Eloise
George and I were in the park having chips and crisp and laughing over something he said. I swear to God, I missed him when he left for UK and when he was back, I didn't want to miss a chance of meeting him in person and here we are.
The suddenly, along the fun line, he said something that made me mute. "Come with me this weekend. I want you to meet my family."
The invitation came so casually from his lips that I almost missed the gravity of it.
I wasn't expecting to hear that so quickly, I mean... we've just become friends and it was barely one month since we kept up the flow.
I didn't know what to say because my brain was not processing anything nice currently, especially hearing the sudden invitation.
"George..." I could barely hear myself speak. "I don't know. Meeting your family....? Don't you think it's too sudden?"
"Nothing is too sudden with you, Eloise." He held my hands in his, almost pleading and I look to it. "It's just a casual visitation, nothing to be scared about."
"It is your parents and family we're talking about here." I told him just incase he has finally turned dumb. "Your father the king and the queen. How do you expect me to stand before them looking like...gosh. George, you've been to my home before. You saw clearly that I'm far from nobility. I'm not like you. My parents are no royal homies and I didn't grow up living in a castle or dining with nobles and subjects."
He lets out a deep breath as if he had been holding it since. "Look, Eloise. It didn't matter. How they see you, how you see them, what they think about us, none of it matters at all. I'm just asking this once that you come with me to England. A place I don't want to rule alone. Please."
I took a deep breath. What do you think? Should I accept to go with him? Was it right at the moment? Or it is still early to back out?
Hmm?
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I thought he said it was a casual visitation or probably dinner, involving a cousin or two, or just something ordinary.
But when I found myself stepping off a private jet onto the tarmac of Heathrow, the truth began to dawn on me.
His family.
London skies stretched gray above me as sleek cars waited on the runway. My palms grew damp as I slid into the backseat beside him, every turn of the wheels carrying me closer to something I wasn't ready for.
The moment the car slowed before towering iron gates crowned with the royal crest, my heart nearly stopped. Guards in dark uniforms saluted as the gates swung open.
Fear, nervousness and anxiety near made me jump out of my skin. George noticed before placing his hand over mine, just to cool off the tension racing in. I look down at his hand covering mine on my lap, then up to his face. He smiled a little, followed by a reassuring nod.
I danced to the tune as I took a deep breath.
The SUV rolled forward, gravel crunching under the tires as centuries of history seemed to close in around me. The palace rose ahead, magnificent, intimidating. A modern castle as golden as daylight, my heart sank into my stomach. God, we're here. I feel like peeing on my pants. I've never been so nervous like this in my entire life. My chest tightened. I had no business being here. I was just me—African, thirty-two, ordinary compared to this.
"You didn't tell me we'll get here so soon," I whispered, my voice shaky.
He only smiled, maddeningly calm. Then, he kissed my temple. "Hey, relax. I did say family."
"Family?" I choked out. "You mean… the royal family?" Why am I suddenly asking again when he already told me before?
Gosh, I'm so stupid.
I was still thinking whether to ask him if we could postpone the visitation when he suddenly extends his hand to me and smiled sweetly, "Shall we, my lady?"
And I was like: "George, please. No, not today."
Inside was worse. Chandeliers glittered overhead, gilded frames lined the walls with ancestral faces that seemed to judge me silently. Every instinct screamed that I didn't belong here. Everything seems so different from my usual home.
George and I sat side by side on the golden couch, his hand not leaving mine as he whispered the word. "Relax."
But how am I supposed to? I'm trying but couldn't. Every bit of this place keeps sending tension to my fragile heart and I wish I had never accepted the invitation in the first place.
Then she entered.
The Queen. Walking gracefully down the stairs in her nobility.
I composed myself quickly and gulped so hard that I felt my heart passing down from my oesophagus to my stomach. Sinking down to its depth.
Her presence filled the room like sunlight and thunder all at once. Regal, poised, her gown elegant in its simplicity, her every step measured. Her eyes, though warm, carried the weight of someone who had seen kingdoms rise and fall.
I stood up and bowed quickly, my knees weak. "Your Majesty." I don't know if I'm doing it with the right portrait but I'm just trying my best not to embarrass myself and George as well.
Her hand reached toward me, steady and warm. "My dear, lift your face. Let me see you."
Oh, I didn't know I had my head down the whole time.
I obeyed, though my pulse raced wildly. Her gaze lingered on me—sharp, searching, but not unkind.
"So this is the young woman my son refuses to stop smiling about," she said softly, with a knowing glance at him.
Heat flooded my cheeks. I dared a look at him—he was amused, his blue eyes glittering with that infuriating calm again.
"Sit with me," the Queen said, gesturing to the sofa right across from where George and I sat.
I obeyed, clasping my hands in my lap to stop them from trembling.
"You're beautiful." She started with a smile.
And I gulped so hard. Not knowing if I should nod my head to that.
"I've heard a lot about you from my son. You're not royal," she stated plainly. No malice, just fact. "Not aristocracy. Not even European."
I swallowed hard again and dare not meet her eyes. In fact, I was looking down at my trembling fingers the whole time. "No, Your Majesty."
Her head tilted, considering. "African, yes?"
Oh god. Is this an interview? I'm not used to this. "Yes. Nigerian."
"Hmm. Interesting." A flicker of interest warmed her eyes, as if approval sparked somewhere beneath her calm exterior. "And what do you do?"
Just asking me about my occupation and what I do was like asking me to confess all my sins since I was five.
At that moment, I felt like excusing myself to the bathroom. In fact, I felt like praying the ground open its mouth and swallow me in. I didn't know meeting George's family would give me the worst fear of my life.
And now, this is happening.
I stumbled through my explanation of work, my words tumbling fast in my nervousness. She listened without interruption, her gaze steady, thoughtful.
Then, to my shock, her hand covered mine. Gentle, firm. "I do not mind where you come from, child. What I mind is how you treat him. My son has wandered long enough, chasing shadows of affection. If you are the one to steady him, then you have already done what none of us could."
My throat tightened. My eyes burned, but I lowered them quickly, fighting the rush of tears.
"Do not be afraid of this place," she added, her voice softer now. "We are not as untouchable as the walls suggest. And do not be afraid of me. I only wish to know the heart that has captured his."
Is that true?
Her words struck deep. They carried both blessing and warning.
By the time she released my hand, I felt both lighter and heavier. Lighter because she hadn't rejected me. Heavier because the weight of her words settled like a crown on my chest.
When she left the lounge, I dared to glance at George. He smiled at me, that smile that reads: Victory. I crossed the space between us and went over to sit by him. He laughed when I finally released the deepest breath I thought I had been holding since.
"She likes me. I think your mom likes me." I breathe out.
He squeezed my hand once, discreet, his eyes gleaming with triumph and tenderness.
And for the first time, I thought: Maybe I could belong here.