Page 32

CHAPTER 32

T he kitchen door swung open as Victoria poured batter into the hot pan. It was Christmas morning, and she’d woken up with a determination to start the day with something that would cheer her up. She’d already told her parents she wasn’t going to the service at Westminster Abbey, which they’d accepted without too much fuss. Even they were choosing their battles these days.

Victoria had landed on a cold-water swim to clear her head. It had done half its job. The next step on her plan to cheer herself up was pancakes. They had no connection to Ash, and their chef had brought her back a jar of maple syrup from a recent trip to Canada that was begging to be used. Today was going to be a challenge from start to finish. The least she could do was start it with something she wanted.

Michael stumbled in, wearing jogging bottoms and a Ramones T-shirt that was well loved. At least he’d made it home last night, which was an improvement on recent events. However, his eyes were still bloodshot, a telltale sign he’d been out late last night.

“Good morning and Merry Christmas.” Victoria filled the coffee machine with water. She grabbed the jar of coffee and spooned some into the machine, then set it to brew. When she looked up, Michael was sat on one of the island stools. “Is this the new leaf you were talking about?” She waved a hand. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks surprisingly like the old one.” She turned back to her pancakes. She was not going to let him ruin her mood.

“Can we call a Christmas Day truce?” Michael said. “Last night was a final hurrah. I am turning over a new leaf. I will be sober at the New Year Ball, and I’m not drinking today, either.”

“Do you want a fucking medal?” The words came sharp and quick, cutting through the sizzle of pancake batter. She turned to him. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Her phone lay face-down on the marble counter, and she wasn’t going to touch that, either. The only person she wanted to hear from did not want to hear from her.

She’d seen Ash play in the Champions League this week, unable to tear herself away despite knowing how much it would hurt. Her heart had ached watching Ash move across the pitch, her movements so graceful. Victoria had caught herself reaching for the TV screen, wanting to touch Ash through it somehow. To tell her how much she missed her. But she couldn’t. The distance between them felt greater than ever.

She flipped the pancake, the first one breaking as it always did. She’d learned this recipe from YouTube videos late at night in her university flat, back when she could pretend to be normal. The muscle memory remained: the right consistency of batter, the heat of the pan, the exact moment to flip. Small victories in a world where so little felt within her control.

“I really am sorry,” Michael tried again. “I bought you a Christmas present.”

She spun on the ball of her toe, glowering at him. Did he really think he could solve everything with a gift?

“I will be civil to you today, because it’s Christmas, and because Gran’s here.” She poured some more batter into the pan. “I will even give you a pancake as I have enough batter, and I have a stupid need to look after you. I blame my genetics.”

He smiled at that.

“But I will not forgive you unless you do something to show me that you care. That you’ve changed. You and I share a life and two parents that nobody else can possibly understand. I needed your support with the biggest challenge of my life, and you made it worse. You can’t just say sorry and expect everything to be fine.” That had worked in their childhood. But Victoria was sick of always being the one who had to forgive and be the better person. It was the same with her parents, too.

When the machine beeped, Michael poured them both a coffee. She drizzled maple syrup onto their pancakes, watching it pool on the plate. She added a dollop of Greek yoghurt and a handful of berries. It was important to make this breakfast pretty, even though she had nobody to impress but her brother.

They ate at the kitchen island. The pancakes tasted delicious.

“Remember when we were kids, and Mum and Dad laid out all our presents for us in the lounge at Balmoral?”

They’d always spent Christmas up there when she was little. After her grandfather died, her mother had decided they’d spend it in London now and get Gran to come down. She missed the picture-postcard snow of the Highlands.

“I do. Those days seem so long ago. So innocent.”

Those were idyllic Christmases, before her mother became Queen, when they had time for family. Maybe she wouldn’t go to the New Year Ball this year. What was the point when she’d have to go as arm candy to another man?

Victoria was done pretending. Which was going to make today all sorts of difficult.

The Palace dining room stretched out beneath glittering chandeliers, the long mahogany table set with the best Meissen china and heavy silver cutlery that had graced royal Christmas dinners for generations. Steam rose from a line of dishes — roast turkey, glazed ham, mountains of roast potatoes, and all the traditional trimmings — but the food remained largely untouched despite the staff’s meticulous presentation.

Victoria pushed brussel sprouts around her plate, avoiding her grandmother’s shrewd gaze from the head of the table. The Queen Mother sat ramrod straight in her high-backed chair, her perfectly coiffed silver hair framing her face, her triple strand of pearls cool and luminous around her neck.

“I must say,” Gran broke the suffocating silence, her Scottish lilt sharper than usual. “If I wanted frost, I would have stayed at Balmoral.” She paused, eyeing Michael’s untouched wine glass. “And since when do you turn down a prime Bordeaux, dear boy? It’s not like you. Last time you came to see me, you put a severe dent in my cellar.”

Michael managed a weak smile. “Just not feeling it today, Gran.”

Victoria’s mother shot Michael a warning look across the table, while their father became suddenly very interested in cutting his turkey into precisely even pieces.

“No festive cheer at all,” Gran continued, picking up her own wine glass. “Victoria skipped church, Michael’s not drinking, and everyone’s acting like we’re at a funeral rather than Christmas dinner.” She took a deliberate sip. “One might think something’s happened that nobody’s telling me about.”

The silence that followed was broken only by the soft clink of silverware against china. Victoria could feel the weight of unspoken words pressing down on them all: Michael’s guilt, her parents’ concern, her own heartache. She caught Michael’s eye across the table, saw him open his mouth as if to say something, then think better of it.

“Nothing’s happened, Gran,” Victoria finally said, her voice steady despite the lie.

“Actually, that’s a lie, Gran.”

Victoria’s eyes widened and she put down her cutlery.

Michael looked around the table, making sure he had everyone’s attention before he continued. “I wanted to let you all know that from today, I’ve decided to live a sober life. Drinking wasn’t doing me any good, as you’ve all told me over and over. From now on,” he turned to his father, then his mother. “I’m going to be the son you want and deserve.” He eyed Gran. “The grandson, too.” Then finally, Victoria. “And the brother, which is long overdue.”

Victoria couldn’t quite believe he’d declared it in front of everyone.

“I was quite fond of the man you were, dear,” Gran told him. “But if not drinking is what you need to do, then good for you. That’s one grandchild making a positive change.” She turned to Victoria. “Now, what are we going to do about you?”

“What do you mean, Gran?”

“Yes, Mother. Victoria is fine. Everything has worked out after a sticky situation.” The wobble in the Queen’s voice betrayed her.

“Really?” Gran put down her cutlery. “I’ll need this microwaved if we’re having this discussion now. It’s delicious, and you know I hate cold dinners.”

The Queen tried not to roll her eyes, and Victoria tried not to laugh. She loved her gran for breaking the tension.

“The thing is, I think this is far more than a ‘sticky situation’. We have newspapers in Scotland, Cassandra. I have staff and friends that I chat to who look at social media. I understand what’s going on more than you think.” She turned to Victoria. “The elephant in the room is Ashleigh Woods. I can see you’re still upset you’re not together. That she’s not here.”

Butterflies took off in Victoria’s chest at the mere mention of Ash’s name. She decided to honour them. “Mum and Dad scared her off, then Michael finished the job. I’m doomed to be a spinster forever, it seems. Or take a husband for show. Neither of which are appealing, but apparently that’s my royal duty.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Victoria,” the Queen said. “We’ve told you that eventually you can be with who you want. But it has to be on a royal timeline, not yours.”

“And in the meantime, both Victoria and Ashleigh are heartbroken and miserable?” Her gran wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Also, do you think Ashleigh is going to wait around for your daughter? She might, because she does care for her, but what you’re offering is hardly a glittering pot of gold, now is it? Honestly, Cassandra. I thought I brought you up to be a little more caring to your children than that. You begged me to be able to marry Oliver, and I let you. Your daughter is doing exactly the same, and you’re shutting her down.”

The Queen opened her mouth, then closed it.

There was silence for a few seconds, while everyone weighed up what had been said. Victoria’s gaze darted around the table, then settled on her gran. Right at this second, she couldn’t have loved her more.

“Gran’s right,” she said finally, drawing inner strength from somewhere. The pancakes hadn’t made her truly happy, so she needed something else to do the work.

Or perhaps someone .

“I don’t know if Ash will wait for me. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. But that breaks my heart. You always tell me that things can change later. Well, later is too late for me, Mother.”

Victoria stared at the untouched roast potatoes, then pushed her plate aside. What was Ash doing right now? Probably in her parents’ kitchen with the lovely oak table, paper crown askew, telling terrible jokes from crackers, laughing with her family.

Was Ash happy? Even if she was missing Victoria, at least she was experiencing a real Christmas. Not here in this suffocating room, navigating Mother’s intakes of breath, and Michael’s cagey stares.

“Listen to your daughter, Cassandra.” Her gran turned to Victoria’s dad. “You, too, Oliver. I know I was hard on you when you wanted to get married, but I had to be. I had to know you understood what you were getting into. You can shake up the monarchy if you want to. Times change, and while people will initially be startled, they’ll get used to it. Look at Victoria’s friend, Astrid. Sweden doesn’t bat an eyelid.”

“With all due respect, we don’t live in Sweden, Mother.”

“Then it’s your job to shift the country that way. To support your daughter, because eventually your job will be on Victoria’s shoulders. Isn’t the job hard enough with someone by your side, loving you? Don’t make it harder for her. Let her bring Ash to the New Year Ball and show their faces to the world.”

Victoria took an audible intake of breath. “How do you know about me wanting to go to the Ball with Ash?”

Her gran smiled. “I heard whispered conversations in the halls when you two were at Balmoral. But also, I saw the way you looked at her. Like she was made of gold, like you never wanted to let her go.”

How had her grandmother managed to glean all of this from one weekend? Victoria vowed never to sell her short again. But then reality hit.

“I want to come out. That’s a given. But Ash does understand what being with me means, and I’m not sure she wants such a poisoned chalice.”

Her gran frowned. “Dear girl, you are not a poisoned chalice. You are my incredibly strong and vibrant granddaughter. If Ash intimated that at all, it’s because she’s scared. Who wouldn’t be? But she’s a strong woman with bags of charisma, empathy and charm. Also, remember: she’ll only play football for another few years. Then she’s free to do whatever she wants, which might include being a supportive wife for Victoria, as well as a force for good in the country. She’s your match, Victoria. I can feel it. It’s time this whole family woke up and saw that, before she slips through our fingers.”