Archive of Our Own

In the end, it's seems so fucking easy to bow out and do what Eleanor said to her father when she was high – sell some fucking pastries.

After the years of scheming and betraying and death, somuchdeath – she's done. She's tired and she's not even thirty.

Liam understands better than anyone, pulling in for a hug that lasts too long and not long enough. They've always lived together – it'll rip her insides apart being so far away, but she can't live in these walls anymore. She can't live this life anymore. It's too much.

"When you're ready, come visit," Liam says in her ear.

She knows he won't have time to visit her, not with everything that needs to be done. Not to mention Ophelia is finishing her first trimester, looking amazing with glowing cheeks and even more mint tits.

"I will," she says, hoping it'll be soon.

"I love you so much. I want you to be happy. And what Dad said to me – about love and choosing it – I know he'd say the same thing for you."

She fights hard not to look back at Jasper standing a respectable distance away.

"Sure, brother, sure." She kisses his cheek.

She finally leaves with Jasper beside her. She has to grip his arm as they step outside the palace and into the car that's taking them away.

"Just breathe," he murmurs quietly as the gates open up for them.

She shuts her eyes – she can't watch it happen – and forces herself to count her breaths.

The place is absolutely tiny in comparison to the palace – she makes some sort of joke of being claustrophobic, but it's pretty and homey on the inside and Jasper actually has a genuine smile tugging on the corner of his mouth, trying valiantly to hide it, so she doesn't despise it.

There are multiple bedrooms here – Jasper can have his pick, but she still takes him by the hand and they lay on her bed for a while, letting the movers unpack in the other rooms.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she says out loud, voice unsure and scared and everything she hates.

It's quiet in the master bedroom. She thinks he may have fallen asleep, but she's afraid to look over at him while they're so close. Sometimes he tires out more than he used to. "You can always change your mind," he offers, his American accent soft.

She knew he'd say something like that and this is why it's getting harder and harder to keep a distance. He's disappointed her and let her down before, but he also protected Liam and her and fought with them to find the truth and make everything right and he fucking got shot –

She shuts her eyes and craves for weed.

There's a tentative knock on the door. Jasper immediately sits up, fighting back a wince. "I'll handle the rest. Do you want to make sure everything was done to your liking before they leave?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

Jasper nods and shuts the door behind him. She wipes the corner of her eyes and smudges her makeup.

Apparently that American rapper 50 Cent got shot nine times and lived.

Jasper got shot six. Not as many times, but still enough to make her fucking think that he was going to fucking die on her.

After her (their, she supposes) new home is established, now they start planning for the bakery.

She's stuck between a few names, all puns involving getting high (don't medicate all that wonder) – it makes her laugh and she thinks her father would've laughed too.

"What do you think, Jaspurr?" she drawls as he's making waffles – only America would take a dessert and make it breakfast. Apparently when he first came to England one of the few things he brought with him is a waffle iron.

"I'm not telling you," he says.

She pouts. "Why not?"

"Because you'll pick the opposite and it'll end up being something I hate."

"Oh, there's a name you hate? I have to know."

"No way." He forks the waffle out of the iron and drops it on a plate, handing it to her.

She takes it and spread some jam on it, resolutely ignoring the maple syrup on the table. Absolutely barbaric invention. She takes a bite, humming in delight at the initial crunch and warm softness of the inside. "Please?" She spreads her legs open a little, her nightie riding up.

His eyes predictably drift down before flicking back up to her face. "No," he says flatly.

She laughs, bringing her knees up to her chin. "Come on – this is a bit of yours too, you know."

He blinks in surprise. "It is?"

Her tongue darts out to her bottom lip where she can taste the jelly a little. "Of course it is."

He was with her and Liam in a way that no one else has been, not since Robert. Not since Beck, but she doesn't like thinking about Beck because it'll send her into a spiral, the last of which lasted for two weeks and Jasper had to take her to a hospital to recover for another two weeks.

"Fine. I hate Pretty Baked."

She looks down at the name.

"Alright."

Silence as he makes his own waffle.

"You've chosen that one haven't you," he says after a minute.

"You know me so well, Bodyguard."

He laughs a little under his breath. "I'll cope with it."

"Good!"

He takes his waffle back to the table and expertly drizzles syrup on it, cutting it delicately with a knife and fork. He doesn't switch utensils.

"Nice touch, by the way," she says, gesturing towards his hands.

"What?" His English accent comes through randomly – a defense mechanism.

"Not switching – it's so fucking distracting when ‘Phe does it."

He smiles. "I actually did this back home too – I watched my dad across the table and copied him. He never switched."

He doesn't talk about his parents – or growing up, really – too much. She collects what he tells her like rare gems.

"It's the little things that will convince people," she says.

He chews on his waffle. "Yes. Although your brother still thinks I'm lying about it."

She snorts. "It's a good thing Marcus will be his new Head of Security because sometimes I worry."

"I don't care if he never believes me. You're the only one that matters." He says it like he's telling her he's doing his round.

She forces herself to eat another bite. She's supposed to eat three square meals a day now, according to her physician – she's lost enough weight that she can see her ribs. Stress and coke will do that to a girl.

"I'm meeting with Marcus later to discuss your new detail –"

"Isn't it our new detail?"

He smiles a little. "Sort of. Do you want to come? We might interview people."

"How many are we supposed to have?"

"Four for now, but we'll eventually dwindle down to two."

"Jesus."

"It's just a precaution. Things are still new."

"I get it." She eats some more of her waffle. "I'll stay here. Maybe watch tellie."

"You? Watch TV?"

She shrugs.

"Alright. I'll let Liam's men know," he says with an amused smirk.

"You go do that."

They finish breakfast in silence and he touches her face before he leaves.

(She forces herself to watch an hour of TV just to prove him wrong.)

She's in charge of the storefront, the interiors, and the menu. He's in charge of finances and everything else that blows about running a proper business.

Hey, it's better off this way. Jasper can have some awful taste in fashion – she's not trusting him with color schemes.

"I'm finished with the menu," she declares, flouncing off the bed and into the bathroom where Jasper is showering.

"Can this wait until after I've rinsed the conditioner out of my hair?" he asks, voice muffled through the steamy glass.

She can still make out an outline of his cock and she's tempted to join him.

"No, I'm very excited."

"Did you just do a line?" he asks knowingly.

"…A little one."

Beck used to grimace disapprovingly and say she's better than that. Jasper just sighs and says, "Hit me."

She paces around the bathroom and reads off every dessert, which includes every kind of tart and pie imaginable. A proper English establishment.

"Sounds delicious," he says when he's finished, shutting off the water.

"I know, it's going to be so good. Do you think we should serve apple pie?"

He opens the shower door a crack to grab a towel. "What? Why?"

She watches him towel-dry his hair and pat down his body quickly before wrapping the towel around his waist. "I mean, in honor of your American upbringing – isn't that what Americans eat all the time? Burgers, hot dogs, and apple pie?"

He opens the door, steam escaping behind him. "I hate hot dogs."

"Not the point."

"No, since pie isn't eaten enough over there in comparison to here. I don't understand why you guys think that."

"Okay, but I thought I'd be generous and provide something that you liked."

"I liked most of what you listed. The English sure know their desserts."

"Our crowning glory, the French can suck our dick."

"I love cream puffs though."

"…You mean profiteroles? Cream puff – now I officially know you're uncultured American swine."

He laughs – a real one with a proper smile that makes her heart flutter in her chest in a way that doesn't have anything to do with the coke. "If you want to offer apple pie, go ahead. But I like cherry better – has more of a bite to it."

She adds it to the list with lipstick left by the bathroom sink.

There will be some tables for people to sit. She thinks it'll be nice to have people eating and talking and maybe finding a little happiness here.

"We should probably offer tea, then," Jasper considers.

"Obviously." She looks up at him. "Should we offer coffee as well?"

He grimaces. "Coffee's disgusting. I thought the Boston people were morons for throwing away perfectly good tea in the 1700s."

She may love him a little.

"Good answer, because that was never going to fucking happen."

They hire a handful of staff for the kitchen – pastry chefs, kitchen preps, the works.

Word gets out about the former princess' plans and she's criticized, naturally. It's not her money, she's basically being gifted this business – she's heard it all.

But there are also people defending her – hasn't she had enough? Doesn't she deserve peace in whatever way she can get it? Maybe she'll pay more in taxes.

(For the record – she is paying a shitload in taxes now. Fuck you very much.)

She has nightmares.

It's partially why Jasper and her have been sharing a bed since That Night.

Sometimes she holds on so tightly to him that it can't be comfortable for him. Other times she rolls over until she's half off the mattress. Either way, he's an anchor holding her back from falling into the abyss.

Ophelia surprises her one perfect afternoon.

Perfect for the sunny weather, but also perfect because they're testing out tarts and pies.

"These are all incredible, Len," Ophelia moans, leaving back in her chair and rubbing her stomach. She's huge now. "Even if you weren't a former princess opening a pastry shop, this is going to do so well."

Eleanor smiles. "Thanks, 'Phe."

"Give my compliments to your staff. And I loved the cherry pie. Reminds me of home a little."

"Really? Good."

"Unusual addition to the menu, though. Is it to make up for not having my favorite drink?" Ophelia says teasingly.

"It's not – I feel like a shit friend now. It's actually for Jasper."

"Jasper?"

"It's his favorite," Eleanor says with a shrug.

"Wait – is he actually American? Really? I thought it was a weird joke between him and Liam – "

"No, he's actually American. My brother is just a twat."

Ophelia laughs. "So, this is a nice gesture to Jasper. Very nice."

Eleanor rolls her eyes. "I'm ignoring what you're insinuating."

"I'm not insinuating anything."

"Right."

"I just don't understand what the hold up is. Yes, what he did was horrible and gross, but don't you think he's more than made up for it?" Ophelia asks, voice gentle and eyes earnest.

Eleanor swallows and picks at a half eaten tart with her spoon. "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Letting him in. You know what happened to Beck."

Ophelia frowns. "Jasper was shot six times and is downstairs playing Nintendo Wii. He's not going anywhere anytime soon."

Eleanor bites her bottom lip hard. "I know."

Ophelia reaches out to take her hand. "That really shook you up, didn't it."

Eleanor swallows over the lump in her throat. "Liam kept telling me he was going to be okay and when I asked how he was so sure, he said that Jasper was using his 'terrible American accent' – he thought Jasper was joking, or trying to joke."

"Oh, Leni," Ophelia sighs sadly.

"He told me he loved me as he was bleeding on me."

"He does loves you."

Eleanor carefully wipes her eyes. "I know."

"And you love him."

Eleanor doesn't answer that.

The day before opening, Eleanor and Jasper stand beside each other, admiring the finished product.

She can imagine what people will think when they first walk in – of course it partially resembles a nightclub with lush seating, sleek tables, and dark colors, but it feels comfortable for her. Maybe the good people of London will be open-minded.

"Don't be nervous, princess," he says, his face not giving anything away until he smiles at her. "They can criticize everything all they want, but the food is amazing."

She manages to smile back. "I know, I think I'm starting to gain some weight."

"Good."

She lightly hits his side, mindful of his wound there. "Shut up."

He grins. "Come on, let's lock up and order take out."

"'Take out' – what is that?" she teases.

"Take away," he corrects himself with a roll of his eyes. "I'm getting lazy with you."

"Good." She wraps an arm around his waist.

They run out of goods by noon and they're probably back ordered for a week.

"I think this was a rousing success," Jasper comments as the staff sweeps the floor.

She's still fiddling with her hands, nervous and jumpy after taking too much coke.

He wraps an arm around her and rubs her arm slowly. She tries to match his breathing, but she's too wired. She'll need to drink to bring herself down.

"Sorry," she mutters.

"It's fine."

"It's not, but…thank you. Tomorrow I won't take anything. Promise."

He looks to her, eyes piercing, but not judging. Never judging. "Fine. If you do, you'll have to make the bed."

She crosses her arms. "I hate making the bed."

"I know you do."

She pouts. "Fine."

He smirks.

She moves herself out of his hold. "I hate that look."

"I know you do," he repeats, still keeping that smug expression on his face as he leaves her to go behind the counter to speak with one of the staff about tomorrow's work.

There's something rather boring about running a bakery. Eleanor can't always be interacting with customers – it's too much of a security risk despite the bullet-proof glass – so she spends time in her office, updating her social media accounts, which she now has full reign over, promoting and blogging.

Jasper likes packaging, oddly enough. He's precise and particular with the orders, especially when it comes to large orders of tarts.

One day she sneaks a photo of him – careful to cut off most of his face save for the serious set of his mouth – and Instagrams the caption 'so serious [laughing with tears emoji] #prettybaked #employeeofthemonth #justkidding #boss'

When Jasper checks his phone an hour later, he frowns. "Boss?"

"Well, co-boss, technically, but 'boss' works as slang too."

"Like…'boss ass bitch?'"

She bites her bottom lip so she doesn't burst out laughing. "Sure, Jasper. Boss Ass Bitch, that's you."

He scowls. "It was your label."

"Aw, Jasper, don't be like that."

"I'm going to check on our hardworking staff in the kitchen," he says.

"Jaspurr," she whines after him.

He ignores her, much to her amusement.

While she tends to have nightmares on a weekly basis, Jasper will occasionally have them as well.

Luck will have it that his nightmares are rare enough that they've happened on nights that she could care for him properly – offer him water, a drink, a hit –

She wakes up with tears already on her face and heart palpitations, kicking the covers off herself in a panic, her skins crawling. She reaches over to Jasper, expecting him to be slow to wake, but calm and gentle and sure. Instead, Jasper wakes with a pained gasp and really, she doesn't know how they've gone so long without fucking. It's stupidly easy to push down his pants and slip her knickers off and for him to slide into her, like coming home. It's rough and hard – she hasn't slept with anyone in a while and they're definitely leaving marks and bruises on each other, but by the time they both come and they're catching their breaths, she feels settled. She runs her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck, feeling his heartbeat slow against hers.

"Eleanor," he breathes, voice rough.

"It's alright," she shushes him.

He falls asleep first, but she wakes with the sun, watching him sleep, resting her arms on top of his across her stomach. Eventually, he opens one of his eyes and he murmurs, "You okay?"

She pats his arm. "I don't break so easily. I'm fine." Pause. "Are you okay? That was a bad one."

He snorts. "Yeah." He briefly hides his face in his pillow before looking at her with a sharp gaze. "What does this mean, exactly?"

She exhales, tempted to go for the bong left off her side of the bed, but she's been sober for a week and she's curious to see how long she can go. She turns away from the temptation to face him, another, probably worse temptation.

Drugs have never hurt her heart like people have.

"Jasper," she starts, trying to smile teasingly, but it comes off strained more than anything else. You know how I feel about you, is on the tip of her tongue.

"Len – you've known my hand for ages. Some would call that cheating."

"Some would say you have a shitty tell."

He sighs. "Okay, maybe saying 'I love you' while I was bleeding to death wasn't exactly the best timing."

"It was dramatic and unfair, if you want to get specific."

"Doesn't mean I didn't mean it. I do love you."

The bedding may be pulled up to her collarbone, but she feels exposed.

"Are you –" he starts.

"No," she interrupts. "I mean. I loved Beck – he was my first love, how could I not? But…we had ended things for a reason. Before he, you know."

He nods, his jaw clenching.

She reaches over to touch his face, fingers trailing down his jaw. "Jasper Frost. Child of grifter parents from Las Vegas. Former bodyguard for Princess Eleanor and Prince, now King Liam. My body guardian angel."

He raises an eyebrow. "Liam told you?"

"'Course. It's clever. And relevant in hindsight."

He smiles a little.

"I do, um. Love you."

To her fury, he starts laughing.

She smacks his arm. "You bastard!"

"You sounded like you were about to give a root canal."

"Hey, it's hard."

"I know, princess," he says seriously, forgoing the dick joke she was expecting.

She says it for him, reaching between his legs. "I'm sure you do," she says with a wicked grin.

She tells her brother and Ophelia once they've finished properly consummating, but it still doesn't matter when someone sneaks a photo of her kissing Jasper in the bakery and it's on D-Throned.

"Well, I have to say I'm relieved. The both of you were miserable about it long enough," Liam says while on his way to a meeting.

"I can't believe you checked an alert from D-Throned over a text from your own flesh and blood!" Eleanor scoffs, watching Jasper do his physical therapy exercises.

"The notification was above the text and caught my eye – all caps, y'know," Liam says, not sounding apologetic at all.

"Whatever, now you know, now the whole world fucking knows."

Jasper gets a smirk on his face.

"And you're absolutely thrilled," Liam says softly.

Eleanor smiles a little. "I am."

She really is.

Eleanor is working today because she can't stand waiting by the phone to receive word about Ophelia going into labor.

She's been on bed rest for three days and it's been torturous. Probably more so for Ophelia, but still.

"Just work the front and leave your phone with me," Jasper suggests, peeling her fingers off her phone. "I swear as soon as Liam calls you'll be whisked away. Now go serve the plebs."

Eleanor grits her teeth. "Fine."

As annoying (and kind of attractive) Jasper can be while being authoritative, he is annoyingly right – serving and talking to customers is distracting enough.

"You must be excited to be an aunt," one customer says after she orders two pies.

"I will redefine what a cool aunt means," Eleanor quips with a pleased smile.

"I have no doubt." It's said with a goodhearted laugh, so Eleanor wishes her a good rest of the day.

She's taking a selfie with a teenage girl with adorable boots near closing time when Jasper bursts out of the back and says, "We've got to go."

Eleanor squeals, nearly making the poor girl deaf. "Sorry!" she says, patting the girl on the back before rushing to Jasper, taking his hand. "Off we go!"

Off they go.

Emma Charlotte Henstridge. A beautiful baby girl who may just be the future Queen of England.

"You are fucking amazing, you know that?" Eleanor says to Ophelia, who's sweaty and exhausted after a few hours of labor, but grinning.

"She's absolutely perfect," Ophelia says in awe, looking at her baby girl with such love that it brings tears to Eleanor's eyes.

"She's so lucky she has you for a mother," Eleanor says seriously.

Ophelia looks up at Eleanor and says, "And she's lucky to have you as an aunt. Do you want to hold her?"

"Oh, I shouldn't –"

"Go on, Len, hold your niece," Liam encourages her.

Ophelia has to direct her on how to hold the baby close, support the head on the crook of her elbow – Jesus she weighs absolutely nothing. But her tiny features are absolutely mesmerizing.

"I can't believe you created this little person," Eleanor finds herself saying, her eyes tracing the delicate veins of the eyelids to the curve of her round cheek. She glances up to find Liam kissing Ophelia's temple and Jasper standing in the corner, eyeing the group with an odd expression on his face.

"Get over here, bodyguard," she orders him. "Hold your niece."

He blinks in surprise and his stiff stance loosens. He looks over to Liam for permission, who nods. "Of course. You're family now. Go on."

He swallows visibly and Eleanor would find this funny except he's looking at Emma like she's a precious, breakable thing and he's so gentle transferring her to his arms from Eleanor's. He looks down at Emma's face and doesn't say anything. Her breath hitches in her throat.

She tears her gaze away to Ophelia, who is looking at them with a fond smile and teary eyes. She winks at Eleanor before shutting her eyes, resting her head on Liam's shoulder.

"She's perfect, isn't she?" Eleanor sighs on their way back home, breaking the silence that lasted for the first few minutes of the car ride.

Jasper nods. "She is," he says quietly.

"I mean, she might well turn out to be a loon – the Henstridge genes are strong ones, but she's going to have the best parents. She'll be alright."

He nods again.

"You okay?" she asks suddenly. "You've been quieter than usual."

"A little overwhelmed," he admits. "It's…nice…to be part of a family I actually like."

She reaches across to grab his hand. "I don't mean this to sound cynical, but no matter what happens with us, you'll always be family."

"It does sound cynical," he agrees, but he smiles.

"Besides, you have to stick around for when my stupid brother eventually figures out that you're actually American."

"That might never happen."

She shrugs. "Still."

She thinks about having sex since he was surprisingly hot in there holding a baby, but instead she almost passes out when they crawl into bed and she rests her head on his chest. It's been an emotional rollercoaster of a day.

They close the shop for a few days, packing bags and heading to the palace to stay over for a few days.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I'm not missing the sight of my niece vomiting on my brother," Eleanor says with a wicked grin.

She is admittedly nervous, but since the physician will be on call in the palace, she also wants to see him for an appointment.

"I don't see why you can't have children in the future," the physician says, looking over her charts. "Although I do suggest putting on some weight and…ceasing some of your…extracurricular activities."

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, but I haven't fucked me up internally, right?"

"No, I don't believe so. Of course complications could arise during pregnancy, but that would be something we'd tackle."

"In the future," Eleanor reminds him yet again.

"Yes, in the future."

"I have gained weight, though," she points out.

"Yes, you have, although I recommend you keep at it. Especially if you're looking to have children. In the future."

"Alright, thanks, Doc. I'll see you in a year," she dismisses him.

She definitely doesn't want children now – hence the constant repetition of 'in the future' – but it's good to know she didn't totally fuck herself over in the potential long run.

"What did the doctor say to you?" she asks him later that night.

"I'm healing very nicely. I could probably go back to security in a month. How about you?"

"I gained weight."

"That we've already established."

She scowls at him. She's still not happy about not fitting into her smallest pair of leather trousers. "Will you go back to work?"

He shrugs. "You're a full time job as is," he says wryly.

"Honestly."

"I mean…I like the bakery. It's nice. I like this life we have. I wouldn't mind officially retiring."

"Retiring is for old men."

"I'll still be working, Christ, Len, you're unbelievable."

She grins. "I know." She bites her bottom lip. "For the record, I would…prefer you not protecting anyone but me."

"Oh, now you trust my ability to guard your body?"

"Yes," she answers simply.

He's thrown off by her lack of a smart response. "Okay…well…I'll let Liam know I'll be unavailable."

"Good, you do that." She pecks him on the mouth.

"Eleanor."

"What?" she asks with a mouthful of cherry pie. She took one home two days ago and has been eating it consistently for breakfast.

"How do you feel about marriage?"

Well, this isn't what she was fucking expecting at seven in the goddamn morning. "It's not morning conversation."

"So if I were to bring the topic up after work…"

"It's not really a conversation to have after a long day at work."

He rolls his eyes. "Should I schedule an appointment, then?"

"Alright, fine, what about it?"

"Are you interested in the idea of marrying me sometime in the future?" he asks, cool as he pleases.

Meanwhile, her insides are on fire. "Um."

"It's just a conversation, not a proposal," he tells her.

"I…don't know. I never liked the idea of a lavish royal wedding. So stuck up, you know?"

He shrugs. "We wouldn't have to do that."

"Of course we would," she scoffs.

"Fine, that could be the second one."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting eloping?"

"Maybe."

"You definitely are. It would be a media frenzy if we did that."

"If Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theroux could successfully marry without anyone knowing until afterwards, I think we could do the same."

"You are so American."

"At least I'm not suggesting a Vegas shotgun wedding."

"That's a bit too uncouth even for me."

"Figured."

"…I would maybe be interested in such an arrangement."

"Okay. Good."

"Do you have a ring?" she blurts, her heart in her throat.

"No," he says with an amused smile. "I thought we'd start talking about it first."

"Oh."

"Disappointed?" he asks, the smile turning into an infuriating smirk.

"Not at all," she answers before taking a huge bite of pie. When she finishes chewing, she says, "I'd get married somewhere warm. Still on the fence about a beach theme. Seems a bit cliché."

"I hate sand," he says.

She sighs. "Fine. No beach. Near a beach, maybe."

She's sure they'll figure out something.