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Chapter 4
Six Months Before April
Nikolas had left Ben colouring in princesses, and Ben was still enduring this activity when he returned.
The dogs, however, were both alert, staring silently out of the large glass panels in the TV room towards the grounds. Apparently, neither Ben nor Molly had heard the bells, or if they had, they'd ignored them, intent as they were on their gowns. Nikolas gave Ben some credit that his concentration was more on the silent TV show he was surreptitiously watching over Molly’s shoulder than actual Disney princesses and their various flounces, but Molly was so focused on her masterpiece that she didn’t even look up when Ben turned, surprised. “You’re back quickly. Problem?”
“Something’s up. Did you not notice the dogs? Can you not hear that?”
Before Ben could reply, Nikolas’s phone began to ring. Very few people had his number, and those that did—Peyton in particular—always texted him, as they knew he rarely replied to calls. He glanced at the caller ID, his expression at the name he saw apparently making Ben rise from the table and turn off the TV.
Nikolas composed his face and grunted, “Philipa.”
“Are you going to answer it?”
“I’m not sure. The coincidence seems…unfortunate.” Nevertheless, he swiped the green icon and held the phone to his ear. He held Ben’s gaze as he listened. When the call ended, he said simply, “They are getting married. It’s official.” He waved his hand at the sound of the bells ringing, which, at that very moment ceased, a genuine coincidence that made them both laugh. Nikolas ran his fingers through his hair. “A Royal Wedding. At New Year’s, apparently.”
“That’s a bit rushed, isn’t it? Two months? Hard to believe. Finally Princess Philipa. Then Queen Philipa one day, I guess.”
“Yes, a ceremony in the bleakest of months for a winter, barren princess. It is quite fitting, and I must remember to point this out to her if a suitable opportunity occurs.”
“She won't be a real princess.”
This little gem of wisdom was contributed by the small dress designer at the coffee table, and Nikolas considered her for a moment before asking, “Why not?”
“Princesses have long hair.”
“Ah. What if they start off with long hair but then get it trapped, perhaps in something that is dragging them under the water to a lingering, painful death, so they have to hack it off to free themselves—do they just instantly stop being royal?”
She frowned, apparently thinking this through, and then concluded, “You’re just being silly.”
Ben snorted at Nikolas’s expression. “So? Why the call? Is she inviting us? Well, you, I suppose. Could…” he flicked his eyes to their small companion, “go with you? Even be a...flower-girl?”
Nikolas began to walk towards the kitchen, stowing his phone, knowing Ben would follow. When they were out of earshot, he said conversationally, “Actually, I’m not being invited. I’m being banished.”
Ben caught him up and faced him, walking backwards, eventually forcing Nikolas to stop. “What the fuck?”
Nikolas shrugged. “I was told to make myself scarce. I’m still translating that delightful expression. I would have thought I was scarce now—in that I am, by definition, unique.”
“Philipa said that? I don’t believe you.”
“That wasn’t her.Heused her phone so that I would answer.”
“Oh.” Ben toed the tiles for a moment. “I don’t think he likes you much.”
Nikolas was so close to replyingwell he never did like sharing his toysthat he actually nicked his tongue when he bit the words back. It was tricky being in love. Old habits—lying to Ben—now came into play for different reasons than they had in the past.
Ben sat down at the table then rose immediately and put the kettle on. “I guess it would be hard for him—at the wedding, I mean, if you were there. Imagine the contrast.”
“Apparently it would be hard on him, as you so flatteringly say, if I were in the country at all—I was told to gofar awayfor the duration. Well, now actually. And for the wedding. And possibly afterwards.”
Ben, bringing two mugs of tea to the table, stopped. “You’re kidding.”
Nikolas smirked. “I have no intention of going anywhere, but it’s the thought that counts.”
“The fuckers. Who do they think they are? What do they think is going to happen?”
