Page 45 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
He raised a brow at Gracie. He wasn’t about to force her into posing with him if she truly didn’t want to.
She waved him over, smile frozen in place. “Come on. One photo won’t kill us.”
“I’m fairly certain that’s what the photographer said when he took my photo at the Matterhorn,” Nick murmured once they were snuggled up close to one another.
“Just smile and pretend we like each other,” Gracie said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, Princess,” he whispered.
Gracie dug her elbow into his ribs, and Nick flashed his most princely of princely grins.
No pretending necessary.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Royal Mess
When Gracie was a little girl, she never slept as soundly as she did after a snow day.
Once a year or so, a blizzard would blanket Denver beneath a thick layer of glittering white, prompting city-wide school closures. For Gracie—and most other children—those precious snow days were like Christmas.
She and her friends would spend the entire day outside. Sometimes they went sledding on the big hill behind the neighborhood church and, if the roads were clear, her dad might take them up into the mountains to go snowshoeing. They’d clomp their way through the thin, silvery Aspen trees, looking for animal footprints on the snowy path. Gracie’s dad would point out deer and elk tracks. Gracie always looked for signs of the little white bunnies that hopped through the forest during winter—snowshoe hare, her father called them. On the very best snow days, she’d spot one, darting from tree to tree. Then they’d go home and build a huge snowman in the front yard.
The only thing that could have made those days better was an appearance by Santa himself. Gracie sometimes dreamed of his magic sleigh, flying over her sparkling white street. Other times, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. But those precious winter nights were always calm. Always bright. And Gracie would awake the following morning and stretch like a cat who’d gotten the cream.
Which was exactly what she did the morning after her snowball fight with Nick.
“I slept great last night,” she said, reaching her arms overhead and wiggling her toes in her bed at the B&B. “I must be getting over the jet lag.”
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Clara sat up straight in the other bed and flicked on the lamp on the nightstand. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to get up. Look at this.”
She shoved her phone toward Gracie.
Gracie threw an arm over her face. “It’s too early for screens.”
“It’s nine in the morning, sleepyhead,” Clara countered.
Gracie’s eyes flew open. “I never sleep that late. Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Clara tossed her covers off and hopped out of bed. “If we don’t hurry and get ready, we’re going to miss breakfast downstairs. But first, you really need to see this.”
She thrust the phone toward Gracie again. The last time she’d been this anxious to turn her device over to Gracie, it had been a phone call from the palace, so Gracie relented, took hold of the phone, and squinted at the screen.
Notifications pinged, one right after the other, scrolling across the top of the screen faster than Gracie could read them.
“What’s going on?” she said.
Clara leaned over and tapped the screen a few times. “You and your prince. That’s what’s going on.”
“Me and my what?” Gracie said, and then spots started swimming before her eyes, like she might faint.
You and your prince.
She blinked, doing her best to focus. And then, to her horror, she realized she was looking at an Instagram photo of her and Prince Nicolas. Snow coated their clothing, their boots, their hair. Nick’s arm was wrapped around her shoulders and she was tucked against his side, as if she’d been made to fit snugly in his arms. Gracie looked directly at the camera, smiling her best and brightest party princess smile, but Nick wasn’t looking at the camera at all. He gazed directly at her instead, with a smile on his face that made it look as though they’d just been frolicking in the snow together.
Which they had, technically speaking.
“You posted this?” Gracie’s gaze flew to Clara. This could not be happening. “You didn’t ask me first! And for the record—again—he’s not my prince.”
