Royal Holiday

by Guillory, Jasmine

  After a quick stop at his flat to drop off his luggage and briefcase, he went straight to Sarah’s. It was still early in the day, but he was looking forward to seeing everyone, and finding out what this great news was that Miles kept hinting at. He laughed as he remembered Vivian’s hilarious guesses. When he parked his car, he pulled out his phone.

  Happy Christmas! Enjoying your first English Christmas? Looking forward to seeing you in a few days.

  He pressed send and then he realized he hadn’t given her his number the night before.

  Um, this is Malcolm, by the way.

  He could almost hear her laughter in her response.

  Oh really? I never would have guessed! And Happy Christmas to you too! Have fun at your sister’s. Julia is stuffing me full of food here.

  He slid his phone into his pocket and rang Sarah’s doorbell with a smile on his face.

  She, however, was not smiling when she opened the door.

  “Happy Christmas, Sarah!” he said anyway, and pulled her into a hug. She stood in his arms stiffly but dropped her head on his shoulder for a moment before she pulled away.

  “Mmm. Not sure how happy it is.” She shook her head and turned to walk down the hallway. “I hope you can talk some sense into him.”

  Oh dear. Whatever Miles’s news was, Sarah was not happy about it. It was probably moving in with the girlfriend; Sarah had never liked her. He prepared himself to make peace between his sister and his nephew, once again. Luckily, he was used to that role; he’d been doing it ever since Miles was a preteen.

  Malcolm followed Sarah into the kitchen and took a deep breath in. Everything smelled fantastic. He could tell the turkey was already in the oven, and there were three glorious cakes on the counter. His sister may not be a professional chef like Julia, but she was a fantastic cook. Miles sat at the table peeling potatoes.

  “Help me with this, will you?” Miles said when he walked in.

  “Happy Christmas to you, too,” he said to his nephew.

  Miles looked up at him with a grin.

  “Oh right, Happy Christmas. Help peel these? I saved you a bun.” Miles gestured over to the bread box.

  Malcolm laughed and hunted out the bun, badly wrapped up in tinfoil next to the bread box. As he sat down at the table, Sarah deposited a cup of tea in front of him and muttered something about needing to clean the loo, then disappeared. She was usually in the kitchen all day on holidays. She was either really upset about whatever was going on with Miles, or she’d left to give him this time to find out what was going on with Miles, and “talk some sense into him.”

  He grinned to himself when he thought of all of the things Sarah had wanted him to talk sense into Miles about over the years. Those trousers he’d insisted on wearing when he was thirteen, the cigarettes she’d found in his room when he was fifteen, how he wanted to do nothing but draw from ages ten to thirteen, that friend of his who was a “bad lot” when he was sixteen. For most of these things, he’d done a bit of talking sense into Miles, but he’d mostly explained to Miles how to best get along with his mother, and explained to Sarah how to deal with her son. He expected more of the same today.

  He took a bite out of the bun and smiled as the icing hit his tongue. They’d had buns like this for Christmas his whole life; he was pleased Sarah still made them.

  “Oh, this reminds me.” He took a bag out of his pocket and tossed it to Miles. “I got you some of those sweets you like.”

  Miles grabbed the bag and looked up with a grin on his face.

  “From that place in Norfolk? Oh wow, thank you.” He laughed. “Remember that time the dog got into the bag of those sweets and ate it all when I’d only had one piece? I was so mad.”

  Malcolm laughed, too.

  “If I remember correctly, you cried for hours about it, and refused to speak to the dog for a week.”

  Miles pulled a piece of candy out and popped it in his mouth.

  “I was only seven!” He laughed again. “The poor dog.”

  “So, Miles, don’t keep me in suspense.” Malcolm got up from the table and got a paring knife. There was an extra peeler on the table, but he’d learned how to peel potatoes with paring knives and still thought his way was faster. “What’s your big news?”

  Miles dropped his peeler and beamed up at Malcolm.

  “I was accepted into the London College of the Arts! My instructor this year said I had a huge amount of talent but also a huge amount to learn, so I applied, and I got a place, and with a scholarship! I start in the autumn!”

  Malcolm sat down across from him.

  “That is exciting, but . . . I don’t understand. You’ll be at Oxford next year.”

  Miles shook his head.

  “No, no, this is instead of Oxford. I can’t wait to learn more and more and devote myself to my painting. Mum keeps ragging on me, but I know that you’ll—”

  “Instead of Oxford?” Malcolm couldn’t remember the last time he’d shouted at his nephew—probably the cigarette thing—but he couldn’t help it. “Devote yourself to painting?” He shook his head and laughed. “No. You are not doing that.”

  Miles’s lips tightened.

  “Yes, I am!” He dropped the potato on the table. “I can’t believe you’re reacting this way. You’ve always been supportive of me and my art; I thought you’d be thrilled that I’m working hard and making real progress and listening to my instructor when she says—”

  Malcolm sighed.

  “I am supportive of you and your art, Miles. I love your paintings, I agree with your instructor when she says you have a lot of talent, and I am thrilled that you’re working hard. I see nothing wrong with you planning for a future in the arts—haven’t I taken you to museums hundreds of times? But you also need contingency plans. Good Lord, you’re not giving up Oxford for art school. You don’t get to throw your future away like this.”

  Miles jumped up. Thank God he was still taller than the boy, though not by much.

  “It’s not throwing away my future! I’m investing in my future! I know what I want my future to be, and this is how to get there—not some stuffy lecture hall or library.”

  Malcolm sighed.

  “I know that’s how you feel right now, but you have to be strategic about your career—this is your life you’re talking about, not just next year. Oxford can set you up for the rest of your life; you and I both know that.”

  Miles threw his arms in the air. He really had gotten his flair for drama from his mother, hadn’t he?

  “My life? Who knows how long my life will be! My father died when he was thirty-eight; no one can say how many years I have left. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing something I’m not passionate about—I want to enjoy every moment. I can’t believe you want me to give up on my dream!”

  Malcolm took a deep breath. And then another one.

  “Miles. I don’t want you to give up on your dream. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you need to think logically about this. And while I sympathize with your feelings about your father, you need to plan for the long haul. You worked so hard to get into Oxford, and a degree there can help pave the way for so many things for the rest of your life. You can’t and you won’t throw that away.”

  Miles shoved the peeler down the table.

  “I’m nineteen years old. I’m a grown man. You can’t tell me what to do. Neither can my mother.”

  Malcolm laughed out loud.

  “You’re a grown man? At nineteen years old? I have some news for you—you’re still a child, and you’re acting like one.”

  “I am not!” Miles stamped to the other side of the kitchen. “You’re just mad because you wanted me to go to Oxford to follow in your footsteps, then go work in some stuffy office somewhere and shuffle papers all day, just like you do. I don’t want to be like you. I want to live my life! You’ve never had any dreams; you don’t know what it’s like to have them, unless your dream was to be at the beck and call of that o
ld woman!” He stopped by the door. “I thought you were better than this. I trusted you! But you’re just like all the rest.”

  He stormed out of the kitchen, and a few seconds later, Malcolm heard the front door slam. He dropped his head in his hands.

  Chapter Nine

  Malcolm walked into the lobby of The Goring hotel at 11:55 a.m. on December 28. He’d realized the day before that he and Vivian hadn’t communicated since those quick texts early on Christmas Day, so he’d texted her and arranged to meet her at her hotel at noon. He’d been so consumed with everything going on with Miles that he hadn’t thought of it until then.

  Miles hadn’t come back home on Christmas Day until after Malcolm had left. Malcolm was pretty sure Miles had spent the day at his girlfriend’s house, but he had no idea. And to top it all off, Sarah had also been furious at him—she’d apparently been counting on him to make the situation with Miles better, not worse. He’d spent days getting angry texts from her, all of which just served to make him more frustrated and upset about this whole situation.

  Malcolm knew he should have handled the conversation with Miles differently. He didn’t think he’d ever yelled like that at Miles in his life. But he’d been so shocked and blindsided, he hadn’t been able to think straight.

  He sighed. He’d spent his whole career—maybe his whole life—successfully avoiding conflict. He’d even managed to have a conflict-free divorce, for God’s sake! And he’d somehow blown that all up in one conversation.

  He just hoped he could put this whole thing out of his head for the next few days and enjoy this time with Vivian.

  Speaking of Vivian, here was another situation where he didn’t know exactly what was going on, or how to resolve it. He’d hoped she’d be spending these few days with him, at his flat, but she’d never really addressed that part of his invitation. So he supposed he’d just see if she brought her luggage down today when she met him in the lobby.

  Where was she? He glanced at his watch. 12:02. He had said noon in his text, hadn’t he? He pulled out his phone and scrolled down to their texts. Yes, definitely, he had. Should he text her? Or call up to her room?

  12:05. Something must be wrong.

  Had she changed her mind? Maybe she’d left with Maddie this morning and hadn’t told him.

  No, Vivian wouldn’t do that.

  At least, he didn’t think she would.

  He had gotten the hotel correct, hadn’t he? He found the email that the Duchess’s private secretary had sent him with the Forests’ travel information. Yes, The Goring. Well, maybe . . .

  “Malcolm! Sorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting long!”

  There she was, walking to him from the elevator, with a smile on her face.

  He smiled at her, so relieved she was here and not on her way back to California that he was almost not annoyed at her casual lateness. And almost not disappointed she had no luggage by her side.

  “Not a problem. Are you ready?”

  She smiled at him.

  “That depends on what we’re doing today.” She cocked her head at him. “What are we doing today?”

  His original plan had been that they’d swing by his flat to drop off her luggage before they did anything else, but that didn’t seem to be necessary. He’d have to quickly revise his plan.

  He opened the hotel door for her.

  “How do you feel about surprises?”

  She laughed.

  “I hate surprises.”

  He stopped on the sidewalk and turned to her.

  “Are you . . . do you really?”

  She nodded.

  “For the most part, absolutely.” She shrugged. “Well, you asked! So often, surprises are just a way for someone to do something they’re not sure you would like, so they present it to you as a fait accompli so you can’t argue with them about it. And even worse, you have to put on a happy face, because ‘It’s a surprise!’ so you’re supposed to be thrilled about it, and you look like a jerk when you’re not. There have been a handful of times in my life when a surprise was thoughtful, someone thinking about what would make me happy. But too often, it’s them thinking about themselves. The problem is so often surprises are about the other person and what they want, and not the person they’re surprising.”

  Oh. Splendid. Just splendid.

  She patted him on the shoulder.

  “Oh God, you look crestfallen. I’m not saying all surprises are bad! I have had a few good ones . . .”

  He knew when women said things just to humor him. Now he had no fucking idea what he was going to do. And now the one bright spot in his week had been ruined. Fantastic.

  The surprises he’d planned for Vivian had been the only things he’d been happy about all week. He’d made a bunch of calls and pulled a bunch of strings to get things perfect, and now he didn’t know what to do.

  Vivian caught herself before she let out a sigh. She probably shouldn’t have been honest with Malcolm about that, but it wasn’t in her nature anymore to lie about her feelings. Though now she was worried that she’d ruined everything.

  She had no real idea about how the next few days would go. She and Malcolm had texted a little bit on Christmas Day, but then not again until yesterday. She’d even worried that the plan to have her stay on in London was off, until she’d gotten that rather curt text from him that he’d meet her in the lobby of her hotel at noon. She’d wanted to ask if she was invited to stay with him, but it felt strange to ask that over a text, and his demeanor this afternoon had been pretty chilly so far. She’d packed her suitcase before coming downstairs this morning but had lost her nerve and had left it, all packed, in her hotel room.

  She couldn’t fight back the sigh this time. She’d thought she was going to have sex tonight! She’d looked forward to it! But Malcolm had barely touched her so far, so that seemed less and less likely by the moment.

  “Where did you and Maddie go in your two days in London?” Malcolm asked after they’d gotten in the car.

  Oh, thank God, something to talk about.

  “Want to see?” She pulled out her phone and narrated some of the pictures she and Maddie had taken over the past few days: their walk along the Thames; their trip to Liberty department store; their dinner out; their visit to the British Museum; their selfie outside of Buckingham Palace; their fancy tea.

  “We went to this really fun place for tea, so colorful and creative—see? Look how cute it is. But the food was great, too: there were cucumber sandwiches and smoked salmon sandwiches and these incredible curry chicken sandwiches, and oh, the egg salad sandwiches were the best I’ve ever had. The pastries were so pretty it was almost a shame to eat them, but the scones weren’t as good as Julia’s.”

  They’d really fit a lot into their two days in London—they’d treated themselves to blowouts, which gave them lots of time for a good hairdresser’s chair gossip; they’d done a lot of shopping, for themselves and for presents for the family; and they’d just had time to relax together. She and Maddie hadn’t had this much one-on-one time in years. Maybe once she had a handle on the new job, and felt like she could take an actual vacation, they could go somewhere again, just the two of them.

  But who knew what Maddie’s life would be like then? Would she have the time for another vacation with her mom? Would her job be too busy for that? Given all the attention she’d gotten from her work with the Duchess, that was a possibility. Or would she be married? Or have kids? The way everything with Theo was going, that could all easily happen. Vivian would love it if any or all of those things came true for Maddie. But the thought that this may have been their last solo trip together made tears spring to her eyes.

  She forced herself to shake that melancholy off and concentrate on telling Malcolm the story of their whirlwind trip. But after a few minutes, she realized Malcolm had hardly responded at all. Was he just being polite when he’d asked her what they’d done? She moved away from him and dropped her phone back into her purse.
>
  “Sorry. You probably didn’t want to know in that much detail. Or with that many visuals.”

  He leaned away from her, too.

  “No, that was fine. You and your daughter take a lot of pictures together.”

  Was that a criticism? Was he making fun of her penchant for taking selfies with Maddie? She didn’t used to do that, but since Maddie was so into the Instagram thing, she always made Vivian take selfies with her whenever they went somewhere together. At first, Vivian had been really self-conscious about it. But then Maddie had taught her how to look good in a selfie—Chin up! Picture from above! Smile with your eyes!—and she’d gotten into it. Now she found it fun to have a record of all of the places she and Maddie had gone together, whether it was London or a beach day or just a happy hour on a random night when they were both free. She was suddenly annoyed with Malcolm for criticizing her relationship with her daughter.

  “We do take a lot of pictures together,” she said. “We like them.”

  Why did things feel so awkward between her and Malcolm today? Was it that she hadn’t seen him in days, and she’d forgotten what she’d liked about him? Or was this a disaster in the making? She needed to do what she always advised other people to do and take a few deep breaths and reframe her attitude.

  “How was your Christmas?” she asked him. “Did you have a good time at your sister’s?” She suddenly remembered something. “Oh, what was your nephew’s big news?”

  He shrugged and took a minute to answer.