Royally Yours

by Liz Johnson

  Tyler slid his feet into his sock and loafers, and worked to unclench his jaw.

  He would go to her door, and he would tell her everything.

  That he loved her then and loved her still.

  That he wanted to marry her someday. But if the Crown wouldn’t allow it, he would be a gardener at her gate if it meant he might see her every day.

  He’d give the inn to Hazel if he had to, just as he’d given up his career in journalism, if it meant he had a chance with her. Tyler closed his eyes as his stomach began to turn.

  He already knew what she would say. Her mother would never allow it, nor would anyone else affiliated with the monarchy, for that matter.

  She would shatter him when she said these words, and he was terrified to hear them because in the last few hours, he had fallen even more in love with her.

  But despite himself, and despite his fear, his foolish heart kept its refrain.

  And he would tell her anyway.

  Chapter 11

  Beatrix tightened the belt of her cardigan and cozied into the seat by the window. She looked out over the snow-kissed trees as far as the twinkle lights and the inn’s patio lanterns would allow her to see.

  The incessant buzz of her phone interrupted her reverie. Who was calling at this hour? Had her mother forgotten the time difference once again?

  Beatrix stood and reached for her mobile phone from the table beside the bed, then looked down at the caller identification. She frowned and swiped to unlock her telephone. Why would Charles be calling?

  Dread sunk deep.

  What if he saw her and Tyler in the kitchen… or worse, walking through town square? What if he saw the kiss they shared inside the gingerbread house?

  Strangely, the panic was not for Charles’ reaction. What she feared the most was the effect this might have on Tyler. Charles could ruin The Melody Inn in any number of ways. On that note, Charles could ruin the anonymity of Tinsel. Easily.

  Beatrix swallowed hard. But when she answered the phone, Charles said nothing about Tyler or the bookstore or the kiss. Instead, he prattled on and on almost unintelligibly.

  “Slow down. I can’t understand you.” She carried the phone back toward the window. “What do you mean the mayor’s got you and Harry trapped in his reindeer room?”

  “They’re life-size replicas, Beatrix!”

  “Charles, have you been drinking?” She adjusted the decorative pillow in the chair and sat once more. Whatever was he talking about?

  “Oh that’s jolly nice of you to say. This man has practically abducted myself and Harry, and you act as if I am the perpetrator.”

  She folded her lips to keep the words in her mind from coming out her mouth. “My apologies, Charles. Please start from the beginning.”

  What followed was a more detailed but equally baffling recount of the night’s events. He and Harry went for a late-night stroll. They were walking down Candy Cane Lane when Mayor Hayden approached and dragged the two of them back to his obnoxiously Christmas-themed home.

  Beatrix shook her head. “What I’m failing to understand is why the mayor approached you in the first place.”

  Charles quieted.

  Odd. Charles never quieted.

  “Wait a second,” she said. “Were you doing something illegal?”

  He guffawed. “Me?”

  Beatrix rubbed her face with her hands. Yes, you.

  “You didn’t answer the question.” She thought of him locked up in Tinsel’s jail, which of course brought to mind an image of inmates icing cookies and singing carols from their cells. She covered her mouth with one hand to hold back a giggle.

  “No, Beatrix. The mayor did not see me doing anything illegal.”

  Didn’t see him doing it? Had he chosen this verbiage on purpose?

  She looked out the window once more, toward the glistening trees.

  Perhaps she was splitting hairs. She decided not to press him further on the issue. He was either already telling the truth, or else he would weasel his way into a different answer.

  After the evening she’d enjoyed in Tinsel, she had imagined all sorts of ways to tell her mother she could not stand the sight of Charles any longer. The most satisfying fantasy was cutting him out of all the paparazzi photos with old-fashioned scissors. No doubt, her mother would find another man equally suited for the throne… and equally dull.

  But really, rescuing Charles from the mayor’s reindeer room seemed a fine place to draw a line between the two of them in permanent ink. What sort of trouble had he gotten himself into? And how was Harry involved?

  Beatrix shook her head. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Well, there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding involving—” he cleared his throat. “Tyler.”

  “Wait. My Tyler?” She bit down on her bottom lip and grimaced. Had she said the word my out loud? She blamed the midnight hour. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

  “Did you just call him your Tyler?”

  “You know what I mean.” She drew her legs up into the chair and wondered—did he know what she meant?

  “I’m afraid I do.” Charles let out a slow sigh. “Nevertheless, I need you and Tyler to come to the mayor’s house immediately so he can clear things up. This obstinate Mayor Hayden fellow is refusing to let us go until he talks with Tyler.”

  Beatrix groaned, imagining where this was headed. “And if Tyler refuses to talk to him?”

  “That’s not an option, Beatrix.” Charles’ tone grew urgent, and she sensed him panicking. “He’s likely to hold us here indefinitely, force-feeding us hot chocolate and snickerdoodles while we watch The Muppet Christmas Carol on repeat. You’ve got to come quickly before I lose all dignity.”

  She feared she may already be too late for that feat.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she mumbled, then hung up the phone.

  Beatrix was changing into a proper pair of jeans and sliding her feet into the tennis shoes Hazel had loaned her when she thought she heard a gentle knock on the door. She stilled, listening for the sound to recur.

  “Beatrix, are you still awake?” The knock rap-tap-tapped once more, and her heart flew into a flurry, in rhythm with the sound. Even Tyler’s voice was a dream. What had he come to say?

  She hurried over to the door, then took a moment to compose herself. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and swept her hand over her hair to catch any stray strands. Then she pinched her cheeks because at this point she was probably pale as the snow-capped branches of those trees.

  She unbolted the door and opened it slightly, peering into the hallway at Tyler. She tried to make her grin coy. Perhaps it would distract from her blush and the fiery warmth he sparked within her every time he neared. “May I help you?” She asked.

  Tyler rubbed his eyes with his hands, then shoved his fists into his pockets. He seemed nervous, or perhaps uncomfortable, the way he fidgeted up on the balls of his feet. She’d never seen him so on edge, and she flattered herself with the thought that her own company might have this effect on him.

  All at once, she remembered Charles and his rather urgent predicament, and she realized she’d better convey all this to Tyler before he shared whatever sentiment had brought him to her doorstep. She held up one hand. “Before you say anything—and I am so interested in what you have to say—you’ve got good timing because I’m just off the phone with Charles, and it would seem he and Harry are in quite a puzzling situation.”

  Tyler lowered his feet fully down to the ground. “What do you mean, a puzzling situation?” He looked into her eyes and seemed suspended between whatever he was about to say and the reality of what she conveyed. Add ruining this romantic moment to the list of things for which she blamed Charles.

  Beatrix straightened her glasses. “Something about the mayor detaining them in a reindeer room.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes and hung his head. When he looked up, he met her waiting gaze. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Wish
I were.” She shrugged. “Maybe we can walk over together? Unless you’re not up to it. I mean, I understand if you’re tired and need to stay put or—”

  “Bea, there’s no way I’m letting you scamper around town alone.” He leaned a half-inch closer. “Not when I have the chance to spend a few more minutes with you.”

  The embers flickered further within her. “Promise you won’t forget what you were going to tell me? We can finish the conversation upon our return to the inn.”

  Tyler moistened his lips. Was it her imagination, or did his gaze linger over her own? He reached out and gently righted her glasses. “I can assure you, Princess, I won’t forget.”

  The Christmas lights wrapped around every nook and cranny of Mayor Hayden’s house were bright enough to light up the larger portion of Boston. Beatrix and Tyler stepped up toward the front door together, where a life-size Santa figurine holding a Naughty or Nice? sign stood beside the largest Christmas wreath she had ever seen.

  “Well, this is certainly…” She cleared her throat and looked over at Tyler. “Festive.”

  Tyler grinned back at her, then knocked three times on the door. “That’s one word for it.”

  Beatrix let her attention move down the porch, over the bushes and the inflatables and—wait a second—was that Christmas music she heard? At this time of night? “Where does he store the decorations the rest of the year?”

  Tyler crossed his arms as he waited for someone to answer the door. “Store them?”

  “Yeah, you know.” She stopped, distracted by the music. It was definitely coming from one of these strands of outdoor lights. “After Christmas.”

  “Oh.” Understanding dawned, pulling at the corners of his grin. “He doesn’t. His house is like this year ‘round.”

  Beatrix’s jaw gaped, and she quickly snapped it shut. What would her mother think of how freely she expressed herself around this man?

  A princess never shows surprise. She is never baffled by anything.

  She could hear her mother’s voice in her mind as clearly as the church bells just outside the palace. Then she looked over at Tyler, standing there so steady and sure of himself. He was everything she would have wanted in a match if she had the freedom to choose. And he helped her remember parts of her heart she had long neglected, too.

  Strange how when she was with him, the chorus of rules that had been repeated to her since childhood faded in volume, so that in their absence, she had begun to hear a different type of tune.

  A harmony.

  “You mean to tell me their house looks like this—”

  The front door opened. Beatrix swallowed back the rest of the words.

  A beautiful woman with long, dark hair welcomed the two of them. She wore a Christmas apron tied around her waist and held a plate of something that smelled delicious. “Come on in,” she said. “I’m Lavinia Hayden, the mayor’s wife.” She held out her free hand to Beatrix.

  Beatrix shook it gently, then followed Tyler inside. Lavinia cradled the serving plate in one arm and reached behind them to close the door with the other. “Would either of you like a slice of my famous coffee cake?”

  Tyler didn’t flinch, nor did he seem caught off guard by the oversized sled next to the fireplace or the color wheel that shone into the rotating aluminum Christmas tree. He took the scene in stride as if it were all perfectly ordinary. A chuckle nearly escaped Beatrix. No wonder Tyler avoided the mayor at all costs. The man seemed to be quite eccentric indeed.

  “I’m still full from a scrumptious dinner at The Melody Inn, but thank you.” Beatrix’s gaze swept around the room, from the tree decorated with every manner of ornaments to the candles burning and the lights draped over the fireplace mantle. It was overwhelming, yes. But also surprisingly charming.

  The smell of cinnamon floated through the air along waves of warmth radiating from the fireplace. No one could deny how cozy the space was. Well, except maybe Charles.

  Lavinia set the serving plate down on a coffee table central to the living area, and straightened a plaid throw blanket over the sofa. “Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the couch cushions.

  Tyler plopped down unceremoniously, and Beatrix took a seat next to him, careful to cross her feet at the ankles even though her mother wasn’t watching. She’d broken so many royal rules tonight—kissing an American citizen for starters—that following a few of the lesser etiquette guidelines seemed to somehow soften the rebellion.

  Lavinia took the red chair opposite the sofa and clasped her hands together. “I can’t believe I have a real princess inside my home.” She rushed to correct herself, waving with her hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that out loud. My husband prides himself in making Tinsel a safe haven for royals and actors and musicians alike, but this—” She grinned widely at the two of them. “This is really something.”

  Beatrix shifted her weight back and forth on the sofa and inched imperceptibly closer to Tyler. Her mouth went dry. The thing she’d enjoyed so much about her time in Tinsel was feeling as if for a few short hours, her life and her shoes and her hair and her choices were not watched and recorded at every turn. The last thing she wanted was an Instagram-worthy assessment right here in the mayor’s living room.

  Tyler must have sensed her discomfort because he cleared his throat and initiated his own response. “How did you know she’s a princess?”

  “Well, the article, of course.” Lavinia laughed as if this explanation were obvious.

  The article?

  But Beatrix hadn’t read any new, incriminating rumors since she disappeared from the public eye here in Tinsel. Had she missed something?

  Lavinia’s grin fell into a solemn, straight line across her lips. “You don’t know about the article.” The sentiment was a statement, not a question.

  Beatrix’s heart began to race with panic. Seems she had, indeed, heard correctly. “What article?”

  Lavinia bit down on her red-lined bottom lip. “About the two of you.”

  “The two of us?” Tyler gestured back and forth between them. Beatrix began to wonder if perhaps she had scooted just a bit too close to him. She became keenly aware of how close her leg was to his. Had Lavinia noticed too?

  But everything Lavinia said made no sense. While someone had indeed been leaking photographs and personal information about Beatrix to the tabloids, Tinsel had been a lovely reprieve. A breath of proverbial fresh air, crisp as the newly-fallen snow. No one had taken her picture here. They had rules about the paparazzi.

  Right?

  Her stomach began to turn as she considered that, just maybe, she had been too comfortable here. She had taken their word when Tyler and the others described the no-press-allowed statute. Was that foolish of her to do?

  “I don’t understand.” Beatrix folded her hands in her lap. Her mother had taught her the rule: one must portray the utmost of physical calm when one feels the most emotionally tangled. She raised her chin. “What did this article say?”

  “The headline was Princess Beatrix’s Mystery Day Finally Exposed.” Lavinia put the words in air quotations, then reached into the pocket of her apron for her mobile phone. “Here. I’ll show you. It’s on the Internet. Looks like it was just posted, but it’s already going viral.”

  Beatrix struggled to breathe.

  Surely she had heard incorrectly. Surely. Not Tyler. Not their beautifully secret day together. She clung to hope either she or Lavinia had misunderstood.

  She began to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

  But as she took the phone from Lavinia and began to read the article, her heart free fell, and her hope skidded off its tracks. Moisture dampened the corners of her eyes, and she collected herself lest the emotion give way to a rush of tears.

  The article was exactly the same as the one Tyler had shown her an hour ago in the bookstore. The words she’d nearly cried over for an entirely different reason. The photographs and the feature he’d sworn only she and he had ever read.
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  She glanced over at him. He watched her, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as if attempting to read her thoughts. Was he trying to determine how much she knew? Making up lies in his mind to cover up what he’d done?

  Why would he sell the article to the media after two whole years? It made no sense. The one thing she did know is she had been a fool. Falling for the American two years ago was one thing. But trusting him so readily here in Tinsel was another.

  Her mouth went dry, and she moistened her lips. She truly had no words. She set the phone down on the coffee table beside the cake, and even the blinking of her eyelids suddenly felt heavy with emotional fatigue.

  Precisely why her mother insisted that relationships built on true love were nothing more than youthful fancy.

  She thought of their kiss in the gingerbread house and how her heart had stirred with the dream of him. She thought of the rooftop of the bookstore and the first time she’d read the article. She thought how she’d all but convinced herself that this radical freedom she felt around him was a good thing.

  And then it all, like a marble to the bottom of glass, began to sink.

  A door opened. She was vaguely aware of someone approaching but paid little mind to them. She was in shock about the ramifications. Now, everyone knew about the one day she’d managed to live as an ordinary human being and that the one person she thought she could trust was responsible for that breech. Such shock that she didn’t even register the footsteps as those of Charles, Harry, and Mayor Hayden until Charles began to speak.

  “Beatrix. Tyler. Thank goodness you’re here. I can’t stand another moment in this eclectic Christmas prison.”

  Beatrix lowered her chin toward her feet but looked up at him unamused.

  Mayor Hayden took one step closer, folding his hands in front of his Rudolf sweater. Was that thing hand-knit? “Thank you two for coming. I think you’ll find Charles and Harry have some explaining to do.” From his pointer finger dangled a set of keys.