41. Epilogue
Spencer
Spring flowers cover every available surface.
Tulips, daffodils, and tall iris. Pansies, peonies and tiny bouquets of lily of the valley. Boughs of lilacs and forsythia and even more plants that I’ve never seen in Laandia.
I’m not a flower person, especially since I have no reason, nor a person to gift flowers too, but even I have to admit it’s impressive how many blooms they were able to collect in the six weeks they’ve been planning the wedding.
There are more flowers here than there was in the forest during Bo and Hettie’s first wedding.
Watching them do it again is just as meaningful.
I’m not the only one smiling.
Bo can’t take his eyes off of Hettie as makes her way between the rows of chairs set up in the Queen’s study.
King Magnus insisted on the full religious ceremony, even though Bo fought against having it in the church. He also did everything he could to have the ceremony outside, even though with the constant rain, occasional snow and chill, late April isn’t the best time to do anything outside .
Bo’s theory was anywhere was better than inside the ball room, and came up with quite a few options, which included the town hall in Battle Harbour, The King’s Hat pub, and Abigail’s parents’ house. Fenella Carrington offered her nightclub, and there was talk of one of the barns on the England’s—Edie’s parents—farm.
I’ve never seen him with that level of tenacity and determination, but every one of his arguments faded as soon as Magnus suggested the Queen’s study for the ceremony.
That worked for him.
With the chairs and the flowers and the people, the room doesn’t look much like the comfortable study where the Queen used to sit with friends, family, and foreign diplomats. But I know Bo has the memory of the last time he was here with his mother fixed in his head, like she’s able to be there if he thinks about her hard enough.
Everyone is thinking about her, so I like to think Queen Selena is with us somehow.
Bo might have his mother in his thoughts, but he’s looking at Hettie like she’s the top donut on the rack and he can’t wait to make her his.
It might not be the best analogy but I was in the castle kitchen before the ceremony and they had freshly baked donuts for the sweet table and they looked really good.
Tema practically drags Hettie the last few feet to where Bo and I stand. Abigail stands opposite, her hands full of tulips and delicate white blooms, her eyes full of tears. Rather than her father walking down the aisle, she and Bo decided it would be Tema, wearing a white dress with a fluffy tulle skirt over pink cowboy boots .
Why my father would buy her pink cowboy boots is anyone’s guess, but I think it had something to do with Dad showing her a video of one of their concerts and Tema pointed out his boots.
She probably said they were cool, and then of course, he had to buy her a pair. I’m not sure who spoils her more—Dad or the king. I wonder how Tema’s other grandfather can compete, but I’ve heard talk of a trip out to see the whales on his boat when the weather is warmer, so my guess is that he’s biding his time.
Hettie is wearing white as well. I remember her in a pink dress for the first one, and while she had been pretty, the white gown with the tiny train makes it all seem real, rather than teenagers playing at being married.
It was the one thing I remembered from before—it never seemed real . It was like the four of us had been sucked into one of Bo’s dreams, that we weren’t really there.
I know I never realized the ramifications of the day until later, after Hettie left. It was my idea not to tell anyone about the wedding, and Bo didn’t need much persuading.
I always thought she would come back. And I know I wanted Abigail to. Not going against Bo’s wishes to look for them might have been my way of punishing them.
I’m not proud of that.
Abigail and I stand up for them at the far end of the Queen’s study under an archway of flowers and watch Bo and Hettie say their vows to each other. The first time around was a quick service, but Hettie wanted to make this one last.
“It’s the last time I’m going to marry you, so let’s make it a good one,” she told Bo. “Flowers. Poems. Written vows. ”
“Written by us?”
Mabel and Odin were selected as poem readers and did very well. I organized a five-piece chamber music group to serenade the guests, and did my best to help Bo with his vows.
Bo, being Bo, wouldn’t take much help, but whatever he’s stumbling through has brought tears to Hettie’s eyes, so I think he’s doing all right.
Bo finally told everyone about the conversation he had with the Queen the night she died. While there was the expected “ you’re an idiot ” comments, there was also a lot of hugging. The consensus seemed to be that it was understood why Bo took on the blame but it wasn’t necessary any longer.
He also admitted to his brothers and Lyra that he would be seeing a therapist for some time and everyone, even Kalle with his reluctance to discuss emotions, or even admit he felt them, decided that was a good idea.
All this divesting of emotional turmoil hasn’t seemed to have changed Bo in the last six weeks. He’s still quiet, still hates talking to the press, and still hopelessly in love with Hettie.
But anyone who looks at him can easily tell how happy he is.
Just watching him watch her walk down the aisle, in her simple gown with flowers in her hair, holding Tema’s hand, was enough for me to be hit with a pang of I want that.
I’ve never wanted that. The whole hearts and feelings and flowers that comes with a romance. Or a committed relationship. I think that’s why Bo and I have stayed so close over the years—I knew he was still in love with Hettie and no one would come between that, and therefore, no one would come between our friendship .
Not that women come between friendship, but they do change the dynamic.
But my heart does feel like it’s expanding as Hettie and Bo are declared husband and wife—again—I watch Bo kiss his bride.
Across from me, Abigail meets my eye. She’s crying and smiling at the same time, and I have to wonder if that heart expansion might have something to do with her being back in town.
Since she’s been back, I’ve seen the difference in her—but also the ways that she’s exactly the same. The sameness brings back nostalgia and feelings that I thought were long gone.
Not that I had as strong of feelings for Abigail as Bo had for Hettie, but there were feelings.
As much as there could be with Lyra lodged in my heart for my entire life.
But Lyra hasn’t been around much and Abigail has been all over the place, so maybe it’s time to sublet Lyra’s spot.
It’s difficult to continue that thought when Lyra is here, standing right in my line of sight for the entire ceremony.
Abigail is across from me, Lyra stands with the family right where I can see her.
No wonder I’m a little distracted, and I’m rarely distracted.
They kept the guest list small with only the royal family and guests and some of Hettie’s family present.
The party is tomorrow night in the ballroom, and Hettie will be crowned a princess of Laandia during the festivities.
So will Tema.
I saw her tiara today and she’s going to love it.
After walking Hettie down the aisle, the little girl went straight to the king and now stands between Magnus and Edie, clutching both of their hands. She’s got a huge grin on her face as she watches her parents. Magnus is devoted to his granddaughter, but a solid bond has already developed between Edie and Tema.
Tema is amazing, but I know what Edie is thinking: if something happens and Edie and Kalle don’t have children, that little girl will eventually be queen of Laandia. She’s going to need all the help she can get taking on that role.
It’s a sobering thought for such a celebration, and I push it away, especially since the ceremony is over and Bo and Hettie turn to the families to receive congratulations.
Abigail steps to my side and tucks her arm through mine and I smile down at her. “Second time is the charm, you think?”
Her dress is bright blue and is held up with two little straps over her shoulders. It’s—
She looks good. Very good. Her hair is curled and held back at the sides and she’s wearing more makeup than she usually does, highlighting her brown eyes.
“You look amazing,” I tell her, forgetting her question.
Abigail blinks. “Why, thank you.”
“I hadn’t told you yet and I wanted to make sure I did.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. Laz.” She squeezes my arm. Half the time Abigail sounds like she’s flirting with me.
I know she’s flirting with me. She’s always flirted with me, like she’s telling me the door to her heart is wide open and to come find a place to stay. There’s always been a what if between us, and I know I’m the reason the question is still hanging there.
“I think second time’s the charm,” I agree because there’s that urge to step through that open door. It’s been here since Abigail got back into town .
Maybe it’s finally time.
“I really hope it works out,” Abigail says.
She’s talking about Bo and Hettie.
“Why wouldn’t it? Look at the two of them. Nothing is coming between them.”
“They’ve got eight years to get past,” Abigail reminds me. “I’m happy that this was quick, but they’ve got some work ahead of them.”
“Aren’t they lucky they’ve got us around to help them.” I squeeze her hand as I lead her through the rows of chairs. “I’m glad you’re sticking around.”
Bo and I had gone with Hettie and Abigail to Victoria to close up their lives there. I met Hettie’s grandfather and although I admire him as an artist, I don’t think he was much of a caregiver to the girls.
The grandfather had declined the invitation for the wedding saying that he was too into his painting to leave.
Abigail told me some about the years they spent in the West Coast of Canada and I hate the thought of them going there when they were just twenty-one with no family and no support.
“There wasn’t really another option.” Abigail grins. “Especially with the job offer from the school. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”
I shake my head. “I mentioned that there’s a teacher’s assistant in town who needs a job. They were happy to have you.”
“Well, thank you for doing the mentioning.”
I don’t tell her that it wasn’t just for her. It’s in everyone’s best interest for Abigail to stay in Battle Harbour.
It seems selfish to want her to stay just for myself .
“Are you happy being the T.A? You always wanted to be the teacher.”
“I managed to get a degree but I couldn’t get my Bachelor of Education working part-time,” she admits ruefully.
“Maybe now.”
She shrugs. “Maybe now. What’s next on your schedule? Now that you don’t have this to organize.”
This being more than the wedding. There are a lot of legal details with Bo getting a brand-new family, as well the country getting new princesses. And I’ve been helping Kate with the press and luckily, they’ve been relatively accepting about the whole thing. Hettie had been terrified and expected hostility, but for the most part, the people of Battle Harbour recognized the eight-year marriage and arrival of surprise child with more excitement than anger.
“Can the king make anyone a princess?” Abigail asks as we wait for the waiter circulating with champagne to get to us.
“They have to be married,” I explain. Technically, both of them are already princesses but they don’t have the crowns.”
“They actually get a crown? Tema is gonna love that. I can see her wearing it with those purple leggings.”
The purple leggings in question peek out under her dress. Abigail had been responsible for getting her dressed this morning, and for once Tema hadn’t complained about the formal attire—if she could wear her leggings. Given how the Laandian spring is still cold with evidence of snow this morning, an extra layer wasn’t the worst idea.
Abigail has the gift to know when to stop arguing with the seven-year-old. I’m not sure I ever will .
I’m tempted to shrug out of my jacket and put it around Abigail’s shoulders to fend off the goosebumps dotting her arms.
I tuck her closer instead.
Abigail looks around at the study. “It’s a nice spot for the wedding, but I kind of miss the trees of the first one,” she confesses. “The rose petals were a nice touch.”
“Bo’s idea. He’ll do anything to make her happy.”
“And he does make her happy,” she admits. “It’s just strange that after living through eight years of angst, they finally have their happily ever after.”
“They deserve it.”
“So do you.”
I shrug as the waiter arrives with a tray of glasses. “Thank you.” I take two, handing one to Abigail. “How are you doing with your own happy ever after?”
“It’s off to a good start,” she says lightly.
“What is?”
We turn in unison. Lyra, with my half-sister Sophie, stands behind us. “Is that for me?” She gestures to the glass I’m holding.
“Actually, it’s for me.”
With a lift of her shoulder, Lyra steps around me to the tray and grabs a single glass. “Wait, please,” she instructs and downs the champagne without taking a breath.
What Bo can do with beer, his sister can with champagne.
Setting the empty glass down, she takes two more, giving the waiter a winning smile.
“She’s a bit…unsettled… being back,” Sophie tells me quietly. “Seeing certain people.”
Me. She means me .
Why does that make my stomach tighten like someone’s grabbed hold of it?
“Nice wedding,” Lyra says handing a glass to Sophie. “I’m glad we got to share in this one.”
“I didn’t think you were staying.” Lyra has been back and forth three times, usually only staying a few days at a time, and never giving a good answer to why she can’t stay longer. Events, obligations, and parties keep her busy.
I haven’t heard if there’s a certain someone who is also taking up her time. I know there are someones , but none of them seem to last.
“And miss Bo’s wedding again ?” Lyra arches her eyebrows, her smile tight and just a little bitter.
“I wasn’t in charge of the guest list the first time,” I tell her. Lyra has always had the worst case of FOMO of anyone I know, and when she does miss out, she takes it hard and holds grudges.
“No.” Lyra’s gaze drifts over Abigail. “Nice dress.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Lyra smiles without it reaching her eyes. She’s the only one in the family who never corrects when someone calls her that.
“Abigail, I think Hettie is waving at you,” Sophie says.
“She is. I better go check.” She gives me a smile as she moves off, Sophie following in her wake.
“Spencer.” Lyra hooks my gaze over the rim of her glass. I can’t take my eyes off her. It’s always been like that. She drives me crazy but I can’t stop watching her. “What’s going on?”
I gesture to the crowd around us, standing close but giving us a little space, like there’s a pocket of me-and-Lyra in the midst of everything. “Wedding stuff. ”
“I meant with you and Abigail.”
Did she actually come right out and ask that? “She’s my friend.”
“Is that all?”
“Feel like telling me what business that is of yours?” I hold my breath in the hope that maybe this time…
But no.
“I’ve got another wedding next week,” Lyra says casually. “I wondered if you were up for a trip to Toronto.”
It’s not the first time Lyra has asked me to escort her to events or parties. In fact, we’ve always been an unofficial pair most of our lives for castle events. “Anyone I know?” I ask rather than refusing.
Am I ready to refuse her?
“My friends Tad and Demi. I think you met him, he’s friends with Mase Stirling and knows Fenella. I think he was here for the grand opening.”
“I met them.”
“Demi was on The Suitor—”
“With Odin?”
“No, that was The Suitorette. Demi left halfway through because of Tad. It’s a sweet story. You should come with me.”
I study Lyra, trying to see if there’s more to her invitation than a simple request for an escort. We are friends; she is my best friend’s sister. And then there’s her renewed friendship with my sister.
Princess Lyra is unquestionably beautiful, with her father’s ability to charm and her mother’s poise and grace. But there’s a restlessness to Lyra that’s growing over the years. She needs someone in her life to help her focus, to act like an anchor when she drifts off-course .
I always thought I would end up being that anchor. I hoped someday she would see me as more than Spencer, son of Duncan, and helper of the royal family.
For the first time, I don’t feel much hope of that changing.
And then I look over at where Abigail has Tema in her arms. There’s something between me and Abigail. There always has been.
Maybe it’s time I find a new hope.
“I don’t think I’m able to do that,” I tell Lyra slowly.
Has Abigail stolen Spencer's heart from Lyra?