by Aven Ellis
We stop in the middle of the lawn, and Christian spreads out a thick blanket for us to sit on. He takes my hand and helps me down before he sits on the blanket next to me.
“Champagne first,” Christian says, reaching for the bottle.
I take out two plastic cups, and he uncorks the bottle, the pop sending Lucy into a barking tizzy on the grass.
“Lucy, stop. I’m trying to woo the girl,” Christian teases.
“Woo me?” I ask, laughing. “I think you already have me.”
Christian doesn’t say anything. In fact, he almost looks nervous.
Now I’m confused.
I hold my cup out, and Christian fills it with the bubbly. Then he pours a cup for himself and sets the bottle back into the basket.
“To you,” he says, staring deeply into my eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
My heart holds still. “To us,” I correct.
We tap our cups together, and I take a sip, but I notice Christian does not.
“Christian? What’s wrong?”
He stares straight ahead for what seems like a long time. I grow jittery as I wait for him to speak.
“I have to talk to you about something.”
I suck in air. This is the moment.
The future is now.
“Okay,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
“I have no right to ask you what I’m going to ask,” he says. He puts his cup down and takes my cup and places it on the grass. Then he laces his fingers through mine, holding my hand tightly in his. “We have to talk about where we go from here.”
I can’t breathe.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Christian says, his voice thick with emotion. “Now that I know what it’s like to be with you every day, I know I can’t be without you.”
Tears of joy fill my eyes. “I feel the same way. I have to be with you, Christian.”
He clears his throat. “To be with me, you have to give up a lot. I can’t leave the country. You would have to leave your home, your family, your friends, the United States, to live in a fishbowl over here to be with me.”
“What are you asking me?” I whisper.
“Clementine, I’m asking you to consider moving to London, in June.”
I begin to shake. “You want me to move to London?”
“I know it’s soon. I know you might want to wait. We can’t live together, lord knows the monarchy hasn’t evolved that much, but—”
“Yes,” I interrupt.
Christian stops speaking. “What?”
“I have wanted you to ask me to come here,” I say. “I don’t know how it would work. I know there are visas involved, and London is expensive, and I’ll need a job, and I have to figure out how to get Bear over here, but yes. I want to be with you. I have fallen in love with England, and I know I’ll love London. But most of all, I love you. The sooner we’re together, the better.”
“What if I told you I had some of this sorted?”
I furrow my brow. “How?”
“Father called me after our visit to Sandringham. He asked what I planned to do, and I said I wanted you to come to London. He had already thought ahead and put a call into an old friend who owns a historic estate in London. Lord and Lady Cheltham have agreed to sponsor you for a work visa, and you will be able to give tours in their estate, if you want the job. You don’t have to take it, you know. Father knows you hope to work in antiques and thought this would be a great place for you to start.”
My heart is racing. “Arthur did that for me?”
Christian nods. “He adores you, Clementine. Father knows you’re genuine. He also knows you love me, and he said he believes in us after seeing what we have. Hopefully, someday, your parents will feel the same way.”
I bite my lip. I know he’s right. If Mom and Dad could spend time with Christian, they would know he’s the right man for me.
The only man for me.
“This job,” I say slowly, “would be an incredible opportunity. I can’t imagine a better way to start my post-college life than working at a stately home in London.”
I pause for a moment.
“What?” Christian asks.
“This is going to be my life,” I whisper, dazed. “I’m going to work in a beautiful home surrounded by antiques in London. This is crazy!”
“Crazy awesome?” Christian supplies helpfully.
“Yes!” I cry. “And I’ll be with you!”
I grab his gorgeous face and give him a kiss. Christian laughs against my mouth, and I laugh, too.
“So I take it I can have Felicity—Lady Cheltham—contact you for a phone interview?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, nodding enthusiastically. Then I frown. “London is expensive. I’ll have to start looking now for an affordable place to live.”
“I will help you find something, and I can help you pay. Your parents need to be assured you will be comfortable and safe.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “You will not be helping me with rent. You are dating an independent American, Your Royal Highness.”
He cocks an eyebrow back at me. “I call it an investment in our future.”
“No.”
“We’ll argue about this later.”
I smile. “That I will agree to.”
A silence falls between us as everything sinks in.
I’m going to have a whole new life come June.
In London. With my prince.
I can’t help but smile. My life is sounding like one of those royal TV movies now.
“So, this is really going to happen?” I ask.
“Yes. We’ll be together, if that is what you truly want.”
“It’s all I’ve wanted.”
Christian frames my face in his hands and kisses me, slowly and sweetly.
He breaks away and slides one hand underneath my hair. “Let’s have dessert first, to celebrate our future.”
Our future.
Those words make butterflies dance in my stomach.
Christian reaches around and hands me the white pastry box. “Open it.”
I lift the lid, and a gasp escapes my lips as I find a box filled with exquisite sugar cookies in the shape of the icons of London: the London Bridge, Big Ben, a red double-decker bus, a red phone booth, the Union Jack, and one heart in the center, that is cut in half but fits perfectly together.
“Christian,” I whisper, touched by his gift to me.
“I know how much you love an artful sugar cookie,” he says, picking up one half of the heart. “And I also know my heart will only be whole again when you are back in London.”
He puts his half of the heart back in the box next to mine, making it whole again.
Tears fall from my eyes. I know Christian thinks I’m giving up a lot to be with him, but what he doesn’t understand is the love he is giving me is everything I have ever dreamed of.
With Christian, this caged bird has found her wings.
And I’m flying.
“I love you,” I say, my voice thick with tears. “You are the best thing that has ever come into my life.”
“I love you more,” Christian says, his eyes shining with emotion for me. “And I can’t wait to be in the same city as you.”
I lean forward and kiss him. Christian takes the box of cookies and sets it aside, and then he lowers me back onto the blanket, kissing me under the warm sun. I lose myself in his arms, feeling his tongue explore my mouth and his hand slide up underneath my shirt, stroking my waist. I move my hand up to his neck, touching the golden curls at the nape and relishing the feel of his hands on my body. His mouth, warm and soft, seeks mine, his body pinning me to the blanket and making me feel desired. All I want is to spend the afternoon here in our private garden, kissing and touching and knowing in a few months, our future will truly begin.
And just like the English sun shining down on us today, it feels very bright indeed.
Chapter 21
Graduation Day
> I draw a breath of air as I put my black graduation cap carefully on my head. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and a mix of emotions swirls through me.
Today, I’m graduating from Stanford.
I turn and glance around the bedroom I share with Chelsea. It’s filled with boxes, as we move out of the apartment tomorrow. So many memories were made here: late-night conversations with Chelsea, snickers over hearing Bryn and Graham’s sexual ecstasy next door, and exhausting study sessions.
I look at the boxes and, with sadness, realize this is the last time we’ll all be together for a long time. Bryn is moving in with Graham to an apartment in San Francisco. Chelsea is moving to New York to attend NYU and work on her master’s.
And I’m moving to London to start my life with Christian.
I have been counting down the days until I leave for London. I interviewed for my estate tour job, and Lady Cheltham said my resume—err, CV as they call it over there—was impressive and Arthur didn’t do me justice. She asked me to help find antiques for new rooms they want to add to the tour. I’ve studied the house, and it’s beyond anything I could have dreamed of. Built in 1779, it’s a neoclassical gem inside the city. Lord and Lady Cheltham still reside there, but they open certain rooms of the home to share their love of history and art with the public. Lady Cheltham is as passionate about antiques as I am, with her love being for needlework and porcelain. I can’t wait to start learning from her.
The day I returned from my visit to Cambridge, I started preparations to go to London. Lord and Lady Cheltham sponsored me for a work visa. Apartment prices in London nearly made me cry, but then I stumbled on a program that matches young people with elderly people looking to rent out rooms. I immediately knew this was the answer. I could live somewhere nice and have company, too. It would be good to have someone to share conversations and meals with outside of my life with Christian.
I was matched with Jillian, a widowed woman who owns a charming Victorian garden flat in Kensington. It even has a private terrace! Jillian has been welcoming over the phone, telling me all about her neighborhood and what I can expect. I told her I was dating Prince Christian and had Christian send over a letter on official Kensington Palace stationery to confirm I wasn’t a lunatic. I asked her if she understood this might make her life more complicated, as in photographers being outside and waiting to ambush me, and by association, her. Jillian laughed when I expressed my concern. She quipped that it will liven things up on her quiet, tree-lined street. I can already tell I’m going to adore her. Jillian’s even excited Bear will be coming with me. His vaccinations are up to date, his paperwork is certified, and he is ready for his flight to London tomorrow.
Soon, we’ll be with Christian.
I smile as happiness replaces my sadness, winning the emotional war within me. While I’m nervous and sad to leave my family and friends and the United States behind, I feel as if I’m going where I’m meant to be. I was destined to have this adventure of a lifetime in the United Kingdom.
With the man I love.
I hear the door open and find Bryn standing in the doorway, also dressed in her cap and gown. The second she sees me, she bursts into tears.
“How can we say goodbye?” Bryn sobs.
“We don’t,” I say, moving over to her and hugging her tightly, my eyes swimming with tears. “We say ‘see you soon.’”
“I can’t believe you’re going to London. To be with a prince.”
I step back from her. “You are required to message me every day.”
“You can count on it. And Graham and I are coming to London in August. We want the insider tour of Buckingham Palace.”
I snort. “If Queen Antonia ever lets me inside, I’ll be sure to give you one.”
“She can’t avoid you forever.”
“Shall we bet on that?” I say, cocking my eyebrow.
“I don’t care who she is,” Chelsea says, stepping into the bedroom and drawing us both in for a hug. “Christian loves you, and that love is greater than any crap Her Majesty can throw at you.”
“You’re right. And you are totally going to find love in New York,” I say, smiling at her.
Chelsea rolls her eyes. “We’ll see. I’m not too worried about that. But if we stay around here and hug anymore, we’ll be late for the Wacky Walk!”
I grin. The Wacky Walk is a Stanford tradition, where students dress crazy and enter the stadium in mass for the commencement ceremony. After the commencement, we all head to smaller ceremonies conducted by our schools to receive diplomas.
“Costumes on, ladies?” Chelsea prods.
I laugh as she hands us oversized neon-pink sunglasses with big flamingoes on the sides. We put them on and look at each other, laughing. Then Chelsea hands us each bright pink signs. Mine says “Birds of a Feather,” Chelsea’s says “Graduate,” and Bryn’s says, “Stanford Together!”
And, with that, we exit our apartment together.
For the last time.
“One more of you and Paisley!” Mom cries happily as she holds her camera up.
I smile for a picture outside of the McMurtry Building, holding my diploma in my hand.
I’m a graduate.
It’s still sinking in. I’ve graduated, and this is my last day on this campus. I’m thrilled. Sad. Ready to leave. Terrified to leave. Filled with so many memories, but ready to make new ones.
With Christian.
“Okay, got it!” Mom says.
We walk toward her, and I see tears in her eyes as she studies me.
“I can’t believe you have graduated,” she says, touching my face. “My baby is leaving Stanford.”
I will her not to burst into tears.
“I am,” I say, smiling. “And I wouldn’t be here without you and Dad. Thank you for giving me Stanford,” I say, speaking from my heart. “I didn’t earn this degree without your support and belief in me.”
“You can stop thanking us,” Mom says, reaching for another tissue from her purse and dabbing her eyes. “We know you’re grateful, sweetheart.”
“You know you don’t have to go to England tomorrow,” Dad says, his blue-green eyes appraising me. “You can relax and clear your head post-college. Take some time to think before making any rash decisions.”
Paisley is typing on her phone and doesn’t bother looking up as she says, “Hello, she’s been with Christian since January for all intents and purposes, so she’s not staying here. I wouldn’t either if Evan was in London and I had a kick-ass awesome job lined up.”
I love my sister.
While she and Evan are pro-Clementine and Christian, my parents were not won over on FaceTime. They insisted they were concerned about the stressful toll it would take on me and feared for my health. Christian said he understood their concerns but knew as long as he could help me transition, I would not only handle it but do it successfully. It was hard for them to argue when I pointed out that I had the king’s personal medical team at my disposal, per Arthur’s instructions.
“I’m moving to London, and I’m not changing my mind. I have a job. I’m going to live in Kensington. I’m doing what lots of women only dream of doing upon graduation. I’m going to live and work in London, and that’s final.”
A commotion erupts behind us.
I turn around, and a squad of men and women in suits and earpieces move through the crowd. Cell phones begin popping up, and voices begin to murmur.
“What’s going on?” I hear someone say.
“Who is that? Someone famous?” another man asks.
I feel my heartbeat pick up.
“I-I’ll be back,” I say, leaving my family for a moment.
I move closer to the security team, then I freeze in place.
It’s Christian.
He’s dressed in a light-gray suit and has dark aviator sunglasses on, but there’s no mistaking the Golden Prince with his famous blond curls.
“Christian!” I yell out, not caring who hears.
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He turns in my direction, and a huge smile lights up his face.
Christian, surrounded by agents, moves to greet me. The comments from the crowd fade away, so does the idea that we’re being filmed. I don’t care.
“Oh, my God!” I cry, throwing my arms around him. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
Christian slides his hands up to my face, obviously not caring about being in public.
“Happy graduation day, Ace,” he says, smiling brightly at me.
Happy tears fill my eyes. “I can’t believe this is real. You came to my graduation! Wait, don’t you have Royal Ascot on Tuesday?” I ask, shocked. Royal Ascot is the social event of the summer, when the royal family heads out to Windsor Castle and attends horse races. Chelsea lives for the fashions of the week, and we’d always check out the princes in their morning suits and top hats.
A surreal moment passes over me.
I studied pictures of Christian riding in a carriage to Ascot last year, when he was nothing more to me than a handsome famous person in a glossy tabloid magazine.
And now he’s the man I love. Standing before me on my graduation day at Stanford.
“I had a more pressing engagement written in my diary for Tuesday,” Christian murmurs, moving his fingers to my hair. “I’m here to take you home, Clementine, to England.”
I beam at him before wrinkling my brow. “But Ascot,” I say.
“I told Father and Mother I would attend the rest of the week, starting Wednesday.”
I cringe. “Is your mother furious?”
Christian flashes me a wicked grin. “Perhaps a smidge.”
“Christian, you didn’t have to put yourself in that position,” I say, hating that he did this for me.
“You,” he says firmly, “are my priority. Also, I was thinking, you know, since I’m not going to hide in the cupboard anymore, you should come to Ascot on Ladies’ Day.”
What?
My mouth pops open. Me. At Ascot. As Christian’s girlfriend.
I’m so shocked and excited by the prospect, I can’t formulate a response.
“If that’s too much pressure, I understand,” Christian says, retreating from his invitation. “I know the media will be intense if you are in the royal box, and you might want to ease into life in a regular manner, not at the social event of the summer.”