American Royals (34 page)

Ethan shifted closer, a smooth quarter turn along the mattress. His eyes gleamed, dark and fervent and questioning.

This was their last chance to draw back, to pretend that none of this had ever happened and walk away. But they were both very still, a pair of quiet shadows.

Even in the silence, Daphne felt something crackle and spark between them.

Suddenly they were tumbling onto the bed together, a tangle of hands and lips and heat. She yanked her dress impatiently over her head. It fell in a whisper to the floor.

“Are you sure?” Ethan’s breath sent little explosions all the way down her skin, like fireworks. It was the closest either of them came to acknowledging how wrong this was.

“I’m sure,” Daphne told him. She knew precisely what she was doing, knew the promises she was breaking, to herself and to Jefferson. She no longer cared. She felt fluid, electrified, gloriously irresponsible.

She felt, for the first time in years, like herself. Not the public, painted-on Daphne Deighton that she showed the world, but the real seventeen-year-old girl she kept carefully hidden beneath.

“Daphne?” I need to talk to you.” Her mother cut across the dance floor toward them, not even bothering to acknowledge Ethan.

“Oh—all right.” Daphne wondered what the expression on her face had looked like, to send Rebecca rushing over here.

Her eyes briefly met Ethan’s, and she saw his flash of understanding, and of disappointment. He nodded, stepping aside.

Rebecca’s nails dug into the flesh of Daphne’s inner arm as she dragged her away. “You don’t have time for distractions, tonight of all nights.”

“Ethan is Jefferson’s best friend,” Daphne said wearily. “I was just dancing with him for a few songs.”

And remembering the night I lost my virginity to him.

“You could have been dancing with an emperor himself, and I’d still expect you to be present for the royal family’s entrance,” Rebecca hissed.

“Mother …” Daphne’s steps slowed. “Do you ever wonder … I mean, is it all really worth it?”

Rebecca’s grip tightened so fiercely that Daphne barely swallowed back a cry of pain.

“Daphne.”
As always, her mother managed to convey a world of emotions in those two syllables. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that. Don’t ever say anything like it again, not to me, and certainly not to your father. Not after everything we’ve done for
your
sake.”

She stepped away, and Daphne pressed her hands together to hide their sudden trembling. Her mother was right, of course. She had been on this road for far too long to second-guess herself now.

There was a ring of red half-moons on the skin of Daphne’s inner arm, where Rebecca’s nails had been.

A commotion sounded at the Door of Sighs, and the herald emerged to bang his staff against the floor. “Their Majesties, King George IV and Queen Adelaide!”

Daphne watched along with everyone in the room as the king and queen strode in, followed by Beatrice and her fiancé. Moments later Samantha emerged, and then, finally, Jefferson.

He entered the ballroom alone, as was dictated by protocol: only someone engaged to a member of the royal family was permitted to walk alongside them. But he’d only progressed a few yards into the room when Nina Gonzalez detached herself from the gathered masses and came to stand at his side.

Daphne’s stomach lurched as she watched Jefferson hold out an arm toward Nina.

She saw at once that her ploy at Halo had been useless. If anything, Nina looked even better in this: a scoop-necked column dress in a deep gray, its bodice and skirts heavy with charcoal beads.

“You have a job to do,” Rebecca said quietly. As if Daphne were in danger of forgetting.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, fighting back the wave of frustration and resentment and envy that threatened to drown her. She could not afford to lose her cool over some
nobody.

Nina might as well enjoy this hour with Jefferson, because it was the last one she would ever have. The moment Daphne could get her alone, she would move in swiftly for the kill.

Nina had been to a great many parties in the Washington Palace ballroom, but even she had never seen it so enchanted.

The space overflowed with flowers, green hydrangeas and calla lilies and vibrant orange dahlias spilling over every surface. Crystal chandeliers flung ribbons of light throughout the room. The light fell on revolving tulle skirts, on freshly pressed tuxedos, on the jewels that had been removed from vaults and safety-deposit boxes for the occasion as all these courtiers vied desperately to outglitter one another.

And everywhere she looked, Nina saw the
B&T
wedding monogram. It was printed in gold foil on the cocktail napkins, embroidered on the fabric of the skirted high-top tables, even painted on the band’s drum set.

A dark-haired man, dancing only a few yards away with a woman in a crushed-velvet gown, met Nina’s eyes. He stared at her with a mixture of disdain and boredom.

“Jeff,” Nina whispered into the prince’s ear. “Who is that?”

He turned to follow her gaze, then gave a huff of laughter. “That’s Juan Carlos, the King of Spain’s youngest son. We used to vacation with their family, at their summer palace in Mallorca.” Jeff deftly led Nina farther from the Spanish prince. “He once asked Beatrice on a date—well, practically all the foreign princes did, at some point—but she said no.”

“Beatrice turned down a prince?”

“I don’t know why you’re acting surprised. As I seem to recall, you’ve done it yourself. Multiple times,” Jeff teased, an eyebrow lifted in challenge.

Nina flushed at the memory. “As
I
seem to recall, you deserved it,” she said lightly. “And unlike Beatrice, I’m not a princess. I don’t have to worry about issues of royal protocol or international relations if I say no to a
date.
”

Jeff laughed at that. “Well, he and Beatrice would never have worked out anyway. His family calls him Juan-for-the-Road Carlos.” Jeff lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Because he always brings a flask in his jacket pocket whenever he has to carry out official royal duties.”

Nina stole another glance at the Spanish prince, still dancing with the woman in velvet. Her arms instinctively tightened over Jeff’s shoulders. If Jeff and Sam weren’t careful—if they didn’t find something that mattered to them, some kind of
purpose
—they might end up like Juan Carlos: idle, world-weary, floating aimlessly from one royal function to the next.

It was just the constitutional danger of being the spare.

“You look amazing, you know,” Jeff murmured. The desire in his voice, low and rough, abruptly cut off Nina’s thoughts.

She bit her lip against a smile. “Sam helped. I wouldn’t have a dress without her.”

Nina’s smoke-colored gown was sewn all over with beads. They swished and settled around her body, giving her the curious sensation that she was dancing through water. Her dark hair was piled atop her head like an evening cloud, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face.

“You don’t look so shabby yourself,” she added, with a nod toward Jeff’s blazer: the one she’d borrowed on the terrace all those months ago. He’d even put on the aiguillettes and shining crossbelt, though the belt was empty of a sword.

“I
knew
you had a thing for men in fringe.” Jeff gave a mischievous grin. “Though if I’d realized Prince Hans was coming, I would have worn my medallion for the Order of the Knights of Malta. It’s the only decoration I have that he doesn’t.”

“Prince Hans?” Nina followed Jeff’s gaze, to a spindly boy wearing square-framed glasses. “Is he … Danish?”

“Norwegian.”

Nina tried not to roll her eyes. “I’m sorry, how many foreign royalty
are
there at this party?”

“As many as could get here in time.” Jeff shrugged. “Hans’s dad is one of Beatrice’s godfathers.”

Of course he was. Nina remembered a book she’d shelved in the library one day,
Minor Royal Families of Europe,
filled with pages and pages of family trees. She’d stared at them goggle-eyed—all those lines and branches, knotting and weaving over each other—before closing the book in exasperation.

Her eyes drifted to where Beatrice stood next to Teddy, surrounded by a crowd of eager guests.

“I still can’t believe Beatrice is engaged. It all happened so quickly.” Nina was thinking of Samantha—of how hard it must be for her, seeing Teddy with Beatrice. It made her feel almost guilty for being so happy when her friend clearly wasn’t.

“I like Teddy,” Jeff said roundly. “He’s a great guy, and seems like a good fit for Beatrice, even if …”

“What?”

Jeff gave an uncomfortable shrug. “Clearly I’m wrong, but for a while there in Telluride, I kind of thought there was a vibe between him and Samantha.”

Nina pursed her lips and said nothing.

“Beatrice has never been indecisive. I’m not surprised that she made up her mind about Teddy so quickly.” Jeff’s voice was soft over the delicate strands of the jazz music. “I guess when you find the right person, nothing else matters.”

Nina nodded, understanding.

She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it all: the exposure, the unending public scrutiny. It was so much more intense now than it had been when she was just Samantha’s friend. She’d been on the sidelines, sure, had watched plenty of photo calls and walked past plenty of lines of photographers, but they’d never spared her a second glance.

Being Jeff’s girlfriend was entirely different. Nina still did a double take whenever she saw her own face on a tabloid, or heard her own name shouted in a crowd.

Though lately, Nina had noticed some of the coverage shifting its tone. She wasn’t sure why: whether people had grown tired of the social-climbing angle, or the tabloids had simply found another victim to make fun of. Maybe other ordinary, non-aristocratic girls wanted to believe in the fairy tale—that they, too, could find a Prince Charming.

Whatever the reason, there was less venom here tonight than Nina had expected. She’d come to Beatrice’s engagement ball thinking that it would be a nest of vipers: that her only real allies were Sam and Jeff, and everyone else would have firmly declared for Team Daphne. But she’d been pleasantly surprised by the number of familiar faces in the ballroom. Some were friends of her mom, some high school classmates of Sam and Jeff; others were people she’d never met, but who gave her smiling nods of approval.

Jeff’s hands drifted lower on her back. Nina stepped a bit closer, hooking her arm around him, to tuck her head over his shoulder. Her body felt tingling and alert, her blood humming with the words she hadn’t yet dared speak aloud.

Nina had been so afraid that she would lose sight of herself amid all the glamour and protocol, the inherently public nature of their relationship. But instead she’d found something much greater.

She loved Jeff.

And even though she had always known it—even though her love for Jeff went so far back that she could hardly remember a time before she loved him—Nina let herself learn it all over again.