Page 22

CHAPTER 22

T he Palace breakfast room was bathed in September sunlight, streaming through the tall windows and catching the silver tea service that had been in the family for generations. Victoria had fond memories of eating here as a child, where it was always a treat to be with her grandparents. All the glamour, none of the responsibility. When she was small, the table was always laden with home-made cupcakes and scones with jam and cream, which she’d always loved. Now, the table often bowed with the weight of duty and things left unsaid.

However, this particular Saturday brunch, the Richmonds were in a pretty good mood. Her mother had already been for a swim, and her father had done his morning 5k around the Palace grounds. “A Park Run just for me,” as he always joked.

In contrast, her brother’s exercise this morning seemed to be chewing. Michael demolished his third pain au chocolat with the single-minded focus of someone who treated all meals as competitive sport. Also, someone who was mighty hungover. Victoria already knew she wasn’t going to get much support from him today. Their “us against the world” support declaration only worked when Michael’s brain was fully functioning. Crumbs scattered across his plate as he reached for a fourth pastry. At his feet, the family Corgis, Honey and Truffle, waited patiently for anything he dropped.

“Really, Michael?” their mother sighed, but there was fondness in her tone. “It’s like you didn’t just eat a whole Eggs Benedict.” Not for him a comment on his weight, or if another pastry “was strictly necessary?”. Because, as Michael always told her, what he did held no consequence.

Victoria picked at her avocado toast with boiled eggs, stomach too knotted with anticipation to eat much. She’d been awake since dawn, chatting with Ash, who was pissed off with her roommate Sasha, who’d spent all night coughing, hence her sleep had been broken. Ash was worried it might affect her performance in the season opener at Manchester City.

Victoria had sent her a reassuring message earlier.

I’m sure you’re going to be great. It’ll be nice to see your toned thighs again, even if it’s just on TV. Not close enough to lick.

Ash’s response was in the forefront of her mind.

My thighs are ready when you are, Ma’am. Make sure you’re watching today. When I score, I’ve got a special celebration planned, just for you.

They’d managed to fit in a couple of nights together since Balmoral, where Ash’s thighs had been thoroughly taken care of, along with every other part of her body. It had been a slice of heaven. Plus, Victoria had perfected her home-made ravioli with spinach, cream cheese, burnt butter and sage, and Ash had begged for more.

“So,” her father said, buttering his toast with those precise, measured movements that characterised everything he did. “The foundation launch. The focus on youth homelessness is excellent. Very worthy issue that needs bringing to the fore.”

Victoria straightened, grateful for the distraction. “Glad you think so. I want to specifically include queer youth programs because they make up a disproportionate percentage of homeless young people, and the current support systems aren’t enough.”

Her father nodded slowly, and Victoria caught something in his expression. Understanding, perhaps? Or resignation? “That seems very you,” he replied.

Her mother shifted in her seat, the delicate china teacup clinking against its saucer. “Just ensure the messaging is balanced. We don’t want to appear too political.”

“Everyone should be allowed basic human rights, Mother. This has got nothing to do with politics.” But Victoria wasn’t getting into this now. She checked her watch for the umpteenth time since she sat down. Fifteen minutes to Ash’s game. Her heart rate picked up. “Would anyone mind if we took our coffee through to the lounge? The women’s season opener is on, and as the new Women’s FA Patron, I should watch it.”

“Of course, darling,” her father said. She could rely on him. They’d always been close.

Michael paused mid-bite, eyes wide. “Are the Royal Ravens playing, by any chance?”

If she could reach, she’d have kicked him under the table. As it was, the best she could do was give him a small death stare.

“They are. Playing City away, so it’s a big game. Last year’s WSL winners versus last year’s runner-up. New season. All to play for.”

“Maybe you could apply for a job as a pundit if the FA Patron doesn’t work out.” Michael tilted his head. “Sounds like you’ve been doing your homework.”

She honestly hated having a brother sometimes.

They finished up their food — Michael grabbing another croissant as he left — and the royal butler, Desmond, loaded their coffees onto a silver tray and followed them through to the lounge.

When people thought about how royals lived, this was probably the picture they had in their head: ancestral portraits, heavy velvet curtains, and carefully upholstered Victorian furniture, which was surprisingly comfortable. However, they probably didn’t picture the 65-inch TV with surround sound her parents had installed. Or the bright pops of colour in the cushions her mother had ordered.

The Queen smiled to herself as she plumped one up before she sat.

Victoria positioned herself carefully, ensuring she had a clear view of the television while appearing casual about it.

“How was your official visit to Wales?” her mother asked, as Victoria’s eyes tracked Ash coming out of the tunnel. Even in the wide shot, she could pick her out instantly. Something about the way she moved, that confident grace that had first caught Victoria’s attention months ago. When the camera zoomed in, she felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

She had to remember her parents didn’t know anything.

She definitely wasn’t looking at Michael.

“Very forward-thinking.” She leaned forward and made a fuss of Truffle. “The renewable energy project was super interesting. The locals were particularly engaged with the environmental impact assessments on the community. I think it’s going to be a real coup for the area.” She smiled at her mother, hoping she’d said enough to appease her. Her mother loved Wales, and was always keen to get progress reports from whoever visited.

On the TV, Ash tucked in her shirt and did a couple of warm-up jumps. She looked hungry, ready. Victoria knew that look very well.

The game kicked off, and the conversation drifted on. Victoria contributed enough to appear present, but her attention was increasingly drawn to the match. Ash was playing well, commanding the midfield. She smiled as she recalled Ash at Balmoral demonstrating her keepy-uppy prowess. Incredible that someone so coordinated with their feet was so terrible at shooting.

“Victoria? I asked about the hospital opening next week? Is it still going ahead as planned?”

But Victoria didn’t hear her mother’s question. Ash had broken free of her marker and ran clean down the middle.

Victoria sat up straight, body rigid.

Desmond took that moment to appear in front of her, holding the silver coffee pot. “Would you like some more, Ma’am?”

That word didn’t have any effect when it came out of Desmond’s mouth.

Victoria peered around him. “No thank you, Desmond.” She tried and failed to keep the annoyance out of the tone. When she caught sight of the screen again, Ash only had the keeper to beat. She swept it into the bottom corner with casual ease, and Victoria punched the air before she could stop herself.

“Yes!” she yelped, sloshing her coffee over the rim of her mug and onto the carpet. She didn’t care.

At her feet, Honey and Truffle started to bark.

“Victoria!” her mother admonished.

Desmond scuttled off, muttering about getting a damp cloth.

But Victoria ignored them all, keeping her eyes glued to the screen. When Ash reeled away from goal, she ran right up to the camera, held up her palm, and blew a kiss right down the lens.

Victoria hadn’t been expecting something so intimate. Perhaps she should have. “It’s just for you,” Ash had told her.

Her knees gave way and she sank back onto the sofa.

The celebration was perfect. After, Ash winked, then turned to celebrate with her team. Victoria’s own heart pounded so hard, she could barely hear the commentators.

“You seem quite involved in this match,” her mother observed, with that careful tone that always preceded difficult conversations. “More than usual.”

Victoria pursed her lips, not sure how to answer. She went with duty. Her mother couldn’t be annoyed at that. “Maybe I am. It’s part of my role now, supporting women’s sport. Plus, shouldn’t the royal family support the Royal Ravens?”

“She’s got a point, there, Cassandra,” her father piped up, glancing up from his phone. They were strictly forbidden at the table, but once they hit the sofas, all bets were off. Beside him, Michael stared at Victoria. Unease danced across his face.

The Queen frowned at her husband, then smoothed her skirt, before turning to Victoria. “I must say, I’m pleasantly surprised with the number of ponytails out there. I always thought football attracted a more…” She paused to choose her word carefully.

Victoria winced, waiting.

“Butch type. At least, it did in my day. But that seems to be changing. Which is good.”

Victoria’s hands clenched around her coffee cup, knuckles white. Her mother’s casual prejudice made her stomach turn. But she had to pick her battles, she knew that. “I wish I could have played properly,” she said, her voice tight.

“It’s hardly appropriate for the future queen. It’s a working-class sport.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Mother,” Victoria snapped, years of frustration suddenly bubbling to the surface. “That’s such an old-fashioned view. Like a lot of your views, actually.”

The temperature in the room dropped. Michael sat up, his eyes darting between his sister and mother like he was watching a tennis match. Their father became very still, in that way he did when conflict was brewing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” her mother asked.

Victoria took a deep breath, her heart racing, all her hopes and fears rising up in her throat. She tried to swallow them down, but they appeared stuck, only one way out.

This wasn’t how she’d planned this conversation, but watching Ash’s celebration, then her mother’s casual dismissal of women’s football, something inside her snapped.

“It means that the royal family is stuck in the dark ages when it comes to a lot of things. Football might have been no-go when you were growing up, but the women’s game is a different beast altogether. Very inclusive, safe, fan-focused. The players aren’t spoilt brats, and a lot have degrees. It’s more like the US model of sport.” She paused, hands trembling slightly. “But it’s not just football where this family needs to be brought forward. It also needs to take a giant leap when it comes to who we can and cannot be in a relationship with.”

The Queen frowned, her face taking on that mask-like quality Victoria had seen so many times before. “We already had this discussion, Victoria. I told you then that when and if you meet someone who matters, come back to us and we can discuss it. But until that time—”

“I’ve met someone who matters.”

The words hung in the air like crystal, delicate and sharp. On the television, they were showing replays of Ash’s goal celebration. Victoria kept her eyes fixed on her mother’s face, refusing to back down. Everything she’d been holding back — every careful deflection, every hidden text message, every furtive glance — all merged into this moment.

The portrait of Victoria’s grandfather, King Henry, glowered down at them, a reminder of everything she was challenging.

Right at that moment, Desmond reappeared with a damp cloth.

The Queen stood, her face tight. “Not now, Desmond. That will be all.”

He stopped, glancing down. “But the carpet, Your Majesty—”

“I said not now.” The Queen’s tone was a thunderclap.

He bowed, then left the room.

Her father leaned over and put the TV on mute.

The Queen’s face was unreadable, but her hand shook as she set down her cup. “You’ve met someone since we spoke? Isn’t that a little fast to be making declarations?”

Victoria shook her head. Her heart slammed against her chest. “It’s not just since we spoke. We’ve been seeing each other for a little while. It’s been going on for a few months. Which is why I can’t hide it anymore.”

She glanced up at the screen, where Ash was down on the grass, a grimace on her face. Victoria walked over, picked up the remote, and put the sound back on.

Behind her, the Queen cleared her throat. “Victoria. We’re in the middle of what you told me was an important conversation. Yet here you are, dismissing it to watch the football?”

Victoria swivelled back to face them, and took a deep breath. It was now or never.

Besides, she’d never be ready for this.

“It’s not unconnected.” She pointed at the screen, where Ash was feeling her ankle, and being helped up. “It’s her.”

Her mother frowned. “What’s her?”

“The one who matters.”

From the opposite sofa, Michael gasped.

She didn’t look at him.

“You’re dating Ashleigh Woods?” her father asked, his voice soft.

“You know her?” Victoria was genuinely surprised.

“Of course I know her. Everybody knows her. We met when the whole team came to the Palace after the Euros win. I’ve chatted to her on a couple of other occasions, too.”

She’d forgotten that. Victoria pulled her shoulders back and stood up straight. Confident. Defiant.

Astrid would be proud.

“Yes, I’m dating Ashleigh Woods. I’m telling you now because she makes me happy, and this feels different. Like it could go somewhere. She sees me as Victoria first, and a princess second.”

“Which would be lovely if that was how everyone else saw you, too.” Her mother sat on the sofa, head high, face set.

“I don’t care about what everyone else thinks, Mother. I care about Ash and me.” She waved her arms. “I’m bored of waiting for my real life to begin. I want it to start now.” She was also terrified of that happening, too. But she had to be positive to counteract her mother’s negative. She wouldn’t be cowed. She couldn’t be any more. “You said we could talk when it happened.”

“And we can. We are.” Her mother couldn’t hide her exasperated tone. “But royal protocol and crown duty doesn’t change overnight. This is a huge step for the world to accept.”

“But the world is ready, Mother,” Michael said. “Loads of countries have queer leaders. You never thought marriage equality would happen in your lifetime, but here we are.”

Victoria smiled at him. He might exasperate her, but there were also times she was happy he existed.

“Sit down, Victoria.” It was an instruction from her father. “You’re wearing a hole in the carpet.”

She did as she was told, not yet brave enough to look her mother in the eye.

“What your mother is saying is, we understand, but we worry,” her father continued. “The scrutiny is brutal. Remember when Uncle Tristan thought about coming out? He tested the water, but decided he couldn’t.”

“I’m not marrying a man and having women on the side.” She’d done a version of that for years. All it had done was make her skin blotchy, her mental health fragile. Hell, even her hair had started to fall out. “I’ve seen how Bertie suffers.” Tristan and Bertie had been together for nearly two decades, but to the outside world, Tristan was married to Sienna and had three children. “I want to be true to myself. I want to take Ash to the New Year Ball.”

Now her mother did put her head in her hands.

“The scrutiny is not just from the press, but from within the family, the government, the Church,” her father continued. “We’re on your side, but are you ready for that level of attention? For that fight?”

Victoria looked up at the screen, and the camera focused on the goal scorer. Ash pumped her fist, oblivious to what was happening 200 miles south.

Watching her, a sudden realisation hit Victoria like a physical blow: she was falling for this woman. Scratch that. She loved this woman. She jolted with comprehension.

Was she prepared for the fight?

You damn well bet she was.

“I can’t keep running,” she told her father. “I have to stop at some point. Why not now? It’s as good a time as any. Ash is the best reason I can think of.”

“But is she really the sort of person you see yourself settling down with?” Her mother lifted her head, her skin pale. “She doesn’t understand our way of life. She’s not from our world, Victoria.”

The tired get-out clause was too easy to reach for. “You don’t even know her. Why not give her a chance before judging her? She understands fame, and the pressure of public life, which is more than any of my other suitors did. We have that in common. Plus, she understands hard work and sacrifice. You don’t get to where she is in life without all of that.”

Her father sat forward. “There is that, Cassandra. Plus, I met Ashleigh last year in a more informal setting after an England game. She was great company. We chatted about football, about her business degree. She’s got her head screwed on the right way.” He paused, eyeing his wife. “And remember: your mother thought I was riff-raff. Probably still does a little, but we’ve mucked along all right, haven’t we?”

Victoria risked a slight smile. She welcomed the spotlight being turned down a touch. She shot her father a grateful smile, and he shot one right back.

“Okay.” Just one word from her mother, which was unusual.

“Okay?”

The Queen nodded. “Let’s meet her. Bring her here for afternoon tea.”

“To the Palace?” Victoria’s face crumpled. Ash had been nervous about Balmoral. She could just imagine what she’d think of this plan.

“You said she understands your life. Who you are. If you see a future with her, Buckingham Palace is going to feature, isn’t it?” Her mother’s eyebrow raised on the final two words.

Victoria hated when her mother was right.

“Fine. I’ll bring her to tea. Then I’ll take her to the summerhouse and beat her at pool.”

Michael snorted. “She’s the England captain. Doesn’t it follow she’ll be brilliant at pool, too?”

But Victoria simply stuck out her tongue at her brother. Then she stood, with a smile.

For the first time in her life, she felt completely certain of who she was and what she wanted.