Page 48 of Once Upon a Royal Summer
“I’m helping my guests get settled,” he said calmly. Apparently, that suit of armor could wait.
“Grandmère, look. Princess Sweet Pea is here.” Rose clapped a hand over her mouth and then lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “I mean, Lacey. That’s what we’re supposed to call her now. It’s her secret princess name.”
Lacey’s face went hot. Whoever this person was probably thought Lacey was some sort of compulsive liar with a weird royal fixation.
But then she turned Rose’s words over in her mind and her attention snagged on one very important word—Grandmère. Lacey’s high school French was a little rusty, but she used it every so often to speak with European guests at the park. She definitely knew what grandmère meant. Grandmother.
Panic seized her. This wasn’t Henry’s well-dressed assistant. She was his mother. The queen!
“Your Majesty,” Lacey blurted.
And then years of muscle memory kicked in, and she lapsed into her royal fallback persona. Before she knew what she was doing, she dropped into a curtsey—not a sedate, tasteful curtsey, but an exaggerated theme park curtsey, complete with Cinderella hands.
Oh, good grief. What was she doing?
“Mother, this is Lacey Pope and her friend, Ava Rivera,” Henry said, graciously ignoring Lacey’s royal blunder.
“How do you do?” the queen said in a posh English accent with just a hint of French flair.
Was that a question? Was Lacey supposed to elaborate on how she felt at the moment? Ugh, why couldn’t she remember how to have a basic conversation?
Because this is important. He’s important—not in a princely way, but in a I-might-be-falling-for-him way.
Lacey opened her mouth to say something, anything, but before she could utter a word, Queen Elloise angled herself away from her to face Henry.
“I need to speak to you in my study, please.” She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow.
Henry nodded. “I’ll be right there.”
“At once.” The queen’s gaze flitted toward Lacey and darted right back to her son. “It’s rather urgent.”
“Go ahead.” Lacey grabbed Ava’s suitcase and waved him on. “We’ve got it from here. No problem. Rose can show us around, can’t you, sweetheart?”
The little girl nodded, more than happy to oblige.
Henry apologized profusely and left with his mother to attend to whatever important matter required their attention, as a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Lacey’s stomach.
So much for good first impressions.
“May I ask what’s so urgent?” Henry crossed his arms and stood opposite his mother as she sat down at the vast French Provincial writing desk, where she conducted all of her official state business.
He much preferred talking to the queen over breakfast than being summoned to her study. It made him feel like he was a school child who’d been called to the headmaster’s office. In this particular instance, the insistence in his mother’s sharp tone had also given him a headache.
She hadn’t been particularly welcoming to Lacey. Granted, he’d sprung the visit on her out of nowhere, and the queen had made her feelings on the matter known. She clearly thought Henry wasn’t exercising the best judgment.
What if I’m not? Henry gave a mental shrug. He hadn’t stepped a foot wrong his entire life. He was tired of thinking with his head. Maybe it was time to start leading with his heart.
“We have a little problem.” Queen Elloise folded her hands neatly on the surface of her desk and waited for Henry to take a seat.
Reluctantly, he lowered himself into a chair.
“Your friend Miss Pope seems sweet,” she said.
“I’m surprised you’ve formed an opinion already. You haven’t spent much time with her yet,” he said, placing special, subtle emphasis on the word yet.
“Oh, I’m not referring to our meeting just now.” The queen opened the top drawer of her desk, removed an oversized manilla envelope, and slid it toward him. “I meant this.”
She tapped the thin parcel with a tastefully manicured fingernail.
