“Precisely. Miriam is a learned and accomplished woman. This morning she FedExed me a pound cake. But the two of you have given me tsuris, and this will only increase.”

Hearing Queen Catherine’s version of Yiddish—which became weirdly Irish—was making my day even better, if that was possible.

“And all you’re doing,” she continued, “is waiting with barely concealed, glint-eyed greed for me to expire, so that Edgar may succeed me, with Mr. Ogden as your scampering playmate, installing flat screen televisions in every room of the palace, and hot tubs.”

“Nana, that isn’t true. I’ve told you repeatedly, I forbid you to die. It simply can’t happen. Not on my watch.”

“Although,” I mentioned, “I’m loving the hot tub idea.”

“And to have the two of you on the throne,” said the queen, “or in Mr. Ogden’s case, on a cushion nearby, will be either a gargantuan fiasco, unequalled in modern times, and the end of the monarchy, or . . .”

“Or?”

“Or?”

“Or perhaps—a step forward.”

She raised an eyebrow. Which felt like a symphonic crescendo.

“So,” I asked, “do we have your blessing? And your permission?”

“Edgar? Do you love this small, inappropriate, fidgeting person?”

“Yes. So very much.”

“And Mr. Ogden? Do you love my grandson?”

I’d never said it before, not to Edgar. He hadn’t let me. Saying “I love you” can be too easy, the way some overly exuberant people use it as a greeting. If it gets too earnest, it can feel like you’re pushing and working to convince yourself. Stop overthinking this, I told myself. Stop having a panic attack. Stop being you. Thanks to Edgar, you’re not that same neurotic, pessimistic, occasionally deranged person. Progress happens. Love happens. You and Edgar are happening. You can do this. Say it.

“Yes,” I said. “No matter how hard I fight it, and no matter what happens. And I hope the palace has insurance. But I love him.”

I turned to Edgar.

“I love you. Deal with it.”

Edgar smiled. Full-on. The sun coming up. Roman candles over the skyline. Every fountain in the world gushing toward heaven. Every voice raised in jubilant harmony. Every bell pealing. Edgar’s smile.

“Oh, get on with it,” said James, standing by a far-off door, but his perfect diction and the room’s acoustics lent clarity. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry you have to see this, but it’s necessary. It’s how these things work.”

“If they must,” said the queen.