We stare at each other, and I feel the heat rising into my chest. I want a real kiss. I stand on my tiptoes, pulling gently on his shirt until our lips meet again. We lean into each other, my heart running away like a freight train. He puts his hand on my lower back, pulling me closer into him. His lips are so soft I feel dizzy.
“Get a room!” I hear India whisper laughingly somewhere behind me.
Robert and I break apart, still staring at each other. We’re both smiling.
“I’ve been wanting to do that forever,” he says.
All I want to do is drag Robert into the back room and snog his face off, but I manage to compose myself. “Good things come to those who wait,” I say, grinning.
Finally, the party begins to wind down a little bit. The reporters start to leave, India and Clemmie hug me good-bye and then make their way hand in hand past the braying photographers, and even Bill dashes, promising to call me tomorrow to powwow over the press clippings. Robert leaves with him, giving me another quick but intense kiss that leaves me spinning.
I don’t want this night to end.
“Can we get a picture?” one of the photographers asks.
“All of us?” I ask, gesturing at my family and Edward.
“Yeah.”
I look at Edward quizzically and he nods. “Let’s.”
The five of us stand in a line: me, Libby, Edward, and my parents.
“Can I rearrange you?” the photographer says. “Charlotte in the middle.” He looks at the group as I move in between Libby and Edward. “And then one parent on each side. Thanks.”
We smile for the camera, Libby and Edward each throwing an arm around me in support, my parents flanking them. I pull myself up to my full height, tilting my head the way I practiced in the mirror at home before the event.
“Thanks,” the photographer says as we all break apart. “Now, one of just you, Charlotte.”
My parents, Libby, and Edward move out of the way, but not before my father squeezes my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, nugget,” he says.
“Thanks, Daddy.” I feel so happy right now that I want to cry.
“Woman of the hour,” says Edward.
I turn this way and that for the cameras, thrilling as a few other photographers rush over to snap my photo.
“She’s a star,” Libby says proudly.
“And don’t you forget it,” I joke, smiling at her and winking as the flashbulbs pop.
epilogue
TEN YEARS LATER
Outside St. Paul’s Cathedral, Edward and Elizabeth, the newly minted Duke and Duchess of Oxford, glide in a hail of flashbulbs past the waving, cheering crowds.
While getting ready this morning in our suite at the Dorchester, I heard a commentator on Radio 1 say that one million people were expected to turn up in London today. And apparently almost one billion people planned to watch the wedding on TV. One billion people.
Edward takes Libby’s hand—she’ll always be Libby to me, anyway—and helps her up the steps of the gilded state carriage, gleaming in the bright May sunlight. She holds up the long white train of her dress, gingerly arranging the lace around her as she settles in the carriage. Finally, she looks up at the crowds in the square and waves. The people cheer, with banners and signs and UK flags waving and undulating all the way down the road, as far as the eye can see.
I walk several steps behind them. As maid of honor, my primary official duty today was making sure that Libby made it safely down the aisle, not tripping on her gorgeous gown along the way, and then taking her flowers from her when she and Edward exchanged rings at the altar in front of the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Unofficially, I’m simply here for moral support on my sister’s wedding day. She wasn’t nervous about marrying Edward, or about officially shouldering the burden of public life as a royal. She was simply nervous about the crowds—even now, after ten years in the spotlight, Libby is shy sometimes. We shared a bed in the Harlequin Suite at the Dorchester last night, me drawing a bath and bringing a glass of red wine to steady her nerves before giving her an Ambien for a good night’s sleep. I had to field a few emergency phone calls while doing it. Selfsy went public a few years ago, and even though I stepped down as CEO to start another beauty tech company almost five full years ago, I’m still on their board. This means constant check-ins from other members, royal wedding be damned.
After all, despite the pomp, the crowds, the magazine covers, and the sense of history pressing down on us—it is just a wedding.
I walk through the doors of the cathedral, exiting into the bright sunshine and momentarily shielding my eyes. As everything comes into focus again, I look around, taking in the photographers, the grandstands with news commentators, the minor members of the royal family ahead of us waving at the camera, and the massive crowds, stretching seemingly for miles.
Libby waves and smiles, holding her shoulders back and her head high: years of intensive behind-the-scenes training, all leading up to this one moment.
She turns in the carriage to face St. Paul’s, and our eyes lock.
In this moment, a wave of love and understanding washes between us.
She puts her index finger to her lips, giving it the most imperceptible of double taps as she purses her lips before holding out her hand as if in a subtle wave. I repeat the gesture, tapping my finger to my lips twice and putting my hand to my heart, as if trapping the kiss there, before waving at her in return. We stare at each other for a moment, smiling, and then I nod as if to say, “Go.” I’ll see her in two weeks, anyway. After they get back from their honeymoon in the Maldives, and I return from Austin—I’m giving a talk at South by Southwest on the future of the beauty sphere online—we have a standing weekly tennis and lunch date. Every Sunday afternoon, without fail.
Libby turns back to face the adoring crowds again, adopting a royal wave as the carriage pushes off slowly toward Buckingham Palace. Next to her, Edward smiles at me, giving me a thumbs-up. It feels nice to have a brother.
All eyes swivel to me as the photographers begin screaming my name:
“Charlotte! Over here!”
“Charlotte! You look bloody gorgeous!”
“Charlotte! Smile for us!”
“Charlotte!”
“Charlotte!”
“Charlotte!”
I turn my head modestly to the right, angling my body so the photographers can get a wide shot of my best side. Libby isn’t the only one who’s learned how to play the game. I’ve had ten years of practice, too.
I turn back to face the cathedral as my mother and father exit, my mother looking like perfection in a long-sleeved royal-blue shift dress and blue hat with black plumes. Dad is as handsome as I’ve ever seen him, wearing a black suit and top hat—he’s had the cutest little smile on his face all day. He and Edward became BFFs long ago. My dad is clearly a father to Edward in a way the King could never be.
My parents seem like they might die of happiness, walking contentedly arm in arm as if there aren’t a million photographers screaming their names. They’re nothing compared with Nana, however, who brings up the rear, dressed to the nines in her finest beaded dress and a hat she had specially commissioned for the day from the Queen’s own milliner in Bond Street.
“Isn’t this lovely?” Nana says, leaning on her cane and beaming as my family walks past the screaming crowds toward our waiting chauffeured car. “My hips might give way, but there’s still some life in the old girl yet. I can’t wait to get up on that balcony and be photographed next to the Queen. Everybody at home will be mad with jealousy.”
“Nana,” I say, laughing. “I think you have everybody at home beat, forever.”
She looks me up and down. For a second, I think she’s going to scold me for being cheeky. Instead, she smiles, joy creasing her face. She walks toward the car, only wincing slightly as she shifts the weight. “I do think you’re right.”
My heel catches slightly on the pavement, so I pause, gingerly extricating it while smili
ng charmingly at the cameras. They’re always there. I never forget.
Behind me, the royal family exits, Prince Michael and Princess Verena chattering away, and behind them, the King and the Queen.
“Are you all right there, Charlotte?” the Queen asks. She’s dressed head to toe in canary yellow, a small handbag nestled in the crook of her arm. Up close, she’s surprisingly pretty, with charming little crinkles at the corners of her blue eyes and a wicked grin.
My heart skips a beat. I still can’t believe she knows my name. Even though I’ve been on the cover of scores of magazines over the years for Selfsy’s runaway success, something tells me the Queen doesn’t read Wired. I grew up with images of her on tea towels—and now we’re in-laws. Of course, it’s only been a year since we were formally introduced, when the King and Queen invited our whole family to Sandringham following the engagement. That may have been the happiest day of Nana’s life—until now.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “My heel was stuck. I was trying to avoid toppling in front of all the photographers.”
My brain reels—wait, am I supposed to curtsy again? No, I curtsied to them already this morning. I’m set for the rest of the day. God, it’s all so confusing. No matter how well the rest of my life is going, no matter how frequently our families come together, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hanging out with the King and the Queen.
I mean, would you?
“Oh, they’d love that,” she mutters drily in her high-pitched voice. “The headlines.”
“Are we done here?” the King asks, looking from side to side. Even though his father and grandfather were kings before him, too, I’ve noticed in person that he always looks slightly bewildered, like he wandered into the wrong life.
“You know we’re not, Bingo,” the Queen says, using her nickname for him. “We have the wedding breakfast, followed by the diplomats’ tea, and the reception.” Like Libby, she’s long since kept her partner in check—the true power behind the throne.
He sighs heavily. “I know, I know. Wishful thinking. Come on, then.”
The Queen looks over at me, her eyes full of amusement. “Back to the palace—off we go. Let’s give them a good show.”
I follow the King and the Queen toward the royal carriages, toward my waiting family, toward whatever the rest of today might bring.
And so the next chapter begins.
acknowledgments
Is this the part where I get to practice my Academy Award acceptance speech? I have so many people to thank!
Thank you to Erik—my soulmate, my partner, the Han to my Leia—for being endlessly supportive. When I stop believing in myself, you tell me I can do it. When I stumble, you give me strength. Writing with a wee one is no easy feat, and there have been many moments when I’ve been full of doubt, creatively blocked, or just plain exhausted. You always give me the space and the encouragement to keep going, even when you’re plain exhausted, so thank you for that. Plus, you take half of the mornings so Mama can regularly sleep in—if that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.
Thanks to Aurelia, for being the world’s best inspiration and motivation (when you’re not making me chase you around the living room with a comb). You are perfect.
Big thanks to my dream editor, Alex Arnold, whose patience and guidance resulted in me having way too much fun writing this book. You never made me feel silly for really, really, really caring about the details of life as a royally adjacent person, and for that I am endlessly grateful.
To everybody at Katherine Tegen Books and HarperCollins who worked on Romancing the Throne, a GIGANTIC THANK-YOU! I heart you all!
A huge thank-you to my patient readers (and wonderful friends) Dara Smith, Jerramy Fine, and Katherine Longhi, who never once were anything less than supportive (even during those scary early drafts).
Special thanks to Anica Rissi, Mollie Glick, my awesome agent, Jess Regel, and Melissa Harris.
To my friends and family, who lived through the years of ups and downs on the way to publication, thank you, and I love you. Thanks especially to my dad for teaching me to be brave, and to my mom for teaching me to be kind. I wish you could have read this book, Mama. I inherited my love of all things royal from you, and I think you would have gotten a kick out of it. I miss you.
back ad
DISCOVER
your next favorite read
MEET
new authors to love
WIN
free books
SHARE
infographics, playlists, quizzes, and more
WATCH
the latest videos
www.epicreads.com
about the author
Photo by StevenLamPhotography.com
NADINE JOLIE COURTNEY is the author of Beauty Confidential and Confessions of a Beauty Addict. Her writing has appeared in Town & Country, Cosmopolitan, Refinery29, Vogue.com, and many more. She lives in Santa Monica, California, with her husband, Erik, and daughter, Aurelia, and she is still waiting for her invitation to Buckingham Palace. Find Nadine online at www.nadinejoliecourtney.com or on Twitter @nadinecourtney.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
books by nadine jolie courtney
Romancing the Throne
credits
COVER ART BY RAFAEL MAYANI
COVER DESIGN BY KATIE FITCH
copyright
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
ROMANCING THE THRONE. Copyright © 2017 by Nadine Jolie Courtney and The Story Foundation. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016950153
ISBN 978-0-06-240662-0
EPub Edition © May 2017 ISBN 9780062406644
* * *
17 18 19 20 21 PC/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
about the publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada
www.harpercollins.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com
Romancing the Throne Page 31