Notes/Disclaimer: I got the idea for this fan-fiction based on events that are going on in the world right now and also through listening to the song, If the World was Ending (You'd Come Over, Right?) which is playing a lot on UK radio stations at the moment. So I decided to write this story alongside writing chapter 20 of my other Reign fan-fiction, Royal Matchmaking, which I'm hoping to update next week.
The characters in this story are based on the characters from the television show Reign. The title is taken from the song lyrics of the song: If the World was Ending.
A Reign modern AU set in London. Francis and his family work in politics while Mary is one of Francis's fellow university students.
Chapter 1 of 2.
You'd Come Over, Right?
At first, the day seemed to be going the same way that most days had gone for the past week.
Francis Valois paced around the living room of his London house, unable to sit still, unable to get his thoughts together.
He had only recently moved into his new home; a home that had been a very extravagant gift from his mother, and he was sure that there were several more productive things he could and should be doing, but he just couldn't find the motivation.
He knew that most people would consider him to be very lucky to live in a house like this: a two storey home in the prime location of Notting Hill, West London, which was painted a soothing shade of light blue on the outside, complete with a dark blue front door. It looked like a tourist's ideal vision of what a home in Notting Hill should look like.
Even the interior of the house was luxurious, with polished wooden floors, expensive rugs, a modern kitchen with all the necessary appliances, and a living room complete with comfortable dark blue furniture and a fireplace. Several pieces of expensive artwork hung on the walls, most of it depicting beautiful landscapes or scenes from the past. Francis's mother had even tried to brighten up the place with a few plants and ornaments-the kinds of gifts that she always brought over whenever she paid a visit.
And yet, there were several hints lying around the house to suggest that all was not as it seemed…
Various history books lay open on the glass coffee table-Francis had always been passionate about history, and he'd thought that a little reading would distract him, but he hadn't been able to stay focused for long enough today to really appreciate reading about former monarchies and royal marriages, and so the books were currently not doing much more than making a mess. Even the expensive history books on his bookshelf looked disorganised, out of order, as though they could fall off the shelf at any moment.
There were also several unopened letters from the University of Oxford covering Francis's dining room table-recently, Francis had made enquiries about the possibility of returning to university, where he'd been studying for a degree in history and politics, before he'd taken a 'year out' to help his mother with her election campaign.
Yet, now that the letters were arriving, the thought of going back was becoming all the more daunting. Returning to his life at university would feel like fully admitting defeat; admitting that his political campaigning dreams were well and truly over for the next five years.
He was sure he would have gone back either way, at some point, but it was different to return through choice, to balance studying with a job he was passionate about, and to return simply because he had nothing else to do. And so, the letters remained scattered all over the table, as though they were taunting Francis about his lack of direction.
And, as had become the norm lately, the news played on the television in his living room, over and over, covering the same story. Francis knew that he should turn it off; stop tormenting himself with what felt like twenty-four news coverage of the recent election results, yet he couldn't help himself from obsessing over the daily headlines and 'breaking news'. A part of him felt like if he focused hard enough on the election coverage, he would somehow find the answer to where it had all gone terribly wrong.
They had lost. That was the sad reality of his life in London now. The word 'lost' played over and over in Francis's mind, day after day, night after night, preventing him from sleeping.
This house that he'd invested in had been based on a dream of an election win, of living fairly close to 'Number 10', to help his mother with her expected role as Prime Minister…but now that he had lost, everything about the house felt empty, meaningless.
Well, technically, his mother and her party had lost, but Francis had been so involved in her election campaign to become Prime Minister that he had taken the results as some kind of personal defeat.
He'd been so sure, so certain that they would win. Since Francis's father had walked out on Francis's mother several years ago, his mother had put so much energy into her political career, finally living out her professional dreams in a way that she had never thought would have been possible.
She had been a successful politician; popular. Or so it had seemed. People admired her, for rising to leadership along with juggling the responsibilities of being a single mother. His mother could be a little ruthless when it came to her work ethic, but the general public had related to her policies-they had said that she was progressive, and that they believed she genuinely cared about the future of the next generation. Not to mention that his mother had a way of charming people, and of making the right deals with those in powerful positions.
There had been so much support, when she'd first been elected by her party as party leader, and as the General Election had approached, all of the polls had suggested that his mother's political party was heading for a majority.
The day of the election had passed in what seemed like a blur. Then, that night, they'd watched as though in slow motion as the results were announced on the screen.
By the early hours of the following morning, the results had been undeniable. The opposition had won by a landslide.
His mother had lost to a man called Stephane Narcisse, a man who had advocated for some questionable new laws and restrictions; a man whose previous marriages had all ended in disaster while he flaunted several of his mistresses around London; a man who had made many enemies in his social and professional circles.
Francis still wasn't sure how it had happened; where it had all gone so wrong for the Valois family.
Those in his family's inner circle had tried to reassure him, insisting that the voting had probably been affected by the unusual time of year that the election had taken place-in January-but Francis wasn't so sure.
Francis had helped with so much of the election campaign, helping to write speeches, helping to draft proposals for new laws, appearing with his mother and his siblings as part of the campaigning process. His mother's PR team had liked the idea of the whole family's involvement with the campaign.
Francis really cared, about making changes, about trying to create a fairer society and not relying on corruption and back-handed deals to get things done; perhaps he had been overly optimistic, but at least he and his family had tried.
In fact, the campaign had been something of a family dream, with Francis's brothers and sisters all getting involved. Even his younger sister, Claude, who up until recently had never expressed an interest in politics in her life, had suddenly started to become passionate about her mother winning the campaign. Francis hadn't been sure whether this had been due to typical competitiveness on his sister's part, or the fact that she had started to date a member of the campaign team-a friend of Francis's called Leith.
Francis had put his heart and soul into that campaign, putting everything else in his life on hold-his degree, his social life-and, as a consequence, most of his close friendships had suffered over the past year.
Not to mention that the events of the past year meant that he was yet another step further away from being with a woman who he truly loved. Not that he had ever been close…
The election campaign had been something of a distraction from matters of the heart. He had hoped that life at Number 10 Downing Street would play a part in his future; he had hoped that his mother and her team would have employed him to work as a permanent member of government staff.
But now it was over.
Francis stopped his pacing for a few moments so he could look in the mirror hanging over the fireplace in the living room.
He sighed to himself as he stared at his reflection. His hair looked dishevelled, and it definitely didn't look as shiny as usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He'd even lost a little weight.
Francis could put his not-so-stunning appearance down to stress from the election campaign, but he knew that there was more to it than that. He'd received more than one piece of bad news over the past few months…
Since the election defeat, Francis had taken to going out and partying on a regular basis, drinking a little too much and gambling a little more than he could afford and, as had become a habit lately, indulging in one night stands in order to distract himself from the humiliation of the election defeat, and the fact that he could never be with the one person who he actually wanted to be with.
Francis couldn't help shuddering in embarrassment as he recalled his most recent night with Olivia. They had both understood what the arrangement was between them over the past few weeks, that it was only a casual thing, but still, it didn't make the whole thing any less awkward when he'd told Olivia that he wanted to end things between them.
And all because a certain 'friend' of his had happened to send him a picture that same evening; a picture in which she'd been posing in front of a painting of a castle in a London art gallery, with her long, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, smiling for the camera like she was actually smiling at Francis.
He was sure that she'd barely even thought twice about sending that photo, but annoyingly, it was a picture that Francis hadn't been able to get out of his head the whole time he'd been kissing Olivia, prompting him to finally end things between the two of them.
I thought you'd like this! she had written as a caption for the picture, like everything was so funny, so light-hearted between them; just two friends exchanging text messages; as though Francis had just wanted to see a picture of a castle: as though he hadn't been in love with her from the moment he met her. Not that she knew that. Francis couldn't stand it if she ever found out. It would be more humiliating than the election defeat. Especially now that she was-
No. Francis shook his head and turned away from the mirror. He couldn't think about all of that now. It would only make things worse.
As though the weather could somehow read his thoughts, Francis could see snow falling outside the living room window. The snow had been falling steadily since earlier in the morning, and now it had really started to stick; already, Francis could see from his large living room window that the street outside was coated in a thick layer of snow and ice, while the sky had turned a deep shade of grey.
When he'd left the house earlier in the morning for a run, there had been an icy chill in the air, and now, the streets looked emptier than usual, as though the locals had decided that it would be better to take shelter indoors.
Every now and again, the news channels would interrupt their obsessive coverage of the election results to remind viewers that it was incredibly rare to have such heavy snowfall at this time of year; in February; on Valentine's Day.
Valentine's Day.
The date itself felt like some kind of personal insult; like the universe was kicking him when he was down, reminding him that he was alone, that he was not and could not be in a relationship with someone he loved.
Almost without thinking about it, Francis took his phone out of his pocket.
Even though he knew that he shouldn't do this, knew that he had already suffered so many disappointments lately, he found himself opening up his Instagram account, then clicking onto her page.
There she was. Mary Stuart.
Francis had known her for almost three years now, and still his heart skipped a beat whenever a new photo of her appeared on his Instagram home page.
Francis looked through a few of the more recent photographs on her profile page. There were a photo of Mary and her friends-Kenna and Greer and Lola-all standing around a fountain, laughing as though somebody had told a funny joke. Kenna's dress even looked like it was soaked, along with her hair, and Francis suspected that she had jumped into the fountain just before the photo was taken as some kind of dare. It seemed like the kind of thing that Kenna would do.
There was also of photo of Mary in Edinburgh with her half-brother, James, and another photo of the two of them out on what seemed to be some kind of hike in the Scottish Highlands.
The next photo was a photo of Mary and her mother in Paris.
Then there were several photos of Mary standing outside various castles and old buildings in the British countryside.
Francis sighed to himself as he continued to scroll through her photos. He had missed her. Even though he knew that the two of them could only ever be friends, it didn't change the fact that he missed her being a part of his life.
They had met through mutual friends at university, and they'd bonded over their shared love of history and their interest in politics. There was nothing that Francis had loved more than spending Saturday afternoons at coffee shops with Mary, the two of them debating various historical events. He'd even liked it when Mary laughed about his 'obsession' with royalty and old monarchies; Mary seemed to think that Francis looked back on the reigns of historical kings and queens with rose-tinted spectacles; Mary had always been a lot more cynical about royalty, for some strange reason.
Francis had known fairly soon after meeting Mary that he had a crush on her, but he'd never quite been brave enough to take that next step and actually admit his feelings and ask her out on a date, mainly because Francis had initially heard rumours when he'd first met Mary that she was dating someone, and after that, various 'suitors' seemed to show up on campus on a regular basis-wealthy young men from influential families in Britain and Europe that Mary's mother often sent to meet her daughter.
Francis had never found out how Mary's mother was so well-connected, or why she was so obsessed with introducing her daughter to eligible bachelors, but it had been enough to scare Francis off from putting himself forward as one of Mary's 'suitors'.
Besides, Mary was always polite and friendly to everybody who she got along with, and Francis could never be sure that her friendliness towards him meant anything more than platonic feelings on Mary's part.
Then the election campaign had started and all of Francis's time had suddenly been taken up. He'd barely been in one city for more than a couple of days at a time, and there had always been so much work to do; there had always been a campaign event to get ready for. He'd tried to stay in touch with his group of friends, but he felt like he'd drifted apart from them over the past few months; he wasn't even sure whether they wanted to see him now; whether they still wanted him to be a part of the group.
The last time that Francis had seen Mary had been at an election campaign event a few months ago. Francis's mother had been giving a speech in a quiet London street, surrounded by members of her family and various photographers, and Francis had looked out at the crowd and noticed Mary there, standing amongst other members of the public, with Kenna and Greer and a few of their other mutual friends. She had smiled at him when she'd caught his eye, almost causing Francis to forget the words of his own speech that he had spent hours rehearsing, and she'd given him a discreet thumbs-up, showing her support.
Francis had continued to watch Mary as though mesmerised as his mother spoke to the crowd.
But then there had been some sort of security incident; some sort of threat against Francis's mother that had been discovered on the Internet, and so Francis's family had quickly been ushered back into waiting cars by their security team as soon as the speeches were over, and he hadn't had the chance to talk to Mary.
He hadn't seen her since.
Francis looked back at Mary's latest photos and he received yet another painful reminder about the real reason why admitting his feelings to Mary was now out of the question…
There was a recent photo of Mary, standing with her arms wrapped around Sebastian, another friend of Francis's who had always been a part of their friendship group at university.
Francis felt his heart break a little as he noticed how happy they looked together in the photo. They had always got along well; perhaps Francis should have seen this coming.
Then there was another photo of Mary and Bash at a party, with Bash posing with an arm draped over Mary's shoulders. Francis could just make out Kenna and Lola standing in the background of the picture, but their presence didn't do much to ease Francis's pain at seeing Bash and Mary standing so close together.
After that, there was a photo of Mary and Bash walking down a road in London late at night, their arms linked, and finally, a photo of the two of them inside what appeared to be some sort of stately home; Mary was sitting on an old wooden chair, laughing and posing as though she were sitting on a throne, with Bash sitting on a stone step nearby, smiling over in Mary's direction.
A few weeks ago, Francis had heard rumours through various Oxford social circles that Bash had recently got engaged.
To Francis's dismay, a part of him had just known that Mary was the woman who he was engaged to. Mary was the only woman who Bash seemed to spend a significant amount of time with, and the two of them must have spent a lot of time together over the past year.
Mary and Bash had even mysteriously 'disappeared' one weekend just over a year ago; nobody had been sure where they went exactly, but Francis had heard later that they had been in Paris together. In other circumstances, Francis would have asked Kenna to find out where they were, as she had always been up-to-date with all the latest gossip, and she had even been jokingly referred to as the 'detective' of the group, but Kenna had also been nowhere to be found that weekend, and she'd later claimed that she had been 'visiting friends', although her answer had been a little vague.
Francis hadn't heard much from Sebastian lately, and he hardly ever posted anything on his social media, but all of Mary's recent photos with Bash seemed to confirm Francis's suspicions.
As though to mock his pain even further, Mary had added a few photos over the past few days; photos of flowers and heart-shaped confetti and table decorations and even a silver tiara, placed next to a white veil. All of these photos had accompanying hashtags of: #weddingpreparations and #weddingplanning.
Francis knew that he should be happy for them; he was sure that Mary would be a lot happier with Sebastian than she would ever be with any of the typically arrogant men that her mother always tried to set her up with, and Francis considered Bash to be one of his best friends-he should want what was best for him-but still, it was difficult.
Some evenings, in between obsessing over the election, Francis had also wondered to himself if he had missed his chance with Mary, or whether her feelings for him had always been purely platonic, and he'd therefore perhaps never had a chance anyway. Then he usually felt annoyed with himself for even thinking that way in the first place.
Briefly, Francis glanced up from his phone screen in time to see Narcisse's smug face looking back at him through the television screen. For the first time, he was struck by how much Narcisse's triumphant smirk reminded Francis of his father. Yet this thought did not seem all that surprising to him, and Francis wondered if he had perhaps been subconsciously aware of the similarity all along.
Francis quickly looked back at his phone, distracted by a video that Mary had uploaded of herself walking through a lavender field in France.
Francis was struck by the strange thought that if some kind of fairy godmother were to magically appear in his living room and offer him a choice between a political victory or being with the one he loved, he knew what he would choose, even though he knew that this thought probably made him a terrible person either way-he was thinking about deciding whether to be disloyal to his family, who had always put duty and achievement over matters of the heart, or disloyal to Sebastian, his friend.
Again, Francis sighed to himself. He knew that it was time to stop obsessing over the election results and Mary's recent engagement.
He had just put his phone back in his pocket and turned the volume down on the television when two things seemed to happen in quick succession: first, he heard a beaming news reporter wish viewers a 'happy Valentine's day!' through the TV screen, and then he was startled by the sound of knocking on his front door.
Almost cautiously, Francis went to open it. In London, he had found that it was rare to have unexpected visitors. His mother had said nothing about paying a visit this afternoon, and neither had his friends.
On his way to the front door, he walked past a small table which he had placed in the hallway, where there was a messy pile of letters and information booklets about potential political summer internships; internships that he had been half-considering applying for before the election had taken place; internships in Paris and Edinburgh and even in Washington DC. Since the election results had been announced, Francis had lost a lot of his motivation to apply. He wasn't sure if leading politicians in other cities would employ somebody who had worked on the losing team during an election.
The moment Francis opened the door, it was as though time stood still; he felt like his whole body had frozen to the spot…except for his heart, which seemed to be beating twice as fast.
Mary Stuart stood in his doorway.
"Mary," he said, in barely more than a whisper, before he blushed, realising that his tone of voice sounded far too soft for someone who was supposed to be casually greeting a friend; a friend who also happened to be engaged to one of his other friends.
"It's you," he managed to say, trying to go for casual and distant this time, and somehow sounding like an even bigger idiot.
He noticed that Mary smirked a little, but luckily, she didn't mention the fact that he seemed to be lost for words, and also embarrassing himself.
Francis wasn't sure what it was about her that made him act this way-they had known each other for a little while now, after all, and they'd spent many a weekend getting coffee together and strolling around the shops in Oxford and London and visiting various museums.
Not to mention that Francis spent time with beautiful women all the time, in both his social and professional circles. Flirting and being charming had always come naturally to him, and it wasn't like he was inexperienced in relationships. Yet there was something about Mary Stuart that always rendered him speechless.
It didn't help that she looked beautiful today, the way she always did. Her long hair flowed over her shoulders, with the top part of her hair tied into two loose braids. She was dressed almost casually, in dark jeans and a T-shirt, and a dark pink jacket. Snow stuck to her black winter boots, and the ends of her hair seemed to be a little wet, as though a few snowflakes had fallen into her hair and then melted.
Francis couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious about the casual jeans and the white T-shirt that he was wearing. He wished he'd at least done something to fix his hair before he answered the door.
It wasn't just about Mary's beauty though; it was much more than that. Francis admired her-he admired the way she was so dedicated to her studying; the way she could talk in detail about historical events or political elections; the way she was not intimidated by the rich and powerful people who they all encountered on a regular basis; the way she could solve problems and be there for her friends when she needed to be. There was also something about the way she knew how to relax and enjoy herself; Francis could clearly remember all the times when he'd seen Mary dancing in the middle of the dance floor with her friends, all of them laughing and spinning around like they didn't care who was watching. And the times that she'd uploaded videos of herself to her social media, videos where she attempted to master complicated dance routines, smiling the whole time. And the time when the whole group had gone on holiday to France, and Mary had happily run through all of the open fields with Kenna, and rode horses through the French countryside with James, and joined in with silly games with Greer where they competed to catch the most grapes in their mouths, and jumped into the lakes with Bash without any fear.
Francis found it refreshing, that she could be so carefree like that, in between her moments of being very serious. His upbringing and his family's political background had made him more cautious about having fun in public and just being himself, especially when there were journalists and photographers around; it was like he could never fully switch off from the political role that his family expected him to play.
"Francis," Mary greeted him with another smile, snapping Francis out of his memories. She looked genuinely happy to see him, so that was one good thing, at least.
"W-what are you doing here?" Francis asked her, before he cringed internally, noticing that she looked a little hurt by his question.
He had made it sound as though he wasn't happy to see her, when he really was; he was just slightly confused as to why she had shown up on his doorstep on today of all days.
Mary frowned for a moment, before she continued on, apparently undeterred; "It was the strangest coincidence," she said. "I've been in London for a few days, staying with my mother, and I took the underground to Notting Hill Gate, to shop for a few items for the wedding,"-as Mary held up a few shopping bags, Francis tried to ignore the almost physical pain in his chest at those words-"and I ran into your mother, and she mentioned that you lived around here; she even pointed out your house from further down the road…"
Of course she did…Francis thought to himself.
"Anyway, I went to the bakery after I finished speaking with Catherine, and they had these cupcakes there that just reminded me of you…" (she held up a paper bag with the logo of the local bakery on the front), "and I was thinking about how I haven't seen you much over the past year, and I thought it was perhaps some kind of sign that I should visit you…"
Francis noticed that she said all of this very fast, with her tone of voice sounding like it was at a slightly higher pitch than usual. He couldn't help wondering if she was nervous, although he wasn't sure why she would be nervous.
The moment Mary finished speaking, Francis saw her glance in the direction of the heart-shaped decorations that Claude had insisted Francis place in his front window for Valentine's Day.
"Is there somebody here?" Mary suddenly asked him.
It took Francis a few moments to work out that Mary was asking him whether he was 'otherwise occupied' due to the fact that it was Valentine's Day.
"What? No!" he said in response, suddenly determined to prove to Mary that there was nobody else hiding inside his house; no Valentine's Day date and definitely no mother who was clearly over-invested in his personal life.
Then he noticed that Mary was shivering, and the bags that she was carrying looked quite heavy, and the snow was still falling, and he suddenly felt like he was unintentionally being very impolite.
"W-would you like to come in?" he asked her. After all, she had gone to all the trouble of bringing food over from the local bakery, which meant that she probably wanted to share it with him.
Mary smiled and nodded. "Thank you," she told Francis as he stepped aside to let her in.
It was only as Mary left a few of her shopping bags on the floor by the front door, hung up her coat in the hallway right next to one of Francis's coats and followed him down the hallway and towards the kitchen that it occurred to Francis that it was a bit strange that Mary wasn't at home, celebrating Valentine's Day with Bash.
Mary Stuart is in my kitchen…
This was the thought that played over and over in Francis's mind as he tried to focus on finding plates and cutlery. He still couldn't quite process it.
Outside, the street looked a little misty, but Francis was more focused on what was going on inside his house.
Mary smiled when she opened up the bag from the baker's shop to reveal several cupcakes, all of which were decorated with edible sugar decorations in the shapes of crowns and kings and queens.
Francis made a big show of rolling his eyes at the idea that Mary had seen something to do with royalty and immediately thought of him (perhaps he was more obsessed with history and monarchies than he had first thought), but still he couldn't help smiling at her as he thanked her for the cakes.
There was something nice about this, Francis decided, as he stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Mary in the kitchen and the two of them worked in an almost perfect synchronicity, putting the cakes onto china plates and then carrying them over to the dining table. Before that thought could really take hold, Francis silently reminded himself that he could not get to like this closeness too much-Mary was engaged, and she was probably only here for a quick visit; after today, he might not even see her again for several months.
The downstairs part of Francis's house was open plan, and so the living room, kitchen and dining room were all connected. This meant that the television screen in the living room was visible from the kitchen counters. Luckily, the volume was not too loud, and the news reporters now seemed to have shifted their entire focus to the level of snowfall in London today (apparently, it was a slow news day), and so Francis was spared from having to see images of the election defeat on the screen while Mary was standing right next to him. He decided to keep the television switched on for now-perhaps it would make for useful background noise if there were any awkward silences between him and Mary.
It was only as Francis became distracted with making hot drinks for the two of them and pouring two glasses of water that Mary started to drift away from the kitchen a little.
Francis wished that he'd tidied up the house a little before Mary's arrival. He glanced up from the kettle to see that Mary was standing by his bookshelf, surveying the disorganised-looking books with a curious expression on her face.
She lifted her hand towards the books on the middle shelf, as though desperate to reach out and touch them. Francis had just started to wonder what it was about the books that was holding her interest when Mary suddenly smiled and muttered, "Kings and Queens of England…", reading out the title of one of Francis's most-read books. "I should have known," she told Francis with a raised eyebrow as she glanced over her shoulder at him, apparently not at all surprised by Francis's extensive collection of history books.
Francis smirked and held up his hands in a fake gesture of surrender. "Hey, you knew what you were getting into when our friendship began," he told her, making a joking reference to his love of history, a love that Mary was well aware of.
For a moment, he imagined other circumstances, some kind of alternate reality where he and Mary were in a romantic relationship, where Francis could joke about how she knew what she was getting into when the relationship got started…but then he felt guilty all over again for allowing that image into his mind.
Mary must have noticed something change in his facial expression, because an awkward silence seemed to pass between them as they sat down at the table and began to eat their cakes.
Mary seemed to survey Francis from over the top of her teacup as he finished eating his cupcake. Finally, she was the one to break the silence: "Did Charles I have a fair trial?" Francis heard her ask.
He looked up from his plate with a confused frown. Mary's expression was serious; it was like she was deep in thought, or like she had posed the question in the middle of a history lecture, or during a meeting of their university debating society.
The sudden hint of a smile on her lips though told Francis that this was more like the typical question that the two of them randomly liked to put out there when they were spending time at coffee shops together. She was trying to draw Francis into some kind of private debate between the two of them; or more likely, she was trying to lighten the awkward tension that seemed to be hanging in the air between them by using a method that she knew would work.
Francis could never resist a good historical debate with Mary Stuart. Soon, they were debating back and forth, discussing whether a king could even have legally been put on trial during that period in the first place, or whether Charles's actions did in fact make him accountable.
After their mini debate had drawn to a close, the two of them started to talk about their time at university, with Mary catching Francis up on everything that he had missed over the past academic year.
As she talked, Francis was struck by just how much he had missed his life at university this year; his friends, time spent with people who didn't expect him to be the perfect son, or the perfect future politician; time spent with Mary. He knew he should have made more of an effort with the people he cared about; he should not have allowed himself to get so distracted by politics.
As soon as they had eaten the last of the cakes, Francis raised his glass of water. "A toast," he said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. He was so used to having to give the official toast at formal events with London's politicians that it had become almost a habit to him now. However, right now, the gesture was a lot more light-hearted, more of a joke than anything else.
"What shall we toast?" Mary asked him with a grin, raising her glass and playing along.
"To friendship?" Francis suggested.
Mary, however, did not seem overly impressed by that suggestion, judging by the way she rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"Fine, you suggest something then, if you're such an expert at this," Francis told her with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, keeping his tone gentle as he mocked her.
"To new beginnings?" Mary suggested.
Francis nodded, conceding defeat. "To new beginnings," he repeated. "And, to your engagement," he added, trying not to let his facial expression show any sort of hint as to what he was feeling inside. Deep down, he knew that if he wanted Mary back in his life as his friend, then he would have to be mature about her relationship with Sebastian.
However, instead of echoing Francis's words, Mary seemed to freeze with her glass held halfway to her lips.
A surprised expression seemed to cross her face, and then the look of surprise was replaced by a look of confusion.
"My engagement?" Mary asked him with a raised eyebrow as she placed her glass almost cautiously back down on the table.
Francis frowned. He wasn't sure why she looked so confused by what he was saying. "Yes," he said, trying to sound calm, composed, and not like his heart was breaking at the mere thought of Mary's upcoming wedding, "your engagement, to Sebastian…"
Mary's eyes widened a little at his words.
Still, Francis didn't understand why Mary looked so lost in this conversation.
Discreetly, he glanced at her left hand. She was not wearing an engagement ring. He was surprised he hadn't noticed the lack of a ring when she'd first arrived.
Suddenly, a thought struck him, making him feel a little guilty-perhaps Mary's engagement to Sebastian was not public knowledge; perhaps her mother didn't approve of the engagement; perhaps they were keeping it all a secret, and Francis wasn't supposed to know about it…
"Francis," said Mary, speaking slowly, as though she were explaining a difficult concept to a child, "Sebastian and I are not engaged…"
Francis blinked a few times in shock, trying to understand what Mary was saying. "B-but, all of your recent photos, with Sebastian…" Francis blushed a little as he finished speaking, realising that he had basically just admitted to looking at Mary's Instagram photos on a regular basis.
He could flirt effortlessly with so many women, but Mary always seemed to make him act like an awkward teenager with a crush.
"Sebastian is one of my best friends," Mary told him, still watching Francis with a strange expression on her face. "We are like…family…"
Now that the initial surprise seemed to have worn off, she looked almost amused at Francis's assumption.
Still, Francis could not let this rest. Perhaps Mary was not engaged to Bash, but it had definitely seemed like she was preparing for a wedding. "You posted pictures and captions about wedding preparations…"
"Francis," said Mary, apparently not even trying to hide her amusement now, "it is Sebastian and Kenna who are engaged, not Sebastian and I."
Francis almost spilled his glass of water in shock. "Sebastian…and…Kenna?" he asked, slowly, almost unable to believe it.
Kenna, who always wore designer dresses and expensive jewels and bragged to anyone who would listen about how she would find a rich husband one day, and Bash, who always had plenty of sarcastic comments to make about women like Kenna. And now they were engaged. It was strange, how life worked out.
"Yes," Mary repeated with a shrug, like this information was obvious. Perhaps it would have been obvious to Francis, if he had made more of an effort to stay in contact with his friends over the past year. "Kenna asked me to be her bridesmaid a few months ago," she continued. "I was a little surprised at first, but then I thought that perhaps she had asked me to be involved due to my friendship with Bash; not to mention that I helped them in the early days of their relationship when they were meeting in secret and they wanted to spend a weekend in Paris together…"
Outside, the mist and fog might have started to thicken, but in Francis's mind, a few things were starting to become clearer…
Mary's photos of confetti and veils and tiaras; she was helping Kenna to prepare for her wedding.
Mary and Bash's trip to Paris last year; Kenna had also been with them; Mary had been helping them to keep their secret relationship private at the time.
Francis wasn't sure which idea he should attempt to process first; the idea that Bash and Kenna were engaged in the first place, or the idea that Bash was not engaged to Mary…
Francis quickly tried to stop that train of thought. Just because Mary was not in a relationship with Sebastian, just because Mary was not engaged, it did not mean that she was not dating at all; knowing Francis's luck, there would be another man on the scene.
Mary, however, completely derailed those thoughts when she said; "In fact, only last night, I was arguing with my mother, because she told me that she wasn't happy that I wasn't going to take a date to the wedding, which is apparently 'not socially acceptable' in upper class circles in France; and then she started trying one of her typical matchmaking schemes…"
Mary rolled her eyes as she finished speaking, looking irritated with her mother, then she blushed bright red, as though she had just revealed too much; Francis had a feeling that she had conversations like these with Kenna, Lola and Greer all the time, and she had for a moment forgotten that her female friends were not sitting at the table with her.
Francis tried to laugh along, but he felt a little dazed. It was like his whole world had suddenly tilted; it was like everything had changed.
Mary was single. Of course, this did not necessarily mean that she was interested in him, but he felt like maybe a tiny little window of possibility had opened up in his mind; after a year of what felt like closed doors, Francis was grateful for any open windows.
"So, as you can see," Mary continued, "my life and Kenna's life are rather different right now." She laughed, and Francis had a feeling that she was trying for humour to ease her embarrassment.
"Did you really think that Bash and I were engaged?" she suddenly asked Francis. She watched him with an intense expression, like she was deep in thought, or trying to put a few thoughts together.
Francis was desperately trying to think of something that he could say in response without embarrassing himself, but, before he could say anything else, a few of the words from the news reporter on the television screen carried over to the dining room…
"Heavy snowfall…"
"Bad weather…"
At first, Francis didn't pay too much attention; he had been hearing variations of these phrases throughout the day, and all day yesterday, too. And, of course, he'd sort of tuned out the news broadcast since Mary arrived, as he had been very distracted by her presence. But then a few more phrases really started to get his attention…
"Public transport delays…Cancellations…"
"Households in outer London snowed in…"
"Emergency services deployed…"
Francis glanced at Mary, whose anxious facial expression he was sure matched his own.
Together, they walked quickly over to the television screen, just in time to hear the news reporter explain to the London public that the heavy snowfall had led to delays on the London underground, and services were expected to be cancelled by nightfall. Then the reporter explained that there had been several accidents on the road due to the snow and the ice, and emergency services had been deployed, as well as other public service companies who had volunteered to help clear the roads. Some households on the outskirts of the city had even found that they had been snowed in.
Francis felt more and more worried with every word.
Mary was watching the screen with her eyes wide in shock.
Francis looked out of the window. It was already dark outside-apparently more time than he had thought had gone by while he and Mary had been discussing history and catching up on university life, and the level of snow seemed to have been steadily increasing over the past couple of hours.
He felt horribly guilty.
He should have been more aware of the weather outside; he should have taken the news reports and the empty, snow-filled streets seriously; he should have helped Mary to get back home in this bad weather hours ago, instead of being selfish by wanting her to stay here with him for as long as possible.
"I have to try and get home," Mary suddenly announced. Her tone of voice sounded urgent, while her facial expression looked determined. "I should go now, before they cancel the trains…"
Francis could see the typical 'look of duty' that always crossed her face-duty to her mother, her family, her friends; the need to do something useful and to not be in the way. He recognised that same sense of duty in himself.
A police officer suddenly appeared on the television screen: "We advise you," she announced, her expression serious, "to stay indoors tonight, and we will review the situation in the morning…"
A feeling of protectiveness suddenly came over Francis, the feeling almost overwhelming him. He couldn't let anything happen to Mary; he couldn't put her at risk.
"Mary," he heard himself babbling, before he could really think things through, "if you really have to get home tonight, then I will go with you, and help you to get back-"
"Francis, I can't ask you to do that," Mary interrupted him.
Francis shook his head-there would be no question about it; if she was going to take the risk, then he would too.
Then, as he thought more carefully about what he really wanted to say, he made a suggestion that could either be considered to be very wise or very reckless: "You're very welcome to stay here tonight," he told her, his tone of voice very serious. "I know that you wouldn't have chosen to be here tonight, in other circumstances, but I would feel better if you were here, safe…and then I can help you to travel across London tomorrow morning…"
He felt nervous just at the thought of Mary Stuart staying the night in his house; he hardly ever had guests over to stay; he hadn't really been close enough to anyone to ask them to stay recently; he and Mary hadn't seen each other for a while, and things were therefore still a little awkward between them; not to mention that Francis was secretly in love with her, and he still felt like his head was spinning from the revelation that Mary was not in fact engaged to Sebastian after all…
Mary seemed to stare at him for a very long moment, like she was lost in thought, weighing something up, considering something…
"Well, if you're sure…then okay…and thank you," she said, finally.
Francis had the distinct impression that she was making an effort to keep her voice casual, although he wasn't sure why this would be the case.
He felt his heart beat even faster at her answer. He quickly reminded himself that he had to stay focused-the bad weather meant that they were in a worrying situation, and Mary still looked perplexed by the sight of the heavy snow just outside the window-his heart was not a priority right now.
Mary Stuart is staying over tonight…
And yet it seemed he could not shut down his inner voice completely.
Mary took out her phone to call her mother, while Francis allowed himself to feel another rush of anxiety about everything that was going on.
As Mary started to explain to her mother about where she would be tonight, Francis started to pace around the room, as he always did when he was stressed, trying his best to formulate some sort of plan as to how the next few hours were going to go.
If he had been a little more focused on his surroundings, he would perhaps have noticed an envelope on his bookshelf, which had been discreetly placed behind his copy of Kings and Queens of England; an envelope that had definitely not been there a few hours ago; an envelope containing a card and a letter that it seemed he was not destined to find just yet.