Diary of a Reluctant Ruler

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So the secrecy began.

Three months of it. I swapped my beautiful ring to my other hand, where it felt heavier, as if the secret weighed it down somehow. We went out together, to balls, opening ceremonies and academical dinners. James joined my etiquette classes which at first mainly just interrupted my own concentration and resulted in the giggles. I stood up in parliament instead of my dad and led councils. We cut innumerable ribbons, danced innumerable waltzes, spoke innumerable speeches and went on innumerable walks to get away from the public eye. My new brown hair scored a hat trick with a few tabloid front pages. James complained that I had grown more intelligent with it. We celebrated James’ late birthday by watching every Lord of the Rings film back to back. Inspired by a hobbit, James took to calling me Merry. I discovered that James couldn’t stand drinking water early in the morning and was almost certainly a night owl and not an early bird.

Being unable to announce our engagement, we were unable to openly plan or hire venues etc. But prompted by Mum, we began thinking over what we wanted. Ever constant, James proposed that we elope instead of going for the traditional white wedding in the cathedral. I discovered that I could use my glare to quite successful results. I began collecting scraps of magazines, bits of fabric, colour schemes. I found myself getting broody. Which scared me and forced me to slap myself several times in front of the bathroom mirror. I also got cold feet about once a week. James discovered that just below my shoulder blades was extremely ticklish and promptly used it to his advantage. I discovered that his knees were extra sensitive and promptly used this to my advantage.

Madeleine let us take over the kitchen and we made jam with early blackberries. Inspired by James’ sticky fingers I nicknamed him Jam-jar. We went through a stage of being one of the cheesiest couples ever. Embarrassed by the resulting tabloid articles we resorted to closet-cheeses and took on a more dignified approach to public life. We played a thousand games of cards. Freya gave birth to a beautiful foal, who we named Abacus. I taught James French. He taught me how to play cricket. We took Felix to the cinema a few hundred times. ‘I love you’ became an everyday phrase, but still gave me delightful shivers whenever I heard it.

My 18th birthday came round, and I was officially past the age most Adrian princesses were married. A few of the more traditional papers kicked up a fuss. But most just waited with bated breath to see what would happen. Already knowing how it would turn out, James and I only smiled when interviewers asked about the future. And then it was August, and the date we’d set down for announcing our engagement was looming closer. I reluctantly gave my gorgeous ring back to James so he could get it resized.

The week before, a Saturday, James took me out for dinner. Needless to say I still got giddy around him. I hoped never to be able to say that I didn’t. The restaurant was small, self-contained, with circular tables well spaced out and a down-to-earth menu. We were into the main course when James suddenly began an odd conversation about the future. Confused, I answered only as I could.

Eh?

We never talk about the future…

I know, it’s too confusing.

Too difficult to avoid compromising information…

Unless the compromising information-

-was no longer compromising.

Yeargh!

I never could remember how the conversation modulated, but by bottom of my soup bowl we’d gotten onto marriage. And once the main course was cleared from the table James was doing something I never thought I’d see. He was down on one knee, proposing to me, for the second time, but this time in full public view.

“Meredith,” he asked, “Will you marry me?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” I replied.

He searched for a moment in his jacket pocket, and then took out the ring I’d given him for resizing a few days ago, slipping it back onto my left index finger, were it fit perfectly.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” I replied.

He stood up, pulled me towards him into a tight hug, kissing me with an intoxicating enthusiasm, his hands in my hair, our bodies pulled together with a unforgettable force of attraction, pure and whole. There was no one else except me and him in that moment.

Then a cheer erupted from our waiter, who had returned for the plates; our happiness infected those around and for five minutes the restaurant buzzed with applause and congratulations, hand-shaking and good luck wishes. The head chef appeared in state with his fleet of sous chefs, bringing with him a single plate of gorgeous raspberry cheesecake, which he promptly ushered us to share alone, shooing away those who had gathered around our small table.

An hour later we exited the restaurant to a blaze of flashing cameras. Jade came into her own defending us from the crowd of over-excited journalists with their hordes of camera men and technicians. We walked back the car with fingers entwined, grinning and laughing at the camera flashes which blazed, only proud to be together. The next morning when we woke up every page of newspaper confirmed the happiness which bubbled in my chest.

And so the secrecy ended.