Chapter Text
16 July 1997
“Good morning, Sir,” Mark nods as he is ushered into the room. “Good morning, Mrs. Parker Bowles,” he says when he sees her sitting on an armchair in the corner of the room nearest the desk, glancing up briefly over the morning papers she’s been reading. “I’ve the latest updates for the party arrangements. Preparations will begin tomorrow and everything is sorted and in place.” He glances over to Camilla again, and then looks silently back at Charles, making sure it is fine to go ahead with the conversation in her presence.
“Yes? And?” Charles answers.
“We’ve confirmed at least 50 journalists and photographers at the Street Farm entrance. The car will arrive at Mrs P-B’s an hour and a half early, to ensure she arrives at Highgrove an hour ahead of the guests. That assures they’ll have a good chance of a quality shot of the guest of honour as she arrives on Friday, but it should also distract attention away from the back private road for tomorrow.”
“Fifty journalists and a hundred guests. No pressure. I’d better not go arse over tit*,” she quips from her chair, barely looking up from her reading, only glancing around the corner to quickly lock eyes with Charles, who purses his lips together and slightly shakes his head, his eyes glimmering, before he turns back to Mark.
“The catering is confirmed, of course,” Mark begins again, looking down at his notes. “Enough champagne for the whole evening, canapés throughout the lawn and a five-course meal served in the marquee.”
At that point Charles jumps in quickly, cutting off Mark before he gets to the dessert portion of the menu. “Sounds quite right, Mark, thank you. Glad to have that all sorted.”
“Yes, Sir, indeed,” he replies, making a subtle tick on his paper. He continues on to his next item, “The Mirror is going to be running a survey to be printed tomorrow on Mrs. P-B’s birthday that shows two-thirds of Britons think you should be free to marry.”
“Really?” Charles asks, making sure he heard correctly, looking over at Camilla who, in the meantime, has put down her newspaper and taken up a biscuit. She bites it in half and he smiles, watching her glance down suddenly as a small trail of crumbs make their way through the neckline of her shirt and down the inside.
“Really. Here,” he hands over a piece of paper. “Some contacts sent the draft copy over. Charles looks it over and his smiles widens.
He’s in a wonderful mood the rest of the meeting, which makes the morning pass quickly. The entire room is pleased with the changes in the opinion polls. Having Mrs. P-B around - more often and much more openly, at least here at Highgrove - has made a world of difference in the Boss’s demeanour.
At midday he walks Mark and the others out of the office and closes the door, turning around quickly and hastily closing the space back to her. She’s sat back in her chair, watching him with a bemused smiled on her face. He stops right in front of her and bends down to kiss her without saying anything, feeling her smile against his lips.
She pulls apart first, placing her hands on his chest to push him away slightly. “Darling, don’t you dare think about it.”
“Think about what,” he answers, his voice a chipper sing-song tone.
“I know exactly what’s in your head.”
“Darling, two-thirds,” he replies as he pushes his hand down her shirt, linger between her breasts, making her squeal.
“Charles!”
“I wanted to make sure the biscuit remains aren’t still down there,” he grins back at her, still cupping one breast in his hand, the other placed outside her clothing against her hip.
“If you propose to me in front of 100 other people,” she’s hooked her fingers into his trouser pockets and has pulled him closer to her with so much force he momentarily loses his balance, “I will say no.” She knows he’s trying to distract her so she takes control of the conversation, making him crash into her.
“Think of it this way: you and me, a romantic setting. I would see you in the dark, only you. All eyes on you,” he kisses her neck and strokes his fingers down her arm. “All eyes on us.”
“All two hundred eyes.”
“Plus hundreds of candles. And I know you’ll be so beautiful, you’ll make everyone disappear.”
“How romantic, an audience and a fire hazard.”
“And then a lifetime together in our golden cage, hostages of our feelings.” He keeps nibbling on her neck whilst he speaks, over and over on the spot he knows he’ll always get a reaction from.
A knock at the door breaks them apart, and he’s pleased when he takes a step back and sees the blush in her cheeks.
He gives her a second to compose herself and then rings his aides into the room - one of whom is coming to collect her, to see her out to her car. She has a hair appointment, he has a meeting.
Before she leaves the room he kisses her hand and leans in closely, whispering in her ear: “See you for dinner tomorrow, my darling.”
“Yes, if your old bag can remember. I best write it down,” she giggles at him, feeling him rub his nose against her ear and kiss her jaw gently.
“Enjoy your last night of this decade. Don’t have too much fun without me,” he teases her, patting her bottom as she walks out the door. She turns and winks at him as she goes, one final cheeky glance ’til tomorrow.
He sighs as she is replaced by a team of public relations experts brought in from London. Another round of fighting with their backs against the wall, rebuilding his reputation after years of attacks. He wishes she could stay and be with him all the time; he knows its unfair to her, but she makes him feel so much more grounded - like he can deal with the worst of news or the most inane of situations if she’s there to go through it together. When she’s gone he feels as if he’s tripping over himself and he breaks down a little. But two-thirds of respondents, he thinks to himself again. Finally.
17 July 1997
“Despite your current public reputation you are quite a maverick, my little prince.” She smiles at him devilishly, leaning back in her chair and holding her champagne flute to her mouth, her eyes glittering. It’s just the two of them alone for a private birthday dinner at his. An intimate affair before tomorrow’s big bash.
“I’ll regret asking you this, but please expand, Darling.” He tries to reply with a sense of exasperation in his voice but he can’t muster it - he’s so taken by her, especially when she’s this playful.
“Usually men of your station go to great lengths to be with younger women, but you’re here fighting for an older woman.”
“Sixteen months is hardly a difference.”
“Au contraire. I quite like it. Being a cougar suits me very well, if I do say so myself,” she’s slipped her foot across the table to caress his calf, never breaking eye contact. “It makes me feel naughty, like a temptress. And I quite like looking at your youthfully fit body.”
That sends a deep laugh through him, the kind that starts in his stomach and then escapes through his mouth with his body hunched over slightly. When he doesn’t reply through his laughter she continues on: “Naked.” She purrs out the word as she lifts her foot up to rest between his legs, still looking at him intently.
He grabs it and starts rubbing at her ankle, wanting to move up her leg but the door opens. She makes no move to move her leg, and he’s not going to push her off him, so he holds her there as the staff start to bring in the meal. He watches her as she takes it all in - her eyes moving from curiosity to confusion and finally to bemusem*nt. She looks over at him, smiling wildly - he can tell she’s having a difficult time keeping her thoughts to herself until they’re alone again - and he’s not sure he’s ever been so joyful in his life.
As the final plate is placed down in the middle between them he starts with his rehearsed speech, “Happy birthday, my love. When you get me alone, it’s so simple, because Darling, I know what you know, we can feel it. And I know what you want.” All the pieces fall right into place, and he’s so caught up in the moment she’s all her can think about clearly.
“Fish and chips from the chipper! Darling, it’s so greasy! I do want this. You hate this. I love you!”
He laughs and runs his hand up her calf, “Anything for you.”
“It smells so good,” he feels her pull her leg from his grasp and the next thing he knows she’s right in front of him, pawing at his arm. He scoots his chair out from the table and pulls her down to him, wrapping her in his arms as she settles herself into his lap.
“I had to ask Tom which vinegar you prefer to douse on these, so if it’s wrong blame him.”
“It’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect.”
She doesn’t answer, just smiles at him and then grabs a chip, bringing it up to his mouth. “I know you secretly love this,” she whispers and kisses his cheek as he chews. Once he swallows he tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows at her, trying to contain his smile before adding “I’m not sure, I may need another taste test to form a good opinion.”
She laughs and reaches down again, grabbing the wettest chip she can find, and lifts it to his mouth. This time, though, he bites off the potato and then takes her finger in his mouth, shaking and mauling her, making her laugh.
“That’s your cheeky youthfulness,” she gets out between giggles and kissing him on his cheek. She stands up to move back to her chair, her stomach growling, and smiles feeling his hands slipping against her waist.
“Is it good, Darling?” He asks her, eyeing her as she sits down and immediately starts eating.
“Delicious.”
The conversation flows easily, lasting much longer than the food on the table. She had long finished her meal and had made good work on his half of the chips before she’s finished updating him on her garden, their friends and the latest annoying plot twist in the novel she’s reading.
“You’re so wonderful,” he tells her softly, reaching out to grab the one hand she’s left laying on the table.
“I am delightful company, aren’t I,” she laughs back at him, relishing the moment. It’s far too rare for them to get to spend this much uninterrupted time together when they’re at Highgrove. She notices him staring at her so she asks coyly, “Darling, what is it? Do I have lipstick on my face?” She knows she didn’t put any on today, it was just the first thing to pop into her mind.
“All over.”
“Oh. So it goes. You wouldn’t know anything about being responsible for that, would you?” She’s reaching out to rub her foot up and down his calf again, shifting the mood from light and airy to hot and longing in a matter of strokes.
“Darling,” he starts before being momentarily caught up in her eyes. She always does this to him and he still doesn’t know quite how to stop it. “I want to watch you open your gift.”
She scrunches her mouth into a pout. “I don’t want our party to end.”
“Nor do I,” he begins before she interrupts.
“I want to open your shirt instead.”
“But you wanted to be back early due to some of the press setting up already tonight,” he continues on, ignoring her, “and I don’t want you experiencing anything you don’t want to have today or tomorrow.”
“I want you.”
“Oh God. I want you more,” he says with a voice so husky he startles himself.
“I’m yours to keep and yours to lose,” she purrs back at him, trying to get what she wants but knowing it’s unlikely - so she makes up her mind to at least enjoy the pursuit.
“You always make it so hard.”
“What? It or you?”
That makes him laugh again. “I was thinking you. You always make it so hard to follow the set plan,” he pauses slightly, catching her eye, winking. “But also me,” he adds quietly, cautiously even, as if paranoid anyone could overhear them. “Which, my darling, is the wrong way around for the birthday girl.” He gently puts her foot down and stands up, walking over to her and bending his hand down. “Darling, get up please.”
“No, you,” she replies as she takes his hand and stands, feeling him immediately wrap her in his arms and start to sway a little to imaginary music.
“Are you ready for your gift?” He kisses her cheek and feels her smile against him, then does a sharp intake of breath as he feels her hands run down his chest.
“You know I’m not a bad girl,” she starts, making him laugh deeply again.
“Oh, no? Whose hands are trying to get under my shirt now?”
She smiles and shakes her head, her nose rubbing against his with every move.
“Such a naughty girl,” he whispers in her ear as he lets his hands wander lower, moving from her lower back to rest at the top of her bottom.
“I’m not a bad girl, I just do bad things with you,” she purrs, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
He gives in and reaches down to kiss her, deeper and longer than he had initially anticipated. It takes a bit for them to come out of it, and by the time she does she’s having to rest her forehead against the side of his face, refilling her lungs with air. He reaches up to stroke her cheek with his thumb; she smiles then shifts slightly to kiss his palm.
“Darling,” he’s holding her so tight against him neither can move much. “You make all my grey days clear.”
“You have quite a few grey days, my love,” she smiles up at him, a twinkle in her eyes.
“Not with you around to set me straight. To wrap me around your little finger. Wear me like a necklace.”
“The world would be quite scandalised if I wore you like a necklace.”’
That earns her a hearty pat on her bottom and a chuckle before he lets loose of her and walks to a side table. Opening it, he pulls out a long box wrapped in robin’s egg blue paper with a matching bow. “Come here,” he reaches out for her, beckoning her closer again. “Happy birthday, my darling,” he says softly into her ear once she’s walked over to him.
He watches as she smiles at him and starts to pull at the bow. She starts off slow but then her curiosity gets the better of her and she rips the paper off. The box underneath is velvet. When she lifts up the top she sees a sealed note.
“Open that tomorrow, Darling.”
“What if I want to read it now?”
“Good things come to those who wait,” he whispers, kissing her temple.
She acquiesces and lifts the card, finding a diamond and pearl necklace underneath. The stones come together in the shape of daisies; it’s length just enough to be a bit longer than a choker.
“Charles, it’s beautiful, where,” she starts and then leans in to kiss him, not finishing her sentence.
“It was your great-grandmother’s, from my great-great grandfather. Now it’s yours, from me.”
“Will you put it on me,” she asks, handing him the box and turning around, leaning back against him. She feels a hand snake around her waist and draw her in for a hug before she lifts her hair off her neck. He bends his face down to her first, running his nose along her spine and then kissing the back of her neck softly, before she feels his hands followed by the cool chill of the gold.
“Do you like it?”
“Darling, I love it,” she pauses and turns around in his arms so she can kiss him. “Thank you.”
He smiles and looks her up and down. “You look beautiful. It really suits you.”
“I’ll be the most beautiful birthday girl at the party tomorrow,” she giggles at him, leaning in for another kiss.
“You’re always the most beautiful in any room, Darling. All eyes are going to be on you. It will make me act so jealous.”
“Mm, but you have my heart.”
“You’ve got my heart skipping.”
“Now who’s the one wanting more,” she smiles at him and reaches up to wrap her fingers around the back of his ears, pulling his head down to kiss her again.
He’s the first to break contact, lingering over her lips for a few seconds before landing one final peck and then pulling away. She doesn’t pout this time, she just looks at him, making him smile. It’s a few more minutes before she’s packed up and he walks her down the stairs, seeing her out to her car. He opens the door for her and then bends down for one more parting kiss.
“See you tomorrow, my darling.”
“Til tomorrow, my favourite little prince,” she grabs his hand and squeezes it.
He stands outside and watches her drive off the private back road until she’s out of his eyesight, then he starts to make his way back inside - taking a short detour to check on the marquee before retiring for the evening, his hands deep in his pockets, his mind lost in thought.
18 July 1997
“You look ravishing, Darling,” he tells her the moment her car door opens. He’d arranged for a driver to swing by her house to pick her up, along with her sister and brother-in-law; they would be leaving at the end of the night, she was staying. She smiles and takes his hand as he helps her up, then pulls her into him, lightly kissing her cheek and occupying his free hand with her upper arm. “Come here,” he whispers, just loud enough for her, and pulls her in closer again. She’s dressed in a knee-length black dress, the necklace he’d given her last night gleaming against the fabric and her skin. She momentarily nuzzles against his neck, burying her face in him, before replacing her face with a soft kiss and slowly pulling away, her fingers lingering longer than her body, tracing the path of her retreat. He still has his hand against her, but now he’s reoriented to her back as she shifts to face the same direction as him - he starts stroking between her shoulders and then lightly traces down, scratching a path down her spine, stopping just short of her bottom. With his hand flush against her lower back he guides her off the gravel and finally addresses Annabel and Simon, who had stood off to the side - Annabel already with a champagne flute in hand.
“This is going to be a long night for us all if you’re already starting up with the cuddling, Sir,” Annabel announces dryly, watching her husband bow and shake hands with her sister’s - she doesn’t know what to call him.
That makes Charles chuckle as he turns to her next and kisses her cheeks, “Annabel,” he says warmly as she dips into a short curtsey. “Thank you for delivering her to me safely today.”
“The promise of a champagne-laden pre-party was as good an incentive as any,” she answers back and then ignores the start of her sister’s protestations. “There were quite a lot of cameras at the gate, Sir.”
“Yes, good. They can get what they want of her looking smashing,” he squeezes her side again, “and then leave her alone for the night.” He kisses Camilla’s cheek as he finishes.
“Darling, show me around before everyone else arrives. It looks wonderful.”
He lets go of her waist and holds out her arm, smiling at the feel when she takes hold of him - and then he guides her around, pointing out where the harpist will be stationed, the seating plans for dinner, the dance floor for the evening. Then he guides her inside, bringing Annabel and Simon with them so they can sit and chat before the guests begin arriving.
The weather holds and the evening is perfect. Staff made their way around the groups with canapés and champagne as people milled about outside, chatting and listening to the music. Later, when the party shifted to inside the tent - a lavish set up lit by hundreds of candles and palm trees - the five-course meal went down a smash. Speeches and toasts filled the air before a tiered birthday cake was wheeled in - his final surprise for the night. After the guest of honour blew out her candles the music changed, with popular music from the 60s and 70s replacing the calming sounds of the harp, and the dance floor began to fill.
He pulls her hand for her first dance, practically dragging her from their table to the middle of the floor. “Happy birthday, my love,” he whispers in her ear, running his hand down her back as they start to move to the music, their bodies pressed against the other.
“Thank you, Darling. This was so lovely,” she reaches up and kisses him.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asks quietly, pulling her so close to him there’s no room left between them.
“Yes.”
“Good.” And without warning he spins her around, making her laugh as he guides her under their outstretched arms, catching her back in his arms again and pecking her cheek as she laughs, her eyes glittering at him. “Hmm, Darling,” he leans into her ear, “you did a number on me.”
“Just one?”
“Honestly, Darling, who’s counting?”
“You should be tonight.”
That makes him laugh. “One? Two? Three?”
She kisses him in reply - once, twice, then thrice. By the time she pulls away she smiles, caught up in the moment, and wipes the lipstick off his face. “Oops,” she says unapologetically, smiling up at him.
“Mine,” he growls into her ear and traces his hands up and down her back, getting dangerously close to going too far for being on a dance floor surrounded by her family and their friends.
“I’m yours to keep,” she whispers against his ear, “if you take me home tonight, Sir,” she bites his earlobe and then winks at him, hearing him moan slightly against her.
He doesn’t give her up the rest of the night; she stays in his arms as they dance, she stays on his arm as they walk amongst the guests, popping from one group to the next, thanking them for attending as the party comes to a close. At night’s end he leads her inside, holding her hand as they walk up the stairs to his bedroom. Once inside she leans against a wall to take off her heels. When she looks up again he’s sitting on a chair, his arms out.
“Come here,” he tells her, his eyes full of lust.
She walks over slowly, watching as he undoes his tie and slips it off. When she reaches him she takes her hands and places them on his knees, spreading his legs further apart, standing right between them. She bends down and kisses him whilst starting to unbutton his shirt, finally pulling it open and placing her hands against his chest. His skin is so warm and soft to her touch, but the muscles underneath so firm - the combination makes her heart beat faster and she moves her hands down, feeling the grooves from his abdomen muscles. He grabs her hand to stop her movement as she starts to go down further, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the inside of her wrist before placing it on his shoulder. Before she knows what is happening he’s reached up and is undoing the back of her dress, pulling the zipper down slowly, his other hand trailing behind on her skin.
“Darling, what are you wearing underneath?” He breathes against her.
“Keep going and find out,” she answers, her head tilted back slightly, enjoying the feel and warmth of his hands.
He reaches the bottom, unable to pull any further, and slowly moves both hands up the bare stretch of her back where the zipper had once closed. Once he retreats to her shoulder blades he spreads his hands out and slowly lifts the straps off her shoulders, then watches as the dress falls down her sides. He gives it a light tug to help it fall from her hips, then tilts his head up, burying his face between her breasts, biting each side of her cleavage. She holds him to her and bites her bottom lip as she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra - until she feels his hands stop her.
“Dressed in black still,” he whispers against her, running his hands over every inch of her body.
“Undressed in black,” she smiles back, running her hands through his hair. He shrugs off his shirt and then turns his attention back to her. Without warning he pulls her onto his lap, situating her until she’s straddling him. When she’s settled where he wants her he reaches behind and undoes her bra, letting it fall, staring at her as the material lands between the two of them. He picks it up and flings it to the floor, then wraps his arms around her waist and stands up, taking her with him, carrying her the few steps to the bed and placing her down gently, her legs still wrapped around him, her hands digging into his back, searching for some way to pull him even closer as he bends over her, kissing so deeply it’s hard to breathe. Her nails scratching into his back, burning in the best way possible.
19 July 1997
It’s late in the morning before they both wake up fully - and even later when they finally stop reaching for each other. Being together feels too good to rush. He’s laying on his side looking at her, his right arm outstretched, rubbing the soft spot on the outside of her hip with his thumb, his fingers stretched against her bottom. She stretches up to kiss him again and he lets his hands wander up her back and back to her front, grabbing her breast as he deepens the kiss again.
“Are you satisfied, my birthday girl?” He asks, leaning over her slightly, locking his eyes to hers again.
“Hm, very,” she answers and sighs, closing her eyes as she feels him kissing her neck again, squeezing his hand tighter.
She’s about to loop her leg back over him when a knock at the door startles them both, breaking the moment. No one comes in - he’s made sure to tell his staff not to wake them this morning - but they know it’s food being left outside.
“Should I go get it,” he asks, smiling, knowing she’s going to want breakfast now that it’s on her mind.
She nods and smiles, watching him - still fully unclothed - scurry to the door and open it up, quickly reaching out and down to come back in with a tray of toast and honey, fruit and tea. She laughs a little at his expression, then smiles again as he places the tray on a nearby table to comes back to the bed to get her.
“Darling,” she smiles against his face, nuzzling back against him as soon as he’s within her arm’s length. “I’m sorry for that,” she whispers, a seductive tone to her voice as she sits up at the edge of the bed and reaches out, running her fingertips down his back, feeling the raised marks from where she had scratched him the night before. “That’s going to sting in the bath.”
“You should kiss me to make up for the pain later,” he smirks at her and steals a kiss from her, then another.
Somehow they make it through their breakfast without descending into another pile of entangled limbs.
“Darling,” she says after finishing off her tea; she’s wandering around the room now. He’s watching her every move; she hasn’t put any clothes back on either. “Darling, I don’t have anything to wear when I go back home.”
“You can wear one of my shirts,” he offers, his eyes still taking her in as he stands up and walks over to his closet. “And these are yours, you left them here and I forgot to give them back,” he adds when he notices a folded pair of white shorts too small to be his.
“Thank you,” she walked over and kissed his cheek. She grabs last night’s bra off the floor and puts it back on, then slips her arms into the shirt as he holds it up for her. “It smells like you,” she added, pulling the collar up around her nose, then smiling at him.
“God this turns me on,” he replies, pulling her to him again.
“Darling, I have to go soon,” she answers, kissing his nose and putting her hands against his chest, pushing against him slightly.
“I have one more thing for you, before you go,” he tells her, turning away from her to rummage through some drawers as she rolls the sleeves of the shirt up. It still looks vastly oversized but that helps a bit. She looks into the mirror and tries to smudge some of the night’s eyeliner off her face, but eventually gives up when the efforts don’t go anywhere.
“Here, Darling, one more gift. To get this next half century off on the right foot,” he adds, turning her to look at them both in the mirror. He slips a pearl necklace onto her neck - it’s a single strand, the pearls large and white. Somehow, she thinks, it’s looks so good paired with his shirt. She smiles and tilts her head back, leaning to one side so he can kiss her neck, stroking the side of his face and head with her hand as he does.
“You’re spoiling me, Darling.”
“You deserve everything and more.”
“And setting such a high standard for your birthday next year,” she laughs when she feels his hands reaching to grope her breasts again.
“It’s been so wonderful.”
“Then let’s do it again next year.” She smiles at him, her eyes meeting his in the reflection.
“We can dance all night again. Dancing with our hands tied.”
“We can make love with your hands tied, birthday boy.”
“And then after that, we can host your sister’s,” he’s smiling back at her so broadly that he doesn’t know how to respond when he sees her biting her lower lip, her eyes watering up. “Darling, what is it? Milla, what’s wrong?” He’s moved his hand to hold hers, rubbing the top of it with his thumb, confused and concerned - they’d just been having such a nice conversation.
She turns her head to kiss his cheek, letting a tear fall. “I didn’t think we’d ever get to do this,” she answers and smiles at him, feeling another tear roll down her cheek as her eyes scrunch up, watching their reflection as he takes his thumb and brushes it away.
“I can’t wait,” he kisses her softly and they stand there like that for awhile, listening to the other breathe, watching each other in the mirror. Eventually she helps him get dressed and he walks her to a waiting car. There are still photographers outside the Street Farm entrance, wanting to document her departure. He asks if she wants to be driven out the back but she shakes her head; she’s fine with being seen leaving like this.
“You can take her out the front,” he says after he kisses her again and deposits her into the passenger seat.
He watches as the car slowly pulls away and heads off toward the road, smiling.
