‘Em, don’t turn this opportunity down. Don’t look back with regrets,’ Harriet said. ‘I know it’s not easy, just be there to wish your dad Happy Birthday.’ Her smile was wistful and Emilia knew that her friend was thinking of her own father, now living permanently in a past where Harriet didn’t exist.
‘Okay.’ Much as she hated to admit it, her friends were right. She didn’t want to watch her father’s birthday from the sidelines, not again. And the costume element gave her the advantage of a disguise. She could take the opportunity to wish her father a happy birthday—and then make sure she disappeared before Laurent knew she was there. ‘I’ll put the dress on and I’ll go for a bit, if you promise five-minute updates and to let me know immediately if anything isn’t perfect so I can fix it. I will not have Simone finding fault with a single thing.’
‘Deal.’ Alex smiled as if she had no doubt that this was where they would end up. ‘Let Amber and Harriet take care of all those last-minute details I can see you fretting over and I’ll show you the dress I brought. It should fit, but better to find out if it needs altering now rather than tomorrow. And then you can show me this beautiful castle and the city and let me know everything I am going to need to run this event and any potential PR stories, positive and negative. I’d rather have all the responses drafted out in advance. This event is really going to put the agency on the map. I need to make sure we get the recognition we need.’
* * *
It was the calm before the storm. After all the painting and re-plastering and buffing, all the threading of fairy lights and erecting of marquees and stages. After weeks of frantic preparation the castle was ready, humming with anticipation. Laurent strolled through the beautifully decorated ballroom, admiring the flowers which brought the midsummer theme inside, the beautiful table decorations and all the love and care bestowed on the event. Emilia’s hand was everywhere.
She’d be at the ball tonight; he’d made sure of it, contacting her friends and asking them to stage an intervention. She deserved to enjoy all her hard work. The big question he had yet to answer was whether he would respect her decision to say goodbye or fight for the woman he knew he loved.
He wanted to swoop in with an answer for every objection and show her he was there for her no matter what. But he also knew how scarred she was, how frightened. She needed to be shown respect, to know that he understood her and listened to her. Somehow he had to find the line between respecting her and giving her the reassurance he knew she wanted. It was a fine line and he had to tread more carefully than he ever had before. He still wasn’t sure what to do. He just knew he couldn’t let her leave without trying one last time.
The alcoves had been disguised with gossamer curtains ready for dancers to sit and cool down or couples to slip away from the crowd and Laurent sat down inside one, enjoying the momentary peace. He had spent the last few days being the most gracious host he could, selling Armaria as subtly but clearly as possible. He could do no more. The only misstep had been the moment he’d showed Mike Clayton exactly what he thought of the way he’d treated Emilia and he wouldn’t change that moment even if he could. Not even for the guaranteed investment.
Lost in thought, he didn’t realise anyone else was in the room until he heard voices. A familiar voice that haunted his dreams.
‘Dad? What are you doing here? You should be getting ready. Happy Birthday, by the way.’
‘Thank you,’ Mike Clayton replied. Laurent looked around for a way out of the alcove without being seen but there was none. He froze. If he left now would he interrupt the conversation, maybe kill it before it got going? But eavesdropping was dishonourable.
He sat back. Maybe it was dishonourable to stay, but he’d learned this week that sometimes honour wasn’t the most important thing. Emilia needed to have a conversation with her dad; nothing should get in the way, especially not him. He grabbed his phone and tried to distract himself with emails, but the curtain was thin and their voices clear.
‘It all looks amazing, Emilia; you’ve worked very hard.’
‘Well...’ he could hear the smile in her voice ‘...Simone pays well. Besides, I owed you about a decade worth of birthday presents and I did make a fool of myself at your fiftieth.’ There was a long pause and when she spoke again she was barely audible. ‘I should never have said what I said. Or thrown that drink.’
Thrown a drink? Well, she said she’d been a teenage tearaway and, knowing her history, Laurent didn’t altogether blame her.
‘We never meant to make you feel like we didn’t want you, Emilia. I hope you know that.’
‘Part of me does. I’m sorry about the photos too, Dad; they were embarrassing for all of us. I hope Bella wasn’t too disappointed. Or you. I know you hoped that she and Laurent...’
‘That she and Laurent?’
‘That she became an Archduchess.’
There was a startled pause before Mike Clayton laughed. ‘I’m not denying that Simone probably fancied being the mother-in-law of an Archduke but you know Bella; she was far more excited about seeing the puppies than she was about seeing Laurent again. No, when she settles down it will be in a large country house full of animals and kids and the kind of chaos that makes Simone shudder. She’s made to be a farmer’s wife, Bella, not an Archduchess. What about you? The two of you seemed...’ he paused awkwardly ‘...close.’
‘Oh, Dad, can you see me as an Archduchess?’
‘Once no, but we all grow up, Emilia. And you’ve grown up into a fine young woman. Your mother would be very proud. That agency of yours is well thought of, you’re good at what you do, people admire you. I don’t see why not. If that’s what you want.’
‘You think Maman would be proud?’
‘How could she not be? I am, Emilia. What you have achieved here is amazing.’
‘You are?’ Through the curtains Laurent saw the outlines of two people embracing and his heart nearly burst at the realisation that Emilia was finally getting the affection she craved from her dad. He glared at his phone as he concentrated on his messages with every bit of willpower he had, managing to give the pair the privacy they deserved until the sound of his name distracted him.
‘He seems like a nice young man, your Laurent.’
‘He’s not mine.’ Yes, he vowed, he was. ‘Have you had a good visit?’
‘It’s an interesting country all right.’
‘Interesting enough to build your factory here? Oh, Dad, please consider it. I know you want renewable energy and the conditions are perfect; Armaria is already much further along than most countries. The links are perfect, sea, air, rail, road and river, the education system is good. And Laurent is an amazing Archduke. He really cares, Dad, wants Armaria to be the best it can be, for the people here to have every opportunity. He’d work with you to make sure you had everything you needed, I know he would. You couldn’t do better.’
‘You’re quite the ambassador.’
‘I’ve been here for just three weeks and it feels like home. I can’t help but care about what happens here, even after I leave.’
‘Well, just between us, I am very close to making a decision. I was very impressed with that Laurent of yours. He isn’t afraid to stand up for what he thinks is right and I respect that. I’d better go—we have a formal dinner before the ball and Simone will want me to start getting ready. Save your dad a dance tonight.’
‘I will.’
‘And Emilia? I’m glad you’re here. Let’s do better. Both of us.’
Laurent stayed still until he was sure both Claytons had left, his mind whirling. Not only had Mike Clayton practically assured Emilia that he was going to build his factory here in Armaria, but he had told Emilia he was proud of her. The words he knew she’d needed to hear.
Not only that but it seemed as if Laurent’s intervention had been the right thing to do. Here it was, proof that seizing the mom
ent was as important as planning. Emilia would be at the ball tonight. He had one last chance to convince her to trust in him and their relationship, one last chance to show her she was worthy of love. He could plan—or he could look for the right moment and seize it.
He’d been too cautious earlier, talking about getting to know each other better, thinking she needed slow and gentle wooing, allowing her self-doubt to push him away, aware as he was of all the problems being with him could entail. And those problems existed, but surely together they were strong enough to cope. Maybe he needed to go all in, show her just what she meant to him.
Mike Clayton was right—she had been a brilliant ambassador for Armaria, and she would make a brilliant Archduchess if she just believed in herself. In him. He’d known her the moment he’d laid eyes on her, fallen a little harder every stolen evening they’d spent together. He could live without her, but he didn’t want to. Now he just had to convince her that he loved her, and find out if she loved him enough to try.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘I LOOK RIDICULOUS.’ Emilia stared at herself in the mirror and just about managed not to laugh. ‘How on earth did you get this dress here, Alex? There’s no way it would fit in a suitcase.’
‘You look perfect,’ Alex assured her. ‘Very in keeping with the theme.’
‘It’s not very practical, not when I might have to come and help out at any moment.’ She smoothed down the fabric of the dress. It was ridiculous but she couldn’t help but admit that it was actually very pretty too. If she was five it might be the perfect dress... It was strapless and tight fitting around her bust and waist, before flaring out into a very full skirt. It ended mid-calf level at the front, curving to a small train at the back. The creamy buttery yellow looked warm against her sallow skin, the whole embroidered with shots of silver thread so the dress sparkled as it caught the light. A pair of silver shoes fitted perfectly, the heels surprisingly comfortable, her only jewellery a pair of sparkling statement earrings. Her hair was piled up into a chic knot, a mask, also silver, covering just her eyes.
‘There is no need for you to come and help. Everything is under control. The masks and cloaks are being handed out as guests arrive to those that need them, all the food is ready, the musicians are here, the entertainers are warming up and the formal dinner is nearly over.’ Alex shot her a hard stare as she spoke. She’d tried to persuade Emilia to go along to the dinner, but Emilia hadn’t been able to face the idea of the other guests watching her and Laurent. Besides, for all Alex was willing to help, there were a hundred and one last-minute things that only Emilia could check.
But she had been fine not going because she had had the first real conversation with her father in two decades. A conversation in which he had told her he was proud of her. A conversation in which she had persuaded him that Armaria was the right place for him.
It had been easy to do. She hadn’t realised until that moment how much she loved the country. Partly because of its charm and partly because it meant so much to Laurent.
Laurent. Her stomach tumbled. Had she done the right thing? How could she think so when knowing her stay was nearly over and she might not see him again felt like the end of the world?
‘I think we’re ready,’ Emilia said, the nervous knot in her stomach partly the adrenaline that any large event always produced, especially one put together on such short notice, and partly nerves at the evening ahead. ‘But call...’
‘Call you if I need you. I know. I got it the first ten times.’ But Alex smiled as she spoke. ‘So what’s your plan?’
Emilia inhaled to calm her churning nerves. ‘I’m going to find my dad and say Happy Birthday and give him my present, have the promised dance. Not pour a drink over him, so already we’re doing a lot better.’
‘And Laurent?’
‘I...’
‘Look, Emilia. I understand, I do. Of course you want him to fight for you; that’s completely understandable. But sometimes we have to fight for ourselves. If all that’s standing between you and him is your fear then the only person who can really overcome it is you. It’s your battle. He can’t win this one for you.’
‘I...’ She stared at herself in the mirror, almost unrecognisable in the beautiful dress, her skin olive from the Armarian sun, her hair naturally highlighted, her eyes bright. ‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘Oh, Em. It’s not easy. That protective shell has kept you safe. Telling Laurent how you feel about him, letting him convince you to believe in him, is going to take a huge amount of courage. But I know you have that courage,’ Alex walked around Emilia, pulling the dress into shape.
‘Do I? Sometimes I think I do, but then it all seems too much.’
‘We’ve been friends for—what?—three years? In all that time you have never put yourself out there, Em. You’ve kept your heart hidden. Look,’ she added quickly, ‘I know—pot, kettle and all that. But I’m not the one about to go to a ball where the man I love will be and hide from him all evening because that’s safer than being honest with myself, safer than being vulnerable—you are. Do you really want to come home with me, knowing you didn’t even try to talk to him? To tell him what you told us? To tell him you love him.’
All Emilia could do was stand and gape. Alex’s words were so close to her own thoughts it was uncanny—and painful to hear them spoken out loud.
‘I don’t know what to do, Alex.’ She could barely get the words out, her voice small, the admission of failure difficult to say and acknowledge.
‘You love Laurent?’
‘I do. I love him.’ Saying the words so plainly shocked her; the lightness in her heart as she said them was even more of a shock. She turned her bewildered gaze onto her friend. ‘I do,’ she repeated. ‘How is that possible? After so short a time? Maybe I’m mistaking lust for love? Because I certainly feel that too...’
‘I know,’ Alex said. ‘I saw the pictures.’
‘But it’s more. I love how he cares for this whole country, every person in it. How I can talk to him and he seems to understand when I barely understand myself. And I love the way he makes me feel, like I’m precious and special...’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Alex said. ‘You need to tell him.’
‘But what if he changes his mind, or I mess up...?’
‘No, no more excuses. Tell him. What’s the worst that will happen?’
Emilia’s stomach lurched. ‘He’ll laugh. Or he’ll freeze me out. Or he’ll tell me it’s not me, it’s him. Or he’ll feel the same way but decide that he needs to marry someone more suitable.’
‘Or none of the above. There’s no guarantees, Em. It’s safer not to try; I agree with you there. But then you’ll have to live your whole life wondering what-if. Are you ready to do that?’
She’d thought she was. She’d written the book and bought the T-shirt. But when it came down to the line, all her very valid reasons seemed a lot less valid. ‘No,’ Emilia said slowly. ‘I’m not.’
‘If the worst comes to the worst, we’re here for you, we’re your family, we’ll pick you up and heal you. But going through life too scared to put yourself out there isn’t living, it’s existing, and you deserve more. We all do.’
Emilia turned to her friend, so grateful for her wisdom. All this time she had worried about not being enough, about losing the people she cared about while the women who loved her were supporting her, selflessly making her dreams come true. ‘Thank you, Alex. For everything. You, Harriet and Amber are the best family in the world. I am so lucky to have you. I don’t know what will happen when I get in there, if things will still be okay with my dad or if I will know what to say to Laurent but, whatever happens, knowing that in two days’ time I’ll be home with you three makes anything possible.’
Neither Alex or Emilia were the tactile type. Amber was the hugger in their house, Harriet more so since her engagement, but Emilia step
ped forward and held her friend close and after one rigid second Alex returned the embrace. Emilia inhaled, drawing courage and strength from the other girl. Alex was right. Emilia had spent her whole life battling with what-ifs. Tonight she was going to lay her ghosts to rest. Tonight she was going to start the rest of her life. She was going to stop being afraid and live.
* * *
The dinner passed with excruciating slowness, Laurent placed between Simone and Bella. He still couldn’t read Emilia’s stepmother although at times he thought he detected a humour so dry he wasn’t sure it was there at all. Bella just wanted to talk puppies and that was a subject he was happy to indulge her in. She was a nice girl, but he realised that she would be bored by the duties an Archduchess needed to take on; like his grandmother, she longed for a simpler life.
But Emilia would handle those duties with aplomb. She was used to being firm and diplomatic, to juggling myriad responsibilities, to long meetings and quick meet and greets. She had everything he needed in an Archduchess.
But even if she hadn’t he would want to marry her anyway.
Finally dinner ended and thankfully Laurent escorted the Claytons into the ballroom where the remaining four hundred or so guests waited to greet Mike Clayton and wish him a happy birthday. The room looked magical, like the Midsummer Night’s Dream Emilia had promised, flowers and fairy lights bedecking every beam and pillar, the guests dressed in a gorgeous display of costumes and gowns.
Laurent took to the stage to welcome everyone officially, to present Mike Clayton with the case of Armarian brandy which was the castle’s birthday gift and to remind everyone to be back in the ballroom at midnight for the official birthday cake, and then declared the ball open. Excited chatter broke out as all the guests headed out into the gardens to sample the delights Emilia had planned, or stayed in the ballroom to dance. Although many of the guests had simply added cloaks to cover normal party attire, plenty of others had gone all-out, some in Tudor costumes, others Greek tunics or fairy dress, and some in barely-there strips of glitter or the frock coats and breeches Emilia had threatened him with.
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