Royal Fake

“Astute,” my father mused also eating his soup.

There was a moment of awkward silence that bloomed into thoughts on children, family, monarchy, and many tough questions Avery handled with diplomacy and grace. By the end of the meal my father once again confirmed his desire to play mini-golf with us, which was so terribly odd. Seemingly the suggestion offered an unspoken approval of Avery as he almost welcomed her to the family. All was going swimmingly well until we met with the Minister of Culture, a pinch-faced woman with an uber-conservative view of the world. If Avery had passed the test with my father it would mean nothing until she met with Siobhan O’Shay’s approval.

In fact, it was very possible my father was only taking the piss with Avery knowing full well the O’Shay’d be getting her hands on her and a no doubt a full report would be prepared. Not that the minister had any real say in the matter, I could marry whoever I damned well pleased, but she’d shape the way the Irish public viewed her.

“You must always be impeccably dressed, no bright colors on your nails. No one is allowed to touch you, no public displays of affection, no political opinions, no private enterprise, no offending remarks, walk behind the prince and the king.” O’Shay was in rare form. “Keep your chin up and your mouth quiet unless directly asked a question by a government official or another royal. Your speechwriter will prepare whatever needs to be said in a public forum, no social media, no private accounts, no press.”

As she droned on, Avery grew pale. For all of her brilliance at lunch, she was cowering under the Minister of Culture’s intentional pressuring.

“Right, yes.” Head nod; over and over again.

By the time we made it back to my cottage, it was rather late, and I could see Avery was completely exhausted. “Well, that went well.” I tried to make light over the overwhelming day.

“Glad you thought so,” she said quietly as she took off her heels and held them in her hand. “Is there a place I can put these? Or um… can I take them off? I can’t really feel my feet anymore.” She’d given up… a complete surrender in less than one day.

“Of course, here.” I took the shoes from her. “We’re upstairs.” I nodded to the staircase. “You’ll find my cottage much more comfortable up there.”

“I can take my shoes back.” She seemed desperate.

“Nope, I’ve got them, up we go.” I mounted the stairs and she followed.

The cottage had been remodeled so it wasn’t as dank and drafty as the castle. The baseboards were high gloss mahogany and the walls were painted a slate gray. The color and richness of the leather furniture nicely juxtaposed the subtle monochromatic walls. Everything was tasteful and elegant with a masculine touch. The windows were floor-to-ceiling which had views of the ocean off the peninsula and let in a lot of natural light.

I always felt more relaxed on this floor. We walked up the stairs and made a left to two large double doors that opened to the foyer of my living space. The stairs continued up to the third and fourth floors where there were several guest bedrooms and bathrooms, but they were hardly ever used. The only people who went up there where the cleaning staff who serviced the rooms once a week unless we had guests. I had never actually had the opportunity to invite many people to my personal dwelling. We had several guest cottages on the property that could house up to twenty people. So, the upper floors were never used.

Avery walked into space and immediately her shoulders relaxed. It was the exact reaction I was hoping for.

“Here, let me take your coat,” I offered.

She took off the coat as a nice warm fire was already roaring in the fireplace. “This is so nice.” Her smile warmed the room more than the fire could.

“I’m glad you like it. I spend most of my time here. I don’t like to visit the castle that often. It’s really just for official business and tourists. The public area is open to tourists. We never use those rooms, it’s just a place to display the antiques and artifacts that have passed down through the monarchy.”

“Where does your father live?” she asked.

“In the castle, he has an apartment on the upper floor. There’s a private elevator to his residence. I used to live there with him when I was younger, our whole family did, but when my mother died, I moved to this cottage. It just sat here for years not being used, so I asked for it. My father, wanting me out of his hair, agreed pretty quickly and I spent eighteen months renovating it so everything you see is pretty modern and new.