Sweat dripped off her forehead and onto the sweet-smelling grass under her feet as Olivia leaned over, hands on thighs, her breathing still returning to normal. She glanced up at the full trees above, the sky a mass of white clouds, the only sound around her birdsong. She was glad she’d made the decision to run this morning, to get rid of some of her excess stress. Seeing as today was the day she planned to tell her parents she wasn’t marrying Jemima, stress management was at a premium. This morning’s run around the woods in the grounds of her Surrey estate had been just what she needed. Her mind was a jumble of emotions to begin with, but by the end, the only thing she was processing was the wind on her face, and the snap of twigs under foot.

She stopped by the kitchen for a glass of water, replaying the scene with Jemima last night. She’d taken the news remarkably well — almost as if she’d been expecting it — and Olivia could only hope her parents would be the same. Somehow, she couldn’t see it. But if there was one thing meeting Rosie had brought into sharp focus it was that this was her life, and she only got one shot at it; her next move was the critical one, and she wanted to get it right. She just had to hope, once she cleared the hurdle of today, that Rosie was on the same page, too.

She picked up her phone and saw she had a text: as usual, her stomach fluttered. It wasn’t from Rosie, it was from her sister.

‘Are you seeing the parents today?’

Olivia messaged back telling her she was.

Alexandra’s reply was almost instantaneous. ‘Let me know the time and I’ll be there.’

Olivia’s heart swelled: her sister was coming to support her, and in this situation, there was nobody more qualified to stand in her corner. Her sister having her back meant the world to her and made her hopeful for the future. Today was a battle between the current queen and the future one. When the time rolled around for her niece and nephew to get married, she hoped this conversation would never have to be repeated.

Olivia was in the drawing room, whisky in hand, staring into the fireplace. As the wooden grandfather clock in the corner ticked around to 7.30pm, supper time, her mind went increasingly blank. Should she have prepared cue cards for this? She rubbed a hand on her cheek, before remembering the sheen of make-up she was wearing, and swore. She got out a mirror from her handbag and checked herself: she still looked perfect, ready for battle. She’d decided on a simple black dress that would please her mother; tonight, what she had to say was the most important thing, and she didn’t want anything distracting from that.

The door was flung open, and Olivia looked up as her sister walked in, giving her a grin. She gave Olivia a bruising hug, before drawing back and holding her at arm’s length.

“Ready?” she asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Olivia replied.

Her sister squeezed her arm. “It’s not just us, by the way. I’ve called more back-up.”

Olivia crinkled her brow. “What does that mean? If Sebastian’s coming, I’m not sure that’s going to help matters.”

“Just trust me — you’ll see.”

They were called into the dining room moments later and took their places; Olivia and Alexandra to the right of their mother, their father to the left. Their chat was stilted while the staff brought wine, water, bread and starters; once they’d left the room and Olivia had eaten half of her cream of tomato soup — the Queen’s favourite — she put down her spoon.

“There’s something I need to talk to you both about,” she said, her voice coming out far more confident than she felt. As Alexandra had told her, just keep calm, speak slowly and hold eye contact.

“I hope it’s good news about the wedding. Malcolm told me you wanted to change the menu.” Her mother’s stare was laser-like. Somehow, even when she wasn’t wearing her crown, it still felt like she was. “Did you both manage that at least?”

Olivia met her gaze, every muscle in her body locking up. “We did meet to discuss that.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “But then we made another decision, a major one.” She cleared her throat and looked first at her father, then at the Queen. Remember officer training — shoulders back, stomach in. “I want you to know that we didn’t arrive at this decision lightly, but Jemima and I have decided that we don’t want to get married.” A shudder ran down her as her heart-rate slalomed. Olivia gripped the table as she continued. “I’m here tonight to let you know that — we’re calling off the wedding.”

Her mother’s face curdled, her solid-silver spoon stopping in mid-air. “You are what?”

“We’re not getting married.” White noise played in Olivia’s head, but she ignored it. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s better to call this off now rather than a few months down the line.”

Her mother put her spoon on her side plate, wiping her mouth with her starched white napkin. She glanced at her husband, and then back to Olivia. “We have already had this discussion, Olivia. This is not your decision to make. The wedding is happening as planned.” Her mouth was a straight line across her face, her eyes narrowed.

Olivia left it a few beats, then looked back up at her mother. “No, Mother, it’s not. I know it’s not what you want to hear, and believe me, I’m not doing this to upset you, but this wedding isn’t happening.”

Her gaze didn’t falter, even though inside, she’d already run screaming out of the palace gates.

The Queen cleared her throat. “Did you know about this?” She was addressing her sister now.

Alexandra nodded. “I did.”

The Queen cocked her head. “And what do you think about it? Do you think your sister should be allowed to ride roughshod over the whole institution of royalty like she’s the chosen one?”

Alexandra cleared her throat. “I’m behind her in this, yes.”

Olivia could have kissed her. She glanced to her right and saw her sister’s hand shake as she continued.

“I followed your orders, but times have moved on. Olivia loves someone else and if she marries anyone, it should be her.”

The Queen slammed her hand on the table. “How many times do I have to have this conversation? Marriage is not about love, it’s about duty.”

“And I’m happy to do my royal duties, I’ve never said otherwise,” Olivia said, keeping her cool. “I just want to do it with the right woman by my side.”

“Jemima was the right woman.”

“No, Mother, she wasn’t!” Okay, maybe she wasn’t so calm anymore. “Jemima is a lovely woman, but she’s not in love with me — she’s in love with Tabitha Middleton.”

The Queen furrowed her brow. “Tabitha Middleton who’s engaged to Henry Maston?”

Olivia closed her eyes. “Yes, that one.”

“My god, is everyone in the world depraved these days? In my day, you only had affairs with men.”

Something inside Olivia burst. “Depraved? Is that what you think? That being a lesbian is depraved!” She pushed back her chair and stood up, shaking as she did. “You know what is depraved, though? Marrying someone you don’t love and making your life and their life a misery in the process.” Olivia was on a roll now, not to be stopped. “Look at you and Father,” Olivia continued, waving her hand between the pair. “How’s your married life been? Were you madly in love when you got together?”

The Queen pursed her lips. “Nobody is madly in love when they get married — that only happens in films, not real life.”

“But what if it did happen in real life? What if it happened to me?” Olivia pressed her index finger to her chest. “It did happen to me, when I was in Cornwall. I met a woman who loved me for who I was and I fell in love.”

The Queen pushed her chair back and stood up. “This again? This woman? This woman who runs a cafe? That is whom you want to marry?”

Olivia gave a firm nod. “Yes, it is.”

The Queen threw up her hands. “Well, go ahead,” she said. “See how that works out. You don’t even know her, she doesn’t even know you. You won’t last a month. The press will have her for breakfast and she won’t be able to cope with the scrutiny. You’ll be destroyed by the demands of the title, and then you’ll come running back here and realise that you should have married someone who understands, who knows the role. Someone like Jemima. Someone with background and class.”

“You’re wrong and I’m going to prove it to you. Rosie might not be a duchess or have gone to Oxford, but she's the smartest woman I've ever met. I don’t love Jemima, I love Rosie. And I haven’t yet asked her to marry me, so I’m not saying she will. But I’m going to do everything in my power to convince her to give us a try.”

An arm curled around her shoulder, and Olivia turned to see Alexandra by her side. “She’s right, Mother. You keep going on about tradition, but it’s time to start a new one in this family. Olivia should marry who she wants. Look around this room. You and Father, me and Miles — are any of us happy?”

“Life isn’t about happiness. It’s about getting the job done.”

“Olivia can still get the job done,” Alexandra replied. “But wouldn’t it be better to get the job done with someone she loves by her side? I know it would have made my life a whole lot easier.”

“Your life is easier with Miles than it ever would have been with that man.”

Alexandra’s stare was made of ice. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

Just then, the door opened and the royal butler announced: “Her Royal Highness, the Queen Mother.”

In walked Grandma, looking resplendent in red, her grey hair elegant in a bun. Even in her 70s, she was still a bundle of energy. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. She gave her granddaughters a kiss. “Traffic was frightful.”

For once, the Queen looked off balance. “What are you doing here?”

Olivia wasn’t sure, but she turned to grin at her sister: the back-up had arrived. If there was anyone in the family who would understand her predicament, it was Grandma. Unlike the Queen, Olivia’s grandmother had an unwavering faith in love, one that was wholly out of step with her background.

She walked over and sat her daughter back down in her chair. “And hello to you, too, my darling girl.”

Olivia’s father got up and pulled out a chair for Grandma, with the staff scuttling about, setting another place for her.

“Apologies for gate-crashing the party, but I was alerted to the fact my presence might be needed. So, what have I missed?” Grandma asked.

Olivia cleared her throat. “I was just telling Mother that I’m not marrying Jemima because I love someone else.”

Grandma nodded, picking up a bread roll. “Good, she was never right for you. Far too much make-up on her all the time.” She paused. “Who’s this other woman?”

“She’s called Rosie and she lives in Otter Bay,” Olivia replied.

“And she’s a commoner who knows nothing of royal tradition,” the Queen added, her face stony.

“Good,” Grandma countered, staring at the Queen. “That’s just what this family needs — someone new, fresh blood.” She turned to Olivia. “What does this Rosie do?”

“She runs a cafe,” Olivia replied.

Grandma nodded. “So she’s business-savvy and smart.” She paused. “I bet she’s strong, too, if you were drawn to her — am I right?”

Olivia’s face lit up. “She’s the definition of strong, Grandma.”

Grandma took a sip of wine and turned to Olivia’s father. “What do you think about this, Hugo? Are you behind your daughter going after love and being happy?”

Her father dipped his head to his chest, then sat upright. “I told her to obey her mother, but I’ve been rethinking.” He glanced at his wife, then at Olivia. “I’m sorry Cordelia, but I have to agree with your mother. I trust Olivia and I think you should, too. If there’s one thing we got right it’s our children — look at them, they’re both fantastic. And if Olivia thinks this woman can survive marrying into this circus of a family, then why not? I think we should allow her to live her life and trust her instincts.”

Olivia turned to her mother and sucked in a breath, waiting for her response. Her whole future was on the line; she already knew the path she was going to follow, but it would be so much easier with her mother’s blessing.

The Queen’s mouth twitched. “Fine,” she said, through gritted teeth. “You’re all ganging up on me, what can I do? Go after this woman, marry who you like, but don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong.”

Heat rose through Olivia’s body as she tried to process what her mother had just said — somewhere, hidden among it, she detected a tacit acceptance. For once in her life, the Queen had acquiesced. Olivia could do nothing but beam.

“And that is about as much of a blessing as your mother gives,” Grandma said, chuckling. “Do get a grip, Cordelia, the world will carry on spinning if Olivia marries someone who speaks with an accent.” She turned back to Olivia. “And if she’s the reason my granddaughter is wearing that smile, I can’t wait to meet her.”