A Royal Love

"Ok. What's missing?" He asked himself, scrutinising the small round table. His eyes passed from the plates to the cutlery, then the glasses and the flowers.

“The flowers.” He thought aloud. “I think it’s better to put them on a side rather than in the centre.”

He moved the little vase with the three red roses slightly on a side, and the candle, that he had just lightened up to the centre of the table, then stepped back to check the result.

“Yeah, that’s better.”

He had pictured this dinner in his mind many times and wanted to reproduce it as closely as possible. He looked instinctively at the kitchen and went through his mental to-do list for that evening: the food was ready in the oven, juice and water were on the table. He had given up alcohol time ago, after facing the dark side of it, which had almost brought him to lose everything he had left: her.

Even the music playlist was ready on his phone; he was planning to play it after dinner. Jazz was his choice for that occasion. The only type of music, he thought, that could be both romantic and lively. The doorbell rang.

“Coming!” he shouted, hurrying to check himself in the mirror for a brief moment. He had started to feel nervous when he had realised that that was the first romantic dinner since his wife had passed away two years before. He had also thought that a romantic dinner of that kind was a foolish thing to do; in the end, he was approaching his forties, and she was just a girl. ‘Oh, what the hell, Jack!’ He had told himself at last. Wasn’t St. Valentine a celebration of love? Then why not? After all, he had concluded, she was the only girl he loved, and he was sure she loved him back.

When he opened the door, he barely looked at the smiling 23-year-old beautiful woman that was standing in front of him, as his attention was focused on the little girl standing between them, who, for that occasion, had chosen to wear a princess costume and a tiara headband.

“Here’s my Valentine!” he said with open arms.

“Daddy!” jumping in it

“You are a gorgeous little princess!”

She smiled and then gave him a little paper bag. "We bought you this," she said.

He opened the bag and pulled out a box of chocolates. “Oh, thank you," he said before kissing her.

“She said they were your favourite," the young woman said. She was still standing there, and he had forgotten entirely about her.

"Sure they are." He said, looking back at the little girl. "Now, you go and wash your hands because the food is ready, ok?"

She nodded and followed the orders as soon as he put her down.

"Was everything ok?" he asked the woman.

“Oh yes, don’t worry, she was really good.”

"Great," he said, pulling out some money from his pocket, "here we go, and thank you very much again for today, Anne, you saved my life.”

"That's ok, Mr Camble, it was a pleasure," she replied, taking the money, "enjoy your dinner and say bye to Sarah for me.", and she left with the same smile she had arrived.

Dinner went smoothly. The menu was very simple: mac’n cheese with some vegetables. He had to create a face with the food on her plate, so she would eat the vegetables. He had used the strips of carrots to make eyebrows and lips, the peas for the eyes and the hair, and the mac’n cheese for the beard. She had done most of the talking; she always did. She always liked to tell him all about her days: what she had done, what she had eaten and drunk, who she had seen and what they had said, and he was always the one who actively listened.

She was now telling him about her afternoon. She had gone to the park with Anne, had ice cream and then watched a dog that was staring at a squirrel. When the squirrel ran away, the dog ran after it, and she ran after the dog because she wanted to see if the dog could catch it.

He had listened to her while he was eating, but at that moment, he stopped and looked at her. She was so curious and lively. She had got his eyes and nose, but the curiosity, that energy, and that smile were from her mother.

He remembered the first time he had met his wife; he was studying for the final exams of his master and spending most of the time in the public library, and she was working in the coffee shop across the street. He used to watch her from the library's windows. One day, he left the library to go home, and she was outside there, waiting for him. 'I thought that instead of watching me, we could go for a drink and get to know each other, ' she had said smiling. He fell for her immediately. Two years later, she told him she was pregnant; they were broke and living in a tiny studio above a grocery shop, but that was the best day of his life. In the year Sarah was born, he got his job at the bank, so they moved out of the studio to a bigger place and marry a year later. He had never imagined that a human being could experience so much happiness in only one life.

But then the illness arrived. Six months and she was gone, and his whole world destroyed. He had started to think that the amount of pain that one feels in life is proportionate to the amount of happiness and that she was gone because they were simply too happy. He had started drinking a month before his wife's passing, to calm the anxiety so as to appear stronger in front of her, and after her death, he used it to soften the pain. In the few months after the funeral, the alcohol took away his job and his apartment. It was his father and his best friend who forced him to stop, continually reminding him that the drink was ready to take away also his daughter, and he could not permit that. So he sobered up, managed to find another job in another bank, and had just moved into a new apartment. It was only a one-bedroom flat, but it was a start. A new beginning.

He looked at her again, she had stopped talking, and she was counting the peas that she had left. She was clearly not hungry anymore.

“Let’s put some music!” he said, taking back control of the evening like he had taken back control of his life.

He stood up and reached the shelf where his phone was. When Ella Fitzgerald started singing, he turned to Sarah.

“Can I have this dance?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She smiled and accepted the offer. They swung a little bit, letting the music guide them, and then he twirled her, forward and back and accompanied her in a pirouette. She loved spinning into the air. He then picked her up and swung with her in his arms, and she laughed after every casqué. He had never been a great dancer, and she was just a child, but they were having fun, and her laugh was the root of his new happiness.

When the music ended, he fell exhausted on the sofa, and she jumped on his lap.

"You really look like a princess with this dress," he said, making her smile. He then noticed the framed image on the side table next to him, his wedding day. He always made sure to have pictures of his wife around the house, he wanted Sarah to remember her, but above all, he was afraid he would forget his wife.

"Look," he said, showing the picture to his daughter, "also your mom looks like a princess here."

“No, she is the queen because I am the princess!”

He smiled at such cuteness. "You're right," he said, while she gently laid her head on his chest, “She is the queen.”