Royal Attraction
Page 6
I reach out and gently touch the dress. The long pale-pink satin reaches the floor, and a slit runs from the ground to the middle of the thigh. The pink fabric is cut into the pattern of a strapless dress, on top of which is an intricate working of pink pearls and silver jewels, which form a delicate high neck and capped sleeves. I’ve seen loads of beautiful gowns growing up in the castle, but never like this. And never ones meant for me.
“Will you stop playing around and get dressed,” Mrs. Wright snaps, pulling me from my fascination with the garment in front of me. My hands shake slightly as I go to work, afraid that one sudden movement and I’ll somehow ruin it. I swallow hard before stepping out from behind the partition. For some reason, I feel nervous. Embarrassed even. My cheeks heat up as I stare down at the floor awaiting Mrs. Wright’s inspection.
“Dear lord, Alexandra…”
“I know…I look terrible in it. Don’t I?” I ask.
“You…you look like royalty, my dear,” she replies. I look up to find Mrs. Wright staring at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“You don’t have to say that, Mrs. Wright. I’ll still wear it.”
“Why would you think I’m lying?” she asks as she goes to work fluffing out the gown.
“This dress is amazing. The prettiest thing I’ve ever worn, but I’m hardly the type of girl who can pull it off,” I answer, eyeing my sweats and jersey lying in a pile on the floor.
Mrs. Wright stops fussing over the dress and places her hands on my face. “Now, you listen to me, Alexandra. I don’t entirely understand what made you leave here, or what happened to you during your time in the States, but I do know this—you belong in this palace, in this family, and most assuredly in this dress, and the next time I hear you imply something to the contrary—”
“You’ll box my ears?” I joke, my throat thick with emotion.
Mrs. Wright laughs, wiping a tear from her eye. “Now, let us go celebrate with our Fredrick,” she says before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.
In all of my years living in the palace, I’ve never seen a party quite like this one. The burgundy and golden hues of the state room are illuminated by dozens and dozens of candles, little ornate fireflies dancing among ladies and lords. Tables stretch across the room, seemingly long enough to cover the expanse of a futbol pitch. Crisp linens punctuated with tall golden vases decorated with carvings of angels and cherubs, filled to the brim with greenery and white roses.
I stay by my father’s side for most of the evening. He links his arm around mine, navigating us from foreign dignitaries to members of the extended royal family. He does most of the talking, offering guests grand stories of my adventures in the States and my many successes at college. Mostly lies, of course, but these events, so saturated in tradition, are more about playing the role and less about being authentic. I smile and nod and curtsey when appropriate, eyeing the waiters who walk by with glasses of champagne like they’re carrying one of Rodrigo’s margaritas.
Tempting. So tempting.
Most of the royal family has been tucked away in a separate room mingling with some of the more important guests. My father and I were never offended we weren’t invited to such gatherings. In fact, we were rather thankful. It was mostly smoking cigars, toasting champagne, and talking about the direction of the royal family, which, somehow, they still viewed as an institution. To me, they were simply a collection of the people I loved most.
If the increased presence of staff in the ballroom indicated anything, they would surely be arriving at any moment. All of them. Including Aiden. I detangle myself from my father and tug on the sleeve of a waiter walking by. I grab a glass of champagne and tilt it back. The bubbles pop and zing in my mouth, and I welcome the distraction from the butterflies that currently zip around my stomach. I make a mental note to do a mega detox juice cleanse when I get back to the States. I don’t usually drink this much, but ever since I got the plane ticket to return to jolly olde England, I’ve resorted to the British way of dealing with feelings: alcohol and repression.
Unlike Freddie, who emailed me, and Ollie, who sent the occasional text, I never heard from Aiden. Not once since I left. The things that were said the last time I spoke with him… I bring the glass of champagne back up to my lips and take another gulp.
With Aiden, it had always been hero worship. He was the future king of England, after all, and, for a while, I fancied myself a part of a real-life fairy tale, with him as my dashing prince. No one played the part better than him. The way he carried himself. The way he spoke. I followed him around like a little puppy. He never made mistakes or said anything foolish. Two things I seemed to do on a daily basis.
Little did I know back then how dangerous it was to believe in fairy tales.
The music in the ballroom changes from the lulling sounds of some classical song I’ll never bother to learn the name of to the sounds of the royal fanfare, an annoying mixture of trumpets that Ollie joked were the sounds Mrs. Wright’s stomach made when she ate dairy.
The murmur of conversations that fills the room dies out as everyone turns to face the entrance. People stand a little taller and fix their tuxes and dresses. Everyone hoping that maybe, just maybe, one of the royals will notice them. For me, it’s quite the opposite. As the doors begin to open, everything slows down. Time itself seems to stall in accordance to my now-irregular heartbeat, and the sound of my own breathing fills my ears.
“Ladies and Gentleman, the Queen Mother, His Royal Highness…”
One by one the members of the royal family enter the ballroom as everyone in the room bows. Freddie and Sophie beam with happiness as she waves excitedly at the crowd; she’s practically jumping up and down. If Freddie notices the break in protocol, he surely doesn’t mind. He pulls her into his arms, dips her, and plants a kiss square on her mouth. When did sweet, nerdy Freddie become Mr. Sauve? There are a few audible gasps coupled with some very pronounced throat clearing, but most of the room oohs and aahs at the happy couple. The king bends down to explain what’s going on to the Queen Mother. Clearly, she still refuses to wear her glasses in public. Ollie’s laugh bellows across the room as he hits Freddie on the back.
Man, Ollie could pull off a tux! My hands twitch remembering how good those muscles felt under them back at the pub, and I make a mental note to go for a long, very long, run in the morning, because as it stands I’m consumed with a wild urge to run my hands through that blasted curly chocolate hair. Press my lips against that square, chiseled jaw…
Miles. I need to run miles and miles.
And then there’s Aiden.
I throw back the last bit of my champagne. Aiden looks leaner than I remember him, and while his tux is perfectly pressed and tailored, it doesn’t cut him the way Ollie’s does. Despite the darkness that lies under them, a clear sign he isn’t sleeping well, his eyes still hold the power to make me a bit weak in the knees. Eyes that currently have settled on me. I quickly look away, desperate to find another glass of champagne.
By the time I flag down a waiter and secure another drink, Aiden has disappeared into the crowd, and I sigh with relief.
“Aly, there you are,” pipes a sprightly voice from behind me. I turn around to find the glowing couple. Sophie grabs my hand before giving me a kiss on each cheek. “You look stunning.”
“It’s the Spanx,” I tease with a wink. Sophie giggles into her hand. I clink my glass against Freddie’s. “Congratulations are in order! You managed to—”
“—secure a real doll despite being a major nerd,” Ollie says, appearing at my side.
“I was going to say that you managed to find someone as completely endearing as you are, but, yes, what Ollie says works, too,” I joke.
“Why, thank you, Aly. Might I take a moment to concur with my dazzling fiancée and say you look stunning this evening,” Freddie says.
“Do I need to remind you of the Spanx again?” I ask, still feeling a bit uncomfortable with all the attention.
I wave both of them off before turning my attention to Ollie. His eyes go wide as he fully takes me in. Something between a moan and a groan issues from his lips, and I’m not entirely sure how to read it. His mouth drops open as his eyes travel the length of my body, and the longer he stares at me without saying something, the more foolish I feel.
Despite the lace covering at the top of my dress, my boobs feel oversized. Like mega boobs that could topple a small building. The slit up the dress feels way too long, and the more he inspects me, the higher it seems to crawl.
And he is definitely inspecting me.
Eyes moving slowly, languishing over every dip and curve.
The way he looks at me…
My hand goes up to my hair to make sure no loose strands have fallen out of the bun, but before I can reach it, Ollie catches it and holds it in his. “Don’t,” he begs. For a beat, neither one of us speaks until I can’t take the silence for another second. “What? Do I have Cheetos in my teeth? I have some stashed in the bathroom in case the food sucks,” I joke lamely. A nervous little laugh bubbles up in my chest like champagne.
Ollie shakes his head, forcefully pulling his hand from mine. His eyes dart away from my face, scanning the crowd. He swallows. Hard. More than once. “You look fine. Good. Fine,” he mumbles before taking a long swig of his champagne. His voice, usually filled with mirth, floats between us, stale. Indifferent. Bored.
If ever a man could make me feel small with only a series of dismissive one-syllable words, it’s Ollie. I cross my arms over my chest, hoping to hide the pearls and jewels, which now feel ridiculous. A farce.
In fact, his whole demeanor has changed almost instantly. Standing as straight as an arrow, Ollie won’t even look at me. Instead, he continues to survey the rest of the room. His chest rises up and down a bit faster than normal, but, other than that, he seems unfazed by the dress or the person wearing it. I can’t figure out why he’s acting like such a daft cow. Unless he detests the sight of me in the dress so much he finds it safer to say nothing at all. The silence is killing me, and I can’t help but wonder why he doesn’t just leave.
Hurt quickly turns into frustration. “If you’ll excuse me, Oliver, I have a wall over there to go chat with.”
“Yes, yes. Okay. See you later, Aly,” he replies, nodding, still refusing to look at me.
It takes everything in me not to slam my foot down so hard on his perfectly shined black shoe that his foot bleeds for days. Instead of violence, I pick up the train of my dress and spin around, hoping it hits him on the way out. I pretend not to hear the people who call out to me as I storm from the ballroom. It’s safer for all of us if I take a few moments to myself before attempting conversation.
Once I’m safely in the private rooms, far from the crowds and the incorrigible Oliver Dudley, I slump against the wall. It shouldn’t make me this mad. I shouldn’t care that Ollie doesn’t like the way I look in this dress. I am most definitely a stronger woman than that, but, damn it, I do care. And then I’m left feeling petty, and all I want to do is to drown myself in my own pity party pool.
I close my eyes and count to ten.
“Alexandra.”
For the love of Winston Churchill.
My eyes flutter open to find Aiden standing before me. All the air rushes out of my lungs. God, he’s still beautiful. “Ai-Aiden,” I stutter. I can’t deny he still has an effect on me. Even if it’s in the sort of way one admires a painting you can’t take home.
Aiden always had it tougher than the rest of us. As first in line for the throne, he had virtually no time to himself. Even when he was a kid, he was always off to this training or that meeting. Readying himself for the Crown. I never heard him complain. Not once. It made worshipping at his feet really, really easy. I don’t know if I ever looked up to anyone more growing up.
“Are you all right?”
Am I all right? Not what are you doing back here? I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face. Am I all right? My chin trembles slightly, and I worry I’m about to lose my emotional shit. I nod. Aiden takes a step closer to me. “Are you sure?”
“It’s…it’s so good to see you, Aiden,” I manage, choking back the emotion that sits in my chest.
Aiden clears his throat. “It’s been entirely too long.” I nod again, not trusting my ability to speak without full-on blubbering. “I can’t help but feel that’s my fault,” he continues. “Alexandra, I am so—”
“Please. Don’t. All of that is in the past,” I say, cutting him off. I don’t have it in me to shift through the emotional wreckage right now. Two weeks. Can’t we all just pretend for two weeks that none of it happened? I hold out my hand to him. “Will you shake my hand, Aiden?”
Aiden smiles. It’s been years since I’ve seen that smile. “I think we can do better than that,” he replies before pulling me into his arms for a hug. All the tension from the evening evaporates as I settle into his embrace.
Aiden pulls away, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Might I add that you look amazing this evening?”
“If you two are done hugging it out, they are about to serve dinner.”
Ollie stares us down from the doorway, a particularly dark and stormy expression clouding his eyes. I gulp. Aiden steps away from me, quickly placing his hands into his pockets. “Isn’t this a stunning reversal of fortune, Oliver? Usually, I’m the one hunting you down,” he replies, trying to keep his voice light. Unlike Ollie, Aiden’s acting abilities leave something to be desired.
“Well, I have always been convinced you secretly wanted to be me,” he replies with a lazy shrug of his shoulders. “What do they say? Imitation is the highest form of flattery? It was only a matter of time before you starting sneaking off with some woman to avoid family obligations.”
Aiden’s face grows dark. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Some woman?” I ask, my voice rising. The last thing I want to do is cause another rift between Oliver and Aiden, but he is acting like a complete and utter dick. “Like you haven’t known me practically our whole lives? When did you become such an asshole?”
“I don’t know, Alexandra. Maybe sometime in the last three years? I mean, you miss a lot when you aren’t around,” he charges, taking a step toward me. “A lot of things have changed.”
Where the hell is all of this coming from? Only hours ago, we were fine. We had settled all this, or, at least we had agreed to a temporary truce.
Ollie looks from me to Aiden and back to me again. “Well, maybe some things don’t change.”
“Watch it, Oliver,” Aiden demands, stepping in front of me.
I grab Aiden by the arm and pull him out of my way. I don’t need him fighting my battles for me. “Yes, apparently, you’re still an immature little boy who always tries to steal his brother’s toys.”
The words slip out of me without warning. The same words Aiden hurled at him all those years ago when the shit hit the fan. I don’t know what possessed me to say them. Where had the anger come from? It was an irrational response. The severity of it didn’t fit the crime. I can’t begin to fathom what is happening to me, but looking at Ollie, my emotions are vast and unending. Uncontrollable. Has it always been like this? When had it begun? All I know is the longer I stay in England, the more likely I am going to drown in it all.
An eerie silence falls over the room as my words settle around us like traps. Like the moment a bomb is supposed to detonate but doesn’t, and everyone is unsure whether it’s a dud or just delayed. Ollie pales, his eyes latching onto the ground.
“Alexandra, please,” Aiden says gently. He reaches for my hand, but I snatch it away and pick up my dress.
“And just so we’re clear,”
I continue, shoving my finger into Ollie’s chest. “This dress is amazing, and I look fucking fantastic.”
And then I do my best impression of Beyoncé and Lemonade my ass out of there.
Chapter Ten
16 years, 0 Months, ½ Day
I stand there for a bit staring at him. Not in a stalker sort of way. At least, I hope that’s not what I’ve become. I just can’t help myself. Especially when he’s like this: bent over his sketch pad, the wind blowing his usually well-kept auburn hair all over the place, his forehead scrunched, and the way his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, seem to stare straight through the paper.
Even at nineteen, Aiden seems to have it all figured out. What he wants. Art is his life. As first in line for the throne of England, he is expected to study business or maybe go into the service before taking his place as king of England. Going to art school isn’t an option. I doubt even his father knows how talented he truly is. After this year, his gap year, he will be leaving for uni. Knowing that, he spends more and more time sneaking off to draw and create. He doesn’t bemoan the fact he will have to give it up. He accepts it.
But I know what it means to him.
I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me as a misty rain begins to fall. I should say something or go back inside, but there is something so desperately lovely about the way he sits on the hill looking out over the moors, capturing the world and making it his own on paper. An audible sigh of pleasure escapes my lips. I reach up and cover my mouth. Hoping I can make my escape before he turns around, I start to slowly back away from him.
I don’t make it two steps. “Alexandra? What are you doing out here?”
I run a hand through my hair. “I’ve come to catch a bit of fresh air. It’s sort of stuffy in there. I didn’t mean to distract you.”
He smiles. The kind that reminds me of his dimple on the left side of his perfectly sculpted face. “Nonsense. Would you like to join me?”
I nod a bit more vigorously than I should before plopping down next to him on the grassy knoll. The dew of which seeps through my dress. “Bollocks! Mrs. Wright is going to kill me,” I groan.