by Kate Johnson
“Poppet, it’s still not too late,” said her father.
“Not listening.” She smoothed her skirt for the hundredth time.
“Yes, I thought you’d say that. But your mother made me promise I’d ask.” He hesitated. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing. One can survive after leaving the Family, you know. I did.”
“Yes, but you married into it.” She sighed. “Well, at least I’m giving the gossip columnists something to talk about.”
“That’s the spirit.”
The route was lined with people, way more than had been expected. It looked like the same kind of numbers that had turned out for Jamie’s wedding, which was crazy. He was a proper important Royal, the kind who’d still have to ask the Queen’s permission even if this new agreement ever came into effect.
I just wanted to not be a princess for a day. And here she was, getting her wish.
It seemed notoriety was a better guarantee of public interest than dull compliance. The thought made her smile. I’m notorious.
She was still smiling as she stepped out of the car outside the Guildhall, waved at the crowds, and went to join Drina, who had arrived moments before. They turned to smile and wave together, and a thousand cameras flashed.
“You look so splendid,” said their father, and Eliza was pleased to believe him. She’d gone for a full-skirted Fifties style for this part of the day, with the same wide, on-the-shoulder neckline she’d chosen for the chapel blessing. The dress was ivory satin and absolutely plain, with a froth of petticoats underneath in all the shades of the Caribbean sea. Drina’s dress was the same, but with the colours reversed. Both of them wore a sapphire and pearl headpiece threaded into their hair.
There were no cameras inside the registry office. This part was just for them.
Xavier, waiting inside, had a waistcoat the same silver as Eliza’s shoes, and a cravat the same blue as Drina’s dress. He stood at the head of the room, looking so breathtakingly handsome in his morning suit that she faltered on her feet.
I’m going to marry this man. “So, not a Stars and Stripes waistcoat?” she said, and everyone laughed.
But it was Xavier’s smile she saw, Xavier’s beautiful eyes she kept her gaze on as she joined him at the front of the room, and Xavier she promised to love, honour, cherish and keep. The ceremony was a whirl, over in less than half an hour according to the schedule, and then they were outside and Xavier’s mother was throwing confetti at them, which severely annoyed the wedding planners and amused Eliza no end.
This time the Bentley was theirs alone as they travelled back through Windsor to the castle where Eliza had spent a sleepless night away from the man she loved. And I never have to again.
“Hey, Mrs Rivera,” he said, taking her left hand and playing with her ring. Made from the same Clogau gold as every other royal wedding ring, it was plain and simple and gleamed in the May sunshine.
“Hey, husband,” she said, Xavier grinned that beaming smile of his and she fell absolutely in love with him for about the tenth time that day.
“So, this is insane,” said Perez as they watched Eliza being led away for her second outfit of the day. They’d already posed for photos in one of Windsor’s dizzyingly grand state rooms, everything covered in gold and marble and tradition.
“Welcome to my life,” Xavier said. He glanced at his watch, an expensive birthday gift from the woman he’d just married. “Okay. We’re due to leave for the Chapel in an hour. I’ve got to change my waistcoat but otherwise we can chill.”
“Waistcoat?” teased Perez.
Xavier looked down at the double-breasted, straight-cut Irish linen waistcoat. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s definitely not a vest—“”
One of the footmen in his braided uniform appeared, nodding to him sharply. “Sir. I am to inform you of a Code Pink.”
“Pink?” said Perez.
Xavier groaned. “Marisol. Come on.”
They followed the footman to a man in a dark suit, who nodded briefly and led them through a dizzying series of hidden doors and stone corridors until they emerged in a utilitarian guard room. Marisol sat there, wrists in cuffs, and on a chair on the other side of the room was a brunette who had begun to look very familiar to Xavier.
“Melissa,” he said. “What a charming coincidence.”
“I haven’t done anything!”
He let his gaze travel to her handcuffs, then back up to her face.
“You can’t pin anything on me,” she said.
“Those two statements are not mutually exclusive,” Xavier said. He checked his watch again. “I have to go change soon for a Church blessing with my new wife. You got anything to say, say it quick.”
Both women babbled quickly. Xavier sighed, glanced at Perez, and turned to the plain-looking man in his dark suit.
“Were they doing anything suspicious?”
“Miss Featherstonehaugh was trying to get in without an invite,” said the officer, who had only given his name as Jones.
“I was just trying to deliver a gift. Jeez,” said Melissa, who was dressed like any number of guests at the wedding.
“We asked for charity donations instead of gifts,” said Xavier.
“I’m one of Eliza’s oldest friends! Can’t I send her a gift?”
“What was it?”
Her gaze slid away. “Cake.”
Patiently, Xavier asked, “What kind of cake?”
“A nice one.”
“The kind we’ve sent away to be tested,” said Jones, when Melissa failed to elucidate further. Xavier wondered if she’d put something disgusting in the cake or just gone straight for poison.
“I think it’s time for that restraining order, don’t you?” Perez said, and Xavier nodded.
“You can’t stop me going near Eliza, I’m invited to every event of the Season,” said Melissa. “You’re not even a proper member of the Royal Family! The legislation didn’t pass! Eliza’s just a ‘miss’ now! Like the rest of us!”
“Well, no, she’s still a Lady,” said Xavier, “and she’s still the Queen’s granddaughter. She just doesn’t inherit. And, Melissa? What have you done to Marisol?” He regarded his ex-wife, who glared furiously up at him.
“She said she’d do the talking!” she burst out.
“Did she?” Xavier said mildly, wondering what he’d ever seen in her. Marisol had tried to dress like Melissa, but her dress was too tight, her hair too big, her lipstick too gaudy. No class.
“Who wrote that open letter?” Perez asked.
“I did,” Marisol snapped, which was a lie because Xavier knew she’d never written a sentence in her life that didn’t end with three or more exclamation marks.
“Who told you the name of the island Eliza was kidnapped from?” Xavier asked softly.
“I—” Marisol’s gaze flickered all too briefly in Melissa’s direction. “I read it somewhere.”
“Like, a classified police report?” said Perez.
“Because that’s the only place it appeared,” Xavier said.
There was silence for a while. Xavier put his hands in his pockets and waited.
“You said we wouldn’t get caught!” Marisol erupted.
“We haven’t done anything wrong!” Melissa snapped.
Xavier considered this. It depended what might have been in that cake, of course, and if they could actually link her to Eliza’s kidnapping.
“Well, we’ll figure that out,” he said. He nodded to Jones. “You still got dungeons here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What? No, you can’t—”
“Isn’t interfering with the line of succession considered an act of treason?” Perez asked, and when Xavier raised his eyebrows, added, “What, you’re the only one reading up on the Royal Family?”
“Good point,” said Xavier. “Dungeons, Jones. I’ve got a Chapel to get to. Marisol, enjoy your vacation at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. Melissa—”
She glare
d up at him.
“Thanks for introducing me to my wife.”
He walked away, whistling God Save The Queen.
Eliza stood in front of the glass and regarded herself.
Her chapel dress was a full length ivory gown, but that was pretty much the only thing Eliza and the Queen had agreed on. The neckline skimmed her shoulders, a wide scoop that offered a scandalous hint of bosom. There were no sleeves, but a band of silver hearts and blue scallops trimmed the top of the bodice, which was the exact shape she’d asked for. The bullet-pleated skirts swung a half inch above the ground, the hem clustered with more scallops and hearts. When she moved, the silver and blue petticoats flashed prettily, and the modest train sparkled in the light.
“Miles better than that silly old silver tissue dress,” said Drina from behind her. Her pale blue dress was cut in the same style, but lacked the train and embellishments.
“Much better than the one Lady O-W wanted,” Eliza said.
“I overheard her on the telly,” Drina giggled, “complaining there was a shocking lack of lace.” She came to stand beside Eliza. “You look like a princess.”
Eliza looked at the tiara and the silver embroidery and the ring on her finger, and felt laughter bubbling up inside her.
“First time for everything,” she said.
The whole process of changing had been scheduled to take an hour, and ran over when she discovered a run in her stockings, but then she was being led carefully and slowly back down to the car, where Xavier waited.
His eyes went gratifyingly wide. “Princess,” he breathed, and kissed her hand. “I can’t believe I’m married to you,” he whispered, and she winked.
“Right back atcha.”
The cameras were ready to film them as the Bentley drove them back into the Lower Ward of the castle. The time for privacy was over. The eyes of the world wanted to see the princess in the process of quitting the Royal Family.
The blessing in the chapel more closely resembled a traditional wedding service, without the vows. Eliza had little recollection of the hymns she’d apparently agreed to, and which Xavier didn’t know at all. There were readings and prayers, which she mumbled ‘amen’ to at the appropriate part. She probably sang along to the National Anthem.
Afterwards, people commented that she and Xavier hadn’t taken their eyes off each other during the whole ceremony. Eliza was baffled why on earth anyone thought that was strange.
They bowed and curtseyed to the Queen, who smiled benignly, and Eliza suddenly realised she hadn’t objected to a single thing all along, she was just testing Eliza to see if she’d give.
She beamed at her grandmother, got a proper smile in return, and nearly skipped down the aisle on the arm of her husband.
“I have a husband,” she told him as they emerged into the light.
He laughed. “You do.”
“We’re married.”
“We sure are.”
People fussed around them, assistants arranging her train and tweaking her veil, the Tiny Bridesmaids being marshalled into place by their mothers, Drina flirting with the camera. Arrangements of people were made and remade, as camera after camera snapped them and the world’s press broadcast every detail.
Then a clatter of hooves caught her attention, and she watched in consternation as their transport back to the castle arrived, not in the shape of a vintage Bentley but the 1902 State Landau, drawn by a matched team of greys and complete with liveried footmen.
“What the…” began Xavier.
“Is that for us?” said Eliza.
“Oh my God, look at their uniforms!” gasped Xavier’s mother.
“A surprise from Her Majesty,” they were told, and Eliza glanced back at her grandmother, stately in blue on the steps of the chapel. The same blue as the scallops on my dress. She beamed and nodded, and Eliza laughed aloud with delight.
It’s just a place in the Succession. I’m not leaving the Family at all.
The sun shone warm on them as she found herself sitting beside Xavier in the carriage, being taken to the Upper Ward of the castle the long way around.
“This is insane,” Xavier said, as people waved and cheered.
“I had no idea she was planning this. All that time, Xavier, she totally approved of all of it.” She gestured to her skirt, the scallop shells twinkling merrily in the sunshine.
“Well, I can’t blame her. You look stunning. Every bit a princess.”
“Even if I’m not one any more?”
The agreement hadn’t been signed in time. The moment Eliza put her name on the register as Xavier’s wife, she’d dropped out of the Succession.
She found she didn’t really care.
“You’re always my princess,” he said, and the crowd went aww as he kissed her for quite some time.
RoyalGossip.com: Elizabeth Rivera, semi-royal bride
Well, we never thought it would go ahead but it has: Princess Elizabeth has married her fairytale husband, and while he’s charming he’s no prince. But then again, she’s not quite a princess either!
Ever since she married Mr Rivera without the amendment of the Act of Settlement, Princess Elizabeth has been in a state of limbo. Still a Princess, yes, still a member of the Royal Family, yes, but never allowed to inherit the throne.
We can’t believe we used to be unable to tell her apart from her sister. Check out Eliza the Rebel flashing her blue petticoats at the registry office, and the blue scallops on her dress in the Chapel blessing. The shells were said to represent not only her father’s coat of arms, but the beach where she and Xavier fell in love.
And speaking of beaches, we’ve never seen a royal reception quite like this one. After the formal reception in Windsor Castle, the bride and groom hopped a flight to Miami, spending their honeymoon on board a private jet which reportedly has a full king size bed on board. This was followed by the penthouse apartment of one of Miami’s most exclusive hotels, which owns a private section of beach where the groom’s family threw him a huge party.
The groom’s sisters all wore varying shades of blue to watch the couple reaffirm their vows in front of several hundred of his nearest and dearest. Check out this cute picture of them with Xavier’s grandmother! The bride wore a relaxed, flowing dress dip-dyed the colour of the ocean, while the groom wore a blue suit to match. That man can really wear a suit!
The not-quite-princess Eliza announced her intention to become an ambassador for British Swimming, and sealed it in this photograph with the Olympic team. Not shy about revealing the scars of her clash with a coral reef last year, she has been seen showing off her own skills in a swimsuit and looking a right royal knockout, too.
We wonder how the couple will react when they hear the news that since their wedding, the Perth Agreement has been passed into law in all the Commonwealth Realms, which means Eliza will be back in the line of succession, knocking her great-Aunt Georgina off the fourteenth spot once again. Although, if the sparkling water Eliza has been seen drinking lately is any indication, we suspect there might be a new fifteenth in line to the throne coming along pretty soon!
Acknowledgements
Thanks must go to:
The Naughty Kitchen, as ever, for cheerleading, advice, beta-reading and wine. For asking if I was going to write a sequel about Prince Jamie’s cousin. For not telling me I was nuts to write a sequel in three weeks (I was, though).
Jan Jones, also for cheerleading and beta-reading. When you write a book in three weeks it turns out to need a lot of redrafting.
Princess Eugenie, who announced her engagement when I’d just got stuck into writing my first Royal Wedding book, thus reminding me my Prince Jamie had several younger cousins…
Royal Family Tree
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Keep scrolling for an excerpt from Not Your Royal Christmas, book three in the Royal Weddings series, available Christmas 2018…
Excerpt from Not Your Royal Christmas
book three of the Royal Weddings series
Prologue
It wasn’t quite snowing, but the sky outside was yellow with it. The lights on the children’s tree sparkled pink, orange and blue, and Carols from Kings could be heard from down the corridor.
Above the mantelpiece, King George V glared down at his great-great grandson as if he always knew he’d be this disappointing.
Tom held tight to Scarlet’s hand and tried not to wince at how white his grandmother’s lips had gone.
“You,” said the Queen icily, “are going to need one hell of an explanation.”
Chapter One
Clickbait.com: Twice the woman she was!
Remember Scarlet Moon? Of course you do! The daughter of music legend Rocky Moon of the 70s chart-toppers The Martians, Scarlet was famous in the Noughties for her naked videos, tempestuous affairs and general rock’n’roll antics—so much so that she called her first album Wild Child! But after her third album tanked, Scarlet seemed to vanish off the face of the Earth. Now she’s rumoured to be making a comeback, and as you can see from these photos, there’s a reason we didn’t recognise her…