Page 38 of Scandal Queen

“No need.” Hesitation flickered in Oliver’s gaze. “I’ve invited her here. I hope that’s okay. Mum likes a Sunday lunch, although John and Isabella moan like babies every week.”

“Nana is coming for Sunday lunch with the Queen?” I’d just taken a bite of pancake and it lodged into my throat. I coughed; panic sweat breaking out over my skin when I thought I might die at the hands of a crepe.

“Sure.” He shrugged like this was to be expected.

“Okay.” I gulped my coffee, but it just made my sweating hotter. I tried discreetly to dab at my face with my shirt.

In the dressing room, I’d tried to find an outfit suitable for a day of meetings with the Queen. I’d ended up putting on the cream shirt and jeans I’d worn to Oliver’s warehouse the first night I’d gone for toasted sandwiches. For one long moment I thought back whimsically to that night. He’d made it all seem so simple. Now here we were, and on the surface it did seem simple. I just didn’t know if I could trust it for how it appeared.

Oliver reached for my hand and squeezed tight until I offered him a smile that hid my sheer and utter I-want-to-puke panic.

“Leia, I—” a knock at the door to the apartment interrupted his words and he rolled his eyes—utterly unprincely.

The knock sounded again and grumbling under his breath he stalked for the door, while I made a mental note to never disturb his pancake time.

A woman was there in a smart grey suit, her silver streaked hair smoothed up into a neat updo. “Your Highness,” she bobbed a curtsey, “Miss Lawrence is expected in the palace now.”

He raised a dark eyebrow, his lips quirking slightly. “Did you hear that, Miss Lawrence? Your presence is required in the main palace.”

I gulped hard and wished to the gods of deodorant there was a roll-on for the face.

“I haven’t had my breakfast yet.”

The woman’s quick gaze scooted over me. “Not to worry, we have fruit.”

Oliver snorted and then perched himself back on his stool next to Daisy. The woman waited expectantly, her gaze talking in the place of words.

I wasn’t to be late to meet the Queen.

Grabbing a pancake and shoving half of it in my mouth and then wiping the back of my hand across my lips, I leant down and gave Daisy a kiss.

“Ugh, Mummy, you are all sticky.”

“Have a good day.” I tried to say.

Oliver tangled his fingers in mine and pulled me close, leaning up to my ear. “I’ll be thinking about your apology all day.”

I choked on the pancake, sweated from every pore, and nearly fell over all at once.

He chuckled and let go of my hand. “Have fun, Leia.”

I glared as hard as I could while also trying to swallow pancake. “Why thank you, Your Highness.” I managed. Then I shoved in the rest of the pancake and turned for the woman at the door. “Shall we?” I said around the mouthful.

“Yes let’s.”

I walked out to the sound of Daisy and Oliver’s laughter.

They shouldn’t be allowed to hang around and do nothing all day while I did… what the hell was I doing?

Trying not to over think anything, I concentrated on the matter in hand, not falling over the gravel of the driveway and turning up at my audience with the Queen with blood on my knees and hands.

“No! Sweet Jesus, that hurts.”

“Leia.” The beautician’s voice tried to soothe me. “If you just sat still it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

St Mark’s Palace had a spa. I mean… really… there were people starving on our streets and yet the royal family could go down to the basement level of their castle/palace thingy and have a hot stone massage.

Everything about it seemed utterly wrong.