Page 148 of The Thing About My Prince

He turns it toward me to show me the name “Mum.”

Oh Jesus. “You should take it. Get it over with. Or you’ll spend the whole game dreading calling her back, and it’ll ruin it for you.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” he says.

“No, you don’t. You love it.”

I blow him a kiss and he gives me a joke eye roll as he answers the call.

“Hi. Oh, Dad’s with you too.”

“Are you in a car?” his mother’s clipped voice asks.

“Yes. Just arrived at the football stadium. Match starts soon,” he says in a clear effort to hurry things along.

“Oh, that bloody waste-of-money football team,” his dad mutters.

“Craig,” his mother hisses. “What did we agree?”

“All right, all right.” Craig’s sigh is filled with decades of exasperation.

“We were wondering when you and Lexi might come for a visit,” his mother says.

Oliver’s face morphs into that cute expression he gets when he’s baffled. Hard to tell whether he’s more puzzled by her suggestion that we should visit or by the fact she used my name, implying a vague acceptance of my existence.

“Visit?” Oliver says. “Is there an event or something I’m expected to attend that I’ve forgotten about?”

“No. I was hoping you might want to come to discuss wedding plans.”

Oh God. Here we go.

“Like we said,” he says, “there’s no rush. It’s more than a year away.”

“Well, your father and I have talked about it. Haven’t we?”

“Yes. Yes.” Craig sounds like he’s been elbowed in the ribs. “Your mother’s talked about it an awful lot.”

Oliver digs his teeth into his top lip to suppress a smile that would likely be accompanied by a chuckle.

“We have to plan these things in advance, you know,” his mother says. “We have to pick a day when Granny and Grandpa are available.”

I still haven’t wrapped my head around the fact that the king and queen will be at our wedding.

“Oh, no worries,” Oliver says. “We’ll probably elope.”

How he managed to keep a straight face saying that I have no idea, because I have to press my hand tight on my mouth to prevent an audible laugh sneaking out.

There’s silence from his phone that’s eventually broken by his mother saying, “Craig.Craig.”

“What?” his father replies.

“Tell Oliver they can’t elope. The people expect a wedding. The whole village shut down for Sofia’s to alloweveryone to attend the outdoor party on the green. They loved it.”

“Your mother’s right, Oliv?—”

“It’s okay.” Oliver raises his hand to the camera. “It was a joke. Only kidding.”

His mother makes anoofsound, like she’s wiping her brow.