Best Friend To Princess Bride

At times, he had struggled. Her pain had mirrored his own grief—not only for the loss of his best friend, but also from losing his mother and the unearthed memories and feelings he wanted to keep buried. But as they had got to know each other over the years their relationship had moved to one of firm friendship, and Kara, with her straight talking and dry sense of humour, gave him balance and perspective and a sense of normality he could so easily lose in a life where people were always way too eager to please him.

Was he about to put their entire relationship in jeopardy? Was he about to compromise the trust between them? Frustration towards his father and fear for the future had him wanting to open the car door and break into a run.

Oblivious to the bombshell he was about to deliver to her, Kara gave him a horrified look, flipped down her sunshade and stared at her reflection in the mirror. ‘Are you kidding me? I can’t believe I forgot my make-up bag this morning. And as for my hair…’ She paused and lifted her long, honey-blonde curls with a grimace. ‘Remind me to arrange for there to be a few hair straighteners in the women’s changing rooms next year.’ She gave a shiver and flipped the sunshade back up. ‘I look terrible. I need a serious dose of sunshine—I look like I’ve spent ten years locked away indoors.’

Admittedly there was the hint of dark circles on the delicate pale skin beneath the sweeping brush of her long eyelashes, but the brilliance of her crystal-blue eyes hid that tiredness from all but the keenest of observers. ‘I take it you are still working insane hours.’

Ignoring his comment, she flicked the radio to another station and then another, not settling until she found one playing jazz. She knew he hated jazz.

Ahead there was still no movement in the traffic. Flicking the radio off, he said, ‘I saw you hobbling around the refreshment marquee when you were chatting to the runners—my guess is that your leg is a lot more painful than you’re letting on.’

She rolled her eyes but then turned in her seat and regarded him with an appreciation that always caught him right in the gut. She followed it with the double whammy of her wide smile that always exploded like a firework in his heart, radiating a lightness inside him that always threatened the protective cloak of royal circumspection he had been taught to adopt from an early age.

‘Thanks for coming in to say hello. The runners were thrilled to see you. I think you’ve guaranteed the success of next year’s run. We were inundated with runners asking if they could sign up,’ she said.

‘I’m sure their interest in participating next year is down to how well the event was organised today and nothing to do with me.’

‘Oh, please. You know the huge crowd waiting at the finishing line were there for a reason. And it certainly wasn’t to cheer me on. Apparently there was a stampede back to the finishing line once word got around that you were spotted starting the race late—from our female runners in particular.’ Nodding in the direction of the car behind them, she added with a grin, ‘You and the guys did look rather fetching in your tight running gear.’

When was the traffic going to move again? He had things he needed to say to her. Things that were tying his stomach in knots. He had spent the last couple of weeks with a team of lawyers trying not to be in the position he was now in. What he had to ask of her was huge and unfair. He didn’t want to drag her into this mess that wasn’t of her making. But there was no one else he could trust. Dryly he responded to her teasing, ‘I’m glad we proved to be of some use.’ Then, unable to resist teasing her back, he added, ‘I reckon it might be safer if you stick to the sidelines next year, though.’

‘No way! I mightn’t be special-services fit like you but I can hold my own. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson and I’ll pace myself much better next year.’ She gave him a hopeful smile. ‘It would be great if you could take part again. I can get Triona to contact your office with the date and hopefully if you are free they’ll be able to schedule it into your diary.’

He arched his neck. Being stuck in a traffic jam was not the ideal place for this conversation but he couldn’t go on pretending his life hadn’t been turned upside down any longer. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be in a position to take part next year.’

For a moment she frowned but then she visibly paled. Her hand shot out to touch his arm. ‘You’re not ill, are you? Is that why you haven’t been in touch recently?’

Her immediate concern for him only ratcheted up his guilt. He had sworn he would protect Michael’s little sister, and here he was, asking her to step into the unrelenting scrutiny of the entire world.

He and Michael, who had both been students at Oxford, had met through the aikido club. As it had turned out, both of them were in Mansfield College studying Politics, Philosophy and Economics, Edwin a year ahead of Michael. On several occasions, Michael had brought him to his family home in London, claiming he needed to be exposed to the reality of how others lived. In London, Michael had taken him to the homeless charity where he had volunteered when in sixth form, and to his local aikido club, where he heard about their programmes to encourage teenagers into sport and away from knife crime. And Kara had tagged along, listening attentively to Michael’s opinions, smiling when Edwin and Michael disagreed over some issue. She had visited Michael in Oxford and had gone to parties with them, the only person to ever persuade Michael out onto the dance floor. Kara had idolised Michael and their parents had worshipped him. Edwin used to tease him over it, Michael always shrugging it off until one evening during his second year in Oxford, when they were both at a house party. Michael was drunk and fell and spilt a drink all over someone’s laptop. The owner screamed at Michael. Michael just stood there staring at the girl as she ranted at him, not reacting, looking as though nothing was registering with him. And then he disappeared out of the house. Edwin followed him, unsettled by the blankness in Michael’s expression.

Edwin finally found him in the gardens of Mansfield. He almost backed away when he realised Michael was crying. Edwin had been brought up to hide his emotions. He didn’t know how to cope with someone else’s. But he went and sat down next to Michael. And they must have sat in silence for at least twenty minutes before Michael admitted just how much he was struggling to fit in at Oxford, how apart he felt from student life, his constant anxiety, how he feared disappointing his family, how riddled his mind was with dark, negative thoughts. Edwin listened, tried to help, but he was way out of his depth and ill-equipped to deal with Michael’s despair. He encouraged Michael to reach out to the support services in the university and offered to pay if Michael would prefer to go to see someone privately.

And after a lot of resistance, they ended the night hugging, Michael promising to contact the university health services. But in the weeks that followed, Michael shut Edwin down whenever he asked how he was doing. He disappeared off campus or spent days locked away in his room, claiming he was studying and didn’t want to be disturbed.

In the run-up to their end-of-year exams, Edwin spoke to the college authorities about his concern over Michael’s welfare. Michael learned of his intervention and went ballistic, refusing to speak to him again. Edwin called Michael’s parents one night, a call he had agonised over for days, not wanting to betray Michael’s privacy or to panic his parents unduly. He spoke to Michael’s dad, who responded with disbelieving bewilderment. He told Edwin that, while he appreciated his concern, he was certain he was wrong. For hadn’t Michael only told them the previous weekend just how much he was enjoying university life and was looking forward to staying with Edwin in Monrosa over the summer?

Michael failed his second-year exams. The day after he learnt his results he caught a train to the south coast and took an overdose on the beach that night. Early the following morning he was found by a local man.

His parents were away on holiday. Kara was the first to be told.

Kara called Edwin in Monrosa, sobbing and, despite several attempts, unable to tell him what was the matter. It was their neighbour who quietly whispered those words of horror down the phone to him.

Within an hour he was on his way to London. Once there, he held Kara, his heart torn in two by her mute, violent shivering, all the memories of holding his youngest brother, Ivo, the morning of their mother’s funeral haunting him, reminding him how Ivo too had shuddered with grief, his fragile bones rattling in his arms.

When his mother had died he had thought that the grief of losing her would simply be about the gut-aching sadness and disbelief—he had never anticipated the ugly swamp of consequences that kept flowing back into his family’s lives and swallowing them whole. Their father’s angry, authoritarian way of trying to be an effective single parent, Luis’s rebellion, which had seen him constantly in trouble with authority, Ivo’s avoidance of them all, his own deliberate distance.

Loving someone too much destroyed you.

And in the aftermath of Michael’s death, all those emotions had been stirred up again and he had relived the agony of losing someone. Through the shock and grief and guilt he had somehow managed to care for and support Kara, encouraging her to continue with her studies, and to accept her university place, and as time passed they had become close friends, their relationship managing to survive media intrusion and endless arguments when Kara was testing every boundary possible, crying out for attention.

And now he was about to ask her a question that could blow apart the one friendship that kept him sane.

He lowered his window. Drops of drizzle immediately speckled the interior of the car door but he needed some air to clear his brain. On a deep inhale he admitted, ‘I might not be able to take part in the race next year because by then I might have succeeded to the throne of Monrosa.’

For long moments Kara stared at him, grappling for words. ‘When did this happen?’

‘My father has decided to abdicate.’

‘And you’re next in line.’ Looking away, she stared at the still stationary traffic and said distractedly, ‘There must have been an accident ahead.’ Then, her gaze shifting back to him, she shook her head. ‘Wow. I didn’t see that coming. But you don’t seem very excited. I thought succeeding was what you always wanted.’

In the distance a siren sounded, and it came closer and closer until a police car passed them on the hard shoulder. He winced at the piercing sound. ‘Both the royal court and the public will be slow to accept this change in ruler, especially when I push through my reforms to halt the ever-increasing mass tourism to allow for more sustainable development on the island to protect the environment.’

For long seconds Kara studied him, her ability to get to the core of a problem apparent in the reckoning in her eyes. ‘You need to sell your vision of the Monrosa you want to rule. Ground that vision in what you already stand for—prosperity for all while protecting both the environment and the vulnerable in society. Look at all the changes you’ve already made by persuading your father to reform environmental policy. And there are all your ideas on housing and healthcare reform. I know you’ll rule with loyalty and compassion while ensuring Monrosa continues to thrive. And the people will come to see and appreciate that too, with time.’

He could not help but laugh at the passion in Kara’s voice. ‘Maybe I should employ you as my press officer.’ Then, sobering at the thought of the momentous battles he would have in the future, he added, ‘Those environmental reforms aren’t enough—they are only the start. Changing the mind-sets of the people, especially those heavily invested in the tourism industry, will not be easy. Environmentally responsible tourism and the attraction of other service industries, especially the financial-services sector, has to be the way forward for Monrosa’s economy.’ He let out a heavy sigh, ‘Dio! We have ruined long stretches of the coastline already with overdevelopment. My father sees no issue with it, but it’s unsustainable. I need to succeed to the throne to stop any further development. We need to set in place a twenty-year plan for keeping the economy viable whilst protecting the unique environment of Monrosa.’ His mother had been a passionate campaigner for protecting Monrosa’s unique microclimates and biodiversity, and Edwin was determined to put the protection of the environment centre stage during his reign.

Kara nodded. ‘And you will succeed in putting that plan in place. I know you will.’ Then, pausing to bite her lip, she added, ‘I’m guessing I’ll get to see even less of you once you are crowned. Is that why you haven’t been in contact recently?’

‘I’ve spent the past month trying to persuade my father to stay in the role. I’m not convinced he’s abdicating for the right reasons.’ Seeing Kara’s quizzical look, he added, ‘He believes it’s time for fresh ideas and a new energy in the role.’ Then, rubbing his hand over his jaw, Edwin admitted, ‘My father also says that he wants to ensure he has grandchildren before he’s too old to enjoy them.’

‘What has your father abdicating got to do with him becoming a grandfather?’

Edwin inhaled a deep breath. ‘My father quietly passed a new piece of legislation last year on succession in Monrosa. From now on, only a married individual can be sovereign.’

Kara tilted her head and gave a small exhale of puzzlement. ‘What does that mean?’

Doubt and misgivings and fear stirred like a trinity of foreboding inside him. He wasn’t into relationships, never mind marriage—there was too much expectation around the need for love and intimacy. And Edwin’s heart was too closed to ever risk loving another person again. Was he really prepared to enter into the minefield of marriage because it was his duty to do so? That question was easily answered. His destiny was to be crowned Sovereign Prince. He owed it to his country, his family, his people. ‘I have to marry or my aunt, my father’s sister, Princess Maria, will succeed to the throne.’

Kara laid her head against the headrest and let out a heavy, disbelieving breath. ‘You’re getting married.’ She looked away, out to the grey and abandoned-looking industrial estate on the opposite side of the road, her hair obscuring her face.

‘That’s why I’m here today, to tell you. There’s something I need…’

Before he could say anything more Kara twisted back to him, shifting in her seat and giving him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Well, I suppose congratulations are in order. Who’s the lucky woman and when is it all going to happen?’ Then with a brief laugh she added, ‘No wonder you disappeared off the face of the earth for the past month. I thought you were caught up with work and royal duty, not planning the wedding of the year.’

‘My father intends on announcing his abdication next Thursday. The coronation date of the next monarch is already arranged—it will take place on the first of June.’

‘So you have to be married by then?’ Not waiting for him to respond, Kara said, ‘That’s just over two months away. So who are you going to marry? Are you already engaged? Is the wedding date set?’

Another police car, siren blaring, passed on their inside. He waited for the sound to fade out before he said, ‘Earlier I said I needed your help…’

Kara waited for him to continue. After years of embracing bachelorhood, his brain was still struggling to keep up with the new reality his father had decided to foist on him.

Folding her arms, Kara said, ‘Please don’t tell me you want me to be your best woman or something like that. I’m sure Luis can manage to behave himself for once and deliver a fitting best man’s speech. And if not, I’m sure Ivo could be persuaded. Eventually.’

Did she really think he would become engaged to someone else without forewarning her or at least telling her he was heading in that direction? ‘No! Not that. What I want to ask you…’ he paused, gave her an uneasy smile that did nothing to diminish her unimpressed scowl ‘… I want to ask you to marry me. I want you to be my wife.’

CHAPTER TWO

HAD SHE BANGED her head earlier, when she had fallen? She could have sworn Edwin had just asked her to marry him. Was she suffering severe confusion as a result of concussion?

A loud rapping on Edwin’s window made them both jump. Domenico was standing there and gesturing ahead, pointing out that the traffic in front had moved on and now Edwin was holding things up.

Nodding, Edwin pulled away.

Kara studied him, and it felt as though she was truly seeing him for the first time in ages. Was this man—this prince, this soon-to-be sovereign—actually asking her to marry him? His concentration was on the road ahead, his mouth pulled into a tight line, a hint of colour in his high cheekbones.

She laughed and said, ‘Nice joke, Edwin. Now, why don’t you tell me who you’re really going to marry?’

He darted a look in her direction, the cleft in his jaw more pronounced than usual. He was seriously hacked off. ‘I wouldn’t joke about asking you to marry me. Surely you know that?’

Yes, she did. Edwin wasn’t cruel. He was honourable and selfless. But right now she was grasping at straws in a bid to try to make sense of this conversation.

‘I’m serious, Kara. I’d like you to be my wife.’

‘Wow. I never thought I’d be so lucky as to be proposed to somewhere as romantic as a gridlocked dual carriageway on a gloomy Sunday in March.’

‘I promise you a nice honeymoon.’

Kara laughed. ‘Have you completely lost your mind?’

‘Remember the time you rang me in the middle of the night and said that if we both got to thirty and were still single then we should marry?’

Oh, God, she’d hoped he had forgotten about that.

‘I was tipsy and emotional at a friend’s wedding. I wasn’t being serious. I’m not interested in marrying.’ In the immediate years after witnessing her parents’ marriage implode, she had steered well clear of any relationship that could end so painfully. So she had dated guys who she knew wouldn’t hang around, and for a while that had suited her fine. But after graduating, with her family home sold and living alone in Brighton because of work, she had craved stability and closeness. She had thought Nick was the answer to her embarrassing hunger for intimacy and she had embraced their relationship like someone famished. But his early attentiveness had slowly morphed into claustrophobic controlling behaviour and had once and for all firmly convinced her a single life was preferable to the minefield of relationships and the hurt they spawned. Now, folding her arms, she pointed out, ‘And anyway, I’m not thirty yet.’

‘In six months you are.’

‘Thanks for the reminder.’ She had a good life, one that was hard fought for after years of uncertainty and grief—supportive friends, a career that gave her meaning, and, most important of all, an uncomplicated personal life that left her free to focus on work, and work alone. Why, then, did hurtling towards thirty leave her with a nagging sense of unease? Was it the frustration of knowing there was an ever-increasing demand for the charity’s services both in the United Kingdom and abroad? She desperately wanted to do more. There was so much work to be done in addressing mental-health issues and educating both young people and those who supported them about dealing with matters before they got out of control. Was it this constant feeling of not doing enough that left her unsettled as she faced her thirtieth birthday?

At a pedestrian crossing on a suburban street, Edwin stopped to allow a young man pushing a pram and holding hands with a little girl to cross the road. Kara shared sporadic phone conversations with her parents and usually they were short and revolved around the weather, but a few months ago her mum had surprised her when she asked her what she thought Michael would have been doing by now? Would he have had a career in political activism, as he had dreamed? Would he have been married? Had children? And after the call, she had sat in the silence of her apartment and wondered once again if she could have prevented Michael from dying.

Her gaze shifted to Edwin. He had been her constant, her steadying influence over the past decade. His marriage proposal was not only insane but it was also sending a tidal wave of uncertainty into her life when she had thought she had finally got a handle on it. ‘There must be a long line of more suitable women out there—shouldn’t you be trying to forge some strategic alliance, or whatever it is you royals do?’

Edwin waited until he had pulled into her street and found a parking space before he answered. ‘I need to marry someone I can trust.’

Killing the engine, he unbuckled his seatbelt and turned and regarded her with that regal look of his that spoke of pride and honour. ‘And there’s no one I trust more in life than you.’

Her heart catching at the sincerity of his voice, she unbuckled her own belt. ‘That’s not exactly a solid basis for a marriage, though, is it? I’m sure you trust Domenico and Lucas but you’re not about to marry one of them.’

Edwin eyed her with a raised eyebrow. ‘I can’t. They’re both married. And there isn’t time for them to get divorced. I need to announce my engagement before Thursday; my father is insistent on announcing his abdication then.’

Domenico came alongside the car. Edwin nodded that they were ready to go into Kara’s flat. Reaching for the handle of his door, Edwin added, ‘I reckon trust is the most important part of any marriage. At least we have that.’

Should she tell him that she didn’t want him to come inside? She needed some time and space to make sense of his bombshell proposal. But what was there to think about? There was no way she could marry Edwin.

Inside her basement apartment, she placed her gym bag in the tiny utility room off the kitchen and went and filled her kettle.

Turning to Edwin, she said with a sigh, ‘I’m a working-class girl—I have no idea how to be a princess. Even saying the word “princess” feels ridiculous. Me, a princess? No way.’

‘The title would be Her Serene Highness, Princess of Monrosa,’ Edwin said, removing his black padded jacket and hanging it on her bulging coat rack.

‘See—I didn’t even know what the correct title would be.’

He shifted the stool he always sat on away from the kitchen counter to allow for the extra-long length of his legs. Sitting, he shrugged. ‘You’re not expected to know royal protocol. None of that is of importance. What is important is that I have a wife I can trust, a wife who understands that what we’ll have is a working marriage. I know how keen you are for the charity to be able to help more people—you could use your status to achieve that.’ Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, ‘I know what it is I’m asking of you, Kara, and I’m not asking it of you lightly. I have spent the past week agonising over whether to do so, but I think we can make it work. Neither of us is looking for romance…at least that’s what you’ve always claimed.’

His last sentence sounded like a challenge. As though he was testing her constant refrain over the years that marriage was not for her. ‘It isn’t just a love marriage I’m not interested in, Edwin. It’s all types of marriage.’ Filling the teapot with boiling water, she added, ‘I know this might sound a little rich coming from me, given my outlook on love, but you shouldn’t discount love—you’ve never given it a chance. At least I gave it a go. You’ve always ended relationships way too early.’

Edwin made a grumbling sound and, leaning heavily against the counter, sent a teaspoon clattering across the marble surface. ‘I’m happy being single.’

Placing four teacups on the counter, Kara stepped back, folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

Edwin’s gaze narrowed. ‘What?’