Page 11 of Royal Icing
“The stage in the park is a little worse for wear. One of the stagehands almost fell through it, so we’ve had to close it off. We’ve sent a work request to the parish, but they won’t get to it until the new year.”
Leo looked at Sal, who nodded. He jotted down the issue and starred it. “We’ll take a look at it. Might be cutting it close, though.”
“We’re grateful for any help.”
She sat, and Leo opened the floor to the public. A number of issues came up—potholes, a broken printer at the library, bike lanes that needed to be repainted in the spring. He triaged the items in his notebook and dismissed the meeting.
Sal walked up and checked his watch. “I’ve got an hour. Should we go check out the damage?”
Leo nodded, and they left town hall. Leo pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes. Fortunately, as the most boring member of the royal family, the paparazzi almost always left him alone. But he wasn’t in the mood to be curtsied at.
The sun was punishingly bright, glaring off the fresh blanket of snow. Cars ground the powder into slush, and irritating Christmas lights blinked incessantly at them every step of the way.
After a quick stop at Sal’s pub to grab his tool bag, they walked to the park. The corner of a vacant lot was just visible beyond the park, and his mind turned back to the project.
There was no reason why his parents wouldn’t approve of the plan. The lot had been vacant his whole life. It was on the edge of town and butted up against the Endless Mountains. It wasn’t even used as a green space, so Hollybrook would lose nothing by developing it. He even had a crew and all the other pieces in place. It would be an incredible gift to the community. A new library, a domestic violence shelter, a community garden, and a playground. It would create jobs and serve the most vulnerable in their population.
If he had his way, the soup kitchen would have a new space as well, but he had to be realistic. It was already a big ask, but one of the few pieces of power left in the royal family was directing charitable giving. At least he could do something good with this empty title. He had to wait until his parents were in the right mood to broach the subject, but the project needed to be approved before the end of the year. Time was running out, and the queen hadn’t been in a good mood for longer than three minutes since their holiday in the Maldives in June.
They dodged around a person constructing a roasted nut stand and circumvented the beer tent. Christmas decorations were everywhere. Candy canes, wooden trees, strings of lights, and even errant mistletoe. It was a lot of fuss for a celebration of consumerism, but at least it raised money for local nonprofits.
At the back of the park, the hazardous stage waited.
Together, Leo and Sal tested each shabby board that made up the stage floor. Nails stuck out like jagged teeth. He grabbeda hammer and pounded them back in. The whole thing could stand to be replaced, but they could at least fix the unsafe boards before the carnival started.
“What are you and Callum doing for the holiday?” Leo asked over his shoulder.
Sal hooked his measuring tape on the edge of a board and walked to the other end. “We’re headed to Belfast.”
“Nice,” Leo said. Getting away from the aggressive holiday bustle of Lynoria sounded amazing.
“The weather’s going to be miserable. I assume you’re going to the quincentennial party?”
Leo scoffed. “I’m not getting involved in that. I scheduled another town hall at the same time.”
Sal raised his eyebrows. “Do you want your mother to murder you?”
“She won’t even notice. This party is the only thing she’s been talking about all year.”
“She will definitely notice if you don’t play nice and show up for the cameras. Image is everything, Leopold,” Sal mimicked in an eerily accurate impression of the queen.
“She’ll be too busy matchmaking for John.”
Despite a decade of family discussions about the need for a royal heir, his eldest brother had left a string of broken hearts behind him and burned bridges with a number of aristocratic families around the continent. He had an insatiable taste for models and actresses and no intention of settling down, especially not with whatever eligible patrician his mother hand-selected for him.
“At least she’s left you to your own devices in that department,” Sal said.
Leo grunted. It was true. In fact, she rarely seemed to remember that Leo existed at all.
“You want me to set something up?” Sal asked.
“Sure, because that worked out so well last time.”
“In my defense, I did not know Renee had a penchant for petty theft.”
“I don’t know if stealing an original Monet counts as petty theft.”
“Maybe it was an accident.”
