When Mila finds out she's pregnant from a one-night stand with a reluctant prince, she is thrust into a fake romance with him; are her feelings that grow for him genuine or for his way of life that ensures her baby stability?|| Down-on-her-luck Mila...
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A Few Days Later
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There's something unnervingly beautiful about a royal funeral. Funerals are a weird thing as is; they're meant to be there to celebrate someone's life, yet no one is there happy. They're mourning, sad that someone has departed. The funerals for Lucy, Michael and their children were, well, beautiful is the only way to describe them.
Hugh and Charlotte held a bank holiday over the Commonwealth and televised the whole thing. The Prime Minister, along with a lot of the government, was there, as were a lot of the Prime Ministers from other countries, and, of course, every single member of the royal family.
They fitted me with a dress fitting the funeral dress code: knee-length black dress, black tights. I put on black boots to go with it. They fitted me with a black hat and a latticed black veil over my face. People queued outside the chapel, throwing flowers at the cars, and offering their prayers, and some just wanted to get a look at us.
As there is no mourning period after the funerals, Kai and I have taken it upon ourselves to go out on The Long Walk outside Windsor Castle to visit the gathering of people waiting. They drove all four of the coffins down here on the way to the funeral, and because Hugh and Charlotte are in no fit state, they haven't done any public meet and greets. They're not customary while in mourning or at all. It's usually a good thing for public and royal relationships. It was actually my idea so Kai could at least see the people and maybe help him realise he's more loved than he thinks he is.
"We're so sorry for your loss, Prince Kai!"
"Our condolences, Your Highnesses."
They're just yelling it and there are so many people, I can't tell who says what, but I shake as many hands as I can while Kai is standing and talking to a woman. She's handed him a gift bag which our security, Jamie, takes. As I listen, I hear her mention she works for a grieving charity in the west of the country and she's given him a pack they give to people who ask for help.
I stand with them and join in. "Hi, sorry to interrupt. Did you put a card with your charity details in the bag?"
She turns to me with a small smile. "I did. There's a contact number and email there, too. Along with a leaflet about us and what we do. I just thought the pack might help you with the tough part of grief."
I smile at her. "No, that's really, really lovely. Thank you. I'd be interested in contacting you if you don't mind."
"Not at all!" She looks a bit flabbergasted as if it'd be rude to not be okay with it.
I shake her hand and move back to where I was in the queue, taking flowers, thanking people for coming and accepting people's best wishes. There are a few younger people taking photos as well, which I'm not posing for selfies, but they keep taking photos of us in action.
