by Aven Ellis
Charlie disappears with my bag, and Christian leads me through the rest of the house, which is also filled with wonderful windows, horrible furniture, and musty scents. I’m going to get plug-in essential oil diffusers for this house when I’m out. No lavender, of course.
I follow Christian to the front of the house, and through the window, I see another amazing lawn. Behind it is a river with large trees dotting its banks. I gaze out in wonder.
“You have your own private bank,” I say.
“That’s the River Cam,” Christian says, sliding his arm around my waist and drawing my back into his chest. “We can enjoy it together.”
I melt into him, happy to finally be alone.
“I’d love that,” I murmur as he nuzzles my neck. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he says.
He places a sweet kiss on the side of my neck. “Are you tired, sweetheart?”
I close my eyes, shivering from the feeling of his soft lips against my skin. “Mmm. I might need to go to bed.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say. “I might need to get comfortable and change out of these clothes.”
Christian’s lips find my collarbone. “I could assist you with that task.”
Then he kisses me there.
Oh, yes. We need to go to bed.
I swivel around in his arms so I’m facing him. I slide my hands up to his face, feeling a hint of stubble slide underneath my fingertips. Christian lowers his head toward mine. I close my eyes, waiting for his mouth to capture mine, when a sharp ringtone from his cell pierces the air.
He jumps back. “Shit.”
“What?” I ask as he fumbles to pull his phone from his pocket.
“That’s Her Majesty’s notification tone,” Christian says. “I need to check it, I’m so sorry.”
I bite my lip. His mother sounds more like an overwhelming boss who expects her employees to always be on-call than his mom.
Christian swipes open his phone, taps something, and the color drains from his face.
“Christian?” I ask, putting my hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
“Dammit!’ he roars, stepping back from me. “Dammit, dammit, dammit! The moment I decide to throw caution to the wind and act normal, it’s blown up in my bloody face!”
Alarm races through me as I see the panicked look on his face.
“I should have known, I should have known,” he says, staring down at his phone.
“Talk to me,” I plead.
“She knows,” he says simply.
My heart stops. “She … knows?”
He hands me his phone. Attached is a photo of us from that rag Dishing Weekly’s website, taking a selfie in front of the woolly mammoths. There is another where Christian is looking adoringly at me, and there’s no mistaking what he feels for me. They obviously saw the photo on a social media channel and bought it from the person who took it. The caption reads:
The Golden Prince’s Secret Love—Who is She?
My hand begins to violently shake. While I am okay with being exposed, Christian is far from ready for this.
I glance down at the text message from his mom, which is brittle and cold:
I expected this from Alexander, or even James because he’s younger, but not you. You were the one I counted on to be discreet and show decorum. Now you’re taking selfies, Christian? Frolicking in public? This is NOT how we behave. I’m disappointed in you. We will issue a statement saying we do not comment on your private life and we still expect the terms of the media agreement to stay in place while you finish at Cambridge. But you very well may have destroyed that with your incredible lapse of judgment.
I know this girl, who I doubt is nothing more than a plaything, probably does not have a title, so don’t get too serious about her. I don’t even want to know her name.
Tears flood my eyes.
Christian was right.
His mother is awful.
Despite my pleas that I could handle her, I wasn’t prepared for her to hate me so soon.
The game has completely changed now.
And it’s all my fault.
Chapter 16
The Royal Way
I can’t bear the look of devastation on Christian’s face. He’s rooted to the floor, staring down at his mother’s venomous message, his expression equal parts anger and shame.
My heart wrenches inside my chest. All he wanted was to protect me, to protect what we had. But in my quest to make him feel normal, I got him to let his guard down. We knew people were taking pictures, but I assumed they were innocent. I had no idea he’d get in trouble for a selfie.
I also didn’t realize that we were truly wearing our hearts on our sleeves when we were together.
“I did this to you,” I say, my voice breaking. I begin to pace, to hold back my real urge.
To flee.
Before I somehow make things a million times worse in Christian’s already restricted, complicated life.
“Clementine, don’t say that. Don’t ever say that,” Christian says firmly.
I wrap my arms around myself as a cold feeling runs through me. “You wouldn’t be in this horrible position if it weren’t for me and my stupid ideas.”
“This is not your fault,” Christian says, grabbing me and holding me in place. “My mum has a narrow, suffocating idea of what the royal way should be. It’s not modern. More to the point, it’s not right. Yes, we have to have some air of mystery about us—that is what makes the monarchy unique—but I think showing people we are real is equally important. Maybe you and I will be the ones to change it.”
I grasp the power of his words, and fear runs down my spine.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, you can’t. Christian, I know your relationship with your mother is complicat—”
“You don’t,” Christian says, releasing me. “Do you want to know what my mother is really like? Without the immaculate dresses and expensive handbags and signature chignon? Behind that practiced smile? My mother is cold. She loves her title above everything else. She loves the monarchy above everything else. Mum had Alexander to secure her place. She had me to produce the required spare. And James was the baby to prove the tabloids wrong. They were speculating they would be the first royal divorce, and then she was pregnant with James.”
I gasp at this admission. “James was planned to distract the press?”
“The press had picked up on their limited number of joint public appearances, and how miserable Father looked in them. Rumors made their way into the tabloids, until Mum turned up pregnant with James,” Christian explains. “When James was three, I learned the truth. One night, Nanny brought us down to say goodnight and accidentally walked into a huge fight. She herded us away from the door, but I heard Mother yelling. She revealed the truth about James to Father. She said she got pregnant to put the rumors that the marriage was a sham to rest and that’s the only reason she slept with him again. Father felt duped because he actually thought it was a baby to put them back on track. Both are horrible reasons to bring a child into the world.”
Oh, my God. This family is truly wheels off. I can’t imagine growing up like this, with parents at each other’s throats all the time and using babies as pawns.
“You never should have heard that,” I say, my heart aching for him.
“Our nanny was bright. She knew we heard, so she told Father. He came to talk to us the next morning. He told us no matter what the reasons were, James was meant to be here, to complete our family, and that he loved all of us very much,” Christian says, pausing to look at me.
His eyes have now shifted to immense sadness, and all I want to do is take it away. But I don’t make a move to touch him, as I can read his energy. He needs to pace. When he moves, he opens up, and I think after living his whole life repressing everything, this is what he needs most of all.
Christian begins pacing again, moving faster this time, and I feel a lump swelling in my th
roat as I watch him.
“James doesn’t know that story,” Christian says softly. “Obviously, they stayed married, not because of James but out of an ancient duty to the crown. It’s not modern to stay in a dysfunctional marriage, but it will never change. They’re always fighting. The rows they’ve had are like something off that bloody housewife show you make me watch. Father is always yelling that she is a horrible human being with no heart, while she screams back that she is the one holding up the monarchy and keeping it steeped in tradition and honor, which is a joke. If people could see her throwing glasses at the wall, they’d think we were all nuts and not worthy of the trappings of this life.”
Christian turns away from me, stopping to draw a breath. I’m reeling from what I’m hearing coming out of his mouth. I always assumed his sadness was from the pressures of the monarchy and of having his life pre-determined and judged.
But it’s much worse.
Christian has grown up in a dysfunctional home, with parents who have never given him a good example of what a marriage should be. It’s a house mired in lies and secrets, and the pressure of performing the role of the happy, loving royal family whenever they are in the spotlight.
I now understand why Xander is noncommittal. I’m sure he sees no value in love. Christian, on the other hand, has locked himself away from the world. I am amazed he has found the courage to not only love but to receive my love in return.
When I realize what Christian is gambling on with me, not just love but falling for an American with no standing in society, and how he is willing to try and move the monarchy forward because of it, it makes me realize what a tremendous man he is. He’s brave. He’s strong.
He’s willing to risk a journey to hell and back for a chance to love me.
Christian’s phone rings again, and I wince when it does.
“It’s Father,” he says without a glance as the ringtone fills the air. “I need to take this.”
“I’ll go outside,” I say.
“No, you can stay,” Christian says as the phone continues to ring.
“No, you need privacy,” I say, moving to the door leading outside.
“Clementine, don’t. Hold on,” Christian pleads.
Christian answers his cell. “Father, can you please hold on for a moment?”
He puts down the phone and stares at me. “You can hear anything I say, you know that.”
“I do, but you need the freedom to answer honestly, without worrying about me,” I say. “Take the call.”
Then I step outside and close the door behind me, heading out into the damp air.
I move across the green grass, mud collecting on my Converse shoes, and I don’t stop until I reach the edge of the River Cam. The tears I have been holding back fall freely now. I can’t imagine having a mother who prefers receiving flowers from adoring fans more than love from her sons. I can’t begin to understand how painful that must be for him.
I drop down on to the wet grass, and my butt squishes into the mud. Okay, not the best idea, but I don’t care. I draw my knees up to my chest, the tiredness of the flight and time change hitting me, but not nearly as hard as those pictures.
His mother will never accept me.
This is hard in any relationship, but the fact that she is the queen magnifies everything by millions.
I blink back tears. She will fight this relationship. Queen Antonia will make my life hell, I can feel it.
But what about King Arthur?
Christian has said nothing but loving things about his dad. He has shared fond memories of him playing with them, taking him to his first day of nursery school, teaching him how to play polo. And the story, just now, of how his father reassured him and Xander that all three boys were loved by him was touching.
I close my eyes. What am I thinking? He married Antonia. And he has stayed in a loveless marriage. King Arthur is all about title and duty, too. I will never be a suitable match in his eyes for Christian.
The Golden Prince will need someone with “Lady" in front of her name.
I open my eyes, and the River Cam blurs in front of me. Am I crazy for thinking this far into the future when I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours?
But I already know what I want.
I want to move to London after I graduate and be with Christian.
I know it with certainty. I love him. I want to be with him in the country that is his home. I want to explore a life that will be challenging and hard but could also be amazing, with opportunities for us to serve the people not only in the United Kingdom but around the world.
Bryn and Chelsea would think I’ve lost my mind.
Mom and Dad would be on the next flight over to drag me back to the States and to see Dr. Choi again.
Paisley would understand.
She said she knew by the end of the first date that Evan was the one she would marry. I thought she was crazy and told her so.
She is so going to remind me of this when I tell her.
SHIT.
Pure panic fills me. I’d been so wrapped up in Christian that I didn’t think about my mom or Chelsea or anyone I know seeing those pictures on Dishing Weekly’s website. Oh my God, they are going to freak out and wonder why I’ve been leading a secret life. I’ve probably been ID’d and my name is out there and I’ve royally screwed this up with my stupid idea to act normal.
Ha, royally. Under any other circumstance, I’d laugh at that choice of word.
I don’t want to see my phone. I wanted to come here and see Cambridge and spend time with Christian, and now all we’ll be doing is freaking damage control. My friends and family will be hurt, and I can’t say I will blame them.
I drop my head to my knees, a sick feeling swirling in my stomach.
I hear the back door open, and I turn and lift my tear-stained face to see Christian walking across the emerald green lawn. I rise, and as I do, I pull up patches of wet grass on my ass. I begin to fling the mud patches off, getting mud all over my hands.
“Stop it,” Christian calls out.
My hand freezes on my butt. “What?”
He comes closer, and I see the tension is gone from his face. In fact, his blue eyes are sparkling at me.
“You’re making it worse, Ace,” Christian says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I do have to say, you wear mud on that sexy bum of yours incredibly well.”
“I’m good at making a mess of things, apparently. I wouldn’t blame you if you sent me on the next flight back to San Jose.”
“You make things real, and sometimes that’s messy,” Christian says, brushing away my tears with his fingertips. “But if you think for a second I’d choose my previous life—a life without you—over this one, you’re wrong.”
I see the anger has dissipated since speaking with his father. In its place is a calmness.
“What did your dad say?” I ask.
“He asked me questions about you,” Christian explains, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I told him to watch Shrek, and that you are Fiona two point oh.”
I blush furiously. “You did not.”
“I did.”
“Does he hate me?”
“For being like Fiona? No, he has to watch the film first before making that assessment.”
My heart lifts. Something good happened in that conversation.
“So, he’s not mad that I’m an American with no status?” I ask, needing to hear Christian confirm this.
“Oh God, no,” Christian says. “In fact, he seems rather chuffed you had me out looking at dinosaurs. He felt his years of listening to me go on and on about the Camarasaurus and Therizinosaurus were worthwhile now. He’s not upset; in fact, he’s curious.”
“Curious?” I repeat. “About me?”
“Yes, about you. So much so we have a change of plans for tomorrow.”
I can’t breathe. “What kind of plans?” I manage to ask.
“We’re not having Sunday lunch at t
he pub,” Christian says slowly.
Nervousness fills me. “We’re … not?”
“No. My father has requested that we meet him for lunch. At Sandringham.”
Chapter 17
It’s Simply a Sunday Lunch
“What?” I gasp, alarm filling me. “No. No, no, no. I can’t go to Sandringham!”
Sandringham is the private country home of the king. It’s the place where the royal family gathers for Christmas and the entire family makes the iconic walk to church on Christmas morning. Normally, I’d be all over seeing this magnificent home, but I always dreamed it would be as a tourist taking a paid tour.
Not to sit down to have a private lunch with the King of England.
“Why? It’s simply a Sunday lunch,” Christian says, his blue eyes searching mine in confusion.
“It’s not just lunch,” I cry, panicked. “It’s lunch with the king.”
“Um, you do remember the whole conversation about me being a prince? The king kind of comes along with that bit.”
I shake my head. “I’m not ready for this, Christian. You only get one chance to make a good impression. One. I noticed you have a different way of holding your silverware, and I don’t know how to curtsy, and I need to have my A-gam—”
Christian’s mouth meets mine, silencing me with a kiss. His mouth is warm and soft, his lips gently caressing mine. I melt into him, momentarily distracted by the fact that his arms are now around me, holding me tight as his tongue eagerly tangles with mine. I taste chocolate on his lips and smell the clean scent of his skin, and oh, how I missed this. Kissing him. Feeling his body against mine, losing myself in his strong arms.
He breaks the kiss and gazes down at me. “Tomorrow,” he says, brushing a damp lock of hair off my cheek, “you are not having lunch with the king but with my father, all right? He’s not going to care how you hold your cutlery when eating your fish.”
“There’s fish?” I ask, my alarm growing to a harrowing level. “I thought it was going to be beef or chicken!”
Oh, no. This is bad. I’ll turn green if I have to choke down fish. I’ll have to force myself to eat fish on a nervous stomach in front of the king, and what if I gag at the table? Oh God, I should book the next available flight back to San Jose immediately.