Liss checked her mobile from under the bar as she wiped down the worn wood. Still no message from her latest Tinder match, although there was a breaking news notification about the Royal family. Liss swiped the notification away without reading it. She just wanted a response to the underwear picture it took all her courage to send. She shouldn’t have done it, but she wanted to feel attractive and carefree and like her best friend, Isla, who wouldn’t hesitate to send something like that.

“Have you heard from Hugo today? He’s checking in a lot,” Greg, the pub’s regular, whose ear hair was longer than his eyelashes, said through a yawn before supping the head of his pint. His dog, Joyce, was propped on his knees, eyeballing Liss.

“Not yet,” Liss replied with a shrug. Hugo, the pub’s owner, used to be happy with Liss running the place, but now, there were rumours that he was selling the pub to a chain, which would leave Liss without a job.

“You could do better than this place, you know,” Greg added, tipping his head in the direction of the two university students who were sucking face. “You could run a bar where your boss doesn’t take credit for your ideas.”

“A smile from you is worth the stuff I have to put up with,” Liss said, her gaze flicking to her phone, where another breaking news notification flashed up. She swiped it away without reading it as Greg grunted. It was probably about the royal wedding happening later in the year.

Steve, one of Liss’s closest friends and the pub’s deputy manager, was making the most of the late morning lull, reading a newspaper while occasionally glancing at Liss above it. “Liss won’t leave us. She always says this place is her family.”

He had a point. It had been like her family since her mum died.

“We all know why you stay, Steve, even though you spend too much time judging the people who drink here,” Greg grumbled as he fed Joyce bits of sausage. “Especially when your middle-class parents with upper-class judgements visit.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve retorted with a huff. But he did. Liss and Isla had spoken to him about it before. He grumbled that he could work in any city job.

Liss stared at her phone, willing the guy she’d sent an underwear pic to respond as she rejoined the conversation. “Why do you stay he—”

“No phones while working,” Steve mumbled, cutting off Liss.

Liss dropped her grubby cloth onto the bar and glared. “I’m well aware. I was the one who came up with the rule.”

“Who are you waiting to hear from?” Steve replied, dropping the paper and collecting glasses.

The one thing Liss refused to talk to Steve about was her dating life or, rather, lack thereof. He always got weird about it but never explained why. And besides, it was humiliating telling anyone that she’d messaged a sexy picture to a man she’d not yet met, and he hadn’t replied. She tucked her phone in her pocket. “Oh, it’s nothing—”

“BBC1! BBC1! Give me the remote, Liss!” Isla ran into the pub, saving Liss from the awkward conversation.

“Isla, chill.” Liss paused at the till, pushing back strands of her brown hair before surrendering to the frizz and tying it into a ponytail. The humidity wasn’t helping the frizz, nor were the hoodie and jeans she’d thrown on that morning.

Isla dived onto the bar and fumbled for the remote they kept near the tills.

“Isla, no.” Liss slapped Isla’s hand away and popped the remote into the back pocket of her jeans. This pub was her kingdom; not even her best friend controlled the television. “You have no say on the channel the pub is watching.”

Isla did a dramatic look behind her. “You’re the only one of the five people here who cares.”

“We’re fifteen minutes from the lunch crowd coming in, and they’ll want to watch horse racing,” Liss countered, hands on the curve of her hips. “Tell me what’s so important, and I’ll consider changing the channel.”

Isla huffed before throwing her arms in the air.

Liss stood on the step behind the bar she used when she needed to meet customers’ stares, which was tricky at her five-foot height. She eyeballed her bestie.

“Liss has more attitude than the King’s corgi,” Greg said with a chuckle.

He was kind of right. If you put her in front of anyone but her friends and punters, she turned into her latest date, running for the door with no intention of returning. But in the bar, she controlled her anxiety.

“The King, the actual King, is doing a live broadcast in two minutes,” Isla ranted.

“And that’s important because?” Liss wiped the bar with the damp and oddly smelling cloth. Maybe she should consider moving on, but this was the only place she’d worked since dropping out of university five years ago. And her only skills were pulling pints and cleaning toilets.

Joyce, the dog, walked around the bar and sniffed the spilt beer on Liss’s dirty Doc Martens. Even the scents from her mango moisturiser and vanilla and strawberry shower gel weren’t strong enough to overwhelm the beer smell. Liss’s raised eyebrows were enough to send the pup back to its owner, though not before Liss sneaked her a biscuit from her pocket.

“This never happens.” Isla’s leg bounced.

Liss moved around the bar and started moving chairs to prepare for the lunchtime rush. Isla followed her around the pub.

“Kings don’t do live broadcasts,” Isla continued. “Every year, he makes a Christmas speech that’s filmed weeks before and has a carefully managed script. He doesn’t do anything like this because it’s not allowed. My media colleagues have messaged our networks for the last hour, and it’s all over Instagram.”

“So I’m asking again, why is this important?” Liss’s voice echoed around the pub.

Steve collapsed into a chair and propped his feet up on a table, commentating, “The big fight resumes, Liss Granger in one corner and Isla Redding in the other.”

Liss raised her eyebrow, and he dropped his feet to the floor.

“You don’t have social media, so you don’t get it. But this is massive. No one talks about the royals on social unless they’re in court, doing something controversial, or getting married. The royal media team is streaming his announcement everywhere. This is epic. Please, Liss. I’ll come to yours and do your washing up for a week,” Isla begged.

The teenagers watched the action from their worn wooden chairs before resuming their kissing. Oh, to be that desperate for someone else that you didn’t care about the shitty décor and bad furnishings. This pub needed work. If her mum were still around, she’d have helped Liss improve the place herself with little touches. But she wasn’t and never would be again.

Liss shook her head and stepped closer to Isla, crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t do your own washing up.”

“Fine. I’ll cook for you for a week.” This broadcast must have been significant. Isla’s career, and climbing the ladder in the PR firm she’d joined out of university, were everything to her. Although they were best friends, they were painfully different. While Isla was conquering the PR world, Liss was still trying to find her purpose. 

“A month,” Steve called out.

“Shut up, you,” Isla called back, swatting his presence away with her hand. “Please, Liss, I need to see this. It might help my career.”

“And you can’t watch it on your phone because…?” Liss stared at Isla, who was looking anywhere but at her.

Steve jumped in, “She’s run out of data watching all those dodgy videos her Tinder dates send her.”

“There’s nothing dodgy about sexy videos, Steve. Stop being judgemental.”

Liss winced. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument. At least Isla was getting videos. No one sent Liss videos of what they’d want to do with her. But then again, she’d probably freak if they did. She had to focus on finding a good guy; that was what being around her lonely mum as a teenager had taught her.

“Fine.” Liss switched to BBC1 and stood with Isla to get a good view of the television—anything to stop Steve and Isla from arguing. Isla hugged her tightly.

Her phone buzzed with a call as the announcer appeared. Surely, the guy she messaged wouldn’t call. Still, she glanced at the phone screen with hope.

“I bet it’s Nana Bets,” Steve said, sidling up to Liss. Only Liss’s two friends, work and her grandma called her, although her grandma only called when she wanted something. “Tell her I won employee of the month again.”

Liss glared at him as she answered the phone. Hugo awarded Steve that honour every month. Hugo went to school with Steve’s parents, although he denied that had anything to do with his choice.

“Hi, Nana. Is everything okay? I can’t talk right now. The King is doing a live broadcast, and we’re all watching,” Liss whispered as Isla snatched the remote and increased the volume with exaggerated presses of the remote control.

“You can’t watch that broadcast until you see me. Come outside,” her grandma ordered. She had a lot of audacity for a woman who was usually swanning around the world visiting her former dancer friends. “I’m waiting in a Bentley.”

“But—”

“No buts. Right now, Felicity,” she snapped.

Liss winced before mumbling, “Everyone’s so bloody demanding today. I don’t like stressy people.”

“And yet you’re friends with us.” Steve chuckled. His skin turned pink when she shot him a look.

Isla grabbed her hand giddily. Liss liked to see her pseudo family happy. They were the only family she had aside from her nana.

“Hello. I am sure this is a surprise for you all.”  The King stared into the camera, his chin raised in pride. There was that charisma the country loved.

“He looks a bit off. He should be wearing a tie,” Steve mumbled.

Isla shushed him.

The way the King slouched slightly in a grey woolly jumper ticked the “break from protocol” boxes.

The King continued, “It’s unprecedented for a monarch to speak to his country like this, and I realise you are all waiting to hear what I have to share. But first…”

“Felicity, you’d better not still be listening to the King. My only grandchild is usually so obedient when her poor grandma needs her,” Nana Bets whined down the phone. Liss ground her teeth. Her nana’s guilt-tripping tactics were legendary.

“Don’t worry about the lunchtime rush,” Greg said, understanding her reluctance. “Mr. Employee of the Month can cover it.”

“I’m not doing toilets,” Steve grumbled. Liss stared at the two of them. She always cleaned the toilets. Her job used to make her feel valued, but not recently.

Isla gasped. “The King is talking about abdicating in the future because he’s unwell.”

“And I have something further,” the King continued. “I believed this would remain private my entire life, but I’m nearing death due to a complicated illness, and I must share something personal because it has implications for the country.”

That one statement stopped the teenagers from kissing. They stared at the screen as people drifted through the doors, instantly drawn to the news.

“Felicity,” her nana pressured.

“Fine,” Liss grumbled, hanging up and sauntering around the bar, locating her bag and keys.

Liss tiptoed to the door, stalling to catch the King’s announcement. Since Liss’s mum died four years earlier, she always responded to her demanding grandma when she called, but Isla’s enthusiasm about the announcement and her grandma’s command she not watch it had piqued her curiosity.

Liss grabbed the edge of the door as the King said, “Nearly forty-five years ago, while I was a prince and learning about my country, I met a woman studying dance at a nearby college, and we fell in love. Our secret relationship was brief, but it broke my heart when I had to choose between her and the throne.”

Everyone gawked at the television.

“After lengthy discussions,” he continued, “we agreed that royal life wasn’t for her and that my calling took precedence for me. However, this week, I learned that she gave birth to my child after we split. Elizabeth Mead, the woman I once loved, later became Guinevere Granger.”

Isla and Steve gasped in Liss’s direction as she speed-dialled her grandma, still gawking in the direction of the King.

He slowly sipped water before continuing, although his voice remained gruff, and his eyes appeared glassy. “She was my sweet Bets.”

“Nana, we really have to talk!” Liss shouted down the phone as she bolted through the door.