Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At first, the day seemed to be going the same way that most days had gone for the past week.

Francis Valois paced around the living room of his London house, unable to sit still, unable to get his thoughts together.

He had only recently moved into his new home; a home that had been a very extravagant gift from his mother, and he was sure that there were several more productive things he could and should be doing, but he just couldn't find the motivation.

He knew that most people would consider him to be very lucky to live in a house like this: a two storey home in the prime location of Notting Hill, West London, which was painted a soothing shade of light blue on the outside, complete with a dark blue front door. It looked like a tourist's ideal vision of what a home in Notting Hill should look like.

Even the interior of the house was luxurious, with polished wooden floors, expensive rugs, a modern kitchen with all the necessary appliances, and a living room complete with comfortable dark blue furniture and a fireplace. Several pieces of expensive artwork hung on the walls, most of it depicting beautiful landscapes or scenes from the past. Francis's mother had even tried to brighten up the place with a few plants and ornaments-the kinds of gifts that she always brought over whenever she paid a visit.

And yet, there were several hints lying around the house to suggest that all was not as it seemed…

Various history books lay open on the glass coffee table-Francis had always been passionate about history, and he'd thought that a little reading would distract him, but he hadn't been able to stay focused for long enough today to really appreciate reading about former monarchies and royal marriages, and so the books were currently not doing much more than making a mess. Even the expensive history books on his bookshelf looked disorganised, out of order, as though they could fall off the shelf at any moment.

There were also several unopened letters from the University of Oxford covering Francis's dining room table-recently, Francis had made enquiries about the possibility of returning to university, where he'd been studying for a degree in history and politics, before he'd taken a 'year out' to help his mother with her election campaign.

Yet, now that the letters were arriving, the thought of going back was becoming all the more daunting. Returning to his life at university would feel like fully admitting defeat; admitting that his political campaigning dreams were well and truly over for the next five years.

He was sure he would have gone back either way, at some point, but it was different to return through choice, to balance studying with a job he was passionate about, and to return simply because he had nothing else to do. And so, the letters remained scattered all over the table, as though they were taunting Francis about his lack of direction.

And, as had become the norm lately, the news played on the television in his living room, over and over, covering the same story. Francis knew that he should turn it off; stop tormenting himself with what felt like twenty-four news coverage of the recent election results, yet he couldn't help himself from obsessing over the daily headlines and 'breaking news'. A part of him felt like if he focused hard enough on the election coverage, he would somehow find the answer to where it had all gone terribly wrong.

They had lost. That was the sad reality of his life in London now. The word 'lost' played over and over in Francis's mind, day after day, night after night, preventing him from sleeping.

This house that he'd invested in had been based on a dream of an election win, of living fairly close to 'Number 10', to help his mother with her expected role as Prime Minister…but now that he had lost, everything about the house felt empty, meaningless.

Well, technically, his mother and her party had lost, but Francis had been so involved in her election campaign to become Prime Minister that he had taken the results as some kind of personal defeat.

He'd been so sure, so certain that they would win. Since Francis's father had walked out on Francis's mother several years ago, his mother had put so much energy into her political career, finally living out her professional dreams in a way that she had never thought would have been possible.

She had been a successful politician; popular. Or so it had seemed. People admired her, for rising to leadership along with juggling the responsibilities of being a single mother. His mother could be a little ruthless when it came to her work ethic, but the general public had related to her policies-they had said that she was progressive, and that they believed she genuinely cared about the future of the next generation. Not to mention that his mother had a way of charming people, and of making the right deals with those in powerful positions.

There had been so much support, when she'd first been elected by her party as party leader, and as the General Election had approached, all of the polls had suggested that his mother's political party was heading for a majority.

The day of the election had passed in what seemed like a blur. Then, that night, they'd watched as though in slow motion as the results were announced on the screen.

By the early hours of the following morning, the results had been undeniable. The opposition had won by a landslide.

His mother had lost to a man called Stephane Narcisse, a man who had advocated for some questionable new laws and restrictions; a man whose previous marriages had all ended in disaster while he flaunted several of his mistresses around London; a man who had made many enemies in his social and professional circles.

Francis still wasn't sure how it had happened; where it had all gone so wrong for the Valois family.

Those in his family's inner circle had tried to reassure him, insisting that the voting had probably been affected by the unusual time of year that the election had taken place-in January-but Francis wasn't so sure.

Francis had helped with so much of the election campaign, helping to write speeches, helping to draft proposals for new laws, appearing with his mother and his siblings as part of the campaigning process. His mother's PR team had liked the idea of the whole family's involvement with the campaign.

Francis really cared, about making changes, about trying to create a fairer society and not relying on corruption and back-handed deals to get things done; perhaps he had been overly optimistic, but at least he and his family had tried.

In fact, the campaign had been something of a family dream, with Francis's brothers and sisters all getting involved. Even his younger sister, Claude, who up until recently had never expressed an interest in politics in her life, had suddenly started to become passionate about her mother winning the campaign. Francis hadn't been sure whether this had been due to typical competitiveness on his sister's part, or the fact that she had started to date a member of the campaign team-a friend of Francis's called Leith.

Francis had put his heart and soul into that campaign, putting everything else in his life on hold-his degree, his social life-and, as a consequence, most of his close friendships had suffered over the past year.

Not to mention that the events of the past year meant that he was yet another step further away from being with a woman who he truly loved. Not that he had ever been close…

The election campaign had been something of a distraction from matters of the heart. He had hoped that life at Number 10 Downing Street would play a part in his future; he had hoped that his mother and her team would have employed him to work as a permanent member of government staff.

But now it was over.

Francis stopped his pacing for a few moments so he could look in the mirror hanging over the fireplace in the living room.

He sighed to himself as he stared at his reflection. His hair looked dishevelled, and it definitely didn't look as shiny as usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He'd even lost a little weight.

Francis could put his not-so-stunning appearance down to stress from the election campaign, but he knew that there was more to it than that. He'd received more than one piece of bad news over the past few months…

Since the election defeat, Francis had taken to going out and partying on a regular basis, drinking a little too much and gambling a little more than he could afford and, as had become a habit lately, indulging in one night stands in order to distract himself from the humiliation of the election defeat, and the fact that he could never be with the one person who he actually wanted to be with.

Francis couldn't help shuddering in embarrassment as he recalled his most recent night with Olivia. They had both understood what the arrangement was between them over the past few weeks, that it was only a casual thing, but still, it didn't make the whole thing any less awkward when he'd told Olivia that he wanted to end things between them.

And all because a certain 'friend' of his had happened to send him a picture that same evening; a picture in which she'd been posing in front of a painting of a castle in a London art gallery, with her long, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, smiling for the camera like she was actually smiling at Francis.

He was sure that she'd barely even thought twice about sending that photo, but annoyingly, it was a picture that Francis hadn't been able to get out of his head the whole time he'd been kissing Olivia, prompting him to finally end things between the two of them.

I thought you'd like this! she had written as a caption for the picture, like everything was so funny, so light-hearted between them; just two friends exchanging text messages; as though Francis had just wanted to see a picture of a castle: as though he hadn't been in love with her from the moment he met her. Not that she knew that. Francis couldn't stand it if she ever found out. It would be more humiliating than the election defeat. Especially now that she was-

No. Francis shook his head and turned away from the mirror. He couldn't think about all of that now. It would only make things worse.

As though the weather could somehow read his thoughts, Francis could see snow falling outside the living room window. The snow had been falling steadily since earlier in the morning, and now it had really started to stick; already, Francis could see from his large living room window that the street outside was coated in a thick layer of snow and ice, while the sky had turned a deep shade of grey.

When he'd left the house earlier in the morning for a run, there had been an icy chill in the air, and now, the streets looked emptier than usual, as though the locals had decided that it would be better to take shelter indoors.

Every now and again, the news channels would interrupt their obsessive coverage of the election results to remind viewers that it was incredibly rare to have such heavy snowfall at this time of year; in February; on Valentine's Day.

Valentine's Day.

The date itself felt like some kind of personal insult; like the universe was kicking him when he was down, reminding him that he was alone, that he was not and could not be in a relationship with someone he loved.

Almost without thinking about it, Francis took his phone out of his pocket.

Even though he knew that he shouldn't do this, knew that he had already suffered so many disappointments lately, he found himself opening up his Instagram account, then clicking onto her page.

There she was. Mary Stuart.

Francis had known her for almost three years now, and still his heart skipped a beat whenever a new photo of her appeared on his Instagram home page.

Francis looked through a few of the more recent photographs on her profile page. There were a photo of Mary and her friends-Kenna and Greer and Lola-all standing around a fountain, laughing as though somebody had told a funny joke. Kenna's dress even looked like it was soaked, along with her hair, and Francis suspected that she had jumped into the fountain just before the photo was taken as some kind of dare. It seemed like the kind of thing that Kenna would do.

There was also of photo of Mary in Edinburgh with her half-brother, James, and another photo of the two of them out on what seemed to be some kind of hike in the Scottish Highlands.

The next photo was a photo of Mary and her mother in Paris.

Then there were several photos of Mary standing outside various castles and old buildings in the British countryside.

Francis sighed to himself as he continued to scroll through her photos. He had missed her. Even though he knew that the two of them could only ever be friends, it didn't change the fact that he missed her being a part of his life.

They had met through mutual friends at university, and they'd bonded over their shared love of history and their interest in politics. There was nothing that Francis had loved more than spending Saturday afternoons at coffee shops with Mary, the two of them debating various historical events. He'd even liked it when Mary laughed about his 'obsession' with royalty and old monarchies; Mary seemed to think that Francis looked back on the reigns of historical kings and queens with rose-tinted spectacles; Mary had always been a lot more cynical about royalty, for some strange reason.

Francis had known fairly soon after meeting Mary that he had a crush on her, but he'd never quite been brave enough to take that next step and actually admit his feelings and ask her out on a date, mainly because Francis had initially heard rumours when he'd first met Mary that she was dating someone, and after that, various 'suitors' seemed to show up on campus on a regular basis-wealthy young men from influential families in Britain and Europe that Mary's mother often sent to meet her daughter.

Francis had never found out how Mary's mother was so well-connected, or why she was so obsessed with introducing her daughter to eligible bachelors, but it had been enough to scare Francis off from putting himself forward as one of Mary's 'suitors'.

Besides, Mary was always polite and friendly to everybody who she got along with, and Francis could never be sure that her friendliness towards him meant anything more than platonic feelings on Mary's part.

Then the election campaign had started and all of Francis's time had suddenly been taken up. He'd barely been in one city for more than a couple of days at a time, and there had always been so much work to do; there had always been a campaign event to get ready for. He'd tried to stay in touch with his group of friends, but he felt like he'd drifted apart from them over the past few months; he wasn't even sure whether they wanted to see him now; whether they still wanted him to be a part of the group.

The last time that Francis had seen Mary had been at an election campaign event a few months ago. Francis's mother had been giving a speech in a quiet London street, surrounded by members of her family and various photographers, and Francis had looked out at the crowd and noticed Mary there, standing amongst other members of the public, with Kenna and Greer and a few of their other mutual friends. She had smiled at him when she'd caught his eye, almost causing Francis to forget the words of his own speech that he had spent hours rehearsing, and she'd given him a discreet thumbs-up, showing her support.

Francis had continued to watch Mary as though mesmerised as his mother spoke to the crowd.

But then there had been some sort of security incident; some sort of threat against Francis's mother that had been discovered on the Internet, and so Francis's family had quickly been ushered back into waiting cars by their security team as soon as the speeches were over, and he hadn't had the chance to talk to Mary.

He hadn't seen her since.

Francis looked back at Mary's latest photos and he received yet another painful reminder about the real reason why admitting his feelings to Mary was now out of the question…

There was a recent photo of Mary, standing with her arms wrapped around Sebastian, another friend of Francis's who had always been a part of their friendship group at university.

Francis felt his heart break a little as he noticed how happy they looked together in the photo. They had always got along well; perhaps Francis should have seen this coming.

Then there was another photo of Mary and Bash at a party, with Bash posing with an arm draped over Mary's shoulders. Francis could just make out Kenna and Lola standing in the background of the picture, but their presence didn't do much to ease Francis's pain at seeing Bash and Mary standing so close together.

After that, there was a photo of Mary and Bash walking down a road in London late at night, their arms linked, and finally, a photo of the two of them inside what appeared to be some sort of stately home; Mary was sitting on an old wooden chair, laughing and posing as though she were sitting on a throne, with Bash sitting on a stone step nearby, smiling over in Mary's direction.

A few weeks ago, Francis had heard rumours through various Oxford social circles that Bash had recently got engaged.

To Francis's dismay, a part of him had just known that Mary was the woman who he was engaged to. Mary was the only woman who Bash seemed to spend a significant amount of time with, and the two of them must have spent a lot of time together over the past year.

Mary and Bash had even mysteriously 'disappeared' one weekend just over a year ago; nobody had been sure where they went exactly, but Francis had heard later that they had been in Paris together. In other circumstances, Francis would have asked Kenna to find out where they were, as she had always been up-to-date with all the latest gossip, and she had even been jokingly referred to as the 'detective' of the group, but Kenna had also been nowhere to be found that weekend, and she'd later claimed that she had been 'visiting friends', although her answer had been a little vague.

Francis hadn't heard much from Sebastian lately, and he hardly ever posted anything on his social media, but all of Mary's recent photos with Bash seemed to confirm Francis's suspicions.

As though to mock his pain even further, Mary had added a few photos over the past few days; photos of flowers and heart-shaped confetti and table decorations and even a sparking tiara, placed next to a white veil. All of these photos had accompanying hashtags of: #weddingpreparations and #weddingplanning.

Francis knew that he should be happy for them; he was sure that Mary would be a lot happier with Sebastian than she would ever be with any of the typically arrogant men that her mother always tried to set her up with, and Francis considered Bash to be one of his best friends-he should want what was best for him-but still, it was difficult.

Some evenings, in between obsessing over the election, Francis had also wondered to himself if he had missed his chance with Mary, or whether her feelings for him had always been purely platonic, and he'd therefore perhaps never had a chance anyway. Then he usually felt annoyed with himself for even thinking that way in the first place.

Briefly, Francis glanced up from his phone screen in time to see Narcisse's smug face looking back at him through the television screen. For the first time, he was struck by how much Narcisse's triumphant smirk reminded Francis of his father. Yet this thought did not seem all that surprising to him, and Francis wondered if he had perhaps been subconsciously aware of the similarity all along.

Francis quickly looked back at his phone, distracted by a video that Mary had uploaded of herself walking through a lavender field in France.

Francis was struck by the strange thought that if some kind of fairy godmother were to magically appear in his living room and offer him a choice between a political victory or being with the one he loved, he knew what he would choose, even though he knew that this thought probably made him a terrible person either way-he was thinking about deciding whether to be disloyal to his family, who had always put duty and achievement over matters of the heart, or disloyal to Sebastian, his friend.

Again, Francis sighed to himself. He knew that it was time to stop obsessing over the election results and Mary's recent engagement.

He had just put his phone back in his pocket and turned the volume down on the television when two things seemed to happen in quick succession: first, he heard a beaming news reporter wish viewers a 'happy Valentine's day!' through the TV screen, and then he was startled by the sound of knocking on his front door.

Almost cautiously, Francis went to open it. In London, he had found that it was rare to have unexpected visitors. His mother had said nothing about paying a visit this afternoon, and neither had his friends.

On his way to the front door, he walked past a small table which he had placed in the hallway, where there was a messy pile of letters and information booklets about potential political summer internships; internships that he had been half-considering applying for before the election had taken place; internships in Paris and Edinburgh and even in Washington DC. Since the election results had been announced, Francis had lost a lot of his motivation to apply. He wasn't sure if leading politicians in other cities would employ somebody who had worked on the losing team during an election.

The moment Francis opened the door, it was as though time stood still; he felt like his whole body had frozen to the spot…except for his heart, which seemed to be beating twice as fast.

Mary Stuart stood in his doorway.

"Mary," he said, in barely more than a whisper, before he blushed, realising that his tone of voice sounded far too soft for someone who was supposed to be casually greeting a friend; a friend who also happened to be engaged to one of his other friends.

"It's you," he managed to say, trying to go for casual and distant this time, and somehow sounding like an even bigger idiot.

He noticed that Mary smirked a little, but luckily, she didn't mention the fact that he seemed to be lost for words, and also embarrassing himself.

Francis wasn't sure what it was about her that made him act this way-they had known each other for a little while now, after all, and they'd spent many a weekend getting coffee together and strolling around the shops in Oxford and London and visiting various museums.

Not to mention that Francis spent time with beautiful women all the time, in both his social and professional circles. Flirting and being charming had always come naturally to him, and it wasn't like he was inexperienced in relationships. Yet there was something about Mary Stuart that always rendered him speechless.

It didn't help that she looked beautiful today, the way she always did. Her long hair flowed over her shoulders, with the top part of her hair tied into two loose braids. She was dressed almost casually, in dark jeans and a T-shirt, and a dark pink jacket. Snow stuck to her black winter boots, and the ends of her hair seemed to be a little wet, as though a few snowflakes had fallen into her hair and then melted.

Francis couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious about the casual jeans and the white T-shirt that he was wearing. He wished he'd at least done something to fix his hair before he answered the door.

It wasn't just about Mary's beauty though; it was much more than that. Francis admired her-he admired the way she was so dedicated to her studying; the way she could talk in detail about historical events or political elections; the way she was not intimidated by the rich and powerful people who they all encountered on a regular basis; the way she could solve problems and be there for her friends when she needed to be. There was also something about the way she knew how to relax and enjoy herself; Francis could clearly remember all the times when he'd seen Mary dancing in the middle of the dance floor with her friends, all of them laughing and spinning around like they didn't care who was watching. And the times that she'd uploaded videos of herself to her social media, videos where she attempted to master complicated dance routines, smiling the whole time. And the time when the whole group had gone on holiday to France, and Mary had happily run through all of the open fields with Kenna, and rode horses through the French countryside with James, and joined in with silly games with Greer where they competed to catch the most grapes in their mouths, and jumped into the lakes with Bash without any fear.

Francis found it refreshing, that she could be so carefree like that, in between her moments of being very serious. His upbringing and his family's political background had made him more cautious about having fun in public and just being himself, especially when there were journalists and photographers around; it was like he could never fully switch off from the political role that his family expected him to play.

"Francis," Mary greeted him with another smile, snapping Francis out of his memories. She looked genuinely happy to see him, so that was one good thing, at least.

"W-what are you doing here?" Francis asked her, before he cringed internally, noticing that she looked a little hurt by his question.

He had made it sound as though he wasn't happy to see her, when he really was; he was just slightly confused as to why she had shown up on his doorstep on today of all days.

Mary frowned for a moment, before she continued on, apparently undeterred; "It was the strangest coincidence," she said. "I've been in London for a few days, staying with my mother, and I took the underground to Notting Hill Gate, to shop for a few items for the wedding,"-as Mary held up a few shopping bags, Francis tried to ignore the almost physical pain in his chest at those words-"and I ran into your mother, and she mentioned that you lived around here; she even pointed out your house from further down the road…"

Of course she did…Francis thought to himself.

"Anyway, I went to the bakery after I finished speaking with Catherine, and they had these cupcakes there that just reminded me of you…" (she held up a paper bag with the logo of the local bakery on the front), "and I was thinking about how I haven't seen you much over the past year, and I thought it was perhaps some kind of sign that I should visit you…"

Francis noticed that she said all of this very fast, with her tone of voice sounding like it was at a slightly higher pitch than usual. He couldn't help wondering if she was nervous, although he wasn't sure why she would be nervous.

The moment Mary finished speaking, Francis saw her glance in the direction of the heart-shaped decorations that Claude had insisted Francis place in his front window for Valentine's Day.

"Is there somebody here?" Mary suddenly asked him.

It took Francis a few moments to work out that Mary was asking him whether he was 'otherwise occupied' due to the fact that it was Valentine's Day.

"What? No!" he said in response, suddenly determined to prove to Mary that there was nobody else hiding inside his house; no Valentine's Day date and definitely no mother who was clearly over-invested in his personal life.

Then he noticed that Mary was shivering, and the bags that she was carrying looked quite heavy, and the snow was still falling, and he suddenly felt like he was unintentionally being very impolite.

"W-would you like to come in?" he asked her. After all, she had gone to all the trouble of bringing food over from the local bakery, which meant that she probably wanted to share it with him.

Mary smiled and nodded. "Thank you," she told Francis as he stepped aside to let her in.

It was only as Mary left a few of her shopping bags on the floor by the front door, hung up her coat in the hallway right next to one of Francis's coats and followed him down the hallway and towards the kitchen that it occurred to Francis that it was a bit strange that Mary wasn't at home, celebrating Valentine's Day with Bash.

Mary Stuart is in my kitchen…

This was the thought that played over and over in Francis's mind as he tried to focus on finding plates and cutlery. He still couldn't quite process it.

Outside, the street looked a little misty, but Francis was more focused on what was going on inside his house.

Mary smiled when she opened up the bag from the baker's shop to reveal several cupcakes, all of which were decorated with edible sugar decorations in the shapes of crowns and kings and queens.

Francis made a big show of rolling his eyes at the idea that Mary had seen something to do with royalty and immediately thought of him (perhaps he was more obsessed with history and monarchies than he had first thought), but still he couldn't help smiling at her as he thanked her for the cakes.

There was something nice about this, Francis decided, as he stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Mary in the kitchen and the two of them worked in an almost perfect synchronicity, putting the cakes onto china plates and then carrying them over to the dining table. Before that thought could really take hold, Francis silently reminded himself that he could not get to like this closeness too much-Mary was engaged, and she was probably only here for a quick visit; after today, he might not even see her again for several months.

The downstairs part of Francis's house was open plan, and so the living room, kitchen and dining room were all connected. This meant that the television screen in the living room was visible from the kitchen counters. Luckily, the volume was not too loud, and the news reporters now seemed to have shifted their entire focus to the level of snowfall in London today (apparently, it was a slow news day), and so Francis was spared from having to see images of the election defeat on the screen while Mary was standing right next to him. He decided to keep the television switched on for now-perhaps it would make for useful background noise if there were any awkward silences between him and Mary.

It was only as Francis became distracted with making hot drinks for the two of them and pouring two glasses of water that Mary started to drift away from the kitchen a little.

Francis wished that he'd tidied up the house a little before Mary's arrival. He glanced up from the kettle to see that Mary was standing by his bookshelf, surveying the disorganised-looking books with a curious expression on her face.

She lifted her hand towards the books on the middle shelf, as though desperate to reach out and touch them. Francis had just started to wonder what it was about the books that was holding her interest when Mary suddenly smiled and muttered, "Kings and Queens of England…", reading out the title of one of Francis's most-read books. "I should have known," she told Francis with a raised eyebrow as she glanced over her shoulder at him, apparently not at all surprised by Francis's extensive collection of history books.

Francis smirked and held up his hands in a fake gesture of surrender. "Hey, you knew what you were getting into when our friendship began," he told her, making a joking reference to his love of history, a love that Mary was well aware of.

For a moment, he imagined other circumstances, some kind of alternate reality where he and Mary were in a romantic relationship, where Francis could joke about how she knew what she was getting into when the relationship got started…but then he felt guilty all over again for allowing that image into his mind.

Mary must have noticed something change in his facial expression, because an awkward silence seemed to pass between them as they sat down at the table and began to eat their cakes.

Mary seemed to survey Francis from over the top of her teacup as he finished eating his cupcake. Finally, she was the one to break the silence: "Did Charles I have a fair trial?" Francis heard her ask.

He looked up from his plate with a confused frown. Mary's expression was serious; it was like she was deep in thought, or like she had posed the question in the middle of a history lecture, or during a meeting of their university debating society.

The sudden hint of a smile on her lips though told Francis that this was more like the typical question that the two of them randomly liked to put out there when they were spending time at coffee shops together. She was trying to draw Francis into some kind of private debate between the two of them; or more likely, she was trying to lighten the awkward tension that seemed to be hanging in the air between them by using a method that she knew would work.

Francis could never resist a good historical debate with Mary Stuart. Soon, they were debating back and forth, discussing whether a king could even have legally been put on trial during that period in the first place, or whether Charles's actions did in fact make him accountable.

After their mini debate had drawn to a close, the two of them started to talk about their time at university, with Mary catching Francis up on everything that he had missed over the past academic year.

As she talked, Francis was struck by just how much he had missed his life at university this year; his friends, time spent with people who didn't expect him to be the perfect son, or the perfect future politician; time spent with Mary. He knew he should have made more of an effort with the people he cared about; he should not have allowed himself to get so distracted by politics.

As soon as they had eaten the last of the cakes, Francis raised his glass of water. "A toast," he said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. He was so used to having to give the official toast at formal events with London's politicians that it had become almost a habit to him now. However, right now, the gesture was a lot more light-hearted, more of a joke than anything else.

"What shall we toast?" Mary asked him with a grin, raising her glass and playing along.

"To friendship?" Francis suggested.

Mary, however, did not seem overly impressed by that suggestion, judging by the way she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Fine, you suggest something then, if you're such an expert at this," Francis told her with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, keeping his tone gentle as he mocked her.

"To new beginnings?" Mary suggested.

Francis nodded, conceding defeat. "To new beginnings," he repeated. "And, to your engagement," he added, trying not to let his facial expression show any sort of hint as to what he was feeling inside. Deep down, he knew that if he wanted Mary back in his life as his friend, then he would have to be mature about her relationship with Sebastian.

However, instead of echoing Francis's words, Mary seemed to freeze with her glass held halfway to her lips.

A surprised expression seemed to cross her face, and then the look of surprise was replaced by a look of confusion.

"My engagement?" Mary asked him with a raised eyebrow as she placed her glass almost cautiously back down on the table.

Francis frowned. He wasn't sure why she looked so confused by what he was saying. "Yes," he said, trying to sound calm, composed, and not like his heart was breaking at the mere thought of Mary's upcoming wedding, "your engagement, to Sebastian…"

Mary's eyes widened a little at his words.

Still, Francis didn't understand why Mary looked so lost in this conversation.

Discreetly, he glanced at her left hand. She was not wearing an engagement ring. He was surprised he hadn't noticed the lack of a ring when she'd first arrived.

Suddenly, a thought struck him, making him feel a little guilty-perhaps Mary's engagement to Sebastian was not public knowledge; perhaps her mother didn't approve of the engagement; perhaps they were keeping it all a secret, and Francis wasn't supposed to know about it…

"Francis," said Mary, speaking slowly, as though she were explaining a difficult concept to a child, "Sebastian and I are not engaged…"

Francis blinked a few times in shock, trying to understand what Mary was saying. "B-but, all of your recent photos, with Sebastian…" Francis blushed a little as he finished speaking, realising that he had basically just admitted to looking at Mary's Instagram photos on a regular basis.

He could flirt effortlessly with so many women, but Mary always seemed to make him act like an awkward teenager with a crush.

"Sebastian is one of my best friends," Mary told him, still watching Francis with a strange expression on her face. "We are like…family…"

Now that the initial surprise seemed to have worn off, she looked almost amused at Francis's assumption.

Still, Francis could not let this rest. Perhaps Mary was not engaged to Bash, but it had definitely seemed like she was preparing for a wedding. "You posted pictures and captions about wedding preparations…"

"Francis," said Mary, apparently not even trying to hide her amusement now, "it is Sebastian and Kenna who are engaged, not Sebastian and I."

Francis almost spilled his glass of water in shock. "Sebastian…and…Kenna?" he asked, slowly, almost unable to believe it.

Kenna, who always wore designer dresses and expensive jewels and bragged to anyone who would listen about how she would find a rich husband one day, and Bash, who always had plenty of sarcastic comments to make about women like Kenna. And now they were engaged. It was strange, how life worked out.

"Yes," Mary repeated with a shrug, like this information was obvious. Perhaps it would have been obvious to Francis, if he had made more of an effort to stay in contact with his friends over the past year. "Kenna asked me to be her bridesmaid a few months ago," she continued. "I was a little surprised at first, but then I thought that perhaps she had asked me to be involved due to my friendship with Bash; not to mention that I helped them in the early days of their relationship when they were meeting in secret and they wanted to spend a weekend in Paris together…"

Outside, the mist and fog might have started to thicken, but in Francis's mind, a few things were starting to become clearer…

Mary's photos of confetti and veils and tiaras; she was helping Kenna to prepare for her wedding.

Mary and Bash's trip to Paris last year; Kenna had also been with them; Mary had been helping them to keep their secret relationship private at the time.

Francis wasn't sure which idea he should attempt to process first; the idea that Bash and Kenna were engaged in the first place, or the idea that Bash was not engaged to Mary…

Francis quickly tried to stop that train of thought. Just because Mary was not in a relationship with Sebastian, just because Mary was not engaged, it did not mean that she was not dating at all; knowing Francis's luck, there would be another man on the scene.

Mary, however, completely derailed those thoughts when she said; "In fact, only last night, I was arguing with my mother, because she told me that she wasn't happy that I wasn't going to take a date to the wedding, which is apparently 'not socially acceptable' in upper class circles in France; and then she started trying one of her typical matchmaking schemes…"

Mary rolled her eyes as she finished speaking, looking irritated with her mother, then she blushed bright red, as though she had just revealed too much; Francis had a feeling that she had conversations like these with Kenna, Lola and Greer all the time, and she had for a moment forgotten that her female friends were not sitting at the table with her.

Francis tried to laugh along, but he felt a little dazed. It was like his whole world had suddenly tilted; it was like everything had changed.

Mary was single. Of course, this did not necessarily mean that she was interested in him, but he felt like maybe a tiny little window of possibility had opened up in his mind; after a year of what felt like closed doors, Francis was grateful for any open windows.

"So, as you can see," Mary continued, "my life and Kenna's life are rather different right now." She laughed, and Francis had a feeling that she was trying for humour to ease her embarrassment.

"Did you really think that Bash and I were engaged?" she suddenly asked Francis. She watched him with an intense expression, like she was deep in thought, or trying to put a few thoughts together.

Francis was desperately trying to think of something that he could say in response without embarrassing himself, but, before he could say anything else, a few of the words from the news reporter on the television screen carried over to the dining room…

"Heavy snowfall…"

"Bad weather…"

At first, Francis didn't pay too much attention; he had been hearing variations of these phrases throughout the day, and all day yesterday, too. And, of course, he'd sort of tuned out the news broadcast since Mary arrived, as he had been very distracted by her presence. But then a few more phrases really started to get his attention…

"Public transport delays…Cancellations…"

"Households in outer London snowed in…"

"Emergency services deployed…"

Francis glanced at Mary, whose anxious facial expression he was sure matched his own.

Together, they walked quickly over to the television screen, just in time to hear the news reporter explain to the London public that the heavy snowfall had led to delays on the London underground, and services were expected to be cancelled by nightfall. Then the reporter explained that there had been several accidents on the road due to the snow and the ice, and emergency services had been deployed, as well as other public service companies who had volunteered to help clear the roads. Some households on the outskirts of the city had even found that they had been snowed in.

Francis felt more and more worried with every word.

Mary was watching the screen with her eyes wide in shock.

Francis looked out of the window. It was already dark outside-apparently more time than he had thought had gone by while he and Mary had been discussing history and catching up on university life, and the level of snow seemed to have been steadily increasing over the past couple of hours.

He felt horribly guilty.

He should have been more aware of the weather outside; he should have taken the news reports and the empty, snow-filled streets seriously; he should have helped Mary to get back home in this bad weather hours ago, instead of being selfish by wanting her to stay here with him for as long as possible.

"I have to try and get home," Mary suddenly announced. Her tone of voice sounded urgent, while her facial expression looked determined. "I should go now, before they cancel the trains…"

Francis could see the typical 'look of duty' that always crossed her face-duty to her mother, her family, her friends; the need to do something useful and to not be in the way. He recognised that same sense of duty in himself.

A police officer suddenly appeared on the television screen: "We advise you," she announced, her expression serious, "to stay indoors tonight, and we will review the situation in the morning…"

A feeling of protectiveness suddenly came over Francis, the feeling almost overwhelming him. He couldn't let anything happen to Mary; he couldn't put her at risk.

"Mary," he heard himself babbling, before he could really think things through, "if you really have to get home tonight, then I will go with you, and help you to get back-"

"Francis, I can't ask you to do that," Mary interrupted him.

Francis shook his head-there would be no question about it; if she was going to take the risk, then he would too.

Then, as he thought more carefully about what he really wanted to say, he made a suggestion that could either be considered to be very wise or very reckless: "You're very welcome to stay here tonight," he told her, his tone of voice very serious. "I know that you wouldn't have chosen to be here tonight, in other circumstances, but I would feel better if you were here, safe…and then I can help you to travel across London tomorrow morning…"

He felt nervous just at the thought of Mary Stuart staying the night in his house; he hardly ever had guests over to stay; he hadn't really been close enough to anyone to ask them to stay recently; he and Mary hadn't seen each other for a while, and things were therefore still a little awkward between them; not to mention that Francis was secretly in love with her, and he still felt like his head was spinning from the revelation that Mary was not in fact engaged to Sebastian after all…

Mary seemed to stare at him for a very long moment, like she was lost in thought, weighing something up, considering something…

"Well, if you're sure…then okay…and thank you," she said, finally.

Francis had the distinct impression that she was making an effort to keep her voice casual, although he wasn't sure why this would be the case.

He felt his heart beat even faster at her answer. He quickly reminded himself that he had to stay focused-the bad weather meant that they were in a worrying situation, and Mary still looked perplexed by the sight of the heavy snow just outside the window-his heart was not a priority right now.

Mary Stuart is staying over tonight…

And yet it seemed he could not shut down his inner voice completely.

Mary took out her phone to call her mother, while Francis allowed himself to feel another rush of anxiety about everything that was going on.

As Mary started to explain to her mother about where she would be tonight, Francis started to pace around the room, as he always did when he was stressed, trying his best to formulate some sort of plan as to how the next few hours were going to go.

If he had been a little more focused on his surroundings, he would perhaps have noticed an envelope on his bookshelf, which had been discreetly placed behind his copy of Kings and Queens of England; an envelope that had definitely not been there a few hours ago; an envelope containing a card and a letter that it seemed he was not destined to find just yet.

Chapter Text

At first, Francis went into 'crisis mode'.

As Mary finished her call with her mother, and then she started to call her half-brother and her friends, letting them know where she was and that she was safe, Francis practically ran over to the kitchen, checking that there was plenty of food in the fridge and in the cupboards, and checking that the water from the taps was still running okay, and then he went over to check the central heating system, before he headed back to the kitchen to start making tea-it was something that his mother always did during stressful situations.

"Francis, calm down," he heard Mary mutter to him.

He jumped a little; he hadn't realised that she'd finished her latest call with Greer and had moved to stand closer to him. "Everything's going to be all right…"

Francis wasn't even sure if Mary believed these words herself, but something about the determined look on her face and her reassuring tone of voice helped him to feel slightly better.

He didn't know why he was panicking so much. After growing up in a family that had always been in the public eye, Francis had been well trained to deal with stressful situations and potential crises; yet, right now, he was feeling a kind of anxiety that he couldn't even put into words. He wondered if it was perhaps more to do with the fact that the woman he loved was also here, going through this snowstorm with him; he was more concerned for her wellbeing than he was for his own.

"Go and call your family," Mary instructed him.

Francis nodded, trying to let Mary know that he was listening to her. He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought to do that right away-he needed to get focused, or he would be of no help to anyone.

And so Francis got in touch with his siblings, and then his mother, while Mary headed over to the kitchen to make the tea. Francis noticed that she also looked a little nervous, which he assumed was due to the bad weather, and the fact that she was basically stranded on the other side of London, quite far from her mother's home.

"Mary Stuart is in my house right now," Francis whispered into the phone to his mother after he had checked that everything was okay with her. "Would you happen to know anything about that?"

"You're welcome," his mother said simply in response.

Francis could practically see her smirking, even through his phone. He rolled his eyes. It was typical of Catherine, to put her matchmaking schemes ahead of health and safety concerns.

After he had finished his call with his mother, Francis made sure to call several of his elderly neighbours who lived in the same street. His neighbours had really made an effort to get to know him since he had first moved into his Notting Hill residence-a rare act of kindness in London-and now, given their more vulnerable status, Francis was worried about them. Luckily, his neighbours reassured him that they were fine and they had enough food and drink to get them through the night.

Francis murmured a few words of agreement when a few of his neighbours shared their hopes that all of this would be over soon, as well as promising that he would do whatever he could to help if the snowstorm went on for longer than expected.

Francis noticed that Mary seemed to be watching him as he finished yet another call with one of his neighbours. She had already placed a tray of cups, saucers and a teapot on the coffee table in the living room, and now she was sitting on the couch, alternating between staring out the window at the snow-covered pavements and looking back at Francis with a smile on her face. Her expression was soft, affectionate. Francis couldn't help wondering if she thought his calling of the neighbours was sweet. It was an idea that almost made him blush.

"What is it?" Francis asked her with a grin and a raised eyebrow, trying to seem cool, composed. As though beautiful women sat and stared at him on a daily basis.

Mary's smile quickly turned into a smirk. "Nothing," she told him with a raised eyebrow, "just admiring the view…"

Francis almost dropped his phone at her words and the expression on her face. There was something almost…flirtatious in her tone.

But then Mary quickly turned around to look out the window again and Francis had to remind himself that Mary probably meant that she was literally admiring the view from the window. The streets of London looked almost beautiful in the snow, in spite of the ever-increasing worries about the bad weather.

With a sigh, he walked back over to the kitchen to go and prepare some snacks-he was sure that a few cupcakes wouldn't be enough for an evening meal, and he knew that they would both feel calmer, if they could try to keep to something of a normal routine.

Eventually, Francis and Mary ended up sitting together on Francis's couch in the living room. As they drank their tea and ate their snacks, they watched the latest news coverage about the heavy snowfall, the two of them staring at the screen intently as they waited for any updates.

The news reporters seemed to be repeating the same headlines over and over, in the same way that they had covered the election results-it seemed that there were no new updates yet. This didn't stop the two of them from also checking the news on their phones, to see if any online updates had been published.

After about half an hour, the weather forecast appeared on the screen. It was announced that better weather and some sunshine were predicted by morning, which would hopefully go a long way in clearing the snow and getting London's residents back on the roads again. This came as a relief to Francis-he wanted to see his family members soon, to check that they were all right, and he was sure that Mary was worried about her mother.

He had just started to feel slightly better about the situation when Stephane Narcisse, Britain's newest Prime Minister, suddenly appeared on the screen to give a live speech about London's latest predicament.

Francis felt his whole body tense as Narcisse started to offer his scripted words of reassurance, his face a picture of false sincerity. He should have known that the Prime Minister would appear on the news at some point, and he only wished he'd switched the television off before he had to witness yet another reminder of his mother's election defeat, especially with Mary here, sitting right next to him.

Francis couldn't help wondering if Mary was somehow disappointed in him for not helping to ensure his mother's party's victory. He had always been so driven, so determined; he'd always talked about his grand plans focused on what he would do to change things if his family ever won the election. He could clearly remember an afternoon sitting outside Buckingham Palace in London last year with Mary, when the two of them had drank coffee from paper cups and joked about all the things they would have done if they had been a king and a queen or in some position of power many years ago. Francis had only been half-joking with a lot of his ideas. Now, perhaps Mary thought that he had not worked hard enough, or that he had allowed a few too many mistakes and misjudgements to go unchecked during the campaign?

"And remember," said Narcisse, as he alternated between clenching his fist to assert his authority and placing a hand over his heart to show his compassion, "we are all in this together…"

Francis couldn't help it; he rolled his eyes. He had a few saved-up sarcastic comments he could make about Narcisse's words, but he held back; he didn't want to act so bitter about the election in front of Mary.

"We will all get through this," Narcisse continued, "and I will be with you every step of the way…"

His voice was silky smooth, almost hypnotic. He sounded so convinced that there was nothing major to worry about that even Francis wanted to believe him. He was starting to see why so many members of the public had been taken in by this man; his lies were so effortless that Narcisse seemed to believe half of them himself.

But then, Francis wondered if he was maybe being a little harsh on Narcisse. He too had been coached to show sincerity during speeches; to use various hand gestures and body language to help convey his points; to appear calm and cool to the public during a crisis. Would Francis's mother not have been giving a similar-sounding speech right now if the election results had turned out differently?

Francis was pulled out of his thoughts when he noticed that Mary had turned to look at him. Her expression was so intense that Francis fought off another urge to blush.

"Francis, I really am sorry about the election results," she told him. There was nothing false about the sincere expression on her face. "I wanted to say I was sorry, when I first arrived, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk about it…"

Francis was about to brush it all off, to insist that he was fine, but in the end, he decided that he didn't want to be dishonest with Mary. "Thank you," he told her, his sincerity genuine, too. Then, after a few moments of silence, he added: "For the past few weeks, I have been going over it all, trying to work out where we went wrong…"

Francis felt a little nervous as he admitted this out loud. He hadn't talked to anybody yet about how difficult the aftermath of the election had been.

Surprisingly, Mary's eyes widened, and she looked a little shocked by what he was saying. "Francis," she told him, a fierce look back on her face that made Francis think that Mary would make a good leader herself in the not too distant future, "you did nothing wrong. Your mother's campaign was excellent. James and I followed the whole campaign, and we were convinced that Catherine would win. But sadly, these things happen. It's difficult to predict how every member of the public will vote, and sometimes, circumstances on the day of the election can swing the vote one way or another. My mother has worked in politics in Paris for years, and she has still made several mistakes on election outcome predictions in France…"

Francis wasn't sure what he was most shocked about-the fact that Mary was so insistent that he had done nothing wrong during the election campaign, or the fact that Mary's mother also worked in politics. How had Francis not known that already? Already, he had been wrong in assuming for weeks that Mary was engaged to Sebastian. What else didn't he know about Mary's life?

He wanted to learn more about Mary than he already knew; he wanted to know everything about her.

"Catherine was so skilled at giving speeches," Mary went on; "she was even better than Narcisse. And you were not too bad at giving speeches yourself," she added with a smirk, "if I remember rightly from all the times I came to watch you…"

This revelation shocked Francis all over again. "Y-you came to watch me a lot during the campaign?" he asked Mary, still barely able to believe it. He had assumed that Mary had only been there that one time, when he had spotted her in the crowd. Had she been there on more than one occasion, watching him throughout the campaign? If so, then he really wished he had seen her there.

Mary suddenly blushed bright red, as though only just realising that she had admitted to going to watch Francis give speeches several times during the election campaign. "Stop looking at me like that!" she told Francis in an embarrassed tone of voice as Francis raised an eyebrow at her.

"Like what?" Francis asked her, although he knew that he was smirking at her.

After a moment, the two of them laughed, and it felt like even more of the unspoken tension between them had eased.

They sat staring at each other for several long seconds, but then, as though Narcisse was doing it on purpose, he appeared back on the screen, effectively killing the mood. This time, he was being interviewed by a well-known news reporter, offering yet more reassurances that the police and the city council were working hard to clear the roads of the snow and the ice, and promising that he was doing everything he could to keep the people of London safe.

"Perhaps we should change the channel?" Mary suggested with a raised eyebrow and a knowing expression.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Francis agreed as he handed Mary the remote. He was grateful for any sort of change of subject from the election defeat.

Francis made a big show of sighing and rolling his eyes when Mary chose a romantic film for the two of them to watch, but behind all the bravado, he didn't really mind that much. The opportunity to spend time with Mary more than made up for the choice of film. Besides, he was grateful for any distraction from what was going on outside, even if it was only a temporary one.

The film wasn't even that bad-it was a bit predictable, maybe, with a romantic backdrop of Manhattan in winter and a story about a couple who had met entirely by chance and circumstances during the holiday season in the city, but it provided something else to focus on apart from everything that was going on outside Francis's window, and Francis was enjoying sharing what was left of the drinks and snacks with Mary.

Francis was just starting to relax a little when the flash of a blue light outside the living room window caught his attention. He looked out the window in time to see a police car driving past, its headlights and siren bright.

Mary had noticed it too-she looked over her shoulder and then jumped and gasped at the sight of the emergency services passing through Francis's road.

Apparently not even aware of what she was doing, Mary frantically reached out and grabbed Francis's hand; it was like she was seeking support and comfort, or maybe even protection from what was going on outside.

Francis understood her reaction-a passing police car was a reminder of the snowstorm still going on in London, and also a reminder that there was potential danger somewhere close by. Still, it didn't stop Francis from blushing as he looked down at their joined hands.

"I'm sorry," said Mary, the moment the police car had passed. It was like she had just realised what she had done. Her voice sounded a little panicked as she quickly removed her hand from Francis's. "I shouldn't have done that…"

She moved away from Francis a little, and ran a hand through her hair, her body language suggesting that she felt anxious.

"Mary, it's okay," said Francis, trying his best to smile, and to act casual, and to keep his tone of voice reassuring.

He wasn't sure what she was so worried about, but Francis tried in his own way to ease her nerves a little by sitting back and draping his right arm over the top of the couch. He looked at Mary, trying to keep his expression reassuring, and trying to silently let her know that this was an invitation, to sit close to him, if she needed to be close to someone for reassurance right now.

After watching him with an unreadable expression on her face for a few moments, Mary finally sat back, leaning into Francis's side, allowing him to put his arm around her.

Francis wasn't sure why his heart was beating so fast, or why this all felt so new; he and Mary had walked through the streets of London with their arms around each other in the past, usually after a night of partying with their friends, but this felt different somehow.

Mary let out a breath that almost sounded like a sigh of relief, but then she muttered, "I'm so cold," in barely more than a whisper. She almost sounded grateful for the close contact.

Francis suddenly went back into 'crisis mode' again, worrying that the house was too cold, or that the ice and snow from outside had somehow managed to seep into the living room, and worrying that Mary was cold due to the shock of the recent news headline and the knowledge that London was effectively on lockdown for the night. He started to babble something about turning the heating up, or making more hot drinks, before Mary interrupted him…

"No, Francis," she told him, her expression firm, before a gentle smile crossed her face, "you don't have to do any of that; this is enough…although maybe a blanket would be nice, as long as you don't have to move too far away…"

And so, Francis reached over and grabbed a spare blanket from a shelf near the couch, and he used it to cover the two of them. They watched the rest of the film with the blanket covering them and with Mary leaning in close to Francis, who kept his arm around her, the two of them waiting for the inevitable happy ending to play out on the screen. Francis couldn't help wishing that he could do this with Mary every weekend. He wished that they were a real couple, sitting on their couch with their arms wrapped around one another.

After the film was over, Mary went upstairs to change into warmer and more comfortable clothes. She had apparently purchased a large sweatshirt while she'd been shopping in Notting Hill earlier in the afternoon, and Francis had told her that she could borrow any of Claude's casual clothes from the study room, if she wanted.

Since Francis had moved in, his study room upstairs had somehow ended up doubling up as yet another storage room for the many items of shoes and clothing that Francis's younger sister couldn't fit into her own home. Francis was sure that Mary would find something to wear in there that would also serve as something comfortable to sleep in, and he highly doubted that Claude would even notice that any of her spare clothes had been borrowed.

When Mary walked down the stairs and back into the living room, Francis was at first distracted watching the still-falling snow from outside the living room window, almost imagining that the snow was getting heavier by the minute, and then he got distracted by the sight of a few bright orange vans passing by, which he assumed were there to help with the clearing of the snow from the streets of London.

It was only as Mary started muttering something about not being able to remove the label from the back of her sweatshirt that Francis suddenly realised that she was back in the room and standing only a few feet away from him.

Francis was almost rendered speechless as he took in the sight of her. There was nothing particularly fancy about her appearance-she was dressed in a loose, midnight blue sweatshirt which covered what appeared to be navy blue pyjamas that must have belonged to Claude, with her hair now hanging in loose curls over her shoulders. She wore no makeup, or fancy jewels, but Francis thought that she looked beautiful.

He was sure that some of his male friends would laugh at him, if they could see him now-he was known for being smooth, flirtatious and relaxed around women, but he couldn't help how he reacted when he was around this woman in particular. He also had a reputation for keeping his heart guarded, for being a little unreadable to the public when it came to his true feelings, but he was sure his feelings were written all over his face now.

"Francis?" Mary prompted, a slightly nervous expression on her face at the silence that was passing between them.

She tugged at the label at the back of her sweatshirt again, which snapped Francis out of his trance.

Trying to mumble some sort of apology, he went over to the kitchen to find a pair of scissors, and then he helped her to cut the label off, while Mary held her hair up, keeping it out of the way of the scissors.

Even as Francis put his best efforts into helping Mary with the label situation, he couldn't help fumbling with the scissors a little, almost dropping them at one point, before it took him at least three attempts to remove the label. It was a task that normally took him seconds to complete, but now, he seemed to have no clue what he was doing.

"What do they make these things out of?" Francis attempted to joke as he held up the stubborn clothes label, using humour to try to cover up the fact that he hadn't really done an effective job of cutting it; he knew that this poor attempt was probably more due to the fact that he'd been distracted by his close proximity to Mary.

Mary looked a little embarrassed, and Francis briefly wondered if she was feeling as nervous as he was, but then he saw that she was looking right at the price tag on the label, and he realised she was probably more embarrassed at the price of her expensive clothing being on display.

"It seems I have been spending too much time with Kenna," she tried to joke with him, a guilty-looking grin on her face as she shrugged. Kenna was well known for expensive clothes purchases.

Francis tried to grin in return; after all, he knew that clothes from shops in Notting Hill always came with hefty price tags, and the price of Mary's sweatshirt was nothing compared to what Claude typically paid for her clothes.

Then a strange sort of silence seemed to pass between the two of them again.

Mary looked at Francis, then she quickly looked away. She seemed to focus her attention on a couple of pictures of castles that Francis had displayed on the living room wall, before she looked in the direction of the bookshelf, her expression intense, for some strange reason. "Kings and Queens of England…" she muttered yet again with a smile, an almost fond expression on her face.

Francis frowned. He was just about to ask Mary something about her apparent fascination with the bookshelf and that particular book, when the sound of a news reporter's voice on the screen made them both jump.

Francis sighed in irritation. He hadn't thought to switch the television off after the film finished, and yet another news bulletin was now being broadcast-it seemed that the local news had taken over every single news channel; it was like there was no escaping the snow. Francis also couldn't help wondering if the television producers were somehow turning the broadcasting volume up every time the news started, just to grab viewers' attention-he was sure that the television hadn't been that loud a few moments ago.

Mary and Francis paid attention to the latest news headlines for a few minutes-it was worth it, even just to hear reporter's reassurances that the level of snow seemed to be falling-right up until the moment Narcisse appeared onscreen again. This time, the Prime Minister seemed to be single-handedly trying to take the credit for the reduced snowfall in London.

Although Francis felt annoyed by Narcisse's illogical claims, right now, he didn't envy him his role as Prime Minister. If anything went wrong in London tonight, Narcisse would be blamed, regardless of whether he was directly responsible or not. It was the burden that came with political privilege.

"What do you think about another distraction?" Francis suggested as he turned away from the television screen to look at Mary.

"I think that sounds perfect," Mary agreed.

Francis ended up finding an old games console that belonged to his younger brothers, Charles and Henry-Francis kept it in his living room for all the times when he was on babysitting duty. And then Mary chose an interactive dance game for them to play. It was the kind of game that Francis was sure Mary played with Greer, Lola and Kenna on a regular basis. He almost felt amused at the thought of the four girls trying to get Bash to join in.

Mary seemed to take to the dancing game right away-she successfully imitated most of the dance routines, earning maximum points.

Francis wasn't exactly a huge fan of the dance game that his brothers had always loved so much, but he knew that Mary loved to dance, and he eventually gave in to her pleas for him to join in the game with her.

Francis couldn't help laughing along as the two of them competed against each other. All of this was so different to the dancing at the fancy events that the two of them often attended with their families and friends in London and in Oxford. Francis couldn't remember the last time he had let loose like this and just enjoyed himself without worrying who was watching; he couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like this. For now, it felt like the two of them were in their own little safe haven, sheltered from all the bad weather and the bad politics going on in the world that existed outside the window.

After they had played the dance game for a little while, they ended up making up a few dance routines of their own, while playing their favourite songs on their phones. Francis was more used to dancing at formal events or at nightclubs in the city, but he knew that Mary liked to do this sort of thing with her friends, and he was happy to oblige her. This was the most relaxed he had seen her look since the news of the heavy snow had first been announced.

They were so in sync during one of their dance routines that Mary asked Francis if she could film it.

"We look so perfect together," Mary muttered a few minutes later as she watched the recording on her phone before looking up at him with a grin.

Francis could only assume that she was talking about their dance routine.

After a little persuading, Francis agreed that Mary could upload the video of the two of them dancing to her Instagram account. He was sure that it would give all of their friends a good laugh, at least.

After a little while, they ended up sitting next to each other on the couch again. Relaxing music played on one of the television's radio channels, and after Francis made more hot drinks for the two of them, he couldn't help thinking about how the atmosphere in the room was almost romantic now. The lights in the room were dimmed, and Mary had even lit a couple of candles that had been housewarming gifts from Francis's sister, Elisabeth.

Again, Francis felt a longing for this moment to actually represent a true romance between the two of them, but he told himself that he couldn't think like that; he didn't want to make Mary feel uncomfortable, especially if her feelings for him were purely platonic.

Already, he was feeling a strange sense of sadness at the thought of Mary leaving in the morning. He was afraid that he would not see her again for several more months.

He wished he'd got in contact with her immediately after the election results, but he'd still been in a state of shock over Narcisse's unexpected victory, and he hadn't been able to stand the thought of watching Mary and Bash act like the 'perfect couple' right in front of him; if only he'd known that wouldn't have been the case.

As though acting in sync with his feelings, a song called Back to You began to play on the radio. Something about the song tugged on Francis's memory; something about it reminded him of Mary.

Mary seemed to sit forward a little as the chorus of the song began to play, and Francis suddenly had a flash of memory of this song playing at the last ball in London that Francis and Mary had both attended at the same time…

Mary had been so happy for him that night, smiling and offering her congratulations as Francis talked about his mother's upcoming election campaign, while this song had played in the background.

Francis had been happy that night, too-his certainty at the time that his mother would be the next Prime Minister now seemed almost like arrogance, but it had made him feel happy back then all the same. Honestly, though, he had been happier being around Mary, laughing along with her from a distance while she danced with all her friends on the dance floor. They had even danced together several times that night.

Mary was suddenly on her feet, pulling Francis out of his memory.

"Dance with me?" she asked Francis from the middle of the living room, holding out her hand to him.

Her expression was almost challenging, with her raised eyebrow and a grin on her face, but Francis also noticed a surprising look of vulnerability on her face, too, which seemed to be hiding just behind her smile.

With what he was sure was an arrogant-looking smirk that he hoped masked his own vulnerability, Francis stood up and walked over to her.

He dropped into an extravagant bow, mocking the typical customs of formal dances in London, before he asked Mary if she would do him the honour of dancing with him, in an aristocratic accent that he hoped made him sound like a prince from days past.

Mary played along, laughing as she dropped into a curtsey that looked almost comical given that she was wearing pyjamas, and then she accepted his invitation with a mocking, "The honour is mine."

They danced together to the song, indulging in all the dance moves that they had been taught since they were children, with Francis holding Mary's hand as she span around a few times before she moved closer to him again, and Francis tried not to think about how right it felt, to be casually dancing with Mary in the middle of his living room. It felt like the two of them were in perfect sync; they worked well together.

As the final beats of the song played, the song seemed to fade effortlessly into a slower, more romantic tune.

Francis couldn't help feeling a little nervous, but, as though an unspoken agreement had just passed between the two of them, Francis and Mary continued to dance together, with Mary standing a lot closer to Francis now. He wrapped his arms around her, and they swayed on the spot, holding each other close, neither of them bothering to move in time with the beat of the music now. Francis felt like they were in their own little world, together.

He might have been holding Mary, but in a way, it felt as though the two of them were holding each other up, protecting each other from the storm outside.

Mary looked up at Francis, and long moments passed as they stayed like that, looking into each other's eyes. It was perhaps one of the most romantic moments of Francis's life, with the music and the candles and the dimmed lights, and of course Mary. Only Mary.

Something seemed to pass between them in that look; time seemed to slow, and everything around Francis looked blurry, apart from Mary, who was still in full focus.

A strange sort of tension seemed to hang in the air, and Francis almost imagined he could see the sparks flying between them.

He wasn't sure if he imagined it, but Mary seemed to move even closer to him…

"Happy Valentine's Night!"

The sudden, loud voice of the radio show's presenter echoing around the room after several minutes of slow, quiet music made the two of them jump.

Mary laughed (although her laughter seemed a little like nervous laughter) and took a step back from Francis, out of his arms.

Francis sighed, knowing that whatever kind of moment that had passed between them had just been lost.

When they sat back down on the couch, however, the dynamic between them seemed to return to normal, and Francis wondered if he had perhaps only imagined that 'look' that Mary had shared with him; perhaps she had not been lost in his eyes, in the way that Francis had been lost in hers; perhaps the 'sparks' had simply been from the candles.

Francis put the news on again, as it seemed to have become some sort of ritual to keep up with the news since the bad weather conditions had been announced.

They kept the volume low however, and instead of sitting in silence and worrying, Mary and Francis picked up their conversation from earlier and continued to update each other on their lives over the past year.

Mary showed Francis pictures of Bash and Kenna. Francis found it strange, to see photos of the two of them kissing and holding hands; it was just strange to see them as a couple-he'd always assumed that they disliked each other. He wondered if their apparent dislike had just masked some sort of attraction, although Francis had never exactly been an expert in love and romance; he was sure that Mary would be able to explain Bash and Kenna's attraction in more detail.

As Francis looked at a few more photos of Bash, who was beaming at the camera as he posed with his arms around Kenna, Francis couldn't help feeling hurt that Bash hadn't told him about his recent engagement. He'd always considered Bash to be one of his closest friends-almost like his brother-and they had shared many a conversation about their lives and their families over the past couple of years. He wondered where things had gone wrong between them this year. Francis knew that he'd lost touch with his friends during the election campaign, but maybe there was more to it than that; maybe he'd inadvertently said or done something to offend Sebastian, or maybe Bash hadn't agreed with the Valois family's views and policies during the election…

"Francis, look at this," said Mary, interrupting Francis's unsettled thoughts.

She held up a photo on her phone that showed James and Greer, smiling and posing with their arms around one other, with Edinburgh Castle in the background of the photo.

The two of them looked very…comfortable together in the photo. Their body language suggested that their relationship was more than platonic.

"They officially started dating a few weeks ago," Mary confirmed. She looked thrilled on their behalf.

Francis raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was yet another unexpected piece of news. He would never have predicted a romance between Mary's brother and Mary's best friend.

"I'm so happy for them," said Mary. "James has had a tough year, and I'm glad he's had some good news to share for a change…"

A brief look of sadness crossed Mary's face, and Francis couldn't help wondering what her life had really been like over the past year; her family had always seemed so flawless in comparison to the daily dramas that went on in Francis's family, but a few things that Mary had said since she'd arrived earlier hinted that this was maybe not the case. Francis knew all too well that families in the public eye could put on a good show of appearing perfect, even if this was not the case behind the scenes.

Before Francis could say anything else, Mary was interrupted by a phone call from James himself.

Francis could just about hear him asking Mary over and over if she was okay…

"I'm fine, James," Mary told him, sounding like she was really making an effort to calm him down. "I'm with Francis."

She said this with such a confidence and a calmness-as though being with Francis made everything all right-that Francis felt strangely warm inside.

Francis then heard James promise Mary that he would do something to help her get home the following day.

Mary rolled her eyes at this, and Francis was pleased to note that she didn't exactly look desperate to leave his house in the morning.

After Mary hung up the phone, Francis showed her a few pictures of his own family.

Mary seemed equally surprised by Claude and Leith's new romance (Mary had met several of Claude's previous boyfriends, who were all nothing like Leith), but she told Francis that she thought they looked like 'a cute couple'.

He then showed her a few photos of Elisabeth, and Charles and Henry (Mary commented several times on how much they had grown over the past year), and a few photos of Catherine which had been taken during the election campaign.

Francis couldn't help laughing along with Mary when she admitted to Francis that she had felt rather intimidated by Francis's mother at first, but it seemed like she was warming to her now.

Finally, Mary showed Francis a few more photos of their mutual friends. As Francis looked at a group photo which showed everyone in the friendship group but him, he realised all over again just how much he had missed his friends this year. He had to get in touch with them all. He had to talk to Bash. From tomorrow, he would make more effort to be a better friend.

After about an hour had passed, Francis noticed that Mary yawned several times during their conversation. A glance at the time on his phone screen reminded him that it really was getting late. Close up, Mary really did look tired now, and after weeks of what felt like sleepless nights, Francis couldn't help feeling exhausted, too.

He felt yet another rush of nerves as another thought suddenly crossed his mind-there was only one bedroom in Francis's house, and they had not really discussed where either of them would be sleeping tonight.

Of course, Francis would not expect Mary to sleep on the couch or on a mattress in the study while he slept in a comfortable bedroom, but he wasn't sure if she would be comfortable sleeping in his bed.

Francis hadn't exactly had this dilemma before-he had not invited a woman into his home for a while, and he was sure his feelings for Mary only made this situation even more complicated.

"Francis, I can't kick you out of your bed!" Mary responded with wide eyes when Francis offered to sleep on the couch and he told Mary that she was welcome to sleep in his bed. Francis wondered if she really believed that she was taking advantage of his hospitality by letting him sleep on the couch all night, but he really didn't mind. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, and he would prefer that Mary got a good night's sleep.

After bickering about it for a few minutes, Francis finally persuaded Mary that he would be happier, knowing that Mary was comfortable, sleeping in a bed in a warm bedroom, and, as he told her, he had slept on the couch several times before when various family members had stayed over.

And so, after Francis got ready for bed, he went back downstairs carrying several blankets so that he could attempt to set up a comfortable sleeping space on the couch.

Mary wished him goodnight and then went upstairs to the bedroom.

Francis couldn't sleep. He'd had a feeling that this would happen, in spite of his exhaustion, but it didn't make his insomnia any less annoying.

He had too much on his mind; he thought about Mary, sleeping just upstairs, in his bed, and his family and his friends, and his neighbours, who he hoped were keeping safe, and Narcisse, making his announcements on live television.

With a sigh of defeat, Francis kicked his blanket to one side. He sat up and started to scroll through his phone as a way of distracting himself, even though his sister Elisabeth always told him bossily that doing this would only serve to make his insomnia worse.

He texted his mother a few times, knowing that she would still be awake, just to check that she was okay, and then he started to scroll through his Instagram feed. He noticed that his dancing video with Mary had already got a lot of likes. For some reason, Greer and Kenna had left a lot of heart-eye emojis in the comments.

He saw that Leith had posted several throwback photos that he'd taken with Francis during the campaign, the two of them wearing badges in support of Catherine's political party. Francis and Leith looked like the best of friends in the photos, and it was true that they had bonded over the past year through Claude and through their work on the campaign. Francis wondered if Bash felt a little replaced, and he felt guilty all over again.

He typed Mary's mother's full name into an Internet search engine. He was surprised to read that Marie was not only a respected politician in France; a politician who was rumoured to be preparing to run for the French presidency herself in a couple of years, but she was also an ancestor of French royals of the past. Francis wondered if her political role and her historical connections explained why she was so obsessed with the correct etiquette at events, and also so obsessed with finding an upper-class suitor for her daughter.

Francis placed his phone down on the nearest coffee table and turned to look over his shoulder.

Outside the window, the snow continued to fall. The wind must have been picking up, too, because Francis noticed a few pages of what looked like a newspaper flying past the window, followed by what looked like paper decorations in the shape of hearts-no doubt a Valentine's Day display from one of the local shops that had been ruined by the bad weather.

Without even really thinking about it, Francis picked up his phone again and set the video icon to 'record'. He started to speak into the camera, first offering his well wishes to the people of London, and then he tried his best to share practical advice on how everyone could best get through this crisis. He reminded people to get in touch with the police in case of an emergency, and he listed the contact details of several other organisations that he knew by heart; all of the organisations that could help people in a crisis. He then reminded people to stay in touch with their family and friends, and to check on their neighbours. He hoped he'd been able to offer people more than just empty words or false promises.

Then he uploaded the video to his social media pages.

This was not a political campaign video, or a PR stunt; no advisor would ever let Francis record a video like that with messy hair, tired eyes and while wearing pyjamas. Francis didn't even know if many people would watch it, but he was concerned, and he felt so powerless against the snowstorm and the political tide in London, and he just wanted to do something.

Finally, Francis started to feel tired again. He picked up the blanket from the floor and lay back down, closing his eyes.

He had just drifted off into a light sleep when the sound of a floorboard creaking made him jump…

With a loud gasp that he would later deny, Francis sat up.

It took him a few seconds to get over his shock and his disorientation and to realise that Mary was standing in his kitchen, in the dark, with her hand held halfway to the water tap, like she'd just had a drink of water, and a very embarrassed look on her face.

"Francis, I'm so sorry," she whispered, sounding mortified, "I didn't mean to wake you!"

"Mary, it's okay," Francis responded, trying to reassure her. She really did look embarrassed at being caught sneaking back downstairs.

"I just couldn't sleep," she told him with a sigh. "Your bed is so comfortable, but I kept thinking about everything that's going outside, and I kept watching the snow falling from the bedroom window…"

"Mary, it's all right; everything's going to be all right," Francis whispered. He wished that he could do more to comfort her, but he wasn't sure if she wanted to be close to him right now, or if her mind was entirely somewhere else, worrying about other people.

A long silence seemed to pass between them. Francis got the impression that Mary was lost in thought. She seemed to look right at him across the room, like she was considering something…

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Mary asked him, a rare vulnerability in her voice that Francis hadn't really heard much before.

Francis almost fell off the couch at the question.

Suddenly, Mary blushed bright red. "Just to share the bed, I mean," she babbled. "I would feel better, safer, if there was somebody with me tonight; if you would sleep close by. It's okay, if you don't want to, of course…."

"Mary, it's fine," Francis interrupted her, sensing that she was struggling to find an explanation. "I'll stay with you tonight, if that's what you want…"

Mary seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at his response, and Francis could only hope that she couldn't sense that his heart was beating extra fast, or sense that he felt more nervous than he had ever felt in his life.

Francis wanted to be there for Mary, but he was worried that all of his feelings, all of his vulnerabilities, would become obvious if he shared a bed with her. Not that he wanted to admit any of this out loud.

Trying to keep his body language relaxed, Francis followed Mary upstairs.

Eventually, they got into the bed, together.

Mary Stuart is in my bed…Francis couldn't help thinking to himself, as he lay in bed, staring up at the bedroom ceiling. Mary Stuart is next to me, in my bed…

Before Francis could allow himself to panic too much at this realisation, Mary turned on her side, so that she was looking right at him.

Assuming that she had something to say, Francis also turned to face her. Francis tried not to think about how intimate this moment was; how perfect it would be, in other circumstances. He was not used to this level of intimacy. Nobody had been invited into this bed over the past year-he and Olivia had only ever been together in various hotel rooms along the campaign trail-and he couldn't remember the last time he'd shared a bed with someone just to sleep. He had definitely never shared a bed with the woman he loved before, the two of them looking into each other's eyes in the middle of the night.

"Thank you," Mary eventually whispered to him, finally breaking the silence.

"For what?" Francis asked her, wondering what she was thanking him for. He felt like he should be thanking her, although he couldn't put into words exactly why he felt so grateful to her.

"For letting me stay here tonight," said Mary.

Her expression was so sincere, and Francis wished he could reach over and gently run a hand through her hair. Oh, how his friends would laugh at him for that thought!

"You know you're welcome here anytime," Francis responded with a reassuring smile. He meant it, too.

Mary's expression changed. She smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Where? In your house? Or in your bed?"

Francis couldn't help the widening of his eyes at her response. He knew that he must be blushing too.

That comment had definitely been flirtatious, hadn't it? Throughout the evening, Francis had wondered a few times if Mary had been flirting with him, but each time, he'd told himself that he was only imagining things. But now, he wasn't so sure.

If he'd been a little braver, he might have grinned and raised his eyebrow in return and said, "Both", turning on the charm that he always relied on when he flirted with women at parties. But still he was too scared to take that risk with Mary, just in case he was reading the situation wrong and she didn't feel the same way; she'd only just come back into his life, and he couldn't risk pushing her away.

Mary seemed to take pity on him in his embarrassed state, because when she spoke again, her expression and voice were much more serious: "It's just, it's been a nice distraction, being here…being here with you…"

That look of pain crossed her face again, and Francis felt a rush of concern at that. "What is it?" he asked her, trying to keep his tone of voice soft, sympathetic, to let her know that she could trust him, if she wanted to talk to him about anything.

"Oh, it's just, this past year has been so hard. My mother has been ill, and James has had problems of his own, and university has been so stressful. And, I love being involved in Kenna's wedding, I really do, but it has brought a pressure all of its own…"

Mary sighed, and Francis really wished that he could take her in his arms, hold her and protect her. He had a feeling that he was the only person who she had truthfully confided in about how she had been feeling over the past year.

To the outside world, Mary Stuart always looked so happy, so in control; the life and soul of the party, along with Kenna; the perfect person to lean on when things got hectic. But Francis knew that wasn't the full story.

This was a rare vulnerability that Francis felt grateful that Mary had let him into. It meant that she trusted him, at least.

"I'm always here for you," Francis managed to whisper into the space between them, wishing he could do and say more.

Another silence passed between them.

Mary looked right into his eyes again. Francis got the impression that she was trying to read him; trying to see deep into his soul…

"What happened? During the election campaign?" she eventually asked him, and Francis suspected that it was now his turn to be open and honest about something.

Francis tried to read her expression in return, and he managed to work something out; Mary was asking him what had really happened; she suspected that there had been something else going on behind the scenes; some sort of blackmail or corruption. Perhaps she thought that Catherine had conceded defeat, as part of some sort of back-handed deal with Narcisse.

"We lost," Francis finally replied, even though it pained him to say it out loud; to tell Mary that there had been no sordid deal agreed on in the background (as far as he knew, anyway), and that the public had given Narcisse a fair majority simply because they supported him more than they supported Catherine. "That was it, plain and simple. Perhaps that's the worst part about it," he admitted, before he could stop himself.

It scared him, to be this open and honest with someone. For years, he had relied on charm and a confident tone of voice to get him through things; to hide parts of himself that he didn't want the world to see. And now it was all out there for Mary to see. "And now, it's over," he added in a hushed tone.

"It is not over," Mary interrupted him, that determined look back on her face that made Francis picture a warrior riding into battle, with half her troops defeated but still convinced that a victory was possible all the same. "Francis, it is your destiny to lead, to make a change. I could see it, picture it, every time you gave a speech during the campaign. You can learn from this campaign, build on it. There is nothing stopping you from running for Prime Minister yourself, in a few years' time. You could take your party through an election. This is not the end; it's just the beginning…"

"Thank you," Francis told her, not liking the fact that his voice sounded a little shaky. He felt like a simple 'thank you' wasn't enough to convey how truly grateful he felt for her belief in him, but it would have to do for now.

Mary seemed unable to hide a yawn, and so Francis rolled over onto his back again, giving her a bit of peace so she could sleep.

As he looked up at the ceiling, he felt a renewed sense of vigour and determination. This morning, he had felt like everything had been lost; the election, any possibility of being able to declare his love for Mary. And yet, the universe seemed to be trying to tell him that this was not in fact the case. It was as though some outside force had sent Mary to his doorstep today to remind him that the battle wasn't over. Of course…he could run for Prime Minister himself, in the near future, if he chose to. His family could still make changes to policies. Mary was not engaged to Bash, or any other man. There was still a chance that the two of them could get their happy ending, together.

"I've missed you, this year…"

Mary's voice from the other side of the bed was only soft, gentle, but it was loud enough to echo right through Francis's heart.

"I've missed you, too," Francis whispered in response a few seconds later. His voice sounded so raw, so vulnerable, that he was sure his true feelings for Mary must have been obvious just in his tone; or if not, they must have been written all over his face. "So much, Mary."

However, when Francis chanced a glance at Mary, he noticed that she had already fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning, although he was still half-asleep and his eyes were still half-closed, Francis gradually became aware of several things at once…

The first thing he was aware of, after the initial grogginess and the irritation of having his sleep interrupted had worn off, was that a bright light seemed to be shining into the room, as though rays of sunlight were getting through a gap in the curtain.

The second was that he felt more comfortable and well-rested than he had felt in a long time; it was like he had actually had several hours of decent sleep for the first time in months.

The third was that he could hear a constant buzz from his phone, like he was receiving notification after notification, or message after message.

Francis blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes to the light as he became more aware of his surroundings.

The next thing he noticed was that there was a silky-smooth strand of hair against his shoulder that definitely didn't feel like his own.

He also felt like there was an arm draped around his waist, and a hand seemed to be placed over his chest.

With a confused frown, Francis opened his eyes a little wider and he looked down.

It didn't take him long to realise that he was holding Mary Stuart in his arms. Mary was leaning into his shoulder, still asleep, looking as comfortable as Francis felt.

They were both sleeping right in the centre of the double bed, and, as he started to blush, Francis worked out that they must have both moved towards each other through the night, ending up in each other's arms as they slept. And it felt so right; so normal. Strange but familiar at the same time. Francis had never been much of a cuddler, but in that moment, he knew that he could make an exception for Mary, even though he wasn't sure if he would ever admit this out loud.

As Francis woke up a little more, however, he started to panic a bit. He supposed it was kind of awkward, that they had moved towards one another in the night, and he wasn't sure how Mary would feel about it-would she be embarrassed, waking up in the arms of somebody who was not her boyfriend? Would she think that Francis had been the one to move towards her in the night and initiate the cuddling?

Before Francis could do anything else or think of something clever to say, Mary stirred in her sleep.

Francis didn't even get the chance to move his arms away before Mary opened her eyes and lifted her head from his shoulder.

"Morning," Francis whispered into the silence, for lack of anything more sophisticated to say. He was sure that he sounded like an idiot.

Francis saw Mary frown for a moment, like she was still a little confused and disorientated, but then she looked at Francis and blushed bright red.

"Oh! Francis, I'm sorry!" she told him, as she gave him an embarrassed smile and moved out of his arms to the other side of the bed.

Francis was sorry to see her go, even though she had only moved a few inches away. It saddened him to think that they might never get the opportunity to be close like that again.

"I have a habit of moving right into the middle of the bed when I'm asleep!" Mary continued. There was a definite hint of amusement in her voice now, along with the embarrassment.

"Mary, it's fine," Francis told her with a smile. Mary's amused reaction seemed to have eased any of the tension that might have occurred between them. "I think I must have moved over, too, while we were sleeping." Francis tried to shrug it off, to keep the tone light, amused. "I've never done that before, I promise," he attempted to joke.

"Then I am flattered," Mary responded with a grin of her own.

Francis laughed in return. He couldn't remember the last time he had woken up feeling so happy. The happiness even made up for how awkward and embarrassed he was feeling. He wished that he could wake up with Mary every morning. This sobering thought quickly wiped the smile from his face.

Suddenly, all of the events of last night started to come back to him in a clearer order as his mind became more alert and less groggy from sleep. The snowstorm. Mary staying the night with him. The two of them sharing a bed. The news broadcasts. The promises that the weather might be better in the morning…

Mary seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because her expression became serious, and she looked right at Francis.

As though they were acting as one, the two of them got out of bed, and they headed towards the bedroom window.

Francis realised that the light he had been vaguely aware of a few minutes ago when he'd still been half-asleep definitely had been coming from the sun shining through a gap in the curtains, because when he pulled the curtains right back, the sun was visible in the sky; it seemed to be doing its best to shine through the grey clouds that were still visible over London. The few rays of light that were making it through the clouds illuminated the multi-coloured houses in Francis's Notting Hill neighbourhood.

The warmer weather seemed to have gone a long way in clearing some of the snow; although the snow was still a few inches deep on the pavements, a few dozen people had braved the cold weather, and Francis could see couples and groups of people taking tentative steps on the street below. People laughed and waved at each other, and a few children and teenagers were even throwing snowballs as they ran through the street, on their way to who knew where. The roads also seemed to have been cleared during the night, as the occasional vehicle now passed through the street.

The scene on the street looked like something out of a classic novel. Francis was almost tempted to open the upstairs window and shout out something positive to the people in the street below, but he refrained. Still, he couldn't help feeling relieved at the evidence that all seemed to be right again in his little corner of the world…for now, at least.

Francis looked at Mary, and she looked back at him with a smile. Then they both started to laugh. Francis had a feeling that the laughter was more out of relief than anything else.

Mary put her arm around Francis, and, after a few moments' hesitation, Francis put his arm around her shoulders in return.

Mary leaned into him, and they stayed like that for a little while, embracing as they watched events unfold from outside the window.

They were no longer laughing. Mary's expression was serious, and she even closed her eyes as she wrapped her arms even tighter around Francis's waist, like she was leaning into him for support. It was like they both needed this moment of silence for their own reorientation, and to process everything that had happened since the news of a heavy snowfall had been announced.

The moment felt so perfect, and Francis almost felt like the two of them were starring in a romantic film; a film that was set in London in the middle of winter. Or, even better, like they were a real couple who had woken up together in their bed and were now sharing a romantic moment as they looked out their window.

The sound of the buzzing of Francis's phone finally snapped the two of them out of their moment of peace.

Mary and Francis moved apart, and they seemed to pick up their phones from the bedside table at almost exactly the same time. They shared a guilty grin as they silently acknowledged just how dependent they were on the Internet and social media pages for updates and reassurance, before they both pulled up various news notifications on their phone screens.

The news apps seemed to confirm that the weather in London had improved, and that the level of snowfall had dropped in the early hours of the morning. It seemed that the city would soon be back on its feet, especially if the sun managed to break through the clouds later today.

There was even talk of the majority of London's citizens organising a round of applause outside their front doors later in the afternoon, to thank the emergency services for their hard work last night.

With the improved weather now confirmed, Francis turned his attention to other matters. He realised that he had several missed calls and what seemed like hundreds of messages from his family members, which is why he must have been hearing a constant buzz from his phone from the moment he woke up.

He checked the time on his phone and realised that he had slept in-he was usually up at around six am for his morning run in the local park, but now, it was after nine, and his family must have started to get worried when he didn't respond to any of their early morning phone calls. He must haven been so comfortable sleeping with Mary in his arms that he had been in no rush to get up.

A quick glance at the perplexed expression on Mary's face suggested that something similar had happened to her, and the two of them spent the next twenty minutes answering various calls and messages, letting their families and friends know that they were okay.

Francis had even received a rare message from his father, to check that he was all right after the snowstorm. Francis's father was something of a business tycoon in the city, and he had stocks and shares in many major companies. Since the divorce, Francis's father's contact with his children had been sporadic at best. Francis responded politely to his father's message, refusing to get his hopes up about more contact in the future.

After they had both finished sending messages to friends and family members, Francis gave Mary a little privacy so that she could shower and change.

After he had taken a quick shower of his own, he headed into the study to change into a spare shirt and jeans that he'd bought a while ago, and then he headed downstairs into the kitchen.

As Francis prepared hot drinks and poured glasses of orange juice for the two of them, he heard the sound of the shower running upstairs, and he knew that Mary must be getting ready for the day ahead. Now that the snow was starting to clear, he wondered how much longer she would stay here with him before she had to head home. This thought did not make him feel happy or content.

Francis decided to order breakfast from the local bakery instead of cooking something-Mary seemed to like the food from there, and he wanted to make every moment between them this morning count.

Deep down, Francis knew that he should take the time and the opportunity to say something to her, to be honest with Mary about how he felt, but the truth was he was terrified. Terrified that he had somehow misread the signals and got it all wrong; terrified of saying the wrong thing and ruining the friendship that they had re-established overnight.

Francis had delivered speeches and given interviews on live television before, and he had spoken on important political matters in front of the House of Commons, but now, all of that paled in comparison to his fear of admitting his feelings for Mary.

The sound of a knock on the door temporarily distracted Francis from these thoughts. When he opened the door, he saw that breakfast had arrived.

He thanked the delivery man from the bakery for braving the bad weather to drop off the food, and then he gave him a generous tip to show his appreciation.

As he waited for Mary to finish getting ready and head downstairs into the living room, Francis checked his phone again for any further updates.

Public transport seemed to be back in operation throughout London, although most websites warned that delays were still to be expected.

The emergency services were still deployed all over the city, just in case their services were required. Local services deployed by the city council were also apparently still out and about, clearing the streets, trying to keep people safe.

After he had answered a few messages from his elderly neighbours, who had all got in touch to let Francis know that they were okay, Francis turned his attention to his social media pages.

Francis was flattered, amused, and mildly horrified all at once when he discovered that the video he had made late last night while wearing his pyjamas had somehow gone viral overnight. Various online news sites had picked it up and they'd published articles about the video, and a few social media pages had shared these articles, or they had simply shared the video itself, which had invited plenty of comments from members of the public.

At the very least, most people seemed to like the video; they appreciated Francis's efforts to offer people advice on how best to cope with the bad weather. They also seemed to like how 'real' the video seemed; they liked the insight into who Francis was behind the scenes.

He couldn't help wondering if he maybe hadn't shown enough of this side of himself during the election campaign; perhaps his speeches had looked a little too polished, a little too rehearsed. It was something to think about, he decided, just in case…

The video of Mary and Francis dancing that Mary had posted on her Instagram page had also become an unwilling accomplice to Francis's viral video, as somebody on Mary's friends list had decided to make the video public on various social media pages and websites, no doubt due to the attention that Francis was getting from his other video, and people had started to comment on the dancing video, too. He knew that Mary was selective about who she had on her friends list on her social media pages, but there was always somebody who was prepared to sell a story.

Francis groaned in embarrassment as he realised that most of the general public in London had watched him dancing in his living room, wearing only casual clothes. At the very least, most people had found the video to be rather endearing and amusing. Francis blushed all over again as he read some of the comments about the video; it seemed that people were speculating about what his relationship with Mary was.

The way he looks at her! several girls had written in the comments, complete with plenty of heart-eye emojis.

Mary chose that moment to walk into the kitchen, and Francis could only hope that he wasn't blushing.

She was dressed in the clothes that she had been wearing when she arrived yesterday, with her hair now in a long braid over her left shoulder. She looked beautiful, but something about the way she was dressed suggested to Francis that she was getting ready to leave soon; it was like by wearing her own clothes she was making sure that she had not borrowed anything to bring back, and that she would leave nothing behind.

Francis tried not to feel to sad at this thought. There had been an unspoken agreement between the two of them that Mary would head home as soon as the snow cleared, and it wasn't like any of their plans had changed.

As they sat down together at the table, Francis lost no time in explaining to Mary about the unexpected popularity of the two videos that had been made last night, his tone of voice apologetic.

Mary looked a little embarrassed at this news, but she didn't seem too upset about it. She was more worried about how the viral videos would affect Francis and his family's political career.

However, as Mary's eyes lit up when she noticed that Francis had ordered breakfast from the bakery, Francis pushed his own worries about his political career to the back of his mind, for the first time in what felt like months; it was so easy to forget about all of that, when Mary was sitting opposite him with a smile on her face.

It was something of a luxury to Francis, to eat such an indulgent breakfast. Throughout the election campaign, he'd had to follow a healthy eating regime, and also a strict exercise plan, and he had to admit that he was rather enjoying eating a high-calorie breakfast after a good night's sleep and a lie in. He was determined to enjoy every last moment with Mary today before his life returned to normal.

They ate their breakfast in companionable silence for a little while, with the television on a low volume over in the living room, as Mary had wanted to watch the news to see if there were any updates on London's public transport system.

After they had finished a few of the pastries and they'd moved on to drinking coffee, they started to share a conversation about their future plans. Francis mentioned the possibility of his returning to university (it no longer felt so deflating now, to talk about this return as a realistic possibility), while Mary mentioned that she was considering staying at Oxford for another year, to study for a Master's degree.

Francis couldn't help smiling to himself before he took another sip of his coffee; the prospect of returning to university in September now seemed even more appealing, with the added knowledge that it was likely that Mary would be there too.

Mary started to tell Francis about her plans to spend a bit more time in France the year after next, which Francis assumed might be something to do with the rumours that Mary's mother was planning on running for the presidency in a couple of years.

He thought about the information he had discovered last night about Mary's mother. Perhaps Mary's family's royal connections had served to make Mary a little more cynical about royalty than Francis was; whenever they talked about royals of the past, Mary did not seem to glamorise the role in the way that Francis did.

Francis was just about to ask Mary a little more about her plans to spend some time in France when an image of Number 10 Downing Street suddenly appeared on the television screen, which made Francis go quiet.

Mary fell into silence too and they both watched as Narcisse walked down the steps of Number 10 towards a podium and a waiting microphone.

Out of the corner of his eye, Francis could see Mary casting him nervous-looking glances, but Francis tried to shrug off her look of concern.

"It's fine," he told Mary in what he hoped was a casual tone of voice. He knew that some sort of live speech from Narcisse was to be expected, the morning after a crisis had been averted.

As Narcisse began to give his speech to an assembled crowd of journalists and spectators, thanking the emergency services for their hard work, and thanking the people of London for their co-operation, and of course reminding viewers of how well his own government had handled the situation, Francis found that he didn't feel as bitter as he had felt yesterday, to see Narcisse standing outside Number 10, acting like the nation's saviour and reminding Francis all over again of what his family had lost out on.

And, well, if Francis did still feel a little bitter, those negative feelings were eased even further when Mary leaned over to brush a few stray strands of blond curls out of his eyes before she reached for another pastry from the takeout bag; the touch was both comforting and affectionate, and it helped to distract Francis from the spontaneous round of applause for Narcisse that had just broken out on screen.

Francis was not distracted for long, however; one of the cameras panned out to the crowd of people standing outside Number 10, and the sight of one person in particular caught his attention.

Francis gave his full focus to the television screen again, and Mary's head seemed to turn quickly back to the live television event at the same time.

Francis frowned in confusion. Was that…Lola in the crowd, smiling in Narcisse's direction as the people around her gave the Prime Minister a round of applause?

The camera zoomed in even closer, and Francis's theory was confirmed. Lola really was standing in the crowd at Number 10, watching Narcisse.

His friend, Lola. One of Mary's best friends, Lola. Smiling at Narcisse. Narcisse also seemed to be looking in her direction with a surprisingly caring expression on his face when the camera panned back to him.

Mary looked at Francis with a frown on her face.

Francis could tell from the expression on Mary's face that she was just as surprised as he was by Lola's presence in the crowd; it seemed that this was news to her, too.

What was Lola doing there? Perhaps she had gone to watch the speech merely out of political curiosity, but the security guards at Number 10 did not simply let anyone and everyone into Downing Street-it would be too much of a security risk. There had to be some connection between Lola and Narcisse for him to invite her to watch his live speech.

Mary seemed to reach her own conclusion faster than Francis, because he noticed that she raised her eyebrows in what looked like surprise before she chanced a nervous-looking glance at Francis again.

Francis finally worked out from this nervous glance exactly what she was thinking. She thought that something was going on between Lola and Narcisse.

Mary definitely seemed to be worried about how Francis would react. Perhaps she thought that he would take it as some kind of political betrayal by one of his friends.

The truth was that Francis wasn't sure how to feel about it. He had no right, after all, to have any say in who his friends dated, but this was Narcisse, the Valois family's biggest political rival. And Lola had been one of Catherine's biggest supporters, when the election campaign had got started-she had even helped Claude to make banners and badges, in support of Catherine's political party; Catherine and Lola had laughed together and shared a bottle of wine at a party in London to celebrate the official beginning of the campaign. Had she secretly been dating Narcisse the whole time? The idea made Francis feel slightly uncomfortable.

But Francis simply sighed and shook his head, deciding to let it go. Nobody could help who they fell in love with; Francis knew that all too well, and he was sure that Bash would agree, now that he was engaged to someone who he'd always seemed to dislike. Love and politics were perhaps two very different things.

Love influenced people far more than politics did, after all.

Francis just filed the possible romance away in his mind as something to be aware of, for when the next election campaign came around…

This unexpected thought surprised Francis all over again.

Up until yesterday night, the thought of going anywhere near another election campaign had been too difficult to process. It was true that since his conversation with Mary in his bedroom last night, he had been toying with the idea of running for Prime Minister himself in the future, but up until now, the possibility of his mother running in the next election in four or five years' time had not even crossed his mind. But now that the thought of it had appeared, Francis was finding it difficult to ignore it. It seemed to make a strange sort of sense, in a way, even though the thought of trying (and possibly failing) all over again did make him feel slightly terrified. But, things could be very different in a few years' time.

On the television screen, Narcisse answered a few questions from the assembled journalists and reporters, and then he headed back inside to another round of applause. He seemed unable to hide a smug smirk from his face.

Already, Francis knew that his family would have a tough challenge on their hands, if they decided to run in the next election.

Another silence passed between Francis and Mary after Narcisse's appearance.

Mary looked right at Francis, and she seemed to be considering something. "How many of Henry VIII's marriages could really be considered legitimate?" she asked Francis, with a contemplative look on her face.

Francis stared at her in surprise for a few moments, but this time, he worked it out fairly quickly that this was another historical debate that Mary was trying to distract him with.

Francis laughed before the two of them started debating back and forth. Mary questioned whether the king's classing of a marriage as legitimate or not was enough of a deciding factor all on its own, while Francis questioned whether a marriage classed as legal by a king in early modern times could still be classed as legal by modern standards, given various changes in the law and the changes in the roles of today's royalty.

The moment their debate came to an end, the loud sound of a car horn coming from outside made them both jump.

They both looked out of the living room window, but on seeing no car there, Francis realised that the noise must have come from the road next to the other side of the house; the main road that the front door opened out onto.

Francis would have happily ignored the noise, but when they heard the car horn again a few moments later, he headed in the direction of the front door to see what was going on, with Mary not far behind him.

When Francis opened the front door and looked out onto the street, he noticed a fancy-looking car parked a few feet to the left of his house. The car was dark in colour, with blacked-out windows in the back. Francis also noticed what appeared to be a mini Scottish and a mini French flag displayed at the front of the car. Through the windscreen, he noticed the driver; an elderly man with a grey moustache. He looked quite formal, dressed in a smart uniform and wearing a matching hat.

"Oh!" Mary exclaimed, a look of surprise then realisation crossing her face. "James really has sent a car to come and collect me!"

Francis wasn't sure if he imagined it, but he thought he saw a look of disappointment cross Mary's face.

If Mary was a little disappointed, it was nothing to how Francis felt. So this car was here for Mary. The driver mustn't have been exactly sure of Francis's address-it seemed he'd just parked somewhere nearby and honked the car horn, hoping for the best. He even looked a little apologetic right now at having made so much noise.

Francis vaguely remembered James mentioning something to Mary last night over the phone about helping her to get home in the morning, but then he hadn't really thought much more about it. He'd assumed that James was just going to pay for Mary's train or taxi fare. But no, he'd sent a family car to come and collect her, and now Mary would have to go. Francis had always thought that James's habit of acting like the over-protective older brother was rather sweet, but right now, it seemed rather irritating.

"He shouldn't have done that," he heard Mary mutter, and Francis couldn't have agreed more. "At the moment, with everything else going on in his life, James really can't afford-"

Mary suddenly went quiet and placed her hand over her mouth before she could finish her sentence. She blushed, looking a little embarrassed at being about to reveal some sort of family secret.

"I should go," she continued as she turned back to look at Francis with an apologetic look on her face. "They charge by the hour for these cars…"

As the driver drove the car a few feet further down the road, so that it was now parked directly outside Francis's house, Mary hurriedly put on her boots that she'd left by the front door yesterday afternoon, then she reached for the shopping bags that were also in the hallway, her movements rushed, clumsy.

As he helped Mary to put on her pink coat that she'd also left hanging up next to Francis's coat in the hallway, Francis felt a little dazed.

Mary was leaving. She was leaving right now. It was too soon. He had hoped for a little more time with her. It was like everything had been flowing so slowly, so smoothly between them since Mary had arrived, and now their shared time together had been abruptly cut off. It felt like a terrible injustice on the universe's part.

Francis still had so much he wanted to say to her, and now it seemed like he was out of time. What could he say, when Mary was already ready to go? Her driver had even got out of his car and he'd just opened the car door for Mary, waiting for her to get in the car.

"Thank you," Mary muttered to Francis as she stood in the doorway, about to leave. Her expression was so intense, so sincere, that Francis wished he could keep her with him forever.

Francis was lost for words. He simply thanked her in return, wishing that he could have formulated something more significant to say.

Mary had just taken a couple of steps towards the car when she turned back around and walked back over to Francis, wrapping her arms around him for a hug. It was a little awkward, given that Mary was also trying to balance several shopping bags on her arms, but Francis hugged her in return, enjoying the moment of close contact.

Don't go…Francis really wanted to say to her the moment the hug came to an end and Mary took a step back from him.

But Francis stopped himself before he could actually say those words out loud. Who was he, to ask Mary to stay with him for any longer? Mary's mother was probably worried about her, and Mary had other responsibilities in her life. She had Bash and Kenna's wedding to prepare for, and Francis was sure she had plenty of university work that she needed to finish. It would be selfish of him, to keep Mary away from other things that she needed to do.

"Francis?" he heard Mary ask him. "Will you do me a favour after I've left?"

"Anything," said Francis. And he meant it, too.

"Will you read a couple of pages of Kings and Queens of England for me?"

Francis frowned in confusion at this bizarre request. "That is quite possibly the strangest request I have ever received from a woman," he attempted to joke.

Mary laughed in return, and in spite of his confusion, Francis agreed to Mary's strange request, telling her that he would read some pages of the history book this afternoon.

Mary looked almost relieved at his agreement to do as she had asked.

With that, she thanked him again for letting her stay, and then she walked over to the car, thanking the driver for waiting.

And so Francis had no choice but to stand in his doorway and wave as the car headed towards the end of the street and then turned to the left, disappearing from Francis's view.

When Francis closed the front door and stepped back inside the empty house, he felt more than a little upset.

As he walked back down the hallway and into the living room, the house seemed unnervingly quiet.

The news was still showing on the television. It seemed that an organised round of applause really was going ahead at two o'clock in the afternoon, but Francis was in little mood to celebrate.

He stood in the middle of the living room and sighed. For the first time in a long time, he felt lonely. He missed Mary already.

"This is ridiculous," Francis said out loud to the empty living room, almost laughing at himself for these melancholy feelings. After all, he would see Mary again soon-they had both agreed to keep in touch, and it was likely that they would be back at Oxford together in the near future; perhaps they would even head to the same parties in London over the next few weeks.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. His hair still looked a little messy, but it seemed lighter, brighter now. There was a look of determination in his eyes, and even his posture looked more upright, more…regal than it had looked yesterday. He did not want to see the defeated young man who had looked back at him through the mirror only yesterday.

No, Francis decided, he would not fall into his pacing and his obsessive thoughts all over again.

It is not over yet, Mary had told him last night.

Mary believed in him, and now he had to start believing in himself again.

Instead, Francis sat down on his couch and took his phone out of his pocket.

First, he called his mother.

"Let's run again in the next election," Francis said to his mother, the moment she answered the phone. He almost surprised himself at these words-they were words he'd thought he'd never say again-but now that he had put them out there, he was determined to see them through, as long as his mother agreed.

Francis's mother was a little more realistic than Francis was; she reminded him that her position as party leader was not yet secured, especially after the election defeat, and that things could change drastically over the next couple of years; nothing was guaranteed.

But still Francis's enthusiasm was not to be dampened. He promised his mother that he would help her to overcome all those obstacles, that he would be by her side, if she wanted to try again for the role of Prime Minister.

His mother simply told him that she would think about it, before she started to talk about other things.

Catherine seemed to want to talk about Mary, and she sounded rather disappointed when Francis informed her that Mary had already left and headed home and, "No, Mother, nothing happened between us!"

Quickly, Francis decided to change the subject. He told his mother about the message he'd received from his father earlier. His mother sounded a little tense on receiving this news, but she encouraged Francis not to lose touch with his father, if it was at all possible to stay in contact.

Francis could only promise her that he would try his best.

After Francis had finished his phone call with his mother, he called Bash.

"Francis?" said Sebastian in a tone of disbelief, the moment he answered the phone.

Francis felt a little emotional at hearing the familiar voice of his best friend on the other end of the phone line, even though Bash did sound surprised that Francis was calling him.

Right away, Francis congratulated Bash on his engagement and apologised for not being there for him over the past year.

In turn, Bash apologised to Francis for not telling him about the engagement as soon as it happened. He also admitted that he'd felt a little embarrassed, announcing to Francis that that he was engaged to Kenna, after all the not-so-nice things he'd said about Kenna to Francis over the past couple of years.

Francis tried to brush this off, using his 'you can't help who you fall in love with' line.

Bash then went on to tell him that he'd originally wanted a quiet wedding; he and Kenna had planned to travel to Scotland for the ceremony, but, since various friends and family members had got involved, the wedding had rapidly turned into this big thing. Bash sounded a little apprehensive at the idea of a fancy wedding ceremony, but he sounded happy about getting to be married to Kenna all the same.

They talked for almost an hour, with Francis talking to his friend about the election campaign and the disastrous results night, while Bash shared a few stories about the parties and the events that Francis had missed while he'd been on the campaign trail. Bash even admitted that he hadn't been sure that Francis had wanted to stay in touch, what with everything he had going on with the campaign, and Francis apologised all over again.

As the call came to an end, Francis felt a bit better about everything. It was good to talk to Bash again. He hoped that he'd cleared the air between them now.

"Francis?" he heard Bash call out to him, just as he was about to end the call.

"Yes?" said Francis.

"Will you be my best man?" Bash asked him, sounding a little choked up. It was a rare display of emotion from Bash, who had a reputation for being the 'strong, silent type' who rarely showed any vulnerability.

"I'd be honoured," said Francis, without hesitation. His own voice sounded a little higher pitched than usual, too.

After his call with Bash, Francis felt like he needed to move around a little, to be a little more productive.

He started to tidy the house, something he really should have done a few days ago.

First, he cleaned the kitchen, making sure to clear up what was left of this morning's breakfast.

Then he gathered up all his letters from university and the information booklets about possible internships, and he organised them neatly into a couple of folders and placed them in the study.

Francis would apply for several of those internships over the next few days, he decided. If he was lucky enough to be accepted, he would complete the internships over the holidays; he would learn as much as he could, get as much experience as possible in preparation for the future. He would also get in contact with his university soon, and ask them if he could come back to complete the final year of his studies. Maybe he would even study part-time, find a way to divide his time between Oxford and London.

After he had organised his paperwork, Francis went back downstairs and picked up some of the history books that had been laying open on the coffee table and he went to put them back on the bookshelf.

It was only after Francis had arranged these books neatly on the shelf that his attention was drawn to his copy of Kings and Queens of England. Suddenly, he remembered Mary's strange request for Francis to read it after she'd left.

Still feeling confused by this request, Francis went to remove the book from the bookshelf.

He had only moved the book a few inches however, when a white envelope slid out from behind the book and fell down to the floor.

Francis frowned as he looked down at the envelope. He was sure it hadn't been there yesterday, on the bookshelf, and he wondered where it had come from.

He picked up the envelope and turned it over.

The word Francis was written on the front, in what Francis knew to be Mary's neat handwriting.

Francis still had no clue what was going on. Mary must have wanted him to find this envelope; she must have wanted him to open it, right? Was this the reason why she had made reference to the history book several times during her overnight stay? Was this the real reason why she had asked Francis to read that book? In the hope that the envelope would fall from the shelf the moment Francis tried to move the book?

Overcome by curiosity, he opened the envelope. For some strange reason, his heart started to beat a little faster.

There was a card inside the envelope. It looked like a standard greeting card from one of the local gift shops.

On the front of the card there was a picture of a couple standing hand-in-hand on London Bridge, with a multi-coloured looking sky above them. They were holding an umbrella over their heads, and it was almost like they were sheltering each other from whatever storm it was that was raging above them; as though they were oblivious to everything that was going on beyond the bridge, because they had each other.

Francis read the three words just above the picture: Happy Valentine's Day!

The card was beautiful, but Francis felt a little surprised at the idea of Mary giving him a Valentine's Day Card.

He opened the card to read the message inside:

To Francis,

Happy Valentine's Day!

Love,

Mary

It said, simply.

Francis had just started to tell himself that Mary had probably written Valentine's Day cards for all of her friends, especially those who were not currently in relationships and therefore may not have received cards from anybody else on the fourteenth of February, when his eyes were drawn to something else that Mary had written inside the card:

P.S. There's also a letter in the envelope; please read it!

And so, still feeling confused, Francis looked in the envelope again. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper inside the envelope, folded neatly into four squares.

Feeling a little nervous now, for some reason, Francis unfolded the piece of paper.

At the top of the paper was a small picture of a crown. Under the picture of the crown, a letter was written in what Francis still recognised as Mary's handwriting, although this time, some of the writing was a little untidy, as though Mary had written it in a hurry.

Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, Francis read what she had written:

Francis,

I know that this year has been strange, to say the least, and our lives started to move in different directions. But believe me when I say, I want to come back to you; I want you to come back to me.

I don't even know how you feel, or whether you feel the same way, and I'm sure this is the least eloquent Valentine's Day card and letter you will ever receive, but if you can't be honest about how you feel for someone on Valentine's Day, then when can you be honest?

Francis paused for a moment in his reading of the letter as his hands started to shake.

Was this…?

Was this what he thought it was…?

Was Mary about to tell him…?

Was it even possible?

Was it too good to be true?

He could barely even think straight. He was almost scared to read on, in case he was mistaken; he could not bear another disappointment. But he had to read on; he had to. He had to be brave; he had to know.

It was like he was reading a love story that he had become invested in, and now he had to see how it ended, either way.

With his heart beating fast, he carried on reading…

So, I just wanted to tell you that… it's you . And, because I know that you will overthink this letter and start to question and doubt the true meaning of it-I mean that romantically .

And yes, I'm well aware that I know nothing about your current relationship status, which is why I'm going to act like a coward and leave this letter hidden in your house for you to find long after I have left, to avoid a face-to-face rejection, and if you don't feel the same way, or if you have met some pretty girl during the campaign trial, then I am very sorry-please ignore the contents of this letter.

But, if you are single, and if you feel the same way as I do, then perhaps it would be nice to go for a coffee together in London this week-we could still debate historical issues and order cakes in the shape of crowns, but this time it would be an actual date, and maybe I will order a few heart-shaped cakes, too…

(Even in his state of shock, Francis couldn't help laughing at that sentence.)

Anyway, I thought I would be brave and try, seeing as it's Valentine's Day. Please don't let this letter affect our friendship, if you're feelings aren't the same-you have no idea how much I value your friendship, or how much I enjoy arguing about kings and queens with you.

As nervous as I am feeling as I picture you discovering and reading this letter, I have said (or at least written) what I want to say. Now, it's your decision.

Love,

Mary

Francis finished reading the letter. Then he read it again. And again. Just to be sure. He might even have pinched himself, to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

He finally looked up from the piece of paper, his eyes wide in shock.

With the mist and the fog long gone from outside the window, several things became clear to Francis at once. Mary really had hidden a Valentine's card and a love letter on his bookshelf, behind his copy of Kings and Queens of England. That was what she had been doing when she'd first arrived at his house and she'd walked over to the bookshelf while Francis had been preparing hot drinks. She really had wanted him to find it at some point; that was why she kept making reference to the bookshelf and that book in particular.

A few other thoughts also started to formulate in his mind…

Mary would have left the Valentine's card for him, regardless of whether the snowstorm had happened or not. That must have been her plan after she'd spotted the royalty themed cakes in the bakery; to show up and share tea and cakes with Francis, to hide the card while he was distracted and then get out before she had to face the embarrassment of Francis finding and reading her declaration of love. She had said as much in her letter. The universe had just given Francis the added bonus of more time that he got to spend with Mary before the discovery of the letter.

Mary had had feelings for him for a while. The idea of it was still a little unbelievable to Francis. All this time, Mary had felt the same way about him as he had felt about her. If only he'd known…

Mary must have been planning something like this for a while, and yesterday had been the day that the plan had been put into place.

Valentine's Day. The day that Francis had thought would be one of the worst days of the year for him. And yet the universe had had other plans.

In his mind, he tried to go over Mary's journey to Notting Hill yesterday. He could picture her talking to his mother, who would have pointed out Francis's address; then he imagined Mary finally making her decision in the local bakery, seeing the royalty-themed cakes as some kind of sign. There was a gift shop located about halfway between the bakery and Francis's house; perhaps Mary had purchased the card and the letter paper from there; maybe she had rushed to write out the letter, leaning on a wall in the shop, before she'd walked further down the road towards Francis's house and knocked on his door…

Francis read the letter again. He was sure he would be reading it many more times, over the course of his life, no matter what happened.

All of it was right there, for Francis to see and read, but he was still struggling to process it all; it was like he couldn't believe this was actually happening. He felt like he was frozen to the spot in his shock and his surprise. His heart was still beating at an alarming rate.

It's you… Mary had written in the letter.

To his surprise, Francis felt a single tear fall down his cheek. He hardly ever cried; for months, he had bottled up all his feelings inside, refusing to break down, even when his family's world had come crashing down on the night of the election results. But he could no longer hide his emotions anymore. He could no longer hide how he felt about Mary.

Mary…

As though coming out of a trance, Francis suddenly came to his senses.

Now, it's your decision. That was what Mary had written in her letter. She had put her feelings out there; she had been the one to be brave and to make the first move, but she still had no idea how Francis felt about her.

What was he still doing here, standing by his bookcase? He was wasting time. He had already wasted so much time.

He had to find her; he had to get to her; he had to tell her.

He had to go now. Another moment without her in his life was a moment too long.

Francis might have stumbled a few times in his haste to move away from the bookshelf, but he felt strangely focused, like all his senses were working overtime; he had a goal, a mission; he could think of nothing else, only her.

Of course, it would be difficult to get across a busy London in the afternoon, especially in the aftermath of a snowstorm, but he had to try. He would take several underground trains, if he had too; he would brave the crowds and face numerous delays, if that was what it took. He would pay a ridiculous fare for taxis, if it was necessary. He would run through the snow-filled streets, like all the characters did in the films when they were about to declare their love, although he was sure he would look nowhere near as graceful as the Hollywood stars.

He ran down his hallway, fumbling for his keys and his wallet and his jacket. All of the energy, all of the motivation that he'd lost since the election defeat was back, working overtime, driving him forward.

Just as he got close to the front door, almost tripping over his welcome mat along the way, he noticed a small shopping bag with the logo of a local Notting Hill shop printed on the front of the bag. The bag was half-hidden under a table in the hallway, and Francis realised that Mary must have forgotten it in her rush to grab all her belongings and head out the door before.

Francis noticed a wooden plaque sticking out of the top of the bag, with what looked like the names 'Kenna' and 'Sebastian' engraved on it. Even in his still-dazed state, Francis worked out that the bag must contain some sort of wedding gift, and it was therefore something important to be returned to Mary as soon as possible.

He reached down and picked up the bag, deciding to take it with him on his journey to find Mary. As he did so, he noticed that there was also another small, gift wrapped item in the bag, with a decorative tag attached to it. New Home! the words on the tag read.

Francis was mildly curious as to what the item was, but he knew that he didn't have time to contemplate the contents of the shopping bag right now.

He had to find Mary.

With his heart still beating fast, Francis opened his front door. And then it felt like his heart stopped.

Mary Stuart was standing on his doorstep.

Mary's hand was lifted, as though she'd just been about to knock on the door.

Francis stood still, frozen in shock, unable to process what he was seeing; unable to understand how this was possible.

He'd just been about to run across London to find Mary, and yet she was right here, somehow. She had come back.

Mary must have changed clothes as soon as she got home, because she was now dressed in dark trousers and a light pink jumper. Her hair was loose, but now it was straight instead of curly, and she had placed two large, sparkling, silver clips into her hair, just behind her ears. Francis was sure that the clips were in the shape of butterflies or something similar, but they conjured up an image of a princess wearing a tiara. She looked beautiful, as always.

Mary's beauty did nothing to help calm Francis's nerves. It seemed he had been temporarily rendered speechless. He had only been left with enough self-awareness to know that he probably looked like an awkward fool right now.

The snow and the mud on Mary's shoes suggested that she had not had the family car drive her from door to door this time. It had been Mary's decision to head back to Francis's home. She had found her own way back to him.

Mary gestured vaguely in the direction of the table in Francis's hallway, where she had left the bag. There was an apologetic expression on her face, and Francis suddenly worked out that she must have realised that she'd left one of her shopping bags behind, and now she had come back to collect it.

After a moment though, she seemed to realise that the bag wasn't where she had left it. She looked at Francis again, and then she looked in the direction of his left hand, the hand which was currently holding the bag. Then she looked in the direction of his other hand, and her eyes widened as she gasped.

Her face at first registered surprise, shock, realisation, and then what definitely looked like apprehension. Her whole body seemed to tense.

Francis looked at his hand too, trying to work out what had provoked Mary's reaction, and then he realised that he was still holding her Valentine's Day card and letter. In his rush to get out of the house, he hadn't even realised that he still had the card and letter clasped tightly in his hand.

Mary looked at Francis, her expression vulnerable, and also a little wary. She knew now, that he had read it; she knew that Francis had already found out how she felt about him.

Still, Mary managed to smile, and Francis knew an attempt to cover up a potentially awkward moment when he saw one.

"It's you," said Mary, in what was quite a good imitation of Francis's accent, and Francis knew that she was trying to lighten the mood by mocking his words from when he'd first opened the door to her yesterday afternoon, and he'd been as surprised to see her then as he was now.

Now Mary was waiting for Francis to say something in response.

Francis knew that he should tell her the truth. He should tell her everything, right now, before he lost his nerve.

Francis struggled to put his feelings for her into words. This was not a political speech, or a rehearsed PR stunt. His love for Mary was so much more important than any of that. He could only speak from the heart.

"It's always been you," said Francis, looking right at Mary as he said the only thing he could think of to say in his shocked state. His voice sounded thick with emotion.

Even if his words were not exactly clear, he was certain his feelings were written all over his face now, out here in the light of day.

In the distance, Francis heard the familiar chimes from Big Ben as London's most famous clock struck the hour. It almost felt like there was magic in the air.

Mary seemed to watch him for a long moment, like she was trying to interpret what he'd just said. Then, a tear started to fall slowly down her cheek, even as she managed another smile.

"Really?" she asked him, sounding equally emotional.

Her voice was shaking, and the tears continued to fall down her cheeks. She sounded like she didn't quite believe him yet; like what Francis had just revealed was too good to be true.

"Really," Francis confirmed, managing a smile of his own. He could feel his own eyes filling with tears. He was in love with her; he had been in love with her from the moment he first met her. She had to know that now.

The look of happiness that crossed Mary's face almost took Francis's breath away.

Francis wasn't sure who made the first move. He seemed to take a step outside just as Mary practically ran into his arms.

The card and the letter and the shopping bag ended up somewhere on the floor.

And then they were kissing.

Mary's lips were on his, and Francis was kissing her back.

Mary put her arms around Francis's neck, and Francis wrapped his arms around Mary's waist, trying to bring her in even closer, if that was even possible.

Their kiss might have started off a little tentative, but it soon became more urgent. It was like the two of them were making up for lost time.

The elation, the thrill of it, was far better than any election win. This was better than any victory that Francis could achieve, he realised that now.

Being here, with Mary, holding her in his arms as they kissed…this was exactly where he was meant to be. It felt like every moment in his life had been leading up to this.

All of Francis's surroundings seemed to blur as he continued to kiss Mary, and she parted her lips to give him better access.

Mary lifted her right arm a little and began to run a hand through Francis's hair, gently playing with the curls as she continued to kiss him.

Francis brought his hand up gently to Mary's face and he ran his fingers delicately along her cheek as the kissing continued.

He wanted to savour this moment, to make it last; he had never even allowed himself to believe that a moment like this could happen.

Francis never wanted it to end.

Suddenly, Francis was startled by what sounded like a loud round of applause.

Still feeling a little dazed, he jumped, and he felt Mary's gasp of shock at the sound that seemed to be coming from all around them in the street.

The two of them moved apart a little in order to locate the source of the noise. Already, Francis was missing the kissing. He kept his arms around Mary, even as she turned away from him a little to look over her shoulder.

As Francis came to his senses, he became aware of the sight of all of his neighbours, standing outside their houses and in doorways, all of them clapping their hands with smiles on their faces.

Of course, Francis suddenly remembered…the neighbourhood applause that had been organised for this afternoon in celebration of London getting safely through the snowstorm. Francis had long since lost track of the time, but he guessed it must already be two o'clock.

And yet, the neighbours in Francis's street seemed to have focused their attention and their applause entirely on Francis and Mary.

They were all looking right at them with smirks on their faces as they continued to applaud.

A few of the elderly women who lived in the street were full on beaming at Francis, as though they were proud of a favourite grandson who had got the girl of his dreams, while a few of the male neighbours even gave him a thumbs-up.

Francis felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He hadn't realised that they had an audience.

Luckily, Mary seemed to see the funny side. She looked at Francis and started to laugh, while Francis couldn't help laughing along with her.

Still laughing, Mary leaned her head into Francis's chest, and Francis pulled her in for a hug.

"This is what happens when you allow your neighbours to become too invested in your life," Francis attempted to joke, and he could feel Mary's laughter up against his chest.

Now that he was a little more focused on his surroundings, Francis looked back over his shoulder and noticed the card and the bag on the floor, on the welcome mat just inside the front door.

He muttered his apologies to Mary about the items ending up on the floor, insisting that he'd been too distracted when they'd started to kiss to think clearly, but Mary didn't seem to be particularly perplexed.

"I brought a house-warming gift for you," Mary whispered into Francis's chest. "It's in that shopping bag, along with Bash and Kenna's gift. I was going to give it to you yesterday, but I forgot, with everything else that was going on. It's nothing fancy," she added, sounding a little nervous now, and still a little emotional, "it's a plastic statue of a king and a queen; I thought you'd find it funny…"

"I'm sure it'll look perfect," said Francis as he gently kissed the top of her head. "Maybe you can decide on where we should display it in the house…"

At those words, Mary looked up at Francis, the intense expression back on her face.

Francis felt a little anxious, wondering if he'd been a little presumptuous with those words, but he'd meant what he said; he would be happy if Mary stayed for much longer than one night; he wanted the two of them to have a future together. Whatever challenges they faced over the next few years, Francis hoped that they could face them side-by-side.

He must have said the right thing, because Mary's lips were suddenly on his again.

Francis kissed her back while the round of applause continued all around them.

The applause quickly turned into whoops and cheers and even a few wolf-whistles.

Francis and Mary moved apart from each other again, while Mary blushed and Francis rolled his eyes at his neighbours' antics.

Without a word, he nodded in the direction of his open front door, offering Mary a wordless invitation to come back inside.

Mary smiled and nodded.

The sun was shining brightly in the sky. A layer of snow still covered the streets, making Notting Hill look even more beautiful. Big Ben continued to chime in the background. Francis's neighbours started to talk among themselves, all of them sounding happy, positive. Francis held his hand out to Mary, and Mary took it.

Hand-in-hand, the two of them headed back inside. Narcisse could keep his victory speech in Downing Street, Francis decided, and his smug smirk as he headed back into Number 10. The Valois family would have plenty of other victories in the future. But right now, with Mary back in his arms and kissing him all over again the moment Francis closed the front door, none of that was important to him; right now, Mary was in his house, and there was nowhere else that Francis would rather be.