American Royals (41 page)

They pulled up outside the emergency-room doors, avoiding the cameras and microphones clustered near the side entrance. Nina saw the corner of the Royal Standard fluttering over the hospital roof, alongside the American flag—as if anyone didn’t already know that the king was in residence.

“Good luck, sweetie,” Isabella murmured, when Nina threw open the car’s rear door. “I love you.”

“Love you too, mamá.” Nina’s eyes darted to Julie, and her smile wavered. “Thanks for driving, Mom. Wish me luck.”

Nina provided her name at the front desk, and was relieved to learn that she’d already been added to the list of preapproved visitors. “I know they’ll be glad to see you,” the administrator offered. She glanced at Nina’s empty hands, a question in her eyes.

Nina tried not to reveal her consternation. Was she supposed to bring flowers? She’d come in such a frantic hurry that she hadn’t even thought of it.

Daphne probably would have come with a gift, but then, Daphne wasn’t the one here. Nina was.

When she reached the private wing where the king was being treated, Nina halted. A pair of palace security guards stood at the double doors. Recognizing Nina, they stepped aside to let her through.

Her steps quickened. The waiting area was just ahead. What would she say to Samantha, to
Jeff
? She couldn’t worry about it, Nina decided. She would have to just trust that the right words would come to her in the moment.

And suddenly, there he was—stepping around a corner, his face heavy with sadness. Nina ached for him. She opened her mouth to call out a greeting—

Daphne turned the corner next to him.

Nina stumbled back, retreating behind the heavy bulk of a soda machine. She watched in mounting horror as Daphne slipped her arm through Jeff’s: an intimate, confident gesture. Her face tipped up to his in concern and she nodded, listened to something he said. She had on a demure charcoal-colored sweater and simple cross necklace, a light dusting of makeup on her face.

She looked perfect, as always—perfect and expensive, where Nina was rumpled and stale, her eyes red-rimmed from a night of crying.

Had Jeff seriously called Daphne to ask her to come with him to the hospital?

Nina fought off a wave of dizziness. Just twelve hours ago, she and Jeff had been together, holding tight to each other on the dance floor, and now he was back with
her.
It confirmed everything Daphne had said. His relationship with Nina had been nothing more than a single off-key note, a blip interrupting his
actual
relationship.

In the end, Daphne really was the one who had all the cards.

Nina knew that the strong thing to do would be to walk out there anyway. To sit next to Samantha and put an arm around her, tell her best friend that she was here for her, no matter what happened.

But Nina wasn’t brave enough for that. She retreated before Jeff or Daphne could see her.

As she shuffled blindly down the hallway, it seemed to Nina that the only noise in the entire hospital came from her. It was the sound of her heart, shattering all over again.

Samantha had memorized the artwork on the opposite wall. She knew every subtle gradation of its color, every twist in its pattern. She would have stared out the window just to change things up, except that the waiting room had no window.

Maybe the room had been designed this way on purpose, to keep people from watching the sun move through the sky: so they wouldn’t note the passage of time and get even more anxious than they already were. As good an explanation as any, since there was no clock in here either.

She glanced at her phone to check the time. It was still in airplane mode; she’d switched it hours ago, when she couldn’t handle any more breaking-news alerts. Almost noon. Had it really been ten hours since they’d arrived here? It all felt surreal, in the sticky dark way of a bad dream.

Sam decided to flick her phone off airplane mode. Her screen immediately filled with notification bubbles, messages of support flooding in from everyone she knew. One of the texts was from Nina:
I am so, so sorry about your dad. I wish I could be there at the hospital with you. Know that I am thinking about you nonstop. Love you.

Sam sent a single red heart emoji in reply. It was all she was capable of, right now.

She’d been in her bedroom when she heard Beatrice’s shouts from the opposite side of the palace: raw, panicked shouts that didn’t at all sound like they had come from her sister’s throat. Sam had stumbled down the stairs, still wearing her red trumpet gown, its skirts spilling around her bare feet like a pool of blood. She’d watched, powerless, as the EMTs loaded her father into the back of a medical van. The ribbons of his uniform fluttered each time the gurney rattled.

The queen stood alongside Samantha. The lights of the ambulance danced luridly over her features, only a slight tightening of her jaw betraying her emotions. Beatrice swayed a bit next to her, as if alcohol—or, more likely, shock—had made her unsteady on her feet.

They had watched, utterly mute, as the van left for the hospital. Its siren echoed around them, an angry streak of sound tearing through the streets.

Moments later they had rushed into a waiting car and followed, to gather here in this anonymous waiting room, where they’d spent the night doing exactly that. Waiting, and hoping.

The doctors had appeared every half hour with a non-update, letting them know that, once again, the king’s condition hadn’t changed. He was still on life support.

They weren’t letting anyone in to see him, not that he was awake anyway. But Sam couldn’t help thinking that it didn’t bode well. She was morbidly reminded of the French court, where members of the royal family were not allowed to visit relatives who were ill, because it was believed that if a king or queen witnessed death, the entire country would be cursed.

Sam shifted, causing her chair cushions to squeak in protest. No one even looked up. Jeff was in the seat next to her, his head hanging in his hands, Daphne on his other side. Sam felt too stunned to even question Daphne’s presence right now. She just kept hold of her mom’s hand, her mind whirling uselessly from one thought to another.

Queen Adelaide had barely spoken since they reached the hospital. Her hand was clasped around her daughter’s, so tight that the nails dug into Sam’s palm. Sam barely felt it.

In the corner knelt the Queen Mother, the white beads of her rosary clicking in her hands as she mouthed her litany of prayers. She hadn’t stirred in hours. If anyone could
pray
the king back to health, Sam knew, her grandmother could.

Beatrice sat slightly apart from everyone else, perched on the edge of her seat, looking as terrified and fragile as a porcelain doll. Teddy’s hand rested tentatively on her shoulder, though Beatrice seemed oblivious to the contact.

He kept glancing toward Sam, and their eyes would meet in a silent bolt of communication. She knew they were tempting fate, staring at each other across the room, but everyone else was too wrapped up in their own anguish to really notice. Sam wished more than anything that Teddy could sit next to
her
instead—that she could feel the reassuring warmth of him while everything else was falling apart.

But it had all happened so fast, he and Beatrice hadn’t announced they were calling off their engagement. Which meant that Teddy would have to keep playing the part of Beatrice’s fiancé a little while longer.

Sam tugged absently at the sleeves of her high-necked sweater, wondering which of the staff had picked this out. She and her siblings had been at the hospital only a few minutes, still wearing their ball gowns, when Robert had rushed over with a packed bag of “comfortable clothes.” Sam had been hoping for yoga pants and a sweatshirt, but then, appearances must always be maintained.

She’d pretended not to see the other outfits tucked at the bottom of the bag—a black dress and heels, in case they needed to leave the hospital in mourning.

“I need a minute,” she declared, and gently detangled her hand from her mom’s grip. She had to go somewhere, anywhere, if only to get out of that waiting room and its oppressive silence.

There was a break room down the hall. Someone had brought a delivery of food up here: muffins, bananas, a large bowl of berries. As if the royal family possibly wanted
catering
right now.

Sam wasn’t hungry, but she needed to do something with her hands. As long as she kept moving, she could scare away the dark thoughts—which were like shadows, multiplying and stretching in her mind. She busied herself making tea, heating hot water in a machine and choosing a tea bag without noticing the flavor.

When she heard footsteps, Sam turned around, half hoping Teddy had followed her. But it was her twin brother.

“You’d better not let Grandma see you with that,” Jeff joked, nodding at her mug. His heart clearly wasn’t in it, but Sam appreciated the effort all the same.

“I know, I know. A princess drinking tea—it’s the end of the monarchy.” Though America hadn’t been at war with Britain for two hundred years, everyone still acted as though drinking tea were a deeply unpatriotic act. The palace refused to even serve tea at any of its events, only coffee. Which wasn’t even
grown
in America.

“You okay?” Jeff asked softly.

“Not really.”

At the choking sound of her sob, he came forward and threw his arms around her. They stayed like that, hugging, for what felt like a long time.

Sam didn’t bother with words. There were some feelings that words couldn’t express; and anyway, this was Jeff, who understood her on an elemental level. Who had once shared the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Finally they broke apart. Blinking back tears, Sam grabbed a miniature jar of honey and spooned some into her tea. “I know this is ridiculous, given everything else that’s going on, but I have to ask.” Because she was curious, and because she needed to distract herself, if only for a second. “Why is Daphne here instead of Nina?”

Jeff gave a strange laugh, acknowledging the banality of her question. “I assumed that you knew. Nina broke up with me last night.”

“Seriously?” Sam sank into one of the plastic chairs. Jeff pulled out the one next to her and slumped forward, elbows on the table.

“She told me she wanted no part of this,” he said helplessly. “The media, the scrutiny. It was too much for her.”

“But …”

But you both looked so happy last night,
Sam wanted to protest. And the day before, in the Dress Closet, Nina had been beaming and blushing at the mention of Jeff. What could have possibly happened to change her friend’s mind?

She looked again at Jeff’s face, and the questions died on her lips. Her brother was suffering enough without having to relive every detail of their breakup.

“Jeff … I’m so sorry.”

He nodded morosely. “When Daphne came to the hospital this morning, I couldn’t turn her away.”

Now Sam understood Nina’s text. When she first read it, she’d been too numb with grief to question why Nina wasn’t coming. It was because Nina didn’t want to face her ex-boyfriend the very day after they broke up. Sam didn’t especially blame her.

“I’m sorry I made things awkward with your best friend,” Jeff added, as if reading her mind.

“It won’t be awkward,” Sam assured him, though she worried he was right. Her friendship with Nina might not be the same after this, because there would always be the ghost of Jeff between them. A space where he should have been.

Jeff picked up a muffin, then set it down again. “This all happened too fast,” he said quietly. “Everything is changing, and I don’t know how to stop it. I just want it all to go back to the way it was.”

“I know,” Sam agreed.

And yet … after the events of the past few months, things would never go back to normal. Jeff was right. Everything had changed. Or perhaps
she
was the one who had changed. Because Sam was no longer content to let the days skip idly by.

For so much of her life, she and Jeff had been aligned on nearly everything. They posed for a joint press portrait each year on their birthday, attended the same soccer camps, were raised by the same nanny. They communicated in truncated twin-speak—
this; sure now?; okay time.
Even as they grew older, they attended the same parties, hung out with the same group of friends. They kept no secrets from each other.

They had always felt like two sides of a coin: the pair of court jesters, the frothy fun twins. The emotional cannon that their family sent out whenever they needed to distract America.

Sam wasn’t sure when that had shifted. Perhaps it was her father’s illness, or Teddy’s words, which had percolated in her mind ever since Telluride.

All she knew was that Jeff no longer felt like her second self. That for the first time in her life, she felt closer to her older sister than to her twin brother.

Maybe this was what it felt like to finally grow up.