But that was before I laid it all on the line for Nora.
Before I stopped living according to the rules.
Before I took a risk.
After the interview where I shared the good, bad, and heartbreaking truth of Nora’s and my story, people rallied behind us, despite the powers that be predicting the truth would be disastrous not only for me, but also the royal family.
Instead, the world fell in love with us all over again. I was once able to travel to certain countries without being noticed, particularly away from Europe. That was no longer the case. In the days following the interview, everyone wanted a piece of me. Of Nora. Of us. And not because of some scandal. But because of what our story embodied.
Forgiveness.
Redemption.
Love.
Because I’d been so candid about everything we’d been through, people found us to be an extremely relatable couple. More importantly, they found me to be relatable as this country’s future king, the voters overwhelmingly rejecting the constitutional referendum to limit the monarch’s power.
Since then, we’ve experienced a lot of changes. Not only in our personal lives, but also in our royal lives. Nora’s no longer merely Nora Tremblay, but Queen Nora Jean Wellingston of Belmont. And I’m now officially king, having been crowned a few weeks after our son’s first birthday, who we named Hunter William Anderson Gabriel Wellingston.
Naming our son after Nora’s former fiancé hadn’t even been on her radar, but I felt it a fitting tribute. Not only to him, but also to our love. After all, it was Nora’s journey to say goodbye to Hunter that brought her into my life. It won’t bring him back, but maybe he’ll look down upon us and smile at the thought that one day, a little boy named for him will become king. Even though little Hunter was born after we finally got married, with the new Royal Marriages Act and law of succession that was passed before his birth, he’s considered a full heir.
But since he’s only a few months shy of his third birthday, all he really cares about are trucks and trains. He doesn’t realize who he is or what his future holds, and we’re happy with that. He deserves the childhood I had before it was taken from me. Deserves happiness. Deserves to be a kid, not an heir.
“Papa!” Hunter squeals, looking up from where Nora stands over him at the kitchen island. She peeks up, too, a bit of frosting on her temple.
The room more closely resembles a disaster area — mixing bowls containing the remnants of batter, cookie sheets and pans piled high in the sink, flour covering the kitchen island. It certainly isn’t what one would expect a room in a palace to look like.
And I love every bit of it.
“Hey, little man.” I walk toward them and scoop Hunter off the step stool, giving him a big hug before pulling back. “Have you been good for your mama?”
“Yes.”
“And how about your great-grandmimi and grandpapa?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because you know who’s coming tonight.”
“Santa!” he replies with all the enthusiasm of a little boy.
“That’s right.”
I press one last kiss to his cheek, then place his feet back onto the floor, tousling his blond hair before turning my attention to Nora.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
“Hey yourself,” she responds, lifting herself onto her toes and brushing her mouth against mine. “How was your day?”
“Better now.” I hook an arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against me. “Much better now.” I press my lips more firmly against hers, coaxing her mouth open so I can have a taste of her before our home is overrun with friends and family.
But this year, there won’t be a formal dinner at the palace to celebrate the holiday. No putting on a show for the people of this country. Instead, it’ll be a private, low-key affair. Only close friends and family. Like my mother wanted.
Like Christmas should be.
“Kiss kiss! Kiss kiss!” Hunter exclaims.
“They sure do that a lot, don’t they?”
We pull back, darting our eyes toward the doorway to see Esme, my father, and grandmother.
Unlike previous years when Christmas was a formal affair and everyone would be dressed to impress, it’ll be more casual this year. Much more casual. Our instructions were for everyone to wear an ugly Christmas sweater.
My father probably went as conservative as possible, opting for a red sweater with the infamous leg lamp from A Christmas Story on it.
Esme, being the snarky and irreverent woman I love, wears a black sweater that says Feel The Joy, two red gloves covering her chest.
But I think my grandmother actually wins for best sweater. Or at least best execution. Leaves and ivy, along with a few sleigh bells, cover the shoulders and arms. On the front are what appears to be reindeer footsteps in the snow.
“You guys look great!” Nora exclaims. “Especially you, Grandma.”
“You get it?” she asks.
“Of course! ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer’! It’s genius.”
“I have to admit, it was quite fun making this.”
“I’m glad.”
I watch Nora and my grandmother, the warmth and affection both women have for each other obvious. It’s no secret Nora never had a strong mother figure in her life. But my grandmother seems to have become that for her, the two often spending hours playing chess in the study.
When I first brought Nora here and my grandmother was so against the idea of us together, I never could have imagined that possibility. However, my grandmother has relaxed quite a bit over the past few years. She now cares less and less about her role as queen mother, something that used to be her sole identity. Something she clung to out of fear that if she didn’t, she’d cease to exist. Not anymore. Now, her focus is little Hunter.
Truthfully, I think she quite likes not following every little rule and requirement of royal protocol anymore. It gives her freedom to do things she actually wants. To follow her passions. While she can still be a stickler for decorum and etiquette every so often, she’s let go of certain traditions that only served to keep the idea of the royal family antiquated. My goal as king has been to allow us to be seen as a modern family, one that’s no longer resistant to change.
As for Nora’s mother, she finally got what was coming to her, something that should have happened ages ago. After my interview, her license to practice psychiatry was revoked. Not only did she lose her means of making a living, but when her latest divorce was finalized, the judge refused to award her alimony. With no other way to maintain the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to, she reached out to Nora, pretending to be the caring mother she’d never been. So Nora bestowed the same compassion on her that she’d shown Nora all her life — absolutely none. Last I heard, she’s working as a cashier at some grocery store in Florida and living in a rundown trailer park.
As my mother once said… Karma is like a rubber band. You can only stretch it so far before it comes back and smacks you in the face.
Nora’s mother has finally gotten the smack in the face she’s always deserved.
“Why don’t you all head into the living room,” I suggest. “I just need to change, then I’ll be right down.” I give Nora a kiss on the cheek and tousle Hunter’s hair before dashing up to our bedroom.