"And where is Tom today?"

I couldn't help but fidget under her inquisitive gaze. "Off playing rugby-with Charlie, I think."

Margaret nodded politely as she reached for her teacup.

I mimicked her movement and reached for my own steaming cup as I mentally reached for something to say in response.

We had arranged to meet a quarter past three that afternoon, but, of course, I had been so terrified of running late that I showed up a whole twenty minutes early. Luckily, the café had reserved a private room for the two of us and was able to seat me immediately.

Margaret, when she arrived, glided into the room perfectly on time in an immaculate crème skirt suite. I smiled tightly and stood to greet her, and I was half surprised when she brushed a kiss on my cheek before taking her seat.

It struck me then, as the waiter gracefully tucked in her chair, what an utterly absurd idea this had been.

She was the bloody Duchess of Cambridge and I was an unemployed wannabe writer with the grand plan to... pepper her with questions seeking relationship advice?

And when it was her own husband who was making Tom's life a living hell at work to boot?

In that moment, I couldn't decide who was more mental: me for inviting her, or the Dutchess herself for accepting.

Twenty minutes of stifled small talk later, I still wasn't sure.

"And Robert?" I reciprocated, my own voice sounding slightly feeble.

She merely shrugged, seeming to not notice. "I can hardly keep up with my own diary. My assistants have copies of his schedule, of course, but I can never keep it all straight."

I nodded, my eyes dancing around the ornate table settings searching in vain for a source of inspiration.

"I've never had a good sense of time," she admitted after a minute.

I blinked in surprise. "Really?"

Her smile was kind. "Took me ages to learn as a child, even now I still can barely tell an analog clock."

I blinked again and the glowing Duchess of Cambridge suddenly disappeared, replaced by the woman whose champagne I had drunk.

My grin was slow in coming, but when it finally did arrive I knew Margaret felt it and the larger shift in the air between us as she put down her teacup and said simply: "Cynthia likes you."

I shrugged. "She's rather easy to please."

"No," Margaret laughed somewhat ruefully, "she isn't. Believe me, her favor is hard won."

"Well..." I tried, not quite sure what to say. "Perhaps she feels invested? I met her on Tom and my's first date."

Margaret's eyes bulged in shock. "You didn't."

I laughed and then nodded in dramatic resignation. "Tom invited me to a cocktail party for one of the charities he works for."

Margaret made a "tsk" noise, so I continued.

"I didn't know who she was a first," I confessed.

"He didn't introduce you?" she asked incredulously.

I bit my lower lip and shook my head, revealing in my newfound sense of camaraderie.

Margaret nearly cackled at that. "I can only imagine the impression she gave."

"So you can imagine my relief when Tom finally told me who she was," I laughed in return.

Margaret shook her head in disbelief before taking another sip of tea.

"I-I didn't know attending family dinner was such a big deal," I admitted after a moment.

Margaret's eyes lifted to mine, but she said nothing, so I went on.

"Of course, I knew it was a big deal, like for any other couple. Like when Tom met my mum," I offered, "but I didn't know... we're not married."

Margaret nodded. "I know."

"Was it-" I started, but stopped. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again. "Did things move at a... clipper pace... for you and Robert?"

She leaned back in her seat as if attempting to cast her memory back in time. "Well, I never attended dinner until after we were married... but I already knew the family."

"Your families were close?"

Margaret shrugged. "My father's a lord, so they were familiar."

I couldn't hold in the snort. "My father was a civil engineer."

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Margaret added in quietly.

I suddenly sat up straighter. "I'm not. I just-" I deflated then in a sigh. "I wasn't trained for this. I never attended cotillion or anything like it. I never know what to expect, and the silliest things seem to keep coming as a sudden shock."

"Like what?"

"Like... not being able to run to the corner market when we're out of milk." I shrugged helplessly. "I know, it's ridiculous!"

Margaret shook her head in empathy. "It's not ridiculous. It's your normal... which you're having to give up."

"Tom is worth giving up runs to the corner market," I whispered suddenly teary-eyed. "I'm just... afraid," I finally admitted, "of all the other things I haven't even thought to consider having to give up. In the past whenever I tried to envision my future, I never imagined I wouldn't be working."

Margaret frowned. "I can't imagine how difficult that must have been. Robert and I married practically out of uni. And if I'm honest, I never had aspirations to work."

"But there were still other things you had to give up, weren't there?" I practically sniffed.

Margaret nearly laughed. "Of course."

"How did it... change things? Marrying Robert, I mean."

Margaret smiled patiently. "It changed everything."

"Right," I mumbled down at my teacup. "Obviously. Sorry."

"Our situations, though," Margaret began slowly, "would be quite different. Marrying the heir comes with a different set of... expectations."

I shook my head apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to equate-"

"No," Margaret cut me off as she slid a hand firmly on the table between us. "It's good you're asking questions... It shows you're being thorough and that you take the prospect of marriage seriously. Both of which will earn you high marks in this family," she added somewhat glibly.

The corner of my mouth flickered in a partial smile.

Margaret thought for a minute before carefully selecting her words. "Tom doesn't have the same rank, for lack of a better term, as Robert, but he does have celebrity. Those raucous escapades he and Charlie went on certainly put him in the public eye."

"Suppose it doesn't hurt that he's incredibly handsome and good-hearted," I added in somewhat sarcastically.

"No," Margaret chuckled. "Certainly doesn't."

I hesitated before asking my next question. "You weren't much in the public eye before, were you?"

Margaret shrugged. "The society pages now and again, but nothing compared to how it is now."

"And how it is now... how you are now..." The question I wanted to ask her-the question I needed to ask her-lodged painfully in my throat.

I took a deep breath, equal parts hoping to be free of its burden and terrified of its answer. "Has it-do you feel like it's... changed you?"

Margaret's gaze fixed on mine for a long while before she answered my question, barely above a whisper. "Before the wedding, my mother gave me the single most important piece of advice. She told me: Eventually, you become whatever you pretend to be... so choose well."

"And what did you choose to be?"

She inhaled deeply and then exhaled in a shrug. "A supportive wife, a positive role model... a loving mother."

Her words hung heavy between us.

After a minute, I asked:"Do you ever just want to smash their cameras and tear up their rubbish magazines?"

Margaret looked me square in the eyes. "Every. Damn. Day."

A smile cracked across my lips before the feeling of her answer pushed them down into a frown. "What stops you?"

Her eyes softened, then, as she grinned in my direction. "The memory that I chose this life, for all of its absurd advantages and stifling limitations. I chose it."

Her words struck me like a blow to the abdomen.

I had already chosen Tom, and I knew in my heart of hearts that I would do so over and over again if forced. But this life-the endless stream of social functions, the constant feeling of people watching me, and the weight of centuries worth of royal tradition and protocol baring down on us-it all seemed maddening.

If at the end of our contract I chose to stay and accept this life, I knew I would be choosing to give up my own. If we did end up getting married, I would forevermore be known to the world as Tom's Wife, the Duchess of Somewhere. And Emma Henderson-as I knew her-would cease to exist.