Willow likes her new office. It isn't the biggest of the senior staff offices, but it is the nearest to the King's suite, and the windows look out over the Parade Ground. Robert had offered her Rachel's office, but Willow had turned it down. No point in ruffling feathers any more than necessary.
She's deliberately keeping a low profile. She's had a couple of days to get used to Robert's offer. Willow is careful not to think about it as a proposal – it's not. Robert barely knows her. They've had one awkward conversation about Harry Potter characters and one highly scripted dinner out that she'd planned herself to get a read on how the public was going to take to a new woman in their new King's life. Not exactly a first date, it was much more like a job interview – albeit an interview that included foie gras and champagne.
Her work portfolio has grown. She's continuing to manage Robert's social media profile, and she's taken on coordinating his schedule and correspondence too. Since he's been back, he's been in high demand with world leaders and diplomats – between themselves, she and Robert are calling this the "Man who Lived" phenomenon. It's not showing any signs of dying down.
She's into work early. She has a tiny flat in Kensington, and in fair weather she can walk to the Palace in 40 minutes. This morning, for the second day in a row, a Palace sedan has been idling outside her front door on Robert's orders, so her commute has gotten much shorter. Robert has hinted that she should move into a staff apartment in the building, but she's reluctant to give up her own space.
She's just opened up her laptop, when a shadow crosses her doorway. "Good morning," Robert says, leaning against the door frame. He's wearing a suit, he's got meetings this morning, but his tie is undone.
She stands up, "Your Majesty," she bobs her head at him and smiles. It's not quite a bow, but more formal than the grin and wave she'd share with Liam in the same circumstance. Robert likes the formalities.
"Tea?" he asks her.
She grabs a mug off her desk, "Not yet." He ushers her out and walks beside her, rather than in front.
"Do you have dinner plans?" He asks her as they walk into the kitchenette off the hallway where the tea cart is set up.
"No," she laughs. "But you do. They are expecting you at Downing Street at 7."
Robert swears under his breath. "I assume that is on the schedule I haven't looked at?" He takes her mug, fills it for her, and hands it over.
"It is," she answers mildly. "It's been there for days, actually."
"She's going to badger me about the State Dinner with the Americans."
Willow nods. "She is. Odds are, she's going to be pretty relentless about it."
"Okay," Robert turns to look at her, watching her add a lemon wedge to her tea mug. "Not my original plan, but would you please join me this evening at Downing Street to dine with the PM… I can promise you watered down gin, Spanish wine, and dry chicken."
She makes an exaggerated curtsey. "It would be my great pleasure to join you at Downing Street for dry chicken and drier company, Your Highness." Officially, this is an actual work obligation. She can't really say 'no', but she might as well make the best of it. Plus, she has a few thoughts the she might like to share with the Prime Minister.
"Excellent!" He leads her back down the hall, nodding to Rosie, who has taken up the security post outside of his office.
He puts his hand in the small of Willow's back, and leads her into his office, closing the door behind him.
"This…" he says, waving his hand around, "It's a little weird."
She giggles, and nods, "It's a lot weird."
He meets her eyes, "I would like it to be less weird…. Any way we can do that?" He's got his hands in his hair, and looks surprisingly young. For the first time, it occurs to Willow that possibly Robert doesn't know exactly what he's doing.
"Honestly?" She asks, "No. I think it's always going to be weird."
A surprised look crosses his face. People do not say "no" to Robert very often.
"Always?" Robert sits down in the chair behind his desk, and makes a gesture, encouraging her to go on.
Willow realizes that her King doesn't have any other chairs in his office. There is one, behind his desk, obviously intended for him. Anyone else granted an audience is apparently expected to stand on the other side of the desk and present. She shakes her head in annoyance, walks around the end of the desk, shoves aside a stack of paper and sits on the edge, facing him.
"It's just weird." She says emphatically. "You're the King of England. We didn't meet in a bar…. friends didn't set us up…. I worked for your Mother, and it was my job to interview potential wives for you. You put my name on the list. That is not how most people get together."
Robert leans back in his chair, still looking surprised. "No…. I suppose it's not."
"It's fine, I think," she tells him. "We just have to accept that it's going to be weird for a while."
He's continuing to look at her like she's started speaking in tongues. She shakes her head and thinks that some day she will tell a grand-daughter who looks nothing like a Henstridge, that she was once, 'this close' to marrying the King of England. She doesn't voice that thought out loud. Instead she hops off the desk and takes ahold of Robert's tie. Her practiced hands tie it into a Windsor knot without looking at it – a side effect of attendance at a British public school with a uniform that included a tie as part of the dress code. He meets her eye, but doesn't move to stop her. He might be holding his breath.
She doesn't shrink from his gaze. "It's going to be fine," she reiterates. "Just don't start thinking that it's going to be normal." She takes a step back, and nods approvingly at her knot work. "You'll do," she tells him. She reaches behind her back, takes his schedule off the top of the pile of paperwork on the desk, and glances at it. "You are scheduled to Skype with David Beckham, a representative from the National League, and someone from USA Soccer in 10 minutes. They want to schedule US teams to play friendly matches here next summer."
Robert looks gobsmacked, but takes the paper she's holding. His hand brushes hers and she smiles at him. "Be nice," she advises. "Remember that he has small kids, and it's one in the morning in Los Angeles."
Robert shakes his head, like he's trying to clear it. He watches her walk to the door, and then calls out. "David is Holland Park. He's on London time."
Willow stops at the door. "He's not," she calls over her shoulder with no hesitation. "They flew back to California after Christmas. Be nice," she says again, "Friendly games. No fewer than 6. Weekday nights. In July."
Robert is sitting up straight now. He's smiling. "What do you know about football?"
She turns and faces him in the doorway. "Soccer? Not a thing! But I'm a quick study!"
Now he's laughing. "I'll see you for dinner. Business dress, dry chicken."
She beams back, "Drier company. I'm on it!"
She walks back to her office with the view of the Parade Ground. Willow is nobody's fool. She knows that Robert is not in love with her. She knows that he dumped Kathryn awfully fast, and that his relationship with Liam is tricky and complicated. Robert wants revenge, and he's thinking he can use Willow to get it. But that can change, because, really, Willow is a quick study, and Robert doesn't know her at all.