by Aven Ellis
Tears run down my cheeks. “I broke his heart tonight. I didn’t trust his feelings. How do you have love when there is no trust?”
Christian stares at me. “Because he loves you. It’s that simple. But you have to allow yourself to believe that he is making the choices that he wants. Roman is with you because of you. You are what he wants, Liz. Not Her Royal Highness. Not this palace. Not the monarchy. You have to believe you are worth the sacrifices he is willing to make to be with you, or this won’t work.”
His words hit me in the heart. I know he’s right. Christian is absolutely right. I need to be confident in myself as the woman Roman loves, and will love, if I let him. Roman chose me. He fell in love with me. And he’s strong enough to survive everything that comes along with falling in love with a princess.
Roman loves me for being fearless. Fierce. Passionate.
And this woman is one who will own her mistake and fight to make it right.
“I need to go to him,” I say, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
Christian rolls his eyes. “Finally. That’s the Liz I’ve been waiting for.”
I punch him lightly on the arm. He laughs in response.
“I love you,” I say to him. “I’m so grateful you’re my cousin.”
Christian smiles warmly at me. “I love you, too.”
He rises to his feet and gives me a hand to help me up. I take it, and he pulls me to a standing position. I throw my arms around him and give him a hug, which he warmly returns. He takes a step back from me, putting his hands on my shoulders. His face grows serious, and I bite my lip as I look at him.
“Go to him, Liz. Tell him everything. Own up to your fears. I would say fight for him, but I don’t think you have to do that. Just love him.”
I nod. “I do, Christian. I love him with all my heart. And I will never, ever doubt his love for me again.”
“That’s the Liz I know.”
“That’s the Liz I am,” I say determinedly.
And not wasting a minute, I hurry out of the room, with one mission only in my mind and my heart.
I’m going to get Roman back—and I’ll never let him go.
I run up the path to Roman’s flat in Shepherd’s Bush. I have mascara down my face, my lipstick is worn off, and my coat isn’t buttoned, but I don’t care. I have to see him now. I have to make this right. I have to tell him I’m a fool for shoving him away when that is the last thing on earth that I want.
I locate the doorbell for his flat and ring it. I pace on the doorstep, my stomach knotted in anxiety, my heart pounding inside my chest. Impatiently, I ring it again.
“Hello?” Darcy’s voice comes on the intercom.
“Darcy, it’s Liz. I have to see Roman. It’s urgent. Will you please let me in?”
There’s a pause from him.
“Darcy!” I shout back at the intercom.
“Yes, come in.”
The main door unlocks, and I jerk it open. I head straight towards their flat and rap on the door. Darcy opens it, and his eyes widen at the sight of me, all disheveled and blotchy from crying.
“Liz,” he says, stepping aside.
I enter the flat, and as soon as he shuts the door, I approach him. “Is Roman in his room? Did you tell him I’m here?”
Darcy seems uncomfortable. He rakes a hand through his unruly locks, making them more of a mess on his head.
Panic begins to build inside of me. “Darcy?”
“Liz, Roman has left.”
My heart freezes. “What do you mean?”
“He came back here a short while ago, extremely upset. I’ve never seen him so upset, and I was here for the Felicity years.”
I’m going to be sick. I reach out and put my hand on the back of a chair to keep from falling.
“He packed some bags and left,” Darcy continues. “Said he was going away for a few days, to tell his mum to ignore what was in the press, and he’d be back after Christmas.”
“What?” I cry, aghast. “Where was he going? Darcy, if you know, I beg for you to tell me. Please. Please, Darcy.”
Sadness fills his eyes. “I asked him that same thing. Roman wouldn’t tell me. He said he needed to be alone. Then he took off on his motorcycle and promised to return on Boxing Day.”
A knife is run through my heart. Boxing Day was the day Roman was going to spend with me up in Sandringham. Now he’s making plans to come home that day instead of spending it with me.
My breathing grows rapid. I feel dizzy. I clutch harder onto the chair, my knuckles going white. “Will you… call me when he contacts you? So I know he’s all right?” I manage to ask.
“I can’t,” Darcy says, inclining his head towards the coffee table. “Roman chucked his phone to me on the way out. Said he didn’t need it or the rubbish that would come across it regarding you.”
I stare at his phone in shock. It’s blinking with messages.
He didn’t want to hear from me, I think with anguish. Whatever Christian thought, he was wrong. Roman might have looked for me, but it was out of his protective nature. It wasn’t, my heart now understands, because he wanted to make up with me.
It’s over between us. The damage I did, my lack of trust in what we had, is irreparable.
As is my heart.
Chapter 30
Sandringham
I glance out of the window from my room at Sandringham on this Christmas morning. Tiny snowflakes swirl in the wind. The sky is grey. Soon, I will walk with the entire family to St. Mary’s Magdalene for Christmas Day church services.
I turn away from the window, my eyes brimming with tears, as they have been practically non-stop.
Roman hasn’t called me. Not that I expected him to after what Darcy told me, but every time my phone rang, there was hope. Maybe Roman had changed his mind. Maybe he was calling from wherever he was. Maybe he had gone home.
But those were merely desperate wishes.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I have done nothing but blink back tears and force down the nausea that has risen within me this whole time at Sandringham, missing Roman with every inch of my heart and soul. Watching Christian and Clementine, who is spending her first Christmas at Sandringham despite not being married to Christian, has been painful to my broken heart. They kicked another door down for us young royals, as the normal rule calls for only spouses to come to Sandringham for Christmas Eve and Christmas. Thanks to Arthur declaring that rule stupid and vetoing Grandmother and Antonia on it, they are here and blissfully happy.
As Roman and I should be.
But never will.
I think of how I had to tell Father that night, after I returned from Roman’s flat, that Roman and I had an awful row, and he had left London because of it. He was reassuring, telling me that all couples fought, and that if we were meant to be, we’d work it out. Mum, in a phone call the next day, apologised for her disappearance and told me if Roman couldn’t handle this, I was better off without him.
They were both wrong.
We weren’t meant to be.
And I’m not better off without him.
My heart only knows anguish now. The smiles I had at the elaborate Christmas Eve dinner were fake, much like Mum and Dad’s show of affection and happiness this weekend.
This is what my life will be now: holding the smile, the princess pose, and acting happy because that is what everyone wants to see, while inside I’m dying and desperately wishing for the man I love.
Jillian did tell me Clive had heard from Roman, and that he’s fine but needed to think about things and wanted to do it alone.
The press, however, thanks to palace insiders on Antonia’s side, have had a field day, declaring Roman was out of place at the party, we had a row, and I fled in tears. Now they will be looking for those tears as we make the traditional walk to church.
I close my eyes. The cameras won’t lie on this one. I’m pale. I have dark circles under my eyes. It’s obvious I’m devastated.
<
br /> How do I learn to move past this? How do I get over a man like Roman?
But I already know the answer.
I won’t.
There’s a rap on my door.
“Liz? We’re leaving,” Xander announces.
I grab my coat off the end of the bed. “Coming.”
I slip into a rich aubergine coat that matches the wool dress I have on and take one last glimpse in the mirror. My matching fascinator is perfectly in place. Oh, I see a bonus. The deep purple brings out my undereye shadows. The TV people will love it.
I open the door to find Xander waiting for me, dapper as always in a black suit and sharp cashmere overcoat.
“I thought we’d walk together,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, stepping out into the hall.
Xander truly is the best person for me to walk with today. He’s witty and will keep me distracted as people take our pictures.
The whole family is gathered downstairs, ready to make the short walk to church. Everyone is dressed in their finest for the hundreds of well-wishers who will line the walk to greet us, along with the heavy media coverage.
I glance across the room to see Clementine speaking to Christian. She is gorgeous in a tartan coat and black beret. I smile. Antonia is furious she is attending without a wedding ring on her finger but will put on her best smile and act as if she’s overjoyed her future daughter-in-law is sharing Christmas with the family.
“Liz, you look awful,” Victoria says, coming up to me, concern flashing in her eyes.
“I feel awful, so it works.”
We begin filing out the door into the cold. I tug on my gloves as we fall into step, with Bella, Victoria, and James walking together, followed by Clementine and Christian, then me and Xander. Leading the procession, of course, are Arthur and Antonia, my grandmother next to her. My parents are walking arm in arm, their charade as grand as mine, with Helene next to my father.
If people only knew the truth, I think, forcing a smile on my face as I walk with Xander. All the senior members, with the exception of Helene, are miserable. I count Grandmother with them because of her miserable attitude.
Now I will join them with my own heartbreak.
I push that feeling down, knowing that while this is Christmas Day, we are technically working, giving the public a parade of us in our finery as we smile and stroll joyfully to church.
University-aged girls who have lined the path scream when they see Xander come into view, calling out “Your Royal Hotness!” as he strolls past.
“You’re such a rock star,” I tease as we walk.
Xander grins. “There are perks to the job.”
“I’m glad you woke up about India. Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to let you marry her.”
Xander keeps the smile on his face. “Momentary life crisis. It’s passed.”
The snowflakes grow puffier and swirl around us as we have our pictures taken by the crowd and media that have assembled for us.
“Well, I’m glad. You deserve love.”
“Like what you have?”
I strain to keep the smile plastered on my face. “I don’t have that anymore.”
“I think you do.”
Xander flashes another adoring grin to the crowd, and more hysterical screams follow.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say through my faux smile. “My heart is shattered.”
“I don’t think it will be for long.”
“Xander, please drop it.”
We draw closer to the church.
“You don’t have to talk to me, but I think you’ll want to talk to Roman. It’s kind of rude not to since he’s been waiting here.”
“Wh-what?” I gasp, stunned by this news.
“He’s at the top of the line near the church on the left,” Xander says.
I frantically search the crowd for him as we move closer.
And then I see him.
Roman is standing behind a barricade, dressed in a suit, staring straight at me.
Holding a bouquet of red poinsettias in his hand.
My heart slams to life against my ribs. Roman is here. At Sandringham. Waiting behind a barrier to see me. And holding the flower that was in the greenhouse the day we met again.
I fight every urge I have not to run to him. I’m shaking as I continue my walk with Xander, and as the others head towards the church, I break away, heading towards Roman.
The crowd begins murmuring around us.
“It’s him! The gardener!”
“Didn’t they have a falling out?”
“He loves her!”
“Princess Elizabeth, we love you!”
“Don’t believe everything you read; it’s all rubbish!”
“It’s a love story, a real-life love story!”
I lock eyes with him from across the rope. He is on one side, and I am on the other, the rope representing the royal rules that I was so certain would somehow divide him from me.
“Officer, please let this man through. I know him,” I say.
The officer nods, and Roman moves to my side of the rope.
And the royal rules no longer separate us.
We take a few steps away from the rope, and he hands me the flowers. I accept them with a trembling hand.
“I love you,” he blurts out. “And I have no problem knowing my place in your life. I accept the rules. If that’s behind a rope on Christmas Day, so be it.”
I gasp as I take in his words. I understand now why he’s here, in this spot, at Sandringham.
To prove to me that he can handle my life.
His hazel eyes search mine. There is so much that needs to be said, but I don’t want to say it here.
“You are coming to church,” I say, taking his hand in mine.
“What? I can’t. We aren’t even engaged!” he protests.
“I don’t care. It’s church, you’re the man I love, and you are coming with me.”
I defiantly walk with him to the church, which sends the crowd cheering and going into a picture-taking frenzy. I lead him towards the steps, where the rest of the royal family has gathered outside the doors of the medieval church to go inside.
All eyes are on us as we approach. I glance over my shoulder. We are still in the straight view of those telegraphic lenses, so I lead Roman down the path, to the back of the church, where those prying eyes can’t reach us.
As soon as we round the bend and stop, Roman’s hands frame my face. I drop the flowers. He gazes down at me with such a need, I cannot breathe.
“I love you,” he repeats. “I have been in misery since our row. I waited until today so I could be here and show you I can deal with rules I don’t agree with but are a part of loving you. I know what I’m getting into here. I not only accept it, I want it. Because this means I’m a part of your life.”
The tears fall again. Roman’s calloused thumbs sweep them away.
“I love you, too,” I say, “You were right. My fear of the future, of you feeling the way my father does now, terrified me. I thought for sure that night was the beginning of the end. I didn’t see how you’d want to live under those rules, that scrutiny, or with my family, who do not respect you. I didn’t see why you would, when you could have so many other women who would love you the same way without all the rubbish that comes with loving me.”
My cheeks burn in shame. Roman continues to hold my face, his hazel eyes bright with intensity.
“The party was hard, harder than I ever thought it could be,” he admits. “I’ve never had people hate me upon sight, or degrade who I am in public.”
I wince, and he strokes my face to comfort me.
“But Lizzie, I never, for one second, thought about leaving you,” he says, his voice firm. “There isn’t, and there will never be, anyone else but you for me. Ever. Did I worry about not being enough for you? Yes.”
I stare up at him, some of his remarks from that night now making sense. “Is that why you were angry whe
n I tried to defend you?”
His neck begins to flush. “Yes,” he admits, his voice low. “I’m sorry. I was an arse about that.”
“I will always defend the things I’m passionate about,” I say, “and the people I love.”
“Which is one of the things I admire in you,” Roman says. “I never want you to change that. That was about me more than you. I hated that you had to defend me in the first place.”
“That,” I say, my voice flickering with anger, “is on them. Grandmother is my grandmother, but that doesn’t excuse her snobbish behaviour.”
“I know,” Roman says.
“And you are the man I love. The only man I’ve ever loved,” I say.
“I have never loved anyone the way I love you,” he declares.
He pauses for a moment and places a gentle kiss upon my brow. I close my eyes, relishing the feel of his lips on my skin, and vow to treasure every single kiss he bestows on me for the rest of my life.
Roman stands back up. “While I had those doubts, when you started to push me away, they vanished. I realised I could lose you, and when that started happening, I knew I couldn’t let you go. I can’t be without your heart.”
I collapse against his overcoat, the wool scratching my cheek as I cry into his chest. He cradles me, and I cling to him, thinking of how much I love and need this man in my life.
I eventually stop crying and step back from him. His eyes are rimmed with red.
“I was wrong not to trust your feelings,” I admit painfully. “I will never do that again.”
“I will have bumps getting used to all of this,” Roman admits. “I will struggle and get frustrated, or even angry, but don’t ever doubt that I am where I want to be.”
“Roman, when you were upset reading something on your phone and I asked you about it—did the press finally get to you? The media trolls?”