Harper was relieved to see Ethan in the group. He smiled at them as he walked over, weaving between clusters of conversation.
“Don’t worry,” he said, gesturing to the others with his champagne flute. “I’ll give you the scoop on everyone here before you’re thrown in the deep end.”
He nodded discreetly toward the group, lowering his voice conspiratorially. He gestured towards a striking pair. “So, those are the twins, Enzo and Tereza di Savoia. They’re Italian—technically prince and princess, but they don’t actually rule anything. Like the kind of royals in those Christmas movies.”
Harper and Emilia exchanged glances. Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his wine glass pausing halfway to his lips.
“Which movies?” Harper asked.
Ethan blinked, looking around at their blank faces with growing disbelief. “Christmas Prince. You know—” He gestured helplessly with his free hand. “Oh my god, you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Should we?” Sebastian asked dryly, settling back against the terrace railing.
“It’s a Netflix thing,” Ethan said, as if this explained everything. When it clearly didn’t, he sighed dramatically. “Okay, so there’s this whole genre of Christmas movies about ridiculously attractive European princes who have titles but seem to have no actual responsibilities, and they always fall in love with American journalists or bakers or whatever in like a week because of Christmas magic.”
“That sounds…” Emilia paused, searching for words.
“Absolutely ridiculous?” Sebastian suggested.
“I was going to say charming, but sure,” Emilia replied.
“Anyways, moving on,” Ethan said, clearly defeated. He then gestured to the severe man in the armchair near the garden’s edge. “That’s Lukas von Hollenberg—groomsman, Alexander’s distant cousin, serial board member. Hilarious in a very dark-humor way. Pretends to hate gossip but knows more than MI6.”
As if on cue, a woman with a sharp, knowing smile detached from the group and sauntered over, her heels clicking on the stone terrace.
“Ethan, darling, don’t scare them off before they’ve had champagne.” She turned to Harper, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “Jules. You must be the journalist I’ve heard so much about.”
Harper took her hand and smiled with pure mischief. “Harper. And you must be the legendary sixteen-hour wife. Pleasure to finally meet you.”
Sebastian nearly choked on his drink, setting his glass down hard on the balustrade.
Jules just laughed, a rich, delighted sound. “I see he’s told you the essentials. Good. Saves me the trouble.”
Ethan wandered off toward the twins, phone already in hand, clearly on a mission to quiz them about Netflix Christmas movies.
As the sunlight softened into gold and the evening air grew cooler, Alexander ushered them indoors. “Let’s move to the library.”
The library was a cathedral of books and velvet, the scent of old leather and polished wood thick in the air. A fire crackled in the oversized hearth for ambiance rather than warmth, casting dancing shadows across the room’s towering shelves. Persian rugs scattered across dark hardwood floors created intimate seating areas around leather sofas and wingback chairs.
Emilia curled into a deep sofa beside Alexander, a glass of wine in hand, sinking into the worn leather that had clearly hosted countless conversations like this. From her position, she could watch as the group naturally spread throughout the space—Lukas claiming the leather armchair closest to the fire, Jules perching elegantly on the arm of a nearby chair, the twinsgravitating toward the window seat where twilight was beginning to paint the gardens purple.
Harper found herself drawn into a debate with Lukas and Alexander about Viking TV accuracy, both of them leaning forward in their chairs, wine glasses occasionally raised to punctuate particularly emphatic points. Across the room, Enzo and Sebastian had settled into the deep couch by the windows, their conversation about some upcoming gala punctuated by Enzo’s theatrical gestures as he described what sounded like a particularly ridiculous dress code. Jules and Tereza had claimed spots near the fireplace, their voices lowered as they filled Emilia in on several society scandals between questions about the upcoming wedding.
The conversations flowed and merged like streams, punctuated by bursts of laughter that echoed off the high ceilings and the occasional snap from the fireplace.
Then Ethan returned, eyes alight, phone held high like a prophet with a scroll. He dropped into the remaining leather armchair with enough force to make the ancient springs creak, nearly spilling his wine in his enthusiasm.
“Okay, my informal polling has revealed that apparently no one here has heard of A Christmas Prince. And frankly, I’m not sure if I’m proud of your superior taste in entertainment or disappointed that you missed your perfect hate watch movie.”
The room fell silent except for the crackling fire. Even ongoing conversations in other corners of the room seemed to pause.
Lukas looked up from his wine glass with the kind of skeptical precision that suggested he was either deeply amused or deeply appalled. “What are you even talking about?”
“A Netflix original movie,” Ethan confirmed, waving his phone as if it contained proof. “It’s a royal romance movie. The plot makes no sense. There’s a journalist who sneaks into the palace under false pretenses, falls in love with the crown prince in, like, I dunno… a week—”
“A week?” Enzo repeated from his position by the window, setting down his wine glass and pushing off from the window seat. His eyebrows lifted in theatrical judgment.
“—and everyone’s cool with it because Christmas magic.”