She checked her phone. It was close to lunchtime. How was it possible that she had spent three hours shopping? It was as though she had stepped into a time machine when she entered the doors of the famous department store earlier that day. Who knew there were so many things to buy...? And yet it had proved near impossible to find anything appropriate.
Adjusting the shopping bags in her hands, she frowned and wondered what Luis would make of the presents she had eventually bought. He was probably used to receiving scarily expensive presents—would he find hers laughable? Should she just return them? She glanced back into the store. The queues at the tills were even longer than when she had waited in line to pay. There was no way she was going back in there. Bracing herself to step out into the stream of shoppers rushing by, she caught the eye of an older man waiting by the doorway. He looked as unimpressed with this shopping malarkey as she was. She did an eye roll to her fellow sufferer and said, ‘It’ll be all over by tomorrow thankfully...bar the arguing, of course.’
The man frowned and in fairness to him attempted to laugh along with her, but then he backed towards the door and fled inside, obviously preferring the madness that lay within to having to converse with a crazy lady outside.
What should she do now? Well, the obvious answer was to get herself back to Fitzalen Square and her thesis. But that meant having to see Luis. And after last night she just knew that she would blush and be all awkward and she didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.
* * *
She really hadn’t meant for their kiss to get so hot and heavy. If he hadn’t rolled away...but he had. And now she was mortified. She had been up at six this morning. Determined to work. But after two hours of fidgeting, and rewriting the same paragraph over and over again, she had thrown in the towel and decided to escape the house before Luis climbed out of bed to postpone her embarrassment a little longer. But before she headed out into the misty morning she had gone to her bedroom to fetch a jumper and spotted all her Christmas presents her mum had insisted she bring with her to London. And it had dawned on her that Luis would probably have no presents to open tomorrow. All because he had decided to stay in London and keep her company. For a few moments she had toyed with the idea of sharing her presents with him, but, given what her mum and aunties had gifted her in previous years, she reckoned that Luis wasn’t in need of an assortment of girly shower gels and body creams.
Now, bracing herself, she stepped onto the footpath and was quickly swept along by the human train of shoppers. But when, for the fifth time in as many minutes, she ran into the back of someone who decided now was a good time to check their phone, she diverted off onto a side street. It would take her longer to get home—but, as much as it pained her to admit it, she was happy to find any old excuse to avoid the dual taunts in her life right now—her thesis and Luis.
The side street was lined with restaurants and cafés. In spite of the rain-laden skies, shoppers had bravely opted to sit outside. And, instead of fretting about the weather, the groups of families, friends and couples all seemed buoyed up by the season, their laughter deep and excitement shining in their eyes.
Ahead of her, a little girl dressed in a knee-length red wool coat with white fur trim broke away from her mother and raced along the footpath to a man who swept her up into his arms, kissing her forehead and then embracing the woman, all three of them forming a tight hug that cocooned them into a huddle of love and giggles.
She crossed the road. Walked by a Belgian-chocolate shop, the gold interior of the store shining out into the greyness of the day like a beacon. She came to a stop, spun around and went inside, and bought herself a family-size milk chocolate and hazelnut bar.
She found a street bench. Dropped herself and her bags onto it heavily. Yanked the wrapper from the bar. Ate a square. And then another. It was hard to swallow. But she was ravenous. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was not going to cry out here in public.
What was the matter with her?
I’m just overwhelmed by my thesis. I’m in a strange city. And I’m missing my mum. That’s all.
No, Alice. You’re lonely.
She bit down on another square of chocolate, trying to tune out the voice in her head.
Let’s face it. You’re lonely. And spending time with Luis is driving that fact home. It’s all very well living in your lovely bubble in Dublin, where work and studying distract you from every emotion inside you, but Luis is shining an unwelcome light on everything you want to pretend isn’t wrong in your life. You didn’t leave the house this morning because you were embarrassed by last night—you left because you were so desperate to see him again this morning. And that terrified you.
Tossing the chocolate bar into her handbag, she grabbed the shopping bags, her heart pounding. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.
She really liked Luis. She really, really liked him.
And not just in a you make me weak type of way. That, she could handle. Not that she’d admit it to anyone, but she was given to crushes. She’d had a long-running one on a guy who came into the café every morning. After two long years he had asked her out. But they hadn’t got beyond their first date. How hadn’t she ever noticed his habit of sucking between his two front teeth in all those years that he had stood at the opposite side of the counter and waited for his Americano?
She didn’t just fancy Luis. She actually liked him. Admired him. Thought he was pretty cool, in fact.
What on earth was she going to do with all of this? Get the first flight back to Dublin before she did something stupid? Okay, so she wasn’t exactly experienced on the bed front, but she was definitely getting vibes off him that his thoughts towards her weren’t one hundred per cent pure.
She smiled at that. Giggled. An elderly woman walking by diverted away from her.
She wanted to call out, I’m not crazy, honestly! But decided not to scare the poor lady any further. And anyway, she wasn’t certain if she could actually claim to be the picture of sanity. Not when, despite her previous reservations about Luis’s character, she was actually picturing them sharing a bed.
Okay, so it was only a fantasy. She would never act upon it. But the fact that she was even dreaming about it was worrying.
She needed to calm down. Remember that Luis would be leaving for Monrosa in two days. She was going to get a grip. Starting now. She stood. Straightened that backbone that had got her through many ups and downs in her life so far. She was going home, where she would greet him with a chilled-out air. And, most important of all, she was going to get back to finishing her PhD.
* * *
His feet pounding the footpath, Luis muttered a curse. Rain he could handle but this hail shower was beyond ridiculous. Thoughts of the blue skies he had left behind in the Bahamas mocked him as he rounded a corner, the wind firing the hailstones into him at full force.
If he had stayed in the Bahamas he would now be at Justin’s beach house, taking part in his annual beach volleyball tournament or playing chase in the sea with Justin’s kids, Flo and Jordi. Not out here, battling the weather and battling his own head.
She was getting to him. And not just because she kissed like an angel...with a few dirty thoughts in mind. Her strength, her vulnerability, her coolness, her sense of humour...they were all burying themselves deep inside him. Despite the hammering hailstones that were pinging off his skin, he chuckled to himself. How had she described his kiss last night? Oh, yeah—‘of an adequate standard’.
Ahead in Fitzalen Square the Christmas tree swayed in the near gale. He jogged past some other equally foolhardy people also out in this weather, one of them, hidden beneath an umbrella, valiantly fighting the hail and wind to keep that umbrella upright. A few steps on and said umbrella went sailing by him, thumping against the footpath. He chased after it, passing his own front door in the process. On and on it bumped along the footpath, refusing to allo
w him to grab hold of it. Eventually its escape was halted by the black wrought-iron railings at the end of the square.
He turned to return it to its owner. And grinned when that owner came running towards him, melting hailstones streaming down her face, shopping bags thumping against her legs. She stood under the shelter of the umbrella and said breathlessly, ‘I bet you’re sorry you’re not in Monrosa now.’
Alice attempted to wipe her brow where water was dripping into her eyes but the bags she was carrying hit the umbrella and toppled it backwards, exposing her to the full force of the hailstones again. She gave a gasp and startled forwards, her body colliding with his. He placed a hand around her waist to steady her, drew the umbrella back up over them, and, though he knew it was wrong of him, smiled down into those grey eyes and said softly, ‘I guess we’re both in need of a long, hot shower.’
Her eyes widened. The hail pounded down on the umbrella. And as the light faded around them, thanks to the worsening weather, it felt as though they were the only ones on this earth.
It would be so easy to get this wrong.
He stepped back, took her bags from her. Gestured back towards the house. Gave her a smile. ‘I stayed in London to make sure you’re okay and here I am letting you get soaked to the bone. Come on inside; you need to get warm.’
* * *
A little while later, both of them having showered and changed, he carried two hot drinks up to the sitting room on the second floor. He expected to find Alice sitting on the sofa watching the Christmas movie he had earlier put on for them to watch, but instead she was kneeling before the Christmas tree, placing parcels under it. He knew he should let her know that he was there but there was something heart-warming about the way she rattled some of the presents as though trying to guess what was inside, the way her hands would then smooth over the paper, the way she would place the present against her chest as though invoking a well-meaning spell over it before gently placing it on the floor.
His chest tightened, realising that there would have been a time when she had liked Christmas.
He cleared his throat.
She jumped, almost toppling over the tree in the process. Standing, she studied him. She had changed into dark denim jeans and a plum-coloured wide-necked top that had fallen off one of her shoulders to reveal a cream vest-top beneath. Her hair was still wet and she had sleeked it back off her face, making her eyes, her cheekbones, her mouth seem even more pronounced than usual.
She was beautiful.
Not in a conventional way.
You could easily not spot her in a crowd. Which would be a tragedy. It was only when she spoke, when she challenged you, when you saw first-hand the essence of her spirit that you realised just how gorgeous she was.
He lowered the tray of drinks onto the coffee table beside the sofa.
He looked down at the large pile of presents under the tree and then back to her.
She shrugged. Looked uncertain for a moment, but then answered his unspoken question. ‘My mum packed a whole load of presents for me, so I decided to buy you some too.’
Before he had an opportunity to respond she whipped around and, lifting a small handmade card close to the top of the tree, continued, ‘You do know that soldier is spelt with a D and not a G.’ She gave him a wicked grin. ‘I thought I should point that out in case you ever have a need to write to the Monrosian Army.’
He held out his hand and she handed him the card. He laughed when he read his poorly formed and spelt message to Papá Noel. ‘I remember writing this card! I must have been five or six and I wanted a ZX Marine commander toy soldier. My mother used to insist on us writing a card every year which was then hung from the tree for Papá Noel to read on Christmas Eve. Before my father inherited the throne from my grandfather we used to spend Christmas in different countries. My mother loved to travel. And she loved Christmas even more. She used to say that she wanted to experience Christmas in as many countries as possible.’ He stopped and studied the card again, a solid lump in his throat to see his name sprawled messily across the bottom. Christmas had used to be such a magical time in his family.
‘I’m sorry... Oh, I feel terrible now, moaning about Christmas, when it must mean so much to you.’
Taken aback by the upset in her voice, he touched her arm. ‘It’s okay...and totally understandable why you feel the way you do about Christmas.’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not okay—you shouldn’t have to listen to me cribbing about it. I could have ruined your Christmas by being all Miss Negativity.’
‘I don’t expect you to change how you feel about Christmas just for me...’ pausing to study the parcels beneath the tree—there were at least eight bearing the logo of a landmark London department store with a similar amount of variously wrapped parcels—he asked, ‘Are we expecting some guests tomorrow?’ Why did that thought bother him so much? Usually he loved having as many people as possible surrounding him. But tomorrow...he wanted it just to be him and Alice.
‘No, they’re all for us.’ Reaching down, she plucked up one of the colourfully wrapped presents. ‘My mum insisted I bring all of my presents with me. So I decided I’d buy you an equal amount. Now we have the same number to open tomorrow. It only seemed fair that way.’ She gave him an uncertain smile. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would have any other presents to open.’
His family were lousy present-givers. In fact, they had stopped giving each other presents over a decade ago. The same year that Edwin and he had had a fierce argument with their father over Christmas dinner about a proposed mass-tourism development on the coastline. That had been the last time they had spent Christmas together.
Picking up one of the presents, he touched his finger against the red velvet bow, knocked sideways by her thoughtfulness.
He knew she didn’t like Christmas. But she had gone out and bought presents for him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something so meaningful for him. ‘Thank you.’
She blinked at his whisper. Something soft and vulnerable entered her expression.
Long seconds passed. Seconds where an initial tenderness between them drifted into an electric longing so visceral you could almost touch it. He eased her into a hug. Her body slotted against his, her arms winding around his waist. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her light floral scent, the longing inside of him melding with a rawness, a care, a need to protect her that surged like a powerful force within him.
When they broke away, they held each other’s gaze, the connection between them wild and turbulent. Alice was the first to move away. ‘I should get back to my writing...’ Turning as a fresh hailstorm pinged against the windows, she sighed. ‘This weather is so miserable it’s hard to believe that it’s Christmas. Christmas is supposed to be about cold, dry days with a smattering of frost or even snow if we’re lucky. Not an entire monsoon season in one week. The forecast is even worse for tomorrow. We won’t even be able to get out for a walk.’
Alice was right. Christmas should have been about snow. And it should also have been about leaving the world behind. Every worry, every obligation should have been forgotten on Christmas Day. He smiled, knowing what it was he wanted to do. He was going to make this Christmas magical for her. ‘My family have a ski chalet in Switzerland—let’s go there.’
She made a disbelieving snort and laughed before realising that he hadn’t been joking. ‘I can’t; I have my writing...’
‘You need a break.’
He pulled out his phone from his pocket. Searched for the palace’s travel office while Alice recited a long list of reasons why she couldn’t go. And, when he spoke to the on-duty travel officer in Spanish, she eyed him warily as though she was trying to decipher every single word of their conversation. Details arranged, he hung up. ‘The palace’s jet is free. It can collect us from City Airport in three hours’ time and fly us to Sion.’ Checking
his watch, he added, ‘By nine tonight we can be in Verbier. And tomorrow we can spend the day skiing. The decision is yours whether we go or not.’
Her mouth opened. She went to speak. Stopped. ‘I shouldn’t...and I can’t ski.’
‘I can teach you. In fact, I can teach you to snowboard, which I prefer.’
‘You go... I’ll stay here.’
‘You’re not spending Christmas alone.’
‘Why not? I’ll be perfectly happy.’
He folded his arms. ‘Will you, though?’
She reddened, gave an irked shake of her head. ‘You are impossible, do you know that?’ Then, throwing her arms up in the air, she shook her head, sighed and said, ‘I’ll go and pack.’ She was almost to the door when she came to a stop and added, ‘Tell the travel office to book a ticket back to London for me on the twenty-sixth. You can travel directly to Monrosa by yourself.’
* * *
Her eyes tightly shut, Alice hummed to herself. She was not afraid. The helicopter pilot knew what he was doing. Landing at night in icy conditions was a piece of cake to him. Wasn’t it?
The helicopter banked. Her stomach flipped over. A tiny murmur escaped her lips. She opened her eyes to find Luis, who was seated next to her, grinning. She slapped his arm. ‘It’s not funny.’
He attempted a contrite smile. But then, abandoning his pretence that her horror at flying by helicopter from the airport to Verbier in the dark, through mountainous terrain, wasn’t amusing, he decided instead to distract her by pointing out the town and its picturesque landmarks beneath them.
Christmas Encounter with a Prince Page 7