Reign (American Royals #4)

by Katharine McGee

“This feels so totally Jeff, doesn’t it?” Jamie deadpanned, which made Nina choke back another laugh.

Nina and Jamie headed to the bar, a vast antique mirror behind it reflecting the room back to itself. She made eye contact with one of the servers. “Hey, Rick, got any beers?” He smiled in recognition. “Hi, Nina. Sorry, but no beer tonight. You know how it is.”

Maybe that was the problem with her and Jeff: they had never been able to outgrow their childish patterns of behavior. Maybe things felt different

The drawer opened, revealing that the inside was actually refrigerated. That was the type of thing the Washingtons did: took a seventeenth-century chest out of storage and hired an engineer to line the interior with appliance-grade insulation and electric wiring, so that there was an entire refrigerated drawer nested within the old French wood. They couldn’t just buy a mini-fridge like ordinary people.

Nina let go of Jamie as he stepped forward. She watched as they did one of those guy hugs, giving each other a rough thump on the back as if it might hide the sentimentality of the gesture.

Jeff nodded slowly. “Look, I’m hardly a relationship expert…” “Says the first one of us to get married,” Sam teased. He didn’t laugh at that, the way he should have. Instead a cloud darted over his expression and he replied, “No one saw it coming, did they?”

Finally, a portrait of the twins celebrating their joint eighteenth birthday, both of them in jeans and white Oxford shirts. Lord Colin Marchworth, the photographer, had cried out in protest when Jeff tried to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and reveal his forearms: “You cannot show skin in a royal portrait!” As if their bare wrists were the scandal that would break the monarchy.

“Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. It means you refuse to let your fears guide your actions.” Beatrice wondered if he was right. In her old life she’d followed the dictates of protocol to a T, and now she was seeking votes on a congressional bill, chasing down senators on their ranches. “I love you.” She hadn’t consciously decided to say it; the words seemed to float from somewhere deep in her chest. Teddy pulled her close. “Oh, Bee. You must know that I love you, too.”

Daphne wasn’t actually close with any of those girls—they just wanted to be able to brag that they had participated in the royal wedding—but it was almost nice, feeling like a normal bride who had friends to toast her. Even her father had mustered up a father-of-the-bride toast, full of such trite and generic platitudes that Daphne could only assume he’d pulled it from the internet.

“It looks like I underestimated you,” Rebecca went on softly. “Well done, Daphne.” For years Daphne had been striving for that note of pride in her mother’s voice, and now that she had finally earned it, she just felt hollow. She didn’t especially care what Rebecca thought anymore. Perhaps when her mother had slapped her, it had knocked Daphne’s compulsion to please her right out of her brain, the way you might shake the last candy from a box.

“I need to talk to you,” Daphne said quietly. She jerked her head toward an alcove, and Gabriella warily followed, standing near a suit of armor. “I know you’re here to gloat, but nothing will come of this,” Gabriella insisted. “Daddy isn’t going to prison.” As she tugged her expensive mink coat tighter around her shoulders, vulnerability—and fear—flashed across her features. For a moment, Daphne almost felt sorry for her. “Gabriella, your father is guilty,” she said gently. “Who said anything about guilt or innocence? He won’t go to jail because no one would ever send him there.”

“Thank you all for joining us tonight, and sorry for that disturbance. There never seems to be a lack of drama at my family’s weddings.” Somehow Jefferson managed to turn the Madisons’ scandal, and the atrocious way he’d spoken to Beatrice, into something that people laughed over. That had always been his gift: the ability to set people at ease.

“You are so beautiful, but that has never been the most attractive thing about you; it’s the sheer force of your passion. You are intoxicatingly brilliant and stubborn and defiant and strong. Seeing you walk down the aisle tomorrow will be the happiest moment of my life….” As he spoke, Daphne felt a spark of surprise—and, unexpectedly, relief. She had always worked so hard to hide her ruthless ambition that she hadn’t imagined Jefferson had ever seen it. But maybe he knew her better than she’d realized. Maybe their marriage wouldn’t be the endless performance she thought she’d signed on for. A tiny voice within her whispered that something about the toast didn’t fit, but she ignored it.

Ethan started toward the door. She knew it was best that he leave: walk away from her for the very last time, all their plots and schemes and sexual tension firmly in the past. Where it all belonged. His hand was on the doorknob when she blurted out, “Ethan—did you write the toast that Jefferson gave tonight?” Ethan’s hand fell to his side, and his eyes flicked back toward hers. “It’s not that big a deal,” he muttered. “It is to me.” “Jeff asked for my help, the same way he asked me to edit his English papers in high school. He was struggling to articulate his feelings for you,” Ethan said gruffly. “So I helped him put it all into words.” Except that speech wasn’t what Jefferson felt at all; it was what Ethan felt.

OH GOD

A charge sizzled in the air between them. Daphne felt longing and fear battling inside her.

“I’m not a prince! I will never have Jeff’s titles or wealth or position. I will never be as famous or as well liked as he is. I will never be able to give you all of this.” Ethan threw out a hand to indicate the suite, the wedding gifts, the clothes. His face was angry and anguished at once. “I’m not the hero of this story, and I never have been. I’m just a secondary character who failed to get the girl.”

Her eyes closed as she let her desire for Ethan flood through her. She’d been holding it in for months, for years, letting it gather inside her slowly, like smoke in a burning building. Jefferson and the wedding felt distant and unimportant, a future that belonged to someone else.

She felt Ethan startle when she stepped forward and kissed him. Some part of her was glad to know she was still capable of surprising him.

“I love you,” Ethan whispered. His breath was hot in her ear. In answer, Daphne kissed him harder, more hungrily. Because even if she wanted to say it back, she didn’t dare to.

Aww

There must have been a small, undefended corner of Daphne’s heart that still hoped, in spite of everything she’d done, that she was worthy of truly being loved.

The night was heavy and soft, headlights tracing down the city streets like fireflies. Nina heard the low rumble of traffic, the voices of all the thousands of people gathered to watch tomorrow’s parade. She had space to drink in all these details because the world had gone utterly still. The only thing that moved was her blood, pulsing beneath her skin where her hand held Jeff’s.

Jeff ran a hand over his face. He looked like he was on the verge of crying, or shouting. “I’m sorry. It’s just…so much has changed over the past couple of years, and I’m struggling to keep up with it all, and I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Maybe that was cowardice, but Nina liked to think of it as self-preservation.

Something caught in her chest and she turned her face toward the window, not caring if the driver heard her sobs. Surely he’d driven a crying girl home before.

There was a sharp pain in her chest that reminded her of the time Rachel had dared her to drink straight vodka—a sharp burning sensation that trailed all the way down to her core. Nina told herself it was the feeling of letting go of Jeff. This time, for good.

“Béatrice!” The voice that sounded outside her office was somehow imperious and giddy at once. Beatrice heard a footman reply, “I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness, but Her Majesty has retired for the evening—” “There is light from inside the office!” Louise pronounced it as ze off-isse, her French accent getting thicker as she grew agitated. “I know she will see me!”

“Can we talk in private?” Louise asked when they stepped apart. Beatrice nodded. “Take a seat,” she offered, but the princess shook her head. “Not in your office! This isn’t a work meeting.” Louise grabbed her tote bag from the floor, and Beatrice heard the telltale clatter of a wine bottle. “I brought Sauternes,” Louise explained, with a wink. “Should we go outside?” “It’s freezing!” “So?” Louise replied, undaunted. “Or don’t you have an indoor pool?” Which was how they ended up driving a golf cart, its sides zipped up in insulated plastic, past the orchard to the Washington family’s pool house.

Beatrice found a bottle opener in the wet bar, then grabbed a pair of wineglasses. “I can’t believe you packed a swimsuit,” she observed. “It’s the middle of winter.” “I always pack a swimsuit; you never know when you’re going to need one.”

So true queen

You cannot know that. You can never be certain of anything except your own decisions.”

The sound of steady breathing came from the other side of the bed. She shifted to stare at Ethan. He slept on his side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. Even now, his brow was slightly furrowed, as if he was trying to solve some complicated problem in his dreams.

Daphne’s eyes cut to the clock on her bedside table, and she sucked in a breath. A team of people would be here in one hour to start her hair and makeup. She lifted a hand to shake Ethan awake, but instead she found herself tracing a finger over him—down the line of his jaw, the slope of his neck, to his shoulders and biceps. She felt suddenly ravenous for this, the sheer joy of touching him.

“We should talk about this,” he said carefully. “What is there to talk about? We made a mistake—” “Don’t do that!” His voice was so sharp that she looked up at him, startled. “It’s not a mistake,” he went on, more gently. “Not when you love someone.” She froze, unable to speak.

Fuckkk

For a selfish moment, Daphne lingered in the kiss, letting reality waver and dance around her. It felt as though two distinct versions of her life were floating before her like soap bubbles, each of them close enough to reach out and grab.

“You need to go,” she told him. Ethan’s expression went hard. “If you’re really choosing him, then I’m leaving.” “That’s what I said!” She pointed toward the door.

Her eyes met Liam’s and she added, “Thank you for taking me in when I was…when I needed a friend.” Liam nodded. “Sam, as much as I would’ve liked to date you, I love having you as a friend.”

“Please, I need a moment with Samantha alone.” There was something eerily calm in Daphne’s voice.

“Okay,” Sam replied, her voice small. “I’ll just, um…I’ll be down the hall, if you need me.”

“I get why you wanted to blackmail me, but why did you go after Ethan, too?” Wasn’t it obvious? “I hoped that if I targeted you both, you might work together to figure out what was going on. The more time you spent together, the better your chances of realizing that you’re in love.” She hesitated, then added, “Didn’t you have fun at Enchanted Fiefdom?”

Girl,

She saw Daphne reach the same realization. “Wait a second. You sent me and Ethan to that theme park on a date?” “Was it a good date?” Nina asked hopefully. “I love that place. My parents used to take me all the time when I was little. My favorite was the magic-carpet ride.”

Marshall went still. Hurt flickered over his eyes as he asked, “Is there someone else?” Liam popped into her mind—Liam, who would show up at the palace in a couple of hours, ready to help however Sam needed. Liam, whom she couldn’t even kiss without thinking of Marshall.

“You’re the Prince of America. You’ll always be a symbol,” Sam murmured.

“If you please,” the photographer muttered. He directed the comment at Nina, but Daphne obediently sucked in her stomach and smiled.

“Hey, Daphne?” He sounded a bit nervous. “Can we talk?” “It’s bad luck for him to see you before the wedding!” the photographer exclaimed, and Daphne almost burst out laughing, because how could anyone possibly be worried about luck at a time like this? “Let’s go inside,” she told Jefferson.

Near a small love seat was a buffet table with water bottles, coffee, slices of wedding cake, and an enormous full-length mirror. Daphne’s eyes darted toward it reflexively; she always looked at every mirror she passed.

“I’m worried we’re rushing things,” she told him at the same moment that Jefferson said, “I don’t think we should get married.” When she realized what he’d said, Daphne was struck by the sheer absurdity of it all: the bride and groom in the wedding of the year, both independently calling it off mere hours before the ceremony.

Nina and Samantha stumbled up behind Gabriella, each of them grabbing one of her arms as if they were bouncers at a club, trying to drag out an unruly guest. But they couldn’t stop Gabriella’s next words.

Jefferson’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Daphne tensed, expecting him to lash out at her— “Gabriella, you need to leave.” He spoke with a sharp, unmistakable authority, something he’d picked up in his days as Acting King. Gabriella put a hand on one hip, all pretense of civility gone. “Are you serious? Your fiancée cheated on you and you’re angry at me?”

Oh you BITCH

Daphne fell a little bit in love with Jefferson right then, for being such a consummate gentleman. For extending the umbrella of his protection over her, even when she so clearly didn’t deserve it. Gabriella stamped her foot like a petulant child, then whirled around and stormed outside.

I hate her!

“I’ve always known he had a thing for you. I saw the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching. I figured it was just attraction, because how could anyone not be attracted to you?”

Jefferson speared a piece of cake and held out the fork for Daphne, as if they were actually at the reception and posing for the photos. She wasn’t sure whether it made her want to laugh or cry.