Mark's pov
I beamed as I entered the private dining room of the royal family: not so much for the pomp, or for the Christmas atmosphere, but for the scent.
James and I looked at each other for a moment, both of us ecstatic.
"I would recognize this scent anywhere," he giggled, licking his lips in anticipation.
I nodded. "Pork cheek. Emily's making carbonara!"
"Hey, guys!"
Our sister's head peeked out from a corner that, I knew, hid a small kitchen: that room was, in fact, used when Henri and his family wanted to enjoy some quality time, cooking and eating together.
Emily's smile was so bright it was almost blinding; it was the kind of smile, I realized, that I hadn't seen on her face in years.
How could I be so blind? How?
It had been three days since Em had told us the truth, an
