She loved Vic in all her modes. The goofy, loud, affectionate one. The soft, exhausted one who fell asleep halfway through a film, head on Julia’s shoulder. The fierce one who would go toe-to-toe with ministers twice her age when she thought something was unjust.
She loved this one too, the one who cared so deeply she tried to micro-manage the universe into compliance.
But she also knew where that drive came from. Knew the shape of the time it was born in: the unexpected pregnancy, the fear of becoming a mum, the contemplation of her options and finally a baby whose future had seemed suddenly precarious. Knew the way that experience hadburrowed into Vic, convincing her that if she didn’t anticipate every variable, something terrible would happen.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Look at me for a second.”
Vic tore her gaze away from the whiteness outside and met her eyes.
“You’re doing brilliantly,” Julia said. “You’ve thought of everything you could reasonably think of. The rest… we will handle as it comes. Together.”
“That’s what you said when we decided to be together,” Vic said. “And when Alex found out. And when we had that meeting about formalising my role.”
“And were any of those disasters?” Julia asked.
Vic hesitated. “No,” she admitted. “But that’s because you were involved, and you are a professional competence machine.”
Julia huffed out a laugh. “Flattery will not distract me from my point.”
“What is your point, again?” Vic asked. “Because from where I’m sitting, the point is that we’re driving into an actual snowpocalypse with nothing but optimism and a forty-three-page schedule standing between us and an undercatered royal Christmas.”
“The point,” Julia said, “is that Christmas will not collapse if we have to substitute parsnips for carrots or if the reindeer are half an hour late.”
“Don’t you dare speak lateness into existence,” Vic said.
“Besides,” Julia continued calmly, “we’re not in charge of the weather.”
“That’s debatable,” Hyz murmured from the back. “Sometimes I think Mum might be.”
“I am not,” Vic said. “If I were, I would have ordered light, fluffy flakes on a gentle breeze, not whatever this is.”
“This,” Julia said, nodding at the thickening wall of white ahead, “is Scotland being Scotland.”
They passed a sign flashing an amber message: SEVERE WEATHER WARNING – DRIVE WITH CARE.
Julia’s hands tightened instinctively. There. That was the little external confirmation her gut had been waiting for.
“Oh no,” she said softly, almost under her breath.
Vic caught it. “What?” she demanded.
“Just… they’ve upped the warning level,” Julia said. She kept her voice calm, but didn’t lie. “We need to take it slowly. That’s all.”
“Can we still get there?” Hyz asked, more curious than frightened.
“Yes,” Julia said immediately. “It just might take us longer. Which is fine. We’ve got nowhere else we need to be until tomorrow.”
“We need to be at the turkey delivery point,” Vic muttered.
Julia inhaled again, letting the air fill her lungs, holding it for a count of four, letting it out for six. The therapist she’d quietly started seeing a few months after the coronation had called it “regulation.” She’d called it “not yelling at minor royals,” which had seemed to amuse the woman.
Now she used it for herself. For Vic. For the car.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s review our assets.”
“We’re not in a briefing,” Vic protested weakly.
“We are always in a briefing,” Julia said. “Asset one: capable driver who has not killed anyone with a car yet.”
