A Cinderella Twist: A Contemporary Royal Romance

by K. S. Thomas

  “Would that be alright?”

  My first thought comes flying out of my mouth. “Of course! That would be great.” Then my second thought begins to question the first thought’s enthusiasm. My third thought is wrapped up in contemplation of my current smile. Which is big. And goofy. And undeniably triggered by the realization that I’m about to see Lachlan. And Monroe. Mo is pretty damn cute. This smile could be all about her. It’s not, of course, but thoughts five and six are seriously considering working this angle to appease thought three.

  “I guess we’ll see you in a few then,” Lachlan says, reminding me that he’s been on the line the whole time my thoughts have been running amok. Hopefully in silence.

  “We’ll keep an eye out for you,” I tell him, sounding a little too chipper by my usual standards, but I console myself with the knowledge that Lachlan hasn’t been around long enough to know what those are.

  A click in my ear suggests the call has come to an end. “Lachlan?” I ask, just to be sure. There’s no response. From Lachlan anyway. My internal dialogue is picking up speed again.

  Until Aiden bounds past me in a mad dash for the swing set. Nothing like a four-year-old running wild at the park to help you zero in on what matters and drop all the noise in an instant.

  A few minutes later, I’ve got Aiden and Liz secured side by side in their swings and myself placed directly between them, comfortably able to push each of them at the same time.

  Every outing to the park eventually leads to this moment, and I look forward to it every time. Both kids safe, within reach and giggling nonstop. It’s every nanny’s happy place. At least while working. When I’m off the clock, my happy place looks nothing like this. Well, I suppose it could if I were the one sitting in the swing. I don’t care how grown up I get, I still love the sensation of kicking up and flying high before falling back until the momentum catches you and throws you forward all over again.

  “There you are,” Lachlan’s voice catches me off guard from behind. “For a moment there, I didn’t recognize you.”

  “Did my human accessories throw you?” I tease, looking over my shoulder to watch him walk up to the swing set, Mo sitting on his side, wrapped in his arm. Judging by the way her little arms are stretched long in front of her, little hands clasping at the air, she’s just as fond of the swings as the rest of us.

  “Actually, it was the hat,” he says, pointing at the large cream-colored beanie I’ve got loosely draped over my head and hanging down over the back of my hair almost like a hood.

  “Right.” Truth be told, I forgot I was wearing it. This time of year, it’s as natural a grab as my wallet and keys on the way out the door.

  I wait until he’s officially reached my side before I properly greet Mo and begin my introductions. “Hi, beautiful.” I wave my super excited wave reserved exclusively for humans under the age of seven. Once they hit school age, they just don’t appreciate it the same way anymore. Then I turn sideways to include Aiden and Liz. “You guys, this is my new friend Monroe and her daddy, Lachlan. Monroe and Lachlan, meet my buddies Aiden and Liz.” I gently place my palm over each of their heads as I say their names.

  “Hi, Monroe,” Aiden says, waving from his swing. “And Monroe’s daddy.”

  “Pleasure to meet you both,” Lachlan returns the greeting, taking things to a new level of flair by bowing as he says it. “And thank you so much for welcoming us to the playground.”

  “Absolutely.” I grin. Annoyingly. “We even saved you guys a swing.” I tug at the chain, indicating the empty seat beside Liz.

  “Perfect.” He smiles, placing a wiggly Mo inside. “Swings are our favorite.”

  “Ours too.” My grin morphs into something else. Something worse. A smile. A very, extremely, smitten smile.

  For a while, we just stand here, gently pushing the kids, watching them swing back and forth. It doesn’t take long before Lachlan puts himself in the middle between Mo and Liz and takes over my double duty efforts.

  “You could probably use a little break,” he says quietly.

  I nod, appreciating the gesture. I’ve been swinging two kids at the same time for so long, I don’t remember what it’s like to focus on just one. It’s nice, having a little help, and I can’t help but think of Nora. She makes me crazy sometimes with her controlling and overly cautious rules, but she’s also one of the strongest women I know. Five kids all on her own. Sure, she’s got me to fill in the gaps, but those only happen when she’s not there. I’m not filling in for a second parent. I’m filling in for the only one.

  “So, how did your appointment go?” I ask, before my thoughts about single parents can circle back around to Lachlan.

  His expression alone answers my question.

  “That great, huh?” I say dryly.

  He exhales loudly as if to release any thoughts that might be clouding his judgement. Then he starts talking. “It wasn’t bad. I mean, it was annoying because McKenna makes me crazy, but overall, I guess I don’t really have anything to complain about. Everything is still on track to move forward as planned.”

  “McKenna?” I ask, hoping my curiosity sounds casual and not as intense as it suddenly feels.

  “She’s our caseworker,” he explains. “She’s younger than me, hence her knack for making me crazy, but she’s been in this with me from the very beginning. Well, before, if you count the months she was Riley’s caseworker before she was mine.”

  “Riley?” This time my curiosity really is just for sake of following along. He can’t just keep sprinkling names into the story and not explain who these people are.

  “Monroe’s mother.” His eyes, which have been moving back and forth between the kids and me, stay locked on his daughter now.

  “Oh.” My curiosity is peaking at an all-time high but I’m not sure it would be even remotely appropriate to keep asking questions.

  He must sense that I have them though. Or maybe it’s just a logical conclusion anyone in his situation would come to. Either way, he goes on all on his own, voice low, but clear. “Riley’s older brother Jack was my best friend growing up. We kind of bonded early on, both of us having been told that we had these grand destinies to follow in our father’s footsteps.” He smiles slightly. It’s sweet, laced with sadness and pride. “Jack’s father was a cop. Same as his father before him. And his before that. Uncles, aunts, grandparents. A whole family of blue bloods.” He smirks, as though he’s made an inside joke, only I’m not in on it. “It was a novel idea when we were young, but one which amounted to a lot of pressure the older we got. Even more for him than me, because he had Riley to consider in everything.”

  He stops for a moment and I’m tempted to break the silence with another question. I have one. I have several. But the story isn’t over, and so, I muster the patience to keep my mouth shut while he formulates his next thoughts.

  “Their parents died when they were nine and seven. Car accident. I remember, it was horrible. Drunk driver going the wrong way on the interstate with no headlights. Highspeed head on collision they never saw coming. Took out their car, the driver, a semi and two others. Semi’s engine caught fire and blew up. No one lived.”

  My eyes automatically drift to Aidan, the only one here old enough to make sense of what Lachlan is saying, but he’s too distracted by a dragonfly that keeps buzzing around him to tune in. Of course, the way Lachlan’s been keeping his voice low and monotone, makes it quite clear he’s used to having adult conversations in the company of little ears.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, matching his tone. “I can’t even imagine.”

  He nods. Maybe because there really aren’t any words for moments like these. Memories like these. “They wound up with their aunt, but she was barely old enough to take care of herself, let alone the two of them. From that moment on, Jack always felt responsible for Riley. Every choice he made for his life, he made with her in mind.”

  I sense this story is on the verge of another tragic turn. “How did
she become your responsibility?” I ask, saving him from having to fill in the gap leading up to this moment, a moment I know he’s moving toward because it’s the moment that prompted him to tell this story to begin with.

  His shoulders sag and his face turns stoic, no glimmer of a smile left anywhere, not even his eyes, which he casts at the ground. “Jack was killed in the line of duty four years ago. He was shot during a domestic disturbance.” He sighs painfully. “Riley never really came to terms with losing their parents. Always struggled with her grief until her grief turned into depression and anxiety and eventually, a variety of addictions, each more severe and less legal than the next.” He shakes his head, anger turning his mouth into a grim line. “Jack had her in and out of places trying to get her help. She was finally clean, working a decent job. Then he died. And she fell into an abyss so deep and so dark, she couldn’t find her way out this time.”

  LACHLAN

  I DON’T REMEMBER THE last time I put all of this into words and said them out loud. Maybe I never really have. Everyone I’ve talked to about Monroe’s life has been in it for long enough to know the dark, twisted tale that brought her to me. Now I can’t help but wonder about the dark and twisted tale that will ultimately take her away.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be burdening you with all of this,” I tell her, snapping out of the black shadow that’s been shrouding me since I stumbled down memory lane.

  “No burden,” Greer assures me softly. “You can keep going if you like, see it through. I get the feeling you don’t talk about this often.” She pauses, hesitant to continue. “It’s important, you know? To let it out every once in a while. It’s hard to know what we’re really thinking or feeling if we don’t allow ourselves to express it.”

  “You moonlight as a shrink when you’re not nannying or acting?” I joke trying to let a little light in again.

  “Well, connecting thoughts to feelings and then expressing them is kind of the basis of acting, so no.” One corner of her mouth lifts, creating a silly but adorable half grin on her gorgeous face. “I’ve just worked my way through the steps often enough to see the benefits of doing it.”

  I shake my head at the thought. “I’d definitely suck at acting then.”

  Her half grin takes a tender curve until she’s smiling, and her dark brown eyes look directly at me. Look through me. “Not into sharing your feelings, huh?”

  “Just learned not to, I suppose.” I hear Monroe let out a frustrated squeal and realize her swing is no longer moving. I have no idea when I stopped pushing her, but I start back up again as soon as I notice I’ve stopped. Within seconds, she’s giggling again. I love the sound. I love all of her sounds, love how easily she’s able to communicate her needs to me, how vocal she is about everything. It’s not something I ever want her to change. And she would. If she stayed with me. “My father’s side of the family isn’t much for feelings,” I explain. My tone has an edge to it I wasn’t expecting. The anger that’s been building over the last few weeks is inching its way to the surface and it seems I’m slowly losing control of it. I clear my throat and try again. “Their work keeps them in the public eye a lot. According to my grandmother, emotions make you appear weak, and appearing weak, is never an option when you’re a Westergaard.”

  Greer frowns for a split second but covers it quickly with a more lighthearted smirk. “Maybe while you’re here you can just lean into your Brenson side. Chase certainly knows how to express his feelings. And I know your mom, so I know you have those genes too.” She bumps me playfully with her elbow. “The Westergaards need never know.” Then she winks, as if to seal the deal on our secret.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GREER

  Our time together at the park comes to an end shortly after Lachlan let down his guard. A move I can’t help but feel he regretted just as soon as he made it given excuses of naptime and snacks and work and more naptime, spilled from his lips in the aftermath. And so, we parted ways. Him back to the apartment across from mine and me back to Nora’s with the kids to tackle lunch and wait for the other half of her horde to come home from school.

  Once back at home, it’s easy to slip into autopilot and let my mind wander, rehashing every word, analyzing every tone, trying to read between the lines and see beyond the things he said out loud. Even though Lachlan shared far more than I would have expected him to, it now feels as if there’s twice as much still to tell where he and Mo are concerned. I know Chase holds the answer to my every curiosity piqued beyond recovery after Lachlan’s speech at the swings, but there’s no way I can go to him and have them satisfied. It would feel like a complete betrayal of trust, to go behind Lachlan’s back and get the details he so intentionally left out of the story. No, I’ll just have to wait. Be patient. Not exactly one of the stronger aspects of my personality, but one I will work especially hard to cultivate while Lachlan is here. And who knows? Maybe he’ll come around to telling me the rest of the story in his own time. Provided his own time comes to pass before the week is over and he heads back home.

  Home.

  Sadness stings my chest as the thought becomes clearer in my mind and the understanding of it takes root. Lachlan doesn’t live here. He’s just visiting. A fact that seemed easy to accept when it was first introduced yesterday morning, but which now, only a day later, feels hard to swallow.

  He’s barely been here, and I already can’t imagine him being gone.

  “That’s going to be a problem,” I grumble to myself.

  “There’s no mac and cheese?” Aiden pipes up, startling me from my daze and making me aware of my surroundings in the blink of an eye.

  I’m in the pantry. Judging by the bag of marshmallows in one hand and the can of kidney beans in the other, operating on autopilot stopped working a while ago.

  I look down at Aiden, his hand pushing on my knee, head poking past my thigh, trying to see for himself. “There’s always mac and cheese,” I assure him, tapping the shelf above my eye level to draw his attention up. “See? Whole stash of boxes up here on the pasta shelf with your mom’s fancy grown up macaroni.” Every shape and color can be found in large, glass storage containers. Nora hardly ever has time to cook, but she likes her kitchen to feel like she does it often, same as she keeps a basket of books she never gets around to reading near the sofa. I like it though. Makes everything feel homier somehow.

  “Then what’s the problem?” Aiden asks, little brow crinkling.

  “There’s no problem.” I shrug, pulling two boxes down before I usher him out of the pantry and close the door on it.

  “You said ‘that’s going to be a problem’,” he repeats my own words back to me.

  “Oh, right.” Now I can’t help but wonder what else I’ve been muttering out loud since my thoughts took off after Lachlan. “I was thinking of making s’mores dip for dessert, but the marshmallows are stale, so that’s going to be a problem,” I improvise. Which is different from lying.

  “Can we make pudding?” Aiden. Solution oriented as always. “Mom just got butterscotch. And that’s my favorite.”

  “I’m aware.” I smile at him, making my way over to the stove to get lunch going. “And yes, pudding is a definite possibility.”

  “Yay!” He claps his hands with excitement, already dashing from the room to tell Liz who won’t care about pudding one way or the other, but will share in his delight, nonetheless.

  I get busy cooking and thoughts of Lachlan finally start to fall to the back of my mind, making room for more pertinent things like prepping fruit and veggie sides for lunch, preparing snacks for the older kids once they get home and, of course, getting pudding started for dessert.

  From there, things continue to stay busy enough to keep my mind focused on the present. Emmery and Sila get home first, followed by Rylyne, the oldest and the only one in middle school, shortly after.

  I’ve got everyone fed, the big kids doing homework and the little ones napping, when the doorbell rings. I freeze for a sec
ond or two after, listening for a cry, signaling the bell startled someone awake. When everything remains silent, I rush for the door, hoping to get there in time to keep whoever is on the other side of it from ringing the bell a second time.

  “Abbas?” I ask, even as I’m opening the door. “What are you doing here?”

  He holds up a bag of pastries in one hand and a tray of coffees in the other. “Was in the neighborhood and no one likes to drink alone.” He smirks.

  I step aside, letting him enter. “Why were you in the neighborhood?” Abbas is the head artist at some bigtime ad agency. Or so I’m told. It’s not my area, but he does get paid more than the rest of us, so I’m guessing there’s some truth to it. Plus, he works a ton of hours, making this surprise visit all the more out of the ordinary. “Did you quit your job? Get fired? What’s happening?”

  He makes a face. “Neither. I’m on a break. Been stuck on a project and just needed to clear my head a bit. Thought you might enjoy a coffee, and some grownup conversation.” He starts to turn back for the door. “But I can leave if that’s not the case.”

  “There’s no need to be mean to me, Abbas,” I mumble, snatching a coffee from the tray before he can threaten to leave with it again. “Obviously I’m pleasantly surprised,” I clarify what clearly hasn’t been coming across. “I just wanted to make sure it was appropriate to be as happy as I am at the sight of you.”

  “And coffee,” he adds dryly.

  “And coffee,” I agree before I finish, “I didn’t want to commit to said happiness only to make things really awkward when you tell me the bad news a moment later.”

  “What bad news?”

  “The bad news you could have had for coming here to surprise me,” I tell him, leading the way into the living room, “which we now know doesn’t exist. So now I’m just happy. With you.”

  “And coffee.”

  “You don’t have to keep rubbing in what a shallow friend I am. Yes, the coffee is nice. And yes, I was more attached to making the coffee stay than you, but,” I argue, plopping into the large sectional and waiting for Abbas to do the same, “if it helps at all, I’m going to enjoy your company even once the coffee is gone and can no longer be enjoyed.”