Page 7 of Royal Icing
“It’s festive as fuck out here,” Lola said over the wind whistling in the background. “I can’t walk more than three feet without getting brained by tinsel.”
Emma snorted. Lola was six foot two and regularly struggled with things five-foot-two Emma had never experienced.
“But anyway, I’m working with a nonprofit to secure some funding for renovations to the playground in Humboldt Park.”
“You’re such a badass,” Emma said as she hefted her bag off the conveyor belt.
“Me? What about you? You were personally selected by a royal freakin’ family to fly to Europe and make a dessert for their anniversary party. That’s insane. Whose life are you living right now?”
“They personally selectedMaya,” she clarified in a low voice.
“And of course the she-beast couldn’t do jack shit without you,” Lola said.
“Mm-hmm.” Emma spotted Maya in line at the airport Starbucks. A prickle of irritation grew. A driver was waiting for them somewhere, and something told her the queen of Lynoria did not enjoy being kept waiting. “I better go. I have to corral Maya.”
Lola snorted. “Your work is going to be cut out for you this trip. I looked up the royal family. Two princes, one princess. None of them are married. She’s going to plant her lips on the eldest brother’s ass the second you arrive in that castle.”
“Well, at least she’ll be out of my hair. Tell Mateo I said hi, okay? Love you tons.”
Emma hung up, straightened her shoulders, and clicked her tongue to make Cooper fall in line. He followed her over to Maya.
“We have to go. I think that person’s here for us.” She gestured to the baggage claim area, where a man in an impressive uniform held a sign that read “Farrell & Clark.”
“Not without an iced matcha latte,” Maya said without looking up from her phone.
Emma tutted and walked over to the person holding the sign. Maybe she could convince the driver to leave without Maya.
“Miss Farrell?”
“Clark. Emma Clark.” She reached over and shook the driver’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
He seemed surprised by the question and nearly dropped his sign. “Walter, madam. We’re delighted to have you. Will Miss Farrell be joining us, or did she fly separately?”
“Oh, she’s here.” A prickle of irritation crawled up Emma’s spine. If they got fired because they kept the queen waiting, she was going to throw Maya’s phone in a storm drain.
She fought the urge to clap at Maya the way she clapped at Cooper when he was taking too long to poop. Cooper accepted redirection, but Maya believed there was no word higher than hers. Actually, she probablywouldmake a great queen. Maybe the eldest prince would take Maya off their hands for good.
Maya finally strolled over with a violently green beverage and pushed her bag at the driver. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Cooper rode shotgun. Emma’s head was on a swivel as they drove through Spain and entered Avolis, which, according to the driver, was Lynoria’s capital city. City workers atop ladders hung wreaths on lampposts. Storefronts frosted with fake snow glowed with multicolored lights and displays of miniature trees. It wasn’t exactly the jaw-dropping glamour of the tree atop Radio City Music Hall or the incomparable magic of Hudson Yards, but it was charmingly festive nonetheless.
Restaurants of all kinds lined the streets. A tantalizing mix of smells invaded and left the car like spirits. It felt a little bit like New York, but cleaner and smaller.
They left the city behind and drove through deep woods before emerging onto narrow cobblestone streets.
“This is Hollybrook,” their driver reported.
The sun was cresting the mountain to their left, casting golden rays over the idyllic hamlet. A lake shrouded in mist sat to their right. Someone was carrying a reindeer on the roof of what looked to be a municipal building. Christmas lights sparkled on the snow-dusted roofs of Tudor-style cottages. It was a Thomas Kincaid painting come to life, but her heart still ached for glittering six-story trees and the cozy traditions that gave her something to look forward to every day.
Even though things were significantly leaner than they used to be, Emma and Lisa didn’t let that keep them from their traditions. Ugly sweater day, a holiday movie marathon, making cookies from scratch, preparing care packages for the homeless. Every day held something special. December 1 was always Decoration Day, and she had missed it for the first time in two decades.
“Almost there,” the driver said. Emma leaned closer to the window. They were emerging from the mist. Spires appeared in the distance above snow-laden branches.
Thyme and rosemary perfumed the air outside a small pub. They passed a playground in a state of disrepair, more cottages, a handful of shabby-looking businesses, and what seemed to be the edge of a farmers market, or maybe a winter carnival.
Interest prickled. Would they have time to sightsee while they were here? This might be her last trip for a decade.
They turned off and began a steep ascent.
