Chapter Thirty-Two #2
Kit returns a moment later with a small plate stacked high with biscuits for us to share, and as soon as he’s sitting beside me, I give him a long, lingering kiss, not caring who’s watching. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, a bit flushed. “Feeling better, then?”
“A little,” I agree, picking up the top cookie and nibbling on it. “You’ll be there the whole time, right?”
“I, er…” He pauses, plucking his own biscuit from the stack. “I’m not supposed to. It’s just you lot, not me.”
I scowl. “That’s ridiculous. If Helene’s coming—”
“That, I believe, was Astrid’s suggestion to stave off any public relations nightmare,” says Kit, amused. “I’m not Aunt Helene.”
“No, but you’re you,” I say. “Which is even better.”
“And I appreciate that very much,” says Kit, kissing my cheek. “But I’m afraid you’re not in charge of—”
“It’s time,” announces Jenkins, and all at once, everyone grows quiet.
Even Helene and Nicholas, who have been talking quietly in the opposite corner, turn to focus on him, and Jenkins clears his throat.
“Unlike Trooping the Colour, Your Royal Highnesses and Majesties will be going out in reverse of the usual order, with His Majesty and the Duchess of Lancaster appearing last.”
As everyone gathers in the center of the room, in front of the middle floor-to-ceiling window, I take Kit’s hand and lead him toward the bench, where my parents still sit. “The Duchess of Lancaster?” I say in greeting.
“It’s infinitely better than the Queen of England,” says my mom, and she stands to gather me in a warm embrace. “Besides, it’s technically true, considering your father’s also the Duke of Lancaster. I saw the footage from the chapel. You’re really okay?”
“Completely fine,” I promise, hugging her back. “I’m just glad we made a second dress so this one didn’t get sliced and diced,” I add as she lets go, and I gesture to the watercolor masterpiece I wore to the wedding. “Leave it to Ben to ruin couture.”
“Oh, so now you care?” says another voice behind us, and Maisie appears in her own version of the watercolor dress, with Gia’s hand clasped tightly in hers. “Baby steps are better than none, I suppose.”
I give her a look that doesn’t have much bite behind it. “Your ideas were genius. Locking him in, using voice samples to have his victims speak—”
“That bit was your doing, not mine,” says Maisie, though she tosses her strawberry waves over her shoulder. “I’m happy to take the credit, though.”
As always. I grin. “Dad—Kit’s joining us, right?”
Alexander looks between us. “I assumed so. Kit, is that all right with you?”
Kit shakes his head as the middle set of windows—which are actually glass doors—open, and a cool breeze fills the stuffy room. Outside, a cheer rises from the gathered crowd, and my insides squirm. “I couldn’t possibly leave Gia on her own. It would be terribly rude.”
“I won’t be alone,” says Gia. “I’ll have Tibby and Jenkins and Fitz—”
Maisie makes a face. “Kit, perhaps you ought to stay with her after all. I don’t trust Fitz. He’s been getting all of these ideas lately, like he’s trying to be Tibby or something.”
“You can’t have her,” I say immediately, and Maisie sniffs.
“If I want her, I’ll take her. But I’ll concede that she’s still yours. For now.”
Alexander clears his throat. “I suppose there’s only one thing for it, then,” he says. “Gia, you’re welcome to join us, too, if you’d like.”
All four of us are silent for a moment, and I quickly turn my gaze from my father to Maisie and Gia, who stand there, thunderstruck, staring at each other.
“I…” says Gia, uncertainty written on every feature of her gorgeous face. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Of course you can,” says my mother warmly. “If you want to. If you both want to.”
Maisie and Gia continue to stare at each other, until at last Maisie blinks, as if someone or something has snapped her out of it. “I—well, yes,” she says, straightening her shoulders. “I’d like that. If you’d like that, Gia.”
Gia swallows. “Very much so. But only if you’re certain, Your Royal Highness. Only if you’re certain.”
The silence between them feels sacred somehow, as they search each other’s expressions. But finally Maisie nods, and Gia does so in return.
“Then it’s settled,” says Alexander as he uses his cane to slowly stand. Constance, Helene, and Nicholas are stepping through the door now, and my heart starts to pound. “I believe it’s your turn, girls.”
My fingers dig into Kit’s hand. “No excuse now,” I say, but when I look at him, he’s smiling down at me, and I know he has no desire to let go.
And so, with Maisie on my other side, the four of us cluster together, and my sister and I step through the glass door and onto the balcony of Buckingham Palace with Kit and Gia at our heels.
The crowd of onlookers is thousands strong, and as soon as we step into view, their cries turn into roars.
I cling to Kit’s hand with all my might, and he grips back almost as tightly, as if this, too, is freaking him out.
But when I glance at him, he looks as calm as ever, and when our eyes meet, he smiles and raises my hand to his mouth, brushing his lips to my knuckles.
The crowd below us whoops, and my cheeks burn, but I’m grinning so hard that my face hurts.
There is nothing in the world like being loved by him, and the feeling of luck and enormous privilege that overwhelms me has nothing to do with the palace, or the balcony, or the new title.
It’s him. Every bit of it is him, and this family, and how much has changed in only a year and a half.
The night I accidentally set fire to St. Edith’s—the night that everything changed—I would’ve never believed this could’ve been possible.
But it was. It is. And even when things aren’t perfect, they’ll still be a hell of a lot better than I ever dreamed they could be.
The crowd’s roars, which already seem impossibly loud, now turn into a sheer wall of sound, and as I glance behind me, I see my mother and father arm in arm as they step out onto the balcony and into the spotlight as husband and wife.
It’s the first time the people have seen my father since the bombing—it’s the first time they’ve seen what the Abr did to him, the scars and the lifelong injuries that are evident even in his uniform.
But he stands tall, as tall as he ever has, and as he reaches the rail, he leans his cane against the stone and waves.
My mother is radiant, with eyes only for him, and on their other side, I spot Maisie and Gia, their hands clasped together.
And as my parents kiss for the crowd, Maisie raises Gia’s hand to her lips as well, exactly as Kit did moments ago to me.
I can’t see my sister’s face as she kisses Gia’s fingers, but Gia is beaming.
I don’t know what the headlines will be tomorrow.
I don’t know what the media will say about my parents, or Maisie and Gia, or about Ben’s supposed bastardry or any of his crimes that leak into the public sphere.
But I do know that what makes this moment incredible, even with all eyes on us, isn’t the crowd or the adulation.
It’s that we get to be ourselves now in a way none of us have ever been before.
Maisie and Gia, my parents, Kit and I—even Nicholas has his arm wrapped around Helene’s shoulders on Gia’s other side.
They—we—may be royal, but that’s not what defines any of us.
Not to be a total sappy cliché, but it’s the love. And the scandals, fights, and familial terrorism. But mostly the love.