by Liz Johnson
“Please.” He matched her step, coming right up next to her. “It’s been nice having a friend here. I played rugby with Warner and our other mates at university, and they decided if I could be tackled on the pitch, I could be manhandled off just as easily. After graduation, we all went our own ways, and I don’t see them as much as I’d like. I miss the familiarity. I miss the easy camaraderie. I miss the occasional nudge.”
He hadn’t been that open with anyone. Maybe ever. And he wasn’t even entirely sure he’d been honest with himself about those things until they poured out. So the simple dip of her chin in a quick nod filled his chest with warmth and made him want to wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her against him.
Then again, they were out in public, so he kept his hands firmly on the railing.
“So what happened with Alexandra? I’m sorry by the way.”
“Don’t be sorry. I broke it off.”
She spun around to face him, the single bulb above them casting a halo on her dark hair. And the blue of her sweater made her eyes even brighter. “But the picture. The headline.”
“People tend to believe what they want to believe. Yes, she threw a ring at me, but only because she couldn’t get her shoe unbuckled fast enough.”
Charlie’s laughter was sweeter than an angelic choir. “What?”
“I broke it off with her that night. I’d been meaning to for a while, but I hadn’t seen her in weeks. We were not a good match.”
“Oh? Why not?” She cringed. “I’m sorry. That is none of my business.”
“It’s all right. We were just very different people. She wanted to marry into the royal family for the recognition of it all. She wanted to use my name to be the first on the guest list at club openings. I’d rather be in bed by ten.”
“Which leads us back to what do you do? How do you spend your royal time?”
“It’s just time, same as everyone else.” He smiled in response to her wink. But he wasn’t quite sure how to answer her question. How did one describe a life that wasn’t quite his own? “There are plenty of diplomatic responsibilities. Trips and tours and meeting with other dignitaries.”
“And somehow I don’t think that’s your favorite part of the role.”
“How do you do that? How do you peg me so well? You barely know me,” he said.
She chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, her jaw working back and forth just a little bit. The tip of her cute nose wrinkled, and she shook her head. “I don’t know. I just . . . You’re so familiar to me.”
“I’d say it’s all the articles you’ve read about me.” He shot her a sour face. “But they never get it right.”
She laughed, letting it disappear on the breeze and silence reign. She didn’t speak another word, but he knew she was waiting for an answer. Only the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the whisper of her breath broke the stillness.
Finally he let out a shallow sigh. “Marvonia is a very small country—but one with many opportunities for its citizens. My father and grandfather have worked hard to make sure that everyone can prosper there. But our economy is connected to other European countries, and the last decade has been hard.”
“How hard?”
He met her gaze, seeing his own pain reflected in her eyes. “Vineyards are closing. Trade is almost nonexistent. When Greece buckled, we nearly did too.”
“But that’s not your fault.”
He shook his head, the weight of the situation still heavy on his shoulders. “No. It’s not my fault, but I have to do something about it. These are my people, and they’re hurting.”
“So, what are you doing?”
“Right now? Praying that when the governors get back from holiday, they will pass the law that I proposed.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You can propose a law?”
“What did you expect? We’re not just royal figureheads. We have a say in government—especially when our people are literally losing everything.”
“What kind of law was it?”
“It was patterned, in part, off of President Roosevelt’s New Deal. It’s a law that would put people back to work and create more jobs. Only it involves a lot more technology than they had in the thirties.”
Suddenly her head whipped toward him. “Were you an economics major?”
He nodded. “Like I said. I’m in bed by ten. I like to study and put that to use. Alexandra thought I was boring.” He wanted desperately to ask if she thought he was boring. But that wasn’t going to be part of this conversation. It had no relevance on their friendship—which was all there could ever be between them.
She put her hand on top of his. “I think you’re doing something brave. I think your people are lucky to have you as a prince.” She lifted one shoulder and shot him a wicked smile. “Imagine if you’d majored in fashion design.”
He reached for her then, forgetting every etiquette rule that had ruled his life for so long, and pulled her in for a hug. “I’m glad we’re friends.”
“Me too,” she whispered against the lapel of his coat.
Suddenly a throat cleared behind him, and he let her go so quickly that she nearly rocked right off her feet.
“I’m glad I caught you,” Charlie’s grandmother said, her gaze dancing back and forth between them, nearly invisible eyebrows raising to the hair curled over her forehead. “Charlie, you haven’t forgotten about my apple pie.”
Charlie’s cheeks were pink—probably from the cold. “No, Gram. I’ll get the apples this week.”
“You know the last of the season are the best.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then Gram settled a knowing gaze on him. “Don’t think you can take liberties just because you happen to have a fancy title.” She clucked her tongue at him. “Your name isn’t anything special in Tinsel.”
It took physical restraint to keep his shoulders from twitching with humor at the petite woman’s threating tone. His guards would have whisked her away, but Andrew had a strange desire to take her to Marvonia and show her the vineyards and beaches. And if Charlie had to come along too, well then, that would be just fine by him.
“I’ve got to get back to the store, Gram. Thanks for lunch.” Charlie leaned over and kissed her grandmother’s cheek before trotting down the steps with a wave. “Love you.”
Andrew gave Gram a slight bow and then followed Charlie to her truck and back to the store to pick up decorations, right where his day had begun.
Andrew unwound each string of lights Charlie had given him the day before and laid them methodically across the lawn. When he got to one he couldn’t untangle, he stretched it over the grass, and tried to find the end. But there was no end. Not really. Just a little tail with a plug. The rest of it was linked, branches interconnected and crisscrossing the entire rectangle.
That couldn’t be right. But as he stared at it, it only became more confounding. More annoying.
By the time his phone rang a few minutes later, he was nearly ready to chuck the whole blanket of lights into the trash bin.
“Hello?” Only as he said the greeting, did he realize he hadn’t checked to see who was calling.
An utter mistake.
“Andrew Archibald Winston. How dare you leave for the holidays.” His mother’s voice was sharp and cut deeper than a saber.
“Hello, mother.”
“Don’t hello, mother me. I’ve been looking for you for days, only to hear from your brother that you’d gone into hiding after that terrible picture. And I could hardly blame you—but now is not the time to—And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were engaged.”
“I wasn’t engaged.”
“You weren’t? But the ring Alexandra threw at you.”
“It was her own. She was angry that I ended our relationship and wanted to lash out at me. Apparently the ring was handy.”
“Oh.” His mother took a deep breath, a sure sign that she was winding down. “You ended it?”
He want
ed to tug on his hair or at least run his fingers through it, but his etiquette teacher had trained the habit right out of him, so he shoved his hand into the pocket of his crisp jeans instead. “Yes. You were right about her.”
“I was.” There was no question in her tone, only a calm certainty that she was right. Always right. “But there is a lady out there for you. One who will give me grandbabies. Many, many grandbabies.”
Suddenly Charlie’s face flashed before his eyes. He tried to blink it away. He had no right thinking of her in the midst of a discussion like this. She was a friend—a good friend. Nothing more. Definitely nothing less.
“But for now, I need you to come home. You’re needed at the feast.”
“Benedict can do it,” he said. His little brother—just twenty—was eager to take on more of the family responsibilities.
“But our guests will expect you. You’re the heir to the throne.”
He kicked at the corner of the light blanket. “All I’ll do is distract from the true meaning of the celebration. People won’t be able to help but speculate about my relationship status instead of enjoying a celebration of the birth of Christ.”
“Then we’ll send out a press release.” So formal. So official.
“No. I don’t want to send out a stodgy announcement on royal letter head. I want . . .” What did he want? Time to lick his wounds and let the story blow over. Time to make a new friend and experience a Tinsel Christmas. Time to take a deep breath before his proposition either passed or was shot down.
He had a distinctive feeling that if his proposal was passed, there wouldn’t be much coverage in the newspaper. But if it failed, his image would be splashed above the fold on every paper in Europe.
Prince Proposes First Royal Flop
This was his first try, his first chance to truly help his people. He couldn’t let it fail or be derailed by his personal life.
“I’ll be home after the New Year, mother.”
She gave a very unroyal harrumph. “By Christmas Eve.”
He stared at the lights before him. “I have something else I need to do that night.”
“If you’re not here in time for Christmas Eve dinner, I will find you and bring you home.”
He laughed. “I don’t think even the hounds could find me here.”
His mother grumbled something before giving him a stiff, “I love you.” Then she hung up, leaving him to his lights.
When his phone rang again a moment later, he answered it. “I’m still not coming home for Christmas.”
“Good. I really need your help, man.” Warner. The defenses he’d put up since his mother’s call quickly fell away.
“How’s Ginger?”
“She’s all right, but in a lot of pain. And her mom is still in the ICU. They’re going to do surgery tomorrow.”
Andrew sighed and punched his fingers through his hair—forget etiquette. “I’m so sorry.”
“I need a favor.” Warner’s voice cracked.
“Anything.”
“I’m not going to make it home before Christmas Eve. Can you handle all of the lights and the decorations and get the house ready for the contest? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m in a bind.”
Andrew weighed his mother’s words and his friend’s request. Warner had been his first friend—his best friend. In the midst of the tabloid flurry, Warner had reached out to offer a helping hand. Andrew could do nothing less for Warner. “Of course. Actually Charlie is helping me.”
“Charlie? Charlie-Charlie?”
“Yes, Charlie from the hardware store. Your former girlfriend. My only friend in town since you left me.”
Warner chuckled. “Fine. Good. I’m glad you’re not alone, but . . . well, this should be interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“Given your . . . status. You’re a bit of a media darling, and Charlie, well, isn’t.”
“What’s that mean?” Something about the way Warner said it, made Andrew want to punch a wall. Like someone had hurt Charlie. Which was one hundred percent unacceptable.
“I don’t know the whole story. It was after we broke up, after she went to New York to try to make it on Broadway.”
And with that set of pipes he’d heard at Gram’s home the day before, she’d probably made it far.
“Her dad was sick for a long time, and when he died, he left her the hardware store. But I overheard several ladies in the bakery say she wasn’t staying in town because of the store. She was staying because she couldn’t go back to New York.”
Andrew wanted to piece together the puzzle of her life, but Warner was handing him half shapes and blank sections. And only one person could tell him the whole truth.
“Andy? You there?”
“Yes. Okay. Lights and decorations. By Christmas Eve. Got it.” He glanced at his feet. “But only if you tell me what a light blanket is for.”
“A what?”
Andrew explained the contraption before him, and Warner laughed loudly. “Lay it over the bushes.”
“Right.”
“And don’t forget the apple cider.”
His stomach dropped to the frozen earth below his feet. “Excuse me? What apple cider?”
“It’s possible, I may have forgotten to tell you.”
Chapter 7
Charlie wasn’t entirely sure what to make of a phone call from a prince. A call from Andrew she’d gotten used to—even grown to anticipate.
But he was Prince Andrew of Marvonia. Which changed their entire dynamic.
At least it should have.
So when she answered her ringing phone the next day, she stumbled on her greeting. “Um . . . hi. Hello. Your majesty?”
He laughed loud and sweet. “Only the king and queen are called that.”
“Well, then what am I supposed to call you?” she asked, as she tucked her phone between her ear and her shoulder and continued unloading a box of screwdrivers.
“How about the same as yesterday?”
“Well, yesterday I found out that my new friend is a prince, and I’m having a bit of a hard time wrapping my head around all of that.”
“Would it help if I fell back into my usual habit and had to ask for help?”
“Yes, actually.”
“I need help.” He sounded about ready to keel over under the weight of whatever was causing him strain.
She laughed at his pathetic request. “What do you need help with today?”
“Apparently I have to make apple cider?” He didn’t sound entirely sure. Whether he was unsure of his responsibility or unsure of what apple cider was, she couldn’t tell.
But then memories of helping Mrs. Hillstone make her famous cider rushed back. Every Christmas Eve Mrs. Hillstone had made her and Warner stand in the driveway and pass out Styrofoam cups of steaming cider to locals and tourists alike. Mrs. Hillstone believed that everyone who made their way to Candy Cane Lane on Christmas Eve should receive a welcome to warm their hearts and a drink to warm their insides.
“I guess the duty belongs to the house—whoever is manning it,” she said.
“I don’t suppose you could tell me where I could find some apples? I have no idea how many I need. Or what to do with them once I’ve procured them. Help?”
She considered stringing him along or making him work for her assistance, but there was nothing she could do to change the joy in her voice. “All right. I’m actually going out to Cranberry Orchard this afternoon to pick up apples for Gram’s pie. Do you want to go?”
“Yes. Please. I’ll meet you at the store. Around two?”
She chuckled again, already looking forward to seeing him far more than she should. But she was practical. She knew that the parts of their friendship that she most enjoyed were temporary at best. There was nothing she could do to extend them. Truthfully she didn’t really want that anyway.
It didn’t stop her from humming along with the carols piping through her store speakers. Music she’d actually t
urned on for the first time in months.
When the Finnolos returned with more paint chips, requesting more sample pints, Charlie filled their order. “Good luck,” she said as they exited the store and left her alone with her daydreams.
As the big hand on the clock on the wall neared two, she ran her hands through her hair and tugged at the knotted tails of her flannel shirt. Maybe she should change.
The thought had only taken form when the bell on her door jingled. She immediately looked up, a smile already in place. It dripped away as Mayor Hayden stepped through the entryway.
“Merry Christmas, Charlotte!”
She put her hands on her hips and sighed.
“Well,” he said as he groomed his salt and pepper beard with his fingers. “Usually this would be the time you would wish me a merry Christmas as well.”
Whatever Christmas spirit she’d been feeling had vanished on the burst of cold air he’d ridden in on. “What can I do for you, Mayor?”
“Now, Charlotte. You know why I’m here.”
“To buy some more Christmas lights?” She tried to keep her voice hopeful, but she knew what he really wanted.
He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his rounded middle. “Christmas is only ten days away. And your windows are the only ones that aren’t decorated.”
Just as he finished chastising her, the door opened again. And there was Andrew in a gray wool peacoat, hands stuffed into the pockets. The open throat showed off the thick sinews of his neck, and her mouth went suddenly dry. She swallowed hard and gave him a wide smile.
“Hello,” she said.
“Charlie.” He dipped his chin ever so slightly. “Mayor.”
She couldn’t help but notice that the mayor did not get a nod.
“Your Royal Highness, good to see you availing yourself of our local businesses.”
“Actually Andrew and I are going out to the orchard today.”
“But-but,” the mayor blustered. “Your window is still empty. You can’t leave without decorating. It reflects poorly on Tinsel. What will our visitors think?”
“That I have better things to do,” Charlie said.