the soft and leading me to the door. “Seating is too limited. But it will be televised, you can watch it from your room.”
“So I’m stuck in my room all day?” I whine.
“Perhaps afterward you can spend some time seeing the island. I’m sure Tommy would be happy to show you around.”
I pump my fist, “Yes. Beach day.”
“See you tomorrow, Haven.”
“Goodnight, Sarah.”
Slinking back to my room I change into my pajamas and crawl into the soft bed. Opening my phone, I pull up the photo of Aiden and I at Coney Island. For the billionth time I consider texting him, but my fingers hesitate over the screen. I can’t help but wonder if we had our moment—our day in the sun. Was any of it real at all? Or have I built it up so much in my mind that reality can’t possibly measure up?
I’m still stewing when I hear the door knob turn, the hinges groaning as it opens.
Holding my breath, I wait for Liam to walk in.
He doesn’t turn on the light, and for a moment I watch him straining to see me in the darkness.
“It’s ok,” I say. “I’m still awake.”
He rubs his chin, pulling the cord on the small lamp in the sitting area. “Sorry, the dinner went really late.”
His words are slurred slightly, betraying him.
“Are you drunk?”
He falls onto the sofa face down, muttering into the cushions.
“Maybe.”
Rolling my eyes I climb out of bed, walking over to him.
“Want to talk about it?”
He turns his head to the side. “Just that bitch Genevieve acting like she’s already queen. She knows Aiden wouldn’t make Sarah marry him. But she doesn’t know about you,” he says, pointing at me, one eye open. “She’s not gonna know what hit her.”
“Ok,” I say, rolling him onto his side. His eyes flutter closed and I peel at the knot in his tie, dismantling it and sliding it through his collar. Moving to his shoes next, I tug them off and pull the socks from his feet.
“Help me get your jacket off,” I grunt, trying to bend his arm to get it f
ree of the sleeve. He flails around and I manage to wrench it free. Shoving a pillow under his head, I lay the jacket on the table. Walking back to the bed I rip off the top blanket, bringing it back and snugging it around his body.
He’s well and truly out cold, so I crouch on the balls of my feet, raking the hair back from his forehead to look at his face. Asleep, his face is relaxed in a way I never see it otherwise, completely unguarded. He’s handsome, ruggedly so. A slack softness to his heart shaped jaw, his nose just a little crooked from the childhood break, the tiny scar beneath his eye. His bushy brows furrow momentarily as he adjusts his position. As I stare at him, an unexpected warmth fills my heart. Gratitude, maybe, or maybe something else, a kinship I can’t quite explain. Like a touchstone in the middle of a raging storm.
“What am I gonna do with you, Liam?” I whisper before slipping into my own bed, drifting off to the sound of his soft snores.
Coronation day
The next morning, I sleep late. At some point Liam wakes and returns my blanket, but he’s already showering when I finally sit up, checking my phone.
One new message from Liz.
We really should have come up with some kind of code word in case you were kidnapped by human traffickers, it reads.
I type back.
Good Call. How about, help I’ve been kidnapped by human traffickers?
She responds quickly.
Perfect. Hope you’re having fun. You made up with Aiden yet?
I return.
Not yet. Seeing him tonight.
Another ding.
Good luck, she says.
Setting the phone on the bedside table I toss the covers aside, stretching. Walking to the window I see a massive precession beginning to form, at its head, a black carriage hitched to a single black horse.
I hear the bathroom door open, but don’t turn around—just in case.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, watching the uniformed guards milling around the front drive.
“Like I got kicked by a mule. You?”
“Like a wasps nest exploded in my stomach,” I admit.
“Oh good. Coffee?” he asks and I turn to see he’s indeed shirtless but at least he’s wearing a pair of black slacks.
“Yes, caffeinate me,” I say, holding out my hands and zombie walking to the tray set in the corner of the room. He pours me a cup and I take it, inhaling deeply before taking a sip.
“Ah yes. Black, like my soul,” I mutter, taking another sip.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” he asks, taking a cup for himself.
“That’s a dumb question,” I retort. “But I’m gonna let it go since it’s early and you’re clearly still hungover.”
“It’s past ten,” he says, shaking his head. “And I don’t get hungover. I’m always grumpy in the morning.”
“Noted. But, alas. Your grumpiness can not phase me today because tonight I get to see Aiden again.”
“How could I forget?” he teases.
“And, since you guys are all busy today, I thought I’d spend some time seeing the island.”
Eyeing me over the top of his cup, he raises an eyebrow. “And how do you plan to do that?”
“According to my phone, there’s a bus.”
“That’s true. But unnecessary. I can call a car for you.”
I wave him off, “The bus is fine. It can’t be any worse than taking the M train after dark.”
“Or you can wait till we get back and I’ll go with you,” he offers.
“Aiden’s going to need you today,” I counter.
“Aiden is going to be stuck in a council meeting after the ceremony. It’ll take hours. Each family has to swear him in, present a gift, it’s a whole thing. And as fun as it sounds to watch a bunch of nobles groveling, I’m not allowed in.” He scoffs, “I wouldn’t even be allowed in the ceremony if Aiden hadn’t specifically demanded it.”
“Ugh, fine, I’ll wait. But I’m ordering pay-per-view and charging it to your room.”
“What?” he asks, clearly confused.
“It was a joke,” I say, pouting. “I was threatening to rent porn.”
He makes a derisive sound. “Rent? Just open that cabinet in the closet.”
I must make a surprised face because he chuckles. “Joking.”
“Oh sure, mock the foreigner,” I tease.
“I would never mock you,” he hesitates before adding, “to your face.”
Giving him a playful glare, a take another sip of coffee. “How long is all this going to take anyway?”
“We’ll walk the parade route to the cathedral. That takes about twenty minutes. He’ spends ten minutes kissing babies and shaking hands or whatever, then goes inside and that part takes right around an hour. He takes the carriage back, does a quick inspection of his guard—which I don’t have to be around for—and then he finishes in the council. My part only lasts about an hour and a half. Two, tops.”
“And you leave at noon? So back before two. Ball starts when?”
“Eight.”
“That gives us enough time I suppose,” I decide. “Guess I’ll spend the morning filling out these papers Sarah gave me.”
Liam snorts, “Have fun with that.”
He heads for the closet and I follow at his heels.
“That reminds me, I have a favor to ask.”
“That sounds ominous,” he says, sifting through the racks of dress shirts before settling on a crisp, white one. “What do you need?”
“Your name,” I say. “I’m supposed to choose a house name. My legal last name is Sully, which is awful, and my adopted parents name isn’t any better. So I was wondering, how would you feel if I called it House MacGregor?”
He stops, turning to me slowly. “You want to name your house after me?”
“Your family has been here for generations, serving the crown, the country, and it’s people. I’d be honored to have a name with that much history and pride.”
“I um, yeah,” he fumbles. “Yeah, I think that’d be great.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I’ll try to make House MacGregor proud.”
Leaving him to dress, I return to the cart and refill my cup, grabbing a slice of toast and returning to the window.
“Have you thought about your coat of arms?” he calls.
“I am thinking a clock or an animal.”
“A fox,” he suggests. “They symbolize cleverness and courage.”
“And I thought you were gonna say, cause I’m so foxy,” I joke.
Coming out of the closet, I glance over him slowly. His suit is far more formal than the last, almost a tuxedo cut, but the jacket is shorter, the tie a white bow.
I whistle, “You clean up nice, Liam.”
He shuffles, tugging at the hem of his jacket. “I hate this, it’s the most uncomfortable suit in existence.”
Rolling my eyes, I turn away, “Please. Talk to me when you have to walk around in six-inch spiked heels.”
“I think I’ll pass, but thanks.”
“Whatever, you should get going, Tommy and Sarah are already out there,” I say, peeking through the gauzy curtains.
“Yeah, I’m going. How do I look?” he asks, turning slowly.
“Like you should be on the cover of a magazine,” I tell him honestly.
With a sly grin, he walks to me, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”
Saluting, he releases me and stalks out of the room. I turn back to the window, waiting to see him join the others. When I finally catch sight of him, he’s not alone. Aiden is at his side. Liam claps him on the back once, then glances up at the window. Aiden doesn’t turn fully, but I catch him in profile before he turns his back to my view. Pressing my hand to the glass, I close my eyes, sending all the love and strength I can muster his direction, hoping that somehow, he can feel it.
My phone dings and I walk to it.
It’s Aiden.
F
or the first time in months—since the night he left—he’s reaching out.
Miss you.
That’s all it says. Two tiny words that mean so much. I clutch it to my chest and take a deep breath.
I debate for several moments what to say. He must be so nervous, so afraid, to message me now. I know I probably shouldn’t respond, but I can’t bear the thought of him thinking he’s alone. Nothing I can say seems like enough.
Wherever you go today, my heart goes with you, I reply.
Returning to the window I watch as the procession lines up, drummers beating off steps and they begin their walk, down the drive and through the gates where people are gathered to see the new king.
****
Once they’ve gone, I dress quickly, a pair of jeans and light black top for sightseeing. Then I slip out of my room to discover that most of the guards have gone as well, leaving only a few guard posts around the palace.
“Can I help you miss?” one asks, stopping me in the hall. “You seem turned around.”
“Yes, please. Sorry, I’m just having a look around while everyone’s away. Is that alright?”
“Are you an approved guest?”
I nod, “I’m a guest of Liam MacGregor and Sarah and Tommy Norwood.”
“Then yes, any off-limits areas will be locked. Is there anything particular you wanted to see?”
I take a deep breath, “I’m not sure. What do you recommend?”
He thinks for a moment, “The Hall of Memoria is a good place to begin. It houses several works of art depicting previous monarchs as well as local history. Take that hall and it’s the third door to the left.”
He points me in the right direction.
“Thanks,” I say, holding out my hand. “I’m Haven, by the way.”
He shakes my hand, “Stanley.”
“Thanks again,” I say, waving as I turn toward the room he suggested.
The door is open when I arrive, and inside is a small museum. Stanley wasn’t kidding about the artwork. Massive oil canvases in gilded frames line the walls on either side, some scenes depicting what I can only assume are the first people to the island, their clothing sparse--mostly leaves and vines—ancient looking boats resting at the shoreline.
Once Upon A New York Minute: Part 1 Page 8