Page 8 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
Nick’s head was beginning to hurt. “My point exactly.”
“Did you hear that?” The king’s face cracked into a wide smile. “We’re trending.”
King Noël was probably rolling over in his grave. Nick shot an apologetic glance at his grandfather’s portrait.
“That’s good, right?” the queen asked.
“It’s outstanding, ma’am.” Jaron puffed out his chest a little, clearly thrilled to be the bearer of such good news.
Emilie beamed. “Wait until you see the winner we’ve selected. She’s perfect.”
Nick glanced around the table. “You’ve already chosen the winner?”
“She’s the preliminary winner. Of course we’re interested in hearing your opinion. Why do you think we called a meeting as soon as you returned?” the queen asked.
Nick was beginning to wonder. It sounded like his family had things completely under control. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come down from the mountain at all.
“Her name is Gracie Clark, and she’s from America.” Jaron nodded toward the projector screen, where a picture of a woman who looked more like a cartoon character than an actual human flicked into view.
She wore a ballgown trimmed in white fur with a ridiculously oversized train and what had to be the gaudiest crown Nick had ever seen. It was tipped with crystal snowflakes as big as his fist.
And was that glitter on her face?
Nick’s head pounded with renewed intensity. If the press had been so quick to give him an insulting nickname in the wake of his snow prince pictures, they were going to have a field day with this ridiculous person. “Please tell me there’s a reason she’s dressed like a royal caricature.”
Emily’s nostrils flared. “It’s her job to dress that way. She’s a party princess.”
“That clears things right up,” Nick deadpanned. What on earth was a party princess?
“She performs in character at children’s birthday parties and such.” Jaron advanced the slide show until a video of this so-called party princess began to play.
Dressed once again like Cinderella on her way to a blizzard, she was surrounded by a group of adoring children in pink tutus and leotards. Faces upturned, with plastic crowns on their heads, the little girls were positively rapt by the princess, who spoke to them in a singsong voice and held her hands in an exaggeratedly graceful position, like someone sipping tea with an extended pinkie finger.
“Good morning, my snowflakes,” she gushed. “I was ever so happy to leave my frosted forest and come visit your ballet class today.”
Nick fought back a mighty eye roll. She was so over-the-top sweet, he was certain that cavities were forming in his teeth at this very moment.
One of the children held up a hand and started jumping up and down in her tiny ballet slippers. “How did you get here from so deep in the forest, princess?”
The princess pressed a hand to the lacy bodice of her gown and tilted her head just so. Rich, chestnut curls spilled over her shoulder and down her back. “My pet reindeer brought me here in my magic sleigh.”
The children onscreen collapsed into giggles, and Nick somehow refrained from asking if anyone knew whether she would be bringing said reindeer with her to San Glacera.
The silver glitter on Gracie Clark’s cheekbones twinkled as she dropped into a deep royal curtsey. Then the children mirrored the gesture, wobbling into shaky curtsies of their own. When a little girl who looked to be around five or six years old tipped over and fell to the ground, the “princess” dashed toward her in a flurry of sequins and tulle to scoop her up and offer a hug.
“I’m not a good ballerina. I want to be, but I’m not as good as the other girls. I fall down a lot,” the child said with a sniff and then buried her face in the princess’s poufy ballgown.
“Do you want to know a secret?” Gracie’s blue eyes glittered like icy sapphires as she spoke in a mock whisper so all the children could hear, even though she was directing her words to the distraught little girl. “It’s good to be different. Being your own special someone is what makes you wonderful and unique. No two snowflakes are the same, either. That’s what makes them beautiful.”
Nick shifted in his chair. I suppose some people might find her charming.
The child looked up at the princess with eyes as wide as saucers as Gracie opened a hand and gently blew into her palm. Fine silver glitter and iridescent blue confetti shaped like snow flurries twirled in the air.
The screen went ballet-pink as the tiny dancers dove to try and catch the falling snow. While the giggly chaos ensued, Gracie held a finger to her lips, winked, and then pressed a single piece of the sparkling confetti into the hand of the girl with the wobbly curtsey. The child smiled wide, displaying a gap where she’d obviously recently lost a tooth, her tumble quickly forgotten.
If the winner was being chosen based purely on cuteness factor, Nick couldn’t imagine anyone outdoing Gracie Clark. But surely that wasn’t their sole criteria.
Being in the public eye wasn’t easy. Did she have any actual experience, outside of children’s birthday parties?
