Page 49 of Her Royal Christmas

Erin watched her go, hands flexing uselessly at her sides.

Julia’s chest ached for them. They were such devoted parents. But three children was a lot and their marriage was making sacrifices.

Julia moved toward Erin without quite deciding to, navigation automatic after years of reading a room and sliding into the gaps.

“Hey,” she said softly, stepping into her orbit. “You look like someone just stole your pudding.”

Erin huffed. It wasn’t quite a laugh. “Trying to maintain a professional demeanour,” she said. “Her Majesty has formerly requested no sulking on Christmas Eve.”

“Her Majesty has requested a lot of things in her time,” Julia said. “Her track record on blanket declarations is mixed.”

Erin’s mouth twitched despite herself.

“They’re trying,” Julia said, voice gentling. “Both of you are. It’s not you versus the schedule.”

“It feels like me versus the schedule,” Erin said. “And I’m losing.”

“You’re… temporarily delayed,” Julia amended. “There’s a difference. And for what it’s worth… I see it.”

“See what?” Erin asked.

“The way you’re doing your very best to keep everyone safe,” Julia said. “Including my idiot wife. And to be an amazing mum. And the way Alex lights up when she sees you, even when she’s exhausted. You’re still very much her favourite part of any room.”

Erin swallowed. Looked away. “Yeah, well,” she said gruffly. “I’d like to be her favourite part of at least one bed this week.”

Julia snorted. “You will, my dear. I’m also keen to get some time alone with my own wife!”

They shared a brief, wry look. Mutual sufferers of Vic’s affection embargo.

Before Julia could say anything more, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She fished it out, glancing instinctively at the screen.

Patel.

She tapped it open.

Caterers stuck south of Perth. Main delivery trucks cannot get through. Turkeys currently “in limbo.” Exploring alternatives.

Julia’s stomach did a small, controlled drop.

Oh, she thought. There it is.

She looked around for Vic.

Found her.

Vic was standing by the doorway, talking animatedly to a junior staff member about emergency battery packs. Her body language was already taut, like someone holding more plates than they could comfortably balance.

Julia considered, for one guilty second, not telling her yet.

Then she remembered Vic’s reaction to delayed information last year, when someone had tried to “protect her” from a last-minute change to the concert timings.

Full-blown meltdown. Tearful apology three hours later. A miserable hangover and three days of “I should have known sooner.”

No. Better to rip the plaster off.

She approached, tucking the phone away again for a moment.