Epilogue
Amelia
Good People of Ledonia! What a positively scandalous few months this has been! Not only did Princess Amelia dupe us all with her "Indian expedition"—which turned out to be a goth hop-skip-and-a-jump to neighboring Malveaux—but she's gifted us with a love story so deliciously improbable that even my romance-novel-addicted great aunt would have dismissed it as far too far-fetched for her book club.
Let's recap this royal madness, shall we, darlings? Our princess masqueraded as a Dutch tourist with an affinity for black clothing and dramatic eyeliner, while her soon-to-be Hollywood heartthrob was simultaneously pretending to be someone else entirely as he sported the same goth attire.
Our Amelia and Ethan Roberts took jobs at a quaint lakeside café and fell madly in love, all the while being filmed for a reality show that, alas, we mere mortals will never be blessed enough to witness.
Yes, good people, it's been confirmed: Ethan Roberts' legal team, with the support of our very own royal family, has triumphed in their battle, and we will be forever denied the exquisite pleasure of watching our princess and her movie star burn up the screen with their romance. The footage shall remain forever locked away like the crown jewels—but infinitely more tantalizing.
This royal correspondent finds herself torn between journalistic disappointment and reluctant respect. While I would willingly crawl across burning coals just to glimpse that reportedly magical first kiss by the Lake of Dreams, even I must concede that royals deserve some modicum of privacy (though I do say this while simultaneously stockpiling heat-resistant clothing, just in case).
And what about Prince Max, our dashing royal knight? Not only did he gallantly rush to his sister's rescue when he suspected Ethan Roberts of orchestrating the filming debacle, but then, in a romance novel twist, he helped that very same Ethan crash the Summer Ball! I was there, darlings, clutching my complimentary champagne, when Ethan professed his love with such passionate eloquence that Rowan Thornheart looked positively amateur by comparison.
Now one wonders how to engage Prince Max's rescue services? I'm asking purely for journalistic reasons, you understand, though I have compiled a list of scenarios requiring princely intervention that I keep in my bedside drawer, just in case opportunity knocks.
And now we have a princess entangled with a Hollywood star and we've become accustomed to spotting our Amelia with the devastatingly handsome Ethan Roberts sans eyeliner jet-setting across continents—Paris, London, Barcelona, New York—looking so besotted it makes my heart double in size.
Which brings us to today, good people, because today marks our princess's triumphant return to Montelac as her true self, Princess Amelia of Ledonia, where she will be meeting the real townsfolk, minus the hired actors.
Sadly, the media has been banned from the event, but your favorite royal correspondent has an insider who has promised to reveal all.
I remain, as always, your devoted and somewhat envious royal correspondent,
Fabiana Fontaine xx
#SummerBallScandal
#EthanEverAfter
#PrincessGotGame
As the car pulls into the small town on the side of the lake, I'm struck afresh by how utterly picturesque the place is. The deep blue of the lake contrasts with the pretty painted buildings, clustered together on its shores, with snow-capped mountains in the distance.
This town might have been used as a set to capture Ethan’s life, but it is certainly beautiful in its own right.
“You ready?” Max asks, sitting beside me in the back seat.
“I can’t believe I’m back here. It all looks—” I glance down the street towards Francine’s, thinking of all the time I spent here and how much it changed me. “It looks familiar and yet so very different at the same time. You know?”
Max smiles at me. Looking handsome in his Royal Airforce uniform, I can only imagine how much Fabiana Fontaine will be salivating over him in her next report. “I understand. There’s been a lot of water that’s passed under the bridge since you were last here.”
“We have arrived, Your Royal Highnesses,” our driver, Sergio, says.
He met us in C?te-des-Papillons, but this time, I didn't catch a train with an officious guard and a handsome goth to help me with my suitcase. Max and I flew on the royal jet from Villadorata to the coast, where Sergio met us, whisking us through the beautiful countryside to Montelac.
“You are very welcome,” Sergio replies. “I will wait here for you to return in no more than thirty minutes.”
As my feet make contact with the cobblestone street, my breath visible in the cool winter air, nostalgia for this little town and everything that happened in it fills my chest. It's not unlike the first time I wandered these streets, with Ethan masquerading as Maverick and me as Amy. Back then I had only just escaped the palace and was on my grand adventure. Everything felt so new and exciting. Seeing the pastel coloured buildings for the first time, spotting that “help wanted” sign in the window of Francine’s, learning how to make coffee, getting to know the locals, and everything that passed between Ethan and me.
This visit is so very different from that first time and not only because I'm now so familiar with the town. This visit is official, and although Sergio is waiting for Max and me in the car, we’re by no means alone. Palace Security is already here, watching my every move—much like the cameras did.
The irony is not lost on me. Even in disguise, masquerading as Amy, a Dutch tourist with a ridiculous, made-up name, I was watched.
But at least this time I'm fully aware of it.
We walk down the familiar street, arriving outside Francine’s. Of course the café is closed, no patrons filling the seats outside, chatting in the sun. We peer inside, the pink interior making me smile. Ethan was right, this place is so pink it looks like Pepto-Bismol started a Pinterest board.
I visualize Ethan in his pink apron, a size too small for his large frame, standing at “Shayna,” as he makes coffee, and my heart squeezes.
Who would have thought I would fall in love with a man who looked so out of place here in this pink café, and yet somehow has become intrinsically sewn into its very fabric for me?
But fall in love I did, and it has turned out to be just as magical as I’d hoped when I had sat in my room at the palace, gazing out the window, feeling hemmed in, dreaming of more.
The last few months have been a whirlwind. After Max helped Ethan gain entry to the Summer Ball that magical, wonderful night, we’ve been together as much as has been humanly possible—which has proven to be rather challenging, what with my duties and Ethan’s filming schedule back in Los Angeles.
We knew it would be tricky from the start, but we are so deeply in love that a long distance relationship, in which we only see each other a couple of times each month, isn't a hurdle for us.
Ethan stayed at the palace for a few days directly after the Summer Ball, during which time he not only won all my siblings and their respective partners over, but he managed to eke his way into Mummy’s affections. Even Father softened toward him.
Yes, Father still loves to carry on about how I'm a princess and how I'm different from normal people and how difficult it will be for Ethan and I to continue our love affair in the spotlight. But what he doesn't take into account is one very important point in all this: Ethan and I are so deeply in love, nothing can come between us.
I escaped the confines of my royal life to have a grand adventure, and I found more than I could ever have hoped for. I found Ethan, I found love, and I found myself.
Perhaps Maddie was right, I did pull a bit of an Eat, Pray, Love after all?
“It’s a little odd knowing that neither Giovanna or Pierre will be here,” I say as memories of both of them enter my mind. “Both of them were hired actors.”
“I still can’t believe Ethan chose you over the gorgeous Giovanna. True love clearly is blind,” Max says and receives a sharp shove from me. “Hey! Just joking!”
“She was hired to act as Ethan’s love interest. There was nothing genuine about her being here. And nor Pierre, for that matter.”
Both Pierre and Giovanna were the only hired actors here in Montelac, planted to be Ethan's and my romance storylines. That's why Giovanna told me that day in the market that she was meant for Ethan. It was quite literal. Apparently, the producers scrambled to find Pierre for me once they knew I’d accompanied Ethan to the lake house his duplicitous agent had rented, pulling him from an aftershave commercial he’d been hired for in Milan.
“He’s been in a bunch of commercials. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him,” Max says.
“Ethan did always say he looked like an aftershave model—which, incidentally, turned out to be true—but I just thought he was being jealous.”
Seeing Ethan—Maverick at that time—acting jealous whenever Pierre showed me attention was the first sign that he felt something for me other than friendship.
“The thought of anyone getting jealous over my sister is not something I want to think about. Brother, remember?”
“The best brother I could ever, ever have,” I say, giving him a squeeze.
“Ami, it’s been over three months since I helped Ethan get to the ball. You don’t need to keep thanking me. It's time you got over it,” he says, straightening his uniform.
“Well, I would have gone and found him myself the very next day if he hadn't been there.”
“I'm sure you would have.”
“Your Royal Highnesses,” a voice says behind us and I turn to see Steve, one of those dark sunglass-wearing palace security guys in a black suit. “You are expected at the town square in less than a minute.”
“Thanks, Steve,” I say with a smile, and although I’m sure he’d never admit to it, Steve’s lips quirk.
“Ready?” Max asks me.
“Ready,” I confirm.
We make our way to the town square, where a waiting crowd erupts into applause and cheers, waving both flags of our respective countries, Ledonia and Malveaux. We smile and wave as we step up onto the small stage, and I spot Francine in the crowd, grinning at me, along with Mr. Bellamy from the bookshop, and a bunch of the café regulars.
It seems as though every person who lives in Montelac is here in the town square to see me, and emotion swells inside as I look out at them all.
I adjust the microphone. It makes that horrible screeching sound that reminds me of the evening on the lake shore when Ethan and I shared our true identities and feelings with one another—not to mention our very first kiss.
“Good evening, Montelac!” I say as though I'm a rockstar about to perform, and people cheer and wave their flags in response. “I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to be back here in your beautiful town. And I also can't tell you how nice it is not to have to wear all that black eye makeup, too.”
“But you looked so cute as a goth,” Francine calls out, and people murmur their agreement.
“Thank you, Francine,” I say with a smile, and she winks at me. “Everyone in this town was nothing but wonderful to both me and Ethan while we were here, and I want you all to know that although we were pretending to be other people, the connection we both felt to you all and to this town was very real. I only wish Ethan could be here with us now, but he’s promised to return when his schedule allows.”
I place my hand over my heart, emotion tightening my throat. “You were horribly taken advantage of by the production team behind the reality television show, insisting you all sign non-disclosure agreements and forbidding you to talk to the media. It makes me so upset to even think about it, although I’ll admit, the fact the media had no idea we were here did mean that Ethan and I could be anonymous people, escaping our everyday lives. We fell in love here, among you, the people of Montelac, and I will always have a very special place in my heart for you all.
“Today, I bring with me my little brother,” I say, knowing he will hate the word “little.”
Predictably, Max shoots me a quick look before he turns and waves and smiles at everybody.
“Although you might remember him as Chip, the Hawaiian shirt wearing tourist who visited us in his yellow Ferrari.”
The crowd laughs at the memory, and Mr. Bellamy from the bookshop says, “His disguise was much worse than yours!”
“You're absolutely right about that, Mr. Bellamy,” I reply with a smile.
“These days, I've been lucky enough to have had the opportunity to create a program that provides hospitality training to people who need a second chance in life. Through this program, I have met and worked with some wonderful people, and I am proud to announce that on my return to Villadorata tomorrow, I will be opening the Ledonian branch of Francine’s.” I grin at Francine, who beams back at me.
When I’d had the idea, I asked Francine if it would be possible to replicate the café that meant so much to me. She was deeply touched, agreeing to give the manager and staff some pointers, including what shade of pink was the most conducive in a café environment.
“I am also thrilled to announce that my darling sister-in-law, aka Queen Madeline, has officially recognized Montelac as a cultural landmark with historical protection.”
There’s a cheer from the crowd.
“I'm aware that you have already had greater tourist numbers than ever before, bringing tourist Euros, thanks to the fact Ethan and I inadvertently shone a light on your beautiful town. This cultural landmark protection means that Montelac will always retain its unique character, and that no developers can enter here without your express consent.”
I step off the podium and tug on a gold rope that pulls velvet curtains open to reveal a gleaming brass plaque, naming Montelac as an official Cultural Landmark of Malveaux.
Another cheer erupts from the crowd, and I smile at them, my heart full to the brim.
Returning to the podium, I say, “On a personal note, I want to thank each and every one of you for the welcome you gave both me and Ethan. You were all so kind to us, despite the invasion to your town by the production company and everything that went with it. For me, it was the most incredible time of my life, not just because I fell in love with a wonderful man, but because this place and the people in it gave me the chance to grow.”
Tears well in my eyes. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you,” I say, and the townsfolk rise to their feet, applauding and cheering, and my tears pour down my cheeks.
Max and I spend the next few minutes mingling with the crowd, me giving tearful hugs to Francine and Mr. Bellamy and several of the café regulars, and Max answering questions about his role in the Royal Air Force.
“Thank goodness that horrible Fontaine woman isn’t here,” Max says.
“No press, remember? But between you and I, I did spot a blonde head and a pair of glasses in the crowd.”
Max’s jaw clenches.
“Why does she bother you so much?”
“Because she writes about us all the time as though we’re public fodder, there only to entertain people.”
“It’s the women in the two royal families she doesn’t care for. She likes you .”
“No, she likes Alex. She was the one who labelled him Prince McHottie, remember? Dreadful woman.”
“Freedom of the press and all that,” I say lightly, because not even the gossipy Fabiana Fontaine can diminish this wonderful day.
And then the most incredible thing happens. The crowd moves to either side of the square, forming a tunnel at the end of which stands a man. And not just any man.
Ethan .
My heart leaps at the sight of him. Gone is his goth eyeliner and dark clothes, replaced with a pair of chinos, a polo shirt, and the handsome, grinning face I love.
We move toward one another, meeting in the middle, where he sweeps me up in a kiss, the crowd cheering around us.
“What are you doing here? I didn't think I was going to get to see you until next month.”
“Is that anyway to greet your boyfriend?” he asks with a grin. “We've had a break in filming and I figured why not hop on a plane and go visit my favourite person in all the world. That's you, in case you were wondering.”
“I can't believe you're here, back where it all began.”
His eyes sweep over me. “You're looking good, princess.”
I glance down at my outfit. Gone are the prim and proper princess dresses with the high neck, paired with a string of pearls, replaced with my version of smart casual: a pair of dress jeans, a cute top, and a flattering blazer.
Another thing my parents agreed to along with my new career.
Suddenly aware how quiet the square has become, I look around to see that we’re the only two left. “Where did everyone go?” I ask.
Ethan takes my hand in his. “Come with me. I've got something to show you.”
He leads me from the square down to the lakefront, and we chat.
“How’s Rowan’s character transformation coming along?” I ask.
“Less bare chest and more bare emotions,” he says with a laugh. “I'm so glad the producers were open to my ideas.”
“I'm so glad you're enjoying your job so much more.”
“Getting some creative freedom has really helped with that, as has getting an agent who isn't a slime ball.”
“How is Nicole? I loved meeting her last month. You've really landed on your feet with that one.”
“She's great. She's getting me the kinds of scripts I'm interested in and she's totally in my corner in a way Dion never was.”
I give his hand a squeeze. “I'm so glad, my darling Ethan. Oh, by the way, I read in the news that a man has been arrested for conning women out of money for a winery that doesn’t even exist.”
“Greg Smith?” he asks.
“That was an alias. His real name is Malcolm Muggeridge. Apparently, he’s likely to be a guest of the Malveauxian Crown for some years to come.”
“A guest of the Malveauxian Crown?”
“That’s a euphemism for ‘in prison.’”
“Nice.”
We arrive at the lakefront where, only just over three months ago on what should have been a magical night at the festival, we had learned the truth about the reality TV programme about our lives.
With the sun setting, the lake is awash in pink, orange, and yellow, and I look in wonder at the lights strung between the lamp posts, the trees wrapped in fairy lights, and a single table set for two, covered in a white tablecloth.
I turn to Ethan, wide eyed. “What's going on?”
“I figured you might be hungry after your speech, which was very good, by the way,” he says in response, gesturing at the table.
“You were there?”
“I wouldn't have missed it.”
He pulls a chair out for me and as I sit, music begins to play.
“Is that—” I question.
“ Anything for Love ,” he replies. “I figured a touch of nostalgia was appropriate for this, our first night back in Montelac. Without the mop.”
“You’re a romantic, Ethan Roberts.”
“Only with you, Ami.”
We share a smile, and then he pours us a drink.
He takes my hand as he looks out over the lake. “We shared so much here on this lake of dreams.”
“Our glowing footsteps on the beach.”
“Your tree climbing.”
“Washing strawberries with soap.”
“That time in Mr. Bellamy’s bookshop.” He squeezes my hand as I take a sip of my drink. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Of course. With you, I’m an open book.”
“In that case,” he says as he pulls his chair out and lowers himself to one knee. Taking a small box from his pocket, he snaps it open, and immediately, my hands fly to my mouth, my eyes the size of the full moon over the lake.
“Ami, we met by chance in a costume store. We became friends, and from that friendship sprang the deepest of loves. I love you with all my heart and I cannot imagine wanting to spend the rest of my life with anyone else but you.”
Tears prick my eyes, my heart beating out of my chest.
“Amelia Astrid Kristiana Eugenie Canossa, Princess of Ledonia, and queen of my heart, will you marry me?” His voice trembles with emotion as he gazes up at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his deep blue eyes intense and full of love.
“Yes, I’ll marry you, Ethan. Of course I will!”
With my heart thudding in my ears, he slides a sparkling diamond ring onto my left hand, and collects me in his arms, pressing the most incredible, emotional kiss against my lips.
“I love you so much,” he whispers into my hair, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I love you, too,” I reply, pressing my lips once again against his.
It’s only after we’ve kissed and kissed some more that I notice the applause echoing around us and turn to see the townspeople, stretching down the street, clapping and whooping and grinning at us.
My shoulders shake with a combination of pure, unadulterated joy and embarrassment—but mainly pure, unadulterated joy—as I capture Ethan’s gaze, and he grins back at me, his eyes dancing.
“They insisted when I told them what I had planned.”
“They knew?” I ask, agog.
“Someone had to help me get the lights strung up and the music playing.”
I laugh, giddy and happy and utterly content, and in my mind I write my final princess rule. Rule number 1,251: A princess should escape her palace life, find herself and what truly matters to her, and fall deeply in love with her perfect match to get her happily ever after.