Page 50 of Once Upon a Royal Summer
“What’s wrong? You look really cute.”
Lacey ran her fingertips over the dainty sprigs of daisies printed on the light blue linen. She’d chosen the dress because Henry had invited her for a walk through the Grand Flower Park this morning, but in the midst of all the splendor surrounding her, she thought it might be too unsophisticated.
What was a person supposed to wear on a date with a prince? Lacey thought she’d solved that problem with her borrowed ballgown, but nothing in her suitcase remotely resembled the elegant suit Queen Elloise had been wearing yesterday. And the invitation to the park had certainly seemed like a date. Henry had texted her the night before to ask if she’d like to see the flowers today, and he’d signed the message with more of those little x’s that always made her head spin.
Then he’d written I’m so glad you’re here, and Lacey hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off of her face for two straight hours.
“Are you sure? I think I’m having an existential wardrobe crisis.” Lacey bit her lip. “Also, I’m getting seriously bad vibes from Henry’s mother.”
Ava cocked her head. “How is that possible? You hardly even spoke to her.”
“Exactly.” Lacey swept her hair into a loose pony, then promptly undid it. “It was weird, don’t you think?”
“She’s a queen. She probably has a lot on her plate. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Parents adore you. Everyone does. You’re one of the most popular characters at the park.”
Lacey slipped her feet into her ballerina flats. “They adore Princess Sweet Pea, not me. There’s a difference.”
“Not really. I tell you that all the time. But if you’re worried about making a good impression on the queen, we should probably get going. We might need a map to find the dining room in this place.” Ava stood, and a pillow fell off the settee and onto the floor. “Oh, no.”
“What? Did you change your mind about my dress? Should I change?”
“No, it’s worse than that.” Ava winced. “I think I just got chocolate on the sofa.”
Spots floated before Lacey’s eyes. She thought she might faint. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.” Ava reached for a napkin and prepared to dab at a tiny smear of dark chocolate on the settee’s tufted seat.
Lacey held up a hand. “Don’t! That might make it worse.”
“Oh, my gosh. What are we going to do? Could we get beheaded for this?”
Lacey took a deep breath. Panicking wouldn’t help, but how could she not? “We need to do an internet search on the best way to get chocolate out of white silk damask.”
Ava started pacing back and forth in front of the blanket fort. “But we’re supposed to be in the dining room in less than ten minutes.”
“Right. Okay.” Lacey picked up the fallen pillow and placed it gently over the stain. “Let’s go eat, and I’ll deal with this later.”
“Maybe Miss Marie can help?” Ava bit her lip.
“Maybe, but I hate to ask her to do that.” Also, would she tell the queen? What if that settee was a family heirloom or something?
And to think, Lacey had been worried about first impressions when this second impression could end up being so, so much worse.
Lacey somehow survived breakfast—even the part where Rose recited all of Sweet Pea’s rules of proper princessing. The queen had looked beyond baffled at the mention of bubble baths, and even though Henry had winked at Lacey and his eyes had sparkled with amusement, Lacey had simply jumped into the middle of the conversation and tried to steer it in a less embarrassing direction.
Flowers had seemed like a safe topic, or so she’d assumed. The queen was worried about the tour of the palace greenhouse. Something had apparently gone awry with the temperature controls, and the plants weren’t blooming as much as they had in years past. The Flower Festival was the only time of the year the greenhouse was open to the public, and Henry’s mother didn’t want to let down the people of Bella-Moritz.
So maybe flowers hadn’t been such a safe topic, after all. On the plus side, continually worrying about sticking her foot in her mouth kept Lacey from obsessing about her little chocolate problem.
After the minefield of the morning meal, Henry took Lacey for a walk through the Grand Flower Park, as promised. Overnight, breezy white tents had been set up all along the park’s pebbled pathways. Lacey’s favorite booth in the pop-up market had bushel baskets filled with hand-milled, fragrant soaps wrapped in flower petal paper. She chose a bar that smelled like rosewater and had been covered in handmade ecru paper, dotted with pink tea rose petals and tiny green fern leaves, to bring back to Fort Lauderdale for Madeline. Fairy godmothers never got enough credit for the fine work they did.
“So, no baseball cap today?” she asked, sliding her gaze toward Henry as he walked beside her along a winding sidewalk lined with day lilies and Shasta daisies.
He smiled. “No. A baseball cap won’t quite do the trick here.”
“I suppose not,” Lacey said.
Everyone recognized Henry—not only did each person they came across seem to know instantly who he was, but they tried earnestly to please him. Children offered him small bouquets; vendors wanted to give him the best handmade flower products they had to offer. It was sweet how much the citizens seem to care about it him, but it also made Lacey wonder if people still thought of him as the grief-stricken prince from the viral photograph taken four years ago. She supposed they did—she’d even done so herself before she’d gotten to know him.
