Once Upon a Royal Christmas, page 1
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Royal Hot Chocolate
About the Author
Once Upon a Royal Christmas
Copyright © 2022 Teri Wilson
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Print: 978-1-952210-75-4
eBook: 978-1-952210-76-1
www.hallmarkpublishing.com
For everyone who dreams of a Hallmark Christmas. xoxo
CHAPTER ONE
Girl-Boss Princess
“Your paperwork says you’re here about a small business loan.” The bank manager looked up from the file folder on his desk, and his gaze flitted immediately to the tiara sitting atop Gracie Clark’s head—the ridiculous, rhinestone-bedecked elephant in the room. “Your, um, Majesty?”
Nervous laughter bubbled up Gracie’s throat. Of all the days to get stuck at work for over an hour past the time she was supposed to leave, why did it have to happen today?
“Again, I’m so sorry. I fully planned to go home and change before this appointment.” Gracie was beginning to sweat beneath the velvet and lace bodice of her costume, and she was pretty sure she had a dollop of pink buttercream frosting in her hair. Occupational hazard and all that. “Children’s birthday parties don’t always go according to plan.”
The bank manager, who had introduced himself as Benjamin Curtis, was a befuddled, grandfatherly-type man dressed in suspenders and a tweed suit. Although, admittedly, Gracie’s attire might have been the source of his befuddlement. Somehow she doubted his other customers showed up for their loan interviews dressed as fairy tale characters.
Mr. Curtis’s gaze traveled slowly from Gracie’s glittering crown to her big, dangling earrings and down the length of her thick, cinnamon-brown braid. The pattern on the heavily bedazzled bodice of Gracie’s ballgown reflected back at her from the lenses of his bifocals, glittering like an icy winter kaleidoscope. This meeting was getting more awkward by the second.
“It’s Your Royal Highness, actually,” Gracie said in an attempt to lighten the mood with a bit of regal humor.
Mr. Curtis’s brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Kings and queens are addressed as Your Majesty. I’m not a queen.” Gracie felt her smile begin to falter. Maybe playing along hadn’t been the best idea. This man was one of the few remaining bank officers in Denver who had the power to change Gracie’s life. Not just hers, but the lives of her employees as well. “I’m a princess.”
“Indeed you are.” Mr. Curtis’s eyes darted to the paperwork and back again. “Princess Snowflake.”
“I’m kidding, obviously. I’m a businesswoman and a performer, not an actual princess. You definitely don’t need to call me Your Royal Highness.” Gracie squirmed beneath the weight of endless yards of snowy white tulle.
Mr. Curtis nodded, but the lines in his forehead seemed to grow deeper. Gracie could practically see the future she’d envisioned for her company vanishing into thin air.
She straightened in her chair. “Perfect Party Princesses is a costume character business. We provide a variety of fairy tale princess characters for children’s birthday parties, school events, weddings, tea parties, and corporate gigs. Pretty much any sort of occasion where guests would appreciate a dash of royal fairy tale magic.”
The bank manager tilted his head. “Weddings? Brides and grooms actually want princesses at their marriage ceremonies?”
“Sometimes they do, yes,” Gracie said.
She wondered if he’d ever seen an episode of Fairy Tale I Do, the popular reality show about couples getting married at theme parks around the world. Gracie and Clara—her best friend, roommate, and business partner—loved it. They watched it every Thursday night with pepperoni pizza from their favorite delivery place in Cherry Creek. Last week, the show had featured a couple who’d gotten married at Cinderella’s castle in Disneyland Paris. On Christmas Eve. It had been très magical, but somehow Gracie doubted Mr. Curtis was a fan.
The loan officer didn’t have a single holiday decoration in his office, and Christmas was less than a month away. For a girl who made her living as a snow princess, that seemed like a giant, Scroogey red flag.
“Anyway.” Gracie cleared her throat. “I started the business a little over four years ago. At first, it was just me, as Princess Snowflake. Then my partner Clara came on board. She works on publicity, social media, and scheduling. As the headline performer, I’m the face of the company, and I train all of our other princess characters as well.”
Clara had been Gracie’s best friend since elementary school. The first successful business they’d started together had been their lemonade stand in second grade. Gracie had been responsible for creating the product, and Clara had taken charge of their marketing, mostly in the form of colorful handmade posters and securing a prime location near the entrance to the subdivision where both their families lived. Their business partnership followed pretty much the same dynamic to this day.
“Our gross income has quadrupled in the past two years.” Gracie sat up a little straighter. She was proud of how far she’d come, proud of the fact that she provided a great hourly wage for princesses who were mostly struggling college students and young single moms. She’d worn out three bedazzling tools in the process of affixing crystals to the dress she was wearing. She’d started out as a twenty-two-year-old in a frothy princess gown, and in the span of just four years, she’d built a successful business. No Fairy Godmother required, thank you very much. “We currently support eight part-time staff members in addition to Clara and myself.”
“That’s quite impressive,” Mr. Curtis said.
Gracie relaxed ever so slightly. Maybe being forced to show up in her Princess Snowflake costume hadn’t been as disastrous as she’d feared it would be. At least the bank manager who possibly held the future of her business in his hands was getting a chance to see her handiwork up close and personal. Gracie made all the costumes for Perfect Party Princesses herself, on the same Singer sewing machine she’d been using since her mom taught her how to sew back in high school.
“We’re in the perfect position to expand. A small business loan would allow us to move our business operations to a more professional office environment.” Translation: they were running out of room in the small mountain cabin they rented from Clara’s aunt and uncle. The dining room was beginning to look like a tiara museum. But that wasn’t even the biggest issue. “As you’ll see from my business plan, another of my goals is to transition my part-time staff to full-time employees with benefits. I believe Perfect Party Princesses can make a positive impact on the community and empower young women along the way.”
She loved the girls who worked for her, and she wanted to do right by them. Pasting a smile on your face and doing your best to make children happy wasn’t easy when you were worried about health insurance or what might happen if you fell off your glass slippers and got injured. Gracie knew what those struggles were like, and she didn’t want to pass them along to other young women, simply because she was their boss.
She beamed at Benjamin Curtis, willing him to approve her application. If she’d thought the plastic magic wand her Fairy Godmother character used had any real power whatsoever, she would’ve gladly brought it along and sprinkled the bank manager’s office with a generous dose of Perfect Party Princess pixie dust—which was actually just a combination of fine silver glitter and baby powder that Gracie and Clara mixed together in their cabin bathroom.
Then again, if Gracie had been in possession of actual fairy dust, she wouldn’t need a business loan, would she?
Mr. Curtis’s gaze strayed once again to her ballgown, billowing beyond the confines of her chair and threatening to take over the small office in all of its shimmery glory. Then he sighed.
Gracie crumbled inside.
No. Please, no.
“I’m sorry, but unfortunately, you’re not an ideal candidate for a loan at this time,” he said.
Gracie shook her head. “I don’t understand. I know I’m only in my twenties, but I have a proven track record. Surely there’s something I can do to get you to reconsider. Is it the costume? Because I can come back tomorrow in a business suit, sans tiara, if that helps.”
Had she really thought she could walk into a bank with buttercream frosting
“That won’t be necessary.” Mr. Curtis stood and offered Gracie his hand. The meeting was over, apparently.
She’d blown it…again. She’d entered this office hoping she might be able to give her princesses modest Christmas bonuses, apply for a group health plan, and still have the resources to start looking for office space after the first of the year. But this was the fifth bank she’d visited in the past three days. The fifth polite rejection she’d received. Gracie was beginning to think Santa Claus himself wouldn’t be willing to write her a check.
The beads on Gracie’s costume tinkled like tiny sleigh bells as she rose from her seat and shook the banker’s hand. Her vision blurred. The effort it took not to cry was monumental, but there was no way Gracie was going to break down—not until she was home with a pint of peppermint ice cream in her hand. “Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you for considering Denver First Bank.” Mr. Curtis gave her a bow and an exaggerated wink. “Your Royal Highness.”
Gracie’s face went warm. Was this guy for real? He’d just turned her down for a business loan, and now he was sending her off with a metaphorical pat on the head like she was a little girl instead of a grown adult. She counted to ten in her head so she wouldn’t say something she might regret later and repeated a favorite mantra—the one she always relied on for times like this. Chin up, princess, or the crown slips.
Buttercream in her braid aside, she looked like she’d walked straight out of a fairy tale, from the sparkling snowflake crown all the way down to her glass slippers, embellished with bits of silver glitter to look like ice.
But she’d never felt less regal in her life.
An hour later, Gracie slinked home with her glittery train trailing behind her to find Clara sitting at the kitchen bar glued to her computer screen. Their little tabletop Christmas tree stood just to the right of it, dripping with tiny pearl garland, pink velvet bows, and satin-covered ornaments the approximate size of marbles.
One of these days, their living room wouldn’t be crammed with rolling racks of princess gowns and plastic bins filled with tiaras and glass slippers, and they’d have room for a real, full-sized Christmas tree. Maybe even a flocked evergreen decorated with vintage mercury glass baubles and white twinkle lights. But alas, that day wouldn’t come during the current holiday season.
“How did it go?” Clara asked without bothering to tear her gaze away from the screen.
“Not great.” Gracie grabbed her favorite polka dot Kate Spade mug from the cabinet, popped a single-serve hot chocolate pod into the coffee maker, and cleared her throat.
Clara finally looked up. She took in the sight of Gracie still dressed as Princess Snowflake instead of wearing her tailored red girl-boss suit and her eyes went wide. “Oh. Wow. I’m guessing the Golding party ran over.”
“Indeed it did. I had to go straight to the bank from the event, and let’s just say that the loan officer didn’t seem overly eager to write a big check to a fairy tale character. No one does.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed. “You have frosting in your hair.”
“I’m aware.” Gracie’s stomach growled. She would’ve sold her soul for a slice of Susie Golding’s lavish pink princess cake right about now. “I have to say, you’re taking the news really well. Aren’t you getting worried? We’ve tried five banks. Five. How many financial institutions does Denver even have?”
“Ninety-six.” A lock of auburn hair fell from Clara’s messy bun and she tucked it behind her ear. “Plus seventy-five credit unions. Give or take.”
Of course she had that frighteningly specific information tucked away in her brain, ready to rattle off at the drop of a hat.
“You scare me sometimes, you know that?” Gracie said, tossing a generous helping of marshmallows into her cocoa.
“But you love me.” Clara’s eyes sparkled the way they always did when she was about to try and talk Gracie into something. The last time she’d aimed that particular look in Gracie’s direction, Clara had tried to get her to audition for the Denver Playhouse’s production of Anastasia.
No. Way.
Gracie wasn’t a singer. Period.
“Forget the bank loan. I’ve found the perfect way to get the capital we need to expand the business.” Clara did a little dance on her barstool and swiveled her laptop so Gracie could see the screen.
Tiny, animated snowflakes twirled over fancy calligraphy script that spelled out the words Royal Winter Wonderland Contest. The midnight blue lettering looked as formal as a wedding invitation. Below the headline was a photograph of a castle nestled among jagged, snow-capped mountains and surrounded by a lush forest of spruce trees, glittering with frosty white. The castle itself was a pale dove-gray and boasted at least twelve turrets, topped with tile in a shade that could only be described as Cinderella-blue. An ice-covered pond shimmered in front of the castle—a perfect, frozen mirror.
Gracie leaned in for a closer look. “What is this? Did Once Upon a Time open up another location?” Visiting that amusement park in Fort Lauderdale was on Gracie’s bucket list. “How has this place not been on Fairy Tale I Do?”
Clara shook her head. “Because it’s not a theme park. That, my friend, is a real castle in an actual kingdom near the Swiss Alps.”
Gracie blinked. Everything about the picture appeared too perfect to be real, from the swirl of frosty mist that surrounded the base of the castle to the soft watercolor hues of the sky overhead. “It looks almost magical. Can you imagine living somewhere like this?”
“That’s the best part.” Clara waggled her eyebrows. “Someone does live there—a real royal family. And they’re going to finance the expansion of Perfect Party Princesses.”
Gracie’s heart sank all the way down to her faux glass slippers. For a minute there, she’d actually let herself believe Clara had come up with a solid plan. “Have you lost your mind? Wishing for a fairy godmother seems like a more realistic scenario.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Look right here. Didn’t you read the full caption?” She jabbed her pointer finger toward the script at the bottom of the screen.
“‘Royal Winter Wonderland Contest,’” Gracie said flatly. She’d been so enamored by the picture that she’d forgotten about that part for a second. “‘Spend this Christmas with San Glacera’s royal family.’ What does that even mean?”
“The royal family of San Glacera is holding a contest to promote tourism. Apparently, the kingdom has a big holiday market and ice village every year during the holidays. You’re a shoo-in to win. I just know it.” Clara was talking so fast that Gracie could barely keep up.
“San Glacera? I’ve never even heard of it.”
“It’s a kingdom near the Swiss Alps. I already told you that,” Clara said.
“This is just a lot to take in.” Gracie waved a hand toward the laptop, where Clara was busy scrolling through a collage of more scenic photographs of San Glacera, which looked as charming as a porcelain Christmas village, complete with a Gothic cathedral, a medieval village square, and Swiss-style chalets with fanciful gingerbread trim.
A towering blue spruce stood in the center of the frozen pond, its boughs laden with snow. The tip of each branch held a Dickensian candle holder with a slender flameless torch. Mittened children and couples holding hands skated around the tree in graceful circles, the blades of their skates as shiny and silver as jingle bells.
Elaborate ice sculptures surrounded the skating pond, lit in pastel shades of lavender, pink, and blue. They were like nothing Gracie had ever seen before—a graceful swan with a filigree crown and downy wings, Father Christmas in a flowing robe with an owl perched on his shoulder, a grand sleigh pulled by an icy white stallion.
And that breathtaking castle loomed over it all, frosted with so much snow and ice that it almost looked as if it had been crafted from a frothy mountain of whipping cream.
