at the nursery had changed. Humming was rapidly becoming normal now. Little noises, little sounds would be made with excitement—or sometimes fright if they were watching Finding Nemo again.
A small flick-through book of photographs of Annabelle and her mother had appeared. The picture on the front was amazing. One half in black and white, one half in colour. Annabelle and her mother, both sitting on the fountain, at around the same age. Two captured moments in time.
Anyone who didn’t know Annabelle would think it was the same little girl.
Ruby could already predict that in her teenage years Annabelle would blow up that picture for her bedroom wall.
The first time she’d flicked through the book with Annabelle talking her through the pictures had been hard. A weight had pressed down on her chest and it had been all she could do to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. But it became easier, and soon part of their routine every day involved five minutes of flicking through the photos.
It had also become part of Alex’s bedtime routine with Annabelle. The staff had finally got the message and stopped queuing outside the door at night. Alex was adamant that this time was Annabelle’s.
And it had done them both good. Alex was more relaxed around his child. He knew what her favourite foods were. He knew who her best friends were at nursery. He could sing along to all the songs in Finding Nemo. And gradually the sad tone in his voice was replaced as he told stories of happy memories while they flicked through the photo album.
Ruby stayed in the background although she was working tirelessly with Annabelle. There were no more romantic interludes with Alex, no matter how much she hoped for them. No other heated moments when the air was so thick a wrecking ball couldn’t pound its way through.
He still watched her. Sometimes when she lifted her head she would meet his bright blue gaze. The sparks were still there. They were both just treading more warily.
If they brushed hands as they played with Annabelle, or if he moved closer for any reason, the buzz thrummed through her body. Every part of her still wanted to be with him. But she was more confident around him.
She didn’t feel the need to look like a supermodel. She didn’t feel outclassed by visiting royalty. Alex wanted her. She knew it. He knew it.
Getting there was a slow process. But she could live with that.
Every day she learned something new about Euronia. About its history—the subterfuge, the pirates and the Kings. The history was chequered with colourful characters. Alex’s father was probably the quietest ruler of them all.
He was still in Switzerland. Once Alex had flown there, when his father had suffered another bout of pneumonia and had to be ventilated. She’d offered to go but he’d asked her to stay with Annabelle. They both knew the little girl needed stability and she’d been happy to oblige.
The long summer came to a close around the end of September, when Ruby finally had to pull her cardigans out of her cupboard to cover her arms.
And before the leaves on the trees started to change colour Alex started to appear around her again.
At first it was simple. Coffee. Cake. Days sitting in the late summer sunshine in the café in the square. Their visits became so frequent that the café owner stopped asking her what she wanted. After she fawned over a new apricot sponge the café owner started to bake it for her every other day.
Then there was the lunches, and their time spent together that included Annabelle. Sometimes it was in the palace grounds. Sometimes it was in and around Euronia. Once he even took them to Monaco for the day.
This time it felt as if she was the one with the barriers in place and it was Alex who was chipping away at her walls. But it felt right. The momentum was building at a pace that felt comfortable for both of them, for Annabelle, and for the people around them.
Clothes kept mysteriously appearing in her wardrobe—all of them beautiful, all of them fitting perfectly. The palace staff had stopped being prickly around her. Her devotion to Annabelle was clear, but Alex’s respect for her was even clearer. Even Rufus had started to come round, and had given her a key to the palace library so she could work undisturbed.
‘Ruby?’
Her head shot up. It was late at night and she was sitting on one of the ancient chaise longues, with her feet tucked up underneath her, reading on her electronic tablet.
There were no fancy clothes tonight. Tonight she was wearing a sloppy white top, grey jogging trousers, and her hair was tied in a knot on top of her head.
‘Is something wrong with Annabelle?’
It was the first thought that came into her head.
Alex crossed into the room, holding up his hand as he walked. ‘No. She’s fine. I was looking for you. I should have known I’d find you in here.’
There was a warmth in his eyes as he said the words, a flicker of a memory, and she remembered he’d told her this had been his mother’s favourite room.
He pointed at the tablet. ‘Isn’t it sacrilege to read that in here?’
She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t work the ancient light switches. Every time I pressed one it seemed to light up the wrong part of the library. Plus, I like being in the dark.’
She pointed to the gardens outside, where some light from the fountain and its walls was spilling up to meet them.
‘There’s something nice about looking out over the world.’
She turned to face him.
‘What have you got?’
He was holding something wrapped in brown paper in his hand, along with two large cups. The smell of something wonderful was winding its way through the air towards her.
‘Midnight snacks.’ He grinned as he sat down next to her. ‘I was starving and went for a rummage around the kitchen to see what I could find.’
She lifted her eyebrows. ‘I’m surprised Rufus’s inbuilt internal alarm didn’t go off at you stepping into the palace kitchens unattended.’
He shrugged. ‘I was too. Here,’ he handed one of the cups to her and she lifted it to her nose, inhaling.
‘Soup?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘At one in the morning?’
He smiled. That goofy smile he sometimes gave when it was just the two of them. ‘I’m hungry. Leena’s soup is the best there is.’ He held up the brown paper package. ‘I even managed to find some freshly baked rolls.’
She opened it up and looked in. Fresh crusty bread in the middle of the night did have a certain appeal.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s no fun eating on your own.’
There was a twinkle in his eye. It was the most relaxed she’d seen him for a while. Spending time with his daughter was doing him the world of good. This wasn’t the uptight guy who’d visited her months ago in her hospital department. This wasn’t the guy who’d looked as if a permanent grey cloud was resting on his shoulders.
She
