Page 2

CHAPTER 2

I t was gone 3pm when the last guests left, and Victoria could finally take off her carefully manufactured royal smile. Her brother, Michael, said she was born with it in place, whereas he had to work far harder to achieve it. Victoria wished she had some of Michael’s arrogance and bluster sometimes. However, as her younger brother, his actions didn’t matter as much to her parents.

Whereas Victoria was next in line to the throne. Everything she did mattered. Including how she looked, how she smiled, how she pretended every day to be something she wasn’t. Michael could afford to smile on his own terms. Whereas for Victoria, that right had been taken away at birth. But she wore the pressure well, because she knew it came with great privilege. As her mother always told her, “Never complain about the opportunities the Crown affords you. Make it fun, and what you want it to be.”

However, making it what she wanted did not include being the first queer monarch, apparently.

Victoria headed down the back stairs, into the courtyard and out past the pool. She poked her head in the door, but her brother wasn’t there. He often went for a swim to get rid of a hangover. She hadn’t seen him so far today, apart from a sheepish text that thanked her for saving his life. She’d messaged back to let him know he owed her one.

In reality, he owed her at least 50 by now.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Recently, she’d found a designer who could make her dresses with pockets. It made the world of difference. Having a pocket made her feel like she could be at least ten per cent herself, and ten per cent was better than nothing.

When Victoria saw who was calling, she grinned, then swiped.

“You survived then?” Dexter’s warm voice crackled through the phone. No matter what, Dex could always make her smile. It was the reason they worked so well, and had been so successful at their public charade for so long. “No international incidents? Nobody tried to overthrow the monarchy?”

Victoria kept walking, her heels sinking slightly into the immaculate lawn. She waved at Amelia, the head gardener, hard at work in a rose bush.

“I managed to award 53 medals without starting a constitutional crisis,” she told him. “Though your lack of faith in my abilities is touching.”

“Careful, someone might think you’re actually getting good at this princess business.”

She should laugh. This was their usual rhythm; him teasing, her playing along with the joke. The perfect friendship masquerading as a perfect romance for the papers. But all she could think about was the way Ashleigh Woods’ eyes had widened when they met hers, that flash of startled recognition that had nothing to do with Victoria’s title and everything to do with something else entirely.

Could she tell? Victoria would be lying if she said she wasn’t rattled.

But also, intrigued.

“Vic?” Dexter's voice softened. “You’ve gone quiet. Is everything actually okay?”

He cared. She knew that. You couldn’t have the bond they had, and have been through what they had, without a huge dollop of mutual respect and love.

She shoved her free hand into her dress pocket. “Of course. I’m always fine, you know me. I’m the reliable princess.”

“Have you seen Michael yet and given him what for?”

“He’s hiding.”

Victoria approached the stone summer house her mother and father, Queen Cassandra and King Oliver, had authorised last summer. Previously, there had only been a far smaller, white summer house with an open front held up by statuesque pillars. It was still there, but the Queen had built a modern structure further along the perimeter wall with a sturdy roof, windows and doors. It was watertight, which was far more appropriate for the British weather.

Crucially, it was that rare thing in Buckingham Palace: a space away from prying eyes, with a kettle, a comfy sofa, and, amusingly, a pool table. Her mother had asked what she most wanted in there, and that had been Victoria’s answer. She’d always wanted to learn. She dreamed of going out on London’s queer scene, of playing a game of pool as a lesbian rite of passage. But if that was never going to happen, she could at least spend the occasional afternoon teaching herself how to play. She’d learned the basics from YouTube. All she needed now was practice.

She fished the key from her pocket, opened the door and walked over to the small kitchen on one side of the room.

“He might turn up when he realises I’m in the summerhouse.”

She opened the American-style fridge and surveyed its contents. Wine, champagne, ham, cheese, olives, burrata, hummus, carrot sticks. There were also two rogue cans of some IPA with elaborate artwork on the can that showed Michael had also been here, practising without her. Last time out, she’d beaten him. She was determined her winning streak would continue.

“Not after the way you demolished him at pool last week. Is everything really okay? You sound a bit weird.”

She shook her head even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m fine. I got to meet some interesting people for 30 seconds at a time today. Like some weird sort of speed-dating. Including that hot actor who’s the villain in the latest James Bond movie. I thought of you.”

“Lucky you,” Dexter replied. “Whereas I’m stuck in Stockholm for the next couple of nights, working on some deal with Dad. Wish I could have met him, too.”

“Probably best you didn’t.” She gave a wry smile.

“Anybody else famous who might make me drool?”

“That buff diver you like from the Olympics, but he had all his clothes on.”

“Blond or dark hair?” Always with the details, her Dexter.

“Dark.”

“Shame about the clothes.”

“I also got to pin an MBE to Ashleigh Woods. Who was just as striking in the flesh as she looks on TV.” Victoria had admired Ash’s firm thighs through a TV screen, but up close, it was her mesmeric green eyes that had caught her attention.

"I think I saw her on the BBC website posing with it already. She looked hot in her designer suit. She plays for your team, doesn’t she?"

“In what sense?” But even as she said the words, she blushed.

“In every sense, darling.”

Victoria couldn’t help a grin as she put the kettle on and grabbed some rooibos tea bags from the cupboard above the sink. People didn’t think royals made themselves tea, but she did. She couldn’t imagine not doing the simple things every day. Whereas Michael needed a little more encouragement.

“I think you might be right.”

Extraordinary composure under pressure , Victoria had said to Ashleigh, and meant it. She’d watched that European Cup final from Buenos Aires, and held her breath along with the rest of the country as Ash stepped up to take that final penalty.

“And did you say anything to her? Tell her you admire her ball skills almost as much as her shapely legs? Invite her over for a game of pool?”

If she was a normal person, perhaps she would have. But those things didn’t happen in Victoria’s life. She’d had a string of liaisons with other women in her situation, but nothing that ever stuck. Because she was under strict instructions that nothing could ever stick. That was her life. She might not like it, but she was used to it.

But today, when she’d leaned into Ash, she’d felt different. Like Ash looked at her and truly saw her for who she was. Which sounded absolutely ridiculous. But when Ash’s gaze had fallen on her, it was as if she saw Victoria as simply a person with thoughts, feelings, and wants.

What would happen if they saw each other again without a room full of people looking on? Without any titles on show? Rather, they could just be two people, meeting, chatting, getting to know each other.

Victoria shook her head. Who was she kidding?

“I did just that. She’s currently naked on the pool table, and I’m about to have my wicked way with her.”

“That’s my girl,” Dexter replied. “It sounds like you could use a little time away. Which is perfect, because I met the Swedish royals again last night at my business event, including our favourite couple, Princess Astrid and her wife, Sofia. How is it that Scandinavia is so fucking progressive? Why can’t the UK be like that? It’s the 21st century, after all.”

Victoria snorted. “Because we’re British, darling. Stiff upper lip. We can never have too much fun, it’s simply not in our makeup. And we certainly can’t be anything but straight. Hell, up until three generations ago, we couldn’t even choose our spouse. At least my parents got to do that.”

“And you?”

That was the million-dollar question, but she always swept it under the carpet.

“You know the rules, boyfriend dearest. I don’t make them.”

“You know the person who does, though.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I have a proposal. Or rather, our favourite queer Scandinavian princess does. She and Sofia are going to Marbella this weekend. They’ve invited us. I said I’d ask you, hence I’m calling. Before you say no, please say yes. I could do with a break, you could do with some sunshine, and if it’s with Astrid, she might have a willing friend who could maybe put a smile on your face. It’s my best offer, please take it.”

Victoria stared at the perfect roses climbing their perfect trellises on the deck outside. Everything in her life was perfect, controlled, exactly as it should be. Ashleigh Woods’ life was exciting by her standards. One thing was certain: Ashleigh wouldn’t want to get caught up with Victoria. She came with far too many strings attached. But it didn’t stop Victoria thinking about those bright green eyes, that hint of a cockney slur, and the way Ash's composure had slipped, just for a second, when their hands touched.

“You still there?”

She got her mind back in the room. “Yes, I’m here.” But she’d rather be elsewhere. Wasn’t somewhere sunny always better? “And yes, you’re on. Let’s go to Marbella.”

Dexter’s gasp was audible. “Just like that? No persuasion needed?”

“Fuck it,” Victoria replied. “A summer weekend in Marbella with the girls? Count me in.”

“Glad I’m still one of the girls,” her fake boyfriend replied.

“Always,” she told him.