by Aven Ellis
“Indeed. It had the strongest bite of any animal ever. The teeth were replaceable,” Christian says, getting into his element, “and the jaws are massive, up to one-and-a-half meters long.”
I need to study UK conversions as I don’t know what that translates to, but I can see they are indeed massive, and eyeballing it, I’m guessing four feet.
Which is crazy to think about.
“They always scared me in the Jurassic Park movies,” I say.
“The arms are one meter long and have two fingers,” Christian says, pointing to them. “Obviously, too short to bring food to its mouth.”
Christian juggles the umbrella under his arm and does the T-rex baby arms for me. “See? Impossible to get food up to the mouth with arms like this.”
I burst out laughing, as he looks wonderfully ridiculous.
“I need a picture of you doing T-rex arms in front of the T-rex,” I say, retrieving my cell.
“What? Oh, no, I’m not doing that.”
“Why not?”
“Why so?”
“Great argument, CP,” Stephen quips. “Come on, she comes all the way to England, and you won’t give the poor girl T-rex arms?”
“We can all do it,” Emma says, getting into it. “Stephen and I will go first, won’t we?”
I can’t believe I’ve met people within the past hour who will roll along with my suggested shenanigans.
I love them.
They move in front of us and pose in front of the replica.
I begin to laugh as they are getting into it and pretending to fight each other with little T-rex arms.
“Why did you pick the dinosaur with the baby arms as your favorite, CP?” Emma teases as she continues to battle Stephen.
“I like the frightening teeth and big head. It was a trade-off for the little arms.”
“Good thing those aren’t your requirements for girls,” Stephen teases. “Scary teeth, huge head, little arms—because sadly, Clementine doesn’t tick those boxes.”
“Oh, shut up,” Christian says, laughing. “Besides, she’s Princess Fiona from Shrek.”
“She becomes an ogress at night? Now that’s better than anything you’ve got, and infinitely more interesting than a palace,” Stephen teases.
I’m dying.
“Idiot,” Christian says, grinning.
“It’s the red hair,” Stephen says knowingly. “It’s a little obvious.”
“You’re a right genius, my love,” Emma says dryly.
“Okay, none of this is getting CP here out of doing T-rex arms,” I say, getting back to the task at hand. “First, you do the arms by yourself.”
Christian closes the umbrella and leans it against the rail. He moves in front of the T-rex and does it, and to my delight—my absolute, heart-warming delight—he begins laughing as he mimics the movement.
“I dare you to roar,” I encourage.
“I will not, because the roar you hear in the movies is incorrect according to science,” Christian declares.
“Yes, and it would be a travesty if you did an incorrect T-rex roar right now.”
“Indeed, it would.”
“Like not microwaving your frozen meal at fifty percent power.”
“That is weird, isn’t it?” Stephen asks. “I noticed that about CP, too. Who actually uses the auto defrost setting?”
“Right?” I say, nodding at Stephen. “I’m going to make CP here throw something in the microwave and nuke it without using settings this week, to see if he gets hives.”
“Why is using the microwave properly such a source of debate?” Christian asks as he stands in the drizzle.
“Come on, let’s get a pic of you two doing a T-rex battle,” Emma says. “I can take one with your mobile if you like.”
“Okay, thank you,” I say, handing her my phone.
I move next to Christian and put on my fierce face. I pull up my hands and turn to him, assuming a fighting stance.
“Dare you to roar,” Christian says, drawing his arms in and looking utterly ridiculous.
“Do you? Do you really?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.
“No.”
We both burst out laughing.
“Come on, fight,” Emma encourages.
We begin stupid fighting, our arms tucked in, and I’m laughing so hard I’m crying.
“I could take you out,” Christian declares, “if only my arm were longer!”
He waves his short hand a few inches from his chest, and I die all over again.
“I can’t breathe,” I cry happily.
My heart swells when I see Christian has tears of laughter in his eyes, too.
We stop our dramatics, and after I’ve wiped the mascara that is no doubt running down my face, I retrieve my phone from Emma.
“Hold on, one selfie in front of your favorite dinosaur,” I insist.
Christian complies, and we move in front of the replica so it’s looming over us.
“Say your favorite cheese on the count of three,” I say trying to angle the camera.
“Let me do that; I do have longer arms now,” Christian teases.
I laugh and hand him my phone, which he positions to get the best shot of us.
“One, two, three, double Gloucester,” Christian says.
“Pepper jack,” I say at the same time.
“Pepper jack, huh?” Christian asks as he hands me back my phone.
“What can I say? I like things spicy.”
“And CP ticks that box for you?” Stephen teases.
“You can sod off,” Christian jokes back.
“I’ve never had double Gloucester,” I say, feeling hunger set in.
Christian retrieves the umbrella and, even though we’re already wet, opens it back over me as we move down the trail again. His protection officers flank us as we walk.
“I have some back at the house,” Christian says. “It’s buttery and mellow.”
“See? This is what happens when you get involved too soon,” Stephen says as he and Emma fall in with us as we head down the trail. “You don’t know if you are cheese compatible.”
I glance at him, and Stephen winks at me.
Two mothers in chic casual wear come around the corner, both pushing strollers and chatting while their toddlers shove tiny crackers into their mouths with chubby fists. They are engrossed in conversation until one of them looks up and stares straight at Christian. She stops walking and her jaw drops open.
“My God, it’s Prince Christian,” she says aloud, as if he’s not walking right in front of her.
She turns to her friend. “Look, it’s Prince Christian. What is he doing here?”
“You’re right. I thought he only did forced royal appearances!”
The other woman picks up her phone and begins taking pictures of us as we move past them.
A strange feeling washes over me. They are gawking and talking about him and recording him with their cell phones like he’s not a human, but an animal in an exhibit.
I knew this would happen.
But I had no idea how it would actually feel.
My stomach begins to hurt. His whole life, since he was born, has been people staring at him, talking about him, criticizing him, or loving him without knowing him.
Among the people watching his every move are those who wonder if the monarchy still has a purpose, therefore creating more anxiety in Christian about trying to find not only his own goals in life but ones the public will approve of and embrace. His choices are not only about him but for the future of the monarchy as well.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight he carries on my shoulders, too.
I vow, from now on, Christian is not going to carry this weight alone.
Christian keeps his gaze straight ahead, his happy expression shifting to a mask of neutrality.
As we move past them, and eventually out of earshot, Christian turns to me.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “I know that had to be weird for you.”
I’m touched that his first thought was for me.
“Please. Weird is having your family discuss your X-ray with your doctor in front of you like you aren’t there. But they’re my family. This is different.”
“Oh, that was nothing. I’m used to that. However, you aren’t, and that will always be a part of being with me that I can never change. Once we go public, you will never have anonymity back, Clementine.”
I hear hesitation in Christian’s voice, as if I might start building doubts about this life now that I’m seeing it first hand.
“Moms pushing strollers don’t bother me.”
“Pushchairs,” Christian says.
“What?”
“We call those pushchairs.”
“I think I need a translation dictionary,” I joke. “And I don’t fear losing my anonymity when the time comes. Your Princess Fiona will find a way to handle it.”
Christian’s eyes shine warmly at me. “You’re right. I trust you.”
We continue our walk, encountering more people as we do, with some yelling out greetings to “Your Royal Highness” and inquiring if he was enjoying himself, which Christian answered with a smile on his face.
Finally, we reach the spot on the trail that I’ve been waiting for: the woolly mammoths.
“Here we go,” I say, moving out from under the umbrella and going over to the railing in front of three large woolly mammoth replicas. “You can keep your tiny arms; I’ll take the woolly mammoth for the win, please.”
I snap a few pictures with my phone. Then I turn to get a selfie of me in front of them.
“The tusks are cool,” I say as I smile for the camera. “Okay, come here, CP. Get in the shot.”
Christian once again sets aside his umbrella and moves next to me, taking my camera from my hand. “On three. No cheese needed.”
I laugh, and he counts us down to take the picture.
“Thank you,” I say as he hands my phone back to me.
“Why do you like the woolly mammoth?” Christian asks as we study them for a moment.
“I love the long fur,” I say. “And the cool tusks. Amaze me some more, CP. What can you tell me about them?”
“They only had four teeth.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Two upper and two lower.”
“That is crazy!”
“I know.”
We start walking again, and Christian continues to share his scientific knowledge with me, from how they had smaller ears to minimize frostbite to how scientists use the rings on the tusks to determine a mammoth’s age.
As we finish our walk and head out to go home, I realize that Christian’s love of dinosaurs and science could be something he taps into for his future. He could support programs to prevent animal extinction, connect with children on the importance of animal conservation, or use his position to raise money for scientific research into these animals of our past and to protect the ones we have on earth now. I can’t wait to talk to him about this later, when we’re alone.
I turn and look over my shoulder at the magnificent estate we are leaving behind. I’ve barely scratched the surface of England, but I’m already smitten with the lush countryside and the one stately home I’ve had the pleasure of seeing.
I should be dead tired, but energy zips through me at a rapid rate, because the next stop is Cambridge.
Christian’s home.
And I can’t wait to see what adventures await me there.
Chapter 14
It’s like Walking through the Pages of a Wonderfully Old, Glorious History Book
“You have to stop the car,” I say urgently. “I need to get out. I need to walk these streets right this second!”
I’m serious about my request. As I stare at the city unfolding before me, rich with amazing architecture and narrow streets made of cobblestones, I need to feel it. I need to breathe the damp English air, dodge the bicyclists, and absorb the city of Cambridge with all my senses.
It’s the most beautiful place I have ever been.
I crane my neck to look up at the historic church towers, and I can practically hear the bells ringing as I do. And the colleges! Oh, the wonderful collection of thirty-one colleges that make up Cambridge, all uniquely majestic and rich with the echoes of the past. The gray sky, swirled with white clouds, provides a stunning backdrop for the most breathtaking architecture I’ve laid eyes on.
The art history student in me has sprung to life in a way I’ve never known. I’m desperate to walk the streets and study everything, taking in the magical experiences of a world I’ve only known through the internet but is now wonderfully real for me.
“Stephen, Emma, are you up for another walk?” Christian asks, glancing in the rear-view mirror.
“I think we’ll head on back. I’ve got some studying to do,” Emma says.
“Drop us at the train station, and we’ll grab a taxi,” Stephen says.
“No, we can drop you home first,” Christian says, shaking his head.
“Don’t torture Fiona. She wants to get out of the car now. I thought she might be planning her escape from you, rethinking that whole weird microwave habit of yours, but after hearing that plea, I think your American guest genuinely wants to see Cambridge.”
I smile. I love the way Stephen treats Christian like an ordinary bloke, just like I do.
“You’re an idiot,” Emma says, teasing Stephen.
“But I’m your idiot,” Stephen reminds her.
“I might need an idiot upgrade. My next idiot will like Guinness.”
“Ooh,” Christian and I say at the same time.
“Your next idiot wouldn’t know to get you vanilla fudge from the Fudge Kitchen,” Stephen says.
“You’re right, my Irish One. You’re a keeper,” Emma says.
“Wait, fudge what?” I ask, turning around in my seat.
“Christian, have you not told her about the fudge shop?” Emma asks, her eyes sparkling. “It’s one of my favorite places in Cambridge!”
“What has he held out on me?” I ask.
“Oh my, he has kept you in the dark on one of the most glorious places in the city. It’s a fudge shop with incredible flavors of fudge, the best you’ve ever had, and they give generous samples so you can make an informed decision about what to get.”
“Oh, I forgot. You’ll love this place because they have drinking fudge,” Christian says.
“What?” I gasp. “Drinking fudge?”
“Yeah,” Christian says as he drives. “You can have it hot or cold, or in a milkshake, and it comes in different flavors. It’s something you’d love, Ace. They sell it in packets for you to take home.”
“Do you even know me? How could you keep drinking fudge a secret? This is all kinds of sideways, Your Royal Highness. I might need to find a new British boyfriend,” I declare. I swipe open my phone. “If it’s still open, you are taking me there as soon as we drop Stephen and Emma off.”
“She only pulls the ‘Your Royal Highness’ bit when she’s annoyed with me,” Christian explains with a grin on his face. “Otherwise, she gives me no proper greeting.”
“Which is why I like her already,” Stephen says good-naturedly.
“What about your need to walk the streets and embrace the culture?” Christian teases.
“I can embrace it better with fudge in one hand.”
He laughs, that wonderful throaty chuckle, and warmth fills me the second I hear that lovely sound.
The sound of a happy and relaxed Christian.
“It’s across from the King’s College gatehouse,” Christian says.
My ears perk up. “Your college,” I say aloud. I’ve studied pictures of it and marveled at the beautiful neo-Gothic gatehouse and the utterly breathtaking King’s College Chapel next to it. Thanks to Google Maps, I feel like I’ve practically walked beside them.
Soon, we’re at the train station. We drop off Stephen and Emma, and they sa
y they’ll see us back at the house later. Christian takes a moment and picks up his cell.
“I’m going to let Oliver know we’re going into town to walk around a bit,” he says.
“They must hate me already,” I say, shaking my head. “They’ve had to do the Dinosaur Trail, and now they’re going to have to be tourists in the drizzle.”
Christian texts a message into his phone and then puts it down. “Trust me, this is more interesting to them than following me on my morning walk with Lucy, or waiting for me to get out of the library. I think they’d rather be assigned to Xander. He’s more fun. When Xander is on leave, his officers are going non-stop.”
“You’re fun; you just keep it here,” I say, lightly tapping his heart. “You show that side to me. You had fun being stupid today and indulging my whim. Now you’ll have fun tasting fudge with me and showing me Cambridge. The important thing is that you are true to yourself. Have the fun you want to have. That is what makes human beings great. We’re individuals. Being a prince doesn’t change that, Christian.”
Adoration for me shines in his eyes. “You make me braver.”
“Same,” I say. I flash him a grin. “Now, are you brave enough to take me to the Fudge Kitchen? I might embarrass you with all the fudge I’m going to stuff in my face. It’s not going to be pretty.”
“You stuffing your face with all the fudge will be sexy.”
I burst out laughing as he begins to drive. “You mean messy.”
“Oh, I meant sexy. You attack things you love with abandon. That’s a turn-on.”
“I do, which means I’ll be attacking you later.”
“Don’t tempt me to turn this car around and take you home this second, Princess Fiona,” Christian says.
“While I want nothing more than to have crazy hot sex with you,” I say slowly, “I think if I don’t walk around Cambridge, I’ll die. The art history lover in me is dying to absorb a sliver of it right this second, and the idea of not doing it makes me twitchy.”
“Twitchy?”
“Twitchy.”
“Well, I can’t have you twitchy, so let’s go,” Christian says.
As he drives, I remain silent, taking in the city like a visual feast for my eyes. I can’t get enough of the distinct types of architecture, the quaint shops, the pubs and churches.