The Royal We

My dad and I once had a fight because I refused to put ketchup on my hot dogs," I said. "That's possibly the most American sentence I've ever heard.

A wave of intense happiness washed over me, and I told myself to carry this moment as a talisman of a time in my life when I was both truly content and lucky enough to realize it.

I hung up the phone and tapped it lightly against my chin, then wrapped myself tighter in my giant woolen cardigan and poured another glass of boxed wine — the official drink of emotionally confused women on a budget.

Well. You never have to be on with me. I promise," I said, kicking out my legs and lying down on the blanket. "You can do your crosswords and drink your heathen coffee and chill. You're not my sovereign.

There are plenty of people who like you just as you are. You should remember that when you start feeling like you're being erased.

Whatever this is… it doesn't happen twice in a lifetime. I'd rather work at this with you than settle for less with anyone else.

He has kind of a homicidal face. Or is that just syphilis making him insane? British monarchs do love their syphilis." "A prerequisite of the job," he agreed.

Bex, please use this against me for the rest of our lives as an example of how I am about as clever as a shed.

I remember understanding what a brutal thing it is to be the bearer of truly bad news - to break off a piece of that misery and hand it to other people, one by one, and then have to comfort them; to put their grief on your shoulders on top of all your own; to be the calm one in the face of their shock and tears. And then learning that relative weight of grief is immaterial. Being smothered a little is no different than being smothered a lot. Either way, you can't breathe.

You look amazing." "I look like a lunatic." "A gorgeous lunatic." "Don't bother me with your hormones. I'm reading.

No more apologies," he says. "I don't want you to think I'm holding something over you. I'm not. This isn't a favor. This is just love.

I felt a light whacking at my legs. "Sturdy calves. She'll carry a child nicely," said Marta… "Sprog her up before I die, Nicky boy. I assume you know how.

A lady named Maude let me in the back,' he said. 'She's a firecracker, that one. Told me she's knitting trivets as a wild change of pace from scarves. If you're keeping score, that means changing from a rectangle all the way to a square.

I don’t know why it takes something monumentally destructive to remind you what you want to save.

One condition,” Cilla sniffled through a joyful smile. “We are not naming our child after any of your grandfather’s fonts.” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gaz said. “The only other one that crackpot invented was called the Serif of Nottingham.

You know, if I weren't getting married tomorrow, I would punch you," Nick says, flexing his left hand. "But Bex needs to be able to fit my ring on my finger.

During the ensuing seconds of silence, I must have burned a thousand calories just keeping my face impassive.

Besides, both sides of the same coin can’t be exactly alike.” She winked flirtatiously. “Otherwise no one would flip it.

I don't even know if I want to shag him." Cilla rolled her eyes dramatically. "Of course you do," she said. "You can lie about your feelings all you want, but for God's sake, let's not lie about that.

You know what you said to me at the Abbey today?" he murmurs. "That you're mine for life?" I nod, mutely. "Thank you for that," he says. "Because I'm yours, too.

If the Palace doesn’t like my art, then I lose my work visa, and believe me, I do not want to go back to doing teen soaps in Wilmington.

Nick looked as surprised as if I'd just handed him my acceptance letter to Hogwarts.

Clivus interruptus that was developing every time Nick

Lose it for yourself, if you want to, not for anyone else.

I fell in love with a person, not a prince; the rest is just circumstance.

A woman can’t bloody well pick her signature drink without sampling the whole bar.

The Queen Mum did walk by, but she just poked me with her cane and told me a curtsy would have sufficed.

I remember once waiting for the Tube and thinking, as its oncoming headlights gleamed brighter in the tunnel, I could just jump. Not because I wanted to die, but because sometimes your mind dangles the worst-case behavior in front of you specifically so that you can be aware that you’re choosing to resist it.

relative weight of grief is immaterial. Being smothered a little is no different than being smothered a lot. Either way, you can’t breathe.

Hang on, you can’t punish a man for being in love,” Gaz shouted. “Love means nothing in tennis,” I said. “Literally, in fact.