Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
AURELIA
I stand in the foyer in Aunt Sarah’s house, the burden of greeting each guest falling to me. Uncle Jonas still hasn’t been located, so I am the only family present.
I recognize members of court from the various functions I’d attended during my short fling with the prince, though some of the names escape me.
Thankfully, I have Florence, Aunt Sarah’s housekeeper, on one side of me and Margaret on the other.
One or the other will mutter a name to me, just like Beatrix had done at the princess trial events.
Florence gives my hand a reassuring squeeze every once in a while, and I’m grateful for more than just her knowledge.
She’s about the age of my own mother, but in the last five plus years, she’s shown me more affection and offered more advice than the woman who birthed me did in a lifetime.
She’s insisted I continue to pop by for meals and conversation whenever my schedule allows.
Until Uncle Jonas returns to take up his position, this is my home in her eyes.
Most of the visitors took the instructions on the invitation to heart, wearing bright colors and party attire instead of black mourning clothes.
I knew that much about Aunt Sarah’s wishes, having attended several peerage funerals with her in the past few years.
A jazz band from a club she used to frequent in her younger years, helmed by none other than Miles Njeri on the piano, is playing in the large reception room, and many guests are already enjoying the bar serving a selection of her favorite cocktails.
The funeral director, or rather, party planner, approaches me after an hour of greeting.
“After the royal family arrives, you are free to mingle.”
My stomach drops, and my palms start to sweat. “The royal family?” I croak.
“Well, typically members of the family would attend the church service, but as there won’t be one of those.”
“Right. Right.” I let out a big breath. “And which members? Just the king and queen, most likely?”
“And I’m sure the crown prince will make an appearance. His Highness used to attend these kinds of things before he left for military service.”
My head is spinning. My stomach is in knots.
Oh my god, what am I going to do? I haven’t seen Friedrich since the not-breakup, and I am handling things pretty well, all things considered.
Beatrix even took me to some exclusive sex club she likes to frequent, and although I didn’t participate, it felt good to continue my sexual journey.
She and Margaret both say the best way to move on is to make my brain disassociate sex from Friedrich.
But with Aunt Sarah’s death, my emotions have been all over the place, and I don’t know how to even begin to handle seeing him again.
“Deep breaths, Aurelia,” Margaret whispers beside me. “He may not even come, and the king and queen probably won’t stay long anyway.”
I clutch Margaret’s hand. I don’t know how I would have gotten through all this without her.
She stayed with me the whole time Aunt Sarah was in the emergency department.
Then, after everything had been arranged to bring her home with hospice care, Margaret visited every evening after work, bringing me coffee and pan au chocolat from my favorite café and fresh flowers for the vase on the windowsill.
She claimed having a living thing in the room when a person is dying helps to soothe the spirit for its next journey.
“He’s put on a little more weight,” Margaret murmurs in my ear as the doors are held open and Friedrich’s parents are relieved of their coats.
They, too, have taken the dress code to heart.
Queen Jacqueline is a goddess in an iris purple gown that hugs hips showing no sign of her nearly fifty years or four pregnancies.
Her golden hair flows down her back like waves of grain in the wind, shades of honey and flax and platinum playing in the almost spring light.
She delicately holds the elbow of her husband.
Margaret is right; King Aldric does indeed look a bit fuller around the face. His suit still doesn’t fit quite right, but the knuckles of his hand are less pronounced than I remember when I was at the palace for the queen’s birthday.
Then my heart stops, and it’s as if the whole world has gone still.
And I am so freaking screwed. Because the moment those impossibly blue eyes catch mine, I know my heart is still not ready.
In a fraction of a second, I see Prince Friedrich’s eyes go wide and his lips part as if about to say something.
But in just an instant more, his throat bobs as he swallows, and his perfect royal facade is back in place.
I tear my eyes away from the man who was just supposed to be helping me find the joy in physicality but somehow grew roots into my heart.
Seeing him at perhaps my most insecure moment, I’m not sure I can contain all the emotions trying to break through my carefully crafted exterior.
Before he came along, I can’t remember the last time I even shed a single tear.
Not when I left home at eighteen, not when I set foot in a church again for the first time during my first semester of university, not even when I finished the final episode of Schitt’s Creek.
But since I realized I was beginning to feel things for the heir to the throne who could never be mine, and especially since that day at the hospital, when the doctors spoke to me about Aunt Sarah’s future, it’s like someone’s turned on the tap for my tear ducts.
Margaret’s grip on my hand is reaching vice level as the prince draws nearer.
I fold into my best curtsy, the loose tea length dress I picked for this event allowing me to bend my knees without restriction. The king places his hand on top of my head and mutters something in a language I think might be Latin.
I straighten but keep my eyes averted to the floor.
The queen takes my chin in her thumb and forefinger, lifting my head to look me in the eyes.
Hers are so unbelievably blue, it’s almost painful to see.
They’re not the blue of the stormy ocean her son bears, but clear and bright like the sea around the country she once called home.
“Your mourning is our mourning, ma chérie.” The queen’s warm, French timbre is a comfort. She holds my eyes for a moment, and I’m struck by the kindness there, reminded of her generosity at our first introduction a couple of months ago.
King Aldric inclines his head. “Truly a firestorm of a lady, she was.”
I nod, unsure how to respond to the highest members of our society offering their kind words to me, a nobody from America, with more than thank you, Your Majesties.
When I look up again, the king and queen have moved on, and I’m met with the subtly muscular frame of the man who used to make my insides twist in the most craveable way, but now the butterflies are just a horrible tease.
He’s in a light grey suit and orange shirt.
Not many people could pull off orange, but it works on the prince.
I try to keep my knees from shaking as I fold into a bow, eyes once again on the floor.
My stomach clenches painfully as he takes my hand to pull me to standing, but he presses his lips in a firm kiss to my knuckles.
My nerves sizzle as I remember his kisses on other parts of me.
My heart breaks because, god, I miss his tenderness, his gentleness, his pure devotion to my body.
Margaret clears her throat, and he startles and drops my hand.
“Your Highness.” I’m powerless to keep the tremor from my voice.
“Miss Aurelia. A shock and a pleasure.” I glimpse a ghost of a blush, and he clears his throat. “Shit. I mean, not a pleasure over the… Circumstances?” He gives me a querying look.
“My great aunt,” I explain.
“Ah, right. I offer my deepest condolences.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. It has indeed been a difficult few weeks.”
He leans in, his lips nearly brushing the curve of my ear, and a chill runs through me. My chest aches at the familiarity as I’m washed in the smell of him, like earth and wood and sweet smoke, though I’ve never seen him indulge even a cigar. “I wish I could have been there for you.”
I can only nod. My heart is in my throat, and I’m dangerously close to ruining my mascara.
He straightens and pulls at the end of his jacket.
Blue eyes trace me up and down. I’m in perhaps the least funereal dress imaginable, an off-the-shoulder A-line with a huge full skirt that hits below the knee.
The shade of green reminds me of retro kitchen appliances you would see in a Sears catalogue from the fifties.
“Trixie would have loved to see you like this.”
“Oh, she’s already in the ballroom,” I say with a chuckle. “Can’t keep that girl from a party, can we?”
“Damn, guess I’ll be spending the entire evening fighting her for just a moment of your time.”
He wants a moment of my time. What does he think that will achieve? But as my heart kicks into overdrive, I couldn’t care less what his intentions are. I think this may be the first time I’ve smiled in over a week, and it feels good. He makes me feel good. And I miss feeling good.
“And what will the rest of those in attendance think of you spending the entire party with me?” I ask shyly, tracing circles on the floor with the toe of my cream-colored pump.
There’s that panty-dropping smile. I’m absolutely defenseless against it. “That I’m a caring and empathetic prince who comes to the aid of his people in their time of mourning?”
I quirk an eyebrow at him.
“Dammit, you’re right.” He sighs. “But I will steal at least one dance.”
Margaret clears her throat again and clasps my arm possessively in both her hands. “Apologies for interrupting and thank you for your kind words, Your Highness,” she butts in. “But you appear to be holding up the line.”