"Charlie—" I tried to cut in for the umpteenth time, but the poor man steamrolled right along.

"All of it was my idea. Tom only tagged along to look out for me—he's always looked out for me, you understand. It's what he does, he—"

"Looks out for people," I managed before he nodded eagerly and rushed on.

"Exactly. So all the partying—it was all my fault. All of it! Tom had nothing to do with it, he was only—"

"Looking out for you. Yes, Charlie, I know!" I nearly hissed and took a step toward him as my eyes darted around the room.

Everyone remained exactly where they had been when Tom had left to follow his uncle out of the room—everyone, that is, except for Charlie.

I had little wonder why Charlie gave Tom such trouble on the rugby pitch—the boy was agile as a panther the way he practically pounced on me the moment Tom stepped out of sight. I had been relieved to see him at first, that is until he opened his mouth and unleashed a tirade of apologies and excuses for his and Tom's gallivants.

"You've told me near a dozen times!"

He opened his mouth again, and—unable to take another onslaught of apologies—grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly. "Charlie."

He practically jumped at my touch and the desperation I knew flooded my voice.

"It's alright. I know," I gave his arm another squeeze and attempted to smile reassuringly. "I know Tom isn't a drinker or a partier or a brawler—unless of course someone's... putting their hands where they don't belong. And from the way he treats me, I know he's not some playboy either."

I hesitated then, trying on different words on my tongue in search of the right ones to fit together. "Tom's... got a truer moral compass than I've ever seen before, so if he appeared to be doing something contrary to that, well, I can only assume it was to support someone he cared about."

Charlie's creeping blush seemed to reawaken his lips as his mouth silently flopped open and closed.

I dropped my grip on Charlie's arm when Tom suddenly appeared between us.

"Sorry about that," he said to me with a tight smile fixed to his face. He glanced cordially at Charlie and, belatedly recognizing his cousin's stupor, returned his now focused attention to me. Finding no answers in my expression, Tom turned sharply back to Charlie. "Christ, do I even want to know what you said to her that was so abhorrent it made even the likes of you blush?"

I took a breath to launch a defense for Charlie, but the accused cut me off before I could really start.

"It wasn't him I—"

"I was just telling Emma what a perfect pairing you two make," he grinned innocently and added with a smirk in my direction: "So, when's the wedding?"

I did my best to cool my flaming cheeks and allowed myself a chuckle. It felt good to be teased by Charlie, as if he were my pestering cousin, not Tom's. "That's the question of the evening, isn't it?"

"And it will be of every evening and even until there's a ring on the proper finger," he added glibly.

"Perhaps we should just make up a random date anytime someone asks," I suggested to Tom.

Charlie snorted and then clasped tom on the shoulder. "I like her, Tommy-boy."

Tom merely shook his head in mock resignation. "The two of you aren't allowed alone together."

I started to protest, but Tom cut me off with a good-humored grin.

"Who knows what shenanigans you'll get up to together without proper supervision."

I smacked him playfully on the arm as Charlie let out a loud laugh. "You sound like Cynthia!"

"He should be so lucky," she practically cooed as she sauntered over, blackberry still in hand.

I sipped my wine and listened amiably as the three of them sparred playfully back and forth. It was clear by their teasing that they had grown up together and established close bonds.

Suppose you have to, I thought, growing up in a gilded cage.

My smile faltered slightly as a pang of sympathy rang out across my chest.

* * *

Dinner was not a casual dinner by any stretch of the imagination. The long rectangular table was set for fifteen, though as we entered the room a team of butlers swiftly removed a corner place setting and redistributed the space between those remaining. The extra space was hardly noticeable as the table was beautifully decorated with large bouquets of peonies and ladened with every cutlery, dish, and glass a person could possibly need for any combination of dining experiences.

Matilda, escorting her two children to their seats, mumbled something to her mother, who merely smiled in turn and responded quietly with something that sounded like "quite alright, dear."

King Henry—Tom's uncle, I reminded myself—sat at the head of the grand table and the Queen Mother—Gran—at the foot. Tom guided me to the side of the table opposite Matilda and her children, and I couldn't help but feel relieved when Tom's mother chose the seat next to her young grandson, presumably to help her daughter manage the two still excited children. Cynthia slipped into the seat next to me and easily picked up a conversation with Margaret who sat to between her and Robert.

I was wondering if there was a seating chart reflecting claim or title when a voice suddenly flittered into my ear. I blinked and glanced up, noticing to my horror that Eliza was staring at me expectantly.

"Her mum lives in Kerry," Tom answered for me as he brushed my knee with his knuckles reassuringly.

I smiled and nodded, realizing the question had been if my parents were local to the city.

"And your father?"

Tom tensed beside me, but I focused on Eliza. Her eyes were round in shape and like Tom's in color—and like Tom's, I couldn't find any hint of malice.

"He died," I told her rather clumsily. "A few years back, but he was from the country, too. Both my parents were from a little village just southeast of Kerry."

Eliza blinked slowly. "I'm very sorry. It must be difficult to lose a parent so young."

Unsure of what to say, I merely nodded and reached for my water glass.

"It's difficult to lose a parent at any age," Tom's father added in from beside his wife as he unfurled his napkin. "What did your father do before he died?"

I sent a grateful smile in his direction. "He was a civil engineer."

"And your mother?" Eliza prodded.

"Full-time mum," I said just before taking a drink.

"And is that something you're interested in?"

"Mum!" Tom exclaimed.

In my defense, I contained my coughing spasm quite well, managing not to release any of the water in my mouth onto the table nor its occupants.

"What!" She rushed in defensively. "I was only curious—"

I cleared my throat. "Um, no. It's not something I ever really considered for myself."

"Me either," Cynthia added in, seeming to seamlessly drop her threat of conversation with Margaret and pick up with ours as if she had been listening to our words all along.

"Well I for one," Charlie joined in, "have always hoped to be a full-time mum—getting to play all day with kids, take naps, and don't get me started on the snacks—"

"Changing diapers," Matilda added in sarcastically as she struggled to force the bib over her squirming daughter's head. "Staying up all night with teething, and don't get me started on the tantrums—"

"Yours or the children's?" Cynthia quipped as she sipped her wine.

The banter kept up between the three of them for most of the first few courses, only slowing slightly when Matilda seemed to bow out but picking up steam again as Charlie worked to egg the children on, much to the displeasure of their mother and equal delight of their great-grandmother.

* * *

When the courses finally finished and I was sure I would need the assistance of a forklift to get out of my seat, a man I presumed to be the butler announced the living room was prepared for digestifs.

I took the opportunity to excuse myself to the loo. Of course, when I went to return to the living room I took a wrong turn and nearly collided with Matilda in the corridor.

"I don't bloody care about your bloody business meeting!" She barked into the phone she held in a near death grip. "This is my family—your family, your children's family!"

She was pacing along the stretch of the corridor and pivoted just before we crashed into one another, apparently too blind with rage to notice me.

"You promised you'd make it. You promised!" Her voice practically broke on the last word, and I quickly retreated before she turned again and would surely see her moment of privacy had been (inadvertently) invaded.

I backtracked the path I had taken and was thankfully rescued by a maid who escorted me to the correct room. She left me at the open doorway, where I lingered watching Tom sprawled out on the floor with his niece and nephew climbing on top of him. He would move his limbs wildly—though always aware of the little bodies that clung to them—and the children would shriek and clamber to new positions.

I felt her before I heard her.

She really was a tiny woman—perhaps not even 150 cm—but her presence of spirit more than made up for what she lacked in height.

"A proper wedding, of course, will have to be arranged," the Queen Mum said as if continuing a conversation we had already begun. "Children are expected, though not a requirement for Thomas. Monthly dinners with the family, however, are mandatory."

She stood beside me as she, too, watched Tom playing with his niece and nephew. It was all very pleasant, as if she were merely remarking on the weather and not my future marriage to her grandson.

"There societal expectations," she continued, "of decorum and propriety which must be adhered to."

I glanced between her small figure and Tom, now crawling around the rugs in chase of the children.

His grandmother gave off an air of omniscience and yet... she couldn't know about the contract... could she?

"Just as Sophia le Guarde did?" Stupidly, I was startled to hear my own voice.

Slowly, she tilted her chin up toward me and cocked an eyebrow. "You wish to be Sophia?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Doesn't everyone?"

Tom's grandmother considered me for what felt like an eternity before turning her attention back to her now wrestling family members.

"Monthly dinners are mandatory, for both of you." She reiterated. "And you will begin to attend more family-sponsored events. Eliza will pick which ones."

I hesitated and then nodded once.

"I am told you worked at a magazine," she said after a minute.

"I did."

"They asked you to write about us." I could tell by the tone of her voice that it wasn't a question.

I glanced at her before my eyes returned to Tom and I watched as his niece tried to pin him to the ground. Quite dramatically, he let her.

There was no point in hiding it. "Yes."

"But you refused them." Again, not a question.

I shook my head in confusion. Not even Tom had known the details of my departure from The Print, well not until my mum had gabbed to him about it. "How...?"

"I have my ways..." she evaded, before adding: "and Cynthia often gets hers when she feels inspired by a good cause."

I could feel her eyes scrutinizing my reaction, but I stood still and willed myself to focus on Tom's niece now bouncing on his knees.

"You refused," his grandmother repeated.

"I write about books, not..." I couldn't finish the sentence. It still felt too bizarre to refer to Tom as a... celebrity? Royalty?

"And they fired you for it."

I lifted my chin stubbornly. "I resigned," I corrected her.

She pursed her lips and nodded. After another minute had passed, she asked me: "What was the name of this magazine again?"