Royal Holiday

by Guillory, Jasmine

“You, grateful to me? Vivian, you have made me happier this week than I’ve been in years. I’m so grateful to you for that.”

  He leaned over to kiss her again, and they kissed for a very long time, as the fireworks exploded in front of them.

  After a while, he pulled back and slowly plucked all of the pins out of her hair. She was certain her hair looked like a tangled mess now, but the way he ran his fingers through her hair made her not even care. She lifted her face up to him, and they kissed more, until he slowly pushed her back so she was underneath him on the couch.

  “You are just extraordinary,” he said. Good Lord, she would never get over the way he said “extraordinary” in that accent. And he was saying it about her!

  She put her hand on his cheek, and they looked each other in the eyes for a very long time. Finally, he bent down and kissed her again.

  “Mmm, is this the way people say thank you in England?” she asked as he pushed her dress up to her waist.

  He looked up at her and grinned.

  “The good ones do. Is that okay with you?”

  She lifted her hands.

  “Who am I to refuse to participate in a local custom?”

  He laughed as he kissed her again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They had to wake up far too early on New Year’s Day. Vivian’s flight wasn’t until noon, but what with the nightmare Heathrow always was, and the time it would take them to get there, they had to leave his place no later than nine. Vivian jumped out of bed when the alarm went off and finished tucking everything into her suitcase, while Malcolm lay in bed and watched her. The night before, he’d pretended he wasn’t hurt when she’d said no to his suggestion that they keep seeing each other, and now he winced when he thought about her rejection. He understood why she’d said no, he supposed, but it still stung.

  And he hated that this was going to be the last time he saw her.

  He got out of bed and pulled her into his arms. She nestled her head into his chest, and they stayed there like that for a long time, not kissing, not moving toward the bed or anything else, just holding each other. Finally, he pulled away and kissed the top of her head.

  “I’m going to make us some coffee while you finish getting ready.”

  He pulled pajama pants on and went off to the kitchen. He’d bought some pastries yesterday to have this morning, so he put them in the oven to warm up while the coffee brewed. He listened to Vivian in the shower and smiled at the gasp she always made when the water came on. After not that much time, she came into the kitchen and sat at the table.

  “I think I have everything,” she said.

  He poured her a cup of coffee and added cream and sugar to it.

  “Do you have food? You need food.” He set her coffee in front of her, along with the plate of pastries. “There’s some leftovers from last night. I’ll pack them up for you.”

  She smiled at him.

  “Thank you.”

  They were both quiet over their coffee. Finally, she looked over at the clock in the kitchen.

  “Malcolm, I think we should probably . . .”

  He got up and nodded.

  “You’re right. Let me throw clothes on.”

  He picked up the packet of food he’d made and handed it to her.

  “I hope you have room for this in your purse.”

  She smiled.

  “If not, I’ll make room.”

  All too soon, they were on the road to Heathrow, her luggage in the boot of his car.

  He was strangely disappointed there wasn’t more traffic that day. Of course there wasn’t; it was the morning of New Year’s Day, and everyone was recovering from the night before. But it meant they got to Heathrow faster than he’d anticipated.

  He cleared his throat as they approached her terminal.

  “This week was lovely, Vivian. Thank you for spending it with me.” That sounded so formal, and didn’t at all express how he felt, but he supposed it was better than nothing.

  He could feel her eyes on him.

  “I had a wonderful time. I’m so glad we did this,” she said.

  She put her hand on top of his. He looked over to see her smiling at him, and he smiled back. He knew she knew what he really meant, that no matter how formal he sounded, he’d loved the time he’d talked to her and laughed with her and played with her more than any few days he’d had in years.

  “Let me know if your flight gets delayed, all right? Or anything like that?”

  She nodded.

  “I will.”

  They pulled up at the curb, then it was the frantic rush to pull her bags out of the boot and get her on her way. He wished he’d spent more time saying good-bye to her in the car. He felt cheated that he only had seconds to do so.

  He bent down and kissed her for as long as he dared.

  “Good-bye, Vivian,” he said against her ear. “I’ll miss you.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. He hadn’t expected that. He wanted to pull her close, to wipe the tears from her eyes, to tell her he’d see her next month. But he couldn’t do any of that.

  “Good-bye, Malcolm,” she said. She took a step back, slung her purse over her shoulder, and took hold of the handle of her luggage. “Take care.”

  She turned and walked into the terminal, and he watched her until she was swallowed up into a sea of other travelers.

  As he drove back into the city, he tried to take his mind off Vivian, and to think of things he had to look forward to. This month was a slow one for work, with the Queen still at Sandringham until early February, which had meant he’d spent a lot of time with his nephew in the past few Januarys. They’d gone on weekend adventure trips—one year Paris, another Barcelona, last year Berlin; he’d forgotten about that, with everything else going on, and Miles hadn’t reminded him.

  Was Vivian right about Miles?

  He sighed. Of course she was right; that wasn’t the question. The question was whether he was too pigheaded to apologize.

  Before he even realized what he was doing, he was on his way toward his sister’s house. Miles probably wouldn’t even be home. He was likely off somewhere with his friends; he didn’t need his uncle. He should text him instead of just showing up like this. But no matter what Malcolm told himself, he didn’t change course.

  When he pulled up outside of Sarah’s house, he took out his phone.

  Are you at your mom’s? I’m in the neighborhood. Can we talk?

  He pressed send, then shook his head. That wasn’t good enough.

  I’m sorry about how I acted on Christmas Day. I’d love to talk to you about your plans again. I

  promise I’ll listen.

  He decided he’d wait for two minutes, no more, to see if Miles would respond, then he’d drive away.

  No, that wasn’t enough time. Ten minutes. He could wait ten minutes.

  But his phone buzzed almost immediately.

  Ok. How close are you? I’m just waking up.

  Malcolm shut off his car.

  By the time you get out of the shower, I’ll be outside.

  He sent a silent thanks to Vivian.

  Wait, why did it have to be silent? He wanted to be able to thank her for real. Should he text her?

  He shook his head. This might make her think he was pushing for a booty call, as she had put it. She hadn’t seemed exactly offended by that, but she hadn’t seemed thrilled, either.

  But he wanted to find a way to let her know he’d listened to her advice, and that it had helped.

  Vivian unlocked her front door and dropped her umbrella in the basket in her entryway. She’d been home from England now for a full week, and it had rained almost every day. She knew she was supposed to be grateful for the rain; California was in a perpetual state of drought, after all, and her garden would be better for it, blah blah blah. She couldn’t muster up any gratitude, though. She just felt as gray and depressed and lonely as the outside world looked.

  She kicked off h
er shoes, dropped her stack of mail on her kitchen counter, and poured herself a glass of red wine.

  Maybe if it stopped raining, it would get her out of this funk she’d been in ever since she’d gotten back from England. Maddie had picked her up from the airport when she’d gotten home, and she’d cheerfully told her all—well, most—of the things she and Malcolm had done in their days together in London, and had managed to laugh at Maddie’s questions about if they were going to see each other again. But she’d barely even pretended to laugh since then.

  She wasn’t in denial; she knew why she was in such a funk. She’d spent five almost perfect days with Malcolm—ten, if you counted their time together at Sandringham—and she’d fallen deep into infatuation with him, and now it was all over. She was angry at herself for how ridiculous she was being—really, Vivian? Moping around because of a man? Come on.

  It also didn’t help to be back at work, because every day made her mourn the impending end of her current job. Yes, as the director, she would have so much more authority, and a good bump in salary, but she wouldn’t get the daily interaction with patients that she treasured. There were hard days; days when she drove home full of unshed tears for how difficult some people’s lives were, days when she wished so much she could have helped more, days when she was so frustrated with other people she wanted to scream. But even on days like that, she was grateful she’d been able to help a little bit, glad she’d been able to improve someone’s life with her advice or her knowledge or just her presence. She knew there were lots of other great social workers who would be able to take her place; the patients would be okay. But would she?

  She sipped her wine and looked at her phone. Jo had called just as she was leaving the office; she needed to call her back. But she didn’t feel up to chatting with Jo right now and pretending she felt fine. Maybe she’d call her back in the morning on her way to work.

  She thumbed through her stack of mail: what looked like some belated Christmas cards, some envelopes from charities she’d supported, probably asking for more money, a postcard that was probably junk mail. Nothing interesting, in other words.

  She took the mail over to her couch with her anyway. She read through the Christmas letter from someone she’d worked with years ago—far too much detail, but then, she read the whole thing, didn’t she? She looked at the Christmas card from the daughter of one of her old friends and cooed over the pictures of their new baby. And she picked up that postcard to see what it was about.

  Wait. The picture on the front of this postcard was that tiny sapphire and diamond tiara from the V&A.

  Her hands trembled as she flipped it over.

  Vivian—How’s sunny California? I must thank you for your advice about how to talk to Miles—on the very day you left, I apologized to him and asked him if we could talk, and he agreed. It hasn’t been perfect, but at least it’s been a dialogue. He liked you very much, by the way, but then, how could anyone not?

  Regards,

  Malcolm

  P.S. Your luggage tag with your address on it fell off your suitcase; I found it on my bedroom floor yesterday. I hope it’s okay that I wrote?

  He’d scrawled his address on the bottom.

  She felt the smile spread across her face. She could hear his voice as she read the postcard. She’d missed him so much.

  But she’d told him they shouldn’t see each other anymore after she left England, and she knew she’d been right about that. If she replied to this postcard, wouldn’t it just prolong her case of the winter blues?

  Oh, the hell with it. She needed something to look forward to, and the sun hadn’t come out in a week.

  At lunchtime the next day, she went to a nearby bookstore and bought a postcard of a cable car.

  Malcolm—It’s rained constantly since I got home; “sunny California” indeed. I’m thrilled to hear that about you and Miles; please tell him I said hello. Has he changed his mind at all . . . or have you? Did I tell you Julia gave me her recipe for scones before I left Sandringham? I haven’t tried my hand at them, but I’m going to do it as soon as I get a kitchen scale—all of her measurements are in grams!

  Vivian

  His next postcard came a week later. This time it had the London Eye on the front, with fireworks above it. Were those some of the same fireworks they’d seen? She laughed at herself. No, of course not; that photo had probably been taken years before. She flipped the card over.

  Vivian—Neither of us has changed our minds, at least not yet, but we seem to understand what’s in each other’s minds a bit better. We’re going fishing this weekend, which I hope will give us some time to sort things out more. And I’m agog that Julia gave you her secret scone recipe; you’ll have to tell me how they turn out. Too bad we won’t be able to share them. How are you feeling about that new job?

  Malcolm

  She grinned at the card and smiled out into her damp garden.

  After that, it was rare for a few days to pass without her getting a postcard from Malcolm, or sending one to him. Every time she got home and grabbed her stack of mail out of her mailbox, she got a rush, knowing there might be a card somewhere in the pile. Whenever she walked by a bookstore or stationery store, she dipped inside to find a postcard to add to her stack at home.

  She knew this was dangerous. She knew it would only prolong her feelings for Malcolm, which needed to die down already. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was winter, the Bay Area was apparently getting three years of rain this month, and she needed something to cheer her up, something to look forward to. She would make herself worry about this in the spring.

  On a Sunday afternoon, she was just getting home from the grocery store when her phone rang.

  “Oh, my mother is answering the phone finally, hmm?” Maddie said.

  Vivian laughed.

  “Hey, girl, how’s your weekend been?”

  She could hear Maddie washing her dishes in the background.

  “Good, except I haven’t heard from you for days. Where have you been?”

  Vivian opened her refrigerator to unload her groceries.

  “Just working. There have been a lot of meetings in the past few days, since I become acting director in a few weeks. And yesterday I was at Aunt Jo’s all day.”

  “Ooh, acting director so soon! When do you become permanent director?” Maddie asked.

  Maddie sounded so excited and proud of her.

  “They posted the job listing on Friday, so I have a month or so to put together my application.”

  At least four people had come by her office on Friday afternoon to make sure she knew the application was up on the hospital website. She hadn’t even looked at it yet—she’d made a ton of calls on Friday to help connect a patient with services, and she’d been busy all day Saturday. She had plenty of time, though; she didn’t have to look at it yet.

  “Oh!” Maddie turned off the water. “Perfect timing! Have you started working on your application? Do you need any help with it? I’m sure Theo could look it over for you; he’s great at that kind of stuff.” Vivian heard a rumbling in the background. “See, he says he’d be happy to.”

  Vivian closed her refrigerator door.

  “Thanks. I might take him up on that.”

  Maddie was silent for a moment.

  “Mom, is everything okay? You sound . . . I don’t know, off somehow. Is Aunt Jo okay? Is anyone else in the family sick, or . . . ?”

  Vivian sat down on the couch.

  “No, no, everything is fine. Aunt Jo is great, actually; I just talked to her at lunchtime. I’m just tired, I guess. Maybe I should go to bed early.”

  Vivian stared out the window after she got off the phone with Maddie. The rain was starting again. She sighed and got up to put away her canned goods.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Malcolm stopped at Waterstones on the way home to see if they had any new postcards. He had plenty of them now, all in a pile in the middle of his coffee table, but
he was always looking for more.

  He and Vivian wrote to each other a few times a week; sometimes, he even wrote before waiting for a reply from her, and he thought she did, too. He’d told her as much as he could fit on a postcard about his conversations with Miles, she’d told him about her recent excursions to some local museums, and they both told each other funny or entertaining or frustrating stories from their daily lives. He loved her postcards; he could hear her voice in his head as he read them. It was like she was sitting there on the couch next to him, that amusement and enthusiasm and laughter all together in her voice.

  But he was getting worried about her. She’d sounded blue about her new job, which seemed already to be sucking up more and more of her time and energy, when she hadn’t even started yet. She’d never seemed enthusiastic about it, and Vivian was enthusiastic about everything she cared about. When she talked about her current social work job, her love for it shone through in her words, her expressions, her very body language. None of that came through when they discussed the director position. He wished he’d said something to her about that when she was in London.

  He’d felt like it wasn’t his place to say that, though. They’d never really discussed finances—he knew she wasn’t wealthy, and that she’d struggled to raise Maddie alone, but he had no idea if she was in a difficult spot now and really needed the money from the new job or not, and he would never ask. Maybe that’s what was driving her to take this job? Because it certainly didn’t seem like it could be anything else.

  Was he reading her wrong? Maybe. He hadn’t known her very long, after all. But he didn’t think so.

  He wished he could see her again. The postcards brought him joy every day, but he wanted to talk to her, hear her laughter, see her smile, evaluate the tone of her voice when she talked about this job, maybe even try to ask a few more pointed questions about it. Just to see if she’d be okay. He’d even gotten to the point of looking to see what the airfare was from London to San Francisco—very reasonable, this time of year—but had stopped himself before he’d gone any further down that road. She’d made it clear when they’d talked about this on New Year’s Eve that she didn’t want that.