Chapter 33 A Strictly Professional Relationship
A Strictly Professional Relationship
With Genevieve’s arrival, Alexander had been pulled back into the world of royal obligations, and Emilia had thrown herself into the final preparations for the historical exhibition.
The exhibition stood nearly complete. Display cases were arranged, narratives polished, and a delicate balance between reverence and honesty carefully struck.
It was bold—bolder than anything the palace had ever approved before.
The monarchy had always controlled its own narrative, smoothing over the uncomfortable edges, curating the past to maintain an image of unwavering dignity.
But this exhibit told the truth: the good, the bad, and yes—even the ugly.
Emilia had fought for that. Fought for a version of history that wasn’t just approved but honest. The triumphs, the struggles, the missteps. The ways the monarchy had shaped the country, for better or worse.
Now, only one section remained unfinished—the exhibit dedicated to King James Philip.
And that was the problem.
Because while every other monarch’s legacy had been meticulously pieced together, Alexander’s father was different.
His records were curated too neatly. The financial irregularities had been cleaned up and explained away.
It was all there, just beneath the surface, but nothing concrete.
Every time Emilia tried to find the missing pieces, she hit another carefully placed roadblock.
The only new information she had uncovered was a collection of private letters revealing that King James Philip, too, had struggled with the idea of an arranged marriage.
Alexander wasn’t exactly surprised when she showed him these letters.
He knew his parents didn’t have the warmest relationship, but it seemed that his father had been truly in love with someone else but they were forced to break up before his marriage—a parallel to Alexander’s own situation that neither of them acknowledged aloud.
She told herself it didn’t matter. That she had done her job, that the exhibit was already pushing boundaries as it was. But deep down, she knew better. Something was missing, and she hated unfinished stories.
Still, there was nothing more she could do. Not without going down a path she wasn’t sure she was ready for.
So instead, she focused on the final touches, ignoring the ache in her chest every time she caught a glimpse of Alexander in the papers. There he was, dutifully playing his role alongside Genevieve.
It was fine.
This was what she had signed up for.
And if something about it felt wrong—well, that wasn’t something she was prepared to deal with anymore.
* * *
A few days later Emilia found herself checking details that had already been checked a dozen times over.
“You know, at some point, you have to actually let go,” Alexander said, appearing beside her.
Emilia sighed, stepping back. “I know. It’s just—”
“Perfect,” Alexander finished for her. “It’s perfect, Emilia.”
She was about to respond when a voice—unmistakably French—echoed through the exhibition hall.
“But why is this portrait so dimly lit? The artist clearly intended the gold accents to catch the light, non?”
Emilia froze. “Oh god.”
Alexander frowned. “What is it?”
“My parents,” she whispered. “They’re here. They’re supposed to be in Vienna!”
Before Alexander could respond, a striking couple rounded the corner.
Dr. Josephine Beaumont-Carter moved with effortless elegance, wearing a simple black dress with a vintage Hermès scarf draped artfully around her shoulders.
Beside her, Professor Richard Carter carried himself with confident posture, his dark beard showing touches of salt and pepper, his tailored blazer a sharp contrast to his wife’s softer style.
“Emilia!” her mother called. “Ma chérie! Surprise!”
As Emilia embraced her mother, her father’s gaze shifted to Alexander.
“And this must be the prince,” he said, studying Alexander with evident interest. “Your Highness, your decision to commission an exhibition that examines the monarchy’s history rather than simply celebrating it is… unexpected.”
Alexander stepped forward, extending his hand. “Professor Carter, it’s an honor to meet you. Emilia has mentioned your work in philosophical ethics.”
“Has she? Interesting. She’s been uncharacteristically reserved about the details of this project.” He said giving Emilia a pointed look.
“Papa,” Emilia cautioned, but her mother had already drifted away, drawn to the portrait of King James Philip hanging on the nearby wall.
Josephine stood before it, her head tilted slightly as she examined the artwork with the practiced eye of an art historian. “Now this,” she said appreciatively, “is quite remarkable. One of the few royal portraits I genuinely admire.”
Alexander moved to stand beside her, intrigued. “What makes this one different?”
“Most royal portraits are merely exercises in propaganda,” Josephine explained, her accent lilting as she warmed to the subject. “All stiffness and symbolism, nothing of the actual person.”
She gestured elegantly toward the canvas. “But here, the artist has captured something authentic—something beyond the crown.”
Alexander studied his father’s portrait with renewed interest as Emilia joined them, trying not to look nervous.
“You see how the light catches his eyes?” Josephine continued, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air before the painting.
“There is intelligence there, certainly, but also something more captivating. It’s as though he has a charming secret he might share if only you asked the right question. ”
Alexander’s expression shifted subtly. “That’s… remarkably perceptive.”
“It is my profession, Your Highness,” Josephine replied with a slight smile and extended her hand to Alexander. “So, you are the prince who convinced my daughter to reexamine royal history. Brave man.”
Alexander bowed slightly. “It’s been an educational experience for us both. I’m grateful for your daughter’s expertise—and candor.”
Josephine laughed, “Yes, we know all about Emilia’s candor.”
With a diplomatic nod, Alexander added, “I should give you space for your reunion. Professor Carter, Dr. Beaumont-Carter, it was a pleasure to meet you both.”
The moment he was gone, her mother linked arms with her. “So. That is the prince.”
“Yes,” Emilia said cautiously. “That’s Prince Alexander.”
“His eyes tell a different story than his formal manner,” her mother observed. “Much like his father’s portrait.”
“Maman,” Emilia warned.
Her father slipped his hands into his pockets. “His level of interest seems beyond what one might expect for a simple collaboration.”
“It’s a comprehensive historical exhibition, and he’s been very involved.”
“Involved,” her mother repeated, one eyebrow rising. “C’est intéressant, ce mot.”
“Look, I know what you’re implying, and you’re wrong. Prince Alexander and I have a strictly professional relationship.”
“Is that so?” her father asked mildly. “The newspapers mentioned some controversy about him questioning the marriage law.”
Emilia froze. Of course her parents would have done their research.
“It’s complicated,” she admitted.
“Life often is, ma chérie,” her mother said gently. “Especially when it involves handsome princes who look at you like you’ve rearranged their understanding of the universe.”
As they toured the exhibition, her parents offered professional insights while exchanging glances that spoke volumes—the kind of wordless communication built through decades of shared understanding.
When they reached the section on King James Philip’s reforms, her father paused. “You’ve included his failures alongside his accomplishments. That’s unexpected from a royal exhibition.”
“That was Prince Alexander’s decision,” Emilia said, the admission slipping out naturally. “He insisted on honesty, even when it wasn’t flattering to the monarchy.”
Her parents exchanged another look—a silent assessment that made Emilia both curious and uncomfortable.
Later, as they prepared to leave for dinner, her father studied her thoughtfully.
“Emilia, as your philosopher father, I feel compelled to point out what Sartre taught us about choice: pretending we have no choice is itself a choice—often the most self-deceptive one. When it comes to matters of the heart, acknowledging the truth is the first step toward authentic freedom.”
“Papa, please don’t turn my exhibition into a philosophical lecture.”
He smiled. “I’m merely suggesting that perhaps your insistence on professional distance has more to do with fear than with any actual impossibility.”
Emilia felt a lump forming in her throat. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” her mother agreed, her voice softening. “But ma chérie, the most beautiful art comes from embracing complexity, not running from it.”
As Emilia led her parents toward the museum’s grand entrance, her mother still discussing potential restaurants, a familiar voice called out from across the marble foyer. “Emilia! Just the person I was looking for.”
Sebastian Hawthorne strode toward them, effortlessly elegant as always, his smile widening as he noted her companions. “And you must be Dr. Carter’s parents. What a pleasure.”
Emilia suppressed a groan. Of all the people to run into right now—Sebastian was the last person she needed charming her already-too-perceptive parents.
“Lord Sebastian Hawthorne,” she said reluctantly. “These are my parents, Dr. Josephine Beaumont-Carter and Professor Richard Carter.”
Sebastian turned his full attention to her mother, taking her hand with a courtly gesture. “Dr. Beaumont-Carter, enchanted to meet you,” he said, then seamlessly switched to flawless French. “Votre fille est l’une des personnes les plus brillantes que j’aie jamais rencontrées.”
Josephine’s eyes widened with delight. “Mais votre francais est impeccable! Où l’avez-vous appris?”
“Paris,” Sebastian replied, still in French. “My mother was French. We lived there until I was ten.”
“Ah! Quel quartier?” Josephine asked eagerly.
“Saint-Germain-des-Prés,” Sebastian answered with a nostalgic smile.
“C’est mon quartier préféré!” Josephine exclaimed, completely charmed. She turned to Emilia with newfound interest. “You didn’t mention your colleagues were so cultured, ma chérie.”
Emilia shot Sebastian a warning look. “Lord Hawthorne is not exactly a colleague. He’s more of a… palace fixture.”
“Professional nuisance is the term Alexander prefers,” Sebastian clarified cheerfully. “Though I prefer to think of myself as providing essential cultural enrichment to an otherwise tedious institution.”
Richard Carter studied Sebastian with philosophical interest. “And what exactly is your role in all this, Lord Hawthorne?”
Sebastian’s smile was perfectly calibrated. “Officially? I liaise between the aristocracy and the crown. Unofficially?” He leaned in slightly. “I make sure Alexander remembers how to function as a human being instead of a royal robot.”
Josephine laughed, clearly delighted. “And you’re doing an excellent job.”
“Your approval means everything, madame,” Sebastian replied with a theatrical bow.
Emilia cleared her throat. “We were just heading to dinner, Sebastian.”
“What a coincidence,” Sebastian said smoothly. “I was just about to suggest the same thing. There’s a wonderful little bistro not far from here—the chef trained in Lyon. Your mother would appreciate it.”
Josephine brightened immediately. “You know this place?”
“I would never recommend a restaurant I haven’t personally vetted,” Sebastian assured her. “And Chef Michel maintains the highest standards.”
Before Emilia could object, her mother was already linking arms with Sebastian, peppering him with questions about Parisian neighborhoods and French cuisine.
Richard fell into step beside his daughter, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Your mother has found a kindred spirit, it seems.”
“She’s being charmed by a professional,” Emilia muttered.
Her father chuckled. “Perhaps. But genuine cultural connection is difficult to fake.” He watched Sebastian gesturing animatedly as he described a particular Parisian bakery to Josephine. “It seems your royal project has surrounded you with interesting people, Emilia.”
Ahead of them, Sebastian glanced back, catching Emilia’s eye with a triumphant smirk. She narrowed her eyes in response, but couldn’t help a reluctant smile. Sebastian, of course, considered this a victory.
By the time they reached the restaurant, he had completely won over Josephine with tales of Paris and promised to send Richard a first-edition philosophy text from his family’s library.
Emilia realized, with a sinking feeling, that her carefully controlled narrative about palace life had just been completely derailed by Sebastian’s effortless charm—and that her mother would now have even more questions about her work at the palace.