Chapter Text
It was in the middle of aunt Margot’s anecdote about a persistent vendor on a beach (and one must know that aunt Margot takes her storytelling seriously) that she showed up, looking more nervous than any other before her. She curtsied in all the wrong order using all the wrong titles. It was a mess bound to happen.
“It’s Your Majesty if it is the first time, Sir if it’s the second.” Anne provided as the girl was looking at Charles, though her intention was hardly to be helpful. Honestly, how did one not know that? She was said to be some sort of nobility, and even if she wasn’t she should have looked it up.
By the time the poor thing got to Anne, she couldn’t even hold eye contact. Anne was aware they were a tough bunch, but they weren’t off-with-her-head kind of tough.
“So is this a friend or a girlfriend?” her mother wondered.
“I think we’ll have our answer after tonight. She’ll either sink or swim.”
Her mother was satisfied enough with the answer and turned her attention to other guests. Her aunt, on the other hand, was not, “When did she become a contender?”
Anne shrugged and took a sip of the sauvignon blanc. She didn’t care much about Charles’ choices. Actually, she did care but never meddled unless asked. It had been over a year that she had told him to stop torturing himself and let go of Camilla. Since then, he'd introduced the family to a rotating cast of friends, girlfriends, and ambiguous ‘someones’, all before they’d even survived the coy flirtation stage. She looked at his newest guest. Clearly, she managed to charm the group on that end of the table, even her father who has been looking with scorn at most of Charles’ choices. Anne had to admit, this one already seemed different.
“Where do I type in the name?” her aunt nudged her, “they changed it again.”
Anne blinked. Had she missed the part of the conversation? Then she followed her aunt’s gaze downward.
“Ah, bloody hell.” she muttered as she saw a phone in her lap, “I thought you deleted the profile. You’re not supposed to have one.”
“Please, everyone has it.”
“I don’t.”
“You would if your horse had social media.”
“You truly need to snoop now? During dinner, at three meters away from the girl? Why not go ahead and like a photo from six months ago?”
“That happened once .”
“Fine. Give me.” she typed in the name and scrolled through the profiles, “Looks like it’s this one.”
“Oh, that’s interesting.” aunt Margot commented, “Does she work ? In a kindergarten?”
Anne stared ahead, above Sir Thomas Longman’s head and into the ugly painting, refusing to take any part. She exhaled slowly. Whenever Charles brings the next one, Anne is not sitting next to aunt Margot.
*
Anne put her head high.
Diana leaned toward Prince Philip and whispered something. He blinked, then gestured toward his daughter with baffled indignation.
“Don’t be ridiculous. How is that…” he jabbed a finger toward Anne, ‘Shakespeare in love’?”
“Yes!” Anne exclaimed, “Took you long enough. I acted out half the film.”
“But he said it isn’t.” Edward protested, still clutching the scorecard.
“I said the title.”
“He said the title, Edward.” Anne echoed with a smirk, “Which puts us in the lead, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.” Philip confirmed, with a rare glint of amusement.
Edward raised his hands in defeat. There was no point trying to argue with the super competitive father/daughter duo.
“Yes, that’s lovely.” Queen interjects, “But really, how was that ‘Shakespeare in love’?”
“How did you guess it, girl?” Aunt Margot asked Diana. She unapologetically stopped caring about remembering the names of Charles’ female friends some three girlfriends ago.
“And cheated us out of winning?” Charles added.
“It’s just…” she glances at Anne coyly, “I don’t like the film much but that was clearly Judy Dench as Queen Elizabeth I.”
Anne bit back a smile and swept her gaze around the room. “There you go. Now who’s next?”
*
“Well, this one’s not… fully unbearable.” Andrew said, swirling the last of his wine,
Anne shrugged, “You know I don’t take much interest in the matters of the heart.”
“Are you talking about the choice of the future queen or yourself?” Andrew asked cheekily.
“Do you want to be the first RAF pilot to be beaten up by a girl?”
“Oh, I doubt I’d be the first. But I concede.” He raised both palms in mock surrender. “I only wanted to know your first impressions. Just between us.”
“She’s eager.” Anne said after a moment. “And seems pliable enough which might be exactly what Charles needs. Especially with you-know-who still in the picture.”
“I think you got her all wrong.” Andrew replied after short deliberation, “I remember her vaguely from school and she’s not all that weak-headed. But I do appreciate the Harry Potter reference. Quite fitting.”