Secret Royal

“I’m sorry, what?” 

I stare at Hugo, the love of my life, the man of my dreams. 

He’s staring back at me with a mixture of patience and anxiety, making my pulse race a little faster. 

“I’m going to need you to repeat yourself, Hugo,” I say quietly, choosing to believe that what he just told me is a joke. 

He reaches over the table and grabs my hand, turning it over and rubbing his thumb over my palm. Taking a deep breath, he looks me right in the eye and says, “I need to go home for my coronation in a few weeks.” 

Hearing it again, I just giggle. The giggle turns into a full-fledged laugh as I pull my hand away from him and rub my eyes.

“Babe, if you didn’t want to spend Christmas with my family, you can just say so,” I say through my anxious laugh. I keep my eyes away from him because this whole thing is confusing and ultimately hurtful. Because if my boyfriend of two years thinks having to concoct an elaborate story about how he’s a secret prince from a small kingdom in Europe in order not to spend time with my family, then I need to take a second to myself. I need to not snap at him. I need to not be annoyed that he is doing this at a crowded coffee shop on a Sunday morning. 

He gently pulls my hands away from my face and to his own, kissing them. “Sweetheart, I’m not lying to you.” His voice is quiet, completely serious. 

I narrow my eyes at him, and try to pull my hands back. “This isn’t funny, Hugo.” 

He doesn’t let go. “I’m not trying to be funny, love.” The longer he stares at me, the more my mind whirls to make sense of what he’s saying. Because I’d like to think I know Hugo pretty damn well. I know his favorite color, his biggest fear, hell, I know his entire astrological birth chart. As I’m going down the mental laundry list of facts I know about my boyfriend, “Secret Prince” is not on that list. 

“I didn’t say anything because I never thought the coronation was going to happen. I never intended to go back home,” he says in his low voice, with the slight not-quite-British accent I adore. 

I don’t know what to say, how to process this. 

I don’t know whether to blindly trust him, or assume he’s lying. 

I scoff a bit, incredulous. “Oh? You didn’t think the royal line of succession wasn’t going to happen?”  

Hugo is sullen, suddenly looking exhausted. As if the weight of whatever is happening an ocean away is crumbling down on him. “I’ve started the process of abdicating, but something’s happened and I need to go home, but we need to talk about what that means…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. 

My heart drops to the bottom of my stomach as I stare at him some more. 

Because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Hugo isn’t lying. 

He’s never lied to me, and I don’t know why he would start now. 

He must see me trying to make sense of things in my head because he just stands up, puts his winter coat on, helps me put on mine, and silently takes my hand again and leads me outside. 

As we walk to the car I pull my hand away, wrapping my arms around myself. 

Space. I just need a little space. 

He stays silent, opening the passenger side door for me, then gets in to drive back to his apartment. 

“Take me home, please,” I blurt out. 

He slightly shakes his head, but turns in the direction of my apartment. “We need to talk about this Nora,” he says. 

I scoff, my frustration with him being the emotion I apparently am running with at the moment. “You want to talk about the fact that even though you didn’t technically lie to me, you withheld the fact that you’re royalty? And what? You just have to go home now and become the king?” 

I flinch at the sharpness of my own words, but I’m pissed. He can tell, because he stays silent. He doesn’t defend himself, because he knows that I’m completely right. 

I can’t seem to stop the onslaught of virulent words coming out of me, questions that I suddenly need detailed answers to. “Did you not think you could trust me? Is that why you lied? Or was this the plan all along, just to bide your time with me until it was time to go home? I was just a pit stop on your All American Tour?” Hugo flinches, but doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look over at me. I can see his eyes get glassy and his hands tighten around the steering wheel. I look at his profile, at the face that I hoped to wake up to for the rest of my life. I rub my hand across my chest, feeling my heart break at the idea of Hugo leaving and never coming back. 

We drive in tense silence for the next ten minutes, and I’m quickly losing control of keeping the tears in. I then want to cry more because I don’t even know why I’m crying. At the first sniffle of me trying to hold it together, Hugo snaps his attention to me and immediately pulls over. 

“Hugo, please just take me home,” I say quietly while more tears come down. 

He ignores me, unbuckling his seatbelt, leaning over to unbuckle mine and pulls me into a tight hug. 

“Love, I am so sorry,” he whispers over and over again. 

I hug him back, because even though I’m mad at him, he unfortunately is the only one that is able to make everything better. 

I assume the king of a country has to reside in the country he’s the king of, given what little I know of European monarchies. This becomes the only thought in my head, on a loop, coming to the heartbreaking conclusion that we have to break up. 

I cry harder at that, with Hugo only holding me tighter. I don’t know how long he holds me for, but I eventually lean away to look at him. He wipes away my wet cheeks as I whisper, “We have to break up, don’t we?” 

Hugo physically recoils away, like I hurt him with my question. Like those seven words were a slap in the face. I’m slightly comforted by his reaction; because then at least both of us are feeling the pain of the possibility of us not being together.  

“No, no we are absolutely not breaking up,” he says with his hands holding my face. 

“But-” 

He cuts me off before I can spiral, kissing me roughly before saying, “Nora I love you. So much. Do you know that?” 

I nod, because I do know. “I love you too,” I whisper back. 

He nods with me, a fierce look in his eyes. “I have no intention of ever breaking up with you.” 

My heart simultaneously soars and breaks, because I never want him to break up with me either, but the logistics of being a royal is the elephant in the car that we both are ignoring. 

He seems to read my mind because he murmurs softly, “Loving you and taking the throne can exist at the same time. I don’t see why I can’t carry out my duty to my family and my country, while also spending the rest of my life loving you.”

I smile despite the situation and say, “The rest of your life, huh?” 

He doesn’t hesitate. 

“The rest of my life, Nora. Until the day I die, and even then, in every lifetime I would find you and choose you. Over and over and over again,” he says while kissing the tears off my face. 

I kiss him back, wanting nothing more than for that to be our reality. 

He pulls away, just slightly, “Please say something, love.” 

Among the myriad of thoughts and feelings I’m having, I say the one thing I know with absolute certainty, “I love you Hugo. So much it hurts.” And I kiss him again. 

We sit there and make out like teenagers until he pulls away, a bit breathlessly.  

“Marry me.” 

The two words seem to shock both of us. 

The tears are still there, but I laugh. 

Loudly. 

“Marry you?” I say, disbelief coating my words. 

But he doesn’t take it back. He gets that look in his eyes that I am beyond familiar with. 

It’s the look he has when he refuses to give up. He gets it when we argue about political conspiracy theories or where to eat for dinner. He doesn’t like losing. There’s a tense beat of silence, then he smiles at me. 

I somehow find myself smiling back at him, even with the tension in the car rising. 

I make myself look away from him, and try to rationalize why this wouldn’t work. Why getting married isn’t the solution. The shitshow of trying to get a visa to a country in Europe I don’t even think I could find on a map is just the tip of the iceberg. I try and reason with myself that even though it would irrevocably break me, we should just end things. 

Because despite all of the rationalizing in my brain, every other part of me wants to scream yes. 

I take a few big deep breaths before turning back to him, determined to put the marriage idea to bed when all of the air in the car disappears. 

Because Hugo is looking right at me, holding up a diamond ring. 

“What is that?” I whisper. 

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Oh my god this is happening. 

“Well love, it’s an engagement ring,” Hugo replies softly. He is completely calm, totally still. 

The tears start flowing faster, making my vision a bit blurry. Hugo reaches over and gently wipes them away. 

“When did you get it?” I ask. 

“After Thanksgiving,” he replies. My eyes go wide because that was a month ago. He’s been sitting on this secret for a month. I’m speechless, and am staring at him with wide eyes. Hugo leans forward, kissing my forward. Understanding that I am in shock. 

“Nora, I’ve wanted to marry you for a long time,” he says softly. “I knew on our first date that this was something special, and by our fourth date, I knew that it was you.” I can’t look away from him, from this moment I have been dreaming about. Even if this wasn’t quite how I pictured it happening.

“You’re everything to me, do you know that?” he asks. I nod, because Hugo loving me is the constant in my life that holds me together, that makes me feel invincible. “And I know you’re thinking that I’m only asking you because of the coronation, but that’s not true.” 

I shake my head a little, because he’s right. I was thinking that, and him soothing that worry just goes to show how well he knows me. 

“I had a whole plan for how I was going to propose,” he says. He slips his hand not holding the ring to the back of my head and pulls me in for a tender kiss. He looks at me with such adoration that even now, after dating for two years, it takes my breath away. 

“We were going to take a sporadic weekend trip up to the mountains, rent a cabin just the two of us. And I was going to ask you to be my wife, to spend the rest of your life letting me love you,” Hugo murmurs. It sounds perfect. But I have to admit that this moment is perfect, too. 

“But then my dad got sick.” I close my eyes and cry some more. Because while I have selfishly been in agony over the idea of breaking up, I have failed to realize that Hugo having to become king is because his dad is no longer able to rule. “Hugo I’m so sorry,” I say softly, pulling him into a tight hug. He returns the embrace, shoulders shaking slightly. 

“Thank you love,” he says. “He apparently has a form of blood cancer, and they caught it too late. He doesn’t have much time left.” 

We just hold each other then, and we cry. Hugo grieves for his dad, and I grieve with him, heartbroken that I never got to meet his dad. After a few minutes Hugo pulls away. 

“I know that if you say yes, if you agree to marry me, that everything will change,” he says. I nod, expecting to feel more panic or dread at that thought. 

But there’s nothing. Nothing but the overwhelming feeling of wanting to say yes. Because why would I ever let this go? Why would I let this man, this incredible person who loves me as easily as breathing, walk away? 

At that, all of the tension in my body disappears. All of the unanswered questions that I know we will eventually need to talk about take a backseat in my mind. 

I smile at Hugo and lean toward him to wipe away the moisture in his eyes.

“Ask me again,” I say softly. 

Hugo doesn’t skip a beat. 

“Nora Grace Matthews, will you marry me?” 

It’s almost as if the last thirty minutes of exposed secrets and uncertainty and fear didn’t even happen because the “yes” that comes out of my mouth is the most sure thing I have ever said. The easiest decision I have ever made. But that’s what loving Hugo has always been: easy. Like a Sunday morning, as they say. 

He slides the beautiful diamond ring on my finger and kisses me with the most tenderness and love that feels like a promise of what the next 50 odd years will feel like. 

He peppers kisses over my face, making me laugh before resting his forehead against mine and whispering, “How do you feel about being a queen?” 

I stare at him, and mutter what I assume is un-queen like, “Oh shit.” 

The idea of reigning with Hugo is something that quite frankly, never crossed my mind. I just assumed I would be off to the side, given I’m an American and don’t really have the qualifications to be a queen. 

But the way Hugo is looking at me makes the outlandish idea seem somewhat obtainable. Solely based on the fact that I want to be with him. That even though I can’t picture myself ruling a country, I see Hugo. I see us together, chasing our babies around and traveling the world and just being as in love then as we are right in this moment. 

And that’s enough. 

“Yeah I guess I’ll be a queen for you, “ I say lightly. “Though I don’t know if everyone else, mainly your family, will be okay with that.” 

“No, they love you,” he says with so much certainty I can’t help but laugh. 

“They’ve never even met me,” I counter. 

“They have heard all about you, and know that my intention was always to marry you,” he replies. 

“So the people you will one day rule over, they are also down with some American girl being their queen?” I ask. 

Hugo kisses me, and starts the car. He turns in the direction of my apartment. “They will grow to love you, just as I do, “ he says. 

I stare at him dubiously. “That’s reassuring,” I say. 

He laughs, reaching over to hold my left hand, rubbing his thumb over my engagement ring. “I can’t say I care much for public polls, anyway. They will be fine.” 

I drop it, knowing we can have that conversation later. A beat passes before I realize, “Oh my god, I need to tell my parents.” 

Hugo nods, eyes on the road. “They know,” he says. 

“About you being a prince, and our somewhat hasty move to Europe?” 

“No, about the engagement. I told them on Thanksgiving that I was going to propose.” 

I smile at that, happy that he didn’t feel the need to ask permission.  

We pull into my apartment’s parking lot and Hugo gets out to open my door. 

“Speaking of that hasty move, we need to make some arrangements,” he says, holding my hand as we make our way inside. 

“What kind of arrangements?” I ask, unlocking the front door. 

“Well, ideally we need to be over there to get ready for the coronation by the end of the month.” We step into my apartment and stand in the living room, a little unsure of what to do next. There’s almost an overwhelmingly large amount of things that need to get done, but a thought comes to mind that has me sitting on the couch, and pulling a movie up on the tv. 

Hugo sits next to me, seemingly confused. “What are we watching?” he asks. 

I smile and say, “The Prince and Me, it is incredibly topical and we can deal with everything else after we watch this.” Hugo just pulls me in close, and I settle in to soak up all the wisdom that Julia Stiles can give me on what will become my life very shortly.