Chapter 11 #2
“Nothing about this is selfish,” Julia said firmly. “And nothing about this has ‘gone wrong.’ There has been… turbulence. Yes. Weather. Poultry insubordination. Overexcited dogs. But not failure.”
Vic laughed weakly. “Poultry insubordination.”
“I’m trying to speak your language,” Julia said.
She reached up and brushed a thumb under Vic’s eye, catching a tear.
“Alex,” she went on, “is in there decorating biscuits with her children. Erin is smiling for the first time in weeks. Hyz is thrilled because she gets to test the tensile strength of gingerbread. The triplets think snow is a miracle invented just for them. None of them care about centrepieces. They care about the fact you put all this together so they could be here. Together. Safe. Happy.”
Vic’s breath hitched. “You really think they’re happy?”
“I know they are,” Julia said. “I sat with Alex earlier while you were interrogating the generator. She told me she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Erin look this relaxed. Real reindeer. Dogs. Kids sticky with sugar. This is her idea of heaven.”
“I thought her idea of heaven was a functioning parliament,” Vic muttered.
“That’s her idea of a functioning democracy,” Julia said. “Different thing.”
Vic let out a long, shuddering breath.
“You don’t have to earn your place here by orchestrating a flawless Christmas,” Julia said softly.
“You already earned it. Years ago. When you stood by Alexandra through everything. When you stayed up with her in hospital corridors and on palace floors and on tour planes. When you made her laugh when the tabloids tried to flay her alive. When you loved her without conditions.”
Vic’s throat tightened. “She changed my life,” she whispered.
“And you changed hers,” Julia said. “And then you changed mine. And now you’re trying to control every snowflake in a five-mile radius because you’re scared that if you let go, something awful will happen.”
Vic blinked. “Are you a psychologist now?”
“I live with you,” Julia said. “It’s like being in a perpetual case study.”
Vic huffed, half laugh, half sob. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” Julia said.
They sat quietly for a moment. The fire crackled. Wind rattled the windowpanes.
“I know I’m… a lot,” Vic said eventually. “With the lists. And the plans. And the… risk assessments for reindeer.”
“I love you,” Julia said simply. “All of you. Including the part that colour-codes the Christmas napkins.”
“I didn’t colour-code—”
“You did,” Julia said. “I saw the spreadsheet. It had hex codes.”
Vic winced. “I might have… gone overboard.”
“Maybe a little,” Julia said. “But that’s okay.
That’s you trying. The problem isn’t that you care.
It’s that you’re beating yourself up for things nobody can control.
The roads. The storm. The turkeys. The pumpkin’s life choices.
You’ve decided that if one thing goes wrong, you’ve failed some invisible standard. ”
Vic stared at the fire for a long moment.
“My invisible standard is… not them,” she said quietly. “It’s me. It’s this version of me in my head who can conjure order out of chaos. Who never misses anything. Who keeps Alex safe and happy. Who gives Hyz the childhood I didn’t have. And if I fall short of her, I…”
“You punish yourself,” Julia finished.
Vic swallowed, throat suddenly thick again. “I don’t know how to not.”
Julia cupped her face with both hands, gentle but firm. “Try this,” she said. “Ask yourself what you’d say to Hyzenthlay if she came to you one day and said, ‘Mummy, I couldn’t make Christmas perfect. I failed you.’”
Vic’s eyes stung. Hard. “I’d tell her she was the best thing that ever happened to me,” she said hoarsely. “And that I didn’t care about perfect. I’d tell her I just wanted to be with her.”
Julia’s gaze held hers. “Exactly.”
Vic let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling over again. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“Walked?” Julia said. “You sprinted.”
They both laughed then, properly this time. The knot in Vic’s chest loosened a fraction. The room seemed to expand around them, like there was suddenly more air.
“I don’t know how to… let go,” Vic admitted. “If I stop organising, who am I?”
“Victoria Grey-Hughes-Wilding,” Julia said, leaning in to kiss her gently. “Alex’s impossible friend. My very beautiful amazing wife. Hyz’s slightly terrifying mummy. A woman who has done more for this family than any centrepiece could ever represent. That’s who.”
Vic’s lips trembled. “Do you really think it’s enough?”
“I think,” Julia said, “that if you never planned another thing for the rest of your life, they would still love you exactly the same. And so would I.”
Vic crumpled then, the last of her resistance melting away. She buried her face in Julia’s shoulder and let herself cry properly — not the brittle, frustrated tears of earlier, but deep, aching sobs that came from years of trying to hold everything together with lists and charm and stubbornness.
Julia held her through it, murmuring soft nonsense words, one hand in Vic’s hair, the other rubbing slow circles on her back.
Eventually, the tears burned out.
Vic drew back, sniffling, eyes sore and head oddly light.
“Sorry,” she croaked.
“For being human?” Julia asked. “Absolutely unforgivable.”
Vic laughed weakly. “My mascara is probably a crime scene.”
“You’re still the prettiest pumpkin murder victim I’ve ever seen,” Julia said.
Vic snorted. “You’re disgusting.”
“You married me,” Julia said.
“Poor judgment on my part,” Vic murmured, resting her forehead briefly against Julia’s.
They sat there for another minute, breathing in sync, the tension in Vic’s shoulders slowly unwinding.
“I don’t want to ruin it,” Vic said quietly. “For them.”
“You’re not,” Julia said. “You’re making it. Because let me tell you — if you hadn’t wrestled this whole show into some kind of structure, we’d all be eating crisps by candlelight while Alex tried to cook pasta for twenty.”
“That happened once,” Vic said.
“And we don’t talk about it,” Julia replied. “Because she’s the queen now and we must protect her dignity.”
Vic smiled, small but real.
“Okay,” she said after a moment, straightening slightly. “All right. I will… try. To stop… controlling everything.”
Julia raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”
Vic grimaced. “Most things.”
“Half,” Julia suggested.
“A third,” Vic bargained.
Julia laughed. “Fine. A third. But start with tonight. No more obsessing over what we don’t have. Just… embrace whatever Christmas this is.”
Vic took a deep breath.
Snow battered against the window. Somewhere in the depths of the castle, a dog barked, a child shrieked with laughter, and Mrs. MacLeod shouted something about “if anyone comes near this gravy, I will end you.”
Whatever Christmas this is.
Messy. Loud. Imperfect. Full of love.
She could try.
“Okay,” Vic said again, more firmly this time. “No more emergency emails to the caterers. No more centrepiece experiments. No more yelling about the schedule in front of the kids. I will… embrace the chaos.”
Julia smiled. “Good girl.”
“But,” Vic added quickly, “I reserve the right to carry my clipboard. For… emotional support.”
“Obviously,” Julia said. “It’s practically an emotional support animal by now.”
Vic leaned sideways until her head rested on Julia’s shoulder again.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For… reminding me what matters.”
Julia pressed her lips to Vic’s hair. “That’s my job.”
“Your job is to advise the Queen,” Vic said.
“It’s a very broad remit,” Julia replied.
They sat there a little longer, watching the fire, listening to the muffled thrum of the castle around them.
Finally, Vic let out a long exhale and pushed herself to her feet.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go back in before Alex tries to diplomatically negotiate with the oven.”
Julia rose with her, smoothing a hand down Vic’s pumpkin-streaked jumper. “We’ll clean you up first.”
“Or I could lean into it,” Vic said. “Make it a look. ‘Gothic Squash Chic.’”
“The cameras are off,” Julia reminded her. “You’re allowed to not be a spectacle for one evening.”
Vic smiled, a little crooked but genuine. “One evening,” she agreed.
As they headed for the door, Julia caught her hand.
“One more thing,” she said.
Vic turned.
“Tonight,” Julia continued, eyes warm, “if you see Alex and Erin trying to slip away alone… let them.”
Vic hesitated.
Then nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I was… thinking the same.”
“You’re not the only one who wants everything to be perfect for them,” Julia said. “We all do. But maybe what they need most isn’t a flawless dinner. Maybe it’s just… a room with a door that locks.”
Vic thought of Erin’s drawn face over the past months. Of Alex’s tired smiles. Of the way they’d looked at each other in the kitchen earlier, fingers brushing over biscuit trays as if they were starving for contact.
“Right,” she said. “New priority: engineer one uninterrupted hour for the Queen and her very patient wife.”
Julia squeezed her hand. “Now that is a plan I can get behind.”
Vic took another deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the door.
Noise rushed in — laughter, barking, the clatter of pans.
And for the first time since they’d arrived at Balmoral, it didn’t sound threatening.
It sounded like home.
She stepped back into the chaos, pumpkin stains and all, and thought:
All right, Christmas. Let’s see who blinks first.