Page 37 of Her Royal Christmas

Erin groaned. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can,” Vic said. “This place is a sitcom waiting tohappen. Good news, though: I’ve already started Operation Sleeping Arrangements. Code name: Project Musical Beds.”

“I don’t like that code name,” Erin said. “It sounds like a swingers’ retreat.”

Vic waggled her eyebrows. “Bit of festive spice?—”

“Don’t,” Erin said. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Hyzenthlay had climbed fully out of the fort now and was standing with her hands on her hips, taking in the damage like a foreman at a construction site.

“We can all sleep in my room,” she suggested. “I have a bunk bed. We can make a rota. Or build a mega-bed on the floor.”

“No one is building anything,” Erin said, “for at least an hour.”

“If it helps,” Vic said, “Alex said she’s happy to slum it. Her exact words were, ‘I once slept in a tent in Kenya. I’ll survive a slightly lumpy mattress.’”

Erin’s heart did a stupid twist. Alex would say that. Alex would make the best of it. Alex would turn it into a story to tell later, when all of this was funny instead of vaguely soul-crushing.

Erin wanted to be that light about it too. She did. But all she could think about was that every logistical setback pushed sex further and further down the list of priorities.

You can’t have sex on a mattress that makes squelching noises. You can’t have sex in a room where four children are building a pillow fort. You can’t have sex in a tiny attic while the heating groans and someone texts you about reindeer logistics.

“You look like someone cancelled Christmas,” Vic observed, tilting her head.

“Just recalibrating expectations,” Erin said, forcing hermouth into a smile. “At this point, if I manage a nap alone, I’ll count it as a sexual experience.”

“That’s bleak,” Vic said. “Very relatable, but bleak.”

Erin rubbed a hand over her face. Her skin felt hot and tight from the humidity.

“Okay,” she said. “Vic, can you take Hyz and the triplets to your room and start the ‘dry everything’ process? Julia’s there?”

“Julia is always there, in a metaphorical sense,” Vic said. “But yes, she’s there in a literal sense too. Come on, small wet people. We’re going to raid the emergency pyjamas.”

“Emergency pyjamas?” Matilda perked up. “Do they have patterns?”

“They have dinosaurs,” Vic said. “And stars. And possibly a unicorn.”

“I call unicorn,” Florence said immediately.

“It’s every woman for herself,” Vic said. “Move, move, move.”

The children tumbled out of the fort, shedding damp socks and leaving little footprints on the carpet. Hyzenthlay paused just long enough to look back at Erin.

“Sorry,” she said. “About the bed. I didn’t think.”

Erin’s irritation deflated.

“I know,” she said, softening. “It’s okay. It’s… just a bed. We’ll sort it. Just… next time, simulate your snowstorms in a room with less upholstery, yeah?”

Hyzzie nodded gravely. “I’ll perform experiments in the bathroom,” she said.

“On second thought—” Erin began, but Vic had already herded them all out, singing some nonsense marching tune.

The door closed.

The silence that followed was almost physical.