Chapter 3
Three
AURELIA
The pub is warm, the windows fogged over against the wet December day.
I sip a hot toddy, and the chill from my walk to our favorite lunch spot is slowly beginning to recede.
Margaret is running late. She’s not known for her punctuality and probably got caught up shopping, as if my best friend needs any more clothes or shoes or handbags.
But just as I consider her spending habits lavish, she thinks my situation rather spartan.
I didn’t move to Emarvia with much, a duffel full of clothes and a backpack stuffed with as many of my favorite books as I could shoulder.
Aunt Sarah has tried to improve my wardrobe options, but aside from a couple winter coats, a new collection of long sleeves and sweaters, and a few dresses for special occasions, I haven’t fallen into the shopaholic role like so many other women my age.
The Christmas bells on the door jangle as a cold wind sweeps in.
Sure enough, there is Margaret muscling in several bulging bags from Harvey’s, her favorite luxury department store.
She had dragged me there once when we were in college.
I stopped looking when I saw a display for socks announcing a sale: two pairs for forty-eight euros.
“So sorry, love,” Margaret says as she drops her bags beside our table. She presses her cheek to mine, kissing the air in her very European style of greeting. “There’s just so much to do and so little time.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting swept up in all this finding a princess mess.”
She sighs. “Sweetheart, I know you Americans don’t understand the big deal about royalty—even though your country has an unhealthy obsession with the Windsors—but this is huge.
” She takes a sip of the cider I had waiting for her.
“When parliament pulls together this kind of scheme, you don’t say no. ”
The news is everywhere. Yesterday, the palace announced they were cracking down on the crown prince’s bachelorhood.
His twenty-ninth birthday had come and gone, and he is expected to marry by his thirtieth.
No longer content to leave it up to chance, parliament had devised trials of sorts to find the prince a wife from among the remaining nobility from around the world.
Soon, Marvia City will be flooded with ladies and princesses—hearts and stars in their eyes—all vying for their chance to become the future queen of one of Europe’s few remaining monarchies.
The tabloids are calling it The Bachelor: Royal Edition.
Margaret’s father is a baron, and she must have received an invitation to join in the search.
Why did he bother inviting me out to a soccer match knowing this was coming down the pipes? It’s a question that has been nagging at me since I saw the headlines all over the newsstand outside my favorite coffee shop this morning.
“Oh, before I forget.” Margaret reaches into one of the bags at her feet and pulls out a stack of books. “I brought you some more reading material, plus one of our favorite authors just released a new book, and I got a copy for us both.”
“Great!” I take the book off the top, a thick tome with a hockey scene on the front, and flip it over to skim the blurb on the back.
The other three are from Margaret’s shelf at home.
My best friend has turned me into one of those romance girlies, and I can’t get enough of the swoony heroes and blushing heroines.
I don’t care that I always know how the stories end; it’s the middle bits that keep me flipping pages well into the night.
“I have a few to give back to you, but they’re back at the dorm,” I tell her as I slide the books to the side.
“No worries, we’ll pop by after lunch. Now tell me.” She leans in with a gleam in her eye. “What did you think of the one with the big blue aliens?”
“Oh my god, you were right,” I hiss, eyes scanning the pub even though no one is close enough to overhear. “I thought for sure there was no way it could be good.”
“So good, right?” Margaret giggles.
“So good!” I agree, not wanting to elaborate.
I cannot admit to my friend just how bothered I got by some of the spicy scenes, or she would never let me live it down.
Just last week, she tried to talk me into going shopping for toys, and I had to shut that down real quick. “The aliens were so sweet.”
“And hot.”
“And the spur.”
“Oh my god, the spur.” Margaret blows out a breath and fans herself, and we fall into a fit of giggles.
A waiter comes by to take our food order, and he looks at us like we might be soft in the head while it takes us a moment to compose ourselves.
As he’s walking away, my phone pings a text alert from a number I don’t recognize.
Warmth that has nothing to do with the conversation Margaret and I were just having rushes over my body.
“Aurelia,” Margaret says with a smirk. “Who’s that texting you?”
“No one.” I flip my phone face down on the table. “Spam message.”
“Sweetheart, in the more than five years that I’ve known you, I have rarely seen you blush.” She takes a long sip of her drink, eyeing me over the rim of her glass.
“It’s no one, honestly.”
My phone chimes again, and I reach to put it away, but Margaret is faster.
“Miss Aurelia,” she reads aloud after she puts in my passcode. Got to change that stupid passcode. “I hope you will forgive the intrusion, but I was so enthralled at our meeting that I completely forgot to ask for your number.”
I try to snatch the phone from her hand, but she blocks me.
“Luckily for me, I have plenty of resources at my disposal. Anyway, if you aren’t too put off by all this, I was hoping to make good on my offer.
Seems next weekend’s match has been moved to Sunday afternoon.
Is that too short notice to work me into your busy schedule?
It’s signed Fritz.” My friend quirks an eyebrow at me. “Who is Fritz, Aurelia?”
I’m certain my face is flaming red at this point. “Nobody.”
“Oh, no, girl. A nobody would not have you so bothered right now.” She glances down at my phone again. “The next message says to bring your friend too if you like. Does that mean me? You know I don’t like football.”
“Yes, I told him that.” I finish the last of my drink and stand, not waiting for the waiter to return. “I need another.”
“You’re stalling,” Margaret calls to my back.
“Yep.”
I stand at the bar, taking my time choosing a beer while I try to find a way to get Margaret to drop it and also let the prince down easy.
I may have considered the invitation initially, but after yesterday’s announcement, I’m not about to get in the middle of all that mess.
Holding a winter stout, I return to the table as Margaret is putting my phone back in front of my chair.
A text notification chimes again. I swipe my phone open, prepared with a thanks, but no thanks, response.
My eyes pop, and it feels like all the blood has drained from my body.
“What did you do?” I glare at my friend.
“What you were too scared to,” she replies with a shrug.
“I’d love to!! Sadly, my friend can’t make it, though,” I read aloud. “That doesn’t even sound like me. I do not use that many exclamation points.”
Margaret waves her hand in dismissal. “Doesn’t matter. What did he say?”
“He said he’ll have a ticket for me at will call.” I chew the corner of my lower lip. “This is a terrible idea.”
Margaret puts her hand over mine. “Aurelia, you haven’t dated since the second year at uni. This could be good for you.”
Yeah, and that was a disaster I’d rather not repeat. “You don’t even know who he is. He could be a serial killer for all you know.”
“Doubtful. You wouldn’t be so wound up over a guy who gave off murdery vibes. Are you going to tell me who this Fritz is?”
“Just a guy I met at the prime minister’s victory celebration on Friday night,” I say into my glass.
Margaret looks dubious but doesn’t press any further. “Fine,” she sighs. “But I’ll be expecting details later.” She finishes off her cider, and the waiter returns with our food. “How was your week besides meeting the mysterious Fritz?”
I regale my friend with tales of the Maier children while we eat. Darcy, the oldest, is coming along with her letters, and the three-year-old is already developing exceptional fine motor skills while practicing writing them. Liam is just over a year old and really finding his voice.
“Lady Maier has been talking about having more children recently. These two are quite the handful as it is. I don’t even know what I would do with three.”
Margaret cringes. “Three children under the age of four. No wonder the woman needs a nanny.”
“Keeps me in business, at least. Margaret, working with these kids is everything I hoped for when I started at Merryton.” The dream to become a nanny is a relatively new one, but my time at one of the most prestigious nanny colleges in Europe and these last several months working with the Maier children have only served to solidify my goal.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Even if I don’t fully understand it, I love seeing you so happy. You’ve worked so hard for this. Do you think they’ll keep you on after your intern year?”
“I hope so. I’ve fallen in love with this family already.”
She reaches for my hand. “Then I’m so thrilled for you.”
I didn’t sleep well last night, and when my alarm goes off at five in the morning, I’m glad for the excuse to give up trying.
My day at the Maier’s starts at seven, but my early alarm allows me an hour run each morning.
I slip a crocheted headband over my ears to protect them from the cold, but opt for shorts and a t-shirt, punishment for my body and mind disrupting my sleep.
My tennies will need replacing soon, but I like to push them to their limit, too.