Page 82 of The English Queen

Robbie sighed wistfully. “She was all of ours in a way. Always our little bug. Our little mascot. And now she’s… Queen Bethany. How? When the fuck did that happen?”

They waited for Beth and Louis to arrive at their reception. Currently, the happily couple took their less-formal wedding photos. These were the ones Robbie and Vanna cherished most. These were not posed, official photos. They illustrated the day’s feelings. It was difficult to be genuine when you piled into the throne room with 100 or more royals visiting from elsewhere.

“She couldn’t have looked happier,” Vanna sighed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Louis smile much. And he has been chuffed all day.”

“Daddy, whennnnnnnn is it going to start?” George groaned, wandering from the kids’ table. “It’s so booooooring.”

“Be patient, sweetie,” Vanna said. “They will be here soon.”

“I am sick of waiting for food.”

“Get used to it and pray Louis doesn’t eat fast,” Duncan chuckled.

“What? Why?”

“Because when the monarch finishes their course, everyone has to move on,” Robbie replied.

“That’s stupid,” George grumbled.

“Your grandmother eats fast. It’s stupid, yes. I don’t make the bloody rules, Georgie,” Robbie told his son. “Go on, go on.”

“We’re dying over there. Gerry, Winston, and I are overwhelmed with girls and girl talk.”

Duncan snickered. “Someday, you may not complain about that.”

George pulled a face. “One can only hear about shoes so much before they go mental.”

“I vehemently disagree with you,” Rita said. “Go on, run along. You’re getting to stay up late. We wouldn’t have been allowed.”

He scattered at Rita’s recommendation.

“Our wedding was the first state occasion Beth ever attended,” Robbie said. “And now, look at this.”

The doors opened and everyone stood to attention.

“Here we go,” Duncan said.

“The King and Queen of the Belgians,” the announcer said in four languages. It was exhausting. Louis and Beth entered, dressed down for the evening. Beth was still glittering. The woman was not wanting for jewels. The tiara Louis designed would be iconic. It was a good flex. What woman would fight him on it? It had been the story of the day. Robbie felt Vanna practically salivating over the idea. He’d have to get her something worthy of her dedication prior to the coronation.

To George’s relief, dinner was served. Louis seemed preoccupied with his new wife, so he ate slowly. Beth laughed loudly and rattled on about one thing or another. She was completely and utterly at amused by everything. It had gone perfectly. Robbie was happy for his sister. He’d always wanted this for her. It was exactly how he and Vanna had been at their own reception—relieved, happy, and hopeful for the future.

Toasts went out. Robbie delivered on behalf of the family. He fought tears the entire time he did so. It was hard to speak on both his parents’ behalf, but his father said he’d not make it through the thing without sobbing and Maggie was in no shape to speak. In fact, Maggie was barely upright. The poor woman was knackered. The speeches were short. Luc spoke on behalf his mother and siblings, since Elise was not in the mood for speaking if the Lyons family was not. Then, it was time for the groom to make his speech.

“I am bad at this,” Louis chuckled nervously. “But I wrote it down. It’s from the heart. However, it is easier for me to follow my own notes and… well, Beth understands me when I say spoken word is not my forte.”

She nodded at him.

“I am so relieved the day is winding down. Not because I would trade it for anything, but because neither one of tripped, flubbed, or did anything off.”

“Now’s the time!” One of Louis’s friends from university was heckling him.

“I’m going to try and avoid it, Rudy. She’s counting on me not to embarrass her for a few more hours.” Louis looked out for a moment, picking up once more, and continued.

“When I met Beth, I was busy. I had taken over every official duty for my father, we were dealing with a very bad prognosis, and my father was suffering. I had met her before, but not since we were both full-fledged adults. When I first saw her at the Paris opera, I was totally taken with her. Marta tried to make me uncomfortable by introducing the two of us later. I then went on to make an ass out of myself because I was trying to make a joke to impress her and miserably failed. I then worried I would upset her intimidating mother and brother by offending them, assuming she would run off and tell them what an idiot I was. She didn’t, thankfully. I crafted an apology. I asked her out to dinner—again, to apologise. Well, that was the pretence she bought into. We ended up getting into a disagreement soon after I arrived, but I managed to salvage it and invited her to a wine tasting which, now, I was convinced was a date. She was not.”

The crowd chuckled.

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