The Princess Pose: The Modern Royals Series

by Ellis, Aven

  My ringtone interrupts my thoughts. I glance down and see it’s Mum. I sigh as the mobile continues to ring. For a split-second, I consider letting it go to voicemail. Then guilt for being a horrible daughter takes over, and I answer.

  “Hello, Mum,” I say cheerfully, hoping today will be a good conversation day.

  “Liz, I don’t know how much longer I can put up with seeing Sydney every day,” she wails.

  I mentally draw a line through the words good conversation in my head.

  “Mum, I know it must be awful,” I say, walking across the kitchen and leaning against the worktop.

  “You have no idea. The torture of seeing her and knowing your father is sleeping with the staff, and that everyone at the palace knows? How can someone who loved me so much have these feelings after all these years? I look at Arthur and Antonia, and they fell out of love, too. Perhaps, it’s simply what happens, Liz. Love fades and dies. It always dies.”

  Her words jar me. That’s what happened with Roman, too. Could there be truth to her words? If he fell in love with me, I know there’s no guarantee it would be forever. My chest grows tight. I can’t imagine feeling the way I do now, and months later, years later, Roman telling me he doesn’t feel the same way.

  “I’m going to demand again that she resign. I’ll go to the press with this; that’s what I’ll do. I waited all summer for your father to come to his senses and come back to me. I waited this autumn. I’m not waiting anymore. I will scream and yell and then scream some more until he realises what he’s doing to this family he loves so much. I will tell him how cruel he is, how his daughters would be devastated if they all knew, and what it’s doing to you.”

  Her threat brings my immediate attention back to her. “Mum. No. You can’t make this about me because that’s not true.” My stomach has now contorted into a tangled mess, much like the earbuds in the bottom of my bag.

  “It is true! I know you aren’t on his side!” she says, the anguish going up a notch. “You would never approve of your father falling out of love with me!”

  Oh, God, now I’m on the tightrope again, trying to somehow console my mother without attacking my father. Part of me is furious with him. For cheating. For falling out of love with Mum. But the rational part of me knows the truth. There hasn’t been a divorce in the monarchy in hundreds of years. There’s no way he could bring this on the family. Yet should he have to be miserable for the rest of his life because of the archaic rules of being born into this family?

  I decide to focus on my mother. She needs help that I, as her daughter, am ill-equipped to give. “Mum, you can’t go on like this. I hate that you feel this way. I think a good step would be seeing a therapist. You can’t bear all this alone.”

  A sharp burst of hysterical laughter greets my suggestion.

  “A therapist? I don’t need a therapist. I need your father to keep his trousers zipped and that homewrecker kicked out of the palace!”

  I swallow hard. Mum is starting to crack, and I don’t know what else I can do.

  “Besides, you are the only one I trust with this, Elizabeth. The only one.”

  More weight has been thrown on top of my shoulders. The kitchen worktop swims in my eyes as I try to fight back tears. “I know,” I whisper. My phone beeps, letting me know I have a call. “Mum, I have another call coming through, but why don’t we have lunch tomorrow? I can come over.”

  “Yes, of course. It will give me something to look forward to.”

  “I love you,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

  Then I accept the other call without checking who it is. “Hello?”

  “Liz. It’s India Rothschild.”

  My mouth drops. Is there a full moon out? Tea with Antonia, Mum going off the rails, now India is calling me?

  “Uh, hello, India,” I say, stunned. She has always been cordial with me at events and parties, but we are far from being anything resembling friends. I have nothing in common with a stuck-up party girl who merely wants to blow through her inheritance.

  And become the queen consort someday.

  “I know this phone call is a bit of a surprise, but I hope it’s a lovely one,” she says brightly.

  I glance at the bottle of wine I have out on the worktop. Roman would understand if I started drinking now, right?

  “It is a surprise,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, you know I’m seeing Alexander,” she says.

  Alexander? Nobody calls him that. Not even the press.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Maybe I should get another bottle out, I think.

  Or a lemon tart.

  Does red wine go with lemon?

  Ha, no more than I go with this conversation.

  “You’re important to him,” India says. “Alexander says you are like a sister to him. He told me what an important part of his life you are and how he loves you.”

  More tears prick my eyes, but this time, from learning that Xander said this to India.

  Good lord. Roman is going to get here and find me drinking and crying and shovelling lemon tart into my mouth.

  I’ve got to pull myself together.

  And resist the urge to open that bottle or dive face first into a lemon tart.

  “We’re extremely close,” I say. “That’s sweet of him to say. I feel the same way about him.”

  “I know. Which is why I asked Alexander if I could ring you.”

  “What?”

  “Liz. I feel we need to develop a relationship. Alexander is dear to both of us, so we should get to know each other, right?”

  How do I answer this? How?

  “Liz, are you there?”

  I blink. “Um, yes, I’m so sorry. I got a bit distracted for a moment.”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in. Alexander finally noticed me after all these years of me being right in front of him,” she says, laughing happily. “My patience has paid off. He finally realised I was The One.”

  “He said that?” I gasp, alarmed.

  “Well, no, but there are some things a girl knows without them being said,” she says confidently. “Because of that, I’d like for us to get together. Maybe you could come over for dinner at my flat in Chelsea. As two of the most important women in his life, we should become better acquainted.”

  I can see I’m part of her plan to solidify her position with Xander.

  Who might even marry her someday.

  Antonia already loves her. She runs in our circles, she knows all the ins and outs, and unlike Clementine, Antonia will roll out the red carpet and give her all the support she needs to be a success.

  Xander’s choice, if this comes to be, will please everyone, but hurt himself. Because he will never know the feelings that Christian and Clementine share.

  Or the feelings I have for Roman.

  Oh, having dinner with India is going to be painful.

  On a multitude of levels.

  “Um, yes, of course,” I say, vowing to have a long heart-to-heart with Xander as soon as I can get him face-to-face. “I have an appearance at the ballet one night next week, and another reception, but I should be able to make something work.”

  India says she will text me and hangs up. I stare at my phone in shock. I’m more convinced than ever about there being a full moon. Is there any other reason for all of this craziness to be unleashed on me in a matter of a few hours?

  I exhale. I’ve got to be there for both my mum and Xander. I somehow have to convince Mum to see a therapist. I’ve got to make sure Xander is aware of the mess he’s creating, not only for himself but for India, too, if he doesn’t think he can fall in love with her someday. Because she is seeing the royal jewellery vault in her sights if she thinks Xander has decided she’s The One.

  Carrying all these worries, along with the impending storm that is brewing over in BP and about to head in the direction of my cottage, has made my shoulders ache. I run my hand up to my neck and rub it. I need another yoga session
. I was going to ask the instructor to pass a message along to Jess, too. I pick up my phone and put in a reminder to do that tomorrow, and I also create an appointment to have lunch with Mum.

  As I finish my entry, the doorbell rings. The second I hear the chime, my worries vaporise. The tension is replaced by pure electricity as I know Roman is here. I quickly hide his present in a cupboard so he won’t see it.

  As soon as it’s tucked away, I hurry towards the door, goosebumps of anticipation sweeping over my skin. I’ll have to tamp down the urge to leap into his arms and kiss his sexy face the second I see him, I think as I reach the door and open it.

  My hand flies to my mouth. I gasp in surprise. Roman is standing before me, holding a huge Christmas tree beside him.

  “I remember how you said you’ve never decorated a tree,” he says softly. “I think you’re overdue for the experience. We can save the poinsettia lesson for another time.”

  Fresh tears fill my eyes, but this time, ones of gratitude for the man who has brought me my first Christmas tree. I take him by surprise and give in to my urge by leaping up into his arms, causing him to drop the tree so he can catch me instead. Roman roars with laughter as I wrap my legs around him and lock my hands around the back of his neck.

  “I take it you’re pleased?” he asks.

  “I am,” I say, but I’m not even referring to the Christmas tree. “I’m so happy.”

  Roman smiles broadly at me. “That was the whole idea.”

  I kiss him sweetly on the lips, tasting mint as I do. “You’re making me dinner, and you brought me a tree. How perfect are you, Roman?”

  He kisses me back. Mmm. I think I could happily stand in my doorway, wrapped up like this, and kiss him ‘til the sun comes up.

  “I’m not perfect,” he says, chuckling as he puts me down. “Wait until you see the decorations I picked up. Terribly tacky. I chucked a whole bunch of things into the trolley.”

  “Terribly tacky makes it even better,” I say, sliding my hands up to his face and feeling his five o’clock shadow graze my skin. “I can’t wait to decorate our tree. It is ours, Roman.”

  He lowers his lips to mine again, and I melt into his kiss.

  “Ours,” he whispers against my lips.

  “Ours,” I whisper back, kissing him again.

  He breaks the kiss. “I guess I should bring the tree in then.”

  I smile as he picks the tree up from the path, and I step aside as he brings it into the cottage. The scent of fresh pine fills the air, and I feel happy and content in this moment. I will tackle my list of problems tomorrow, but for my own health and happiness, I’m basking in this evening with Roman.

  “Let me retrieve the tree stand and decorations,” he says.

  “I’ll help you,” I say. “Did you get fairy lights?”

  Roman’s mouth curves up, and I want to kiss the smile out of him.

  “Yes.”

  “But did you get multi-coloured ones or white ones?” I ask as we reach the back of his car.

  Roman opens the boot to reveal loads of shopping bags. He pauses and peers down at me. “Do you have an opinion on this matter?” he asks, the curve still there on his luscious mouth.

  “I do. Multi-coloured. We always have white fairy lights at St. James’s Palace and at Sandringham, so as a little girl, I loved seeing the ones with all the colours.”

  Roman rummages through a few bags and pulls out a box of multi-coloured fairy lights.

  “Colours,” I cry in delight.

  “You deserve all the colours,” he says, gazing tenderly at me.

  I don’t say anything. I soak in his words, knowing he’s referring to me coming out of my shell with my wardrobe, too.

  He clears his throat. “All right. I’ve got decorations, lights, a tree stand, and everything to make dinner.”

  “Seafood?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

  “No, I don’t want to get on the wrong side of royal protocol. I’m making curry. You said you had the best one of your life on a trip to India.”

  “I did,” I say. “I love a good curry.”

  But the one I had won’t compare at all to one made by the man who is standing next to me.

  “I know it won’t rival that,” Roman says, unaware of the loving thought rolling around in my mind. “But I can make a red pepper and chicken curry.”

  “Sounds delicious,” I tell him, reaching into the boot and picking up some of the shopping.

  We make two trips to the car, and I take the groceries to the kitchen and lay out everything he needs to cook while Roman sets the tree up in my living room, right in front of the window and the sofas.

  I can’t wait to see it twinkling with fairy lights, I think. It will be so cosy at night in my cottage. A tree. A fire.

  And Roman to share it all with.

  He comes into the kitchen, heading straight to the sink to wash his hands.

  “I can’t wait to decorate the tree and see what you picked out for it,” I say excitedly.

  “You can replace the decorations I got when you go out exploring for things that make your cottage a home.’

  I shake my head as he turns off the tap. “No. This is our tree, and I will treasure every decoration you bought for it.”

  He shifts his gaze to meet mine. I see the gold flecks grow brighter, and I know my words have touched him. I hand Roman a tea towel, and he dries his hands. “If I didn’t know you as I do, I wouldn’t believe that I could bring you a tree with awful decorations and you’d swear it was the best Christmas tree ever. But you see things through the lens of your heart.”

  I stare at him, my gaze unwavering, as his beautiful words resonate in my soul. “I do,” I say, falling more in love with him in this quiet moment in my kitchen.

  Roman lifts his hand and strokes my hair. “I feel like I’ve known you for years rather than days,” he says, his voice low. “Is that crazy?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  He drops a sweet, gentle kiss on my mouth. “I like you more than I should, Lizzie,” he whispers against my lips.

  I kiss him back, easing his mouth open, my tongue sweetly caressing his, trying to convey with my kiss that his heart is safe with me.

  I break the kiss and slide my hands up his chest. “As much as I’d like to keep kissing you, I’m famished.”

  Roman sweeps a lock of my hair behind one ear. “I’m going to fix that right now.”

  I help him make dinner by serving as his sous chef, chopping things up while he cooks. I give him all the details about tea with Antonia, and boy, Roman also gets a flush up his neck when he’s pissed off.

  “So she’s going to throw her own niece to the wolves?” he snaps, angrily stirring the curry in the pan.

  “Yes. It’s going to get ugly.”

  “What about Arthur?” Roman asks, trying to work out a solution for me. “From what you say, I don’t think he’d approve of his wife bullying you like she is.”

  I sigh. “Roman, he has enough to deal with right now. I want to prove to everyone that I’m an adult who can handle these situations.”

  “You are, but that doesn’t mean your family can’t help you. They would want to protect you. In fact, I remember a certain beautiful woman who came to Clementine’s defence last summer when she was attacked in the press.”

  “But Clementine hadn’t been prepared for what was to come. I’ve grown up in front of the media.”

  “So what? Your aunt is stacking the deck against you. You certainly didn’t grow up prepared for that.”

  Gratitude for his honesty fills my heart. “You always tell me what you think. So many people throughout my whole life have told me what I want to hear, not what I need to hear.”

  “I’ll always tell you the truth, I promise. And you need to go to your cousins if you don’t go to your uncle himself. Christian will be furious.”

  “No,” I say stubbornly. “I can do this, Roman. I can withstand anything she throws at me.”

&n
bsp; As long as I can protect you, I vow. That’s what matters above everything else.

  “I can see you’re going to be stubborn about this,” Roman says, dishing up two bowls of curry.

  “Mmm hmm,” I say, picking up a bowl as we head towards the dining room.

  Roman sighs. “You can be exasperating,”

  I grin. “I know. Which is part of the reason you like me.”

  “You’re right.”

  We both laugh. We sit down to dinner—which is delicious—and I go on to tell Roman about Xander. He agrees there’s no way Xander should settle for anything less than love.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to say at this dinner with India,” I tell him, pausing to take a sip of wine. “I know Xander sees her as a solution to a problem. She sees Xander as her path to being royalty.”

  “Like I did with you,” Roman teases, tearing off a piece of naan bread and popping it into his mouth.

  “Right. Your master plan all along was to get a princess,” I say dryly.

  “If her name is Princess Elizabeth of York, then yes.”

  My heart flutters from his words, and he flashes me that full, brilliant smile.

  He has no idea how much he does indeed have me.

  “From what you are telling me, it would be an arrangement to get what they both want,” Roman says.

  I wrinkle my nose. “I can’t imagine that. And of all people, Xander.”

  Roman is silent for a moment. “You can’t take on this problem for him, Lizzie. Xander will have to sort this out for himself.”’

  “I haven’t even gotten to Mum’s conversation,” I say. “But tonight isn’t about all of my problems, Roman.”

  “My time is yours,” he replies, reaching for my hand on the table and squeezing it. “I will listen as long as you want to talk.”

  I shake my head. “We’ll talk about Mum another time. Right now, I want to focus on us. And decorating the tree.”

  Roman puts down his fork and rises, grabbing my bowl and his. “Well, come on, let’s clear this and get to it then.”

  * * *

  Roman puts the last decoration on the tree and steps back from it, taking in the view next to me. He bursts out laughing, his deep voice filling the space and making me laugh, too.