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Be more like Jeff, those people exclaimed on message boards and late-night talk shows. As if Beatrice could just flip a switch and become her brother, who won everyone over with easygoing charm.
Jefferson proceeded up the steps, and then—his jaw set with regret, or perhaps with disbelief—he sat on the throne, his hands curling over its armrests.
“I humbly and gratefully accept your service,” Jefferson replied evenly.
First came the Old Guard, the members of the thirteen original dukedoms that had been created in the wake of the Revolutionary War.
Gabriella looked away from Daphne with evident frustration. For now, the two of them were locked in a stalemate.
“Jefferson!” Daphne stepped into the Green Room: the vast chamber where the royal family gathered after public appearances, which also happened to be decorated in various shades of green. She noted with distracted pleasure that she matched the room perfectly, her dress set against the background as if she were a figure in an eighteenth-century painting.
Eye roll
Daphne’s eyes cut to Queen Adelaide, who treated the Deightons with her usual courtesy; she was too well mannered to act like anything had changed. Still, Daphne swore she caught a fleeting hint of distaste on the queen’s features.
Peter Deighton took a seat on the damask couch, clearly afraid to speak. He should be afraid, Daphne thought spitefully. He’d already lost their family’s title through his stupidity and carelessness; they couldn’t afford any more of his mistakes.
Ghettooo
That’s how Jeff learned to walk, you know,” she said, clutching Daphne’s hand. “He used to toddle up and down the hall, waving at the guards, watching them salute each time he passed. He was the most adorable baby.”
“If you’re old enough to have a child, you’re certainly old enough to take on the responsibility of marriage,” the queen countered. Jefferson’s grip on Daphne’s hand tightened. “It’s not living in sin anymore. This is the twenty-first century; people don’t expect us to rush into anything.” “What are you ‘rushing into,’ precisely? You’ve been dating for four years.”
Never in all her imaginings had Daphne dreamed that Jefferson would ask her to marry him because his mother had forced him to. He hadn’t even sunk to one knee or said the proper words. All he’d asked was Are you okay with this? Oh well.
“My apologies.” The boy was grinning again, that vibrant, dazzling grin. Clearly he found everything in life a source of deep amusement.
Something in his tone gave her pause. “Sorry, have we met?” she asked bluntly. “Were you in my Brit Lit class last year?” He studied her for a long, slow moment, and she shifted beneath the weight of his gaze. Then he let out a breath. “I’m James. I just started at King’s College this semester.”
“This is yours,” she forced herself to say, turning around. “Keep it. It looks better on you anyway. As I’m sure most things do,” James replied. She wondered if his flirtation was automatic, as reflexive to him as breathing.
“Well done,” Brad told her, and she stifled a grin. He was judicious with both his praise and his criticism, a bit like Sam’s dad had been. The thought sent a pang of longing through her.
There was no mention of Hawaii’s Queen Liliuokalani, let alone international politics.
Still, Sam’s chest ached at the silence between them. She hadn’t gone this long without talking to Nina since they were seven. It felt like half of her internal monologue had abruptly shut off.
“Accidents?” Sam repeated, her voice rising. “What happened to Queen Beatrice?” “She’s hurt or something. Who knows.” The barista spoke with complete detachment, because to him, Beatrice was just a figure from a magazine, more abstract than real. He had no interest in what happened to her.
“Sounds like you’re very close,” James said quietly, perhaps a bit enviously.
Waiters in crisp uniforms served apple cider and popcorn and the Washingtons’ famous cherry tarts.
Yum!
Daphne shot Jefferson a puzzled glance, but his mouth had softened into an almost-smile.
Somehow, Daphne hadn’t considered the fact that she would be in a wedding where she’d slept with the best man. She hated how tawdry and clichéd it made her feel.
“How typically Daphne. You want everyone in America to start the New Year thinking about you.” The remark startled a laugh from her. Ethan’s eyes sparkled in surprised pleasure.
Typical of a Washington Palace press release, short and to the point.
Sam blinked. “Another pregnancy?” “Never mind,” Anju said quickly.
She placed the keys back in Nina’s palm. “That’s okay, you keep Albert. He’s a little flashy for going incognito, and according to my family, I’m not even in town.” Her words sounded mournful, even to her own ears.
The figure in the hospital bed was a pale shadow of her sister, like a pencil sketch that someone had blurred and smudged.
“Yes, but—” “Then it’s settled. I can take over from here.” “Sam, you’re not the heir anymore! You’re not a princess at all!”
“You’re no longer Her Royal Highness, the Princess Samantha. You’re just…Sam.”
Lord Ambrose Madison? Sam blinked, trying to remember if she’d ever spoken to the squat, unpleasant man beyond a few polite words. What could he possibly have against her?
This had become their morning routine lately: Connor would stir first, only for Beatrice to drag him back under the covers and ask for more time.
“I miss you,” he murmured, which was strange. “Miss me? I’m right here.”
“Oh my god.” Sam’s hands flew to her mouth in momentary shock; then she stumbled to her feet and began shouting hoarsely. “Doctor! Someone! Come quick—Beatrice is awake!”
Beatrice nodded, too shaken to point out that Your Majesty was her father’s honorific, not hers.
Beatrice’s eyes kept darting curiously to her sister.
Beatrice swallowed, hardly listening. “I…was anyone else in the car with me?” The question came out raspy and weak. Dr. Jacobs winced sympathetically. “Just the Revere Guard who was driving, Your Majesty. I’m sorry to say that he died on impact.” No no no. “I…was it Connor?” “I believe his name was Shane Bartlett.” Beatrice’s relief was so acute, she gasped out loud. Sam shot her a strange look. “What made you ask about Connor?”
WHAT JUST?! Also this is just like the bush sisters
Beatrice splayed her hands over the hospital blankets. Her nails were filed into perfect half-moons, her cuticles pushed back; she wondered absently whether someone had been giving her manicures while she was unconscious.
There was so much emotion folded into that gesture, tenderness and relief and a tight-leashed fury, that Beatrice had no idea what to make of it. She held herself very still.
Beatrice supposed she must have moved on to someone else. Sam’s energies were too wild and restless to stay fixed on any one point for long.
“What do you mean, I’ve lost weeks?” Her voice was scratchy; Sam heard it and handed her a cup of water from the bedside table. Beatrice took a small sip, feeling perilously close to tears. She hated not being able to control every situation, and this was as out of control as she could ever remember being.
“I want Mom and Dad,” she confessed, her voice small.
Fuck
Beatrice wanted to scream and cry and beat her chest. She wanted to wail like a small child who’d skinned her knee on the playground. She wanted to punch something, or someone.
“I’m sorry, Bee. I hate that you have to lose him all over again,” she murmured.
The enormity of her grief, and shock, was being held at bay by a flimsy barricade of self-control.
“I need my phone” was all she said aloud.
Typo!
She and Teddy seemed so happy in the picture. They were both laughing, their eyes bright. The photo was a selfie, spontaneous and carefree, which was surprising in itself because Beatrice never took selfies.
Finally, the threads of Beatrice’s self-control began to snap.
“So does this mean I get a redo?” Nina glanced over and met James’s eyes. They were the warm blue of the ocean on a cloudless day, the type of blue you could sink into and drift all the way to the bottom. It took her a moment to register what he’d said. “A redo?” “Can I take you out? On a date,” he added, as if he needed to be explicit. The statue of King Edward III seemed to be staring at Nina, handsome and aloof and judgmental—reminding her of her royal ex-boyfriend, who’d just gotten engaged to someone else. “All right,” she heard herself say. “I mean, yes. I’d love that.”
