The weird thing was that Nick and Mom seemed to get along. They chatted at the table for a while: all superficial stuff like preferred styles of cheese and the weather. Anything that Nick didn’t understand, he changed the subject to something else. When he said anything loopy, Mom looked at me and laughed, her eyes lighting up in the way only Nick Tudor could inspire. The whole time he sat with his fingers loosely clasped in his lap, breathing easily with a relaxed smile.
Nicholas the freaking Ironheart is sitting at my ketchup-stained dining table, sweeping my mom off her feet. Yeah, nothing to see here, folks.
Amazingly, Mom hadn’t picked up on the earlier ‘betrothed’ comment. Instead, the bigger issue was her evident belief that I was back home to stay. Nick had been away from his kingdom for hours, and we didn’t have much time left.
“Where do you live, Nick?” Mom asked. “Do you need to sleep on the couch?” She side-eyed me like I better not consider having him in my bedroom.
“Actually, we were just going to go upstairs and have a chat about that, weren’t we Nick,” I said, passing him a look.
“Indeed.” He rose to his feet, tipping his head at my mom in a Tudor-style farewell. “This has been a pleasure beyond words, madam.”
“It was good to meet you.” She turned to the window with a dazed expression, and we headed upstairs.
“Your mother is dear,” said Nick as he took a tentative seat in my desk chair. It swiveled, and his legs shot out to steady himself.
I chuckled. “And you make one heck of a twenty-first-century boy.” I slid into his lap and folded my arms around him. He murmured his delight and nuzzled his lips into my neck. A flash of yearning heated my spine. “You and my mom seem to get along,” I ventured nervously. “Why don’t we just stay here? There’s no war with Spain to fight; no scary dukes, or stressful council meetings. Just you and me. And ketchup.”
Nick’s laugh was more like a breath, but it cut nonetheless. Why was he so sure the question was a joke? Was the idea of staying in my time that ludicrous? Couldn’t he tell how anxious I was about becoming a sixteenth-century Queen of England without making a muppet of myself—or worse?
For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. Awkwardness chewed up the air, and the chair squeaked beneath us.
Nick fingered a lock of my loose hair. “Is there any more you wish to do before we take our leave? I fear you may suffer when we part from this place.”
His eyes couldn’t meet mine, and I could tell he was picking up on my reluctance to leave my time so quickly. He didn’t need to worry: despite how badly I felt for my mom, I wasn’t about to let Nick jet off to the sixteenth century without me. Been there, done that. And it sucked.
I thought about his question. “There is one thing I’d like to do,” I said, fear crawling across my skin like spider’s legs. I didn’t have a laptop anymore, but Mom’s phone had internet.
I led him back downstairs, finding Mom still staring vacantly through the window. She said I could use her phone, and I opened an internet search window. Nick had seen a cell phone before, but his eyes still boggled. He slid nervously into the couch.
My fingers locked up in protest as I typed the words that I knew I shouldn’t.
* * *
“Queen Emmeline Tudor”
* * *
Click.
* * *
No results found for “Queen Emmeline Tudor”.
I frowned and typed a less specific search.
* * *
Emmeline Tudor, 16th century
* * *
Click.
* * *
No results found. Showing results for Elizabeth Tudor, 16th century.
* * *
The phone hit the table, my stomach splitting. Why wasn’t I there? Was this proof that things didn’t work out between Nick and me? I couldn’t bring myself to type in ‘Nicholas the Ironheart’s wife’. I’d already learned that it was too much of a head-trip to try and live in two different centuries. My decision had already been made, and my home was with Nick in Tudor England. If I kept coming back here and Googling myself, I was legitimately going to end up in a psychiatric hospital.
Nick sat tapping his feet, twiddling his thumbs madly. He kept glancing at the clock on the wall.
“Mom, Nick and I have to go now,” I said, trying to sound calm. “You know I love you, and if there was any other way…”
Her face fell. “Where are you going?”
“Tudor England,” I explained again, trying not to sound impatient.
Mom huffed with exasperation. “Enough of this…Emmie!” she cried. “I’m going to have to call your father again. I just can’t deal with you on my own anymore.”
“No, don’t call him,” I cried. Mom blatantly still held a candle for the guy and didn’t need much of an excuse to contact him. I did not want to be that excuse.
I held my forehead with my trembling fingers. I had no idea what to do. Telling Mom the truth had been a mistake, but Nick had to get home.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said to him. “Should we take her back with us?” In the corner of my eye, Mom’s head was in her hands.
“Christ, no,” he whispered. “I have enough ladies from the future running around my court. It is not so easy, Emmie.” An apology flooded his face, but he was right. I wasn’t sure my mom could convincingly play the role of Tudor lady, which could put her in real danger back there. Norfolk would sniff her out like a bloodhound.
Another idea struck me. “Mom, can you come upstairs? Nick, do you mind waiting outside my bedroom for a minute?”
Mom sighed but didn’t resist as I ushered her up the stairs with Nick following behind. While he waited outside the bedroom door, I lugged my suitcase off the bed.
“What are you doing?” Mom said in a sharp tone.
“Proving that Nick and I aren’t total nutjobs. But first, you have to help me with these clothes.”
“Oh my,” she breathed as sixteenth-century silk rippled through my fingers. I explained each step so she could help me dress, sparking a sweet memory of her fastening the intricate straps of my prom gown—only a few weeks before I met Nick Tudor.
“You look incredible,” she said, pacing backward to take in the full sight of me. “I can see why you like this English history stuff.” She flopped into my desk chair and crossed her arms.
I yanked Nick into my room, despite his visible reluctance. When I guided him onto the bed and lay down beside him, Mom hopped to her feet.
“If you think I am going to sit here and watch you two—”
“Ew!” I said. “What you’re going to watch is Nick and I going to sleep. And because I’m wearing this enchanted ring that I told you about, we’re going to disappear before your very eyes.” Ugh, I sound like a wannabe magician with her own YouTube channel.
Mom burst out laughing. When Nick and I didn’t join in, she sighed. “Fine…okay.”
Nick lay as stiff as a board beside me. I willed myself to relax.