15. “Back to December” - Taylor Swift
“Back to December” - Taylor Swift
Ifeel like I’m stuck in a really bad country song. And what’s worse, I don’t even listen to country music, so I can’t enjoy it. Tundra offers to be my sounding board while I do my makeup, and I gladly take him up on it.
“He said it’s hard to stay away from me. Explanation: he’s a red-blooded heterosexual male, and I’m a heterosexual woman who isn’t bad looking. Fair enough. He’s at least somewhat attracted to me, even if it’s only on a primal level.”
I glance down at Tundra. He is staring up at me as if he desperately wishes he could give his two cents. “Thanks, buddy. That’s kind of you to say.” I scratch behind his ears, and he nearly passes out from happiness.
“He also said that leaving me in London was the hardest thing he’s ever done. Explanation: he’s trying to protect me. Side note: the guy has an unhealthy preoccupation with safety, and I should probably suggest he get help.”
Tundra barks his approval of this plan.
“Then he implies he’s the one I need protection from.
Explanation: I don’t have a bloody clue.
” I rifle through my lipsticks, looking for the perfect shade.
Not that there is such a thing when you’re locked in a penthouse and the only person you have a hope of seeing is the security guard bringing your dinner. “Men are insane, you know that?”
Tundra cocks his head at me and whines.
“No, of course I wasn’t including you in that statement. Strictly referring to human males.”
I turn back to the mirror and begin applying the crimson lipstick I settled on. As I replay Henry’s words in my mind, I realize he never really made any statements. Questions, vague references, but no straight-up declarations of any feelings. Explanation: he’s a player, through and through.
“I’m giving up on men. You and I can rule this country together.”
Tundra huffs out a snort and lays his head on his paws.
“Sorry, boy. Obviously you’re meant for bigger things.
” I swipe a final coat of mascara onto my lashes and appraise my work.
It’s not Daphne-perfect, but it’s good enough for someone who won’t be leaving the flat all day.
Not that I’m not thankful for Henry’s surprise trip last night, but it only made me want to escape all the more.
It’s time to put him out of my mind and work on coming up with a solution to the royal family’s financial dilemma.
I need to have a backup plan in case Parliament denies my request to raise the Civil List. I’m already beginning to question the wisdom of that move, considering the people’s response to it.
I can’t get on board with Henry’s idea to commercialize the royal collection. Exposing those valuable items to the general public puts them at risk for damage and theft. The insurance costs alone would probably wipe out any profits.
There has to be another option. What I need is someone who understands the delicate situation I’m in without being directly affected by it. Someone who knows how important this is but also understands why it’s important to keep the royal family’s privacy.
I can’t believe I didn’t think about him before.
I pull up his contact info in my phone. I didn’t have the heart to delete it earlier, and now I’m glad for my reluctance to let go of our three-year relationship.
There’s a two-second pause before he speaks. I visualize the wheels in his head spinning as he decides what to say to me. He settles for a classic “Hello?”
“Hi, Beck.” My voice sounds way too chipper. “It’s me. Celia.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I close my eyes against the onslaught of memories. “Look, I know this is weird, but I was wondering if I could talk to you about something confidential. I need some professional advice.”
There’s a long beat of silence, long enough to make me question my decision. This was a stupid idea.
“Um, I guess?” My heart breaks at the unease in his voice. I did this to him.
“I promise I won’t make it weird. It’s not personal. It pertains to the Crown.”
“I was actually trying to work up the courage to call you myself.”
“Oh.” I blink at myself in the mirror. “You were?”
“Yeah. Listen, I, uh—well, I was wondering if I could have the engagement ring back.”
The words fly out of my head. Of all the things I expected him to say, that was at the bottom of the list. “Sure. Yeah, absolutely.”
“I hate to ask. I mean—”
“No, it’s totally fine,” I say. “I shouldn’t have kept it as long as I did.”
“Normally I’d never ask. It’s just—”
“I get it, okay? We’re not getting married anymore. I shouldn’t keep the ring. It’s fine.”
He sighs. “Okay. I’m really sorry.”
“Please don’t feel bad. I can get it back to you today if you’re able to meet?”
“I can do lunch,” he offers.
“Perfect.” I bite my lip. “I’ll have to send a car to pick you up.”
Getting Beck clearance into the penthouse proves easier than I’d anticipated. Apparently Henry didn’t issue a strict no-visitors policy before he left for wherever he disappears to every day, and when I assure Roberts that Beck works on the Crown’s legal team, he agrees to the visit.
Maisie brings over the ring from the palace, and I open the box for one final look. A year ago, I was imagining myself wrapping Christmas presents for my new sisters-in-law on this day, not locked in my ex-husband’s penthouse, about to return my ring to my ex-fiancé.
“Thank you,” I tell Maisie.
“Of course. Are we done here, or . . . ?” She locks the screen on her tablet.
“Actually, I was wondering if you’d look through these records with me, just until Beck gets here.”
She chews on the side of her lip. “I kind of have a lot of things to do back at the palace.”
“This won’t take long. He should be here in the next thirty minutes, but if we work together, we’ll get an hour of work done on it.”
She doesn’t argue, and we start tackling a small section of the huge collection of financial documents.
We’ve managed to get through an inch-tall stack by the time Beck is escorted inside, bringing the smell of curry with him.
My heart does a little dance when I spy the familiar brown bag in his hand.
He holds it up enticingly. “Hope you’re hungry,” he says. “I took the liberty of assuming you hadn’t eaten yet.”
He stops abruptly when he spots Maisie. Before the diary and my subsequent coronation, the three of us had dinner together a handful of times. Now they’re looking at each other as if they’re strangers. Apparently our broken engagement made things awkward for more people than just the two of us.
I clear my throat. “That’s all for today, Maisie. Thank you for everything.”
She nods and scrambles to collect her things. Less than a minute later, the foyer door closes behind her.
“How did you know I was craving chicken biryani?” I say, taking the bag from Beck and setting plates on the bar.
We settle into our old routine the way you help yourself to your mum’s pantry after moving out. Beck opens the foil containers, and I divide the naan bread between us.
“I haven’t had this in ages,” I say after inhaling several bites.
“Best Indian food in the city.” His smile is a little too tight, and now my heart is as well.
“How are Alexa and Jasmine?”
“They’re good, really good,” he says. “Alexa is switching her major again. Jasmine is doing her first-year residency at Billings Memorial.”
“That’s right. She graduated this summer, didn’t she?” While I was getting married to another man.
Beck nods and takes another bite. I want to ask more questions, to find out how his sisters are really doing, not just the pat answers he’d give the receptionist at his office. But I know why he’s holding back, and I can’t blame him.
I know the financial strain he’s under. He works tirelessly on a salaried solicitor’s income to put both of his sisters through university and pay off his own loans. But he’d never deny them anything that was within his power to provide. And this is the kind of goodness I walked away from.
“I really am sorry about . . . everything,” I say. The curry congeals in my stomach, and a wave of nausea crashes over me. “I know I said I wouldn’t make this personal, but I want you to know how sorry I am about the way I handled everything.”
“Celia, please. It’s fine. I’ve moved on.”
“I—” I blink at him. “You have?”
He nods and takes another bite of chicken. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
My mind still reeling from this revelation, I do my best to sum up our financial problems as succinctly as possible. Beck has moved on? Already? We just broke up a few months ago.
He frowns and wipes the corners of his mouth. “Parliament isn’t going to approve the tax hike.”
“What?” I drop my bread. “Why not?”
“They pride themselves on Wesbourne’s low tax rate. They’re not about to jeopardize that.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.” He works on the Crown’s legal team, so if anyone would know, it’s Beck.
“What do they expect me to do?”
He wipes a few crumbs from the counter with his napkin. “Probably find a way to generate another income.”
I groan. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“I’m sorry, Celia. I wish I had better news for you.”
“Do you have any idea how I could quickly generate a residual annual income of ten million?” I offer him a full-wattage grin. “Preferably overnight and with no investment.”
He gives me a grim smile in return. “You know I’m not cut out for business matters. I assumed . . .” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
I almost ask what he was going to say, but I stop myself at the last second. Something tells me it has to do with Henry, and I don’t need any more arrows pointing in that direction.
“Do you ever think about where we’d be if that diary hadn’t been donated?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He nods. “I used to. But like I said, I’ve moved on.” Folding his napkin into a neat square, he lays it on the countertop. “That’s why I brought this stuff back.” He lifts his work satchel onto his lap and pulls out a shopping bag.