Chapter Text
You meet Laura Hollis for the first time when you are nine years old.
It's a yacht party, you've been to more than your fair share of them even at such a young age, but you're the princess of Monaco, it's to be expected.
She's in a dress that you can immediately tell is just as uncomfortable as yours and she's fiddling with something in her pocket and you go over to say hello because it's not very often you meet people your age at things like this but you don't really expect her to be receptive because all royal children are pains. You know this because you're probably the worst one of all.
She does say hi back though, and then she offers to split the cookie she's hiding in her pocket with you and you're friends for the night.
You don't see her again until a year after.
You're ten and spending the day on the beach in Nice with your younger brother Will and a lot of undercover security people and you're trying to stop Will from throwing rocks at tourists that pass by when a frisbee hits him square in the face.
He immediately starts to cry.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Comes a voice and you kind of want to laugh because you've always had a bit of hatred for your half-brother and his whiny voice, but Morgans stick together, even if he is technically an Eisen and you're a Karnstein, so you draw yourself up to your full height to come to his defense instead.
But when you recognize Laura Hollis, any and all of your witty remarks go out the window.
"Hey, cutie." You say instead.
"Mircalla." She says, her face splitting into a grin. "How are you?"
"Carmilla." You correct her. You hate being officially named after your great-great-grandmother because that's what everyone calls you by default despite the fact that you've gone by Carmilla all your life.
"Carmilla." She agrees and then she seems to remember herself and ducks down to check on Will, who is still wailing. "I'm very sorry I hit you."
Will immediately stops and looks up at Laura in wonder.
"Very sorry." Laura repeats, handing the frisbee to Will as a token of apology. "You should keep this to put your rocks in."
"In?" Will asks in confusion.
"Yeah, in." Laura sits and starts putting rocks into the frisbee. "Kind of like you're cooking them. They're like potatoes, see?"
You sit back down, signalling to one of the security people, Kirsch, that everything is fine.
After, when you know it's probably time to go back to the hotel because Will looks primed for a nap and you're feeling a bit hungry, you say goodbye to Laura.
"I'll see you again soon." She says, taking you by surprise and hugging you. "Thank you for not chewing me out after I hit William in the face."
"Didn't want your security people and my security people getting into a war." You manage to mutter back.
"Keep in touch." Laura waves as you take Will's hand. "Send me letters."
"Or I can call." You offer.
She smiles.
"Write me letters, Mircalla."
You and Laura write back and forth. At first, it's kind of stilted and awkward because you've known of each other for only a short period of time and have known each other for even less so it's very much too formal.
But a few months after Nice, Laura's family comes down for the Grand Prix and there's a party and the two of you sneak into the kitchens with help from Kirsch and eat cookies all night long.
The letters are more personal and frequent after that and they soon become your favorite part of each week.
For your eleventh birthday, Maman gets you a bass guitar.
It's basically a Christmas miracle and the resurrection of Christ all rolled into one because Maman despises music outside of piano and violin and a bass guitar has been something you've thought about buying for yourself in secret when you can afford it.
It's beautiful and sleek and you spend three months with sore fingers teaching yourself how to play.
You think Laura is just as excited for you by the sound of her letters and you are excited for the things she's doing, too. Like the fact that she's now going to school in Canada to try and get away from the media in England and that she's starting to play ice hockey. You Google the rules of the game and promise that if Maman ever has an event to attend in Canada, you'll accompany her to see Laura.
The time finally comes exactly five whole months after your birthday and almost a year since the day you last saw her.
Vancouver is beautiful. It is nothing like home. Instead, it is modern buildings made of glass and street performers whose voices reverberate in the rain. There's a certain charm to it, you can see easily enough why Laura would want to live here.
As is the case with the majority of Maman's events, you and Will get to tour the city while she's busy. Laura has school for the majority of the afternoon on your first day, but on the second, she meets you at Stanley Park, closely trailed by her red-head security team.
You've missed her and the her enthusiasm for anything and everything. It's so easy to walk the sea wall, with Will between the two of you and security behind you, talking and catching up. You end up walking unti you find a nice patch of beach with enough rocks for Will to be engrossed for a decent amount of time and enough sand that everyone else can sit comfortably and Laura is so good with Will that it makes you really weirdly proud of her.
"I have a hockey game tomorrow night." She says off-handedly while teaching Will to build a small rock person she calls an Inukshuk. "It would really mean a lot to me if you could come."
She looks at you then with a mix of hope and pleading etched on her features and it occurs to you that you really have got to spend more time with this girl because otherwise you will never become immune to that face.
"We'll be there." You say.
And you do go.
Laura's game is in the evening and so you and Will attend lunch with Maman and some dignitaries before Kirsch comes to the hotel with a rented car and mittens for both you and Will.
The ice rink isn't downtown but rather in the suburbs and you get there just as the teams are skating around for their warm-up routine. You spot the two redheads that make up Laura's security team almost immediately.
"I see them." You tell Kirsch.
"LaFontaine and Perry?" He asks, nodding in their direction.
You catch yourself rolling your eyes at his obvious flaunt of his knowledge.
"You guys friends or something?"
He ruffles your hair, or rather the beanie that you're wearing and you hiss at him while re-arranging it to sit properly on your head again.
"Dont be mean, little lady." He says, gesturing for you to go ahead and lead him whichever direction you please.
You and Will sit close to the glass in the end where Laura's team is taking shots on their goaltender. She's a graceful skater and you can tell it's her even without the nameplate that proclaims Hollis on her back because you'd know that ponytail anywhere and the way she stands when it's not her turn to be participating is familiar.
She skates by where you're sitting several times. Will knocks on the glass when she does and she smiles at him prettily, but the grin she reserves for you is almost blinding.
When the game starts you are relieved that Will does not seem to care about the rules because he's so caught up in the quickness of the game. Laura's team is called the Angels and they wear maroon jerseys with gold stripes and Will is yelling 'Go Maroon!' with the rest of the players' families and friends by the time the first period is halfway through.
She makes for an amazing hockey player, your friend.
You don't know very much about the game outside of a few video clips of Sidney Crosby and a Wikipedia article, but Laura is quick and does not give up on a single play. She has a knack for knowing where the puck is going and she scores a beautiful goal before the period ends that has the majority of the small arena on their feet.
"Laura's good." Will says while the two teams take a short break in between periods."I want to be that fast when I grow up."
You nod in agreement and laugh when he gets up and starts banging on the glass after Laura scores another goal. You think you've never spent a more enjoyable evening with your little brother.
After Laura's team wins by a 5-2 margin, you stand outside in the waiting room of the arena with players' families and friends, anticipating her arrival. Players trickle through and head home with their families after voices in the crowd praise them for the game they played.
Laura comes out to the waiting area after a few minutes. She's got her hockey bag slung over her shoulder and her hair is in a bun piled on top of her head. Will immediately grabs her hockey stick and holds on.
"Great game." You tell her, accepting the hug that you now expect from her and giving her a squeeze in return.
"Thanks." She says, smiling. "I'm really glad you could make it out tonight."
She lets go of the hockey stick she's holding while she's speaking, letting Will take it and run off.
"He loves it." You roll your eyes at the sight of Kirsch chasing down your little brother. "I am going to be heartbroken for the kid if there isn't a single team back home."
Laura laughs.
"Are you leaving tonight?"
"Tomorrow morning." You say, flicking the bun balanced precariously on her head. "Bright and early."
"Letters?" She demands more than asks.
"Letters." You smile at her.
You're thirteen when it becomes painfully obvious to you that you are, without wanting to be, under some sort of international spotlight.
You're homeschooled, which has helped keep you oblivious to the fact that people in other countries apparently analyze your clothes and the way you wear your hair to parties or to the football games you and Will attend. It's terrifying.
It's at one of these football games, actually, where a girl about your age calls your name out while Kirsch is ushering you to your seats and you look because it's instinct.
"Carmilla!" She yells, throwing an object in your general direction. "Sign my magazine, please!"
You catch it against your chest and hold it in your hands, shocked by the phot of you, Will, and Maman on the cover.
You're not stupid, you've seen newspapers run your picture on the front page on slow news days, but those have always been at events.
This photo is one you never even knew existed and it's an American magazine.
You throw it back into the crowd and duck under Kirsch's arm to take hold of Will's hand and walk quickly to your seats.
The next few months, you invest in multiple pairs of sunglasses and train yourself not to smile by default because you are not going to make this easy on people. You also wear a lot of black and make yourself as boring and unassuming as possible.
If they want a bubbly princess on the front of their magazines, they'll have to look elsewhere.
Thirteen is also the year Maman allows you to have your own cellphone. You've used Kirsch's work phone multiple times and your own phone really is for convenience more than anything else.
But you set up a Google alert of your name and Will's and Laura's and it scares you how much strangers know and want to know about all three of you just because you're royal.
It bothers you for a while and it becomes the sole focus of yours and Laura's correspondence for a chunk of time, but the Google alerts send you scores of her latest games and a thing called box scores where you can check who scored each goal and took each penalty and how much time Laura spends on the ice.
So the phone does some good.
You're fourteen when you see each other again for the first time since Vancouver. Laura comes over to stay in Monte Carlo for two weeks and it's so exciting, because it's the first time you've spent this long together, that you even venture out to the airport to retrieve her,
Laura is a little bit taller now and she looks a lot different, but then again you probably do too.
"Hi." She hugs the same and smells the same. "What's with the sunglasses and the all black?"
"I don't like my eyes in paparazzi photos." You murmur back. She smiles and takes a hold of your elbow.
"And now you see why I had to get away from England."
Kirsch takes her bag despite her insisting that she can handle it and he deposits it in the trunk of the car while the two of you get into the back.
"I've missed you." Laura says, and you notice for the first time that her accent's practically gone. "And I'm excited to hear you play bass for the first time!"
"You get excited for everything, cupcake." You point out and she laughs.
"It's probably true."
It's a little bit overwhelming how much Laura has changed. She seems happier and more comfortable in her own skin than she used to be. She's definitely touchier, even going as far as kissing your cheek in thanks for handing her a juice box during the ride back home.
She still hugs Will when she sees him peeking out from behind you and she still curtsies when she sees your mother. So maybe nothing has really changed.
The two of you help the home stay nanny put Will to bed before heading down to the kitchens. You remember how Kirsch used to have to help you to get down here, but you can now manage to navigate the hallways without getting lost. It's your home, after all.
The chefs are all cleaning up for the night when you knock on the glass door, but the Head Chef lets you and Laura in anyways.
"Princess." He says in French. "What may we do for you?"
You explain to him that you and Laura are looking for cookies and he apologizes for the fact that they have yet to make a batch for tomorrow nor do they have leftovers.
"That's okay." Laura pipes up from behind you, her French polished and impossibly perfect. "We can wait until tomorrow."
Her mastery of the language floors you to the point where you let her tug you with her towards the hallway until the chef calls,"But if you would like to do some baking, your highnesses, you are more than welcome."
You and Laura listen carefully to the chef's instructions on how the oven works and he even preheats it for you before they all take their leave.
"Flour?" Laura asks, opening cabinet doors and peeking into cupboards.
"I don't know." You shrug. You've never cooked anything in your life.
"You live here."
"For god's sake, cupcake, I am a princess. Do you really think I'd know where the flour is?" And yeah, you sound kind of conceited, but it gets the point across and Laura's laughing.
"I wouldn't know where the flour is in Buckingham." She admits. "But your stuff is all labeled so maybe it'll be easier?"
"Then read it." You respond, pulling out the mixing bowl and a wooden spoon.
"I don't read German, Carmilla."
And then you're rolling your eyes and walking over to where she is so you can read the labels yourself. When all the ingredients are out on the counter, Laura takes a seat while you read through the recipe. It's in German, which should have been predictable considering the whole kitchen team hails from Germany.
"Can we put in extra chocolate chips?" Laura asks.
"It specifically says not to." You point to a line in the recipe. "Because it'll change the acidity of the batter."
It's Laura's turn to roll her eyes.
"Live a little, Carmilla."
You add extra chocolate chips when it comes time and Laura chatters throughout the whole process about the courses she's taking in school and the people she's meeting through hockey. It's refreshing to have her around. She's an excitable ball of energy and her excited squeak when you let her lick the spoon, after a lot of convincing on her part because you may be a princess but you know what salmonella is and you don't want to kill the princess of England on accident, fills the kitchen and reverberates.
"Are you ever going to go back to England?" You ask her while you're both waiting for the cookies to bake.
Laura shrugs.
"I do miss my Dad sometimes." She says slowly. "Ever since my Mom passed he and I have always been close, but I really like Vancouver and everyone there is so polite about letting me live my life as fuss-free as possible."
"That's good." You watch her face closely. "I've thought about maybe going to school abroad too."
"Because of the media?"
You give a nod. It would be refreshing to go away like Laura has and then maybe you'd actually like to leave your house.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Carm." She says, and her soft voice makes you want to smile. "I know how much you love it here."
You're a bit puzzled because you're sure you haven't really told her how much you love home explicitly and it must show on your face because she adds,
"It's obvious how much you love it. You glow when you're here."
You glare at her to disprove her point, but she just laughs and pesters you again about how much time is left on the cookies before starting on sleeping arrangements.
"I actually thought it'd be fun if you stayed in my room." You say slowly, realizing that you never really asked for her input and that maybe you should have.
"Like a real sleepover." She exclaims and honest to god claps her hands. You shake your head at her actions but it makes you smile without your permission. "You can teach me how to play guitar."
"And we can watch Friends." Laura is so excited that you laugh. "And do each other's hair and give each other makeovers!"
Her energy, unfortunately, increases exponentially after the two of you split the cookies.
You and Laura co-exist so compatibly that it makes your head spin.
For two weeks, sharing everything with her is as easy as breathing. She borrows your clothes, which are a little too long on her and sleeps in bed beside you and takes walks with you and Will. She even accompanies the two of you to a football match.
The paparazzi snap a photo of the two of you that shows up on your phone when you get home. You in your black shirt and black skinny jeans with a rip in them, a frown on your face. Laura in one of her many striped shirts with her hair in a braid, laughing.
You recognize it as the moment after you said something snarky about girls obsessing over James Rodriguez that Laura found hilarious.
You save the photo.
You play an Ed Sheeran song for her on your bass guitar the night before she is scheduled to leave.
You are sitting up in bed against the headboard and Laura is lying down across your shins while you play and she sings along so softly that you can't make out the lyrics the majority of the time.
She sits up after you're done.
"You're really good." She says.
"That's what all the girls who end up in my bed tell me." You say and Laura laughs and laughs.
You're sitting in one of the smaller dining rooms with Will one day when you realize that you have a crush on Laura.
It makes you choke on your food.
"Are you alright?" Will asks, pushing your glass of water closer to you.
"Fine." You manage to say in between coughing fits. And you are.
You're fine. You realized a long time ago that you were attracted to women rather than men. You've always been painfully honest with yourself, you've known this fact literally since you were twelve and sitting through a "Young Female Entrepeneurs" seminar that Maman went to support and you couldn't tear your eyes away from the presenters. This isn't even your first crush because hello, you've seen Kristen Stewart.
What makes this crush overwhelming is that it's on Laura.
When Laura's team makes it into the National Championships the next year, you and Will ask Maman for permission to go and she grants it without hesitation as she does when she's left the two of you to your own devices while she goes abroad.
The game is in Toronto and you don't tell Laura you're going in any of the letters you exchange with her. You and Will just pack a few things and go with Kirsch to spend a weekend in Toronto.
You get there just in time for the game after Will takes the time to make a poster that reads: "Hollis for Prime Minister", which you think is funny because Laura is technically the princess of this country and the three of you pile into the first row of bleachers beside LaFontaine and Perry who both grin when they see you.
The look on Laura's face when she spots you from across the ice makes your insides flutter. She's frozen on the spot for a moment before she physically shakes her head to refocus and starts to skate again.
You can hear her laugh from where you're sitting after she sees Will's poster for the first time.
Laura scores the game's only goal and it's such a nice goal that even you stand and pound on the glass. She just winks in your general direction.
You're, okay fifteen, but you're in so deep and you don't know how you can ever dig yourself out of this one.
You stay over at Laura's for two weeks that summer.
The media in England follow her everywhere. So much so that she does not leave the house ever without preparation unlike she did when she stayed in Monte Carlo. Instead, she does her make-up every morning before heading out.
Her outings are a circus and so you only end up going out once.
You wear the leather pants she jokingly sent you for Christmas and a shirt with some color in it, but the sunglasses stay over your eyes and your face remains make-up free. She jokes the whole time that the brightness in your shirt really brings out the color of your eyes.
The two of you go exploring in London with Perry and LaFontaine on your heels the whole time and then you do take out at McDonald's and eat it while on the floor of Laura's bedroom.
"So that went well." She comments, putting a fry in her mouth and chewing it while imitating the paparazzi that hounded the both of you all day. "Princess, how much did you pay to get rid of your accent? Why do you hate England so much, Princess?"
You laugh at the anger on her face.
"They only love you." You tell her. "They just get upset that they don't get to keep you all the time."
Laura is quiet for a moment.
"Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Get upset that you don't get to keep me?"
You try to swallow the lump that forms in your throat.
"With a pretty face like that, sweetheart? Of course I do."
You and Laura see each other sparingly the next few years.
You exchange letters, that much hasn't changed, but Laura's father is diagnosed with cancer in the early stages of those years and she gives up hockey, school, and the life she's built in Vancouver in order to spend her time traveling with him to all of his meetings and, when the end nears, at his bedside.
You don't visit because you don't want to intrude, but the letters become a once a month occurrence and you distract yourself by going out to town and attending parties that people jokingly invite you to on Twitter.
You get drunk a lot and you sleep with a lot of women, but none of them are Laura and it kind of hurts you sometimes.
By the time your eighteenth birthday rolls around, you can no longer deny that the absence of Laura Hollis in your life absolutely fucks you up.
You delete Google alerts off of your phone and you get blackout drunk every weekend and Maman is not happy with you or with the photos the paparazzi end up taking of you.
But in the end, you're royal and you're intelligent and you get into every college you apply to.
You are eighteen and preparing to move across the Atlantic so you can go to school at Harvard when the girl of your dreams becomes the Queen of England.