The Royals Next Door

“A nice cab sav would go really well with the lamb,” Monica says.

“Then I’ll have it with dinner,” I concede. “Sparkling water is fine for now.”

Agatha goes off with our order, and I glance up and down the halls. “Where is Harrison?”

Usually he’s hovering over me by now.

“He’s down by the water,” Monica says. Her face softens. “I heard about what happened today. Harrison told me.”

“What happened today?” my mother asks. “You’ve been home all day.”

I glance uneasily at Monica, who looks slightly embarrassed. I guess it serves me right for keeping secrets from my mother.

“Actually, it happened this morning. When I took Liza for a walk . . .”

My mom waits expectantly for me to go on. I look down at my hands, not wanting to look at her or at Monica, who must feel bad for bringing it up. “There was a media circus outside the house. On the road. I was lucky that Harrison was heading to the grocery store at that time. Was able to rescue me, I guess.”

“I feel awful,” Monica says. “I know how the press can be, and for you to be subjected to that . . .”

“It’s okay,” I tell her quickly, giving her a reassuring smile. “I’ll get used to it. And just now I saw Bert’s car out there, the cop. It was just him, no one else was there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” my mother asks softly, obviously hurt by the omission.

“Because I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“But I’d find out eventually, wouldn’t I? Is that why you didn’t want to go back into town? You were afraid?”

“Really, I’m so sorry,” Monica says. “When we decided on this place, I didn’t think that it would affect anyone but us. I had hoped the media would stay away.”

I give her a wan smile. “You’re the biggest news to happen here, ever. More so than when a pod of orcas swam into the harbor, or when someone’s herd of llamas got loose and took over the town.”

“Don’t forget the Fall Fair, when Buzz McClaren grew that giant watermelon,” my mother points out. “Bigger news than that.”

“I’ll deal, is what I’m saying,” I tell Monica. “Besides, so far they all seemed local or at least Canadian. They were annoying, but I can’t imagine they’re any worse than what you had to deal with back home.”

“And I’ll gladly tell those buzzards to go fly a kite,” my mother says. She’s on her best behavior now, so when my mother says go fly a kite, what she’s really going to say is fuck off. The media will go nuts with that.

“I think I should talk to all the neighbors on this road,” Monica says, looking flustered, her brow knitting together with worry. “I would hate for this to become a problem for them too.”

“I’m sure everyone can handle themselves,” I tell her. Since I don’t know the people on this road very well, I have no idea if that would be a good idea or not. “I’m sure things will die down.”

“I hope so,” Monica says after a moment, giving Agatha a stiff smile as she hands us all sparkling waters from her tray.

“Well, cheers to this, to my new neighbors,” Monica says, raising her glass. “I’ll try to keep the conversation lighter.”

But as we finish our drinks and then head over to the dining room table, with candles glowing from gilded cages and a driftwood centerpiece, and Agatha starts to bring out the food, the conversation turns serious again.

“So, Eddie,” my mother asks between bites. “Sorry.” She gives him a quick smile. “Prince Eddie.”

He gives her a dismissive wave and smiles. “Don’t worry about it. My closest friends call me Eddie, not Prince Eddie. I prefer to hear the former these days. Makes me feel like we really did escape from that world.”

My mother nods. “I was curious as to, well, if you miss anything about back home?”

“Not yet,” he says. “But give it some time.”

“The press has been awful to you, especially you, Monica,” she says. “Bunch of racists.”

“Mom,” I warn her. “Let’s not talk about it at dinner, please.”

“It’s okay,” Monica says. “Really. There are lots of microaggressions in the press—”

Eddie lets out a derisive snort.

“What?” Monica says. “It’s true.”

“Some of the tabloids are just out to fucking get you, my dear.” A flush of anger comes across his fair cheeks. “My apologies. I should be used to it. I am used to it. But not this. Not the way they hound you, write slander about you, all because you don’t fit what their idea of a bloody royal is.”

“Sounds like a lot of them need to catch up to the current century,” my mother comments.

“You can say that again,” Monica says. “But I knew it would be like that. I may be new to the monarchy, but it’s not my first rodeo when it comes to the press and the public’s expectations of you. Racism, microaggressions, it’s nothing new, and I still decided to be with Eddie because our love is worth all that strife.”