by Ellis, Aven
I love this man so much.
“I had Amelia tip off the reporter I trust so she has the exclusive. I told her to say that we walk in the park late in the afternoon. Vivian said she would send a photographer out and have the story ready to hit Sunday’s paper.”
“Lizzie, with this move, you’re doing two things. You’re taking the weapon away from your aunt, and you’re showing that you don’t take any crap from her, no matter what crown she wears on her head.”
“I’ve always been so good at staying out of her lane,” I say softly. “The second I got more attention than her, she turned on me.”
“It was a matter of time. First it was Clementine, but now that she can’t take her anger out on her, it’s going to be you, until the next woman who comes along and threatens her.”
I stand up. “Well, at least that won’t be India. Antonia liked her because all India wanted to do was be Antonia two point oh. India would have stayed in her lane, following all directions Her Majesty barked at her.”
Roman rises. He towers over me, and I have to say, I find his massive frame wonderfully sexy. “But if India was going to become the future Princess of Wales, Antonia would have turned on her as well. Can you imagine the attention that will come to the girl Xander does fall for? It will be massive. And because Antonia is threatened by the younger women around her, that girl will be the biggest threat of all.”
“Well, whoever she is, Xander will protect her. He’s the one who has the biggest sway over the queen.”
Roman furrows his brow at this comment. “Have you told Xander what his mum has said to you?”
Crap.
I shake my head. “No, Roman, I want to prove to her that I don’t need to go running off to the men to fight my battles for me.”
He exhales loudly. “Lizzie. Xander and Christian would want to know this. They would have your back. From the way you talk about Arthur, he would, too.”
“I have no doubt of that, but I’m not going to be weak,” I say defiantly.
“Why is that weak?” Roman persists.
I move away from him and begin to pace. “I want to prove to everyone that when I took on this role, which she said I was not needed for, I took on everything that came with it. Including her.”
“I disagree with you. I think you could nip all this right now with one phone call.”
“No.”
Roman sighs heavily. “Is it weird that we’ve been together a week, and I already know by that tone that I won’t be able to sway you?”
I stop walking and smile. “I love that you do know that.”
And I love you, I add to myself.
“Come on, let’s go act like we don’t know people will be watching us,” Roman says dryly.
I swipe a pair of sunglasses that are on my dresser and put them on. “I’m hoping the updo and sunglasses will help hide my identity so social media pics don’t leak out tonight, but they might.”
“I’ll need to call my parents when we get back,” Roman says. “They won’t believe it, but Darcy can confirm I’m dating you. The pictures will come in handy, because my mum will have to believe I’m not making it up. That or we could FaceTime them, but Mum might pass out.”
I giggle as I pull gloves out of my pockets and slip them on my hands while we head downstairs. “I think my parents are still in recovery over the fact that I have a boyfriend,” I say.
I told my parents earlier, swinging by St. James’s Palace after I left Roman at Cheltham House. To say they were shocked would be an understatement. Not so much by him being a gardener, as they knew I didn’t like the guys I knew from my social circles, but by the fact that I had a man at all, since I never showed interest in one. I also gave a heads up to Cecelia, who was giddy over the fact that I had met someone.
I think about the next steps, which would be to meet each other’s families. Christmas is coming soon, and if this were any other man, I’d be stressed about how to bring up Christmas, wondering if we should spend time together with them so soon, blah blah. But I’m not worried with Roman.
While I know it’s not protocol for “boyfriends” to be invited to Arthur’s Christmas celebration at Sandringham, I have a feeling if I asked him whether I could bring Roman—at least for Boxing Day—he would allow it.
Which is exactly what I intend to do.
And if Roman asks me to meet his family around Christmas, I would happily agree. His family sounds amazing. Normal. Happy. I can only imagine how much I’d enjoy spending time with them, as opposed to the drama show that I get on a regular basis from my parents or when the whole family gets together at Buckingham Palace or Sandringham.
Honestly, it’s more dramatic than a final episode of Is it Love? on the telly.
We leave the cottage and stroll towards the park. I’m nervous. But part of me is excited to be sharing Roman with the world.
“May I hold your hand?” he asks.
I respond by linking my gloved hand with his. I watch his profile, and his mouth curves up in happiness. My heart zips with joy. It feels good to be like this in public, for all the world to see.
We enter the park, and despite the gloomy day, people are milling about with pushchairs and dogs and taking walks.
“I told my official leaker,” I say, smiling as I think of Amelia, “that we love to hang out at a specific place in the gardens.”
“For our strategic photo op,” Roman says.
I notice some people staring as we walk by. I glance at Roman, who seems completely unfazed by the attention. I lead him to the spot I had picked, where I know Vivian will have her photographer situated.
As we approach the Italian Gardens, I stop. I take off my glasses and drop them inside the pocket of my coat. “This is where I told them we’d be, at the ornamental water gardens.”
“Why did you pick this spot?” Roman asks, his voice laced with curiosity.
I shift my gaze out to the pools of water and fountains that lay before us. “Legend has it,” I say slowly, “that this was created by Prince Albert for Queen Victoria. He was quite into gardening, like someone else I know.”
I feel Roman’s eyes on my face. I turn to face him, and his expression is one of tenderness. “You picked this spot for me,” he says quietly.
“I did,” I tell him, reaching for both his hands and squeezing them in mine. “It seemed perfect for you.”
“Perfect for us,” Roman corrects, staring deeply into my eyes. “For the start of a love story. Not for a king and queen, but for a gardener and his princess.”
I feel lightheaded from his words, absolutely dizzy with happiness. “Yes,” I whisper.
Roman is silent for a moment, then lets go of my hands so he can frame my face with his. “May I kiss you? Or is that too much for a princess to do in public?” he whispers as he holds my face.
Happy tears prick my eyes. “I’m a modern princess. You may kiss me.”
Roman lowers his head and brushes his lips against mine in a gentle kiss.
When he raises his head, still holding me, gazing at me with adoration, my heart swells with joy. I know pictures were taken from a distance. The world is about to know that I have given my heart to Roman.
But in this moment, it’s not a staged kiss. The emotions here are real. I picked this spot for him, and it is significant.
As he draws me into his chest, hugging me, I can’t think of a better place in the world than to be here, with this man, in this spot, letting the world know how we feel.
Right now, it doesn’t feel like a preemptive strike.
No. It’s not.
It’s the beginning of a love story, I think happily. One that I know will end with my happily ever after.
And with that thought in my head, I decide to live in this moment.
With the man I love.
Chapter 25
Princess in Love
I listen to the rhythmic beating of Roman’s heart, his chest rising and falling as I lie cuddled against
him. One hand is wrapped around me, holding me to him. His body radiates heat, keeping me warm early this morning.
Normally on a Sunday, I’d be content to sleep against him, staying in his arms as long as I could, but I’m dying to grab my phone and bring up the online Sunday edition of The London News and see what Vivian wrote about me and Roman. Amelia provided all the facts, which, in this case, means the truth—and I desperately want to read it.
The room is still dark, so if I do get my phone, the light will wake Roman up. I’ve discovered he’s a light sleeper, and he loves the fact that I have blackout curtains in my room. However, I do have a nightlight that I keep on in case I have to get up. That doesn’t seem to bother him, though.
Hmm. If I move, I’ll have to do so gently, because that wakes him up, too.
Don’t wake him up, I tell myself. He works so hard, and he deserves to sleep.
I lie still and listen to his heart, grateful that I am in his arms and intimate enough to have my ear pressed against it. How is it, with Roman, everything has meaning? How is my view of life so different? I lightly trace a heart over his chest with my index finger, thinking of the love I feel for him. I value his steadiness, and his unflinching desire to stand by my side, where other men in his position would have walked away. He’s brave and fearless, and while I’ve always thought of myself that way, he makes me feel even more so.
I love you so much, I think, as I absently trace heart patterns on his chest. I can never love you enough for what you are willing to do for me and for what you are giving up to be with me.
“Going to go for four hearts?” Roman asks, scaring me to death.
I gasp and pop right up, my own heart racing inside my chest. He laughs, that deep sound reverberating against me, and I tingle with happiness.
“Did I wake you?” I ask, guilt for doing so making me feel awful.
Roman grins and slides his hand up and down my bare arm, sending goosebumps sweeping over my skin. “No. I’ve been waiting for you to get up so we can check the newspaper. But if you fancy drawing more hearts on my chest, I can wait.”
Embarrassment takes over. “No, but are you ready for this? To see your name in print and things written about you?”
A thoughtful expression passes over his face, barely illuminated from the nightlight. “I admit it’s weird. From nobody knowing who I am to everyone knowing I exist because of one article.”
“I know,” I say, biting my lower lip. “And this article will be favourable. A lot will be hateful. And even on the positive ones, there will be horrible comments from people.”
“Hey.” Roman sits up. He slides his hand underneath my hair and cradles the back of my head in his hand. “I don’t care. I’m not going to read those. What do I care what some troll behind a keyboard says? I care about what our friends and families think. But even more than that,” he says, his voice growing more impassioned, “I care most of all about what you think, Lizzie. You are the most important person in my life.”
My heart stops. I realise how much he loves me with that confession.
I’m his person.
“I feel the same way about you,” I say, caressing his face with my palm.
“So are we ready to read it?”
“We are.”
Roman reaches over and gets his phone off the bedside table. My heart goes from still to racing as he begins swiping things on his screen. I watch his face as he stops. He begins to read, and now my heart is thundering as I try to see what his reaction is.
The brow furrows. Eyes widen.
“Is it good?” I ask, impatient to know how this is impacting him.
Then I see the sight that makes me ridiculously happy.
Roman’s mouth curves up.
“Tell me!” I shout.
He laughs. “Apparently, you love me.”
He hands me his phone. I can’t breathe. I gather my courage and glance down at the screen:
LOVE BLOOMS FOR PRINCESS ELIZABETH
The working royal finds love in a familiar place—the same estate where Clementine Jones worked!
Then there’s a picture of Roman kissing me in the Italian Gardens.
My heart is giddy with joy upon seeing that picture. It captured a moment that is readable even to anyone who doesn’t know us.
We love each other.
“Go on. Read about how impossibly good in bed I am,” Roman teases. “And fit.”
I giggle. “That will be in Dishing Weekly in a few hours, along with hideous gardening references.”
He chuckles and begins stroking my hair as I read:
Princess Elizabeth has found the man of her dreams—at the same place where Clementine Jones, the fiancée of Prince Christian—used to work!
A close friend of Princess Elizabeth revealed details of the romance after Princess Elizabeth strolled in public with Roman Lawler, a gardener at Cheltham House in London, on Saturday afternoon in the Italian Gardens at Kensington Palace.
“They met through Clementine and Prince Christian last summer,” the source told The London News exclusively. “But the romance didn’t take off until they re-connected this month.”
This is the first time any man has been seen in public with the princess, which, according to her confidant, shows how real this romance is to the princess.
Lawler, 25, attended The University of Glasgow in Scotland, where he earned his degree in horticulture. The friend of the princess says while the match doesn’t seem likely on paper, it makes sense to everyone who knows the couple.
“He’s a grounded, even-keeled soul,” the friend tells The London News. “Roman makes Liz incredibly happy. I always knew she’d fall for someone who spoke to her heart, and Roman does.”
I stop reading and hand Roman back his phone. “It’s all true,” I say, adoration swelling within me. “I told Amelia you were the man I never thought I’d find.”
He is quiet. “There’s one thing missing from this article.”
“What’s that?”
“How I feel about you.”
My heart does a flip-flop inside my chest.
“Tell me what the article would have said if your source had spoken to Vivian.”
“Well, that would have been Darcy, and he would have cocked it all up.”
We both laugh at that.
“But,” Roman says, his fingertips gliding across my cheekbone, “I would have said you were a woman with a quick mind and a passionate heart. And that I adore you.”
His mouth finds mine, parting my lips and slipping his tongue inside in a deep, slow, sensual kiss. He draws me closer to him, so my bare breasts are pressing against his chest. Roman’s arm wraps around my back, holding me close as his tongue continues to tangle with mine.
I move my hand over his back, feeling all the powerful muscles, gloriously created from the physical labour he does. He eases me back on the bed, his body covering mine, and I shiver in anticipation as the weight of him falls on top of me.
Roman slides a hand down to my breast, and his lips find my neck, his tongue now sweeping over my skin and sending my pulse skyrocketing. He reclaims my mouth, kissing me, tasting me, teasing me. I respond in kind, yearning for more of him. His skin is hot to the touch. He moans against my mouth.
“I lied to you yesterday,” he whispers against my lips as he kisses me again. “I already love you, Lizzie. I love you.”
I gasp against his mouth from his confession. Roman pushes himself up so he can gaze down at me, trying to gauge my reaction in the darkness.
“Lizzie, please don’t feel like you have to say anything. You don’t have to say it back,” he pleads with urgency. “I was about to make love to you, and as I’m kissing you and touching you, I had to say it. I had to be honest. I won’t say it again until you say the words back. No matter how long it takes for you to get there.”
I look up at the man I love, my heart never so full as it is in this intimate moment between us.
“I love you, too,�
�� I whisper. “I love you with all my heart, Roman. I have from our first date. You are mine. You have my heart.”
“And you have mine.”
He claims my mouth again with his. As we kiss, tenderly and sweetly, I know, without a doubt, this love is strong.
It can withstand anything.
Including the monarchy.
With my heart the fullest it’s ever been, I make love to the man who is my everything.
My person.
And he always will be.
* * *
I nervously walk down the corridor towards Arthur’s office on Monday morning. After the article hit, I was called by his private secretary to a meeting as soon as possible. Which turned out to be breakfast at eight o’clock sharp, before I have my own meetings with Cecelia to review my diary and plan outfits for my functions this week.
I got ready as soon as Roman left for work this morning. He texted me when he arrived at Cheltham House, gleefully saying the paparazzi were mounted at the car park and the entrance, and he zipped right past them all on his motorcycle—completely unnoticed.
Of course, more articles have come out this morning with some outrageous headlines. Like LIZZIE GETS HER HANDS DIRTY WITH GARDENER ROMANCE and GARDENER PLUCKS THE ULTIMATE ENGLISH ROSE. Cringeworthy ones. Articles that I thought would make Roman doubt this romance but, instead, made him laugh deeply.
I smile. He has continued to surprise me with his response. When I first met him, I thought he would hate this. But he’s taken it well so far.
So far.
As soon as the doubt creeps in, I make a furious effort to bat it away. Roman loves me. He will find a way to deal with this life long after the articles aren’t humorous anymore.
Antonia has remained silent. Probably furious that I’m flying in the face of her rules of finding an appropriate man to date, lowering the monarchy by dating a mere gardener, and getting heaps of publicity, which she is horrified by. But is she horrified about what is being said? Or by the fact that people are more interested in my love life than her being queen? I have no clue which answer might be right.