Page 7 of Once Upon A Royal Christmas
Emilie glared at him. “You hate the concept already, and you don’t know a thing about it. Seriously?”
“I gather this was your idea.” Nick said, speaking with exaggerated calm, even though the thought of his family Christmas being someone’s “prize” in a global contest was enough to make him want to climb into a parka and move back to his igloo.
Emilie lifted her chin. “Yes, and it’s a good one. Everyone thinks so.”
Nick waited for someone…anyone…to politely object. No one did, not even his dad, who never wanted to let Nick or Emilie make any real decisions.
They couldn’t be serious about this. Nick had already made a mockery of the royal name once—and had failed his grandfather in doing it. As King Noël lay dying, it hadn’t been his good deeds or social policies that had been in the news. It had been Nick.
How had his ex-girlfriend described him, exactly?
Cold.
Distant.
Unable to utter the word “love.”
None of it had been true. Nick had definitely uttered the word love before. Plenty of times, in fact. He’d just never used it in conjunction with this particular ex-girlfriend; hence, the problem. The truth hadn’t mattered, though. Nick hadn’t been about to defend himself—not when his grandpa was so sick. Instead, he’d taken the hits and let everyone believe he was the year-round equivalent of Ebenezer Scrooge. It didn’t matter what people said about him, but his grandfather’s legacy did matter. And Nick’s newfound frosty reputation had overshadowed even that.
Nick had been trying to restore dignity and honor to the House of Montavan ever since those dark days. He hadn’t just lost a grandpa. He’d lost his mentor…his king. The least he could do was make sure that everything King Noël had worked so hard for wouldn’t crumble in his absence.
A contest, of all things, didn’t seem like the path to dignity. Frankly, it sounded the opposite.
The queen smiled. “Nick, you’re always saying that your father and I should include you and Emilie in more of the monarchy’s day-to-day affairs. You both do a wonderful job with your charitable endeavors, but you’re right. Someday, you’ll be the one sitting on the throne. Emilie will be among your most trusted advisors. Perhaps you’ve been right. Maybe it’s time for the two of you to take a more active role in the business of running the kingdom.”
Her comment should have been music to Nick’s ears. It was, actually. He just hadn’t realized that more involvement might come with some very dubious strings attached. Nor had he realized that of all the times for his concerns to finally be taken seriously, it would occur while he’d been fourteen thousand feet above sea level with icicles forming in his facial hair.
“When it became clear just how much local shopkeepers were struggling, we included Emilie in the discussion,” his father said. “You would have had a seat at the table as well, of course, but you were away on your climbing adventure, which was equally important. However, with Christmas coming up, the issue was rather time-sensitive. We didn’t want to wait until next year to make a change.”
“I understand.” Nick nodded, forcing his mouth into some semblance of a smile.
He was probably being a grump, as Emilie had so bluntly put it. Surely they could come up with some sort of respectful compromise and he wouldn’t wake up on Christmas morning to find himself dressed in matching pajamas with his family and a complete and total stranger.
“The contest has already begun, sir,” Jaron said, fumbling with his laptop and studiously avoiding Nick’s gaze.
Right. So no compromise, then.
“Why don’t you catch Nick up on the details, Jaron?” The king leaned back in his chair.
“The object of the contest is to increase awareness of all that our kingdom has to offer during the Christmas season. One winner will be chosen to appear in San Glacera’s Ice Village and participate in some of our traditional holiday activities alongside members of the royal family. The contest closed two days ago, and the entries numbered in the thousands.” Jaron advanced the presentation to a slide with a bar graph that looked like an exact mirror image of the dismal chart from earlier. The numbers increased as steadily as the previous chart’s figures had bottomed out. “As you can see, we’ve already experienced a slight uptick in tourism. Most local hotels and bed and breakfasts are reporting a ten percent increase over reservations from last year at this time.”
“Still think the contest is a joke of an idea?” Emilie gave him a swift kick under the table—maturity at its finest.
Nick’s shin throbbed.
“I never called it a joke,” he said. Hadn’t he, though? “The numbers are…hopeful.”
Ten percent wasn’t even a dent, and there was no real evidence that the contest had anything to do with the uptick. At least not any that Nick had seen.
He rested his hands on the table. Surely there was a way to make the others see reason. “I’m simply concerned that the idea of a contest sends the wrong message. San Glacera is steeped in centuries of history and tradition, and this seems to have the potential to become a...”
Train wreck.
Nick bit his tongue and wracked his brain for another word—one that wouldn’t get him kicked, labeled a grump, or otherwise land him on Santa’s naughty list.
He swallowed. “Spectacle.”
“Hashtag #ChristmasInSanGlacera is already trending on Instagram,” Emilie said haughtily.
