by Aven Ellis
I think about this as I walk through the palace. But I wasn’t working when I kissed Roman. A sense of righteousness surges through me. I won’t back down from this. If I’m going to help keep this monarchy relevant, that means being true to myself when I’m not working.
Including sharing sweet kisses with the man I love and showing the world I have a man who respects and values me. I think that’s an important lesson in itself, too.
I reach his doors and find them open, with Arthur sitting at a table, reading his mobile. I smile. Talk about a modern king. He reads the news on his phone, preferring it to a stack of newspapers.
He glances up and rises. “Good morning, Elizabeth.”
I dip into a curtsy. “Arthur.”
He moves around the table and pulls out my chair for me. I sink into it, and he resumes his place at the table. “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting today,” he says.
“Of course,” I reply.
I study my uncle, with his vivid blue eyes and thick blonde hair, thinking of how strikingly handsome he is.
“Poached eggs on avocado toast with a cup of Earl Grey?” Arthur asks.
“How do you remember these details?” I ask, laughing.
“Makes my job easier, having an excellent memory. You know how it is. The more you can remember, the easier every function is.”
He picks up his phone and sends a text. I know it’s to the kitchen, as Arthur prefers texting his food requests, much to Antonia and my grandmother’s horror. I fold my hands in my lap, but instead of staying still, I twist the rings on my fingers in anxiousness.
“I’m sure you know why I called you here today,” he says, pausing to take a sip of his coffee.
I gulp. “Because of the papers.”
“Yes.”
Arthur traces his finger absently around the rim of his china cup. “Tell me about him. He must be incredible if you’ve decided to go public with him.”
I furrow my brow. He doesn’t sound angry.
“I don’t know how you feel about showing affection in public, Arthur, but I love this man. I’ve never been in love before, but when I’m with Roman, he makes me feel like I can take on the world. I want people to know I love him. I want to be like any other young woman in love, and to me, if that means giving and receiving affection in public, I will do so.” I exhale after my rambling speech.
“You have always been headstrong when it comes to doing the right thing,” he says with a grin.
“Excuse me?”
“You are willful, but it suits you well. When you feel passionately about something, it leads you to make the best choice.”
I exhale with relief. “Thank you.”
“Now your cousin, on the other hand, is determined in the wrong ways. I’m worried about Xander now that he’s leaving the army. The army kept him structured and gave him purpose. Now he’s got to figure out how to be a king in waiting, and that is a tough hand of cards to be dealt. He can’t do what he wants, and in his role as the Prince of Wales, he will be, god willing, waiting a long time to ascend to the throne.”
I wonder where Arthur is going with this.
“His first stumble was this thing with India,” he continues.
“You saw it, too?” I ask, shocked.
Arthur gives me a sad smile. “I know my son. He doesn’t need a ‘yes’ woman. He needs a partner who will challenge him and who will be strong in her sense of self. India isn’t that woman. He was doing the easy thing by selecting her. The last thing I want is to see history repeat itself, so you can imagine my relief when he told me he broke up with her yesterday.”
My mouth drops.
“I feel I can tell you these truths in confidence,” Arthur says slowly. “You are ready to help us be the monarchy of the future, and that means not selecting the partner right for this antiquated world, but the partner right for you. Which is why I want you to know that I fully support this romance of yours.”
My heart leaps. Arthur understands.
He’s going to support me and Roman.
But his statement about history repeating itself is one I need to know the answer to.
“What do you mean by history repeating itself?” I ask quietly. “Are you talking about my parents?”
Arthur’s eyes widen. “No, no, I was talking about me.”
Now I’m shocked. This is an extremely personal conversation we’re entering into.
“I did love Antonia once,” he admits quietly. “But we were introduced for our suitability, not because people thought we’d be good together romantically. We were encouraged to be together because our families wanted it. The public wanted it.
“Over time, I convinced myself I was in love with her because she was driven and smart and she ticked the boxes. Now I can see they weren’t the right boxes. While I did love her, it wasn’t the right love. I can see that so clearly now. I think it was the same for her. We fell out of that love with each other only a few years after we married.”
My heart slams into reverse. “You fell out of love with her so soon?” I ask, the cold fear creeping through every inch of me as my own fear is brought out as a truth.
“It was both our faults,” Arthur explains. “I was away in the navy, and she was abandoned here, at this palace, with my mother and father, who were very much in the old way of thinking. Nobody helped her adjust. I’ll give her credit; she found her own path. But when I came home, we were different people. We grew apart. While I was ready to come home and pick up where I left things, she had already found her role. The attention she craved was no longer from me, but from the public. Which is why she is so fiercely protective of her position.
“If this man suits you, if you think you could love him, you are going to have huge challenges ahead of you,” Arthur continues. He pauses to take another sip of his coffee. “It won’t be easy. He will be frustrated, but remember, it’s not at you, but the attention. Unlike Clementine and the woman who will marry Xander, Roman won’t have to give up his career. I don’t think the attention will be on him for long, not like the way it will be on Clementine and whoever Xander chooses for a wife.”
I nod, grateful Roman won’t have to give up his job.
“I worry about the fame side of being with me. About the rules. Roman is used to being his own man. I hate knowing what will be said about him, and how his life will be examined because he chose to be with me.”
“You will help him through that, Elizabeth,” Arthur says.
The door opens, and staff enter with cloche plates. Arthur is served porridge and fruit, while I’m presented with avocado toast.
“What if I can’t?” I admit as soon as he dismisses the staff.
“If he loves you, he will find a way. I know your cousins will help him, and Clementine is the best of all as far as understanding how he feels.”
“Clementine has been such a gift to all of us,” I say.
Now Arthur beams. “She is. I adore her.”
We chat a bit longer about Christian and Clementine before he clears his throat. “You do know there will be people in this palace who think you are lowering the mystique of the monarchy by dating a gardener,” he says.
My body goes cold again. “Yes,” I say, understanding that he is speaking of Antonia’s camp.
“If anyone gives you problems, I want you to tell me. That includes your grandmother as well as your aunt. I know your grandmother loves you, but she believes in a traditional relationship, meaning Roman needs a title in front of his name or he’s nothing.”
“I know,” I say, my heart hurting at the thought of her discrediting Roman before she’s even met him.
“Don’t worry about that. She’ll get over it. Now, in regards to your aunt, if she does anything to make you uncomfortable, or to embarrass you, I want you to come to me immediately.”
My face burns. I would sooner die than run to Arthur with a report of how Antonia is trying to force me back to being a dutiful princess who will do what s
he asks.
“I mean it. I’m not speaking to you as your uncle, but as your boss.”
I manage a small smile. “You are a good man, Arthur.”
“So I’ve been told,” he says, his blue eyes twinkling at me.
We continue to talk about the week ahead and my visit to Leeds, where I’ll be opening a library and attending a conference on children’s nutrition. I’ll also be hosting a tea at St. James’s Palace for early childhood educators. I ask him about his schedule, and as we talk, I see his genuine excitement over the events where he is hands-on with the public. I can’t help but wish he would divorce Antonia, so they could each live a life true to themselves. Most of all, so Arthur could find the happiness he deserves.
But someone else will have to kick down that door before he’d do that. Arthur is moving the monarchy forward, but I don’t see him filing for divorce and causing that kind of scandal. My head and my heart know the monarchy would overcome that. I believe, with all my heart, that it would show him as a mortal man. But he’s worked so hard to be the loving father, the king of the people; he would never want to disappoint the public with a divorce.
It’s the same reason my parents are staying together.
Out of duty.
I feel the heaviness come crashing over me, of four people who chose each other and chose wrongly. Or were in love and fell out of it. It happens all the time.
I simply can’t imagine it happening with me and Roman.
I push the thought away. I can’t let that dominate my mind, or I’ll go mad.
Then something else comes to mind.
“Arthur, I do have one thing I’d like to ask of you,” I say.
“Fire away,” he replies.
“I’d like to have an Instagram account or Connectivity Story Share. It’s silly to think I can’t have one. It’s a growing platform that can keep me connected with not only younger people but with people of the world. I could share my events, little inside pics of my life with my friends, and I’d like to show Roman, as the kind of partner people should believe they are worthy enough to have.”
Arthur takes in my words and is silent for a few moments. “I think it’s a good idea. You are a wonderful role model, Elizabeth. You understand how to make personal connections in a way that will make you not only relatable but shows your true self. I approve on one condition.”
I nod.
“I think you need to get that picture from The London News and make it your first post. Let true love reign,” he says, winking at me.
I laugh, and he does, too.
There is no doubt what my first picture will be on Connectivity Story Share.
Let true love reign indeed, I think happily.
Chapter 26
It was Served During the Tudor period
My mind is racing as I walk with Roman in Shepherd’s Bush. Another week and a half has flown by, and now Christmas is coming quickly.
I’ve survived days of ridiculousness in the press, with such lovely headlines as:
SACKED! KING ARTHUR VOWS TO TERMINATE JEALOUS LIZ TO PROTECT CLEMMIE
IN LOVE WITH THE HELP
SEXY GARDENER ON CALL FOR PRINCESS LIZ!
WHO IS ROMAN LAWLER? Meet Princess Elizabeth’s new love!
A COMMONER TREE TRIMMER FOR HER ROYAL HIGHNESS
ROYAL WAR: JEALOUS LIZZIE TORMENTS POOR CLEMMIE
ROYAL SPENDER? Princess Elizabeth racks up massive expenses on new clothing that the public is footing the bill for.
NOT IN LOVE Sources close to the Princess claim Liz is dating a London gardener to get attention.
DO WE NEED MORE WORKING ROYALS? If buying new clothing and running around with her boyfriend is all she does, let Princess Elizabeth get a REAL JOB.
I glance at Roman as we walk. He’s oblivious to my thoughts, content to be wrapped up in his own as we head down the path. I only hope he’s not thinking of all the things said about him last week.
He assured me he didn’t care. He went about his life, even while photographers surrounded Cheltham House and waited outside his flat to get a picture of him. Not once has he complained. In the pictures snapped of him, he’s shielding his eyes from the glare of flashbulbs and is expressionless as he walks, even as the paparazzi screamed insults at him to get a reaction. In fact, he’s only voiced concern about me, as sources from Antonia’s camp have leaked all kinds of hideous things, resulting in those awful headlines and even worse stories.
I study his profile, remembering when I caught him going through his phone while he was waiting for me to come to bed. He stopped scrolling, began to read, and then his expression completely changed. His face paled. I know his expressions like I know my own. Roman read something that upset him. I asked him about it, but he said it was “rubbish” and put his phone aside.
I know it was something bad, but he refused to tell me. He remained quiet and within his head the rest of the night. It killed me knowing I was doing this to him. If he were with anyone else, there would be no embarrassing stories about him in the press. He wouldn’t have photographers stalking him. He wouldn’t have trolls on social media mocking him.
Whenever I relive this moment, I wonder how many more he’s had in private. Roman says he doesn’t care, and most of the time, I believe him. But I know from experience, some articles do hurt. They do get under your skin, even if it’s incredibly thick.
My chest aches as I stare at him. How many moments will it take before he decides I’m not worth living the rest of his life this way? When will he begin to resent the goldfish bowl I’ve put him into?
“What are you thinking?”
I blink. Roman must have felt my gaze on his profile.
“I’m nervous,” I say.
“You have nothing to be nervous about. My family are going to love you,” he reassures me.
I shift my attention to the present. Because I’m going to be at Sandringham with the whole family for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, we’ve decided to split our family time. I’m having dinner tonight with Roman’s entire family, and Friday night, he is invited to Arthur’s friends and family pre-Christmas dinner at Buckingham Palace. We’ll spend Christmas apart, but Roman is going to come up to Sandringham for Boxing Day on the 26th.
“I’m actually more nervous than you about this,” he continues.
I blink. “Why?”
Roman sighs. “To me, you’re Liz. You’ve become that to Darcy, too. But to them—especially my mum and my aunt—you’re royalty. My mum has changed the menu three times already, worried about what to serve a princess. I’m worried they’ll make you uncomfortable by being star-struck. In my head, all I see is my mum and my aunt staring at you like you are an apparition, my uncle saying he doesn’t understand the fascination with the monarchy, my father saying everything has gone to pot with society, and Darcy trying to wind me up about you by quoting Jane Austen love lines.”
I feel a lightness return to my soul. Roman has no idea I find all these things endearing rather than something that can make me run away.
“They sound lovely,” I say. “I’m excited to meet them.”
“I’ve already warned them that the palace prohibits you from taking selfies.”
Now I can’t help but laugh. “I would have done it.”
“I don’t trust my mum and my aunt to not post it on Connectivity or Facebook. You’re too good not to share. Which I understand.”
I reach over and put my hand on his arm. “It’s going to be wonderful.”
I only wish I could say the same kind of thing about my family dinner that Roman will be joining on Friday. He comes from such a normal, grounded world. The idea of bringing him into mine is terrifying. That will be the first time he will meet my parents, and it will be in a palace, with cocktails, formal attire, and menu cards in French. With the exception of himself and Clementine, everyone is a family member or insider to the royal circle and all of its tightly held secrets and illusions.
The light in me is e
xtinguished as I picture Roman being in BP, not only grabbling with all of that, which is imposing enough, but with the vipers on Antonia’s side judging him, being rude and cold, and doing everything in their power to make him feel awkward.
I think of all the things that can go wrong, and a wave of sickness washes over me. What will Roman think of all that? Will he wonder if I’m worth putting up with the rules of being a York and the people that come with it?
He slows in front of a house where the door is wrapped like a present, with a huge red bow and ribbon on it. “This is where Mum and Dad live,” he says. “Easy to find because of the tacky door.”
“I see,” I say, smiling.
“I think pilots on approach to Heathrow can see it,” Roman quips.
I laugh. “It’s cute.”
“It’s awful.”
He leads me down the path to the decorated door, and nerves kick in. I’m carrying the box of mince pies I picked up from The Biscuit Cutter earlier today as my gift for his parents, and I grip it a little tighter as we get closer.
As we reach the doorstep, Roman turns towards me. “I hope they don’t freak you out,” he says, his eyes imploring me to understand. “My parents are good people, but my mum and my aunt are so excited to meet you that they might be… overwhelming.”
“I promise, I can handle it,” I reassure him.
Roman rakes a hand through his hair. “Right.”
“Right!” I cry with enthusiasm.
His mouth curves up a bit, and he presses the doorbell. The door swings open, and I’m greeted by a woman in her early fifties, with blonde hair and blue eyes, wearing the biggest smile on her face and a Christmas jumper with a blinking light-up fireplace on it.