by Aven Ellis
I open the door, and Jillian beams the second she sees me. She rises and puts her steepled fingertips to her lips as she studies the dress.
“Perfection,” she says, moving around me. Jillian yanks the zipper up, and I walk toward the three-way mirror at the end of the hall.
“Is it wrong to fall in love with the first dress I try on?” I ask, doing a twirl in front of the mirror.
“Not when it’s right,” Jillian says. “I want you to try on the others to make sure, but I think this is your dress.”
I turn around to Jillian and grin. “I love that it has color.”
Bridget steps into the dressing area, carrying two flutes of champagne on a silver tray, and gasps when she sees me.
“You are ready for Ascot!” she declares brightly.
“I love it,” I admit.
“I have some complimentary champagne for you,” she says, placing the glasses on a small table next to the sofa Jillian was sitting on.
“Thank you.”
“Bridget, can you bring some hats and shoes that would coordinate with this dress?” Jillian asks. “I’m thinking big on the hats. As far as shoes, no nudes. We absolutely want color.”
“Yes, of course, Ms. Park, I’ll have some options for you straight away. What size shoe do you wear, Ms. Jones?”
“Six and a half.”
Bridget’s face looks like she’s doing a math equation before she says, “I believe that is a size four UK, but I’ll double check.”
Wow. I had no idea shoe sizes weren’t universal.
I have so much to learn.
Jillian begins fussing with the skirt and moves in front of me. “You are going to get a lot of attention tomorrow, Clementine. Are you ready for it?”
I bite my lip. “You know what? It feels like skiing a challenging new run for the first time. You get more and more excited as you ride the lift up, but then you look down and get a little nervous when you see how tricky the course is to navigate, but you still want to do it all the same.”
Jillian puts her hands on my shoulders, squeezing them as she stares back at me. “You’ve got a wonderful head on your shoulders for someone so young. You’re not naïve. You know you are going to get knocked about by the public and the press. They’ll love you one day, and rip you apart the next. But you will get up, put your chin up, and get on with it because love like this is worth everything.”
Tears fill my eyes. I know Jillian had this kind of love with George without her saying it.
“Enough,” Jillian says, clearing her throat. “We have more dresses to try on.”
“Wait!” Bridget calls out, rushing in with a hatbox. “I have a brilliant hat in here you need to try on while you have that dress on, Ms. Jones.”
I wait as Bridget lifts the top off the box and moves tissue aside. Then she carefully lifts a large, wide-brimmed straw hat in pale pink with matching pink veiling and huge, pink flowers around the side.
“This meets Ascot requirements,” Bridget says knowingly.
She places the hat upon my head, situating it just right.
“Beautiful,” she murmurs in approval.
I stare back at myself. Never have I felt more like a lady than I do in this moment. The hat—when set against my red hair—is striking. Combined with the dress, I look tailor-made for Ascot.
Jillian meets my gaze in the mirror and smiles.
“I do believe,” she says, “you are ready for Ascot.”
Butterflies take off in my stomach. I know tomorrow will be thrilling, and terrifying. Queen Antonia and the press are looming over me, yet I return to the reason why I’m going, why I’m putting myself through this.
Christian.
And now it is time to find the next dress, for tonight, that will mark my entrance into Christian’s royal world.
And with Jillian’s help, I know it will be perfect.
Chapter 24
The Green Drawing Room
As Windsor Castle—majestically situated on a ridge with the Royal Standard flying from the round tower—appears in the distance, nausea attacks my stomach, fighting for space with the butterflies that are already residing there.
After spending the day shopping, having alterations quickly made on my gown for this evening, then having Jillian sweep my hair into a fabulous chignon, I found myself packing a new bag for my stay at Windsor Castle as a guest of King Arthur himself.
I’ll be one of only twenty-four people invited for Ladies’ Day at Ascot tomorrow. Twenty-four.
I’m one of twenty-four people who will get to experience the pomp and circumstance of royalty. I’ll be dressing in a gown for a black-tie dinner this evening in the luxurious state dining room. I’ll have a day dress for breakfast tomorrow, and then I’ll be running back to my room to change for lunch, switching into my Ascot outfit. Then I’ll watch the race in the royal box, which will include my first royal tea.
This is enough to freak anyone out, but I have an added layer to my circumstance.
I’m meeting my boyfriend’s family for the first time.
Which includes oh, only a future king, princes, princesses, as well as the dowager queen.
And Queen Antonia.
I’m going to throw up.
“You’ve gone awfully quiet, Ace,” Christian says as he drives us closer.
“I’m nervous,” I admit. “I want to make a good impression, and I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I need weeks to prepare for this, not half a day. What was it you were telling me again? That if King Arthur is speaking to someone on his right, we all speak to the person on our right? Then if he turns to speak to the person on the left, we all turn left, even if we’re in the middle of a conversation?”
He places his hand on my knee as if he’s trying to stop my brain.
“Sweetheart, nobody expects you to know all the protocol tonight,” Christian says.
I frown as the castle looms ahead.
“They don’t,” he repeats, trying to reassure me. “You know I’m here to help, and my cousins are excited to meet you. They’ll be fantastic in helping you if you need anything.”
That reassures me a bit. I’m excited to meet Liz, Bella, and Victoria. They are close in age to Christian and his brothers, with Princess Elizabeth being twenty-three and the same age as Christian; Princess Isabella being twenty-two; and Princess Victoria being the youngest—and known across social media as the most fashionable young royal—at twenty.
“So will your chambermaid,” Christian says, interrupting my thoughts. “She is on hand to answer any etiquette questions you might have.”
“My what?”
“You’ll have your own chambermaid to unpack your clothes,” Christian says, unfazed.
“Wait, I don’t want anyone unpacking my clothes,” I cry, appalled at the idea of a maid having to do that for me. “I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.”
“But it’s her job, Clementine.”
“I don’t want her going through my underwear. I mean, I have skimpy thongs in there, Christian. What if she laughs at my crazy patterns?”
Oh, why, why, why did I decide to throw in the one with lipstick prints all over it as a joke for Christian?
“You don’t mind when I go through your knickers,” Christian says wickedly.
“Well, that’s you. Also, it’s enjoyable when you go through my knickers, as you say.”
Christian laughs loudly. “I do love you, Fiona.”
“I guess it’s not a big deal,” I say, as I’m sure these maids have seen more eyebrow-raising things than a lipstick print thong. I mentally think of what else I’ve packed. Thanks to Jillian’s help, my clothing and accessories are all elegant and ladylike. Then I have my hairdryer, my universal adaptor plug, and makeup.
Okay, the crisis level is a minimum, unless the chambermaid is on the take for Queen Antonia and reports back that my taste in undergarments is disastrous. But I’ll have to take my chances on that one.
I
stare up at Windsor Castle, another living history book I’ll have the privilege of spending time in, this one nearly a thousand years old—as well as the oldest occupied castle in the world.
As soon as we park, we’re greeted by palace staff, and Christian is whisked through an entrance. My mind blurs as a woman hands me information regarding my stay and gives me directions to my room. Christian stiffens at my side, and I have a feeling something is wrong.
“Your chambermaid will be Hannah,” she says, inclining her head toward a woman next to her, “and she is here to help you with anything you might need, Ms. Jones.”
“Your Royal Highness,” Hannah says, doing a small curtsy to Christian. Then she turns to me. “Welcome to Windsor Castle, Ms. Jones. I’ll escort you to your apartment now.”
“No, I’ll handle that, Hannah. Thank you. You can follow shortly to help Clementine with her bags.”
“Of course, sir,” she says, nodding.
Christian wraps his hand around mine, and as he leads me along, I can tell from his stride he’s annoyed.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
Christian stops and turns to me. “She put you in the farthest room from the royal apartments. I guarantee you she did it not only to keep you away from me but to try and trip you up to make sure you are late to events. It’s rubbish, Clementine, absolute rubbish, and I’m pissed about it.”
I have zero doubts she is Queen Antonia.
I shrug. “So?”
“So? Do you realize how far you’ll have to run between meals and events? To change your clothes? If you’re late, it’s a huge deal.”
“I’m fast. I can make sure I’m ready early so, even if I get lost, I’ll be on time.”
Shit. I didn’t think about it until I said it, but getting lost here is going to be easy, with all these halls and rooms; after all, the place is a freaking castle.
I’ll leave one hour before every event starts, I vow.
“Do you know what my biggest fear is?” Christian asks.
My heart hurts when I see sadness in his eyes.
“What?” I ask, squeezing his hand in mine.
“That you’ll grow to hate all of this: my mum, these rules, the press. You’re handling it now like the ace you are, but someday, you’ll despise me for all of this. You’ll want your normal back. I won’t be worth it. I wouldn’t blame you for leaving when that day comes.”
“Stop right there. You’re forgetting something. I’ve never had normal. I’ve had kids who teased me for having a tumor. I’ve had parents who thought if I winced it meant I was getting sick again. I wasn’t allowed to live with abandon. I was always under rules of protection. This is more freeing, even with all these rules, than the worry my parents put over my head. You have as much reason to throw your hands up and walk away, with my parents who want me on the West Coast, in a life without these pressures. You could easily find someone whose parents would be thrilled you wanted to be with their daughter. You could have a woman who knows this culture, who is a lady, who your mother would embrace, but you chose the harder road. You chose me.”
Christian exhales. “I absolutely did.”
“Then stop wasting my time and see me to my room,” I say, smiling happily at him.
Windsor Castle is ah-ma-zing.
I gaze out the window of my guest room. It’s like staying at a posh hotel. There’s even a schedule of events and a map—a map!–on the nightstand next to the bed with King Arthur’s royal crest on it.
Hannah expertly unpacked all my things, from placing my lipstick thong in a drawer and hanging my clothing in the closet to laying out my hairbrushes on the vanity in the restroom, while talking to me about what to expect tonight. She was quite lovely, and I found her knowledge calming.
I turn around and move about the casual, English country-style room, navigating around the four-poster bed with simple white bed linens, while waiting for Christian to come get me. Before tonight’s black-tie dinner in the stateroom, which includes being presented to King Arthur and Queen Antonia, I’ll meet Xander and James, and his cousins. I’m both nervous and excited because I want them to like me.
Ding!
I pick up my phone and see that Paisley is texting me. I sent her a selfie in my evening gown, a stunning, floor-length royal-blue crepe gown with a cape overlay. I paired it with silver drop earrings and black, closed-toe pumps—per Jillian’s suggestion, as Her Majesty prefers closed-toed shoes—and ugh, sheer, shimmery pantyhose.
Pantyhose.
I’ve never worn a pair in my life, and my legs feel sweaty and itchy.
Jillian said she didn’t know why her majesty was inclined to keep pantyhose on her requirement list, as bare legs are nicer, but she suggested I do it to make the best first impression possible.
Ugh.
I read Paisley’s message:
This is surreal, Clem! You are going to have dinner with the KING AND QUEEN while I stroll down the hallway for another cup of shit office coffee.
I text back:
I still don’t have my head around the fact that this is my life. Now pray for me. I don’t know what I am doing, and I’m sure I’ll have all kinds of etiquette breaches tonight.
Paisley is typing …
If you’re going to break them, go down in flames, I say. Dare you to dance on the state dining room table. Double bonus if you can get Xander the Philanderer to join you, which I bet he would. That would really make HER MAJESTY go sideways!
I burst out laughing. Since I started seeing Christian, it’s as if my sister has accepted I am not only okay but living my best life, and it has brought us closer in the process. And I know she and Evan are doing everything they can to bring—well, more like drag—my parents over to see it, too.
There’s a rap on my door, and nerves take over.
It’s time to go.
I open the door, and my eyes widen when I see Christian. He’s ravishing in a black tux with his golden curls swept back with a bit of product. The cuffs of his crisp, white, dress shirt peek out from his tuxedo jacket, as does a glint of his Rolex watch.
My man is sexy as hell.
“You,” Christian says, his voice husky, “are breathtaking.”
“You approve, Your Royal Highness?” I tease as I step aside to let him in and retrieve my clutch.
“You’re stunning tonight,” Christian says, moving behind me and drawing me to his chest. He slides one hand around my stomach, pinning me to him, and then he kisses the side of my neck. I feel heat flicker within me the second his breath is against my skin.
“Christian,” I murmur, closing my eyes as his mouth moves up my neck. I slide my hand up behind his neck, finding his curls, and closing my fingers around them.
“We could skip dinner,” he teases.
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” I say. “You are so sexy in this tux. I think I’ll have you for dessert tonight.”
He chuckles, and a tingle shoots down my spine from the sound. “That’s a cheesy thing for you to say, Ace.”
“It might be a cheesy line, but you won’t deny me, will you?”
“No.”
We both laugh.
“Come on, let’s go,” Christian says and offers me his arm.
Swoon.
I wrap my hand around his arm, and Christian escorts me on what seems like a good half-mile walk back toward the royal apartments.
“See? I wasn’t kidding when I said you were banished,” Christian says.
I snicker. “I’m not the only guest who has the same accommodations,” I remind him.
“I still don’t like it.”
“I do believe we’ve become quite adept at navigating distances,” I say. “Compared to the distance from Cambridge to Palo Alto, what’s the length of a castle?”
Christian laughs. “True. Mum will have to work much harder on her scheming.”
I snort. “Christian, you make her sound like one of the villains on a Real Housewives show.”
“The
re’s no sound about it, not when it comes to her image, or mine. I suppose that’s part of being a mother, right? Worrying about your son?”
I realize Christian is trying to rationalize her behavior, as if his mother is somehow acting out of concern for him, rather than herself. I understand. Even if you have a hint of the truth about your family in front of you, you still want to believe the glimmer of good.
I decide to give him that hope.
“Of course. Mothers can be overprotective. I should know, right?”
“Right,” Christian concedes, and we fall into silence as we walk.
As we head down the long corridor, we’re passed by various people employed by the royal household, all dressed in stylish uniforms according to their positions. I still have no idea what ninety-nine percent of them do, except for Hannah, my chambermaid.
A silence falls over me as I take in the architecture, the paintings, the meshing of the previous monarchs who placed their own style upon the castle. I long to explore it with Christian, to have him show me it through his eyes, with his stories. What was it like to him as a child? It must be strange to think you have blood ties to monarchs who lived here, loved here, and died here.
“Can we come back here on our own?” I ask.
“Of course. Why?” Christian asks. “Do you fancy a trip through the china corridor and the china museum?”
“It would be best to drop me off there with a tour guide who I can pepper with endless questions about Minton bone china dessert plates.” I grin. “Though, while I’m dying to see that, I also want your history with Windsor. What memories do you have? What secret places have stories? What experiences make it yours and yours alone?”
Christian stops and turns to face me as a couple, dressed to the nines, enters a nearby room filled with gilded, green sofas and ornate, cut-glass chandeliers.
He smiles at me and says, “I would love to share my history with you, but tonight, Ace, this is where I have to leave you,” Christian gazes down at me. “Only for a bit, but I have to enter with the family. It’s part of the business. Go have a drink, meet some people, and I’ll be in soon,” Christian says, releasing my arm.