Page 2 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
“I’m sorry, but unfortunately, you’re not an ideal candidate for a loan at this time,” he said.
Gracie shook her head. “I don’t understand. I know I’m only in my twenties, but I have a proven track record. Surely there’s something I can do to get you to reconsider. Is it the costume? Because I can come back tomorrow in a business suit, sans tiara, if that helps.”
Had she really thought she could walk into a bank with buttercream frosting in her hair and five pounds of rhinestones pinned to her head and walk out with twenty-five thousand dollars? She should have rescheduled this meeting the instant little Susie Golding blew out the candles on her cake and accidentally set the tablecloth on fire. The subsequent chaos had postponed Gracie’s big entrance by over an hour, and now the rest of her day seemed to be going up in flames too.
“That won’t be necessary.” Mr. Curtis stood and offered Gracie his hand. The meeting was over, apparently.
She’d blown it…again. She’d entered this office hoping she might be able to give her princesses modest Christmas bonuses, apply for a group health plan, and still have the resources to start looking for office space after the first of the year. But this was the fifth bank she’d visited in the past three days. The fifth polite rejection she’d received. Gracie was beginning to think Santa Claus himself wouldn’t be willing to write her a check.
The beads on Gracie’s costume tinkled like tiny sleigh bells as she rose from her seat and shook the banker’s hand. Her vision blurred. The effort it took not to cry was monumental, but there was no way Gracie was going to break down—not until she was home with a pint of peppermint ice cream in her hand. “Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you for considering Denver First Bank.” Mr. Curtis gave her a bow and an exaggerated wink. “Your Royal Highness.”
Gracie’s face went warm. Was this guy for real? He’d just turned her down for a business loan, and now he was sending her off with a metaphorical pat on the head like she was a little girl instead of a grown adult. She counted to ten in her head so she wouldn’t say something she might regret later and repeated a favorite mantra—the one she always relied on for times like this. Chin up, princess, or the crown slips.
Buttercream in her braid aside, she looked like she’d walked straight out of a fairy tale, from the sparkling snowflake crown all the way down to her glass slippers, embellished with bits of silver glitter to look like ice.
But she’d never felt less regal in her life.
An hour later, Gracie slinked home with her glittery train trailing behind her to find Clara sitting at the kitchen bar glued to her computer screen. Their little tabletop Christmas tree stood just to the right of it, dripping with tiny pearl garland, pink velvet bows, and satin-covered ornaments the approximate size of marbles.
One of these days, their living room wouldn’t be crammed with rolling racks of princess gowns and plastic bins filled with tiaras and glass slippers, and they’d have room for a real, full-sized Christmas tree. Maybe even a flocked evergreen decorated with vintage mercury glass baubles and white twinkle lights. But alas, that day wouldn’t come during the current holiday season.
“How did it go?” Clara asked without bothering to tear her gaze away from the screen.
“Not great.” Gracie grabbed her favorite polka dot Kate Spade mug from the cabinet, popped a single-serve hot chocolate pod into the coffee maker, and cleared her throat.
Clara finally looked up. She took in the sight of Gracie still dressed as Princess Snowflake instead of wearing her tailored red girl-boss suit and her eyes went wide. “Oh. Wow. I’m guessing the Golding party ran over.”
“Indeed it did. I had to go straight to the bank from the event, and let’s just say that the loan officer didn’t seem overly eager to write a big check to a fairy tale character. No one does.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed. “You have frosting in your hair.”
“I’m aware.” Gracie’s stomach growled. She would’ve sold her soul for a slice of Susie Golding’s lavish pink princess cake right about now. “I have to say, you’re taking the news really well. Aren’t you getting worried? We’ve tried five banks. Five. How many financial institutions does Denver even have?”
“Ninety-six.” A lock of auburn hair fell from Clara’s messy bun and she tucked it behind her ear. “Plus seventy-five credit unions. Give or take.”
Of course she had that frighteningly specific information tucked away in her brain, ready to rattle off at the drop of a hat.
“You scare me sometimes, you know that?” Gracie said, tossing a generous helping of marshmallows into her cocoa.
“But you love me.” Clara’s eyes sparkled the way they always did when she was about to try and talk Gracie into something. The last time she’d aimed that particular look in Gracie’s direction, Clara had tried to get her to audition for the Denver Playhouse’s production of Anastasia.
No. Way.
Gracie wasn’t a singer. Period.
“Forget the bank loan. I’ve found the perfect way to get the capital we need to expand the business.” Clara did a little dance on her barstool and swiveled her laptop so Gracie could see the screen.
Tiny, animated snowflakes twirled over fancy calligraphy script that spelled out the words Royal Winter Wonderland Contest. The midnight blue lettering looked as formal as a wedding invitation. Below the headline was a photograph of a castle nestled among jagged, snow-capped mountains and surrounded by a lush forest of spruce trees, glittering with frosty white. The castle itself was a pale dove-gray and boasted at least twelve turrets, topped with tile in a shade that could only be described as Cinderella-blue. An ice-covered pond shimmered in front of the castle—a perfect, frozen mirror.
Gracie leaned in for a closer look. “What is this? Did Once Upon a Time open up another location?” Visiting that amusement park in Fort Lauderdale was on Gracie’s bucket list. “How has this place not been on Fairy Tale I Do?”
Clara shook her head. “Because it’s not a theme park. That, my friend, is a real castle in an actual kingdom near the Swiss Alps.”
Gracie blinked. Everything about the picture appeared too perfect to be real, from the swirl of frosty mist that surrounded the base of the castle to the soft watercolor hues of the sky overhead. “It looks almost magical. Can you imagine living somewhere like this?”
“That’s the best part.” Clara waggled her eyebrows. “Someone does live there—a real royal family. And they’re going to finance the expansion of Perfect Party Princesses.”
