Growing up in Colorado, I fell in love with the royals the moment I saw Diana, a vision in billowing taffeta, walk down the aisle and marry Prince Charles.

I was four, and until then had only seen princesses in Disney films – but once I learned that princesses were real and lived in a faraway land called England, that was it. I devoted my life to following the Windsors’ every move.

I spent years plotting my escape to England. Everyone laughed when I told them my plans to cross the pond, but despite all the naysayers, I made it happen. I moved to London when I was 22 and never looked back.

I got my Master’s, worked in publishing and found a husband – but through it all, my fascination with the royals never faltered.

My home country had zero female leaders but England had Queen Elizabeth II! A woman who outranked every man she ever met!

Tragically, Princess Diana passed away before I set foot on British soil. But I kept careful tabs on her luminous sons as if they were my own.

Then Kate arrived on the scene and ushered in a new era of royal watching – it involved nightclubs, shopping, bouncy blow-dries and knee-high boots. And her engagement to William brought on a burst of royal mania. Now a royal author in my own right, I have appeared on up to six TV stations per day to discuss the handsome couple and I loved it.

Meanwhile, Harry emerged as a rumbustious young rogue – and with William off the market, he was suddenly the hottest, most eligible prince in the land.

“I knew from a very early age that I was destined to live as an expat.”

Nearly a decade passed and the world continued to follow Kate’s outfits and Harry’s hijinks. Charles married Camilla, Andrew was excommunicated, and the rest of them were so dull, no one could remember their names.

The real royal stars have always been the ageless Queen, the flawless Kate, and the hilarious Harry (strip billiards, anyone?). The world couldn’t get enough.

But suddenly, one by one, the star players left us. Harry moved to America (and I don’t blame him), the Queen died (though I was sure she’d live forever), and with much sadness, Kate stepped back from public life. Royal watching became unrecognisable. The romance, the glamour and the fun were gone.

Diana’s ghost continues to hover, but in this polarised world, I now watch the monarchy scramble to make sense of itself without these characters keeping it afloat. And I’ve begun to wonder if the magic has truly come to an end. (Also: if I’d married into the royal family like I dreamt of doing as a girl, would I have run back to America, too?) Spoiler: these are the themes of my debut novel.

I owe my expat life to the lure of the royals. But fairy tales change. And I’ve learned I no longer need an ancient family to find my happily ever after.